The Angel's Command Page 13

  Ben wiped a forearm across his sweat-beaded forehead. “Aye, Cap’n, he did, it was a dreadful thing—”

  “Rubbish!” Thuron interrupted the boy. “He made it all up from gossip that he’s heard. Take no notice of Misery Mallon. How he ever got to be a buccaneer I’ll never know. They say he was a preacher once, but the congregation banished him for stealing money from the offertory box. I’d have flung him overboard long ago, but he’d frighten the fishes with his tales of horrible pirate executions!”

  Ben managed a smile. “But what about the Greek Navy vessel?”

  Ned was standing with his paws on the rail, watching the approaching ship. Thuron scratched fondly behind the dog’s ears. “You leave that to me an’ Ned. We’ll take care of it, won’t we, fellow?”

  The dog nodded his head as he contacted Ben by thought. “Aye, don’t worry, Ben, I’ll take off my cutlass, hide my brass earrings and cover up all these tattoos. They’ll think I’m just a harmless old cabin hound!”

  Ben tugged at his dog’s wagging tail. “Good idea. No one will ever know you’re Naughty Ned, terror of the high seas!”

  The Greek ship was named the Achilles. Smart as a new pin, it was rigged out with even more guns than a privateer and carried archers as well as musketeers. They lined the decks, all hands fit and ready for action. The Achilles stood off, broadside to the Marie, cannon loaded and pointing right at her.

  Thuron hailed the captain in a world-weary voice. “What d’you want, bothering honest merchants? Aren’t there enough pirates and rascals to chase?”

  The Greek captain, who wore a white linen kilt and a long blue stocking cap, replied in excellent French. “A merchantman, eh? What cargo do you carry, sir?”

  Thuron threw him a disgusted glance. “None. We were boarded and robbed by a Spanish pirate. Woven cane chairs, that’s what the villain took, a full cargo of them. May his bottom get splinters in it every time he sits down, curse him!”

  The Greek captain laughed. “Pirates will steal anything, sir. You were lucky to escape alive. So you have nothing aboard?”

  The Frenchman gave an eloquent shrug. “Nothing, Captain, you can come and see for yourself.”

  The Greek stared hard at Thuron for a moment, as if making up his mind whether or not to search the Marie. Ben could feel his legs trembling. Then Ned began barking and showing his teeth ferociously.

  The Achilles’ captain shook his head. “No no, you have had enough trouble already. But what are you doing in these waters, sir?”

  Thuron put on a hopeful expression. “I have heard there is good work to be picked up coastin’ the Mediterranean!”

  The Greek made a deprecatory gesture. “You would do better cruising my home waters, the Aegean Sea. There are more islands there, and the trade is good. Tell me, though, in your travels, have you seen a red-sailed ship, the Flame of Tripoli? She’s somewhere in these waters, I’m sure. Have you caught sight of her?”

  Thuron answered truthfully. “We encountered that vessel early this morning, Captain. She’s a slaver, taking a cargo of slaves to the Americas. Her master even wanted to purchase my son here, didn’t he, Ben?”

  The boy nodded dumbly and allowed Thuron to continue. “Luckily we were unladen and gave her the slip. By now that slaver will be gone over the horizon, sailing due northwest.

  “You could run him down in two days’ hard sailing, Captain. Slavers are evil men. I hope you catch him and string him up, aye, and all his crew!”

  The Greek captain saluted. “Be sure I will, sir. Any man who trades in human beings needs hanging. Good day to you!”

  Thuron saluted back. “Good day to you and good hunting, sir!”

  The Achilles waited until the Marie had gone by. Then she altered course and began piling on sail to chase the slaver.

  Thuron let out a sigh of relief. “I wonder why he didn’t board and search us?”

  Ben exchanged thoughts with Ned, then explained to the captain in a murmur that the rest of the crew could not hear. “Ned could tell by his eyes that he was afraid of dogs. That’s why Ned barked and showed his teeth. ’Twas just a simple thing, Cap’n, but it changed the Greek’s mind—he was scared of being bitten if he came aboard.”

  Thuron picked the black Labrador up bodily and kissed him. “You clever lucky dog, what are you, eh?”

  Ned wriggled furiously, sending outraged thoughts to Ben. “Uuurgh! Tell this great whiskery lump t’put me down. I’ll never kiss any of my crew when I’m captain. Most undignified!”

