The Pirates and the Nightmaker (17 page)

Mr Wicker turned to Daniel Flynn and said, ‘Is this true, Daniel? You wish your astrolabe restored to yourself?’

Mr Flynn nodded unhappily but did not dispute my story. I felt a little more confident and decided to play my last card, praying that the inventor might understand what I was doing and not spoil things with some uncalled-for admission.

‘One thing troubled me, Mr Wicker,’ I said.

‘Yes, little Loblolly Boy, what troubled you?’ asked my master.

‘After he’d told Mr Flynn this, Don Scapino then suggested that Mr Flynn should go to Cartagena to treat with the
commandante.
This way, he suggested, he might be able to buy the astrolabe back.’

I had hit home, I could see.

‘Did he, indeed,’ said Mr Wicker evenly. ‘Is this true, Daniel?’

Again, Mr Flynn nodded miserably. ‘He told me there could be a ship travelling soon from the Cove to Cartagena and I might seek passage on it,’ he said.

‘The devil!’ exclaimed Mr Wicker. ‘The Spaniard has the gall of Old Nick!’

I breathed a little more easily, but then Mr Wicker asked me coldly, ‘But this was yesterday. Why have you not reported this before?’

I shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but most times when I saw you, you were with Don Scapino, so it was not possible, and then there was the excitement of the storm and the fire and I quite let it slip my mind.’

Mr Wicker seemed to accept this. ‘Did Mr Flynn tell you what the astrolabe is capable of?’ he asked.

I shook my head. ‘No, sir.’

This was true. The captain had told me of the astrolabe’s miraculous powers, not Mr Flynn.

There was a pause, as Mr Wicker studied us both carefully. I was almost sure my strategy had worked but I dared not show any sign of relief.

‘And Daniel,’ said Mr Wicker, ‘have you decided to secure a passage on this vessel the don has spoken of?’

The inventor shook his head decisively. ‘No!’ he said. ‘No!’

‘But, why ever not?’

‘Because Don Scapino has presented it to the
commandante
of Cartagena, and he treasures it. It is now lost to me forever. I would not be able to persuade the
commandante
to return it.’

Mr Wicker smiled. ‘But Daniel, you have not explained your reasons for wishing the astrolabe back?’

Mr Flynn looked crestfallen. ‘Because I built the astrolabe for the captain,’ he said, ‘Captain Bass. And, foolishly I lied to him. I told him I had lost it in Portobelo, when really I had sold it to Don Scapino in Portobelo. I thought I could hide the lie, but then …’

I had a sudden fear that Mr Flynn would say that he’d heard that Mr Wicker was searching for the astrolabe and this would give the game away completely. Mr Wicker would immediately suspect the only source of this information.

I held my breath looking apprehensively between the two men.

‘Then?’ asked Mr Wicker.

‘Then,’ said Mr Flynn, ‘I realised I could lie no longer to the captain. He is not a person you can lie to, you know. I realised the only thing to do would be to persuade Don Scapino to sell it back to me …’

I breathed out slowly. Danger passed.

Mr Wicker now smiled openly. He was pleased about something and I was not long in finding out what it was. He was gloating.

‘I don’t suppose there’s any harm in telling you this now, Daniel. Please know that the ship bound for Cartagena, the ship you have decided not to join, has, in fact, been commissioned by me. Unlike you, I do intend to treat with the
commandante
. And unlike you, I do intend to obtain the astrolabe from him.’

‘You do? You do?’

‘I do, Daniel. And it will also give me great pleasure if, when you do bring yourself to tell the truth to Captain Bass, you tell him that, far from being lost, the astrolabe is, or soon will be, in the hands of his dear friend Wicker.’

Mr Flynn nodded unhappily.

Mr Wicker looked positively buoyant. ‘Remember, Daniel: the astrolabe you built for Captain Bass, you really built for Nicholas Wicker.’

He laughed as Mr Flynn’s face fell even further, so much I thought he might burst into tears.

At that point, Mr Wicker took his leave and bade us farewell.

I felt sorry for Mr Flynn, and rested my hand on his arm.

