The Pirate Captain - By Kerry Lynne Page 0,5

entice them thus far. That blessed Lord Creswicke managed a charter from the Crown. What with the Crown always looking to turn a coin…”

“And Creswicke has certainly given them that!” Chambers broke in with unfamiliar vehemence. “Between port tariffs, docking, drayage, wharfage, piloting, victualling fees and the like, a soul can barely make a profit.”

They shifted uncomfortably, glancing furtively over their shoulders as if they expected the fiend to materialize.

“Extortion is what it is,” Ivy grumbled darkly over his plate.

“And lo unto the one what tries to slip a bondsman past him!” Coombs intoned. “And if someone is so bold as to complain or evade, he’ll be boarded within the week.”

“Boarded? You’re saying that it’s more than coincidence?” she asked, looking from one man to the next.

“Oh, aye!” Ivy gave a conspiratorial wink. “Pirates, for sure. Complain a little more, and be declared a pirate yourself, dancin’ the hempen jig for yer efforts.”

“Just don’t scrape the paint too hard on the ship, nor ask to see her log. Ye might be findin’ out what’s more than healthy,” Chambers said, exchanging knowing looks with his crew.

“Or a quick-like visit to Davy Jones,” said Ivy.

Cate’s evident failure to comprehend brought Ivy to bend closer. “There be pirates in these waters, to be sure, Blackthorne bein’ one o’ the best. But one can’t help but notice that several are a mite peculiar.”

“Privateers,” hissed Coombs over his porridge.

“Pah! White-water pirates to be sure, bought and paid for by Lord Creswicke,” Humphries said, tapping his spoon on the table for emphasis.

She looked from one man to the other, confused. A minute ago, the pirates had been the most hated, but this Creswicke seemed to have suddenly usurped the title. “But I thought you said that Creswicke…or, the Company was killing pirates.”

“Aye!” Ivy nodded, chewing industriously. “But the best way to be a good physick is to supply the very illness what you know how to cure.”

“What better way to keep everyone under your thumb than to scare them into thinkin’ they ain’t safe without you?” Humphries asked around a mouthful of porridge. “Including the Crown!”

“To make himself look more important—and successful—Creswicke has his own fleet of pirates…” Sullivan said, reaching for the pot of treacle.

“Sailing on the very ships he’s confiscated…” Coombs said importantly into his drink.

“And selling the plunder for a very nice profit,” finished Ivy. “And London is thinking the only way to protect their shipments is to give Creswicke more of whatever he wants to fight off the pirates.”

“Surely someone has complained,” she said.

Ivy’s feathery brows shot up as he stabbed another kipper from the platter. “To who? If the Company succeeds, England succeeds. Lord-on-High Pelham and King Georgie aren’t going to tamper with what’s bringing them a sack full o’ money. There be rumors of war again, and the Crown will be lookin’ for every pound it can lay its hands on.”

“And the Royal Navy’s high command in these waters is of no disposition to listen or intervene,” put in Chambers grimly around the stem of his pipe.

“Aye!” Sullivan smirked. “Harte can’t hear anything over the rattle of Creswicke’s coin in his pockets.”

“Harte?” she asked, her fork hovering over her plate.

“His Lordship Roger Harte, Commodore of His Majesty’s Royal Navy!” Humphries announced, striking an imperious pose.

“So Blackthorne works for the Company and this Creswicke?” she asked, still straining to follow the conversation.

Derisive laughter burst from all.

“Creswicke hates Ol’ Blackthorne with a passion what goes beyond human. No one knows exactly what it was all about, one of those blood feuds that run for a lifetime. Blackthorne hasn’t done hisself any favors,” Ivy pointed out with a warning wag of the finger. “He’s robbed, ransomed, hostaged, pillaged, and plundered. Cost the Company a fair bit o’ profit, that one has.”

“And made fools of Commodore Harte and Lord Creswicke,” Humphries said, snickering into his ale.

###

The storm exhausted itself by midday, the clouds withdrawing to reveal a remarkable day. Cate stood at the rail, smiling. Life appeared above and below, giving a sense that perhaps the ship hadn’t fallen off the Earth after all. With nothing but weeks of wave and sky, one readily came to believe the world had been swept away in a flood of biblical proportions. The speck of a bird high overhead was inspirational proof that something else still existed. A high point was a school of small, greenish-silver fish swimming alongside, or coming upon a great mass of seaweed, a miniature floating marine city teeming with myriads of small