Voyage of Plunder (19 page)

I hesitated before standing and selecting a pair. “Thanks. That's all I need.”

He shrugged as if it made no difference to him and placed the rest back in the drawer and closed it, his back turned toward me.

I stood awkwardly with my one pair of stockings, knowing I should leave.

Words rushed to my mouth.
I wish you would have told me earlier. Don't you see how everything has changed? Are you truly my father? Did you know my mother still loved you, even after what you had done?
But instead of speaking, I stared at a frayed hole in the elbow of his sleeve, at his rigid shoulders, at his dagger sheathed at the small of his back.

The silence deepened until I could stand it no more.

I turned and walked through the open doorway into the sunshine, blinking from the brightness.

Josiah said, “Daniel—”

My heart skipped. “Yes?”

But to my disappointment, all he said was, “Don't forget your Bible.” He was standing in the darkness of the cabin, holding out the book, his eyes masked. “You left it on the bed.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

I took the Bible and left.

Off the coast of Saint Mary's, a longboat filled with twenty men approached, single sail white against the turquoise-blue waters. We neared the bottleneck harbor where we had careened our ship and taken on provisions last spring, near where my treasure was buried. We did not know who the people in the longboat were, but we hove to and waited alongside the
Defiance
and the
Sweet Jamaica.

It was early November, and we were all anxious to make landfall, for it had been seven months since we'd left Saint Mary's, the only landfall since then being the rock-strewn, oven-baked, waterless island in the Red Sea.

I was especially anxious, for I could scarce wait to fetch my treasure.

Once within hailing distance, one of the longboat's men stood and shouted, “Where are you from?”

To which Josiah replied, “From the sea,” the universal code of the brotherhood.

“Likewise!”

Soon they were aboard, introducing themselves all around, asking for food and drink, of which we had plenty having forcibly acquired much of it from the ships of the pilgrim fleet, in addition to all manner of sailing gear and essentials.

When they were finally seated about the mainmast, wooden bowls in hand, Josiah asked them their business.

“Come to warn you,” said the leader, his mouth filled with stew. “Don't enter the harbor.”

“And why not?” asked Josiah.

The leader, whose name was Curly George, chewed and swallowed noisily. “Malagasy rose up and murdered a bunch of pirates. Slit their throats, quiet as you please. We only just managed to get away. But our boat's leaky as a sieve, eaten by worm. So we've been stuck here, unable to sail more than here and there.”

News of the rebellion caused a murmur to ripple through the pirates, pressed about the new men like moths gathered about a lantern.

“Why did the Malagasy rebel?” asked Josiah.

Curly George gulped his wine, wiped his face on his hairy arm, and belched. “Merchant vessels arrive all the time laden with goods for the pirates. The vessels always leave with a cargo of slaves. African slaves mostly, captured by the Malagasy for trade. It's a handy arrangement all the way around.”

“So what happened?”

“Well, this time there weren't enough slaves, so the fellow in the fort got greedy and tricked a bunch of Malagasy into coming aboard the merchant vessel. Clapped 'em in irons, and that was that—they was slaves. 'Course, that didn't hold too well with the rest of the Malagasy. Pirates had always treated them fair. Partners in trade and marriage and all of that. Anyway, Saint Mary's is too hot to handle right now, and my boys and I need safe passage. We'll be glad to join your fine crew if you can spare the room.”

Of course there was a general hubbub, men murmuring among one another, some cursing their rotten luck. A general council was called. With the raising of the green silk flag, the crews from the two other ships came aboard the
Tempest Galley.

“Sail into the harbor anyway,” some said. “Blow the Malagasy to hell.”

“Even if we do blow the Malagasy to hell,” others said, “there will be no provisions with which to resupply. We must find another anchorage.”

It was debated, argued, debated, and finally voted upon.

The men of the
Sweet Jamaica
and the
Defiance
would take their share of the treasure and head to Cochin, India, off again on their own account, fencing their goods to eager Indian merchants and then heading back to the Red Sea for another year of plunder. They hadn't earned as much as the men aboard the
Tempest Galley
and wouldn't quit until they were satisfied.

Those aboard the
Tempest Galley,
plus the new men, would sail nine hundred miles to Saint Augustine's Bay on the western side of Madagascar, where the natives were friendly to pirates, where we could careen our ship and resupply in preparation for the long voyage to the colonies.

Leaving my treasure behind.

he
days were long and brutally hot, and I'd lost my desire for swordplay I missed Timothy miscreant though he was. I missed my father, my mother. I missed Boston.

I had decided. I would
not
see Josiah hang, seeing as he was my natural father. Such a decision, hard-wrought and wrested after many sleepless nights, gave me enormous relief, as if I'd thrown off a millstone that had been crushing me with its weight.

I tried to tell Josiah this one day, to tell him that I had come to a decision. I hesitated before rapping on his cabin door, and when he said, “Come!” I entered. He was sitting at his desk, studying his charts. “Yes?” he said, only glancing up briefly

Again, the familiar awkwardness stood
between us, so thick now I could have stabbed it with my dagger. “I've come to tell you that I've decided not to seek justice concerning my father. I—I no longer wish to see you hang.”

For a long time he said nothing, making notations upon a chart, his face expressionless. I heard the creak of his chair, a burst of drunken laughter overhead, the squawk of a chicken. “Is that all?”

