Pirate Latitudes by Michael Crichton
“And they did not?”
“Indeed they did not. Mr. Hunter, once returned to command of his ship, forced us to set sail for Matanceros to carry out his original intent.”
Hunter could stand no more. “I forced you? How could I force sixty men?”
“Silence!” bellowed Hacklett. “The prisoner will remain silent, or he shall be removed from court.” Hacklett turned back to Sanson. “How did you fare with the prisoner at this time?”
“Badly,” Sanson said. “He clapped me in irons for the duration of the voyage.”
“Matanceros and the galleon were subsequently captured?”
“Aye, gentlemen,” Sanson said. “And I was placed in the Cassandra thusly: Mr. Hunter went aboard the ship and determined that she was unseaworthy, after the attack on Matanceros. He then gave me command of this poor ship, in the manner of marooning, for he did not expect her to survive the open sea. He gave me a small crew of men who felt as I did. We made for Port Royal when a hurricane overtook us, and our ship was shattered with the loss of all hands. I, myself, in the longboat, managed to come to Tortuga and thence here.”
“What know you of Lady Sarah Almont?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Not until this moment,” Sanson said. “Is there such a person?”
“Indeed,” Hacklett said, with a quick glance at Hunter. “Mr. Hunter claims to have rescued her from Matanceros and brought her safely thus.”
“She was not with him when he left Matanceros,” Sanson said. “If I were to conjecture, I should say Mr. Hunter attacked an English merchantman and took her passenger as prize, to justify his wrongdoings.”
“A most convenient event,” Hacklett said. “But why have we not heard of this same merchantman?”
“Probably he killed all hands aboard and sunk her,” Sanson said. “On his homeward voyage from Matanceros.”
“One final inquiry,” Hacklett said. “Do you recall a storm at sea on the twelfth and thirteenth of September?”
“A storm? No, gentlemen. There was no storm.”
Hacklett nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Sanson. You may step down.”
“If it please the court,” Sanson said, and left the room.
There was a long pause after the door slammed with a hollow, echoing sound. The court turned to face Hunter, who was trembling and white with anger, and yet he fought for composure.
“Mr. Hunter,” Hacklett said, “can you charge your memory with any particulars to account for the discrepancy between the stories you have related and those of Mr. Sanson whom you have said you respect so highly?”
“He is a liar, sir. A foul and black liar.”
“The court is prepared to consider such an accusation if you can acquaint the court with particulars which will serve in evidence, Mr. Hunter.”
“I have only my word,” Hunter said, “but you may have ample evidence from Lady Sarah Almont herself, who will contradict the French tale in all respects.”
“We shall certainly have her witness,” Hacklett said. “But before calling her, a perplexing question remains. The attack on Matanceros — justified or no — occurred on September twenty-first. You returned to Port Royal on October twentieth. Among pirates, one expects that such a delay represents a sailing to an obscure island, for the purpose of concealing treasure taken, and thus cheating the king. What is your explanation?”
“We were engaged in a sea battle,” Hunter said. “Then we fought a hurricane for three days. We careened in an island outside the Boca del Dragon for four days. Subsequently, we set sail but were besieged by a kraken—”
“I beg your pardon. Do you mean a monster of the depths?”
“I do.”
“How amusing.” Hacklett laughed, and the others on the tribunal laughed with him. “Your imagination to explain this monthlong delay gains our admiration, if not our credence.” Hacklett turned in his chair. “Call the Lady Sarah Almont to give evidence.”
“Lady Sarah Almont!”
A moment later, looking pale and drawn, Lady Sarah entered the room, took the oath, and awaited her questions. Hacklett, with a most solicitous manner, peered down at her.
“Lady Sarah, I wish first to welcome you to the Jamaica Colony, and to apologize for the dastardly business which must be your first encounter with society in these regions.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hacklett,” she said, with a slight bow. She did not look at Hunter, not once. That worried him.
“Lady Sarah,” Hacklett said, “it has become a question of importance to this tribunal whether you were captured by Spaniards and then released by Captain Hunter, or whether you were captured by Captain Hunter in the first instance. Can you enlighten us?”
“I can.”
“Please do so freely.”
“I was aboard the merchantman Entrepid,” she said, “bound from Bristol for Port Royal when . . .”
