The Pirates and the Nightmaker (16 page)

‘Not so loud,’ I whispered. ‘One of the rogues lies beyond the door half-asleep in the sun.’

Her eyes widened with alarm.

‘It is the doctor,’ I said, ‘and my once master, Dr Hatch.’

‘That man?’

‘Yes,’

‘Are you able to untie me?’

It was only then that I realised that I could not rescue Sophie. The rope was too thick and the knots that tied her to the pole far too tight for me to loosen. I needed a knife or some sharp cutting edge.

‘Sophie,’ I whispered helplessly. ‘It is not possible. I must return to the town and find a knife.’

Sophie accepted this blow with more equanimity than I had expected. ‘Go to my house,’ she said. ‘There are carving knives in the kitchen, and bring me water for I am sore thirsty.’

I stared at her.

‘Sophie,’ I said. ‘Your house is no more. Last night it caught fire and the fire took hold and it is destroyed utterly.’

She looked at me with horror.

‘It is?’ she asked. ‘But my mother, is she …?’

‘Your mother is safe,’ I said. ‘Indeed, the only person thought to have perished in the blaze is you.’

‘My mother thinks me dead?’

I shook my head. ‘Not now,’ I whispered, ‘but for a time I fear she believed so. Captain Lightower visited her this morning with the news that you were alive.’

‘Captain Lightower?’

I nodded.

As Sophie stared at me the full meaning of the events began to sink in. ‘The fire,’ she said. ‘All is destroyed?’

‘Yes, everything.’

‘But how?’

‘It was thought to be lightning from the storm, but now …’

‘It was not lightning,’ declared Sophie angrily. ‘The lightning was well gone before I was abducted. It was those men!’

The thought of the men prompted me. ‘Sophie, I must go to find a knife to sever these bonds.’

‘Of course,’ she whispered. ‘Good speed, and hurry, hurry back. I must to my mother.’

I was not perhaps as swift as I’d hoped, for I had some trouble locating a knife, but eventually I snaffled a dangerous-looking dagger from a cutler selling his wares at a street stall. Not far from him a woman was selling crocks of rum and bottles of gin, and I was able to grab one of these crocks when she was distracted. I considered, given his present state, it would not take too much more liquor to render Dr Hatch so insensible he would not even notice our departure. Finally, I managed to find a small ewer which I filled with water, trusting I would not spill it on my return flight.

My dear mother had always stressed the importance of the lessons of the Good Book. I knew that helping myself to these things was something she would have considered sinful. But, needs must, I thought: Sophie’s need was greater than any commandment at that point and besides, denying the world a deadly dagger or a quart of rum was not such a bad thing to do really.

I was pleased to see that both Billy and Caleb were still guarding Captain Lightower’s lodgings. This suggested the
captain was still trapped within, so feeling easier now I left the Cove to return to the clearing.

The doctor was lying as I had left him, propped up against the outside wall, hat and wig askew in the morning sun. I hovered above him tickling his chest with a branch. He opened one eye in order to swat away what he imagined was a fly and then opened the other eye as he saw floating just above him a disembodied crock of rum. His eyes widened with wonder and delight and he reached up to cradle it gratefully before drawing it lovingly down. It must have seemed to his befuddled brain that the gods themselves were delivering a chalice of paradise.

He jerked off the cork, raised the crock to his lips and guzzled. He placed the crock beside him and lay back again, smiling blissfully.

Leaving him to his dreams, I hurried back into the hut. Sophie had not moved and she gave me a welcome smile of relief.

‘This should not take long,’ I whispered.

‘I can be patient a little longer, now.’

Gently, I put the ewer to her lips and carefully, slowly unended it. Then I reached for the knife.

Without hesitation I began sawing at the rope. First of all, I released Sophie from the pole and she stood up gratefully, stamping her feet on the mud floor to get her legs working again. I then ever so carefully began scraping the blade at the rope that bound her wrists together.

It did take a while, but Sophie did not hurry me or express frustration. When I sliced through the last strands
she shook her hands much as she had stamped her feet and then reached for the ewer I again proffered, murmuring her thanks. She took a deep draught then another and then whispered, ‘Where is the doctor?’

I pointed. ‘He is lying in a stupor just beyond. I don’t think he has moved since my first visit.’

Sophie gave a grim little smile. ‘Will he wake?’

‘I have provided him with another jugful of rum to satisfy his thirst. I doubt whether he’ll wake, but even should he do so, he is so mellowed by the drink he would not mind our leaving,’ I said, grinning.

Sophie made her way a little awkwardly to the door of the hut and peered into the brightness outside.

‘He is asleep,’ she said. ‘Let us go.’

I joined her in the doorway.

‘Give me the dagger,’ she said, ‘although I hope I do not need it.’

I hoped she would not need it, too, for it was a fearsome instrument. I was a little reluctant, but Sophie looked so set, so determined, I passed it to her a little gingerly.

