Marauder

16

“And who might you be?” One of the men in front of Steve had spoken.

“Steve and John,” said Steve, hoping Jane would say nothing. In the dark, the strangers could stand close and still not see that she was a woman. “We’re shipwrecked off the Hungry Hawk.” Taking a deep breath, he decided to be bold. “Who might you be?”

“I’m Nick Van Dyne,” said the man in front of him. “Lately of Port Royal, but we haven’t done so well lately. So it’s our fire you see.”

“We saw those ships from the shore this afternoon,” said another man. “And we heard you coming down the road just a bit ago.”

“Aye, we did,” said Nick, resting his hand on his rapier. “But we have not been welcome in Port Royal for some time, those of us whose gold ran out. We haven’t had a ship to crew for some time. I think these two might have some plunder they could share with us.”

“We don’t have anything,” said Steve.

“Ha! Two Spanish ships were in that fight today, and they both set sail with the others back for Port Royal. I say they were both fat pigeons with plenty of booty for every buccaneer who took part in the voyage.”

“We got thrown off the ship during the fighting,” said Steve, carefully eyeing the buccaneer on his left. That man was holding his cutlass in one hand, down by his side. “No plunder had been divided yet.”

“We shall see,” said Nick, drawing his rapier. “Grab them both!”

Steve had been ready, however. As soon as Nick had reached for his rapier, Steve had whirled to the man holding the cutlass near him and punched him in the stomach. He wrenched the cutlass away just in time to block a thrust from Nick, backing up a step. Then, half-expecting the other buccaneers to jump on him from all sides, he waited for Nick’s next stroke.

The crowd of buccaneers laughed, however, at the way Steve had caught the one man by surprise and taken his sword. Meanwhile, Steve figured that he had little to lose by fighting. These pirates were more aggressive, and probably more desperate, than those on the waterfront of Port Royal. From the bullies and brawlers he had known in the desert back home, he was sure they would respect a fighter. Any attempts he made to mollify them now would be considered cowardice.

“Stand back!” Nick laughed. “He’s a poor man with a sword, but has spirit. Let’s see what else he has.”

Steve kept the cutlass high in front of him as Nick feinted, twirled his point in Steve’s face, and lunged again. As before, Steve knocked the thrust aside with a minimal movement; he could see that a big swing of his arm would momentarily leave him wide open. He really didn’t know what he was doing, however, and had to back up again to avoid a quick flurry of short feints from Nick.

“Get him, Nick!” The man who owned the cutlass shook his fist at Steve.

“He got the better o’ you, all right,” said someone in the crowd, and they all laughed.

Steve’s opponent was quick and confident. All Steve could do was block the strokes he could and slowly back away from the others. Sooner or later, he was likely to back into a tree or trip over a rock or log and fall.

“Stand to, fellow,” said Nick, laughing. “How can we fight if you keep running away?”

“Aye,” called another man. “He probably jumped overboard and swam for shore the same way!”

The buccaneers bellowed with laughter.

Vaguely, as Steve parried again, he heard the sounds of horses and the creaking of some vehicle on the road behind the crowd. He didn’t dare turn to look, but a large, looming shadow blocked the moonlight in his peripheral vision. In front of him, Nick also refused to look away.

Voices sounded behind the crowd. Then, suddenly, the buccaneers gave enthusiastic greetings to someone. The crowd moved quickly away from Nick and Steve and Jane.

“It’s Captain Morgan,” called someone loudly. “Nicky! He’s coming!”

The crowd parted and a tall, burly man strode through the opening.

“Good evening, men,” he said heartily. “So, having a little fun, are you?”

Nick glanced at him quickly, then lowered his rapier, still watching Steve warily. “Evening, Captain.”

Steve dropped the cutlass on the ground. He was grateful for the interruption and wanted to give Nick no excuse to resume the fight. Whatever happened next, he and Jane would have better luck trusting to chance than trusting his fencing.

“A personal row, I suppose.” Captain Morgan looked back and forth between Nick and Steve. “I say, fellow, you’re all wet. So is your friend.”

