Voyage of Plunder (4 page)

When I finally finished with “Amen,” I waited for the heavens to answer me, for I was in desperate need. I had been betrayed by a man whom I had trusted. A man whom I had loved. A man who was a thief, a liar, a murderer. And not just an ordinary murderer, but a murderer of his friend. For my father had surely been Josiah's friend—as I had been. Now we both had been betrayed.

In the ship-creaking silence of the night, I clutched the bedcovers. It was horrible, this silence.
Why have I been left all alone? Why? Why? Why?
With a cry of rage, I pounded my bed with my fists.
Curse you, Josiah Black! Curse you forever! I swear to you upon my father's grave that I will see you hang!

Then I began a most wretched weeping of a kind I'd never known before.

And during that time of weeping, I remembered.

Faith.

What has happened to her?

t was no wonder Father's merchant ship the
Gray Pearl
had been captured by the pirate ship
Tempest Galley.
At 124 feet long, with twenty-six cannon and eight swivel guns mounted on her rails, the
Tempest Galley
had enough sail power to reach fourteen knots. That was as powerful and fast as a fifth-rate naval warship. Even with her sweeps alone—she had forty-six long oars— the vessel could reach three knots.

I knew many of the pirates aboard the
Tempest Galley
—not all, but many. There were, I think, 150 of them. I knew maybe thirty They were the men who had visited my father's house so many times. Murderers, all of them. I despised them now, especially Josiah. I would not rest until I saw him hanged for piracy and murder.

One of the pirates told me that we were sailing around Africa to the Red Sea—“going on the Round,” as they called it. He said the Red Sea teemed with ships laden with treasure, that finding treasure ships was as easy as dropping a bucket of pitch. They were off to make their fortunes, to bathe in jewels.

Of treasure, of jewels, I cared nothing. I cared only to get off the ship. But they ignored me when I demanded to be let off. One even said to jump overboard and swim if I wanted ashore that badly. They were off to become rich, and no one was going to stop them, not even little Daniel Markham.

Then, of course, there was Faith. I could not just leave her.

That first night, I had climbed on a chair and unhooked the lantern from the ceiling. I'd crept from my cabin, not overly careful to be quiet because a ship under sail makes all kinds of groaning and creaking and sloshing sounds.

Faith's cabin was the first I tried. I didn't let myself think of what would happen should it turn out to be the sleeping nest of a pirate. I was too tired to care. I just opened the door and peered in.

She was awake. She lay on the bed, blankets pulled to her nose, eyes saucers of fright. “Who is it?”

“It's me. Daniel.”

“Daniel!” There was a rustle of clothing, and then she was beside me. Even in the dim lantern light I saw the splotches on her face. Her nose ran. Her eyes leaked. Everything about her was red and watery. “Daniel, oh, Daniel. Thank God you're not dead.” So saying, she wrapped her arms around me, dropped her head on my shoulder, and sobbed.

That was the first night. After that, I'd taken a blanket and moved out of Josiah's cabin. Each night since, I'd slept in the hold. It was uncomfortable and swarmed with rats, but I would rather share my quarters with a rat than with Josiah.

On the third night, I was frightened. Faith's bedclothes were
spotted with blood, and she seemed unnaturally pale. On this night, she didn't even weep. She merely lay there like a statue, eyes dry and unblinking.

“Faith!” I cried, rubbing her hand.

She did not answer me.

“Faith!”

It was strange. I no longer hated Faith. While having to defend her against pirates, while seeing her so scared, all my thoughts of witches seemed ridiculous. Even though she was not my mother and never would be, she was my father's wife— rather, his widow. He had loved her. And I had promised to protect her and care for her if anything happened to him, even though I didn't mean it at the time. Now that he was dead, I vowed to keep my promise.

I will not let Faith die.

I rubbed her hand, feeling helpless as a ship in stays, yet at the same time knowing what I must do. I had to convince Josiah Black to sail to port.

So, in the early morning, I went to Josiah.

I flung open the door to his cabin and marched in. Josiah—
Captain
Josiah, that is—lay atop his covers, his clothing unbuttoned and wrinkled, his shoes not even pulled off. Whiskers shadowed his face. His eyelids fluttered open. I waited until he focused on me, then announced, “My father's wife is dying. And it's all your fault.”

He blinked a leaden blink, ran his tongue over cracked lips, and then tried to heave himself to his feet. A bottle clattered away, and he fell back. “Help me, Daniel, my boy.”

But I did not. I stood with my arms crossed, hating him.

“You know,” he said as he struggled to his feet, “I used to know a child who was kindhearted and who would help a poor man in distress.”

I said nothing.

“Tis a pity.” Josiah stumbled out the doorway, lurching from side to side. Outside Faith's cabin door, he paused to button and smooth his waistcoat and breeches, then rapped lightly and entered. “Goodwife Markham. 'Tis I, Josiah Black, come to see to your well-being.” And he latched the door behind him.