Her voice trailed off. There was a long silence. She looked at Hunter. He stared into her eyes, which were frightened in a way he had never seen.
“Go on, if you please.”
“. . . When we spotted a Spanish vessel on the horizon. It opened fire upon us, and we were captured. I was surprised to discover that the captain of this Spanish ship was an Englishman.”
“Do you mean Charles Hunter, the prisoner who stands before us now?”
“I do.”
“Please continue.”
Hunter hardly heard the rest of her words: how he had taken her onto the galleon, then killed the English crew and set the ship afire. How he had told Lady Sarah that he would pretend he had saved her from the Spaniards, in order to justify his raid on Matanceros. She delivered her story in a high-pitched, taut voice, speaking rapidly, as if to finish the matter as quickly as possible.
“Thank you, Lady Sarah. You may step down.”
She left the room.
The tribunal faced Hunter, seven men with blank, expressionless faces, examining Hunter like a creature already dead. A long moment passed.
“We have heard nothing from the witness of your colorful adventures with the Boca del Dragon, or the sea monster. Have you any proofs?” Hacklett asked mildly.
“Only this,” Hunter said, and, swiftly, he stripped to the waist. Across his chest were the tears and scars of giant, saucerlike suckers, an unearthly sight. The members of the tribunal gasped. They murmured among themselves.
Hacklett banged his gavel for order.
“An interesting amusement, Mr. Hunter, but not persuasive to the educated gentlemen present. We can all surely imagine the devices you employed, in your desperate predicament, to re-create the effects of such a monster. The court is not persuaded.”
Hunter looked at the faces of the seven men, and saw that they were persuaded. But Hacklett’s gavel banged again.
“Charles Hunter,” Hacklett said, “this court finds you justly convicted of the crime of piracy and robbery upon the high seas, as charged. Do you wish to say any reason why sentence shall not be carried out?”
Hunter paused. He thought of a thousand oaths and expletives, but none would serve any purpose. “No,” he said softly.
“I did not hear you, Mr. Hunter.”
“I said no.”
“Then you, Charles Hunter, and all your crew, are adjudged and sentenced to be carried back to the place from whence you came, and thence on Monday next to the place of execution, the High Street Square in the town of Port Royal, and there to be hanged by the neck till dead, dead, dead. And after this, you and each of you shall be taken down and your bodies hanged from the yardarms of your vessel. May God have mercy upon your souls. Take him away, jailer.”
Hunter was led out of the Justice House. As he went out the door, he heard Hacklett laugh: a peculiar, thin, cackling sound. T
hen the door closed, and he was returned to jail.
Chapter 35
HE WAS TAKEN to a different cell; apparently the jailers of Marshallsea did not care one from another. He sat in the straw on the floor and considered his plight with care. He could hardly believe what had happened, and he was angry almost beyond understanding.
Night came, and the jail turned quiet except for the snores and the sighs of the inmates. Hunter himself was falling asleep when he heard a familiar hissing voice: “Hunter!”
He sat up.
“Hunter!”
He knew the voice. “Whisper,” he said. “Where are you?”
“In the next cell.”
The cells all opened at the front; he could not see the next cell, but he could hear well enough, if he pressed his cheek close to the stone wall.
“Whisper, how long are you here?”
“A week, Hunter. Were you tried?”
“Aye.”
“And judged guilty?”
“Aye.”
“So also me,” Whisper hissed. “On a charge of theft. It was false.”
Theft, like piracy, had a fatal outcome.
“Whisper,” he said, “what has happened to Sir James?”
“They say he is ill,” Whisper hissed, “but he is not. He is healthy, and under guard, in peril of his life, at the Governor’s Mansion. Hacklett and Scott have taken control. They tell all in the town he is dying.”
Hacklett must have threatened Lady Sarah, Hunter thought, and forced her to testify falsely.
“There is more rumor,” Whisper hissed. “Madam Emily Hacklett is heavy with child.”
“So?”
“So, it appears that her husband the Acting Governor never performs his uxorial duties upon the wife. He is not so capable. Therefore her condition is irksome to him.”
“I see,” Hunter said.
“You have cuckolded a tyrant, and all the worse for you.”
“And Sanson?”
“He came alone, in a longboat. There was no crew. He told the story that all died in a hurricane, save him alone.”
