Page 7

I n the harsh light of day, the enormity of what she had done gradually transformed Rose’s sense of giddy triumph to a more realistic sense of potential doom.

She had not only stolen Jean Lafitte’s ship—which was an insult to his reputation as well as his pride—but she had stolen the logbooks, manifests, and ledgers that mapped out his entire business empire.

In the wrong hands, the information contained in just one of those dozen ledgers could destroy him. Or see him thrown in jail with no hope of ever seeing daylight again.

Sitting in his cabin, sipping his fine French wine out of a solid gold goblet, Rose was scanning another book marked ‘captains’.

Inside were the names of all the captains under Lafitte’s command, their ships, the prizes they captured, the cargos they had brought to Barataria to be traded, sold, and dispersed.

The captains and crews were well compensated for their efforts and loyalty.

In the twenty or so pages she thumbed through, there was only one instance where a captain was caught cheating and his ships had been confiscated.

At the bottom of the page there was an inked sketch of a hangman’s noose, indicating his fate.

Curiosity made her look for Sebastien Fonteyne’s page …

or pages, as it turned out to be. She recognized the name of at least one of the Spanish ships he had captured, the San Raimundo , a heavy warship used to transport the bullion that was still being mined and minted in Nombre de Dios.

It was rumored to have been sunk in a storm, but apparently the storm came either before or shortly after the Spanish vessel crossed paths with Fonteyne’s small fleet of three ships, led by the thirty-eight-gun frigate, the Black Wind .

The San Raimundo was only one of a score or more he had captured on raids in the Caribbean, proof of the firepower and superb tactics that made him one of the most successful privateers in Lafitte’s company.

Of all the men Duardo could have clocked over the head, Fonteyne was probably the last one she would have chosen to knock out and hog-tie, but what was done was done.

There was no doubt both he and Lafitte would come after her with a vengeance.

Rose swallowed the last of the wine in a gulp and pushed out of the chair. She returned the ledger to its slot and then snatched her hat off the berth where she had tossed it.

She found Duardo on the quarterdeck conferring with the ship’s helmsman, Jose Mercado, who had been brought over from the Cygnet .

A big man with a chest like a barrel and hands strong enough to crush the shell of a coconut, he was a Spaniard who understood English perfectly but refused to speak it.

Before climbing up to join them, Rose took a moment, as she always did, to admire the tall pyramid of sails overhead.

The wind was strong from the north, swelling every sheet of canvas into a straining white curve.

Regardless of who owned the ship, the beauty of those sails against the brilliant blue sky, the freedom they represented, the adventure, and yes, even the danger never failed to make her heart beat a little faster.

They also helped cleanse the crimson garishness of Lafitte’s cabins out of her brain.

A quarter mile in the Pride’s wake, the Cygnet had trimmed her sails so as not to overtake the heavier ship. She rode as serene and graceful as the elegant bird whose name she bore. Sailing alongside, trying valiantly to keep apace, was the Hyperion .

“We might have to cut her loose,” Rose said to Duardo as she joined him by the binnacle. “I hate to do it but she will slow us down.”

“The elf claims to know a place where we can hide her.”

“Hide her?”

“Aye. Hide ‘er. Leastwise ‘er cargo.” The voice came from the level of Rose’s waist and she looked down to find the Cygnet’s navigator and pilot standing beside her.

First impressions often mistook him for a child, but under the mop of wiry brown curls, Stubb McCray was well into his third decade, most of which had been spent at sea.

Stunted from birth, he had not grown above three feet in height, a handicap which might have hampered a lesser man.

But he turned his vertical disadvantage to a lethal advantage in a fight, for he was able to slash through the tendons and tissues of an opponent’s knees and calves before they knew he was there.

Most of the crew moved with equal wariness around the diminutive navigator, for they were conscious of his ability to creep silently through tiny dark places, seeing and hearing everything that went on aboard the ship.

“The Hyperion be lumberin’ like a bloated sow on account ‘er belly’s full o’ copper sheathing an’ iron ingots,” Stubb continued. “There be a war goin’ on in case ye hadn’t noticed. That cargo be worth a bloody fortune to either side.”

“I am well aware of her cargo,” Rose said. “It’s unfortunate Lafitte was in such a hurry to dismiss me as a nuisance… or a plaything for someone’s bed… that he lost his chance to reap a share of the profits.”

Stubb grinned and cast a sly glance around the deck of the Pride . “I vow ye taught ‘im a lesson he’ll not soon forget.”

“One that I doubt he will let go unanswered. More like as not, he will send half his fleet of pirates after us and I would rather not be caught dragging a leaking hulk behind us.”

“We should sink both ships,” Duardo said.

Stubb gasped. “The Pride be worth ten Hyperions !”

“Both are worth nothing if we are all hanging from the yardarms.”

“An’ for that ye’d sink fifty thousand pound sterling in copper an’ jaysus knows how much coin in prize monies for Lafitte’s floatin’ brothel?”

Rose listened to them bicker back and forth for a moment, then turned and looked out over the main deck.

The Pride was scrubbed and well-tended, her boards were solid, her bulwarks and carved rails showed no signs of battle scarring or repairs.

The ship had not seen action for a very long time.

The rigging lines were taut, with nary a worn or frayed cable and the sails bore no patches or signs of weather wear.

Once a fearsome fighting ship, she had been reduced to a gilded show piece.

“She might be worth more than just prize money to us,” Rose said.