  13

  THERE ARE FEW DIVERSIONS OR amusements for seamen under sail across an entire ocean—other than hard, monotonous routine. Gossip and talk, known as scuttlebutt, provided the main release of feelings for the crew of the Diablo Del Mar, now renamed the Royal Champion. The usual run of conversation centred on the injustices all hands were forced to endure under a captain such as Redjack Teal. This fitted in quite nicely with Ludon’s scheme, giving him leeway to widen the gap of disaffection between the crew and their captain.

  Though Ludon was not an educated man, he knew that the policy of divide and conquer was a workable idea. He looked and listened constantly, finding opportunities to carry tales back and forth in secret. There was nowhere a prisoner at sea could escape to. Accordingly, the mate, who would not tolerate idle hands aboard, had given Ludon the job of cook’s assistant. He served meals to the common seamen on the mess deck and, much to the cook’s relief, was employed to fetch and carry meals to the captain—a heaven-sent gift to the lone conspirator.

  Life aboard the Royal Champion became increasingly difficult, owing to Ludon’s scheming. If a man grumbled about his victuals, suddenly Teal was made aware of it. Being a disciplinarian, Teal would mete out harsh punishment on the offender. This made the crew resentful and surly, particularly when Ludon would let slip that the captain regarded his crew as ignorant, wayward oafs. Amidst a welter of truths, half-truths and downright lies, every man aboard became suspicious of his own shipmates.

  One evening, Ludon was serving the day’s meal out on the mess deck. He studiously avoided putting out food wherever there was an empty seat. The bosun growled. “Ahoy there, Frenchie, fill those plates for the gun crew!”

  Ludon paused. “But they are not here.”

  Bad-temperedly, the bosun slammed his knife down on the tabletop. “I said fill those plates! Who are you to say who’ll eat an’ who won’t? Here comes the gun crew now.”

  Sitting down to the table, the master gunner held up his hands, all swollen red and scratched. “Lookit that, we’ve had t’boil an’ scrape out every gun barrel aboard, musket an’ cannon. Been hard at it since dawn! See Taffy’s hand there, all bandaged up. He got it jammed in a culverin bore. Wonder he never lost it!”

  The bosun inspected the grimy, blood-soaked bandage. “I’d keep a fresh wrappin’ on that hand every day if’n I was you, Taffy. Save it goin’ poison on ye. Ah well, that’ll learn ye t’keep your gun barrels clean, Gunny.”

  With his spoon halfway to his mouth, the grizzled old master gunner exploded with indignation. “My guns have always been clean. I’ve served twenty years as master gunner an’ no cap’n has ever accused me of havin’ a dirty gun aboard!”

  Almost apologetically, the bosun replied, “Then why did Redjack punish you an’ your men?”

  The one called Taffy gestured with his bandaged hand. “’Cos someone tipped a pail o’ rubbish over the cannon nearest to Teal’s cabin door!”

  Cramming the loaded spoon into his mouth, the master gunner chewed furiously with his few remaining teeth, speaking through a full mouth. “Just let me get my hands on the scum who did it!” He spat out a lump of half-chewed meat. “Garrgh! Is this supposed t’be salt pork? Tastes more like a dead horse out of a glue boiler!”

  He glared at Ludon. “Have ye got nothin’ better’n this to feed hungry men, eh?”

  The French prisoner shrugged. “Cook says ’tis all he has, but your captain, he dines well enough on fresh fish. H
e is not short of fancy biscuits or Madeira to go with it.”

  Pushing his plate away, the bosun spoke sneeringly. “When was it ever different? The crew gets the slops while the cap’n dines like a lord. Here, Frenchie, take this garbage an’ toss it over the side.”

  Pointing a finger in Ludon’s face, the master gunner snarled, “An’ keep it clear o’ my cannon, or else . . .”

  Ludon scraped the leftovers into a pot and stalked out of the mess-deck cabin.

  When he had gone, the bosun’s eyes narrowed, and he nodded toward the door, muttering low. “I don’t trust that ’un. I been noticin’ lately, the Frenchie’s ears wiggle like a little pig whenever we’re talkin’. Take it from me, mates, guard your tongues while he’s about!”

  The mate stared oddly at the bosun. “D’ye think that Frenchie’s carryin’ tales back to Redjack?”

  Taffy answered for the mate. “ ’ Twouldn’t surprise me—he’s got the looks of a rat. What more could ye expect of a buccaneer deserter who sold out to that Spanish pirate?”

