Heart of Steele (15 page)

“Gracias,
Sergeant,” said Don Esteban, drawing us all back to the matter at hand. Sergeant Gonzalez actually sagged before settling into a position of rigid attention. His captain turned and smiled his blunt predator’s smile.

“I would like to propose the following plan, gentlemen. My marines will land on the islands
under the cover of darkness and take the forts. I suggest that a second party, composed of members of your inestimable crews, infiltrate Bloodhaven and set fires. As soon as the marines possess the forts, they will open fire on the ships at anchor in the harbor. The
Concepcíon,
the
Aurora,
and the redoubtable
Fury
will stand off the approaches. When the ships that the forts do not sink try to break for the sea, we shall cut them down. All will be done before the
Red Queen
returns to discover her spawn dead and drowned.”

Captain Hunter nodded solemnly as he contemplated Don Esteban’s plan. John Barrel looked likely to burst with pride over the Spanish captain’s description of his little craft as redoubtable. When first we met him, the
Fury
was trying to hold the
Concepcíon
off while two other pirate ships burned around her. John Barrel and his crew were nothing if not brave. Captain Hunter nodded one more time and also pointed at the map.

“A solid plan, Your Excellency, most well thought out. However, I have a refinement that might serve us well. Let my men make the first move, let them take and set fire to the powder
magazine your sergeant has pinpointed for us. When it goes up, it not only will take half of Bloodhaven with it, but also is sure to distract the garrisons at the forts. That will serve as your marines’ signal to attack, for the men within are going to be gaping at the destruction ashore.”

Not a word was said, but after a moment’s contemplation Don Esteban bowed his head slightly in agreement. He murmured rapidly in Spanish, and the grim Sergeant Gonzalez slowly began to smile, exposing blindingly white teeth.

I shivered. The Spanish Fury, I thought. May the Lord deliver us from it.

We all sat silent in the longboat as we rowed back to the waiting
Aurora.
I huddled next to my hulking uncle and let the full extent of what we were doing flood over me. This could be it. This could be the final showdown with the
Red Queen.

And Jack Steele.

I had actually seen the great pirate king before. Jessie and I had looked on when Steele killed a man as calmly as a normal man would kill a chicken. It was in Tortuga, when he had been masquerading as
Mr. Meade, the business manager for the man we saw him kill. I saw him again now in my mind’s eye: tall, thin, pale as parchment, and wearing a long white wig. I’d often wondered if his real hair was as white, because for the life of me I couldn’t imagine it being any other color. Still, what I remembered most were his eyes. They were a cold blue, like chips of winter ice, empty windows that opened to bleak death and destruction. Even in the smothering tropic heat I couldn’t quite suppress a shudder.

Uncle Patch must have taken it for some fear of the coming battle, for he patted me awkwardly on the shoulder. “Don’t let worry be a trouble to you, Davy,” he whispered so the others wouldn’t hear. “It’s not fear, it’s just good sense. In old Shakespeare’s play about Henry IV, fat Falstaff said the better part of valor was discretion, you know. Sure, the brave know when to run and when to stand.”

My uncle was completely wrong about what made me shudder, but he was a good man and he did try to understand. It was more than most would have done. So we sat until the great solid walls of the good old
Aurora
loomed up over us.

That night I stood once again at the
Aurora
’s railing, watching the longboats setting out again on their missions. In the distance, the
Concepcíon
did her best to blot out moon and stars, but I could just make out sleek shapes slipping away from her. They would be filled with Don Esteban’s coldly efficient marines, and I almost fancied I saw the moonlight gleam off Sergeant Gonzalez’s smile—all teeth, no humor.

I wish I could make a better show of myself, but I must admit that I was sulking. I would have sailed with our men even though I knew in my heart that for this kind of bloody work a boy was the last thing needed. And boy I was for all my work with Uncle Patch and my spying and problem solving. My thirteenth birthday was not quite two weeks away. Still, not being able to sail with the men gnawed at me and made me feel childish.

“You’re sharp to go, are ye not?” asked my uncle, who could move silent as fog when he wished.

It was no use to deny it. “Aye.”

He came to stand beside me in the darkness. “Would it do any good to say that dead doctors sew up no wounds?”

“It would not.”

He gave his peculiar creaking chuckle. “One thing I will say for ye, Davy: Of all the Sheas, you must might be the most truthful.”

I turned and looked at him, this man who was my only living relative. Captain Hunter had ordered that no lanterns were to be lit, but I could make Uncle Patch out in the darkness. He leaned there, slumped over the railing like a rumpled Irish bear.

“I saw you fight Shark,” I said suddenly. “I knew you could use a sword, for I used to watch you spar with Captain Hunter. But I didn’t know you were as good as that.”

“Not good enough to keep from being clipped from behind as if I’d just fallen off a cart from County Clare.”

“Where did you learn to fight, Uncle?”

For a short time he did not answer. Then, carelessly, he said, “’Tis a skill that lingers from my misspent youth at Trinity College in Dublin.”

“And do they teach swordsmanship in college?”

“You’d be amazed what you can learn in college, my lad.” Uncle Patch sniffed the night air and absently added, “And not all of it in a lecture hall.
Ah, we were a contentious lot in those days, and me more than most. I went out for duels at least once a month. ’Tis a wonder I’ve still got all my parts.” He paused and stared into the silent night. “Did I ever tell you that I tried to call out Gerald? That I challenged him to a duel, though nothing came of it?”