‘Take care.’

‘I have seen a dagger before, silly.’

‘It’s that way,’ I pointed. ‘The pathway is not far through the trees.’

Before we left the clearing, I took a backward glance at the doctor. He remained in a blissful sleep. I gave a wry smile, wondering how happy he would be on the morrow.

There were the remains of a track under the trees, I imagined made by the owner who had once established his garden in
the clearing. The grass had been trampled here and there, no doubt by the captain in his explorations and later when he and the doctor had hustled the gagged and blindfolded Sophie to the hut.

It did not take us long before we stood on the pathway and the harbour lay glittering once more before us. Sophie’s immediate concern was her house and she gave a little gasp of dismay when she saw how it had been completely destroyed.

‘Why would they do that?’ she whispered.

‘Desperation,’ I suggested.

‘It is not desperation, but despair they are owed now,’ said Sophie angrily. ‘Come, I must to my mother.’

‘She is aboard the
Medusa,’
I said. ‘Or at least she was this morning when she interviewed Captain Lightower.’

‘I would interview Captain Lightower,’ said Sophie bitterly. ‘I have much to ask that man!’

It did not take us very long to reach the Cove, and the closer we became, the more energy Sophie was able to find. Before long, she was running down the quay and up the gangplank of the
Medusa.
She greeted the grinning Irish Peter with a heartfelt embrace, disentangled herself and ran to the wardroom.

I followed, narrowly avoiding being caught by the swinging door.

‘Sophia!’

Jenny Blade’s cry of delight brought Mr Griff running.

‘Mama!’

Sophie and her mother clutched each other for a long
time, as Mr Griff stood smiling beside them.

‘When, Sophia?’ asked her mother at length. ‘How did this happen?’

‘I was tied up, Mama,’ said Sophie, ‘but was able to cut my bonds with this knife I found nearby.’ She held up the fierce-looking dagger.

The story sounded so improbable, I could not help but smile, but neither Jenny Blade nor Mr Griff was disinclined to believe her.

‘I had been taken to a hut in the forest, but hooded and gagged. This happened last night just after the storm ended …’

Jenny Blade and Mr Griff exchanged glances.

‘I know not who did this, but this morning when I escaped, that awful Dr Hatch was lying in a drunken swoon outside my prison. I am sure he must have been one of my abductors.’

‘No doubt,’ said Jenny Blade grimly, ‘and there is little doubt of the other.’

She left the wardroom and summoned Irish Peter.

‘Peter,’ she said. ‘Run to the town and tell Caleb and Billy to apprehend that rogue Lightower. The brig on board waits for him!’

She returned and held out her hands and Sophie held them.

‘Captain Lightower visited us this morning with a strange tale that you had escaped the fire and were being looked after by some person unknown. It was obviously a clumsy attempt at blackmail. I had feared you lost in the flames.’

‘Mother,’ said Sophie, ‘there were no flames before I was kidnapped. I believe those men set the fire.’

‘We will discover that,’ said Mr Griff firmly. ‘These rogues have a lot to answer for.’

‘My house,’ said Mistress Blade. ‘My peace of mind … You have no idea the agonies …’

‘But you are all right, Sophie? You were not otherwise harmed?’ asked Griff.

Sophie shook her head. ‘I am well,’ she said, ‘I have been well bitten too, by mosquitoes and all manner of other vicious life, and I am in need of drink, but …’

‘There is also the drunken doctor, ma’am,’ said Mr Griff. ‘Should we not be seeking him?’

‘I’m thinking now that it was a mistake to have plucked them from the sea,’ said Jenny Blade fiercely.

‘But there was Wicker, ma’am. You had seen him on the jolly-boat.’

‘Yes, Mr Wicker and his foolish passion to go to Cartagena.’

‘You will provide him with that ship?’ asked Mr Griff.

‘I may,’ said Jenny Blade, ‘I may not. I am not averse to being rid of him, although it might cost us a prize. However, I would like to ascertain first whether or not he was mixed up in this dirty business with Sophia.’

‘Oh, I doubt that,’ said Mr Griff. ‘There is no love lost between Mr Wicker and Lightower.’

‘I have so observed,’ said Jenny Blade, ‘and there is a story there, too, I’ll warrant, a dark story without doubt.’

‘Mama?’ said Sophie.

Jenny Blade turned to her daughter. ‘Oh, Sophie, I’m
sorry. You must have food, and drink. I will see to it. Mr Griff, you will see to the apprehension of that drunken sot?’

‘It will be with great pleasure, ma’am,’ said Mr Griff, and he and Jenny Blade left the wardroom together.

Once their footsteps had disappeared, Sophie turned to me. ‘Do
you
think Mr Wicker had anything to do with my kidnapping and the fire?’ she asked.

‘I know he did not,’ I said.