Steve peered at him in the moonlight. He wore a broad-brimmed hat with plumes, a fancy ruffled shirt, and an unbuttoned coat. A sword and scabbard hung from a polished belt that had a pistol stuck through it. He spoke with a British accent that was different from the ones Steve had heard in Port Royal.

“Aye, Captain,” said Steve. “We, uh, wound up in the water during the attack on a Spanish ship. My friend here lowered a dinghy and we rowed to shore.”

“A Spanish ship, this close to the coast of Jamaica?” Captain Morgan looked at him doubtfully…

“We took two of them,” said Steve, seeing that Captain Morgan was interested in this subject. “ A sailor on one of them said that a storm broke up their convoy and blew them off course.”

“Ah! Good fortune for you, then.” Captain Morgan grinned broadly. “Glad to hear it. I would hear more of this, however.” He took another look at Jane in the darkness.

“We can tell you much more,” said Steve, eagerly. “The names of the ships and how we attacked them, all that.”

“Excellent! I must introduce myself. I am Henry Morgan, a colonel by commission from Governor Modyford.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Steve. He suddenly recognized Morgan’s name vaguely from his meager history. “We are Steve and John.”

“Are you returning to Port Royal?”

“Yeah-I mean, aye.”

“You shall be my guests,” said Captain Morgan. “I am a little late, but on my way to Port Royal this evening. Please join me in my carriage.” He turned to one side, gesturing.

Steve grabbed Jane’s arm and pulled her along. The buccaneers made way for them, saying nothing as they watched. Captain Morgan brought up the rear.

The carriage loomed as little more than a large shadow, where a footman opened the door. Steve drew Jane forward to climb in first. He followed her and sat next to her in the forward seat, facing backward. The seat was padded, but he could feel the hard shelf underneath the cushion. Captain Morgan climbed into the opposite seat. When the footman closed the door, Captain Morgan leaned out the window.

“In the next few days, men,” he called. “On the docks as we arranged, eh?”

Enthusiastic agreement from the crowd answered him. Captain Morgan waved and the driver took the coach forward. Steve finally relaxed slightly for the first time since the buccaneers had confronted them.

“I am coming from my plantation in Rio Minho Valley,” said Captain Morgan. He smiled in the faint moonlight coming in through the windows of the carriage. “I hate to see buccaneers fighting each other when I am about to assemble new crews for my ships. We must fight the Spanish together.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Steve.

“I see you are both chilly,” said Captain Morgan. “I shall buy a round of rum at my favorite tavern. It will warm you both.”

“We’re looking forward to it,” said Steve.

“As am I.” Captain Morgan nodded to Jane. “John, I shall see that you are especially comfortable.”

Jane nodded, looking at Steve. If Steve understood Captain Morgan, he was not fooled by her appearance. Yet he seemed to respect her masquerade.

As the carriage swayed and creaked down the road, pulled by a team of lively horses, Steve tried to remember what he could about Henry Morgan. All he could recall was that Morgan had been a buccaneer captain. According to what Rita had told the team in the beginning, the commission from Governor Modyford meant that legally, right now, he was a privateer. Steve saw that he was wealthy, and that he was a big, barrel-chested, confident man, but he was surprised to see that he was also soft -spoken and considerate.

“From where to do you hail?” Captain. Morgan asked.

“From California,” said Steve, with a slight grin. “John, here, is from up the mainland coast.”

“California.” Captain Morgan eyed Steve closely. “That would be a Spanish possession on the far ocean, if I remember my maps rightly. You look a bit Spanish, in fact. Yet you speak English comfortably, albeit with an odd accent.”

“We are buccaneers,” Steve said firmly.

“Aye, that you are. Any man has a fair chance with me. Jamaica has buccaneers from every land. So tell me about your recent voyage.”

Steve decided that as long as he avoided mentioning the future or robots, telling Morgan their story was not likely to change history. During the ride into Port Royal, he told Morgan about the Cadiz and the Sidonia. He briefly mentioned the Hungry Hawk and the Old Laughing Lady; Morgan recognized the names and knew their captains.

