Gene Wolfe - Pirate Freedom

"Not by me," I said. "Not even if I had Magdelena back."

"Nor by me," Capt. Burt acknowledged. "I've five besides this Weald, and I still couldn't do it. Nor by both of us together."

He raised his middle finger. "Second way. Take Veracruz. They coin some gold there before they ship it home, eh? All the better so. Mules come in-under heavy guard, of course-and the gold's put in the treasure house there. Minted, it goes back there. Most secure place, eh? Take out a few bars, mint 'em, put the doubloons back in the treasure house. So take Veracruz, break into the treasure house, and off with the gold before the galleons put out from Spain."

I said, "I suppose that might be workable."

Capt. Burt nodded. "I've been thinkin' 'bout it for a year now, Chris. Five hundred men might do it, if we took 'em by surprise. Trouble is, we can't. They're on to me. Strengthenin' the forts, eh? More men and more guns. Dago men-of-war patrollin' the Gulf of Campeche. So no. That's out, for a few years at least."

He raised his ring finger. It had a ring on it, a wide band of bright gold. "Third way. Take the ships after they put out from Callao. Drake sailed 'round the world, Chris. Almost a hundred years ago, that was, in the Golden Hind." TIME IS GETTING short, and I have been thinking about all this and why I am writing it. I did not write anything yesterday, because of my interview with His Excellence. I had seen him before, but this was the first time I ever sat down with him and talked man-to-man. He looked older than I remembered. There was something bare and cheerless about his cluttered study, although it took me ten minutes or more to put my finger on it: there was no comfort there. The lamps were for reading and writing. The books were such as a bishop might require-no novels or travel books, no biographies that I could see, save for those of a couple of popes. The chairs were dark wood carved with the arms of the diocese, without cushions. A crucifix on the wall, but no pictures.

We shook hands well before I began these speculations, of course. He greeted me, sat, and invited me to sit as well. "I receive only good reports of you, Father."

I said, "Thank you, Bishop Scully. They must be very different from those I give myself."

"I'm sure they are. How old were you when you were ordained?"

"There were two priests in my class who were older than I, Bishop Scully. Much older. I was twenty-six. I'm twenty-eight now."

"Tempus fugit, Father. Those older classmates of yours were widowers, both of them. Men in their fifties who have lost their helpmates and nobly chosen to devote the rest of their lives to God. It's not quite the same for a man of twenty-six, is it? Or twenty-eight."

"I have no direct experience of it, Bishop Scully, but it seems to me you must be right."

"You were married, too, Father. Your wife is dead?"

I nodded, and did not say that she had surely been dead now for hundreds of years.

"All young men feel the temptations of the flesh, Father. I did myself at your age."

"They are among the least of mine, Bishop Scully."

We watched each other then, and at last I let my gaze wander the room.

"We have seven deadly sins, Father." The bishop's voice was hardly a whisper. "Lust is one of the worst, but not the worst. Pride is worse, the worst of all. No doubt you are troubled by it."

I shrugged. "No doubt I am, Bishop Scully. I am not sensible of it, but that may mean its grip is tighter."

"You're a tall, strong young man, Father. The young men at Saint Teresa's stand in awe of you. So Father Houdek reports, and I find it easy to believe. Have you no pride in that?"

"Strength is good only when it's used for good, Bishop Scully. Strong men-I've known many stronger than I am-soon learn how little strength they really have. As for my height, I've spent my nights sleeping on the floor or in beds that were too short for me. I'd be shorter if I could."

He nodded, his thumb and forefinger stroking his lower lip. "Saint Teresa's is a large parish, Father."

I nodded and said I knew it.

"A large parish, and a most difficult one. I would like to give the best priests the best parishes. Staffing is a persistent worry, and I do not have that luxury."

"I understand," I said.

"A large and difficult parish, but that is not the sole reason Father Houdek has two assistants. Two?" The bishop shook his head. "Two, when priests are so few? When so many parishes have none? I trust that you are learning from his example, Father."

I said I tried to take advantage of every educational opportunity that came my way-something of that sort.

"You have given thought, I am sure, to your conduct when you have a parish of your own."

"Not as much as I should, perhaps, Bishop Scully. That day seems very remote."

He smiled, lips tight. "Give more thought to it, Father. It may come sooner than you think."

There is so much to write, and I may have little time in which to write it. I am losing patience with this pen, wishing I could kick and whip it, like a donkey. Where are the jibs for a ballpoint pen advertising a funeral parlor? Where are its studding sails? Very well. I left Capt. Burt and returned to the Rosa with the men he had given me. The wind was rising, and the Weald, which had planned to remain in our company until dawn, was quickly lost to sight. Ships menace one another in a high wind, and night was coming on, which would make the danger worse.

So that was how it began. Capt. Burt and I had agreed that Rombeau would not come so long as the Weald was in sight-it looked Spanish because it had been. He loaned me a dozen good sailors, all English save for O'Leary, and we shook hands and agreed to meet at the end of September.

That night, as the Rosa rolled and pitched and every timber groaned, I explained as much as I thought wise to Jarden and Antonio-and to Azuka, too, because Jarden had brought her and I did not want to send her away.

"There are a couple of points that worry me," I told them. "One is Rombeau. Captain Burt thinks he'll come back once Weald's gone. So do I, or I think he'll try to. But Rombeau can't navigate. We need to keep a sharp lookout every moment of the day and night, and get close enough to take a good look at every sail we see."

Antonio fingered his beard. "And if the sail proves to be a Spanish warship, Captain?"

"We'll be flying the Spanish flag," I explained. "That won't bother Rombeau-he'll expect it."

"We cannot outrun them, not even with a jury mast."

"Which we do not have yet," Jarden added.

I shrugged. "We won't try to outrun them. You speak a good deal of Spanish, Antonio, and I speak good Spanish. We're the Santa Rosa, out of Havana. We're in trouble and we need help."

Jarden said, "What if they offer to provide it, Captain?"

"We'll accept it, of course. And thank them with tears in our eyes. But they won't. The worse our setup looks and the more help we ask for, the more they'll want to get away."

Jarden rubbed his hands. "Ask for water, Captain. Every ship needs it and no one wants to give it."

Antonio nodded. "And medicines. A physician, if they will be so good as to lend us one."

"Right," I said. "A doctor and medicine, and we'll swear we have nothing infectious on board. The more we swear, the less they'll believe us. We'll keep most of the crew below-the fewer men they see, the better."

Azuka said, "What is needed? Ask for that."

"I am," I told her. "I will, just in case they give them to us."

Antonio said, "Two things troubled you. The other?"

"We'll have to sail down the coast for thousands of miles and 'round the Horn. What if the men won't do it?"

Everybody got quiet, but I was so busy thinking myself that it did not bother me.

Finally Jarden said, "I cannot navigate either, and I have been considering what I might do, were I in Rombeau's plight. Do you wish to hear it, Captain?"