· 4 October 1805 ·
H. M. S. MYSTÈRE, AT SEA
But all was strangely quiet on deck when Nick and Jip emerged from the aft companionway, Nick blinking his eyes in the bright sunlight. He looked around the big French ship’s aftmost deck and saw that the deck was almost deserted, save the dead and wounded. The cannons on both vessels had ceased their roar and forward he could see a press of sailors from the two warships gathered on the quarterdeck below, with an occasional cheer in French or English rising from their midst.
He heard, too, the vicious sound of two cutlasses ringing against each other with a determined fury. A brutal sword-fight, from the sound of it. He looked aloft and saw the battle-torn French flag still fluttering at the top of the mizzen. So Billy had not surrendered!
In the typical manner of most French first-raters, there was a small pilothouse here on the poop deck, and it gave Nick an inspiration. From its roof, Nick realized, he might be able to look down on the entire quarterdeck unobserved. He quickly rolled a nearby barrel up against the back of the small house, clambered atop it, and then pulled himself up onto the roof, Jip right behind him. He inched forward on his elbows until he could lift his head just enough to peek down at the frenzied scene on the quarterdeck below. The crews of both vessels were pressing aft from all over the ship, trying for a glimpse of the action taking place at the helm. Nick, lying atop the pilothouse roof, was perfectly positioned to observe the battle taking place not ten feet below him.
The great sea battle had come down to a two-man war. Captain William Blood and Lord Richard Hawke were locked in a death struggle.
Blood was a spectacle, wearing what must once have been magnificent finery, white silk breeches and a great flaring white satin captain’s coat, but now all this flummery was torn and soiled with black powder and red blood. Hawke had a terrible gash down his right cheek and his shirtfront was soaked with his own blood. Still, he had his cigar clenched in his teeth and he held his left hand rigidly behind his back, fighting Blood in a classic dueling fashion, but with more fury in his face than Nick would have thought possible.
He parried Blood’s wicked blows each and all and thrust his cutlass again and again at the darting pirate. Despite Hawke’s genius-like finesse with a sword, it was immediately clear that this was the fight of his life, as Blood brutally laid on three resounding blows in quick succession.
“It’s finished, Hawke, surrender!” Billy cried, advancing. “There’s not a swordsman alive who can best Billy Blood! I’ll cut yer bleedin’ heart out and eat it for me supper!”
“I think you shall go hungry, then, sir!” Hawke cried, slashing forward. “No, no! It’s the brave kidnapper of women and small children who’s finished, Blood!” Hawke said, deflecting a tremendous cut which would have surely split him to the chine had he not intercepted it with his sword in time.
“Look! Even your own crew has little stomach left for you, Billy Blood! See how they stand idle, waiting to see their captain’s blood run in the scuppers!”
Hawke, in a brilliant dancing parry and lunge, laid on a powerful blow and a great clang of iron rang out across the deck. It was true. The men had all fallen silent, weapons at their feet, watching the battle with rapt attention. McIver, having dispatched the last pockets of resistance on deck, had now ordered a few Royal Marines to keep their muskets leveled at the few Frenchmen who’d not yet thrown down their arms. This, in case they had any rash notion of coming to Billy’s aid.
“Lying dog!” Billy screamed, his face flushing bright red with furious blood. He charged at Hawke like a wounded rhino, bellowing at the top of his lungs. Hawke raised his cutlass to defend the ferocious blow, but Billy stopped short at the last instant and spun on his heel, whirling his body completely around and striking with huge force at Hawke’s upraised cutlass. The sword was brutally ripped from Hawke’s hand and went clattering across the deck.
A cold hand gripped Nick’s heart as he saw Hawke retreating, completely defenseless against the murderous Billy, and stumbling backward, tripping over the wounded men lying about the deck, arms and legs akimbo.
A Marine leveled his musket at Billy, but Captain McIver pushed the barrel aside, shaking his head. It was Lord Hawke’s fight, win or lose. Honor dictated that he finish it, an affair of honor, after all.
“Captain Bonnard!” Billy said, pausing to shout at his captain of French Marines. “Why have your men ceased fighting? To watch this pitiful coward die? I order you to attack! Kill these English dogs, starting with this pathetic mongrel!” He started for the weaponless Hawke. But then Bonnard suddenly blocked his path to the defenseless Englishman.
“I will take no more orders from you, Captain Blood,” Bonnard said, stepping forward and drawing his own blade, and a cheer went up from his tattered crew. “We’ve hardly a soul left with a will to fight, a fire rages near our powder magazine, and we are grievously holed below the waterline. Any fit captain at all could have seen this mighty ship to victory today, sir, but you have precious little fitness in that regard. We had no chance. We have suffered you long and long enough, sir! Enough! You are unfit to command this vessel, and I intend to negotiate her surrender on behalf of my crew. Throw down your sword, Blood, you are under the arrest of the Imperial French Navy! Bosun, strike our colors, we are surrendering the Mystère to—”
“Mutiny, is it then?” Billy threw back his head and laughed. “I’ll slit all your mutinous French throats afore I’m done, but I’ll begin with this English swine!” He swung his hateful gaze and his sword on Hawke, then lunged forward, his blade aimed at Hawke’s heart.
