Cast In Dark Waters

With the original buccaneers driven out by the local ruling powers and routed by the Crown, the Caribbean had become a region of chaos. The first freebooters, for all their faults, had brought a certain semblance of order to the area. New Providence, Madagascar, and Johanna Isle all flourished under rule of the pirates. Their decrees had been domineering but fair, especially for the Americas, and their codes of protection had been strictly enforced.

Now, however, there were only armed vessels run by independent smugglers available to take you to sea ports in the West Indies or beyond. Roving bands of corsairs flying under black flags owned the water lanes from Grand Bahama to Bocas Del Toro in Panama. And the stories of these sea wolves robbing and killing their own passengers were legion. Maycomb knew that despite all his precautions he and Eileen would be lucky to survive this venture.

He was about to go up on deck to the foc's'le, which also served as the galley, when he saw two urchins standing at the top of the stairwell. Not even the warm, sun-filled morning improved their ragged and sinister appearance. Indeed, daylight only showed them to look more like the dregs of the London slums than ever: striped short-sleeve shirts, wide leather belts, filthy pants, and their cudgels sloppily concealed. Ugly, faded tattoos adorned their arms and necks, and scar tissue festooned the boys like jewelry.

Neither could have been more than sixteen years old but their faces bore the disfigurement of many battles, fought in the back alleys of the East End as well as upon the turbulent ocean.

"Guvner, suh."

"Lads," Maycomb said.

"Have a bit'a rum here if you'd like to 'ave a sip. Probably not as fine a liquor as you be used to, but it hits the proper spot."

"Thank you, no," Maycomb said softly, knowing where this would soon lead. He primed himself for it, prepared to draw his pistol if necessary.

"Reckon you might extend the invitation to the lady, suh. Ain't seen much'a her above deck since we left port. The shadows aren't good for a woman's complexion, ye know. She could probably do with a bit'a nice weather on her cheeks. You might bid her up."

"No, I think not."

"And here we was thinkin' that the aristocratic folks was an overly genial bunch too."

All the freebooters on this vessel had scrutinized Eileen with open desire, and it was only through his own forceful presence and show of arms-his flintlock and sword-that no one had yet forced himself upon her. Maycomb again cursed himself for being a fool and bringing her on this voyage, and yet he was a fool with little choice in these matters.

"Ah now, suh, no need to be pullin' such a face. We only come seekin' our fortunes to this land, same as you, no different than yeself. We do a respectable service bringin' honorable and decent families across the waters. Why, if we only had us fine wives as you tucked into our berths instead, there'd-"

A stinging salty breeze flowed down to him and he could sense a summer storm in the air. He wreathed his hand around the chain of silver he wore around his neck, grasping hold of both the silver cross and the stone medallion bearing the face of the Celtic deity Anu, mother of the gods. For a moment he almost let himself be swept up in the urge to mount the stairs and beat back the two boys, but it would only serve to cause greater enmity with the others on board. He dreaded there would already be enough blood awaiting him.

"Die and be damned, you scurvy curs."

The guttersnipes sniggered and gestured for him to come up and the sword at his hip was a reassuring pressure, yet with a grunt of shame he turned and returned at once to his cabin.

But far worse than murderers, he feared that even the dead were at his heels.

Three ships had anchored in nine-fathom waters within the past twenty-four hours outside Port of St. Christopher's, making the small harbor a battleground of drunken pirates ramming each other's skiffs as they landed. Every sailor tried to impress and outspend all the others with the plunder he'd accumulated on various recent raids. A crowd of masts cluttered the harbor. Press-gangs, hell-carts, and coaches raised a racket along the streets. The fish-wives went about the wharves and marketplace selling their wares, and the whores did the same.

Neither Neptune nor the lord Jesus of Nazareth held any sway here. Most of the brigands and marauders stuck to the usual ways of losing their money: crooked card games; harlots who'd fill a man with wine and sweet words before lifting a coin purse; dealing with former freebooters who worked all the havens of the Caribbean, rolling the men who'd once been their mates. The dead piled up along the piers while the swindled sought reparation by looting drunkards and the elderly. The cycle had no beginning or ending, it simply continued from day to day and ship to ship. The same gold piece could pass through twenty hands a night.