The Time Pirate (11 page)

In the midst of fierce hand-to-hand fighting on deck, Blood had lost his right hand to an English sword, too, but considered it no loss. He'd replaced it with a solid gold hook mounted on his stump, studded with rubies and diamonds. He kept that hook sharpened to a razor's edge and found in battle he much preferred a sharp hook to five measly fingers.

He looked forward to the day when he could use his hook to good effect on the very man who'd severed his hand, a rich English aristocrat named Hawke. And that devil of a boy who'd absconded with the second golden orb, the mate to Bill's cherished Tempus Machina. The boy was a wily young creature named Nicholas McIver. But Blood would deal with Hawke and the boy, too, soon enough and reclaim the second golden orb for its rightful owner, namely himself.

Once he and he alone had the world's only two time machines in his possession, he need fear no man ever again! Racing back and forth through time and space, no one could catch him, no one could
find
him! In time, the crafty pirate believed, it was his destiny to rule the world. If he could manage to lure the boy to him, the whole world was within his reach.

William Blood was a giant of a man, with flashing black eyes and a full dark beard plaited with tiny silver skulls that chimed like bells whenever he shook his head. Jutting from his mouth, a long pipe fashioned from bone, a human bone, so rumor had it. He wore a long black cape and fancy pantaloons stuffed into his highly polished Hessian boots.

Despite the loss of his French command and his good right hand, he'd at least escaped
Mystère
with his own precious Tempus Machina, that beautiful golden orb that allowed a man to roam through time itself! He had first gone to Paris to beseech the emperor to provide him with another
ship to avenge his honor against the English. But Napoleon had received accounts of the action from French officers who'd witnessed Blood's lackadaisical behavior whilst in command of the
Mystère
. And so William Blood had been personally excoriated and humiliated in Paris by Napoleon himself. A French court-martial expelled him from France for eternity.

Rumor was that the enraged Emperor of France had put a price on his head as well. He'd escaped entrapment by the French Navy twice, once in Madagascar and the second time, by the skin of his teeth, in Napoli.

Now that he was wanted dead or alive by at least two countries, England and France, he'd opted for the life of a pirate and found it much more to his liking than the lot of a naval officer serving under either Nelson or, later, Napoleon. No more was Blood beholden to emperors, admirals, and sea lords with more fancy medals than guts or brains. No. He was sole lord and master of his fate, and he alone would conquer them all or die trying.

Billy had scoured the West Indies, Bahamas, and the entire Caribbean for a suitable replacement for
Mystère
. Earlier that spring, spying the huge British warship
Revenge,
lying at anchor one dark night in Nassau Town, he had planned a surprise predawn raid. He had seized the great English frigate in a brief but bloody battle. The limey sailors had been outnumbered two to one by Blood's pirate crew, and now Old Bill had a fine warship of 74 guns beneath his feet.

Snake Eye, perhaps the only man on earth Bill could trust at this point, had been made Blood's second-in-command aboard the
Revenge.
The crew had reacted in shock that such a loathsome-looking creature held their fate in his hands. But they would learn about Snake Eye in the months to come.
He was as fearless in battle as any man Bill had ever witnessed, a seaman to his very bones, and his grotesque tattooed visage struck fear deep in the heart of every man who laid eyes on him, friend and foe alike.

Snake Eye was smart enough to realize quickly that a happy crew was a highly desirable state of affairs for a man suddenly placed in charge of a huge pirate ship. Especially so cantankerous and bloodthirsty a lot as his own. Thus, he tripled their rum rations, doubled their fair share of any prizes or booty taken on the high seas, and guaranteed one week of shore leave for every month at sea.

This unheard-of generosity instantly won him the hearts and minds of every man aboard
Revenge.
And it allowed Snake Eye a more peaceful sleep of a night, with less fear of a dagger in the heart before morning.

“How many ships? How many ships?” the large red parrot perched on Old Bill's shoulder squawked. His name was Bones, and he was nigh on three hundred years old. Bones was Blood's personal winged spy, and a damn good one he was, too.

“Shut up, buzzard. I can't think straight with you screeching in me bloody ears.”

“Counted twenty-two, so far,
mon capitaine
,” Snake Eye allowed, trying to be agreeable by subtly enlarging the number.

“O'er that way now, and row with a will, damn yer eyes,” Billy said, pointing at a black brig moored alongside the town dock. “I think that there may be the
Pearl
, Edward England's brigantine. If she's here, maybe more ships are on their way. He's got a following, you know, down in Dominique.”

Snake Eye grunted agreement and took a swig of rum, shipping one oar briefly to drink and then plunging both oars into the silvery water, pulling hard for the
Pearl
, her fore and aft nightlights burning, her stern windows blazing with light.

The crew of
Revenge
, a man-o'-war of 360 tons, carrying nearly two hundred men, had spent the last month sailing all over the Caribbean posting broadsheets advertising the war council the Brethren of the Coast would be holding here in Port Royal this month.

Blood had spent many months planning this momentous event, and he wanted every man and outlaw ship he could lay his hands on. At least a hundred would be needed to accomplish what he had in mind. This paltry lot in the harbor would not do. He'd need a new plan if he was to achieve his goal, and the wheels of his mind started turning immediately as he stared at the hypnotic splashing of Snake Eye's oars.

