Isle of Fire (27 page)
“I tell ya about that king, Declan,” said Stede. “Him b' stubborn as a mule and half as smart.”
“Blake will listen,” Ross said. “If he's even in Engâ”
The deck erupted in angry shouts, and men converged around the gap where the new mast would go. Ross and Stede leaped down to the deck and cut through the mass of people to see what had transpired. They found Ebenezer Hack and Slash Montant in the middle of it all.
“Ah, Captain Ross,” said Hack. “I'm glad you've come. Tell this ridiculous corner cutter that I'm the ship's master carpenter, and in the big decisions I'm in charge.”
“Corner cutter?” Slash objected. “You knuckle-dragging oaf, how dare you! I'm only providing the speed that Captain Ross here requested.”
Ross raised both eyebrows and looked at Stede, but Stede had already begun retreating into the crowd.
Thanks a lot!
thought Ross. He turned to Hack and asked, “What is the real problem here?”
“It's like this, Captain,” said Hack. “The new mast is sized and cut. I contend we careen the ship to put in the mastâthe way it's always been done. But this tea-swilling crumpet head has the fool notion of hoisting the mast up with ropes and letting it drop in!”
“Tea-swilling?” Slash raged. “Crumpet head? That's it! I've had enough of this outrage from you, you no-necked gorilla.” He pulled off a glove and smacked Hack across the face. “I challenge you to a duel.”
“A duel?” Hack scoffed. “Gladly, but not with swords. You are a master, and I am no good with a blade. Let us battle with our bare fists, you bombastic blowhard!”
“Bombastic?” Slash thought for a moment. “Ooh, good word, but I must decline, for I am no match for someone of your immense girth. You would crush me in a brawl. Then we must settle this in the way of courtly gentlemen of old.”
“You mean pistols at twenty paces?”
“Nay, we must play chess!”
“Chess?” Hack looked puzzled a moment, and then a sly look rippled across his brow. “Very well then, I accept.”
To everyone's surprise and amusement, Ebenezer Hack went below deck for a few moments and then returned bearing a sack that contained a cloth chessboard and all the pieces. Hack and Slash then went at it on the chessboard: taunting each other with every move, exulting with every advantage, and miserably whining whenever a piece was taken by his opponent. But in the end, game one was a draw. The second game was a stalemate, so again, no one arose as victorious. By the third game, the entire crew of the
Bruce
, along with a great many from the
Banshee
, and more than fifty of Slash's carpenters and workers had gathered in a circle around the chess match. Still others climbed the rigging to watch and cried out possible moves.
As fascinated by the match as he was, Ross was impatient. “We've no time for this!” he said.
The two chess players ignored the comment, but Jacques took Ross's arm. “Ah, mon capitaine, it is Slash's way . . . the only way to avoid bloodshed.” Ross rolled his eyes and crossed his arms to wait.
The match was incredibly close. Each move drew gasps from the crowds. Even Ross found himself suddenly spellbound. It was Hack's move, and he had been taking a very long time. Slash was beside himself waiting for the move. “Come on, you cross-eyed brute,” he jeered. “Make your move.”
Then Hack slid his bishop diagonally across the length of the board, slamming one of Slash's pawns and putting his king in check. Ross cringed, for giving up a powerful bishop for a lowly pawn was a terrible exchange. All Slash had to do was take Hack's bishop with his king. The crowd muttered. Slash scrutinized the board and was amazed that his opponent had at last made a foolish move. Then Slash said, “Hack, old boy, in these three hotly contested campaigns, you have gained my respect, but with that last move, I believe you have lost any hope of winning this game.” Slash moved his king and took Hack's bishop. The crowd groaned. Hack looked as if he'd been trampled by a herd of buffalo.
But his expression changed. The dejected frown curled into the most mischievous grin, and Hack cracked his knuckles. “Slash, my good man, you also have my respectâand friendship, should you want itâfor never have I faced such an adversary. But now, it is with greatest admiration that I say to you: you really fell for it this time! Huzzah!”
Hack slid his rook vertically until it toppled over Slash's queen. The crowd erupted with gasps of surprise and wonder. They all looked at the board, wondering how such a move could have been possible. It hadn't been there a moment before, they were all sure. Slash turned as white as a sail, for he alone understood what Hack had done. Slash shook his head a couple of times and muttered, “Brilliant . . . that was simply brilliant.” He knocked over his own king, surrendering the game to Hack. He stood and offered Hack his hand. The two shook, and the crowd began to disperse.