“I told them I’d be gathering a fleet,” he said grimly. “I am not pleased that they went adventuring so close to my own call for crews. Good men and ships might have been wasted. Well, I suppose the temptation was too great to pass up. Still, I will want them with me. I hope they will be ready.”

Steve was sure that asking Questions about Morgan’s plans was not wise.

The town gate was closed when the carriage arrived. Steve noticed, however, that the driver only had to shout Captain Morgan’s name to the sentries in order to have it opened. The carriage drove into the town and down to the waterfront.

Steve looked out the window at the taverns and shops. By now, some were familiar. However, the carriage drew up at a tavern that he had not noticed before. It was a small storefront, no different from many others.

“This is not the wildest tavern in town,” said Captain Morgan. “I would say it is not the best, either, but it’s a favorite of mine. You will join me for that rum, eh?”

“Of course,” said Steve.

Jane smiled and shrugged.

The footman opened the door for them. At Captain Morgan’s gesture, Steve slipped out first and waited for Jane. Then they followed their host into the tavern.

It was a small, cozy establishment lighted with torches on the walls and candles on the rough wooden tables. The tavernkeeper greeted Captain Morgan familiarly, as did several of the buccaneers drinking at the tables.

Captain Morgan took a big, round table in the middle of the room. He ordered three tankards of rum, with an amused smile at Jane. She was still not speaking, to masquerade as “John,” but Captain Morgan seemed to consider it merely a mild joke.

The rum was served with a bottle and a plate of tropical fruit. Captain Morgan raised a tankard to Steve and Jane. They clanked theirs against his.

“To good sailing,” said Captain Morgan, before taking a long drink.

“To good sailing,” Steve repeated.

Jane muttered the same quietly, smiling shyly.

“I say,” said Captain Morgan, studying Steve again in the light. “You have a trace of Moor in you, do you?”

Steve laughed and decided to explain his ancestry to Captain Morgan the best he could. “I live in Spanish California, but my family originated in, uh, Cathay. You’ve heard of it?”

“Ah! Yes, I’ve heard tales of distant Cathay, on the far side of the world. Never been there. May hap I’ll go someday.” He took a drink of his rum. “What’s it like?”

“Uh-I don’t know.”

“Eh?”

“I was born in, uh, the New World.”

“Ah! I see, of course. But I still don’t understand how your English is so good if you grew up in New Spain.”

Jane suppressed a smile, and hid behind her tankard.

“Well….” Steve tried to think of an answer. “Captain, I suppose we have more English speakers in California than you realize.”

“Hm! Well, it could be. I wouldn’t know.” Morgan gestured to the plate of fruit and waited until Jane had taken a banana and Steve had picked up a bunch of grapes. “What I do know is that Spain has plenty of rich pickings in this sea, and all the way down the Atlantic Coast.”

“The Spanish Main,” said Steve, repeating a phrase he remembered.

“Aye, so it is. And someday I’ll cross all of it.” Captain Morgan peeled a banana for himself. “It’s full of sweet little towns just waiting for a man of vision to take, just one of these days.” He took a bite of the banana.

“Really?” Steve spoke casually, aware that Captain Morgan was in a mood to talk shop with them. He also realized that he was very hungry, and saw that Jane was reaching for an apple.

“Spain has the richest cities in the Americas,” said Captain Morgan. “And the strongest.”

“The strongest?” Steve took another banana.

“Aye! Oh, any city can be taken, all right. But it takes thought and planning and men of stout heart.” Captain Morgan glanced at both of them and sat up. “By the stars, I forgot my manners! You two have had no supper, I wager.”

“Well…you’d win your wager.” Steve grinned. “But we welcome your hospitality as it is.”

“Nonsense!” Captain Morgan waved to the tavernkeeper. “Two beefsteaks for my friends here! Potatoes, too!” He smiled and spread his arms. “No guests of mine go hungry.”

“We are in your debt,” said Steve.