Sailing by Carina's Star, page 31
The darkness unsettles Danso. He can barely see out here in this pitch. The Misericorde, the Saiph, Sam Bellamy’s two ships, and Robins’ sloop—without Robins—are hidden in a tucked-away little cove just outside St. Michael’s Town, far enough away to avoid being seen. In an attempt to better cloak themselves, they’ve only lit a few lanterns.
He pulls out his pocket watch, a gift from Flora and Jahni for his last birthday, and leans forward toward the lantern so he can read it. It’s an expensive but simple silver piece, and far nicer than anything he could have dreamt of owning growing up.
It’s a quarter to midnight. Two hours. Abeni and Marc have been gone for two hours.
Where the devil are they?
“They’ll be all right, Papa,” Flora says from her place standing next to him on the Misericorde’s quarterdeck. “Mama knows what she’s doing, and she trained Marc well.”
Danso presses her hand, summoning words he doesn’t quite mean. “I’m all right. You don’t need to worry about me, little one.”
She is not so little, anymore, but he’s called her that since the start.
He is not all right. He is never all right when they return to Barbados, and he usually refuses to go ashore here. The fact that the potential death of a dear friend has drawn him back once more does not help matters. But he must be all right. He has to be all right.
The sound of Jahni’s sniff wins Danso’s attention away from his own anxiety. Jahni is staring out at the impossible deep, the water dark as the sky above them on this moonless night. René, standing next to Jahni with Frantz and Auden, catches Danso’s eye.
“Jahni.” Danso puts a gentle hand on his nephew’s back. “My boy, are you all right?”
Jahni turns toward him, the tears in his eyes lit gold by the lanterns. “I don’t like being here usually. This makes it worse.” He clenches his jaw tight. “We have to get Robins back. I can’t let another pirate or poor sailor hang if I can stop it. I can’t let anyone else die on this island.”
Danso sucks in a breath through his teeth, his heart going mad. “We won’t. I promise you we won’t.”
Promise promise promise. Why is he always promising things? Why is he worrying about promising things when that is so much a part of the man he was and not the man he is? But this place, this island, makes him afraid. The beating heart of his grief lives in a far-flung corner of St. Michael’s Town. And Jerome and Delacroix are getting closer, aren’t they? They took his friend, one of the men who taught him to be a pirate. If the pirate hunters get any closer, all the promises he’s made might slip through his fingers. But no. No. He will get Robins back. He must. A jury of decidedly not their peers won’t be allowed to send his friend to a terrible death.
“Abeni!” Collins—Robins’ longtime partner—calls out to them, and this pulls Danso from his ruminations. “We were getting concerned.”
“Just took a bit,” she answers, out of breath with Marc at her side. “We’re fine.”
“Any sign of Jerome or Delacroix’s ships?” Bellamy asks as he and others come over to join them on the quarterdeck. The breeze blows the lad’s long black hair partly out of its ribbon, and Danso can’t help but smile at the similarity to René, whose hair is always aiming to slip free of any confines.
“No.” Abeni shakes her head, glancing briefly at René, Frantz, and Auden before she jabs her thumb at Marc. “And Marc says the sailors in the taverns nearest the shore seem to be saying they aren’t here.”
“I don’t know why they’re not here, or if they’ll arrive later,” Marc adds. “But I’m doubting it as the hanging is in”—he checks his pocket watch—“six hours.”
“Did they say why they moved the location?” René asks.
“A storm damaged Gallows Point in Jamaica.” Abeni fiddles with the edge of her yellow neckerchief. “So Simmons said,” she continues, referring to one of her newer contacts in Barbados, a buccaneer-turned-customs-officer. “They already broke up the black market here months ago, so they thought this was a good place to make a point about piracy.”
“Good news,” Danso says, rubbing at his chin. “About Delacroix and Jerome, I mean.”
Two things have broken in their favor, and without those things, Robins and three of his men might have been dead before anything could be done about it.
One, the powers that be don’t see fit to hold executions around Christmas and the New Year.