Captain Declan Ross came up to them just afterward and said, “I watched the entire game, but I don't understand . . . how did Hack get your queen?”
“A magnificent ploy,” Slash admitted. “Hack hid his rook behind his bishop, waiting for me to move my queen into position. Once I had, it was already too late. Hack moved the bishop, attacked, checking my king. By the rules of chess, I must get my king out of check, so I did the obvious thing and took his bishop. But when he'd moved that bishop, he opened up a lane of attack for his rook to surprise my queen. It was both a sacrifice and a forced play.”
Ross understood. Hack had hidden his best move behind a first move that seemed foolish to his opponent. The result had been assured victory for Hack. “Well done, Hack!” Captain Ross said. “Looks as though we'll careen the
Bruce
, eh?”
It had turned out to be a good thing that they turned the
Bruce
on its side to put in the new mast, for it was then that they discovered some below-the-waterline damage that they had not seen before. Six boards had cracked near the keel, a wound that, had it worsened out at sea, could have led to the end of the
Robert
Bruce
and its crew. Hack and Slash worked together to repair the hull. In fact, the two of them became the fastest of friends. In the days that followed, Slash taught Hack how to duel with a rapier sword, and Hack taught Slash how to fight barehanded, but this only during their spare time. The majority of the time was spent on the ships.
Between them, they organized the crew into several able groups of carpenters and laborers. And in less than two weeks, Declan Ross's man-of-war and Cutlass Jack's xebec were better than new.
The morning of their departure for England, Slash came aboard the
Bruce
and knocked on the door to the captain's quarters.
“Enter!” Declan yelled. When he saw that it was Slash, he said, “I suppose you've come for your payment.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Slash scratched at his dark whiskers thoughtfully and then asked, “The work . . . I trust it is satisfactory?”
“Better than that, Slash. You are a gifted shipwright.” Ross paused to think a moment. Then he reached into a drawer, withdrew a drawstring pouch, hefted it a moment, and dropped it into Slash's hand. “Will this be enough to cover your expenses?”
Slash opened the pouch and whistled. “It is quite . . . adequate,” he said. Then he closed the bag and hesitated to say something he had been considering.
“But?”
“But there is one thing more I would request.”
“I had a feeling there would be,” said Ross.
Slash smiled. “You see, I grow weary of my current vocation. Always I get to build the boats, but I rarely get to sail. Always I hear the stories, but I never get to be in them. I want to join your crew and live an adventure. I want to sail to England and help you take down Bartholomew Thorne.”
“You know of Thorne then?” Ross was surprised.
“He is only the talk of both crews! I must say I was surprised to hear that he is still alive.”
“Slash,” Ross cautioned, “we could certainly use someone of your skillâboth with woodworking and with the rapier. But Thorne is a wicked and powerful man. If you come with us, you could forfeit your life.”
“I laugh at death,” Slash replied, puffing up his chest.
“The voyage itself is grueling, and the Atlantic can be tempestuous at this time of year.”
“Ha, storms!” Slash scoffed. “I have made these two ships so strong that we could ride on a tidal wave!”
“Still, food could get scarce,” Ross said. “You may end up having to eat rats . . . or worse.”
“I will eat iguanas, if I must.”
Ross laughed at that. “Nubby, my ship's cook, might just be able to arrange that.”
“Please, Captain Ross,” said Slash. “I want to sail with you. I want to join my new friend Hack in keeping this ship in good working order. I want to do something about the pirates that hurt so many. You see, many years ago, Edmund Bellamy raided a sugar plantation . . . owned by my favorite uncle. Bellamy slew him and burned out his home. I want to fight by the side of the man who stopped Bellamy's brutality forever. Will you have me?”
“What about your shipyard?” Ross asked, playing his last card.
“I will leave it in the hands of my apprentices,” said Slash. “It is not a problem.”
“Very well then,” said Captain Ross. “Once we are out to sea, we will have you sign the articles of the
Robert Bruce
. In one hour, we depart for England. I suggest you go and pack whatever you'll need.”
“It's already on board . . . , Captain,” said Slash with a mischievous smile. He spun on his heels and was gone.
As Ross and Stede stood alone on the quarterdeck that evening, Ross asked, “Do you think we're too late?”
“What we b' finding in England, I do not know, mon,” Stede replied. “But I b' having a bad feeling we not b' liking it.”
W
here are you going?” Blake asked.
“For a ride in the carriage,” answered Dolphin. “I will not be long.”