‘All is not lost,’ I said. ‘Do not forget,
I
have been charged by the captain to retrieve the astrolabe.’

Daniel Flynn looked at me, brightening.

‘You have? Of course, you have.’ And then his face fell again. ‘But how will you do this?’

I did not know the answer to that, and I realised that I had been deliberately not thinking of the difficulties that lay ahead.

All at once, too, something a little murky gave me pause.

Daniel Flynn had told Mr Wicker that he had built the astrolabe
for
Captain Bass.

Captain Bass had not told me that.

Captain Bass had told me the astrolabe must be retrieved because of the harm it could cause if it fell into the wrong hands.

But was it not possible that he really wanted the astrolabe back simply because it was
his
?

What assurance did I have that Captain Bass’s hands were the
right
hands?

As Mr Flynn wished me good morning I was left with a sudden quandary, with the feeling that the waters I was swimming in were darker and deeper than I had imagined.

The following few days were quiet and without the excitements of tempests, fire or kidnapping, but the tension of serving and having to deal with Mr Wicker continued. His days were spent negotiating with Jenny Blade regarding the
Firefly/Perseus
or conferring and finishing details with Don Scapino, who apparently was going to accompany us on the journey to Cartagena.

Captain Lightower’s days were spent fuming in the brig on board the
Medusa.
He was joined there, soon enough, by Dr Hatch, who was captured, still sleeping, outside the dilapidated hut where Sophie had been kept prisoner. So out of this world was the doctor, he was incapable of walking the distance back to the Cove and had to be carried in a litter.

It was during this period that I discovered the startling truth about Captain Lightower and the strong hold Mr Wicker had over him.

Mr Wicker was standing on the quay looking over the harbour to where the barque that had been the
Firefly
was
riding at anchor. I was standing beside him.

‘It is a fine irony,’ he smiled, ‘that I should be travelling to Cartagena in that vessel after all.’

‘I do not understand.’

‘I do not expect you do, little Loblolly Boy,’ he said.

‘But,’ I said, considering what he had just told me, ‘you were never going to sail to Cartagena on the
Firefly
. Were you not negotiating with Mistress Blade to take you on the
Medusa
?’

‘I was,’ he said easily, ‘but that was before I realised that the
Firefly
would deliver me to Cartagena without her help.’

This made no sense either.

‘But the
Firefly
was bound for Jamaica to join Admiral Vernon. It would only have proceeded to Cartagena after the admiral had captured the town.’

Mr Wicker nodded happily.

‘But he did not capture the town, as we have learnt,’ I continued.

‘Let me just say,’ said Mr Wicker, ‘that I had discovered a way to persuade Captain Lightower to take me directly to Cartagena, whether the good admiral had succeeded or not.’

I looked at him in astonishment. But then, Mr Wicker was no ordinary man. He was, as Captain Bass had put it, of the netherworld. I could only imagine that he had called upon his ‘special abilities’.

‘Magic?’ I asked.

Mr Wicker laughed. ‘In this instance, I had no need of magic,’ he said.

‘Then how?’

‘Oh, quite simply,’ said Mr Wicker easily. ‘I merely suggested to Captain Lightower that if he refused to take me to Cartagena, I would reveal to the world that he was an agent in the pay of Spain.’

‘What?’ I looked at Mr Wicker in astonishment. ‘But then,’ I protested, ‘he would have simply laughed at you and called your bluff.’

‘But he couldn’t,’ said Mr Wicker. ‘Unfortunately, for Captain Lightower at any rate, the accusation is perfectly true.’

‘It cannot be.’

‘It can and is. I had this information on excellent authority,’ said Mr Wicker, ‘none other than my very good and very venomous friend, Don Scapino.’

With this, things began to make much more sense.

‘So even if the Spaniards were in control he would have taken you to Cartagena.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Mr Wicker. ‘He was not pleased about the situation, as you may have noticed, but he had no choice.’

I thought about what might have been.

‘The Spaniards would have arrested the ship?’

‘Of course. It would have been seized as a prize of war.’

