Caribbee

  *

  Katherine stood at the bannister amidships. Serina by her side, and studied the glimmer of lights along the shore, swaying clusters of candle-lanterns as seamen passed back and forth in longboats between the brothels of Tortuga and their ships.

  The buccaneers. They lived in a world like none she had ever seen. As the shouts, curses, songs, and snatches of music drifted out over the gentle surf, she had to remind herself that this raffish settlement was the home of brigands unwelcome in any other place. Yet from her vantage now, they seemed like harm­less, jovial children.

  Still, anchored alongside the Defiance were some of the most heavily armed brigantines in the New World—no bottom here carried fewer than thirty guns. The men, too, were murderers, who killed Spanish civilians as readily as infantry. Jacques le Basque presided over the most dreaded naval force in the New World. He had done more to endanger Spain's fragile economy than all the Protestant countries together. If they grew any stronger, the few hundred men on this tiny island might well so disrupt Spain's vital lifeline of silver from the Americas as to bankrupt what once had been Europe's mightiest empire. . . .

  The report of a pistol sounded from somewhere along the shore, followed by yells of glee and more shots. Several men in Spanish finery had begun firing into the night to signal the commencement of an impromptu celebration. As they marched around a keg of liquor, a cluster of women, prostitutes from the taverns, shrieked in drunken encouragement and joined in the melee.

  "This place is very frightening, senhora." Serina shivered and edged next to Katherine. Her hair was tied in a kerchief, African style, as it had been for all the voyage. "I have never seen branco like these. They seem so crazy, so violent."

  "Just be thankful we're not Spaniards, or we'd find out just how violent they really are."

  "Remember I once lived in Brazil. We heard stories about this place."

  "'Tis quite a sight, Yor Ladyships." John Mewes had am­bled over to the railing, beside them, to watch for Winston. "The damnedest crew of rogues and knaves you're ever like to make acquaintance with. Things've come to a sad pass that we've got to try recruitin' some of this lot to sail with us."

  "Do you think they're safe ashore, John?"

  "Aye, Yor Ladyship, on that matter I'd not trouble yourself unduly." Mewes fingered the musket he was holding. "You should've seen him once down at Curasao, when a gang of Dutch shippers didn't like the cheap price we was askin' for a load of kill-devil that'd fallen our way over at . . . I forget where. Threatened to board and scuttle us. So the Captain and me decided we'd hoist a couple of nine-pound demi's up on deck and stage a little gunnery exercise on a buoy floatin' there on the windward side o' the harbor. After we'd laid it with a couple of rounds, blew it to hell, next thing you know the Butterboxes . . ."

  "John, what's that light over there? Isn't that him?"

  Mewes paused and stared. At the shoreline opposite their anchorage a lantern was flashing.

  "Aye, m'lady. That's the signal, sure enough." He smiled. "Didn't I tell you there'd be nothing to worry over." With an exhale of relief, he quickly turned and ordered the longboat lowered, assigning four men to the oars and another four to bring flintlocks.

  The longboat lingered briefly in the surf at the shore, and moments later Winston and Atiba were headed back toward the ship.

  "It seems they are safe, senhora." Serina was still watching with worried eyes. "Perhaps these branco are better than those on Barbados."

  "Well, I don't think they have slaves, if that's what you mean. But that's about all you can say for them."

  A few moments later the longboat bumped against the side of the Defiance, and Winston was pulling himself over the bul­warks, followed by Atiba.

  "Katy, break out the tankards. I think we can deal with Jacques." He offered her a hug. "He's gone half mad—taken over the island and run off the English settlers. But there're plenty of English boucaniers here who'd like nothing better than to sail from somewhere else."

  "Did he agree to help us?"

  "Of course not. You've got to know him. It's just what I expected. When I brought up our little idea, he naturally refused point-blank. But he knows there're men here who'll join us if they like. Which means that tomorrow he'll claim it was his idea all along, then demand the biggest part of what we take for himself."

  "Tomorrow?"

  "I'm going back up to the fort, around sunset, to sort out details."

  "I wish you wouldn't." She took his hand. "Why don't we just get whatever men we can manage and leave?"

  "That'd mean a fight." He kissed her lightly. "Don't worry. I'll handle Jacques. We just have to keep our wits."

  "Well then, I want to go with you."

  "As a matter of fact he did ask you to come. But that's out of the question."

  "It's just as dangerous for you as for me. If you're going back, then so am I."

  "Katy, no . . ."

  "Hugh, we've done everything together this far. So if you want to get men from this place, then I'll help you. And if that means I have to flatter this insane criminal, so be it."

  He regarded her thoughtfully, then smiled. "Well, in truth I'm not sure a woman can still turn his head, but I suppose you can give it a try."

  Serina approached them and reached to touch Winston's hand. "Senhor, was your council of war a success?"

  "I think so. All things in time."

  "The branco in this place are very strange. Is it true they do not have slaves?"

  "Slaves, no. Though they do have a kind of servant here, but even that's different from Barbados."

  "How so, senhor?"

  "Well, there've never been many women around this place. So in the old days a boucanier might acquire a matelot, to be his companion, and over the years the matelots got to be more like younger brothers than indentures. They have legal rights of inheritance, for instance, since most boucaniers have no fam­ily. A boucanier and his matelot are legally entitled to the other's property if one of them dies." He looked back toward the shore. "Also, no man has more than one matelot. In fact, if a boucanier does marry a woman, his matelot has conjugal rights to her too."

  "But, senhor, if the younger man, the matelot, inherits everything, what is to keep him from just killing the older man? To gain his freedom, and also the other man's property?"

  "Honor." He shrugged and leaned back against the railing, inhaling the dense air of the island. He lingered pensively for a moment, then turned to Katherine. "Katy, do remember this isn't just any port. Some of those men out there have been known to shoot somebody for no more cause than a tankard of brandy. And underneath it all, Jacques is just like the rest. It's when he's most cordial that you'd best beware."

  "I still want to go." She moved next to him. "I'm going to meet face-to-face with this madman who once tried to kill you."