I waited, knowing that surely Josiah had to realize that Faith needed help. Anyone with sixpence of sense would know she might die unless she was taken ashore. This ship was no place for a lady, especially a lady with child.

“Well?” I said when Josiah finally emerged. “Are you going to port, or are you going to let her die?”

“It's not that simple, lad.” He lurched his way back to his cabin, and I followed.

“What do you mean, it's not that simple? It's as simple as an order.”

He didn't answer me right away. Instead, he withdrew four pistols from his sea chest and, after inspecting them, shoved them into his sash. Then, taking a cutlass from the chest, he thrust it into the air and slashed sideways. It was slightly curved, its hilt gleaming of gold. Seeming satisfied, he sheathed his cutlass into the scabbard that hung from his crossbelt. “Because, Daniel, my boy, a captain of the Brethren can give orders only in chase or battle. And since this is neither chase nor battle, I must instead call a meeting and a vote.”

I was stunned. Of what use was a captain who couldn't give orders? “My father would never stand for such poppycock.”

Upon my words, Josiah fixed me with a dark look. I forced myself to meet his gaze, wondering if he could see my eyelid twitch or my heart race.

I realized at that moment how little I knew Josiah Black.

They crawled out of every crevice of the ship.

Scars ran chin to ear to mouth, severing lips and breaking teeth. There were eye patches, tattoos, wooden legs. Fine clothes—velvets, laces, brocades—mixed with tattered rags, with kerchiefs knotted about their heads, and earrings of gold. Daggers, pistols, swords, gun belts hung everywhere.

They reeked of violence.

If only my father had known what kind of men these were.

“Go below, Daniel,” ordered Josiah.

I looked at him towering above me, the top of my head no higher than his shoulder, his skin like alabaster no matter how fiercely the sun shone. “But I don't want to.”

Josiah's voice hardened. “Go below. This is no place for a child. I shall take care of it, come what may.”

“I am not a child.”

Josiah sighed, exasperated. “Grow up then, if you must. But understand this, Daniel—I cannot save you from everything.” With that, he drew a pistol and fired it into the air.

Where before there had been a stir of voices, now, except for the echo of pistol fire, there was silence. All the pirates faced Josiah, jammed in a circle around him. I smelled rum, beer, and stale sweat. I heard the sound of their breathing, the clink of their weapons. Melting into the bulwarks, away from Josiah's side, away from the circle's center, I suddenly wondered if Josiah was right. But, even as I wondered, I knew I had to stay. For Faith. For Father.

Josiah's voice was low and soft, yet it sliced through the air like his sword. “The woman is ill. She is with child and requires attention of a womanly sort. Newport is five days’ sail—”

“Newport!” someone exclaimed. “But we've just sailed from Newport!”

“Five days’ sail might as well be a year's sail,” said a man with
the wary look of a stray dog. “We're on the Round, Captain Black, and I don't know about anyone else, but I intend to stop for no one, sick or otherwise.”

“Besides,” said a pirate, greasy locks hanging beneath his kerchief, “she's seen too much for her own good, if you get my meaning. Once she's safe, she'll blabber. Women can't help but blab. It's in their nature.”

“And I, for one,” growled another, fingering the blade of his dagger, “will die before I dance the pirate's jig. There will be no hemp burn on the neck of this old buccaneer, and I'll kill anyone who tries.”

A man pushed his way through the crowd, weapons clinking. A scar ran straight through his eyeball.

I unwittingly took a step backward.

“I say we cut her here,” he said. “Women are bad luck.”

Fear prickled my spine.
Cut her? Does that mean what I think it means?

I had heard of pirates who ripped out the tongues of their captives and ate them with salt and pepper. Pirates who whipped and pickled people. Pirates who sewed the mouths of their victims closed because they talked too much. As a child, I had thought these mere tales of fancy. But now, I shivered.

I looked at Josiah. He said nothing, his eyes narrow and unreadable.

The scar-eyed man continued, “I knew a tar once who dressed his woman like a boy and brought her aboard 'cause he couldn't live without her. His ship vanished. Every mother's son of them—swallowed by the deep. Women—they're the devil's ballast.”

They said more, but it was all the same. Women were bad luck aboard ships. Life at sea was dangerous enough. Women summoned monsters from the deep. They caused storms and
shipwrecks. They made men stupid with jealousy, until they stabbed each other with pleasure and there was none left. Besides, they agreed, Faith had seen too much. And no one wanted to dance the pirate's jig, especially because of a woman.

With a rising horror, I saw it was hopeless.

They voted. Faith lost. Eight men versus 140 or some such.

Then it was as if something inside of me burst. Stars shot across the blackness of my mind, like on the day my father was killed.

I howled as a wild man, and God's truth, I felt rage enough to take on them all. I raced to the hatch and drew my dagger. My rusted, bent dagger.

“Touch her and I'll kill you!” I cried.