Peter and the Starcatchers (12 page)

“Captain,” he said. “I request to be put overboard in a dory with the trunk. At once.”

Scott stared at him, his composure momentarily deserting him. “Are you
daft,
man?” he said. “You can’t outrun that ship in a dory!”

“No,” Leonard agreed. “But it would force Black Stache to make a choice. If he chooses to go after me and the trunk—and I believe he wil —then he’d turn broadside to the
Wasp.
” Leonard paused a moment. “And if your cannon were made ready and waiting…”

“…he’d be squarely in the line of fire,” said Scott. He thought about it, clearly tempted for a moment, then shook his head. “But so would you. I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t put you at risk like that. You’l stay on board.”

The two men locked eyes for five long seconds, then Aster spoke again, his voice low and urgent.

“Captain, I remind you once again that I am on a mission for the Queen, and that I speak with her authority. The trunk must not—cannot—fal into the hands of this pirate. Your men are brave, but clearly outnumbered. If the enemy boards us, we wil be defeated. My plan involves risks, but it is our only hope. On the authority of Her Majesty, I order you to have your men put me and the trunk over the side.
Immediately.
”

Scott reddened, and appeared to be on the verge of arguing. Then, slowly, he exhaled, and turned to the first mate.

“Prepare a dory to starboard,” he ordered. “Bring up Aster’s black trunk. Have the men prepare the starboard cannons.” The first mate hesitated, surprised by the unexpected orders.

“At once!” Scott said.

“Aye, Captain!” The first mate relayed the orders.

“Thank you, Captain,” Leonard said.

“Do not thank me, sir. I fear those orders are your death sentence.”

“Wel ,” said Aster, “perhaps we can lessen the danger.”

Scott answered with a questioning look.

“I believe you have an archer in your crew,” said Aster.

“I do,” said Scott.

Leonard gestured up the
Sea Devil’
s huge, bil owing double-coned sail, now looming almost overhead. “That garment appears to be made from a fine fabric,” he said. “I suspect it would burn very wel .”

Scott squinted up at it, then looked at Aster with a smal smile. “So it would,” he said. “You’ve seen battle, Mr. Aster.”

“That I have.”

Scott turned to his first mate. “Send for Jeff the archer,” he said. “He’l want his bow, and some flame.” Black Stache stood at the helm of the
Sea Devil,
watching his crew work as his ship closed on its prey. The Ladies had performed as hoped; the
Sea Devil
felt almost as if it were flying across the water. The
Wasp,
sleek and fast as she was, didn’t stand a chance.

Just wait ’til the Ladies are raised on that mast,
he thought.
Not a ship in the world will outrun her.

This pleasant thought was interrupted by Smee’s high-pitched voice.

“Cap’n, they’re getting ready to launch a dory!”

Stache snatched the spyglass and had a look. He drew a sharp breath; not only were
Wasp
crewmen getting a dory ready, but it appeared that the passenger was a man in gentleman’s clothing, and the cargo was…a black trunk!

What trickery is this?

Stache frowned, pondering the situation. Was the trunk a decoy? If he turned to pursue it, the Ladies would lose the wind and be useless—the
Wasp
would regain the advantage and quickly put water between them. But if he let the black chest escape and it proved to be the treasure…

“Cap’n, should we…”

“Out of my way!” shouted Stache, shoving Smee aside and striding quickly amidships, stopping at the cage holding the prisoner. He knelt, reached through the iron bars, grabbed the man by the coat of his now-filthy uniform, and pul ed him close, so that only the rusting cage separated their faces. The prisoner recoiled from Stache’s foul breath.

Stache shoved the spyglass into the man’s hands.

“You tel me, mate,” Stache said. “That there trunk being loaded off the
Wasp.
Is that the treasure?” The prisoner, weak with hunger and fear, trembled so badly that Stache had to support the spyglass for him.

“Black and shiny she is,” Stache said, helping him find it, “wearing a gold emblem on her sides.”

“Y—y—yes,” the man stammered. “Th—that’s it. Sir.”

Stache leaned back, appraising the man’s terrified face. “You understand, lad, if them words ain’t the truth, they’re your last on this earth?”

