Rashim cleared his throat. ‘OK. Well, uh … let me see … I am not too sure. What do you chaps think?’
Jay-zus. Liam shot Rashim an incredulous frown. Hardly an inspiring heroic-leader-of-men start.
Chapter 29
1667, the Caribbean Sea
Jacob Teale was beginning to feel that the worst of this wretched nightmare was behind him. According to Rashim, they’d successfully crossed the ocean and entered the Caribbean Sea. There were islands everywhere here according to the various weather-beaten and suntanned sea dogs Teale had encountered in the inns and taverns in London. A man could navigate by eye, hopping from one cove to the next, and never need to stray out into the dark blue water beyond sight of land to make a living here.
He allowed himself a small smile. A man like him, with a quick tongue, a natural charm, the charisma and presence of a heroic leader, could make himself a fortune in these opportune waters. Just so long as he didn’t squander money and chance on drink. He vowed that tomorrow not a single drop of rum or any other grog left aboard would pass his lips. They’d be arriving at Port Royal, Jamaica, tomorrow and he needed to be on his best form when he stepped ashore. Teale had little doubt in his ability to talk his way into the governor’s mansion and, once there, to convince him that a written licence to plunder Spanish ships was his divine right and would yield him a steady flow of bribe money.
Perhaps, slightly trickier, was his crew. Teale suspected his magnetic spell had worn a little thin with them. There’d been a few mistakes … and he certainly hadn’t shown the best side of himself these last few weeks, lying up in this cabin, drinking himself into a stupor day after day. Meanwhile, Rashim and Old Tom had been effectively ‘captaining’ the Clara between them. He’d had a fleeting concern that maybe Rashim might be a potential threat to his leadership. The man was undoubtedly clever and had a gentlemanly ‘air’ about him that this crew of gutter dogs instinctively deferred to. But he was no leader of men, that much was sure. His voice was almost feminine, his manner faltering and vaguely apologetic. The scum of this crew, petty criminals and scoundrels the lot of them, responded only to confidence, the loud bark of a man who was sure of himself. Anyway, not that any of this mattered. The moment he wafted the signed letter of marque in front of these men, they’d be his.
Teale settled back into his cot for the night, satisfied that, despite a rather unsatisfying start to his adventure, things were going to turn out just fine. And that’s when he heard the muffled sound of many boots climbing the steps up on to the afterdeck. A moment later his door swung open. Not even a polite knock first.
‘What the devil is this!’ he snapped angrily.
Two men stepped in, one of them holding an oil lamp. From its guttering light he could make out one of them was the young Irishman – O’Connor or something similar, wasn’t it? And the other was …
‘Rashim?’ He sat up on his bunk. ‘Damn you, man! How dare you barge in on me like some –’
‘Get up!’ said Liam. ‘Now.’
Teale’s eyes widened. His lips quivered with outrage. ‘God’s bones! How dare you! I’ll have you lashed for insub–’
‘I’d get up right now and do what we say, if I were you,’ replied Liam.
Teale did get up. ‘You, sir … I shall have Tom clap you in irons.’ He cupped his hands. ‘Tom!’
‘Aye?’ Old Tom emerged from behind the other two.
Teale eyed all three of them, standing in the doorway of his cabin. He could see beyond them: the afterdeck was crowded with men peering in. ‘Tom? What is the meaning of this?’
Tom smiled, all gums and black teeth. ‘Lads has voted you out as captain.’
‘Voted! Voted?’ He spluttered the word. ‘What is this? Some handmaiden’s embroidery club? This is my damned ship! I organized this venture! I –’
‘The men voted you out,’ said Liam, ‘and voted Rashim in.’
Teale’s incredulous eyes met Rashim’s. ‘Is this true?’
He shrugged in response. ‘Uh … yes, actually.’
Liam took a couple of steps forward. Close enough that he could lower his voice. ‘The men really, really, want to slit your throat and throw you over the side. But Rashim –’ he looked back at him – ‘Captain Rashim has issued his first order … that we give you one of our pinnaces with sails and oars and some water.’
Rashim nodded. ‘That’s quite right.’ He tried to rustle up a more commanding voice. ‘Those are, in fact, my orders.’