“Lord Hawke! Up here!” Nick shouted, and everyone turned to see a small boy standing atop the pilothouse with a large black dog. He pulled the cutlass Stiles had given him from his waistband and threw it to the empty-handed Hawke. Hawke laughed as he reached up to catch it, but Nick’s toss
“It’s finished, Hawke, surrender!”
was short and the sword clattered to the deck at Hawke’s feet. Nick saw Hawke bend to retrieve it and Billy use the moment’s distraction to circle in toward Hawke, his sword poised for a murderous blow. Hawke was coming up with Nick’s sword as Blood’s blade was coming down, and the flat of Billy’s sword caught Lord Hawke hard across the shoulder blades, driving him down to the deck. The sword flew from Lord Hawke’s hand, landing a good ten feet away. Nick drew a sharp breath.
Now!
It was only about ten feet from the roof down to the quarterdeck and he timed his jump perfectly. Nick landed squarely on the shoulders of Captain Blood, straddling his head as he’d done with Lieutenant Stiles. Nick clamped both hands over the enraged pirate’s eyes and hung on for dear life. Blinded and snorting, Blood whirled about, staggering over the bodies of the dead and wounded on the deck. He clawed and shook the tenacious boy who was clinging to him, tormenting him, but Nick held on.
He saw Jip still up on the roof, barking loudly at the scene below. “Find Sookie, boy!” he cried. “Find Sookie!” and then he felt himself flying through the air and crashing to the deck as Billy finally ripped him from his shoulders and flung him like a rag doll to the blood-washed decks.
“Found your mange-ridden dog, have you boy?” Billy sneered, striding over and planting one of his gleaming Hessian boots squarely in the middle of the boy’s chest. “Then you must give me Leonardo’s little gold ball, mustn’t you? That was our bargain, wee swabbie!” Blood poked the tip of his razor-sharp blade at him, prodding Nick’s jacket. “It’s on your person, ain’t it, boy? That’s what me bird Bones tells me—”
He slashed Nick’s thin blue coat right through the pocket and the golden ball spilled out upon the deck, rolling away as Nick tried desperately to grab for it, and in a flash Blood’s hand darted out like an inhuman claw and clutched it. Billy uttered a howl of delight, raising the brilliant object up into the sun.
“At last I’ve the both of them! The twin orbs of eternal power,” Billy shouted gleefully, staring at his gleaming prizes. “Which of the Seven Seas does William Blood not now singly command? Come, you mutineers, come all and witness a force of nature no man can conquer! We’ll yet throw these pathetic Englishmen into the sea! We shall rule the world!”
“No!” Nick cried. “The machine is mine!” Nick was clawing at Blood’s leg, trying to rise from the deck, but Billy had pinned him with his boot, painfully pressed now in the middle of Nick’s stomach. Nick could only twist frantically like a spider impaled.
Nick reached inside his jacket for the bone-handled dagger Billy had stuck in his front door. Perhaps I can return it to him in person, Nick remembered thinking. He plunged the dagger deep into the fleshy part of Billy’s calf. Roaring in pain, Billy didn’t see Hawke coming up behind him.
“He said the orb belongs to him, Blood,” Lord Hawke said, the point of his cutlass in Billy’s back. “Return it to him now.”
“Your tongue has wagged its last, Hawke,” the pirate said and whirled to face Lord Hawke. Billy lunged first, his blade going for Hawke’s exposed gut, but this time it was Hawke who spun on his heel in lightning fashion, whirling his body with his flashing cutlass outstretched, and then an awful sound Nick would never forget, the awful sound of steel on flesh and bone, of steel through flesh and bone.
There was an enormous howl of pain and Billy held up a bloody stump of an arm.
On the deck, Blood’s still-twitching hand, bloody fingers clenched around the shining golden ball. Hawke knelt and pried the Tempus Machina free. Then he handed it back to Nick.
There came a look then in William Blood’s eyes when the smoldering fires of hell, always within, seemed to lick out of his very eyeballs, to singe the air, even the beard of Lord Hawke. Billy swore that foul oath at Lord Hawke then, the one that would be whispered among sailing men for years, and dashed up the steps to the afterdeck. He was running for his life from the angry press of sailors, English and French mutineers both, who now charged after him. Nick saw Billy bolt into the stairwell aft of the pilothouse. It was the same stairwell Nick himself had used upon leaving Nelson’s niece.
“Lady Anne!” Nick cried out to Captain McIver above the excited tumult. “She’s a prisoner in Billy’s cabin, sir! He swore he’d kill her for sure, Captain!” Nick shuddered at the thought of the beautiful woman, helpless before Billy’s fury, and saw McIver’s own face go white with rage. How could he face Nelson if Anne were killed?
“Show me the way, lad, show me the way!” the captain shouted. He followed the boy racing aft, taking the steps up to the poop deck three at a time.
