Of Noble Birth (19 page)

“Nanchu, this is Jake. I’m
afraid he needs your expertise,” Nathaniel said as the doctor
crossed to the bed. The pirate captain moved back to allow him
space, and Alexandra did likewise.

An old but wise-looking
man with a flat face and silver hair, Nanchu inspected the pupils
of the boy’s eyes while Trenton tied a strip of fabric just below
Jake’s elbow to slow the bleeding.

“Is he going to be all
right?” Nathaniel asked.

The doctor turned his
attention to the wound. “Don’t look good—”

“Get yer filthy hands
away. I don’t want no yellow bastard pokin’ at me,” Jake cried, but
he was in too much pain to put any fire into his words.

Trenton and Garth moved to
restrain him.

“What are the chances of
saving his hand?” Nathaniel asked.

“Hard to say,” Nanchu
replied. “If rot stay away, there is chance.”

The pirate captain sighed.
“Do what you can. You’ve worked miracles before.”

“I need more blankets,
must keep him warm. And please, move boy to my quarters,” the
doctor suggested. “I stitch hand.”

Nathaniel nodded as Nanchu
secured Jake’s arm to his body with some clean linen. Then Garth
and Trenton moved the boy out of the cabin, followed closely by the
doctor.

An awkward silence ensued
as Nathaniel strode to the window and peered out, leaving Alexandra
to study his back while she tried to find some sense in what had
just happened. Who was Nathaniel? A man sorely wronged, his actions
justified, or a vengeful, bloodthirsty pirate?

Trenton returned only
minutes later. “So? Are we any wiser about your father than we were
before?” he asked, ignoring Alexandra’s presence
altogether.

“Indeed.” Nathaniel spoke
without turning. “My father is selling guns to the
Russians.”

“What?” Trenton was
obviously surprised, but not half so much as Alexandra. She almost
fell from her perch on the edge of Nathaniel’s trunk. England was
at war with Russia, or very nearly.

“You’ve seen the new Minie
rifle,” Nathaniel continued. “The
Eastern
Horizon’s
hold was full of
them.”

“Bloody hell! That
explains everything: why Montague risked his life, his crew, the
duke’s ship.” Trenton shook his head in disbelief. Then his long
face broke into a smile. “But that’s good. Perhaps now the duke
will release Richard. He could hang for what we know. His title and
all his lands could be confiscated. We have the proof.”

Nathaniel didn’t return
his first mate’s smile. Alexandra could see his somber profile from
where she sat.

“Aye. It bodes well for
Richard as long as my father didn’t do anything rash when he
thought he had us back in Liverpool.”

“He’s going to be awfully
sorry if he’s hurt Richard,” Trenton exclaimed. “Except that we
wouldn’t want him to force our hand. If the crown takes his title
and lands, you’ll be as poor as the rest of us, and rightfully
so.”

A look of determination
crossed Nathaniel’s features. “He’s already forced our hand by
shipping the guns in the first place.”

Trenton’s brows rose. “But
even if you manage to establish your identity, there’ll be nothing
left to inherit.”

Nathaniel leveled his gaze
at Trenton, and Alexandra felt the full weight of his commitment.
“That doesn’t matter. I’ll not let him get away with
treason.”

Trenton didn’t speak for
several minutes. “Your father must be mad to risk so much,” he said
at last. “But what could you possibly be thinking, taking that boy
from the
Horizon?”

Before Nathaniel could
answer, quick footfalls thudded down the hall outside and a frantic
voice called through the door.

“Captain, come quick.
There’s someone chasing us.”

“What?” Nathaniel darted
across the room as Trenton opened the door.

Garth’s alarmed face
appeared in the dim rectangle of light that spilled through the
portal. “It came out of nowhere, sir, at a full press sail. Looks
like a schooner of some sort, but we can’t make out the
flag.”