“I…I…” The prisoner tried to swal ow, but could not. “I swear, sir. That’s it.”

“Very wel ,” said Stache, to himself. He stood, rubbing his chin absentmindedly, wondering if…

“TROUBLE, CAP’N!” It was Smee hol ering from the upper deck, his stubby right arm pointing up.

Stache looked up.
What NOW?

And then he saw it—

The Ladies were burning.

Captain Scott patted Jeff the archer on the shoulder.

“Good work,” he said, nodding toward the
Sea Devil.
The right cup of the enormous brassiere was afire, the flames spreading quickly.

“Stand ready, son,” he said. “We’l need you again.”

The archer, a thick, bald man, nodded.

Scott looked across the ship to where Leonard Aster stood, waiting as sailors lashed the trunk inside the dory. Aster was staring at the trunk.

Scott al owed himself a moment’s speculation—
I wonder what’s in there, to be worth dying for
—then cal ed out to Aster.

“Good luck, Mr. Aster. God wil ing, we wil have you back on board within the hour.”

Aster looked over, his green eyes intense. He said nothing, answering only with the briefest of nods. He touched the gold chain around his neck, feeling for the locket, as if assuring himself that it was there. Then he climbed into the dory and gestured to the boatswain, who barked a command. Four sailors swung the dory out on its davits and lowered the little boat into the surging sea, carrying a passenger, and a cargo, that Scott was duty-bound to protect.

I had no choice,
thought Scott.
He gave me no choice.

Then he turned to the task of trying to save his ship.

Black Stache knew when to cut his losses. Scott had a reputation as a clever sailor; the burning Ladies were proof that it was justified.

“Cut loose the Ladies,” Stache ordered Smee.

“Cut them
loose,
Cap’n?” said Smee. “The
Ladies?
”

“Yes, you idjit, and NOW, before the masts and rigging catch fire,” Stache said. “Attach a mooring buoy to the starboard sheet, then cut them loose. We’l come back for them later.”

Smee relayed the commands, and the crew responded quickly. The flaming Ladies floated away from the ship like a gigantic kite, then fluttered and sank, fal ing into the sea with a loud hiss and a cloud of steam. The mooring buoy bobbed nearby, marking the spot.

No wonder he’s the captain,
thought Smee.

Stache looked ahead. With his sails gone, his ship was now fal ing behind the
Wasp.

“FULL SAILS,” he bel owed to the crew, bypassing Smee. The men scrambled to the lines, and the
Sea Devil’
s regular sails were up in seconds. Stache was counting on them to steal the
Wasp’
s wind, and he was gratified to see the fleeing ship’s sails flutter. Now he knew he could catch the
Wasp
…but should he?

Or do I go after that dory?

The little boat, with the gentleman aboard, was just ahead of the
Sea Devil
now, perhaps forty yards to starboard, close enough that Stache felt as if he could reach out and touch the trunk. He could see the gentleman watching him intently, betraying no emotion, his oars idle at his sides.

As if he wants me to come for him.

Stache knew he could easily chase the dory down by tacking to starboard, but then he would lose his advantage over the
Wasp
—or, worse, expose his broadside to her cannon fire. He could pursue the
Wasp,
but it would take time to overtake her, and more time to defeat her. By then he might not be able to find the dory again.

What to do?

Stache cursed a particularly foul curse, and splattered the deck with an angry gob of spit.

Nobody understands how hard it is, being captain.

With grudging respect, Scott saw how quickly Black Stache rid himself of the burning black sail, raised new sails, and continued the pursuit.

He’s gaining again. He’ll have us soon.

Scott pondered his options. He could turn broadside and try using his cannons, possibly taking Stache by surprise.

But he might already be close enough to board us before we can get off a shot.

He could jibe—ducking away from the
Sea Devil’
s sails—regain the wind advantage, and run for it.

But that would be leaving Aster behind.

He watched the dory, and Aster, growing smal er, now abeam of the
Sea Devil.

I can’t leave him.
He studied the
Sea Devil.

If he turns toward the dory, we will attack.

But what if the
Sea Devil
did not turn? Could he risk his ship and its entire crew to save the life of a single passenger?