Pirate Latitudes

“Whatever… you think… is the best course…” Sir James said, breathing with difficulty.

“Thank you, Sir James.” Hacklett laughed, spun on his heel, and left the room. The door closed heavily behind him.

Instantly, Sir James was alert. He frowned at Sarah. “Take this damnable cloth from my head, woman. There is work to be done.”

“But Uncle-”

“Damn it all, do you understand nothing? All the years I have spent in this godforsaken colony, waiting and financing privateering expeditions, and all for this one moment, when one of my buccos would bring back a Donnish galleon, laden with treasure. Now it has happened, and do you not comprehend the outcome?”

“No, Uncle.”

“Well, a tenth will go to Charles,” Almont said. “And the remaining ninety percent will be divided between Hacklett and Scott. You mark my words.”

“But they warned me-”

“Hang their warnings, I know the truth. I have waited four years for this moment, and I will not be cheated of it. Nor will the other good citizens of this, ah, temperate town. I’ll not be cheated by a pimple-faced moralistic knave and a dandified military fop. Hunter must be freed.”

“But how?” Lady Sarah said. “He is to be executed in two days’ time.”

“That old dog,” Almont said, “will not swing from any arm, I promise you. The town is with him.”

“How so?”

“Because if he returns home, he has debts to pay, and handsomely, too. With interest. To me, and to others. All he needs is a setting free…”

“But how?” Lady Sarah said.

“Ask Richards,” Almont said.

And then a voice from the gloom at the back of the room said, “I will ask Richards.”

Lady Sarah whirled. She looked at Emily Hacklett.

“I have a score to settle,” Emily Hacklett said, and she left the room.

When they were alone, Lady Sarah asked her uncle, “Will that suffice?”

Sir James Almont chuckled. “In spades, my dear,” he said. “In spades.” He laughed aloud. “We will see blood in Port Royal before dawn, mark my words.”

…

“ I AM EAGER to help, my lady,” Richards said. The loyal servant had been smarting for weeks under the injustice that had placed his master under armed guard.

“Who can enter Marshallsea?” Mrs. Hacklett asked.

She had seen the building from the outside, but had not, of course, ever entered it. Indeed, it was impossible that she ever do so. In the face of criminality, a high-born woman sniffed and looked away. “Can you enter the prison?”

“Nay, madam,” Richards said. “Your husband has posted his special guard; they’d sight me at once, and bar my way.”

“Then who can?”

“A woman,” Richards said. Food and necessary personal articles were brought to prisoners by friends and relatives; it was ordinary custom.

“What woman? She must be clever, and avoid search.”

“There’s only one I can think,” Richards said. “Mistress Sharpe.”

Mrs. Hacklett nodded. She remembered Mistress Sharpe, one of the thirty-seven convict women who had made the crossing on the Godspeed. Since then, Mistress Sharpe had become the most popular courtesan in the port.

“See to it,” Mrs. Hacklett said, “with no delay.”

“And what shall I promise her?”

“Say that Captain Hunter will reward her generously and justly, as I am sure he shall.”

Richards nodded, then hesitated. “Madam,” he said, “I trust you are aware of the consequence of freeing Captain Hunter?”

With a coldness that gave Richards a shudder down his spine, the woman answered, “I am not only aware, I devoutly seek it.”

“Very good, madam,” Richards said, and slipped off into the night.

…

IN THE DARKNESS, the turtles penned in Chocolata Hole surfaced and snapped their sharp beaks. Standing nearby, Mistress Sharpe, flouncing and laughing, giggled and twisted away from one of the guards, who fondled her breast. She blew him a kiss, and continued on to the shadow of the high wall of Marshallsea. She carried a crock of turtle stew in her arms.

Another guard accompanied her to Hunter’s cell. This one was surly and half-drunk. He paused with the key in the lock.

“Why do you hesitate?” she asked.

“What lock was ever opened without a lusty turning?” he asked, leering.

“The lock is better for a proper oiling,” she leered back.

“Aye, lady, and for a proper key as well.”

“I judge you to have the key,” she said. “But for the lock, well, that must wait the proper time. Leave me a few minutes with this hungry dog, and then we shall have ourselves a turning such as you will not forget.”

The guard chuckled and unlocked the door. She went in; the door was locked behind her, and the guard remained.

“A few minutes with this man,” she said, “as decency permits.”

“ ’Tis not allowed.”

“Who cares for that?” she said, and licked her lips hungrily at the guard.

He smiled back at her, and walked away.

As soon as he was gone, she set down the pot of stew on the floor and faced Hunter. Hunter did not recognize her but he was hungry, and the smell of the turtle stew was strong and agreeable.

“You are most kind,” he said.