Hunter pressed his cheek against the stone wall, feeling the cool dampness. It provided a kind of solid comfort to him.
“What day is this?”
“Saturday.”
Hunter had two days before his execution. He sighed, and sat back, and stared out the barred window at the clouds across a pale and waning moon.
. . .
THE GOVERNOR’S MANSION was constructed of solid brick, a veritable fortress at the north end of Port Royal. In the basement, under heavy guard, Sir James Almont lay feverish upon a bed. Lady Sarah Almont placed a cool towel across his hot forehead, and bid him breathe easily.
At that moment, Mr. Hacklett and his wife strode into the room.
“Sir James!”
Almont, his eyes glazed with fever, looked over at his deputy. “What is it now?”
“We have tried Captain Hunter. He will hang on Monday next, as a common pirate.”
At this, Lady Sarah looked away. Tears came to her eyes.
“Do you approve, Sir James?”
“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.
“You hardly know,” she replied, and, in a quick gesture, lifted her skirts from the hem, pulling them up to her waist. It was an astonishingly lewd movement, but more astonishing for what was revealed.
Strapped to her calves and thighs was a veritable armory — two knives, two pistols.
“My secret parts are said to be dangerous,” she said, “and now you know the truth.”
Quickly, Hunter took the weapons and stashed them in his belt.
“Do not, sir, discharge prematurely.”
“You may count upon my staying power.”
“How long may I count?”
“To a hundred,” Hunter said, “and there’s a promise.”
She looked back in the direction of the guard.
“I shall hold you to your word, at another time,” she said. “In the meanwhile, shall I be raped?”
“I think it is best,” Hunter said and flung her to the ground.
She squealed and screamed, and the guard came running. He saw the import of the scene in a moment, and hastily unlocked the door, running into the room.
“You damnable pirate,” he growled, and then the knife in Hunter’s fist was buried in his neck, and he staggered back, clutching at the blade beneath his chin. He pulled it free and blood gushed out, a hissing fountain, and then he collapsed and died.
“Quickly, lady,” Hunter said, helping Anne Sharpe to her feet. All around them, the men jailed in Marshallsea were silent; they had heard, and they were utterly quiet. Hunter went around, opening cell doors, then he gave the keys to the men and let them finish the task.
“Indeed they did not. Mr. Hunter, once returned to command of his ship, forced us to set sail for Matanceros to carry out his original intent.”
Hunter could stand no more. “I forced you? How could I force sixty men?”
“Silence!” bellowed Hacklett. “The prisoner will remain silent, or he shall be removed from court.” Hacklett turned back to Sanson. “How did you fare with the prisoner at this time?”
“Badly,” Sanson said. “He clapped me in irons for the duration of the voyage.”
“Matanceros and the galleon were subsequently captured?”
“Aye, gentlemen,” Sanson said. “And I was placed in the Cassandra thusly: Mr. Hunter went aboard the ship and determined that she was unseaworthy, after the attack on Matanceros. He then gave me command of this poor ship, in the manner of marooning, for he did not expect her to survive the open sea. He gave me a small crew of men who felt as I did. We made for Port Royal when a hurricane overtook us, and our ship was shattered with the loss of all hands. I, myself, in the longboat, managed to come to Tortuga and thence here.”
“What know you of Lady Sarah Almont?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Not until this moment,” Sanson said. “Is there such a person?”
“Indeed,” Hacklett said, with a quick glance at Hunter. “Mr. Hunter claims to have rescued her from Matanceros and brought her safely thus.”
“She was not with him when he left Matanceros,” Sanson said. “If I were to conjecture, I should say Mr. Hunter attacked an English merchantman and took her passenger as prize, to justify his wrongdoings.”
“A most convenient event,” Hacklett said. “But why have we not heard of this same merchantman?”
“Probably he killed all hands aboard and sunk her,” Sanson said. “On his homeward voyage from Matanceros.”
“One final inquiry,” Hacklett said. “Do you recall a storm at sea on the twelfth and thirteenth of September?”
“A storm? No, gentlemen. There was no storm.”
Hacklett nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Sanson. You may step down.”
“If it please the court,” Sanson said, and left the room.
There was a long pause after the door slammed with a hollow, echoing sound. The court turned to face Hunter, who was trembling and white with anger, and yet he fought for composure.
