Ill Wind and Dead Reckoning: Caribbean Pirate Adventure (Valkyrie) (13 page)

‘Thank you, Klara,’ I gasped as I stumbled again and grabbed hold of her. When I’d ventured into Eckerstad in the past, I’d been with my husband, and we’d stuck to the large, rich streets. I’d never visited sailortown before, and was struggling to negotiate the narrow, dirty alleyways littered with loose cobblestones and piled high with casks of God alone knew what. We both had handkerchiefs tied around our mouths and noses – ostensibly to reduce the stench of rotten meat, piss and vomit, but they were essential to hide our faces.

We tiptoed around a rum-soaked sailor lying face down in the filth, and kept going. I guessed we were almost parallel with the wharf now, but we had to stick to these back alleys as long as possible. Once we ventured on to the waterfront we’d have nowhere to hide, and I’d still not worked out how to get aboard a ship.

‘You! Stop there!’

Both of us froze, glanced at each other, then ran. I couldn’t see anybody, but the shout had come from behind us. Klara pulled me into a small, dank, stinking alley, then another and another. I lost my sense of where the water lay, but for the moment my only concern was to escape detection. We crouched behind a pile of empty rotting casks and strakes, and tried to control our breathing. I glanced into Klara’s wide staring eyes, and knew I looked just as frightened.

‘They must be here somewhere,’ I heard Erik shout. He sounded furious – as angry as I’d ever heard him. I shuddered and grabbed Klara’s hand for reassurance. His voice faded. He’d gone the wrong way.

*

‘We have to move, or those ships may sail,’ I whispered after half an hour of silence. ‘We have to risk it.’

Klara nodded. ‘Just be careful, we’re so close.’

I took a deep breath and stood up, my cramped muscles complaining, my dagger in my right hand.

‘It’s fine, there’s no one here, come on, we have to do this.’

We stayed close to the walls, and slowly made our way back out of the labyrinth. I grabbed Klara’s arm; the shadows ahead had moved.
Erik? Or Sharpe?

Two men stepped out in front of us, flintlocks draped around their necks and cutlasses drawn. I looked at the dagger in my hand and realized we didn’t have a chance – even if we’d had any experience of fighting with blades. They came closer. I glanced at Klara; she’d come to the same conclusion.

I could see their features now in the early morning light and didn’t recognize them, but that didn’t mean anything – I only knew a few of Hornigold’s crew. But these men were definitely sailors – it was obvious from their broad shoulders and rolling walk. Closer. I could see the grins on their faces now. They thought they had us. But did they know who we were? We wore hats, kerchiefs over our faces, loose shirts, breeches and boots. I had a sudden flash of hope. They
didn’t
know who we were!

‘Follow my lead,’ I whispered to Klara. ‘We can still get out of this!’

I let them get closer, but I wasn’t scared any more – I had a plan. I needed them close, but not quite close enough to be able to touch or cut us. A little closer.

‘Now!’

I grabbed my shirt and pulled it up. Klara, bless her, did the same just a fraction of a second later. I’d been right; they hadn’t known who we were, they’d assumed us men.

‘Run!’

We’d gone before they recovered their wits, and instead of pursuit, all I heard was laughter.

*

Our own, slightly hysterical, laughter died away as we burst into the open space of the waterfront. We waited and watched from the shadows for a while. It was busy on the water, and I realized two of the ships were getting ready to sail. We didn’t have much time.

I looked up the wharf. There were a lot of small craft lading up and rowing or sailing out to the ships with last minute stores. I ran towards one of the larger wherries, knowing Klara would be right behind me, and grabbed a sack of grain, staggering under its weight. I got it on to my shoulder, somehow, and walked on to the boat. Just in time.

‘Cast off.’

I breathed a sigh of relief and sat down with Klara, heads bowed so the crew wouldn’t realize they didn’t know us.

‘You – there’s no time to sit, I don’t care how much rum you squandered last night. Cast off I said!’

I looked up sharply; the captain was talking to
me
. I jumped up and moved to the bow and the rope that still tethered us to the wharf, but stopped when I realized who was standing in front of me. One of the men from the alley! He grinned at me, bent, untied the rope from the iron ring and threw it towards me, then doffed his hat, turned and left, still with that mocking smile on his face. I glanced at Klara, then coiled the rope as best I could and re-joined her as the breeze caught the newly hoisted sail and we headed out into the harbour. I watched Eckerstad fall behind, wondering where Erik was.
How many of the men I took for wharfmen are actually his, looking for us?
No matter, we were on the water. I turned and looked ahead.

*

Oh no. Oh no
. We were heading directly for Hornigold’s ship.
No!
After everything we’d done, we were going to be delivered right to my husband’s men. I looked at Klara in despair. We’d have to jump overboard and swim. I stared at the filthy water, full of the debris of sailors at anchor: rotting food and worse – much worse. There was nothing for it; we couldn’t board Hornigold’s ship. I looked towards the other ships; the larger was closest to us. Despite our tiredness, we could make it. They were still loading supplies and had netting slung over their bulwarks, we could get aboard. I steeled myself for the jump.