  Stabbing his knife into the tabletop, the bosun looked around at all hands. “So, what’re we goin’ to do about it, mates?”

  Being a fair-minded fellow, the master gunner replied. “Nothin’ without proof. Ye can’t condemn a man just because of his looks. There’s been many a mistake made like that.”

  Joby, the dead carpenter’s mate, picked up the fiddle that had once belonged to his former friend and twiddled a few chords on the instrument. It seemed to break the tense atmosphere.

  The old master gunner cracked a gap-toothed grin. “Come on, Joby, sing us a song. I’m fed up o’ sittin’ here lissenin’ to talk of mutiny an’ murder. Cheer us up, mate!”

  Joby smiled brightly. “Shall I play ‘The Jolly Cap’n’?” He ducked swiftly as several chunks of ship’s biscuit were hurled at him, then twiddled another chord or two. “I’ve put new words to it, listen.”

  Off he went, singing an insulting imitation of the original.

  “Ho the wind will never blow, me lads,

  So we’ve got to row the boat,

  An’ as for Cap’n Teal, the pig,

  I’d like to slit his throat.

  He wears a fine red jacket

  An’ drinks Madeira wine,

  Why should we call him captain

  When we could call him swine!

  Hurrah hurrah hurrah, me boys,

  He feeds us nought but swill,

  An’ makes us taste the rope’s end,

  That’s why all hands look ill!

  His father was a pig, me lads,

  An’ his mother was a sow,

  They sent him off a sailin’

  We’re lumbered with him now . . .”

  Joby’s voice trailed away, and the fiddle gave a discordant screech as the bow trailed over its strings.

  Captain Teal stood in the open doorway. His buckled shoes clacked against the deck as he strode up to the table. Teal’s voice shook with barely controlled rage as he faced the unfortunate Joby. “Greatly amusin’, I’m sure. Well, carry on playin’, man!”

  Placing the instrument on the table, Joby swallowed hard. “’Twas only by way of a little joke, sir.”

  Teal picked up the fiddle, weighing it in one hand. The crewmen watched him in dumb silence as he suddenly flung it at the bulkhead. When it hit the floor, he jumped on it with both feet, stamping and kicking savagely at the dead carpenter’s favourite instrument. It shattered and smashed, chips of wood, pegs and bow strings scattering over the mess-deck floor.

  Redjack Teal stood amid the wreckage, his eyes narrowed to mean slits. “A little joke, eh? Demn your insolence, fellow!”

  Teal’s accusing gaze fixed both the bosun and the master gunner. Spittle sprayed the air as he yelled at them. “Anythin’ to say about the victuals, eh eh? Meat’s like a dead horse! Crew eatin’ slops! What’s the matter, gentlemen, cat got your tongues? Nothin’ t’say about how I dine like a lord? Speak up, demn your eyes!”

  Both the bosun and the gunner held their horrified silence.

  Redjack suddenly went calm. He smiled slyly at them. “Next thing ye’ll be talkin’ mutiny behind me back.”

  Shaking his head, the master gunner called out hoarsely. “Beg your pardon, Cap’n, but we’ve never said a mutinous word agin ye—”

  Teal interrupted by drawing his silver-mounted pistol and cocking the hammer. “Have ye not indeed? Well, me brave boys, I’m goin’ t’make sure ye don’t get the chance. Mr. Mate, attend me here!”

  The mate sprang upright and saluted. “Aye, sir!”

  The captain pointed to Joby, the bosun and the master gunner with his pistol barrel. “Take these men in charge. They are to be put aboard the Devon Belle, one at each masthead. Half ration of ship’s biscuit’n’water for a week. That’ll cure ’em of any mutinous mutterin’s against me!”

  The men picked up the pieces of sailcloth that they used as cloaks in rough weather, but Teal shook his head. “Go as y’are, barefoot, too. Hard lessons must be learned the hard way. Mr. Mate, see them to their posts, if y’please!”

  Obediently the mate touched his forelock. “Aye aye, Cap’n.”

  “No, wait!” Teal tapped his chin thoughtfully with the pistol sight. “Bring our froggy prisoner here, will ye?”

  Two crewmen escorted the puzzled-looking Ludon into the cabin. Redjack smiled benevolently at him. “Ah, there y’are, monsieur. I’ve decided you shall go along an’ spend a week aboard the Devon Belle with these three rascals, on half rations of hardtack biscuit’n’water.”