Nathaniel’s gaze locked
with Trenton’s. “Bloody hell,” he swore. Then they dashed topside,
leaving Alexandra alone in the cabin with the door swinging
ajar.

The ship that pursued them
was indeed a schooner. Nathaniel could tell from his perch in the
rigging as soon as he lifted the glass to his eye. With only two
masts instead of three, it was smaller than a brig, more
maneuverable—and faster. It cut the water cleanly as it swooped
toward them, closing the distance at an alarming rate.

Who was it? Nathaniel’s
heart hammered as he tried to see the colors of the flag that
rippled from its stern. But it was; almost dusk. Wisps of fog rose
from the sea to meet low-lying clouds, shrouding the schooner as if
in smoke and making the details of the ship too difficult to
discern. As much as Nathaniel wanted to know his pursuer, he was
grateful that he had some time, however little, to try to effect an
escape. He had no friends at sea, of that he was certain. And with
a cargo hold full of stolen merchandise, he had no desire to meet
anyone who might be set on capturing him.

Shimmying down to the
deck, he crossed to Trenton, who had taken the wheel. “She’s about
five miles off our weather quarter, standing on the wind on the
same tack as we are,” he told his first mate.

“Could you make her out?”
Trenton squinted in the direction Nathaniel indicated, though with
so much ocean curving between them, Nathaniel knew he wouldn’t see
anything but water.

“No. I can’t even guess
who she might be. But the timing of her visit is highly suspect.
She likely came upon the
Horizon
and has taken it upon herself to pursue
us.”

“If that’s the case, we’re
in trouble. With so much in our hold, we’re too heavy to outrun
her.”

“Our only hope is to lose
her in this fog. All sail,” Nathaniel shouted, watching one of his
men loose the main-royal and sit on the yard while the others
hoisted him up so he could get a better look.

“She’s gaining,” the man
called down. “I think she has a drag out.”

“Hell.” Nathaniel ordered
the
Vengeance
to
tack to the west, keeping a little off from the wind to make good
way through the water. Somehow he had to get clear of
her.

The schooner seemed to
skim over the waves as it devoured the distance between them.
Though Nathaniel tried every trick he knew to escape, she gained
steadily until she was less than half a mile to the
windward.

Nathaniel could see her
clearly despite the sinking sun. She was a long, low, straight
topsail schooner, a Baltimore clipper painted black with a narrow
white streak, and looked to be about one hundred and fifty tons
burthen. Her masts were raked aft with a large main topsail, and
she carried a long thirty-two-pound swivel cannon amidships as well
as smaller guns on each side.

She raised British colors
as Nathaniel did the same, then fired a shot for the
Vengeance
to heave
to.

“The guns are ready,”
Trenton told Nathaniel. “Looks like we’re going to have to use
them.”

“If it comes to that,”
Nathaniel replied as a hail came in English from the
schooner.

“Where are ye from an’
where ye bound?”

Nathaniel peered across
the water, trying to make out the man whose voice he heard. What
motivated him? Outrage? Honor? Was he experienced? Wise?
Overzealous? He could only hope his opponent was not so smart as
his dogged pursuit had been determined.

“My arm marks me,” he
whispered to Trenton. “If they came upon the
Eastern Horizon,
they’re probably
looking for the one-armed pirate. Chances are, they haven’t been
able to see us with any more clarity than we’ve seen them, so if we
can convince this Captain Do-good that he’s got the wrong ship,
perhaps we’ve got a chance to avoid a broadside from his
cannons.”

Trenton nodded. “Shall I
act as captain then?”

“Aye.” Nathaniel moved
subtly back among his men as the question came again.

“I’m Captain Errington of
the
Voyager.
Who
are ye an’ where do ye hail from?”

“I’m Captain Taylor,”
Trenton yelled. A few snickers resounded from the crew at his
creative title, but Trenton ignored them. “What purpose do you have
in chasing us? There are pirates in the area, and as the captain of
this vessel, I’ll not be catering to the whims of such as
those.”