A heaviness settled in my chest, raw and aching. “Aye.” And when he continued studying his charts, seeming to take no notice of me, I left.
Does he no longer care for me?
I wondered that night as I lay in my hammock.
Or did he only pretend to care so that I would absolve him of his guilt?

We no longer talked to each other, Josiah and I. I scarce looked his way whenever he came around, the awkwardness continuing to grow until it seemed as impenetrable as brick. For his part, he kept aloof from both me and the crew—a lone figure on the poop deck, taking the noon sighting, or fetching his food from Abe. And other than to order a sail loosed or reefed or to call out a new course, he hardly uttered a word.

Upon leaving Saint Augustine's Bay come the new year, the
Tempest Galley
clean once again and filled with fresh water and foodstuffs, half the crew became ill with jungle fever. It was a nasty fever, liquefying the bowels so that at any one time, at least a dozen men perched on the bowsprit, groaning, relieving themselves with a sickening stench into the waters below. Even Josiah was hit with the fever, and it was an odd thing to see my proud captain father aching and groaning along with the rest of them.

As for me, I moved my bedding amidships, between two cannon, away from the stench. I had remained surprisingly healthy, helping the others occasionally by giving them water, feeding those who were too weak to do so themselves. Of course I took
on more than my fair share of ship's duties, but now I was eager to be home and did it of necessity.

By the time the
Tempest Galley
rounded the Cape of Good Hope, heading into the Atlantic, the fever finished wreaking its havoc. Thirty-six men had perished, including Will Putt. We saw several merchant ships but forbore attacking them, as we were too weak to manage it.

My bandages had come off long ago. My upper arm was fine, the skin pink and puckered around the old bullet wound. And though my hand was mutilated, I'd learned to use it well and had lost but little strength. The scar on my forehead was about two inches long, indented as though I'd been chopped with a hatchet. But, like the other wounds, it had healed cleanly. I silently thanked the Indian woman, knowing she had done me a great service. She had had no reason to help me—her ship was being plundered even as she ministered to my wounds. Such kindness touched me deeply.

May your life be filled with goodness and charity,
my mother had written.

It made me wonder.

I had decided that once I arrived in the colonies, I would find Faith and care for her and her child, as I had originally promised. It was my last act of love for the man who had loved me as his son. This, not vengeance, would be my debt to my father. I had also decided that I was finished with this life at sea, this life of ill-adventure. Though my natural father was a pirate,
I
was
not
a pirate, nor would I ever be. I only wanted home. Especially since it was clear that, following his confession, Josiah no longer cared for me.

In anticipation of arriving at the colonies, I exchanged a ruby for a long, heavy coat. Basil thought me crazy, as coats weren't
worth as much as rubies. Come evenings, I sat between the two cannon with a needle and thread. I detached the coat's lining and sewed in a layer of coins and jewel-filled bags—my share of the booty Strange coins printed with strange letterings—gold, silver, big, little, square, round, stamped with crowns, heads of kings and emperors. I had used most of my coins to purchase more jewels, as jewels were easier to conceal and not as heavy.

One evening at twilight, Basil came and sat astride one of the cannon. “Ah,” he said, “I see you're planning for the future. Anyone with half an eye can tell you're a smart lad. How old are you now? Sixteen?”

I nodded and tied off a knot, biting the thread with my teeth.

Basil waited for a while, then sighed. “May as well get straight to the point, seeing as you're not in a talkative mood. Josiah told me that he told ye all about it.”

“He
what
?”

“Now, don't be getting all stirred up. I'm just saying that I know that ye know, that's all.” He peered around secretively. “And don't ye be worrying yourself at all about anyone else knowing, because I can keep my lips shut. Ye can attest to that.”

I threaded my needle, wondering what it was he had come to tell me.

“Daniel—I don't know how to say this … oh, bloody fire, I might as well just come out and say it. Your father loves ye. There. I've said it.”

I picked up an emerald, examining it in the twilight.

Basil coughed into his hand and continued. “What happened to him long ago wasn't fair. It wasn't his fault that the woman he loved and his only son were taken from him and given to someone else. And if the governor had had his way, Josiah would have been tried for piracy and hanged like a chicken. He was in a bad
spot and didn't have any choice about matters. A lesser man would have given up and let himself be hanged, but not Josiah. He found a way to be near ye in spite of all that had happened.”

Basil paused before adding, “You're more like him than ye think ye are, lad.”

I said nothing, stabbing the coat with my needle, angry at myself when tears stung my eyes.
We are nothing alike! Nothing! I do not murder my friends!

“Well, if you're thinking about that other bit, I have something to say about that too, I do. Dispatching your foster father was a nasty piece of work there, no doubt about it. But it was a matter of honor, and it had to be done. Don't ye see, Daniel? Your father stabbed us in the back after we had treated him with nothing but honor and friendship. He brought it upon himself.”

I had known for a long time that my merchant father was no saint, as Timothy had once said. I had indeed “smelled the stink.” But I loved him nonetheless.

After enduring my silence for a while longer, Basil patted my shoulder and left. The night closed around me, and I could scarce see the coins anymore, or the small silk packets of jewels. I gazed at the sky, seeing the first star of the night appear.