against the moon. He swung left and beheld the Shadow on the other side of the bay.
It had not been a lie about the lack of men on board, although within a day he could maybe add thirty more from the townsfolk and slaves. Nevertheless, the Shadow's acting captain, overweight and indolent as he was, would have also recognised the brigantine for the pirate ship described in the recent correspondence from Cape Coast Castle. The captain doubtlessly had watched Alvaro escort the party to shore and surely would have maintained a cautious watch.
He had anticipated capturing the pirates and forcing the ship to surrender. The triumph would make him a legend amongst the islands, possibly gain him enough fame to sail his way off this slave rock and back home to Portugal.
He would have time yet before the crew began to miss their pirate brothers. Enough time to get to the Shadow and inform its feckless captain of what had occurred and then, with a single broadside, advise the pirates to kneel or suffer the fate of their brothers and the wrath of his frigate.
But there were plenty of dories around the island to steal. The man Devlin could get back to his ship, inform them that the Shadow had only thirty men, that the house had few defences and even fewer guards. The pirate Devlin must be found. Found and silenced.
Returning to the telescope, he could see the lanterns of his men by the shore. The boat was still there. Devlin had run inland. He would not escape. It was fortunate that the horses had not yet been stabled for the night.
Devlin made his way to the top of another hill. Covered in grass seeds and sweat, a raging thirst at his throat, he willed the black clouds to break. From up here he could discern a road, maybe some houses, and in the distance what might be the sea, or perhaps just more of the same bloody dirt that his boots were full of.
Six miles at most to reach Peter Sam on the northern shore - not a great distance by any reckoning, and certainly not when being pursued. He fumbled for the compass in his coat, its whalebone face glowing beneath the moon as its dial danced on his palm. NNE would take him away from Ribeira Brava, the largest town and the one best avoided, for if there was any garrison on the island it would be in Ribeira.
Readjusting the boulder that his coat had become, he moved down the hill. He plucked at the shirt, stuck to his back with sweat. He thought of abandoning the heavy woollen twill coat, but not only did its pockets hold all that he had to carry him through this night, it also had other advantages. He had noticed the ordinariness of Seth Toombs without his. A good coat and a fine hat would always mark one as a cut above the rabble. It was like a priest's vestments in as much as it could transform the simple into the sublime. He would hold on to it.
A crack of thunder directly above him made him cower and look to the clouds in awe. The earth seemed to join the sky all around him with the falling of the African rain. Blinded by the sudden wave of water, Devlin shook the coat on gratefully, but mourned the tricorne he had left behind on Valentim Mendes's table as its three corners would now be running the hammering rain away from his back. He trotted on, the warm rain seeming to laugh at him as he stumbled through its walls of water.
Black Bill, the rain clinging to his beard, leaned on the starboard gunwale to look to the black frigate across the bay, her shape cut out against the hills by the cascade of rain.
He had spent the last hour sheathing the guns from the downpour, aided by the drunken gunner captain, Robert Hartley, who cursed the mongrels of the gods for the rain they had decided to throw upon him and his guns.
Below him a neverending rum-laden chorus of 'Leave Her, Johnny' hailed up through the deck.
It was rotten meat and weevil bread,
Leave her, Johnny, leave her.
'You'll eat or starve,' the old man said, And it's
It had not been a lie about the lack of men on board, although within a day he could maybe add thirty more from the townsfolk and slaves. Nevertheless, the Shadow's acting captain, overweight and indolent as he was, would have also recognised the brigantine for the pirate ship described in the recent correspondence from Cape Coast Castle. The captain doubtlessly had watched Alvaro escort the party to shore and surely would have maintained a cautious watch.
He had anticipated capturing the pirates and forcing the ship to surrender. The triumph would make him a legend amongst the islands, possibly gain him enough fame to sail his way off this slave rock and back home to Portugal.
He would have time yet before the crew began to miss their pirate brothers. Enough time to get to the Shadow and inform its feckless captain of what had occurred and then, with a single broadside, advise the pirates to kneel or suffer the fate of their brothers and the wrath of his frigate.
But there were plenty of dories around the island to steal. The man Devlin could get back to his ship, inform them that the Shadow had only thirty men, that the house had few defences and even fewer guards. The pirate Devlin must be found. Found and silenced.
Returning to the telescope, he could see the lanterns of his men by the shore. The boat was still there. Devlin had run inland. He would not escape. It was fortunate that the horses had not yet been stabled for the night.
Devlin made his way to the top of another hill. Covered in grass seeds and sweat, a raging thirst at his throat, he willed the black clouds to break. From up here he could discern a road, maybe some houses, and in the distance what might be the sea, or perhaps just more of the same bloody dirt that his boots were full of.
Six miles at most to reach Peter Sam on the northern shore - not a great distance by any reckoning, and certainly not when being pursued. He fumbled for the compass in his coat, its whalebone face glowing beneath the moon as its dial danced on his palm. NNE would take him away from Ribeira Brava, the largest town and the one best avoided, for if there was any garrison on the island it would be in Ribeira.
Readjusting the boulder that his coat had become, he moved down the hill. He plucked at the shirt, stuck to his back with sweat. He thought of abandoning the heavy woollen twill coat, but not only did its pockets hold all that he had to carry him through this night, it also had other advantages. He had noticed the ordinariness of Seth Toombs without his. A good coat and a fine hat would always mark one as a cut above the rabble. It was like a priest's vestments in as much as it could transform the simple into the sublime. He would hold on to it.
A crack of thunder directly above him made him cower and look to the clouds in awe. The earth seemed to join the sky all around him with the falling of the African rain. Blinded by the sudden wave of water, Devlin shook the coat on gratefully, but mourned the tricorne he had left behind on Valentim Mendes's table as its three corners would now be running the hammering rain away from his back. He trotted on, the warm rain seeming to laugh at him as he stumbled through its walls of water.
Black Bill, the rain clinging to his beard, leaned on the starboard gunwale to look to the black frigate across the bay, her shape cut out against the hills by the cascade of rain.
He had spent the last hour sheathing the guns from the downpour, aided by the drunken gunner captain, Robert Hartley, who cursed the mongrels of the gods for the rain they had decided to throw upon him and his guns.
Below him a neverending rum-laden chorus of 'Leave Her, Johnny' hailed up through the deck.
It was rotten meat and weevil bread,
Leave her, Johnny, leave her.
'You'll eat or starve,' the old man said, And it's
Similar Books