‘Ready about!’

What? We were turning – tacking. Oh, thank God, we were sailing towards the large ship. No swimming. I was ready to cry in relief. I couldn’t take much more of this.

‘How are we going to get aboard? How can we hide, Gabriella? What are we going to do now?’

I took a deep breath and willed my eyes to stay dry. I didn’t quite trust myself to speak, but I had a hold of myself again. I smiled at Klara in what I hoped was reassurance. It was the only answer to her questions I could manage.

*

‘Up you go, lads, we’ll haul the stuff up, then you help the crew stow it, they’re a bit shorthanded.’

We bumped against the side of the ship, and I caught hold of the cargo net and started to climb.

‘Get a move on, we haven’t got all day.’

I tried to speed up, but it was difficult. It was hard to get a foothold on the thin rope, and I scraped my knuckles every time I moved my hands up the hull. I looked down, Klara wasn’t doing much better, but we were nearly there. Luckily, most of the crew’s attention was taken up by the cargo being hoisted aboard, and the only notice I received when I finally clambered on to deck was a shout to carry the sacks to the mainhatch. I helped Klara over the rail, we grabbed a sack each and staggered in the direction the man had pointed. We left our loads with the ones already piled high and slipped down the open hatch. I glanced around before I stepped on to the ladder, but everyone was busy; not only bringing the stores aboard, but hoisting yards and sails. Nobody had eyes for anything except what they were doing.

Below decks was dark, and stank worse than the alleyways earlier, but we were nearly safe. We paused at the bottom of the ladder to give our eyes a chance to see, and to make sense of the noises. There was the expected sound of water against the hull, the creak of wood and rope – even down here – but a low groaning underlay it all. I heard Klara’s sharp intake of breath and realized: we were aboard a slaver. The smell should have given it away. My eyes slowly got used to the gloom and I saw we were in a large hold, full to bursting with people, all in various states of distress.

‘The men will be further forward,’ Klara whispered, and I realized I could only see women. There were basic bunks against each bulkhead – shelves really – with two women shackled together on each. The people in the lower bunks had no room to sit up. More women were shackled in pairs in the centre of the hold, and I started to walk through them, careful of where I put my feet, trying to find deck space. Even at anchor, the floor didn’t stay still, and it wasn’t an easy undertaking: I trod on more than one limb and fell twice. But we had to find somewhere to hide. There
had
to be a gap we could squeeze into. There
had
to be some space for us.

There – bare planking by the large shittenpot. We sat down on the filthy deck, and I wondered how long it would be before I vomited. The air was heavy with the smell of fear and so many unwashed human bodies as well as the pot, and the journey hadn’t begun yet. I felt Klara’s arms around me as she shook – in exhaustion, fear or misery, I didn’t know. I looked around me. What would these women do if they knew I was married to the man who had stolen them?

Then a new sound; a rhythmic tramping, and the ship lurched. The anchor was being hauled up. There was no going back now.

I swung into the ratlins and started my climb up the knotted ladder of rope to the tops, my body moving with the rhythm of the ship as she rolled through the small swell. At last, after six months away, we were nearly home. It was a perfect Caribbean day – bright sun, with a gentle breeze to take the burn off the heat and push us onward.

After the destruction of Panama City, Magdalena’s parents had found us and given me a home. We’d moved to Porto Belo where Luis now concentrated his business affairs, and he’d welcomed me into his family. I really would be part of the family soon – Magdalena and I were to be married on my return, and I would also be a full partner in the family business – trading cacao, indigo and coffee between New Spain and Old. My next voyage would be as Ship’s Master.

I would soon have everything I wanted – my childhood friend as my bride, a ship of my own and, in time, a family.

*

I reached the maintop – a square, wooden platform forty feet above the deck – and leaned back against the mast with the wind on my cheek and sun on my face. I squinted ahead, trying to be the first to spot land. Nothing, just blue and sun as far as I could see in every direction. I usually loved the isolation of a ship at sea, but now it felt lonely. I’d had enough of the men with whom I shared this floating island; enough of the vast empty space surrounding us; I wanted people again. People and bustle and smells other than unwashed sailor, salt and tar. I wanted to hear women’s laughter, costermongers shouting their wares, and heated discussions that didn’t concern wood, canvas or hemp.

But I knew it wouldn’t be long before I craved the sounds of life at sea – waves lapping against wood, tarred lines creaking through blocks, and wind whistling through taut rigging. Not to mention the chanting of men working together, heaving on rope, and sailing this wondrous beast across the known world and beyond.

There! Cloud on the horizon!

‘Land oh!’ I cried, loud enough to be heard on deck below. I smiled at the rush of men to ratlin and foredeck to see for themselves. It was just a greyish smudge at the moment, but five years at sea told me it was what I was looking for, and it would soon take on the shape and colour of the Spanish Main. Home. Magdalena.