‘And, if I were you,’ added Liam, ‘I wouldn’t waste time arguing. The men are in an ugly mood. The sooner we have you off this ship and on your way, the better it’s going to be for you.’
Teale snarled under his breath. ‘You men! You men outside!’ he barked suddenly. ‘Any of you who will arrest these traitors right now will NOT be considered a part of this foolish mutiny! The rest of you I shall have flogged as –’
Liam shook his head and tutted. ‘Teale, look, this really isn’t helping matters.’
Five minutes later they had a pinnace bobbing beside the Clara, a rope ladder flung over the side and the crew had begrudgingly lowered a cask of drinking water into the bottom of it.
Teale hesitated by the ship’s rail. ‘You know … the moment I step ashore, I shall report you all as pirates! Brigands! Mutineers!’ He turned to stare at the assembled men. ‘I will have an audience with Governor Modyford! I will have his ear and I will have him assemble a fleet of ships to hunt you all down! You will be pursued relentlessly. There’ll be no cove, no island, no port that you can hide safely in!’
Liam noted the effect Teale was having on the men. That roaring voice of his, the tone of absolute certainty in it, that what he promised was going to come to pass. The jeering of a few moments ago had dwindled to an uncomfortable silence.
‘You’ll hang because of these two!’ he said, glaring at Liam and Rashim. ‘All of you simple-minded fools will hang because of them! And your carcasses will rot in gibbet cages as a warning to others!’
‘Jay-zus,’ Liam muttered to himself. We need to get him off now.
He grabbed Teale’s shoulder. ‘Right … that’s enough rubbish from you.’
‘My waistcoat!’ said Rashim quickly. ‘We need it.’
‘Oh yeah.’ Liam began to pull the garment off him.
Teale slapped his hands away. ‘Unhand me, you common ruffian!’
‘The captain wants his nice jacket back,’ said Liam.
Teale shook his head casually. ‘It matters not to me.’ He unbuttoned it, shrugged it off his shoulders, handed it over and then laughed. ‘I shall merely reclaim it from your dangling corpse, Rashim. Of course, I shall be sure to have it laundered before I wear it again!’
Liam grasped his shoulders and pushed him back towards the rail. ‘I think you should leave now,’ he hissed quietly at him. ‘Before someone takes a shot at you.’ He made sure that Teale saw the handle of the flintlock pistol tucked into his belt.
Teale managed a smirk. ‘I talked several dozen bankers and merchants into giving me this ship … I can certainly talk a foolish old bewigged scrap-island governor into signing your death warrants.’
‘Well, good luck with that.’ Liam shoved Teale back so that the man had to swing a leg over the rail.
Teale hesitated, clinging on to the top of the rail. ‘These two fools will be your doom! Mark my words … the last face you will see, besides the magistrate and the hangman, will be mine!’
Liam pulled the pistol from his belt and aimed it at Teale’s face. ‘Go.’
‘And you, Mr O’Connor sir … I shall be sure to ask to pull the lever on your execution!’
‘You just don’t know when to be quiet, do you?’ He cocked the pistol and Teale finally began to climb slowly down the rope ladder. At the bottom he sat down heavily on the plank thwart.
‘Mark me carefully, gentlemen, within the year … you’ll all be bones held together by rotting flesh!’ he called up to them. ‘Every last on
e of you are dead men from this moment!’
Liam aimed his pistol down and pulled the trigger. The still night was split with the crack and boom of the shot and a puff of wood splinters erupted from the plank that Teale was sitting on. He got the message. Hastily grabbing the oars from the bottom of the boat, he began to row.
Liam and Rashim watched him paddling out into the darkness, listening to the dip and pull of the oars until the flat stern of the pinnace was lost in the night.
‘That could have gone better,’ said Rashim quietly as he pulled the waistcoat over his shoulders. The rest of the crew were staring sullenly out at the darkness. No whooping of joy. No cheers for the new captain. The mood was oppressive. Foreboding.
‘Aye. Well, it’s all done with now.’
Rashim fidgeted and fussed beside him. ‘You know, he’s ruined the cut of this thing. And there’s buttons missing.’