What Billy had in mind was to make waves. To write his name in blood across the seas and into the history books. How? Why, he meant to build the greatest pirate armada of all time. He meant to claim the world's riches for himself. And, in the doing, inflict a reign of terror on all and sundry who had ever humiliated or betrayed him. There was no shortage of names on that list.

His plan was nothing less than to destroy his two sworn enemies, the French and the English, with a series of bold attacks, breathtaking in their audacity and scope. Then he'd loot their undefended coastal towns at will, confiscating what he wanted. And after that, the world was his for the taking.

“Lay alongside him,” Blood told his companion as they neared the stern of the
Pearl
. The man did as he was told and shipped his oars, his gunwale bumping up against the port-side hull of the infamous pirate Edward England's brig.

Bill stood in his captain's gig, a little unsteady on his pins, as he'd had a few tots of rum himself, and shouted upward, “Ahoy! Is that dog Edward England aboard?”

A crewman standing the port watch leaned over the rail. “Who wants to know?”

“Tell him it's Blood. Just made anchor. Say I'll meet him at the Black Crow in one hour.”

The pirate captain drew one of his two pistols. He didn't like the man's tone. And if the man above didn't mind his manners, Blood planned to put a ball through his tiny brain.

“Captain William Blood himself, is it?”

“Aye, that's who ye've the pleasure of addressing in such disrespectful manner, you bleedin' dog.”

There was new respect in the crewman's voice now. Billy Blood was notorious throughout the Caribbean and the Spanish Main as a cutthroat with uncommon devil-like powers. A ghostly figure, he was. It was even rumored he'd appeared in three or four places at the same time, shimmering in and out like some kind of banshee. He'd be spied in Barbados, and a day later someone would see him in Barcelona!

“Aye, Captain, my sincere apologies. I'll convey your invitation forthwith,” the crewman said, not taking any chances, and raced up to the poop deck.

“Away,” Billy said to Snake Eye. “I want to get there first. The dock by the old Black Crow is just over there. Make haste and I'll finance another jug o' poison and that jolly wench for you.”

Snake Eye bent to the oars with a will, and minutes later they'd tied up the gig and were walking through the Black Crow's door. Bill smiled and drew a sharp breath. He was home. He'd taken over the top two floors of the Black Crow Inn as his temporary headquarters.

The four-story building wasn't much to look at, but it was strategically located at the center of the crescent-shaped
harbor. From his top-floor veranda, he could look far out to sea for approaching vessels. And with his powerful spyglass, he could watch every move a man made aboard any ship in the Port Royal harbor.

Of course the Black Crow's saloon stank of rank sweat, stale beer, and the sour smell of spilt rum. And at this hour of the night, the intoxicated room was near pandemonium. Indeed, the riotous nature of the place Captain Blood now encountered before him reminded him of a painful scene from his youth.

There was an infamous hospital at Moorfields, just outside London Town, place called Bethlam, or “Bedlam” in the common parlance, where Bill had gone to say his farewells to his poor father when he'd first joined the Royal Navy. Bedlam was where they incarcerated those personages found guilty of incurable “moral insanity.” On any Tuesday, for a penny, anyone at all could go and peer into the cells and see the “lunatics,” laugh at their antics, generally of a violent or unspeakable nature. Visitors were allowed to bring long sticks with which to provoke or enrage the inmates.

Young William Blood's final farewell to his father was a famous one. Seeing a peasant repeatedly poking his own father in his one good eye with a long spindly stick, he had approached the man from behind, warned him to drop his stick, and, when he didn't, had wrapped his left arm around the man's chest and without further ado grabbed him under the chin with his right hand and ripped the beggar's head right off his shoulders. Gave it a good kick that sent it soaring over the heads of the laughing peasants.

There was a trial at the Old Bailey, a lengthy one to the
delight of the newspapers, but in the end the justices sided with the aristocratic young William Blood, a man with, according to an admiral's testimony, a brilliant future with the Royal Navy.

The two pirates stepped from the street inside the doorway of the Black Crow. At a nod from Blood, Snake Eye pushed and shoved his way through the tumultuous crowd of pirates, privateers, various scalawags, and hangers-on. When he reached the center of the room, Snake Eye leaped atop a trestle table, pulled two flintlock pistols from the bandoliers strapped across his bare chest, and fired them into the ceiling.

Chunks of plaster fell all around him, one piece sufficiently heavy to knock an already insensible pirate unconscious.

“
Mes amis
, silence, if you please,” Snake Eye said. “My esteemed commander, famous throughout the world for his bravery and the size of his treasury, has summoned you here tonight because he would like a word. His name is familiar,
mais certainement! Monsieur le capitaine
William Blood!”

A drunken roar went up from the crowd at the sound of that name, for Billy was much esteemed in this part of the world. As he made his way to the table where Snake Eye stood, the crowd parted magically, and many an old crewman stepped forward to pay his respects.

A chant started with a single sailor screaming, “Blood! Blood! Blood!” and soon every voice joined in the cacophony, three hundred dastardly pirates, shouting Old Bill's name to the very rafters.

Bill leaped up onto the table, drew his sword from the scabbard, and raised it into the air, the silver skulls braided into his full beard tinkling like tiny bells.

“This be an historic night by any measure,” he began, turning as he spoke so all could have a good look at him. “For when the history books of the future are scribbled down, they will tell of the greatest pirate armada ever assembled. And it will be you men here tonight, you brave and hearty souls, that history itself will be telling about. And those words will be written in blood!”