Two, Danso returned to Nassau just in time to hear news of Robins’ arrest from members of his crew who escaped, and agreed, with Bellamy and the remainder of Robins’ men in tow, that they needed to do something.
“Delacroix and Jerome have been snooping around our black markets,” Collins adds. “First Barbados, now Montserrat. At least those were smaller ones, but I think that’s another reason the execution was delayed, so they could try to get information about others. We all know pirate trials are a sham.” He pauses, heaving a sigh. “I hate to think about what sort of shape Robins is in if I’m right. The British Empire isn’t known for being kind to their prisoners.”
How Collins is even thinking straight Danso isn’t sure, though perhaps it’s easier simply to focus on how to get Robins back rather than worrying. He must try to do the same.
“All right,” Danso says, clasping Collins’ shoulder before turning toward Abeni. “What do you think, my friend? We need someone to lead the charge aboard the ships. We’ll have to risk going closer to the main harbor to make things work.”
“Agreed to that.” Abeni meets Danso’s eyes, and he knows what she’s about to say before she says it. She searches his face for protest, but none comes. “You should go ashore, Danso. You know this place better than any of us.”
“Yes,” Danso says, softer than he means to, and he wills himself steady. “I think that’s wise.”
“I’ll go with the shore party as well,” Jahni tells them, stepping away from the rail and up to the group.
Danso tries to protest, but Jahni insists.
“I need to, Uncle Ajani. I want to.”
“All right.” Danso can’t argue with the determined grief in his nephew’s voice.
“I think we take the Marianne and the Whydah,” Bellamy begins, “and create a barrier of sorts around the Misericorde and Robins’ sloop. Take the cannon fire and shield the shore party from getting hit. The Saiph can join us or go up a little ahead and fire at the fort, if we so choose. We should be able to get close enough.”
“We should leave a few of the crew at the shoreline,” René chimes in. “To make sure no one destroys the longboats.”
Abeni points at him, nodding once. “Yes. Sam, you and Paulsgrave manage your ships, and then Eli and Flora ours. I’ll take a few men with me to the shore and look out for the longboats. Danso, I think you take Jahni, René, Frantz, and Auden. Marc too, if I can get Eli to lend him out. You can pick the men from our various crews to join you.” She turns to Collins, reaching out both her hands for his. “Collins, you and your men may join whichever part of this excursion you like. The lot of you have been through enough. We’ll just need to make sure we have enough men on your sloop.”
Danso bites his lip. He is not certain he wants to risk bringing René, Frantz, or Auden ashore, even if Delacroix and Jerome’s ships aren’t here. That might change. It could change. He doesn’t regret letting the lads put their names in for officer positions on the Saiph, he loves them too much to regret it. René is too damned good of a sailor, too smart, too much of a leader and a fighter to hold back, and having him in this position, having two ships, has meant they’ve been able to take on more men and steal bigger prizes. René’s captaincy has done the crews good, and he’s a natural.
But that doesn’t mean it hasn’t threatened to fray Danso’s last nerve.
“I’m going right to that square, Abeni,” Collins answers, the glint in his eye cutting through the dark. “If Danso will have me.”
“Glad to, my friend,” Danso says. “Can you all spread word to the men about what we’re planning, then meet me in my cabin in a few minutes? I can draw up some rough sketches of what the path to the town square might look like.”
They all agree, and Danso asks Abeni, René, Frantz, Auden, Jahni, and Flora to come with him.
He doesn’t want to disagree in front of Bellamy, or Collins, who has been through enough. Quiet descends, as though everyone present knows he has brought them in here for some reason that has not yet been spoken. Danso goes to stand behind his desk, leaning over it and resting his hands on the chipped wood. The desk is strewn with his things: reading spectacles, a half-empty glass of wine, a map of Barbados he was looking at before they arrived, a copy of Don Quixote that originally belonged to René. His breath hitches when he spots René’s precious journal—now in its second volume—which Danso borrowed to add some things to. It lays open now, and he spies both his and René’s handwriting on the two visible pages.