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Mainly because he was nowhere near your house before or after the fire but also because Mr Wicker only does things that will bring him personal advantage, and there could be no advantage for him in being part of that misbegotten scheme. Quite the contrary.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Sophie.

‘In any event, as the lieutenant said, there is no love lost between him and the captain. They loathe each other.’

‘And yet,’ said Sophie, ‘there is a connexion.’

I nodded. ‘There is. I do not know what it is, but I know somebody who does.’

‘Who?’

‘You told me about him. Don Scapino, the one you said people call The Snake.’

Sophie’s eyes widened. ‘He is a poisonous creature.’

‘Well named, then,’ I said.

There was a silence and then Sophie said softly, ‘I haven’t really thanked you, have I?’

‘My thanks are seeing you safe again,’ I said.

‘I
am
grateful,’ she said. ‘It is just that I was so angry, especially when I discovered they had destroyed our home as well. Most of what I loved and owned was housed there.’

I looked at her, feeling her sadness. I remembered the clavier and the way she had filled the room with music.

‘I should go,’ I said. ‘You must eat and then rest. You have suffered much.’

Once again, Sophie reached out her hand. I took it and made my farewells. The mention of Mr Wicker had reminded me that I should really not stay away from him too much longer.

As it happened, it was not Mr Wicker I next encountered but the stocky inventor, Daniel Flynn. I was walking down the main thoroughfare when I saw the angry figure of Captain Lightower being frogmarched in a skewed and ungainly fashion between slight little Billy and the massive Caleb. The captain was shouting at them to unhand him, pleas they were utterly deaf to, but which at the same time amused the other people on the street, who took occasion to jeer and shout unhelpful comments. This only served to add to the captain’s fury, which he vented even more loudly, and which led in turn to even more jeering, more laughter.

Clearly, Billy and Caleb on Irish Peter’s instruction had straightaway entered the boarding house to retrieve the captain, for now the outside door stood wide open and a number of the residents stood there watching as their fellow tenant was being marched away.

One of these spectators I realised was Mr Flynn and I darted across to talk to him.

The other residents drifted away and we were left standing alone in the doorway.

‘Goodness,’ said Mr Flynn. ‘What was that all about?’

I told him all that had happened and he looked at me in astonishment. ‘Burnt her house down? Jenny Blade’s house?’

‘And kidnapped her daughter, Sophia,’ I added.

‘Oh dear,’ said Mr Flynn, ‘I fear that was a terribly ill-advised thing to do.’

Just at that point a shadow fell over us, and I looked up in alarm to see Mr Wicker. He was looking at Daniel Flynn in astonishment and at me with an obvious and frightening suspicion.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘this is such an unexpected pleasure, Daniel. I had no idea you were in the Cove. It is also a most unexpected surprise to find you in conversation with my little loblolly boy. I was quite unaware that you two were acquainted.’

‘We’re not!’ gasped Daniel quickly, too quickly.

I remembered fearfully that Mr Wicker was the one man Mr Flynn had hoped to avoid in the Cove, and now my foolishness in stopping to talk to him had brought about this feared encounter.

‘You’re not?’ asked Mr Wicker disbelievingly. ‘But here you are talking together just like old friends.’

I looked up at Mr Wicker’s sceptical face. I knew I could not lie to him, could not dissemble. I knew, too, that I could not allow myself to be trapped in those green eyes. At the same time, I could not let him know I had met Captain Bass, or all would be lost. He would learn I was no longer
completely in his thrall. He would bind me to him again and he would never let me break free.

There was only one chance: while I could not lie to him, I might be able to leave things out. I would have to take a risk and tell Mr Wicker sufficient truthful things so that he might be satisfied.

‘I do know Mr Flynn,’ I said.

He shifted his gaze. ‘You do, little Loblolly Boy? I am utterly intrigued.’

I glanced quickly at the bumbling inventor, praying that he would not jabber some contradictory nonsense and give the game away. It was too dangerous, though, even for a warning glance, as Mr Wicker was studying me relentlessly.

I swallowed. ‘I was looking for you, sir,’ I said, ‘yesterday, and I visited that tavern, the Rope and Gibbet …’

Mr Wicker said, ‘Go on.’

‘You were not there, sir, but your friend Don Scapino was. He was talking to this gentleman.’

I turned and nodded at Daniel Flynn. Thank goodness, the short man nodded back affirming my account eagerly.

‘I approached the table curious to overhear their conversation.’ I dared to look back at Mr Wicker, trying my best to look innocent, simple. ‘I thought there might be something in their discourse of interest to you, sir.’

I thought this evidence of my slightly underhand behaviour might appeal to my master, and I was apparently right, for he gave me a bleak little smile and again said, ‘Go on.’

‘I believe I was correct, too, for I quickly found they were discussing an astrolabe. This gentleman was trying to buy it
back from Don Scapino, but Don Scapino told him what he had told you, that the astrolabe was in Cartagena, and in possession of the
commandante
.’