*

I still hadn’t seen another ship, and didn’t like it. Something was wrong. Porto Belo was a busy port on the northern coast of Panama – there should be ships both putting in and putting off out to sea.
Where are they?
I told myself there was nothing to worry about; there’d be a simple explanation. But I think I knew.

I climbed down and sent up the boy, Alonso, as lookout, then went aft to the quarterdeck and Capitán Valdez.

‘It’s too quiet,’ I said, ‘where’s all the shipping?’

He nodded, he’d realized the absence too. ‘Get the guns ready,’ he said, ‘but do it quietly; I don’t want to worry the men unnecessarily.’

‘Sí, Capitán,’ I replied, and went forward to speak to Lopez and Rafael.

We were a merchantman and not heavily armed, but these waters were infested with pirates of every nationality, and we’d had to defend ourselves before. We all knew it was a part of life at sea, but none of us relished the prospect of a meeting with any one of them.

Lopez and Rafael went below to start shifting cargo. We had four cannon, but they were stowed to make room for goods – we were loaded with brandy, cloth and other home comforts from Spain. We’d have to bring some of it topside to make space to rig the guns and give them room enough to fire. Above deck we had two smaller rail guns, and while they were always in position, their powder and ball were below. I wouldn’t start bringing that up, in full view, until we had a better idea of what lay ahead.

I went aft again to the captain.

‘Smoke,’ he said, nodding his head forward.

I looked and realized he was right – it wasn’t cloud hanging over Porto Belo, but smoke. It had been sacked – again. It was likely that pirates were nearby.

‘Ready the guns,’ he shouted, and everybody stopped what they were doing and looked aft at us, then forward towards Porto Belo. They were professionals though, and the starboard watch immediately went below to the magazine to bring up muskets, pistols and ammunition. The rest of the men coiled down sheets and braces to keep all the rope out of the way, and packed bolts of cloth that had once been cargo against the bulwarks to try and afford some protection against splinters if we were caught in a fight.

Porto Belo was one of the Spanish Main’s treasure ports, loading up the bi-annual treasure fleet with silver from the mountain at Potosi, and had been raided again and again over the years, primarily by Englander and Frank. In times of war, the raiders were privateers, in times of peace they were pirates – or buccaneers as the Englanders styled themselves. In reality they were the same men, committing the same deeds, just with or without a letter of marque as license from their King; it didn’t seem to matter to them either way. And now they’d done it again, even though Spain and England had signed a peace treaty thirteen years before. I wondered if they’d missed the silver fleet – it should have sailed over a month ago to avoid the Carib hurricane season, but things rarely went to plan in the New World.

I raised my telescope – the one thing I had in memory of Papá – and looked at the harbour. The pirates were long gone. A lot of ships were sinking, but some were already on the bottom, only their topmasts visible above the waves. We’d have to take care on our approach to anchor, and I glanced up at Alonso on the maintop. It was only his second voyage and I hoped his eyes and wits were up to it.

I looked back at the waterfront. It had taken a pounding – most of the warehouses had been shattered by cannonball, including the one belonging to Luis. Panic gripped me and I found it hard to breathe.
Please don’t let me have lost them too. Please don’t let me have lost Magdalena.

I glanced up at the sails –
where’s the wind?
I need more wind!
I needed to know, but there was nothing I could do to get ashore any quicker.

*

‘
Let go anchor!
’

Finally. I made sure I was in the first longboat with Capitán Valdez – even though as first mate my duty should have been aboard the ship. But it was Luis’ ship, and, for the first time, I used my family connection to get my own way. I had to know.

The pull ashore was intolerable; the water littered with debris of every description, including human. It already had the stench of a graveyard in the hot sun. I could hardly bear to think about what I would find ashore.

At long last, I stepped on to terra firma and tied the boat off, then straightened up and looked about me. The brick buildings were all in a state of collapse and fire had ravaged the wooden. There was nothing left.

‘Leo!’

I started at the shout and turned.

‘Luis!’

I hurried towards him.
They’re alive!

‘Gracias a Dios! Thank God you’re well!’

‘Sí, I and Marisol were inland, we missed the raid.’

‘And Magdalena?’

He looked at me, but said nothing.

‘Luis, what of Magdalena? Is she well? Where is she?’

He shook his head. ‘Leo, I’m sorry, she’s gone. They took her.’

‘Then we have to go after her!’

‘Leo, no. You know what the buccaneers do to the women they take. She’s dead or soon will be. There’s nothing we can do. She’s gone.’ He was in tears.

I clenched my teeth and fists equally hard, but he was right. They’d take their pleasure and toss her overboard; we could do nothing for her.

‘Who?’ I asked.

‘Tarr. It was the Englander, Tarr.’

Tarr, Blake and Hornigold. Again. The same men who had killed Mamá. I’d been unable to do anything to stop them then. I could do nothing for Magdalena now.