Raised By Wolves 1 - Brethren (70 page)

Once we reached the house, Rachel informed us that the rest of them had gone looking for us. With a sigh, we deposited the new chest in our room and went in search of our friends. We found them at Theodore’s. Pete was outside, talking to several men I did not know.

Striker was inside, talking with Bradley and Theodore. He saw me at the window and waved us off. We withdrew and waited, and Striker emerged a moment later.

“Bradley is distraught,” Striker explained as we walked a little distance from the others.

Striker seemed sober, but appeared to be suffering from the after-effects. He kept glaring up at the sun as if its brightness were a personal affront.

“I would imagine,” I said.

“Aye, he’s had one blow after another, Siegfried being the worst of course. But in addition to losing his matelot, he lost his ship, half the men who sailed with us, all of that gold – and these last few months, some ailment has killed a goodly number of his slaves, so his plantation is a right mess.”

“I feel great sympathy for him, especially on the loss of Siegfried.”

“Aye,” Striker sighed. “If I ever lost Pete…” He trailed off and regarded us, and we nodded. There was no real need for words.

“Will he wish to sail?” I asked. “It sounds as if he may need the money.”

“I don’t think so.” Striker regarded me speculatively.

I smiled. “Here is the discussion you missed at our table.” I quickly relayed all that had been said among the Bard, Cudro, and me. He listened without comment; and when I finished, he took a deep breath and scuffed sand about with his toe and a great deal of thought. I waited.

“Do you trust Cudro?” he asked.

“As far as I could throw him.”

“Can you lift him?” Striker finally looked up to grin.

Gaston chuckled.

“I think not,” I grinned. “However, the nine or so men I do trust could throw him a good distance, if you catch my meaning?”

“Aye. When you speak of it in those terms, I think any of us can throw him. Gaston proved that handily enough.”

My matelot shrugged.

“True,” I said. “I am not fond of his having a good number of the crew in his favor, though.”

“Neither am I. We would need remedy that. For now, let us go and look at this ship. I will tell those inside that we are going. And where were you this morning? We sent the others on already.”

“Purchasing a medicine chest.”

“Truly?” He looked to Gaston.

“Aye,” Gaston sighed without looking at us.

I gave Striker a warning look, and he shrugged amicably.

He slipped inside and informed them we were off. As he collected his matelot, he inquired of the men Pete had been speaking with as to which ship they were sailing on. When he found their answers somewhat nebulous, he let them know that we might be sailing soon and looking for men. This seemed to please them, and they said they would wait to hear more as to final decisions on such matters.

We made our way to the Chocolata Hole by way of the market, where we acquired fried fish for lunch. Once at the Hole, we retrieved our flyboat and sailed out just beyond the entrance of the bay, where the prize rode at anchor. She looked a great deal like the King’s Hope, but somewhat smaller, being a three-masted English merchant ship with primarily square rigged sails. She carried far more cannon, though: ten, with eight along the rails and two under the forecastle in the bow. Her gunwale seemed full of holes as a result, and I knew her to have even less deck space than the King’s Hope.

Overall I was not impressed with the look of her, and more importantly neither was Striker. Yet he was not appalled, either, as apparently she was similar to most of the ships he had sailed before crossing to the New World.

She was named the Flor de Mayo, which translated to May Flower.

I informed the others of this and Striker shrugged, “Mayflower, damn common name for a ship. I saw two in English waters and heard of a couple more. It must have been her name when they took her.”

Tom threw us a line as we pulled alongside; and when we climbed the ladder, we found Dickey and Belfry with him. I was sure the Bard was cursing my name.

“What a surprise to see you all here,” I said.

“We just came to see the ship,” Belfry said. “Apparently Tom will be staying.”

Liam, Otter, Davey, and Julio were aboard, and a number of other men I recognized, but not Cudro or his men, or thankfully Hastings.

The Bard was sitting on the quarterdeck steps looking quite tired and out of sorts. I joined him as Striker went forward and, starting at the forecastle, went from fore to aft, poking here and there, and then went below to presumably do the same. Pete followed him, and after a moment of confusion, so did Tom.