  Ludon took one glance at the grim-faced trio, then fell on his knees, grabbing Teal’s red jacket hem. “But Cap’n, sir, what wrong have I done ye?”

  Teal dragged himself free, sending Ludon sprawling with a kick. “Tellin’ tales an’ causin’ disaffection among me crew, sirrah, that’s what you’re guilty of. Take ’em away!”

  The three crewmen were marched out by the mate, followed by two other sailors dragging Ludon, who was sobbing pitifully. “No, no, Cap’n, sir, you cannot do this to me!”

  Teal uncocked his pistol, chuckling at his cruel scheme. “Ye mealymouthed toad, I’ll show ye what I can’t an’ can do aboard me own ship!”

  Aboard La Petite Marie, Ben was putting the finishing touches to the repairs he had made to the window in the captain’s cabin. Canvas sheet was not as good for letting in light as the original glass windows, but it kept spray and wind out. Using the hilt of a heavy dagger, he knocked the final nail into the pleated canvas edge. Ned entered the cabin and looked around, sending a thought to his friend. “Bit dark in here, isn’t it?”

  Ben put aside the dagger. “Aye, but ’twill do well enough. At least we won’t see the Flying Dutchman through it.”

  Ned remembered what he had come for. “Oh, I think the cap’n wants to see you, Ben. He’s up in the bows.”

  As they made their way along the deck, Ben looked back over his shoulder. He passed a mental message to Ned. “See that fellow Gascon? He crossed himself and spat over the side after we’d passed. I wonder what’s wrong with him?”

  The black Labrador waved his tail airily. “Oh, him, he’s my least favourite man aboard this ship. He glares at me a lot, I don’t know why. I’ve never done him any harm.”

  Thuron was shouting from his position in the bows. “Ben, come here, there’s something I want you to see!” The boy mounted the bowsprit and locked his legs around it.

  The Frenchman gave him the telescope, pointing. “Dead ahead, you can just make it out—land, lad. That’s the islands of the Azores. Now point your glass downward and take a look into the ocean. What d’you see, Ben?”

  Scanning the surface on either side of the bow wave, Ben tried his best to see something distinctive. “Nothing really, sir, just a sort of white blotch now and then, but it’s pretty far below us. Is that what you mean?”

  Ned was frantically passing messages to Ben. “White blot, what kind of white blot, tell me?”

&
nbsp; Thuron provided the answer. “Remember, I told you there was a whole world beneath the ocean. What you see are the tips of mountains, huge tall peaks. We’re sailing over the great ridge, a sunken range of mountains that runs from Greenland almost to the earth’s southern tip. Wait until you see the Azores—I think they’re part of those mountains. Just higher peaks than the rest, sticking up out of the seas to form islands.”

  Ben lifted the telescope until he sighted on the rocky peaks of the Azores in the distance. “This world is a marvellous thing, Cap’n. It’s so vast!”

  La Petite Marie dropped anchor that afternoon in a deep lagoon of the main island. Ben and Ned marvelled at the lush tropical greenery that clung to the mountainous rocks around them.

  Pierre lowered the jolly boat and invited them aboard with the party that was going ashore. “Come on, you two, we’ll get some fruit and fresh water.”

  Ben and Ned sat on either side of Pierre in the stern. The boy noticed Gascon crouching in the bows and flashed a quick thought to his dog. “I wonder what he’s up to? He’s looking pretty furtive.”

  Ned wrinkled his forehead. “Huh, hope he falls overboard and drowns!”

  Ben frowned at the black Labrador. “Ned! That’s not a very charitable thought.”

  Ned sniffed. “I don’t care, I don’t like that fellow and he doesn’t like me, or you. I can sense it.”

  Pierre was unaware of the conversation and chatted away happily. “Lots of good fruit and vegetables growin’ on these islands, Ben. They’re long-dead volcanoes, and the soil is rich.”

  They spent the remainder of the afternoon foraging on the slopes, gathering quantities of the island’s produce, some familiar, some new to them, but all wonderful. Some of the crewmen found a little waterfall that cascaded down into a pond on the mossy ledges. Ben and Ned joined them in the crystal-clear water, bathing and splashing each other, laughing like a band of children. For the boy and his dog it was a golden day to remember, far from the rigours of seafaring and the fear of the Flying Dutchman haunting their dreams.