Old Tom called the men to order. ‘To your berths now, boys! Busy day tomorrow.’ He nominated the night watch and the men quietly, gloomily dispersed, leaving Liam and Rashim alone, standing in the waist of the ship, staring out into the darkness.
‘Ugh … and it reeks of alcohol and sweat now,’ clucked Rashim.
‘The transponder?’
‘Oh yes.’ He smiled skittishly. ‘I almost completely forgot about that.’ He unbuttoned the waistcoat and reached one hand inside and fumbled for the small secret slit of a pouch.
‘You got it?’
Rashim fumbled some more, his fingers probing the silk lining. ‘Er … the pocket’s open. It is unstitched.’ Liam remembered he’d sewn a few stitches of thick cotton to close the pouch for safekeeping just before they’d set out to watch the Fire of London.
‘What?’
Rashim cursed and pulled his hand out. Empty. ‘The thing has gone.’
Liam slowly lowered his head until his forehead thumped softly against the wooden gunwale.
‘Great. Just great.’
Chapter 30
1667, Port Royal, Jamaica
Maddy stared down at him. He’d passed out again. The rum had revived his wits long enough to tell them what they needed to know, and now ex-captain and would-be adventurer Jack Teale was just another spent wreck, just one of so many other pirates lying drunk in doorways and on porches, like the weather-worn hulls of one of any number of sun-bleached dinghies washed up, beached and abandoned on a high tide.
Maddy looked at the snoring man. He won’t last much longer. Either he’d die of malnutrition or more likely in some brawl attempting to steal someone’s swag for the price of one last bottle of rum.
She stood up and looked at Bob, relief etched on her face. ‘So … now we at least know they’re both alive.’
‘And they are in the vicinity.’
‘Vicinity. You mean, like, somewhere in the Caribbean?’
‘Correct. Nearby.’
‘That’s a helluva lot of nearby in which to try and find them, though.’
Somewhere in the Caribbean. Or at least they had been when they’d cast Teale over the side. And how many weeks ago, she wondered, was that? They could have sailed on elsewhere since then. They could even be sailing back across the Atlantic by now, perhaps trying to make their way back to Holborn, London. But then hadn’t Jack Teale told her his crew had firmly set their resolve on making their fortunes here in these waters? If Liam and Rashim were in charge of this ship now, that’s what they’d have to promise their crew: that they were here to stay. Surely, their men, in newly rebellious mood, would mutiny against them if they issued orders to sail straight back the way they’d come?
‘I wonder … why didn’t they just come ashore here in Port Royal? And, you know, wait for us to zero in on them and pick ’em up?’
‘I do not have adequate information to answer that, Maddy.’
‘I was thinking aloud,’ she replied absently. She stroked her chin. More to the point, why did they give Jack Teale this transponder? That’s what he’d said. It was a gift. And yet this small walnut-sized chunk of circuitry was their only link. Their only hope of being tracked down and found.
What are you two idiots playing at?
Something occurred to Maddy just then. Something more than a little disconcerting. Perhaps at some point over the last few months – months to Liam, mere hours for her and Sal – Liam had finally decided he’d had enough and gone ‘rogue’. She recalled how often he’d dwelled all misty-eyed and nostalgic on the six months he’d spent in twelfth-century Nottingham playing at being the big sheriff: the stand-in lord and commander-in-chief of all he surveyed.
God, he’d loved all that, hadn’t he? The swords, the armour … the being in charge. And how many times had he said he’d go back there in a heartbeat if it wasn’t for the fact they had a job to do saving the future?
But there isn’t a job to do now, is there? Not really. We’re kicking our heels. We’re little more than time tourists with a machine to take us wherever we want.
She smiled sadly. She didn’t think she could blame him if that’s what this really was. If this was an opportunistic bid by Liam to escape from their eternal trap. After all, now they knew the truth of what they were: that none of them had actually chosen to be TimeRiders. The choice, after all – their recruitment moment – had merely been a programmed memory. Someone else’s ‘choice’, certainly not theirs. No different to an author voicing the words, thoughts and feelings of a character. And that made them little more than sock puppets.