“She needs to be careened, Hell, she needs to be swabbed and stoned,” the Bard said, and patiently worked on loading and lighting his pipe with one arm in a sling.

“And you?” I asked.

“I could use a good careening myself.”

“The scraping or the packing with tar and coating with pitch?” I teased.

“All,” he chuckled. He fumbled with the flint for a moment, and then handed it to me along with the pipe.

“Light this, would you?” He grinned. “It’s been a while since I was packed with anything. There we were.” He pointed to an area of the main deck near us, where I noticed there were still bloodstains.

“Spanish guns on us all around, and all I could think of was how long it had been since I last engaged in any kind of carnal delight other than my own good hand. I kept thinking I wanted to do it once more before I died. I was not even concerned with who or what.”

We laughed, though Gaston was a little more restrained and Dickey and Belfry seemingly somewhat embarrassed. When I recovered, I lit the Bard’s pipe and took a pull before handing it back.

“I have heard there are whores in town. I have actually seen some of them.”

The Bard grimaced. “Have you truly seen them? I have more respect for the little man. Nay, I need a matelot.”

“I am sure Pete and Striker could make recommendations.”

He shook his head and grinned. “Nay, I would rather see to the matter myself.”

Belfrey and Dickey were watching us with a degree of discomfort, which annoyed me, but I did not comment on it. Gaston was leaning on the quarterdeck rail and looking about. I moved to join him and did likewise. There seemed to be a great deal of rigging above us. I remembered the King’s Hope had required relatively few men to actually sail her, though. Then I regarded the deck and thought of the much larger hold this vessel would have as compared to the sloop.

“Speaking of men, how many will we need?” I asked.

The Bard shrugged. “We could sail with twenty. She can carry a hundred more.”

I thought that insane. “Are there a hundred men available?”

“Probably, but do we want them? It is a somewhat similar situation to the whores.”

Striker was swearing. My eyes followed my ears. He was regarding the first cannon.

“Is there a problem?” I asked the Bard.

“Only if you consider rust a problem.”

I snorted. “We have procured all the muskets Massey will let go in one batch, but I know nothing of cannon.”

“Under normal circumstances, we would not have call for them,” the Bard sighed. “But this old lady lacks the speed and maneuverability of the sloop. Half the cannon are good; the other half can be fired, but not for an extended engagement. We should have gun crews and a gunner as a result. Yet I cannot see us sailing with a hundred unless we’re raiding. It’s too many men to feed otherwise without a guarantee of prey.” He seemed to be rambling to himself.

“So what are you saying, that we should sail with sixty men, eighty?”

I asked.

“We’ll sail with whatever we get. If God smiles upon us, a goodly number of them will be familiar with cannon.”

I thought of how formidable a group the sixty-six who sailed on the North Wind had seemed and how crowded I had initially thought us.

“I suppose gathering buccaneers for such a venture is relatively easy, as opposed to hiring sailors for a merchant voyage,” Belfry noted in odd juxtaposition to my thoughts.

“Aye, or pressing them into the Navy,” the Bard agreed.

Regarding Belfry standing on the deck in his full breeches, hose, coat, and hat, I was struck by how out-of-place he looked amongst us; yet this man had done far more sailing than I, and was an accomplished seaman. I tried to imagine him dressed as a buccaneer and could not.

I tried to imagine him sailing with us, and could not do that either. He was a product of the Old World and not this new one.

“I was thankfully able to avoid the Navy,” Belfry said earnestly.

“I was apprenticed as a cabin boy when I was twelve, and have been sailing since.”

“Have you worked aloft?” The Bard asked.

“I have learned the ropes, sir, but only the truly magnanimous would call me an able-bodied seaman.” Belfry shrugged. “In truth, I must admit a certain calling to the sea, as it is apparently quite in my blood. After the loss of the King’s Hope I told myself I would happily live without ever setting foot upon another vessel; but I find, upon standing on these decks, that I am gripped with a certain fondness, perhaps nostalgia. And, to my amazement, I have even been giving thought as to the amount of time I have before the arrival of my betrothed and the stock for our haberdashery next spring, and reasoning to myself that I would indeed have time to sail on a voyage of short duration. Yet I see no way that I may be useful to this endeavor, as you do not appear to need my skills and I do not possess the skills you do require.”