‘And the men?’

‘Oh,’ said Mr Wicker, ‘they would no doubt have been thrown into some prison at the fort or put to the sword.’

He said this so matter-of-factly, I was utterly chilled.

‘And me?’

Mr Wicker shrugged. ‘The same, I imagine. Considered
like this, you should thank me for a narrow escape.’

I stared at him. That this astrolabe was worth the sacrifice of all on board the
Firefly
was horrible, and just as horrible was that the astrolabe was worth the theft of my human existence. To cap it all, I was supposed to feel grateful.

‘But what would have happened to Captain Lightower?’

‘Nothing really, I imagine. The Spaniards would have made a play of arresting him and then ransoming him back to the English. He would probably return a hero and ready to carry out more assignments for his new masters.’

At this point he patted his shirt, and I realised that this could have been a reference to the letter Don Scapino had passed to him, the red wax-sealed letter for Captain Lightower.

‘Have you given that letter to Captain Lightower?’ I asked.

Mr Wicker looked at me and laughed. ‘You are such a naïve little loblolly boy,’ he said. ‘Of course I have not and nor will I. That letter is my ace of spades. Captain Lightower was unable to call my bluff, as you put it earlier, because he had no way of knowing what proof of his perfidy I had. The amusing thing is, I had none then.’

I stared at him,
almost
feeling sorry for the treacherous captain.

‘However,’ added Mr Wicker unnecessarily, ‘
now
I do.’

‘You told Don Scapino you would give it to him,’ I said.

Again Mr Wicker laughed. ‘You are a one,’ he said. ‘Do you not think that Don Scapino knew exactly what he was doing when he passed me the letter?
Un momento
!’ He laughed again.

‘If Captain Lightower was as you say a friend of the Spanish and in their pay, I can see why he would face no danger in Cartagena. But what about you? Would you not have been thrown into prison with the men, or worse?’

‘Not at all,’ said Mr Wicker. ‘Why would I? I am a gentleman, a civilian and not in the pay of King George. Besides, I have a powerful friend in Don Scapino, who would have vouched for me.’

Perhaps, I thought. If there were one other person on the planet more self-serving than Mr Wicker, it would have been
El Serpiente
Don Scapino. He would have vouched for Mr Wicker certainly, but only until he had a better offer.

‘But why would Captain Lightower, given what you have told me, be so desperate now to get to Kingston?’ I asked.

Mr Wicker shrugged. ‘Why would he not? I can only think he has called my bluff finally, deciding that I can have no evidence and that, in any event, I am more interested in Cartagena than in exposing him. He is probably correct. Of course he can know nothing of the letter.’

I nodded, that did make sense.

‘Remember, as far as the world knows,’ said Mr Wicker, ‘Lightower is a loyal officer in His Majesty’s Navy. He tells everybody, does he not? He is too proud and stubborn to give that up to become a freebooter here in the Cove with a noose hanging over his head. To escape to Cartagena would expose his cover, so re-joining the fleet is his best and safest option.’

‘He has gone a strange and foolhardy way about it,’ I observed.

‘He is a foolhardy and unreliable man,’ said Mr Wicker, ‘and I fear his employers are beginning to realise that.’

I could not wait to share this astonishing intelligence with Sophie. Later that morning I found her again on the poop deck of the
Medusa
with a book in her hand. There were a couple of crewmen nearby which would make it difficult to talk so she laid her book to one side and whispered, ‘Shall we talk in the crow’s nest?’

I liked that idea, saying, ‘I have much to tell you, alarming things about Captain Lightower.’

Sophie looked suitably intrigued.

‘That man’s name is black enough as it is,’ she said, ‘but if there is more to tell, I would be glad to hear it.’

‘Oh, there is,’ I said, ‘much more.’

Sometime later we were high aloft, overlooking the quay and the little town.

Sophie settled her back against the rail and stretched her legs across the platform. ‘You mentioned Captain Lightower, Loblolly Boy?’

‘Mr Wicker believes him to be a Spanish agent,’ I told her, ‘and furthermore he has proof of it.’