The two men ceased arguing and looked at her.

“Think you Lafitte would order his hunters to shoot at and possibly sink his prize possession?” she asked. “Or would he rather have her returned in the same condition she was when he went ashore?”

Duardo’s brow remained creased with doubt; it was Stubb whose eyes danced with a dawning glint.

“Ye mean keep her as an ‘ostage?”

“A bargaining chip. I would be willing to wager a year’s profits that Lafitte would not want it known that she was stolen and blown to splinters by a female captain and her crew.”

“But once he gets her back?” Duardo asked. “What then?”

Rose smiled. “Then he might get his ship back but we will hold onto his ledgers, logs, and manifests … all of which will be removed to the Cygnet for safekeeping.”

“Like as we should be removin’ the Hyperion’s cargo,” Stubb insisted. “For safekeepin’.”

Rose sighed. “Have you any idea how many tons of copper are in her holds? We don’t have the time to waste offloading it.”

“Bah! The waste would be in squanderin’ such a fine cargo, hard won!

” Not waiting to hear any further argument, the little man kicked Mercado in the shin to move him out of the way and climbed onto the crate he had placed at the base of the binnacle.

He poured over the chart for a long moment before stabbing it with a fat finger. “There.”

Rose leaned in. “There is nothing there but open water.”

“Nay, nay. There be an atoll, dead bare, n’owt more’n a barnacle o’ rock stickin’ up from the ocean floor. Don’t even ‘ave a name. Never so much as a tree or bramble be growin’ on it. Flat an’ wide as Duardo’s nose.”

The black man scowled at him but Stubb only snickered.

“Ships sail past wi’out takin’ the trouble to mark it on any chart on account there be n’owt to see.

No fresh water to be fotched, no soil to plant, nary enough scrub or brush to build a fire.

No damned thing calls it home but snakes an’ lizards an’ them be none too pleased to welcome guests. ”

“Sounds appealing,” she said wryly.

Stubb cackled. “For what we want, aye, that it is. The atoll be shaped like this.” He formed a crab claw with his pudgy hand to illustrate.

“Inside be a tidal pool ‘bout three fathom deep. We could sink the copper in the pool an’ none would be the wiser. None would even spare a thought to take a look.”

“It would take hours to winch it out of the cargo bays and row it ashore.”

“Three ships we ‘ave, with three stout crews. Wave a few pieces o’ silver at ‘em an’ they’ll ‘ave the lot out an’ sunk afore ye can take a good shite.”

Rose glanced at Duardo. “What do you think?”

The big man plucked Stubb off the crate like a bug and flicked him aside so he could study the chart. “Two days sail if the wind holds.”

“One if we cut through the Twin Sisters,” Stubb declared, scrambling to wedge himself back up between them.

Duardo flexed his jaw muscles and adjusted his estimates. “One day’s sail, then, to the atoll, but two more to unload the copper.”

Rose pondered the map and the danger involved in taking those extra days away from running before the wind.

Then she looked at the faces of the two men whose experience and opinions she trusted most on the ship.

She was also aware of the big ears listening to their conversation and knew that within minutes, the entire crew would be alerted to what they were discussing.

“It might be worth the risk.”

“Worth it an’ then some,” Stubb insisted. “I can hear yer father now if he learns ye sunk her with a full load o’ cargo.”

By way of demonstrating, he shoved his hands into the armholes of his vest and stomped across the deck shaking his head in an admirable imitation of Alexander St. Clare. “Ye did what, girl? Ye did what? Copper? Copper ? Ye know what that shite be worth?”

Duardo cuffed the little man on the shoulder then looked at Rose.

“Decide soon, Captain, before the Hyperion makes the decision for you and sinks. The men patched her as best they could but the hull leaks like a sieve. Might not even make it as far as the atoll. But if it did, the cargo would be worth its weight in gold, and the thought of what their shares might be worth would inspire the crew to keep her afloat.”

Rose glanced out over the main deck. There was no one working, no one talking. The men had fallen silent to hear the whispers being relayed back about the conversation on the quarterdeck. Their potential profits were being discussed and they were all ears.

“Alright. Set a course for the atoll,” she decided.

“I will give you one day to offload as much as you can. In the meantime, get some men over the sides with paint to cover all the damned gilding on the rails and gun ports. The sun or moonlight hits any of it and we’d shine like a beacon in a lighthouse.

” To Duardo she said, “Signal the Cygnet and bring Billy Burr on board here to run out the guns. We don’t know when they were fired last and if we have to use them, I don’t want any of them cracking or exploding.

Check the powder stores and supply of shot as well.

I don’t expect this floating brothel is too well provisioned if she was only used to parade back and forth from Barataria to New Orleans. ”

While the mismatched pair set about issuing orders to the crew.

Rose gripped the rail and looked out over the wide expanse of the sea.

She turned her face to the last rays of warmth from the fiery orange ball of the sun where it was making its descent.

Streamers of light were cutting through the distant scatter of clouds that rode low on the horizon, and where the rays touched the sea, they turned to surface into molten lava.

She did not expect to see anything, but she held a spyglass to her eye and searched slowly and carefully for any hint of sails riding low in the distance.

There was nothing to see.

Nothing but water and sky and golden shafts of waning sunlight.

Duardo stood at her shoulder. “You are convinced he has sent his hunters after us?”

“I am convinced there will shortly be a black wind blowing in our direction.”