“I am not certain”—he takes a deep breath, tapping one finger against the desk over and over again—“that taking René, Frantz, and Auden should be our tactic. I worry Jerome and Delacroix will show up in the night.”
Danso clenches his other hand into fist, fingernails digging into his palm. He doesn’t want to argue the point, but he must make himself known.
“Danso,” Abeni says, eyes flitting down to his hand and then back up to his face. “René’s our best swordsman. Frantz is one of our best marksmen. Auden is as good with a dirk as I am. I think they would be a great help to you with the shore party. Besides, mine and Marc’s intelligence indicated Jerome and Delacroix won’t show up.”
The way she said his name tells Danso that she knows his anxiety over being here at all, but especially at this particular moment, and something about it makes this harder.
René shifts back and forth from one foot to the other, but there’s a burn in his eyes that Danso recognizes. “Seeing the two of us together might scare them off fighting too hard,” he adds. “We can use the legend to our advantage.”
“Robin Hood needs his devil, so to speak,” Auden chimes in, one hand tucked into Flora’s.
“It could help,” Frantz agrees.
Danso starts picking at his nails instead. “And if Jerome and Delacroix are there? It could be a disaster.”
“If my father and Jerome aren’t here now”—fear flashes in René’s eyes, but it’s gone again almost before Danso registers it— “then they likely won’t be. They wouldn’t sail through the night just to see a pirate hang. They see it all the time now, so it’s nothing new to them. Besides, if they are there, then it’s a danger for you with or without me. You’ve said that yourself.”
“Them appearing not to be there could be a plan to catch us,” Danso says. “It’s been years since you’ve seen them, lad. You don’t know how their habits might have changed.”
Danso didn’t mean to say that aloud. They’re anxious, paranoid thoughts, though can he be too much so when he’s a hunted pirate? His heart hammers, his breath catching as a queasiness overtakes him. He has to calm down. He must calm down. He sounded harsher with René than he meant to.
“I know that Jerome and my father like to plan things,” René replies, with the barest hint of frustration. “So, if they wanted to use tomorrow to catch us, they’d be here already. Jerome is obsessive. I know that hasn’t changed.”
“Jerome is already suspicious,” Danso says. “We can’t take chances, René. I don’t want the three of you getting dragged back to Kingston.”
Those words are very nearly a snap, and Danso’s angry at himself immediately, but he has to manage this. He has to protect these boys. When he told René to put his name in, he didn’t know how hard it would be to let go. He can’t let go. It was difficult enough to let Jahni and Flora into combat situations, and now risking these three boys, who are just as much his children now, to the violence of their past? He doesn’t know how.
Fate has plans sometimes, Abeni said once, just before René was voted in. And I think she’ll have some in store for us with Michel Delacroix and Jerome. Our lives have been intertwining for years, Danso. Do you think that will stop now?
“With all of my respect, Danso,” René says, softer than Danso expected, “I think I’m done arranging my life around Nicholas Jerome. I can help you best on shore. That’s all I want. To help you. I’ll listen. Frantz and Auden will listen. But let us come.”
“I don’t believe they think well enough of pirates to plan on us coming to rescue each other. Our own crew, yes, but not another, even if Robins was once a part of it.” Frantz speaks again, his hands shoved into his coat pockets, and he might be feeling around for the pocket watch from his father he always carries. “We haven’t risked it before, so I don’t know that they’d take that into their calculations. The boldness could serve us. My aim’s good in a crowd. I can peel off anyone coming for all of you without hitting a civilian.”
“And we do like a bold plan.” Abeni’s still gentle rather than sending any affectionate barbs Danso’s way.
“We can do it, Uncle Ajani,” Jahni adds, a little bit of lightning in his eyes.
“Let us help,” René says, pushing a stray strand of hair behind his ear, and even here in this dim light, he does look like an angel from a painting. His earnestness weakens Danso’s resolve, but it makes him ache, too. Danso’s supposed to be helping his children, comforting them, and here they are soothing his fears. He’s learned to let Abeni in, to let her be a listening ear or a shoulder, but he wants to be a safe place for all of these young people to land.