She looked at me with astonishment. ‘Even blacker,’ she said. ‘Yet, I would not have believed this.’

‘Of a man who would burn your house down, truss you up and tie you to a pole?’ I reminded her.

‘But to spy for the Spaniards …’ said Sophie.

‘When your mother captured the
Firefly
,’ I said, ‘it was almost certainly heading for Cartagena and not Kingston. Mr Wicker had blackmailed the captain by threatening to reveal the truth.’

‘My goodness,’ said Sophie.

‘Mr Wicker says I would have probably been locked up in a Spanish dungeon or worse,’ I said.

‘So it was your good fortune my mother captured the ship,’ smiled Sophie.

‘You could say that,’ I replied. ‘Mr Wicker tells me that it was my good fortune he changed me into what you see before you.’

‘Was it not?’ asked Sophie. ‘Remember, it did save your life.’

‘Oh, I know,’ I said, ‘but it has lost me my life as well. He will never change me back. I believe that now.’

We sat in silence for some time allowing the tropic breeze to waft over us. The ship lifted and rose slightly as the sea washed against it, and that movement was pleasantly exaggerated up in our high perch.

I glanced at Sophie as she sat there, eyes closed now to keep the sun at bay. I wondered at her life and how lonely it must be. I had seen few other young people in the Cove and she had not talked of any friends. I guessed there were no brothers or sisters in her life either, and that much of it was spent on the ocean wave. I know the sailors seemed to like her — Irish Pete, Billy and the others — but they could never be boon companions.

Given this, it was little wonder she greeted me with such warmth and was so happy to talk to me.

‘What will your mother do?’ I asked.

Sophie opened her eyes. ‘Do?’

‘With Captain Lightower?’

Sophie sighed. ‘She is very angry with him. Some of the men would like to hang him from the yardarm, but she is mindful that he is a naval officer and the king’s man. To do something like that would bring about the wrath of the navy and …’

I could understand that. The Spaniards cutting off poor Captain Jenkin’s ear was sufficient of an outrage to send the whole British fleet against Portobelo and Cartagena. Hanging the captain would no doubt send Admiral Vernon directly to the Cove, which was only really tolerated I presumed because people like Jenny Blade and the other freebooters harassed and preyed on the Spanish merchantmen.

‘It is a difficulty.’

‘I think she will release the doctor. He is not to blame, really.’ She gave a wan grin. ‘He probably had no idea what he was doing anyway.’

‘But,’ I said, ‘now that we know Captain Lightower is in the pay of the Spanish?’

‘How could we prove it?’ asked Sophie reasonably. ‘You know he is a spy. Mr Wicker certainly knows he is a spy. Who else?’

‘Don Scapino,’ I said.

‘I hardly think we would be able to get that gentleman to testify before an English court martial,’ said Sophie.

I could see what she meant.

‘We need proof,’ said Sophie.

‘Mr Wicker believes he has the proof.’

Sophie looked at me. ‘He does?’

‘Don Scapino gave him a sealed letter addressed to Captain Lightower. Mr Wicker believes the letter contains his orders from his Spanish masters.’

‘Goodness,’ said Sophie. ‘If we could obtain such a letter it would blow the captain right out of the water.’ She looked at me. ‘Could we? Is it possible?’

I shook my head sadly. ‘I very much doubt it,’ I said. ‘It is in Mr Wicker’s possession and I rather understand he means to keep it as a way of continuing to control the captain. He is only interested in his own ends.’

‘So that is that,’ said Sophie disappointedly.

‘You still haven’t answered me,’ I said.

‘I’m sorry, what was the question?’ asked Sophie.

‘Captain Lightower?’

‘Oh,’ said Sophie, ‘he will be kept in the brig until my mother decides.’

‘How long will that be?’

Sophie smiled grimly. ‘Oh, when there are big decisions to be made, my mother can sometimes take forever to make up her mind.’

That afternoon, Mr Wicker, along with the one-eyed Spaniard, visited the
Medusa
. I visited, too, although of course only Mr Wicker and Sophie, who was also present, knew that.