James Patterson - Thriller - Stories to Keep You Up All Night

"'I'll have that glass back!" Blood roared, planting one of his gleaming Hessian boots squarely in the middle of Nick's chest. Bill poked the tip of his razor-sharp blade at him, prodding Nick's jacket. Then he slashed the boy's thin blue coat right through and the gleaming spyglass spilled out onto the deck, rolling away as Nick tried desperately to grab for it. In a flash, Blood's hand shot out like some inhuman claw and clutched it, raising it aloft where it shone in the sun.

"'No!' Nick shouted. 'That's Nelson's glass!' He was clawing at Blood's leg, trying to rise from the deck, but Billy still had him pinned with his boot pressed painfully in the boy's stomach and Nick could only twist frantically like a spider impaled. Then Nick reached inside his jacket for a bone-handled dagger Lord Hawke had given him for protection. He plunged that blade deep into the fleshy part of Old Bill's calf. Roaring in pain, Blood didn't see Hawke approach from behind.

"'The boy said the glass belongs to Nelson,' Hawke said, the point of his cutlass in Billy's back. 'I'll thank you to return it to him. Now.'

"'Your tongue has wagged its last,' Bill said, whirling to face Lord Hawke. They eyed each other. Bill lunged first, his blade going for Hawke's exposed gut, but this time it was Hawke who spun on his heel in lightning fashion, whirling his body with his flashing cutlass outstretched. And then an awful sound, the sound of steel slicing through flesh and bone. The sound of steel through flesh and bone!

"There was an enormous howl of pain, and Billy held up a bloody stump of his right arm.

"On the deck lay Blood's still-twitching hand, bloody fingers clenched round the shining golden spyglass."

I stood again and looked down at old Hornby, who was staring into the fire with gleaming eyes.

"Ho! Hawke had Nelson's glass?"

"Aye, we had it, for all love. The longitudinal and latitudinal coordinates of the ambush, scratched into the gold in code. But the Portugee spy, he'd given up that code long ago. Hawke read off the numbers plain as could be and a marine wrote 'em down."

"And that's the end of it?"

"Not quite, sir. A bit remains to be told."

"What, then?" I asked, almost pleading, for surely I could already see his story appearing under my byline in the Globe. "Please continue, Mr. Hornby, I beg you."

"Ah, well, I suppose I should finish it, shouldn't I? Because, you see, I myself reappear in the story." He chuckled, threw back a swig, and got on with it.

"On the quarterdeck, the French captain Bonnard went down on one knee and presented the sword of surrender to Lord Hawke. Hawke took it and spoke, but there was no trace of pride about him.

"'Captain Bonnard, on behalf of the Merlin and His Majesty's Royal Navy, I accept your surrender. I will present your colors and sword to my captain forthwith. You are a gentleman and it has been my honor to do battle with you, sir.'

"The French struck their colors and every English heart lifted as the Union Jack rose against the blue sky at Mystere's topmast.

Hawke stepped to the binnacle and raised the surrendered flag of France into the air.

"'My brave shipmates and comrades,' Hawke began, 'I hardly know how to express my gratitude for your gallant-'

"'Father! Father!' came a tiny voice that pierced the silence in a way that made Hawke's heart leap up into this throat so quickly he could scarce get another word out.

"And then Hawke saw the sailors part and a small ragged boy racing across the deck toward him, followed by a grinning powder monkey who was living his finest hour. I was a bit bloodied by my most recent encounters with Snakeye and his men standing guard below at the brig. But I had done my duty and I was smiling, sir, believe me, as all the wee children came pouring up onto the decks, laughing and gulping the sweet air.

"'Oh, Father, it's really you!' the small boy cried, and Hawke leaped down from the binnacle, falling to his knees and embracing his boy, Alex, as if he'd never let him go."

A silence fell then, only a patter of rain on the roof could be heard.

"A marvelous tale," I finally said, looking over at Hornby. He seemed a bit overcome.

"My tongue hasn't wagged so in years," he said, looking a might done in. "My apologies."

"You do yourself credit, sir. Is there more?"

"Soon enough, the barky was under way again, and she had a fine heel to her, and, looking aloft, I saw clouds of billowing white canvas towering above, pulling hard for England. A corps of drummers dressed with magnificent battle drums launched into a stately military tattoo that rolled across our decks. Merlin was a fine, weatherly ship and I recall thinking that, if this breeze held, we'd have no trouble completing our do-or-die mission. We'd reach Portsmouth in time to personally warn Nelson of the intended ambush."

"And you did, did you not?"

The old fellow leaned forward as if he had a further confidence to impart, and I saw his eyes welling.

"We did, sir, and I was honored to be present at St. James's Palace on the occasion. Afterward, Lord Hawke himself came over to me, Alex in his arms. He bent down and looked me straight in the eye.

"'Magnificently done, young Mr. Hornby,' he said, and handed me a canvas packet, but my eyes were too blurry to know then what it was. Years later, I hung it there, on the wall there beside the hearth. D'you see it?"

I rose from my chair and went to inspect the item, glinting in the shadowy firelight.

"Yes, I see it, Mr. Hornby," I said. I reached up and fingered the old leather strap, careful lest it crumble under my touch.

Lord Hawke's gift that day to the young powder monkey, Mar-tyn Hornby, once a shining treasure, was now a tarnished memory of glory hung by the hearthside. It was Lord Nelson's spyglass.

"Go on, Mr. Tolliver, put it to your eye. That's history there in your hands, sir!"

I lifted the glass from the nail where it hung, and that's when it happened. The strap parted and the glass slipped from my fingers and smashed against the hearthstone. The lens popped into the air, spinning like a tossed shilling, and I reached out and snatched it.

"Sir!" I cried as I bent to retrieve the dented tube. "I'm dreadfully sorry!"

"No worry, Mr. Tolliver," he replied kindly. "It's seen far worse. Look closely, you can see Bill's inscription there by the eyepiece."

But something far more intriguing had fallen from the tube. A thin, yellow roll of parchment, tied with a black ribbon.

"Mr. Hornby," I said, trying to control my emotions, "there appears to have been a message of some kind inside. Were you aware of it?"

"A message, sir?" he said, getting slowly to his feet. "Let's have a look."

I untied the ribbon with utmost care and spread the letter upon a table. We both looked down in utter disbelief. The letter was signed and dated by Napoleon himself! Here is what it said:

Captain Blood,

Make for Cadiz at once under a full press of sail. Once our fleets are united with Spain's, England is ours! Surprise Nelson en route to Trafalgar and all will be over. Six centuries of shame and insult will be avenged. Lay on with a will! His Majesty counts as nothing the loss of his ships, provided they are lost with Glory… N.

I said in a daze, "Astounding, sir. And proof of the tale!" "Yes. Proof enough, I should think."

We were both silent, staring down at the remarkable document. "How much is the Globe's prize then?" Hornby asked, puffing his pipe in a contemplative fashion. "Seventy-five pounds, sir." "A goodly sum."

I took a deep breath and said, "Mr. Hornby. There is one last piece of business I must discuss with you. Cecily and I-well, Cecily and I are to be married. Sorry. What I mean to say, sir, is that I've come here because I should very much like your permission to ask for your daughter Cecily's hand in marriage!"