The Lost Gentleman. Margaret McPhee
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bandanna wrapped around Sunny Jim’s bald head had once been red, now it was a grubby faded pink, pale in comparison to the mahogany-darkened leather of the skin of his face and neck. She passed him the spyglass. ‘Can you?’ She frowned, knowing the name of every British ship she had ever attacked.
Sunny Jim frowned even more than usual, shaking his head as he passed the spyglass to Tobias for appearances’ sake. ‘Not yet, ma’am.’
‘What does a name matter?’ Tobias asked as he peered through the glass.
‘Probably nothing.’ But it bothered her more than the large black bird that still sat on the mast top watching them.
At the sight of the ship, Tobias grinned, revealing his missing front teeth. His gold-hoop earring glinted in the sunlight and reflected golden dots of light to dance upon the tattoo inked upon his neck. ‘Nice,’ he hissed.
‘A straggler from the merchant convoy that passed at dawn, no doubt,’ she said.
‘Fallen behind, all alone, without the protection of those mean, son of a gun, Royal Navy frigates.’ Sunny Jim almost managed a smile. ‘Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear. We can’t leave her out there all on her own now, can we?’
‘We certainly cannot,’ Tobias agreed. ‘We should slit their English throats.’
‘There will be no slitting of throats.’ Kate exchanged a glance with Sunny Jim, then shot Tobias a fierce curbing look.
Tobias’s upper lip curled. ‘You are too soft on them.’
‘Not soft at all,’ she countered. ‘Hit them in their pockets and leave them alive to bear the pain and witness to the fact that America’s seas are just that. America’s. It is enough.’
‘And supposing I disagree?’ He looked at her with angry challenge in his eyes.
‘Again? You seem to be disagreeing with me over much these days. This is not the time to be having this discussion. We will deal with it when we get back to Tallaholm. For now, you are on my ship, under my command and you do as I say.’
‘Do I? When so many think I am Coyote’s captain?’ He stepped closer, trying to intimidate her.
‘You do, you young cur,’ Sunny Jim said with soft deadly menace and pulled his cutlass free from its scabbard. ‘You would do well, Tobias Malhone, to remember that you’re a nobody playing a part. There’s only one true captain of this ship and, for all your fancy coat, it ain’t you. So if the Captain says it’s enough then it’s enough. Comprendez?’
Tobias gave a sullen nod and backed off from his challenge, for now. ‘If you say so, Captain.’ He placed just a slight sneering emphasis on her title.
‘I do.’ She met his gaze unflinching. ‘Are you going to be a problem for me today, Tobias?’
He looked at her for a long second before answering. ‘No.’ He sneered at her. ‘Not today.’
She understood well the implication. Not today, but another. But unbeknown to Tobias, the problem would be gone by then. ‘Then we can get on with the job at hand. They are low in the water line.’
‘Heavily laden with cargo,’ said Sunny Jim.
‘Our favourite kind of merchantman.’ She turned her gaze from the prize to Tobias. ‘Make ready. Let us see if we cannot lighten the merchantman’s load a little to speed her on her way.’
‘Aye-aye, Captain,’ Tobias said softly and without the cynicism this time. He grinned almost to himself, then spoke more loudly to the men who stood poised and waiting, ‘Take her about, boys, we’ve got a date with an English merchant schooner.’
There was a raucous cheer of approval, before the small loyal crew raced to action. Kate pushed her worries over Tobias to the back of her mind for now and watched from her place beneath the awning, with Tobias standing ahead, giving the small orders. The black canvas sails unfurled to catch the wind and the ship began to move.
‘Hoist the flag,’ she commanded.
A smile curved her lips as Coyote sped towards her prey.
* * *
Kit Northcote, or Captain North as he now went by, snapped his spyglass shut and slipped it into the pocket of his faded leather coat. The coat had once belonged to a pirate, now it was worn by someone markedly different—someone leaner, harder, honed; although he still wore the black shirt beneath, the shabby buckskin breeches and his tall boots.
‘They are coming.’ His gaze was fixed on the distant ship.
‘Is it La Voile?’ Reverend Dr Gabriel Gunner, his friend, asked.
‘The hull is a single black-striped sienna brown, the sail is black, and she is flying the Stars and Stripes as well as La Voile’s own flag.’
‘A skull with a mouth that is the smiling curve of a cutlass painted red with dripping blood. He is artistic. You have got to give him that.’
‘I will give him more than that when he arrives.’
Gunner laughed. ‘The captain is going to get the nice little surprise that he deserves. Does he think he can just keep attacking British merchantmen and get away with it?’
‘I expect that is exactly what he thinks.’
‘Do you know that La Voile is thought to be single-handedly responsible for reducing British transatlantic trade by almost twenty per cent? How can that be? How is it even possible?’ Gunner asked. He was tall and surprisingly slender for a man who had spent many years at sea. Freckle-faced and with hair that in colder climes was red, but now in the bright sun of the waters off the Gulf of Mexico was golden beneath the straw hat he always favoured. He had clear, honest blue eyes and long bony fingers that could wield a prayer book, scalpel and cutlass with equal precision.
‘La Voile operates under the protection of both a pirate overlord and authorities who turn a blind eye to his illicit actions. He has one vessel and a small loyal crew—low costs, tight control. He hits fast and hard. Takes what cargo he wants and leaves the merchantman and crew intact and in situ—a novel concept in the pirate world. He’s clever. Clever enough to hit only easy targets and leave the big well-defended jobs to others. Clever enough to find the inevitable stragglers every convoy leaves behind. And clever enough to avoid being caught despite the best efforts of His Majesty’s navy.’
‘Lucky for us,’ said Gunner.
‘Very lucky,’ agreed Kit and thought of the astronomically large sum they were being paid to do this job.
La Voile’s ship, Coyote, was no longer a speck on the horizon. ‘My, but he is fast.’ Gunner spoke aloud what Kit was thinking.
‘Almost as fast as us,’ said Kit.
Gunner smiled. ‘Do we take him dead or alive?’
‘Alive,’ said Kit. ‘The bounty is higher. They want to make an example of him and hang him in irons themselves. Be gentle with this particular American pirate, Reverend Dr Gunner.’
‘If you insist, Captain North.’
The two men exchanged a wry smile of understanding.
The crew on the deck hurried about as if in panic, feigning a ship that was trying to escape the jaws of a predator. The Union flag fluttered from the jack, its red, white and blue crosses and diagonals clear in the Caribbean sunlight. Men appeared as if they were trying to adjust sails.
‘Is everything ready?’ Kit asked.
‘Exactly as you specified.’
Kit gave a nod and, slipping the spyglass from his pocket once more, studied the black-sailed Coyote as she closed the distance.
‘Interesting,’ he murmured and focused on the three figures standing at the ship’s helm beneath the black awning.