“Mr. Hunter,” Hacklett said, “can you charge your memory with any particulars to account for the discrepancy between the stories you have related and those of Mr. Sanson whom you have said you respect so highly?”
“He is a liar, sir. A foul and black liar.”
“The court is prepared to consider such an accusation if you can acquaint the court with particulars which will serve in evidence, Mr. Hunter.”
“I have only my word,” Hunter said, “but you may have ample evidence from Lady Sarah Almont herself, who will contradict the French tale in all respects.”
“We shall certainly have her witness,” Hacklett said. “But before calling her, a perplexing question remains. The attack on Matanceros — justified or no — occurred on September twenty-first. You returned to Port Royal on October twentieth. Among pirates, one expects that such a delay represents a sailing to an obscure island, for the purpose of concealing treasure taken, and thus cheating the king. What is your explanation?”
“We were engaged in a sea battle,” Hunter said. “Then we fought a hurricane for three days. We careened in an island outside the Boca del Dragon for four days. Subsequently, we set sail but were besieged by a kraken—”
“I beg your pardon. Do you mean a monster of the depths?”
“I do.”
“How amusing.” Hacklett laughed, and the others on the tribunal laughed with him. “Your imagination to explain this monthlong delay gains our admiration, if not our credence.” Hacklett turned in his chair. “Call the Lady Sarah Almont to give evidence.”
“Lady Sarah Almont!”
A moment later, looking pale and drawn, Lady Sarah entered the room, took the oath, and awaited her questions. Hacklett, with a most solicitous manner, peered down at her.
“Lady Sarah, I wish first to welcome you to the Jamaica Colony, and to apologize for the dastardly business which must be your first encounter with society in these regions.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hacklett,” she said, with a slight bow. She did not look at Hunter, not once. That worried him.
“Lady Sarah,” Hacklett said, “it has become a question of importance to this tribunal whether you were captured by Spaniards and then released by Captain Hunter, or whether you were captured by Captain Hunter in the first instance. Can you enlighten us?”
“I can.”
“Please do so freely.”
“I was aboard the merchantman Entrepid,” she said, “bound from Bristol for Port Royal when . . .”
Her voice trailed off. There was a long silence. She looked at Hunter. He stared into her eyes, which were frightened in a way he had never seen.
“Go on, if you please.”
“. . . When we spotted a Spanish vessel on the horizon. It opened fire upon us, and we were captured. I was surprised to discover that the captain of this Spanish ship was an Englishman.”
“Do you mean Charles Hunter, the prisoner who stands before us now?”
“I do.”
“Please continue.”
Hunter hardly heard the rest of her words: how he had taken her onto the galleon, then killed the English crew and set the ship afire. How he had told Lady Sarah that he would pretend he had saved her from the Spaniards, in order to justify his raid on Matanceros. She delivered her story in a high-pitched, taut voice, speaking rapidly, as if to finish the matter as quickly as possible.
“Thank you, Lady Sarah. You may step down.”
She left the room.
The tribunal faced Hunter, seven men with blank, expressionless faces, examining Hunter like a creature already dead. A long moment passed.
“We have heard nothing from the witness of your colorful adventures with the Boca del Dragon, or the sea monster. Have you any proofs?” Hacklett asked mildly.
“Only this,” Hunter said, and, swiftly, he stripped to the waist. Across his chest were the tears and scars of giant, saucerlike suckers, an unearthly sight. The members of the tribunal gasped. They murmured among themselves.
Hacklett banged his gavel for order.
“An interesting amusement, Mr. Hunter, but not persuasive to the educated gentlemen present. We can all surely imagine the devices you employed, in your desperate predicament, to re-create the effects of such a monster. The court is not persuaded.”
Hunter looked at the faces of the seven men, and saw that they were persuaded. But Hacklett’s gavel banged again.
“Charles Hunter,” Hacklett said, “this court finds you justly convicted of the crime of piracy and robbery upon the high seas, as charged. Do you wish to say any reason why sentence shall not be carried out?”
Hunter paused. He thought of a thousand oaths and expletives, but none would serve any purpose. “No,” he said softly.
“I did not hear you, Mr. Hunter.”
“I said no.”
