The Command - Brian Jacques - Flying Dutchman 02

There was a rasp of steel leaving scabbard, and Portugee was suddenly backed against a bulkhead with the Spaniard’s sword at his throat. Madrid hissed venomously at him, “You’ll be a dead man sooner than you think if you let your tongue flap foolishly, amigo. I do the thinking aboard this ship without the advice of idiots. Leave this to me, I have a plan. Meanwhile, both of you get out on deck and close all the cannon ports. Boelee, run up a white flag of truce. Portugee, lock up all the muskets and swords. Keep all hands below deck, tell them to make no noise. Now go!”

The Spaniard aimed a kick at Ludon. “You! Keep your mouth shut until I tell you to talk. I have plans for you.”

Rocco Madrid came smartly out on deck the moment he saw a white flag fluttering from the Devon Belle’s masthead. Captain Redjack was standing amidships with a long, trumpet-ended megaphone to his lips. His voice carried clearly across the space between the vessels. Crewmen stood by with cocked muskets, ugly cannon snouts poked menacingly at the Diablo as Teal called out. “One false move an’ I open fire. Comprende?”

The Spaniard cupped both hands round his mouth and shouted back. “I understand English, seńor. What do you want?”

Teal’s reply was sharp and officious. “I am Captain Jonathan Ormsby Teal of His Majesty’s ship Devon Belle. I carry letters of marque an’ reprisal as a privateer. I require your complete an’ unconditional surrender. Immediately!”

Madrid kept his voice normal, though he was inwardly fuming at the foppish Englander’s high-handed manner. “Capitano, you have my word as a Spanish grandee that the first shot will not come from my vessel!”

Teal snorted contemptuously as he raised the hailer to his mouth. “Fire at your peril, sirrah! I’ll blast your lungs’n’lights to perdition an’ dye this bay red with your foul blood! Answer me! Do ye surrender now … eh?”

The Spaniard spread his arms placatingly. “I surrender, Capitano—only a fool would refuse your offer. But first I would talk with you. I have a proposition, amigo. One that could make you a very rich man—will you listen, seńor?”

Teal took a moment, whispering orders to his bosun, mate and master gunner, before making a reply. “A rich man, y’say? Stand fast, I’m comin’ over. Blink an eye an’ a dozen musketeers’ll blow it out!”

Rocco Madrid bowed elaborately. “No tricks, I promise! Let us talk like civilised men. I will await your arrival in my cabin with some fine wine for both of us. With your permission, Capitano, I will retire now.”

Twenty crew, armed with muskets and rifles, packed into the Devon Belle’s jolly boat. Teal sat in the stern, behind them. In his cabin, Madrid held tight to the scruff of Ludon’s neck as he loosed the rope. Thrusting Ludon to the window, the Spaniard pointed to Teal as he instructed his captive. “Hearken to me carefully. See the red-jacketed one? He can save both our lives. When I tell you to speak, you will lie to him, lie as you’ve never lied before, amigo. Tell the Englishman that La Petite Marie is carrying a vast fortune in gold. Ten, twenty times more than he took from me at Cartagena. You saw it yourself, with your own two eyes. Do this and you may live to be a rich fellow. Understand?”

Sighing with relief, Ludon nodded furiously. “Aye aye, Cap’n, ye can rely on me. I swear it on my mother’s grave!”

The Diablo’s decks were empty as Redjack Teal and his men came aboard. Teal murmured to his bosun, “Perfect! Take y’men an’ batten down the hatches, seal all doors except the Cap’n’s cabin. Kill any pirate that shows his face on deck. Send two fellows back to the Devon Belle with our jolly boat an’ the Spaniard’s. Bring back every available hand who ain’t mannin’ a cannon. Cut along now, quick an’ quiet as y’like!”

Teal strutted into the Spaniard’s cabin, hand on sword hilt. Rocco Madrid bowed courteously. “Welcome to my humble accommodation, Capitano. Some wine?”

Ignoring the decanter of port and goblets, the privateer drew a fancy silver-chased pistol and pointed it. “I’ll take your surrender first!”

Madrid drew his sword carefully and offered it over his forearm, hilt first. The privateer tested the blade’s balance nonchalantly and thrust it into his own belt. Still aiming the pistol, he sat at the cabin table, his eyes never leaving the Spaniard.

Ludon crept forward and filled the goblets. Crossing his legs and leaning back, Redjack took a sip and nodded toward Ludon. “An’ who, pray, is this fellow, eh?”

The Spaniard smiled slyly as he played his ace card. “This is the man who can make us our fortunes, seńor. He was first mate aboard the French buccaneer. Tell the English capitano what you saw, amigo.”

By evening the deal had been hammered out, more to Teal’s satisfaction than to the Spaniard’s. But Rocco Madrid accepted all terms, telling himself that he could always alter the balance at a later date. Unarmed, the entire crew of the Diablo Del Mar were marched up on deck in fours and made to wade ashore in the ebbing tide. Surrounded as they were by a fully armed and very hostile English crew, they were forced to comply sullenly.

Boelee and Portugee led the first lot. Chest high they waded toward the sandy beach. Portugee looked warily about. “I don’t like this, there’s sharks in these waters!”

Boelee gritted his teeth. “The real sharks are aboard our ship, but we don’t get any say in the matter. If Madrid’s playin’ us false, I’ll track him to the ends of the earth!”

Just then, Rocco Madrid appeared on deck alongside Teal. The Spaniard exchanged words with his lookout, Pepe. Before he went over the side, Pepe nodded and shook hands with both Madrid and Teal.

Boelee and Portugee were waiting as Pepe splashed ashore. They ran to meet him.

“What did the capitano have to say to you?” “Redjack, did he have anything to say? Tell us, Pepe!” The Diablo crewmen gathered around as the lookout explained. “Redjack, he said nothing, but the capitano told me to tell you all: We are joining forces with the privateer and sailing out into the ocean to capture Thuron’s ship!”

Boelee shook his head in disbelief. “Are you sure?” Pepe sat down on the warm sands. “Sí, amigos! Here is what will happen. We will crew the privateer ship; Capitano Redjack will take us in tow. He will command the Diablo after he has moved his own cannon aboard her and repaired the bowsprit. After we have taken Thuron’s vessel, Redjack will cut the Diablo loose to sail back to the Caribbean.”

Portugee gnawed thoughtfully at his lip. “But why do both ships need to sail about chasin’ Thuron, did he say?”

Pepe grinned as he related what his captain had told him. “That prisoner from the Marie, you know what he said? I will tell you. Thuron is quitting these waters, going back to his home in France. That is why he put in to Guayama. For years he has been burying all his booty there, and he went to dig it up before he crosses the ocean. The man saw it, a real treasure, chests an’ barrels of plunder. Our capitano made him talk—now he has made a bargain with Redjack. Good, no?”

All eyes were on Boelee. He was the most astute member of the Diablo’s crew, having served longest with Madrid. Sitting down, he pursed his lips and squinted one eye. Then he laughed. “Good, yes! Two ships can find Thuron out there a lot easier’n one could. Ho ho, that Rocco, he’s craftier than a sack o’ monkeys. I’ll wager he’s got a plan formed already. You mark my words, mates, Rocco Madrid’ll end up with all that booty, or my name ain’t Boelee!”