A pause followed as
Trenton’s words seemed to hover over the sea.

“Aye. I’ll not be blamin’
ye, that I’ll not,” Captain Errington called back. “We came upon
the
Eastern Horizon
some three ‘ours ago, an’ she a victim of the pirate bastards
who beset ‘er. We thought ye might be the very
scoundrels.”

Trenton squinted across
the distance. “On that you’re mistaken, sir. Another vessel,
the
Westwind Riser
, was likewise attacked not more than two days ago. Her
captain decried a cunning, bloodthirsty group of
cutthroats.”

“Indeed.” Another
interminable pause. “Just the same, I’ll ask ye to lower a boat an’
come alongside. An’ bring yer papers.”

Trenton cursed under his
breath. “What now?” he whispered, glancing back at
Nathaniel.

“Tell him no. You don’t
know who he is any more than he does you.”

“I’m sorry, friend,”
Trenton called back. “I’ll go to my guns before I’ll leave my crew
or my ship vulnerable to a hostile boarding. I’ve nothing but your
word that you’re not the very ones you claim to be looking for.
We’re not pirates, but we stand ready to fight, if need
be.”

Nathaniel’s muscles began
to ache with the prolonged anxiety. Would Captain Errington resort
to his guns? And if he did, could the
Royal Vengeance
best him?

“I’ll see yer papers,”
Captain Errington yelled, “or ‘ear a satisfactory explanation for
the strange signal comin’ from yer ship. If a message it be, it
makes no sense whatever.”

Signal? Nathaniel blinked
in surprise. What signal? He glanced around at his men. All were
accounted for, even Rat, who still languished in a small cubical
below.

Then his blood ran cold.
Alexandra! It could only be her. Jake was with Tiny and Nanchu, and
in his condition, he could scarce overpower the both of
them.

“What do I say?” Trenton
asked.

“Tell him we’ve a man sick
with yellow fever who’s not in his right mind—that it must be him.
The possibility of disease should make them less motivated to try
and board us. I’ll go throttle the culprit now.”

Nathaniel heard Trenton
repeat his words as he disappeared down the hatch. But he knew if
Captain Errington didn’t believe them, Alexandra might prove their
undoing at last.

* * *

Alexandra heard footsteps
pounding down the hall and nearly dropped the mirror she was using
to signal the other ship. Only rigid self-control enabled her to
keep her tenuous grasp on its hard, slippery surface. This could be
her only opportunity to escape Nathaniel and the others, adrift as
she was and completely at their mercy.

Gritting her teeth, she
continued to reflect what little sunlight remained, watching the
flashes streak across the water. But they were random and probably
meaningless. She had no knowledge of any official system of signals
and could only hope that her cry for help would be interpreted as
such—or cause enough of a stir to make the other ship take a closer
look.

Alexandra heard the door
to Nathaniel’s cabin bang open at the other end of the corridor,
and repressed a shiver. She had taken Nathaniel’s diamond-shaped
mirror to the purser’s small quarters, just in case. Now she
thanked whatever providence had guided her to do so. Whoever
searched for her would have no trouble finding her eventually, but
her new location would buy her a few more seconds at least. And
that might be all she needed.

“Please respond, please
respond,” she whispered without really knowing what she expected
the schooner to do. Would they signal back? Try to board? At that
particular moment, Alexandra didn’t care, just so long as they
helped her.

“Where are you,
dammit?”

Alexandra heard
Nathaniel’s voice as he moved closer, doors crashing open as he
made his way forward. So it was the pirate captain himself who came
after her, she realized with mild surprise, wondering what was
happening on deck without him. She wished the voices that called
above were more than a low rumble, but they were barely audible
above the creaking of the berths and the slapping of the waves
against the ship.

She stared across the
water.
Do
they
see
me?
Will they
help?

The door to the purser’s
quarters banged against the inside wall, and Alexandra screamed and
dropped the mirror.