“Then you, Charles Hunter, and all your crew, are adjudged and sentenced to be carried back to the place from whence you came, and thence on Monday next to the place of execution, the High Street Square in the town of Port Royal, and there to be hanged by the neck till dead, dead, dead. And after this, you and each of you shall be taken down and your bodies hanged from the yardarms of your vessel. May God have mercy upon your souls. Take him away, jailer.”
Hunter was led out of the Justice House. As he went out the door, he heard Hacklett laugh: a peculiar, thin, cackling sound. T
Chapter 35
HE WAS TAKEN to a different cell; apparently the jailers of Marshallsea did not care one from another. He sat in the straw on the floor and considered his plight with care. He could hardly believe what had happened, and he was angry almost beyond understanding.
Night came, and the jail turned quiet except for the snores and the sighs of the inmates. Hunter himself was falling asleep when he heard a familiar hissing voice: “Hunter!”
He sat up.
“Hunter!”
He knew the voice. “Whisper,” he said. “Where are you?”
“In the next cell.”
The cells all opened at the front; he could not see the next cell, but he could hear well enough, if he pressed his cheek close to the stone wall.
“Whisper, how long are you here?”
“A week, Hunter. Were you tried?”
“Aye.”
“And judged guilty?”
“Aye.”
“So also me,” Whisper hissed. “On a charge of theft. It was false.”
Theft, like piracy, had a fatal outcome.
“Whisper,” he said, “what has happened to Sir James?”
“They say he is ill,” Whisper hissed, “but he is not. He is healthy, and under guard, in peril of his life, at the Governor’s Mansion. Hacklett and Scott have taken control. They tell all in the town he is dying.”
Hacklett must have threatened Lady Sarah, Hunter thought, and forced her to testify falsely.
“There is more rumor,” Whisper hissed. “Madam Emily Hacklett is heavy with child.”
“So?”
“So, it appears that her husband the Acting Governor never performs his uxorial duties upon the wife. He is not so capable. Therefore her condition is irksome to him.”
“I see,” Hunter said.
“You have cuckolded a tyrant, and all the worse for you.”
“And Sanson?”
“He came alone, in a longboat. There was no crew. He told the story that all died in a hurricane, save him alone.”
Hunter pressed his cheek against the stone wall, feeling the cool dampness. It provided a kind of solid comfort to him.
“What day is this?”
“Saturday.”
Hunter had two days before his execution. He sighed, and sat back, and stared out the barred window at the clouds across a pale and waning moon.
. . .
THE GOVERNOR’S MANSION was constructed of solid brick, a veritable fortress at the north end of Port Royal. In the basement, under heavy guard, Sir James Almont lay feverish upon a bed. Lady Sarah Almont placed a cool towel across his hot forehead, and bid him breathe easily.
At that moment, Mr. Hacklett and his wife strode into the room.
“Sir James!”
Almont, his eyes glazed with fever, looked over at his deputy. “What is it now?”
“We have tried Captain Hunter. He will hang on Monday next, as a common pirate.”
At this, Lady Sarah looked away. Tears came to her eyes.
“Do you approve, Sir James?”
“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.
“You hardly know,” she replied, and, in a quick gesture, lifted her skirts from the hem, pulling them up to her waist. It was an astonishingly lewd movement, but more astonishing for what was revealed.
Strapped to her calves and thighs was a veritable armory — two knives, two pistols.
“My secret parts are said to be dangerous,” she said, “and now you know the truth.”
Quickly, Hunter took the weapons and stashed them in his belt.
“Do not, sir, discharge prematurely.”
“You may count upon my staying power.”
“How long may I count?”
“To a hundred,” Hunter said, “and there’s a promise.”
She looked back in the direction of the guard.
“I shall hold you to your word, at another time,” she said. “In the meanwhile, shall I be raped?”
“I think it is best,” Hunter said and flung her to the ground.
She squealed and screamed, and the guard came running. He saw the import of the scene in a moment, and hastily unlocked the door, running into the room.
“You damnable pirate,” he growled, and then the knife in Hunter’s fist was buried in his neck, and he staggered back, clutching at the blade beneath his chin. He pulled it free and blood gushed out, a hissing fountain, and then he collapsed and died.
“Quickly, lady,” Hunter said, helping Anne Sharpe to her feet. All around them, the men jailed in Marshallsea were silent; they had heard, and they were utterly quiet. Hunter went around, opening cell doors, then he gave the keys to the men and let them finish the task.