“All right,” he finally says. “All right.”
He presses René’s shoulder to silently let him know he isn’t angry, before there’s a knock on the door, and Bellamy, his consort captain Paulsgrave Williams, Collins and some of his men, Eli, Marc, Benoit, Chema, Elliot, and several others come in.
“So!” Eli exclaims, rubbing his hands together. “I hear we’re doing a sunrise rescue. I love it.”
Abeni quirks a fond eyebrow at her beau, coming to stand with Danso behind the desk and helping him further unroll the map of St. Michael’s Town he was looking at earlier. She hands him a freshly dipped quill, giving him a wink before handing it over.
“All right,” Danso repeats, gesturing to everyone around the desk. “Let me tell you a little bit about St. Michael’s Town.”
Danso shakes Bellamy’s hand as dawn breaks, and for once, he doesn’t welcome the sunrise. Who chose, he wonders, to hold executions at such a time, just when the darkness is fading away?
“Thank you, Sam,” he says, grasping the younger man’s hand with warmth. “I can’t tell you how much we all appreciate your help.”
Bellamy returns the shake before giving a little bow, the silver buttons on his black velvet coat shining. “Anything in the service of a friend, Danso. Some of my men were executed after I skirmished with Jerome and Delacroix off the Chesapeake, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I can do something about this, and Robins is a good man. So are you.”
René shares a quick embrace with Bellamy before coming over to join Danso, saying something like, give them hell, Sam. Bellamy is only a year or two older than René, both of them still young, but very talented. There was a story going around recently about Sam, and the words he spoke to a captain he stole from. Words that Danso suspects will live on for quite some time.
They rob the poor under the cover of law, and we plunder the rich under the protection of our own courage.
Danso looks out from his place on the shore of Carlisle Bay, where five pirate ships sit just slightly away from the main harbor, though close enough that Charles Fort should be in range. They’re flying English colors, which has served them well here before, though they haven’t returned since the market was broken up. Today, everyone’s attention will be on the execution, so they won’t be bothering with a few ships acting strange—at least not until they’re forced to notice. The five ships crawl with men readying things in the half-dark, a thin line of red-gold sunlight visible on the horizon. He spots Eli on the Saiph and Flora on the Misericorde, both of them busy talking to the gun crews while trying to be discreet. The longboats are safe here by the water with Abeni, who has two daggers rather than one, and nine men at her side.
Danso takes a deep breath when Bellamy departs, turning toward the shore party. He is back here where everything started, about to lead a charge to rescue a friend from the noose. The young man, the farmer, the uncle and brother, the dockworker he was, could not have dreamt such a thing.
“How many men are we sending ashore at final count?” he asks.
“Forty,” René replies. “Thirty of us to the square, and Abeni and her nine men here.”
They planned things out in as much detail as possible through the night, none of them able to sleep, but they must all know exactly what they’re doing, or this will go terribly wrong.
“The main harbor looks almost deserted,” René continues, pointing down the way. “And when Marc got a closer look an hour ago, he said the same. Just a few sentries. We’ll go down the path you suggested last night, Danso, so we come in at the back of the square. Surprise them.”
“And the signal?” Danso prompts.
“We’ll send it up when the clock strikes six,” Abeni adds. “Let Sam’s ships and the Saiph know they can start firing at the empty ships in the bay and at the fort. We should be just in range. Divert the soldiers’ attention three ways: to the square, to the bay, and to the fort.”
“We’ll head toward the square,” Frantz adds, checking that his multiple pistols are secure. It pains Danso that this gentle, genius boy must be forced into this kind of violence, but he is a very good marksman. “And interrupt as they’re bringing out Robins and his men. That way we don’t have to waste time picking jail locks.”
“I’ll keep count of everyone in the square,” Jahni says, tying back his locs with one of Danso’s black ribbons. “I want to make certain we don’t leave anyone behind. We head straight back here with Robins and the others. No detours.”