So … maybe that’s it, then. Isn’t it? He’s made his choice. He doesn’t want to be found.
That was Teale’s account of events, admittedly a somewhat biased and bitter recollection of the last few months … He’d told her how he’d saved Liam and Rashim from the fire, how they had become the best of friends and then all of a sudden they’d turned on him, staged a mutiny and kicked him off his own ship. It certainly did sound as if both Liam and Rashim were very much embracing the idea of being swashbuckling pirates in charge of their very own ship and their own destinies. She could imagine how appealing that might be for them, particularly Liam: a wide-open horizon full of adventure and the freedom to sail off in any direction he chose.
God, what’s not to like about that?
Maddy envied them that and found herself wishing she could be out there on the open sea alongside them, a sword and flintlock in each hand, yee-haaing and ahoy-ing alongside the pair of them. She envied them then wondered if, after all they’d been through together, Liam would really bail out on her and Sal, just like that.
I nearly did. Twice.
She recalled both times clearly: in the battlefield ruins of New York, when she’d thought that their team was finally incapable of functioning any more. And then in Boston, so close to reclaiming her old life again – or so she’d hoped.
Maddy looked at the transponder and realized, with a painful tug, that this was finally it. After all this time a parting of the ways.
Obviously this wretched drunk lying at her feet had no idea at all what the small device was. As far as he was concerned, it was shiny and looked pretty and made a very fetching earring. She thought she understood then why Liam had given it to Teale. His decision was made. Perhaps he suspected she’d try and persuade him to come back to London with her if she caught up with him; suspected she’d manage to convince him out of duty, loyalty, obligation, and this was his way of avoiding that. His way of ducking out of that situation. His way of finally cutting free from the agency – for what it was. No tearful goodbyes this way, no arguments. Just this. He knew that Maddy would find and follow the transponder’s signal and eventually recover it. This was what he was telling her.
Please, Maddy, don’t come looking for me. Don’t take me back. I’m happy here.
This was his final goodbye.
‘Bob?’ Her voice sounded thick. She cleared her throat, determined she wasn’t going to get all emotional. At least not right now, not in this God-awful place. And certainly not in front of
this dumb-ass rack of muscle and bone.
‘Yes, Maddy.’
‘I think we’re all done here.’
‘We are returning?’
‘Yes.’
He frowned then rolled a thick eyebrow up. ‘Without Liam and Rashim?’
‘Correct, without Liam and Rashim.’
That seemed to confuse him. ‘We will return to London and begin a search for the signal on the other transponder?’
‘Yeah … yes, I guess so,’ she replied absently. But in the back of her mind she wondered whether, instead, she might have to start thinking that the time had finally come to accept this was all over now. Whatever purpose they’d once had had run its course and now they were on their own. Maybe, just maybe, she was simply going to go back to 1889, pick out somewhere, some time, for herself where she’d like to live out the rest of her days, open a portal and do as Liam and Rashim had done: bail out. Sal could do the same if she wanted.
And Bob and Becks?
They could do whatever the hell their mission-oriented bot-heads told them to do actually. They could sit in that dark dungeon for the rest of their unnaturally long lives, staring at computer screens and collecting dust for all she cared.
‘Come on, Bob … we’re done here. Let’s go back.’
Chapter 31
1667, the Caribbean Sea
Be careful what you wish for … you might just get it.
That’s what Liam was thinking as he watched some of the crew of the Clara row ashore on their water run. The last fortnight, stormy weather and a strong, prevailing northwesterly wind rolling in across the Atlantic had pushed them down to the south-eastern extent of the Caribbean, not so far from the shoreline of the Spanish Main. A hundred or more miles off track. Rashim’s navigational skills were looking decidedly amateurish.
The casks of drinking water were now all but empty or what was left was spoiled and needed replenishing. Liam and Rashim had decided this small unnamed island with its tall, jungle-covered peaks and sheltered lagoon would make a suitable place to stop and restock. Not only did they need to fill up on drinking water but their supplies of food – victuals, as Old Tom called them – were down to virtually nothing. The last couple of days, Cookie had resorted to making a broth of the last few rotten potatoes, thickened with the powdered remains of their oats.