Needless to say, I was quite taken aback by his words. I was not the only one to feel this. Dickey was regarding his business partner with horror.

“Can you navigate, read a chart, man a whip staff?” the Bard asked.

Belfry shrugged and nodded. “Aye, but you have men to do that, and it is my understanding that young Tom will be in your tutelage for such matters.”

The Bard sighed. “Aye, but it’s damn good on a ship to have as many men as possible who can perform the same tasks, as you never know what may occur and people die. You would be an asset. Granted, it would take some adjustment on your part, as things are managed quite a bit differently here than on a merchant ship.”

Belfry regarded me, and I proffered a shrug. “You have heard the results of our last voyage.”

The Bard waved me off. “That was a strange and cursed voyage.

It will be talked about for years. Normally no real hardship befalls us.

There is risk, but for the men sailing the ship it is far less than for those who board or raid.”

“I bow to the Bard’s greater experience in such matters,” I said.

“As well you should,” the Bard said. “So what say you, Belfry?”

Belfry looked to his still-agitated business partner. “We will not receive stock, or I a wife, until February at the earliest, as they will not sail during the hurricanes. I have been considering seeing if Theodore could put me to good use and I could learn a new trade in the process, but there may be far more money involved in this venture.” He looked to us. “Could there not?”

“Or there could be nothing,” the Bard said. “But aye, if we take a fine prize, every man aboard gets an equal share and that is often at least twenty pounds. We’re sailing for the Galleons along the Cuban coast.

We should not be gone more than two months.”

Belfry regarded Dickey hopefully.

“You really wish to do this?” Dickey asked.

“Aye,” Belfry said with sheepish enthusiasm.

“I think you have taken leave of your senses, but you do not need my approval or blessing,” Dickey said with a tired sigh. “You’re all mad.

Tom’s entirely smitten with it.”

“Do you possess any proficiency with that blade?” I asked of Dickey, as I noted that he still wore a rapier.

He rolled his eyes. “Some. My father was very keen on overcoming my deficiencies of character in his eyes by a great amount of drilling in manly arts.”

I leaped to the deck and drew as I landed. Dickey swore and drew, and settled into en garde with practiced ease. I came at him, and we exchanged a flurry of stokes and blocks, until I had witnessed enough to judge him proficient with a blade, even if he was not particularly gifted with one. I stood down and we bowed formally. We had gathered an audience of all the men aboard, and there was clapping. Dickey appeared embarrassed but a little pleased.

“You can fence. Can you shoot?” I asked.

“About as well as I can fence,” he said with resignation as if it were a horrid thing he were admitting to. “I know nothing of sailing other than what I saw upon the voyage here,” he quickly added. “And I have never been involved in a true fight of any type. I have twice fainted at the sight of blood.”

“I sincerely doubt you will do that in combat.”

“Bloody Hell, is there any possible protestation I can mount?” he asked.

I pretended to consider the question seriously. “Nay.”

“Am I to be conscripted then?” he wailed.

We were all laughing by this juncture, and Striker, Pete, and Tom rejoined us in time to hear Dickey’s plaintive protestation.

Striker looked Dickey over and looked to me. “You are in jest.”

“See, he is a sane man,” Dickey said.

I shrugged. “Belfry will be joining us, and I thought it best Dickey do likewise, as almost everyone he knows will have sailed off without him.

Though inexperienced, he is proficient with weapons.” I did not add that he would be loyal to Striker and not Cudro, and I hoped I did not need to. Striker looked to me with a small smirk that Dickey could not see, and then said with great seriousness. “I care not. He is welcome if he agrees to the articles and follows them. Any show of cowardice in battle and he is a dead man.”

This apparently sparked something deep inside Dickey; and his ire flamed to life, until it was readily apparent he was consumed by it at the expense of common sense.

“I am not a coward.”

“I did not say you were,” Striker said, as he took the quarterdeck and joined Gaston in leaning on the forward rail to look over the rest of us. “Fine,” Dickey said quietly, so that only Belfry and I could hear him clearly as we were closest. “I will do this. Then I will write my father of the matter, and perhaps prove him wrong, too.”