“G-Gerald?” I stammered. “My father?”

“Your father, my brother, Gerald Shea, stalwart as an oak, thick as a brick. Oh, our quarrel was a high old Irish donnybrook, so it was, with us cursing each other, and your sainted mother, pretty Kathleen Sullivan she was then, in the middle of it whaling away at the two of us with a broomstick. She was a spirited girl, Kathleen Sullivan.”

He fell silent again, and I asked, “But why did you quarrel at all?”

Uncle Patch grunted. “Oh, a vast host of reasons. I was a young wastrel squandering my talents and schooling. He was a fool and a prig for taking a commission in the army of the King of England. Mother favored him. Father favored me. The dog couldn’t decide between the two of us. But most of all …” Here his voice faded off for a moment. When he spoke again, it was no louder than a whisper.
“But most of all because sweet Kathleen Sullivan favored him over me. In the end, I stormed out of Ireland and into the navy, and never the two of them I saw again. The more fool I.”

I stood there next to him, thankful that the night hid my face. Faith, my uncle had told me more about himself and my parents in five minutes than he had in a year. I swallowed and went for more. “He was always away from home, my father. Tell me, what was he like?”

“Take a look in a mirror, David Michael Shea, and sure he’ll be looking back at you. I know he looks at me, only he does it through your sweet mother’s hazel eyes, her gift to you. Ah, bless ye, Kathleen, ye made the right choice, though it tears my heart for me to confess it.”

Then the still, hot night exploded, erupted into a column of fire that lit the sky up from sea to heaven. Moments later the sound slammed into us, seeming to squeeze the air from my lungs. Half deaf we stood there, my uncle pounding the railing with his fist.

“They’ve done it, by heaven and all the saints! They’ve done it! That was the powder magazine at Bloodhaven!”

The Trap

BEFORE THE ECHOES
of the great explosion had died away, Captain Hunter ordered the sails hoisted. Not half an hour passed before our three craft drew in close to land, and we could look in toward the harbor of Bloodhaven.

Fires raged there, rolling red and orange high into the night, and against the glare I could see the humped forms of the two fortified islands guarding the fairway. The nearer was long and smooth, and I thought of it as Hog Island, for it had the same shape as a sow half sunk in the mud. The farther one was harder to see, but it was smaller and rounder. Turtle Island, I decided,
since it was like the back of a sea turtle.

Gazing between them into the harbor, I could see the black shapes of the anchored ships stark against the flames. And across the dark water came the crackle of gunfire. Captain Hunter tacked, making for the fairway, and I glanced nervously at Hog and Turtle Islands. “I hope Don Esteban’s men have taken the forts.”

At my shoulder my uncle said softly, “If they have not, we shall soon find out in the most unpleasant way.”

Onward we glided, and suddenly the fortification atop Hog Island thundered with cannon fire. But it was not aimed at us. The guns had been hauled around to point toward the harbor, and they began to pound the shipping, the sloops and brigs that were fighting to win their anchors and put to sea.

And then the guns on Turtle Island, farther away, blazed out, but they clearly were striking at our friends on Hog Island. Don Esteban’s marines had not taken that fort, after all.

“Silence those guns!” roared Captain Hunter. To starboard, the
Concepcíon
heeled suddenly, and at once I understood that Don Esteban had the same
idea. She was closer, and her guns spoke before ours had a chance. The Turtle Island guns were now divided, some of them aiming at Hog Island, others at the
Concepcíon,
and a few at the
Aurora
as we hauled up rapidly. I could smell the sharp reek of a sizzling slow match as the gunners bent over their weapons.

Then two guns on the island went off, revealing themselves in flashes of light, and our broadside rolled from bow to stern. It was too dark to see the flight and fall of cannonballs, but all of a sudden a red explosion blossomed on the face of the night like a burning rose, and our men sent up a hearty cheer. Our fire had found something, a store of powder, perhaps, and had set it alight.

“Torches!” bawled the lookout from the masthead. “I see torches waving! Belay! Cease firing! I think our men have the island!”

Clearly they had part of it, for half the line of cannons on Turtle Island spoke no more. The
Concepcíon
delivered one last broadside at the guns firing at her, and again an explosion lit the night. Against the light, I could see at least two tumbling cannon barrels. Within moments a bonfire flamed
up on the island, and in its ruddy glare a gold-and-crimson flag ran up an improvised flagpole. It was Spanish. Don Esteban’s men held both islands now, and a few longboats sped across the harbor, taking the last of the fleeing pirate defenders from Turtle Island.

From the quarterdeck I heard Captain Hunter growl, “If only the
Red Queen
were here!”

A brig and two sloops were making for us from the harbor, but as the Hog Island cannons opened on them, the brig quickly struck her colors. Shot crashed into both sloops, taking the mast from one and sending up fountains of water alongside the second. Both of the smaller craft tried to double back, with the dismasted one being rowed by its desperate crew. In the flickering light from the burning town I could see the deck of the brig, crowded with men holding their arms in the air.

I don’t know how much time had passed since that first explosion. It seemed like nothing in one way, and in another it seemed as though the firing had been going on for hours and hours. But as we stood in toward the burning town, making slow work of it against a foul wind, I became aware that
the sky was turning gray, the sun coming up astern of the ship. The wind from shore brought us the unpleasant odors of burning wood and powder, but I had the impression that the pirates in the town must have fled, for I heard no more gunfire.