There was a gaggle of bloodthirsty sailors, both French and English, pounding at Billy’s heavy cabin door, screaming for his head. But above those screams could be heard the terrified cry of a woman pleading for her life. They heard, too, the enraged snarls and howls of something more animal than human: Billy. Nick’s breath caught in his throat. The door was too thick. Were he and the captain too late?
“Attention!” Captain Mclver said in his booming voice, and the rowdy sailors all immediately came to order. “I want this door destroyed in five seconds or less. Make that ‘less.’ ”
Four French sailors formed up and, in one furious blow, visited their years of suffering under Captain Blood upon his thick oak door. It splintered inward on their first smashing attack and the sailors tumbled into the great cabin with Nick and McIver right on their heels.
“Search this cabin!” McIver ordered the men, his own eyes scanning desperately for Nelson’s niece and Billy Blood. But Nick had seen at the stern windows in that last moment a glimmering golden light, as of a thousand shimmering fireflies, and knew their search would be fruitless. He saw Lady Anne collapsed on the banquette, her head bowed and sobbing, her dress ripped and torn, a bloody stain at her white shoulder.
“She’s been hurt!” the captain shouted and rushed to her side.
The captain sat beside her, and began applying a homely bandage he’d made from his torn shirt to Lady Anne’s shoulder. “I don’t think it’s at all serious, LadyAnne,” he said soothingly, “but this should hold you until I can get you to the Merlin’s surgeon. Are you all right, my dear girl?”
“I—I think so, Captain. Thank you. And I’m eternally grateful to this handsome young gentleman, too,” she said favoring Nick with a lovely smile. “Did the pirate escape?”
“He’s gone, Captain!” a crewman cried, bursting into the cabin. The French sailors had been searching the lower decks in vain for Billy Blood, against all hope. “He’s escaped!”
As Nick knew, Billy Blood, of course, had not fled to another deck, but to another place or time. And escaped the punishment Nick knew he so richly deserved.
“Billy’s got away, Captain,” Nick said, eyes downcast.
“Ease yerself, son,” McIver said softly. “What escape can there be for the creature? Wherever can he run? France? He’s lost their most powerful warship for them! The little Corsican emperor will have his head in a basket at the guillotine for that one, sure! England? There’s a king’s ransom on his vile head there, too! The Seven Seas? No, he’s not escaped, lad, he’s doomed to wander the ages, missing his good right hand, reviled by all who encounter him. Besides, you’ve still got your golden orb, Nick. Wherever Bill roams, so, too, can you and Lord Hawke. He can’t escape your justice, lad, and that’s a good thing.”
Billy’s gone—squawk—he’ll be back—squawk—Billy’s gone—squawk—back back back.
Bones. The parrot fluttered his bright red feathers and then the terrible bird was gone in search of his master, flown out the open window.
On the Mystère’s quarterdeck, the French Captain of Marines, Bonnard, went down on one knee and presented the sword of surrender to Lord Richard Hawke. Hawke accepted, in lieu of the captain, smiling at the men assembled around the helm, removing his now well-chomped cigar from his lips. “Let him run, the devil. There’s no hiding for him on this ship. Or, anywhere on this earth!”
He turned to the French captain. “Captain Bonnard, on behalf of Merlin, Captain Nicholas McIver commanding, and His Majesty’s Royal Navy, I accept your surrender. I will present your colors and sword to my captain forthwith.” Hawke bowed deeply and Bonnard did the same. “You are a gentleman, sir,” Hawke added, as Bonnard handed him the tattered French ensign. “It has been my honor to do battle with you.”
The French struck their colors and now every English heart lifted, as the flag of England fluttered against the blue sky at Mystère’s topmast.
Hawke stepped up onto the binnacle and raised the surrendered flag of France into the air and an explosion of cheering voices from the Merlin and the decks of the Mystère rose up to meet him. It was a sound he’d never dared dream of hearing, but one that would stay with him always. His own men were cheering the English victory, the Frenchmen celebrating their liberation from the evil tyranny of Captain Blood. And they both appeared to be waiting for some kind of speech from Hawke. Everyone on deck had suddenly gone stone silent.
“My brave shipmates and comrades, I hardly know how to thank you for—”
“Father! Father!” A tiny voice pierced the silence in a way that made Hawke’s heart leap into his throat so fast he could not get another word out.
“Oh, Father, yes, it’s really you!”
And then Hawke saw the sea of sailors part and two small ragged children race across the deck toward him, led by a big black dog. Suddenly, tears of the purest joy were coursing down his cheeks and he leapt down from the binnacle and ran to them, falling to his knees as they approached him, hardly able to believe his eyes. Annabel and Alexander! Yes, it was true! And suddenly his two wee children were once more in their father’s long-lost arms, all three of them laughing and crying at the same time, hugging each other as if they might never let go.
“Oh, Daddy, is it really you?” Annabel said, hugging him around the neck as tightly as ever she could. “We didn’t think we’d ever see you again!”
“Yes, Father,” Alexander exclaimed, as Lord Hawke kissed both of his wet little cheeks and brushed the hair back from his forehead. “However did you find us? We missed you so terribly, terribly much! And we were so afraid you wouldn’t know where to look for us!”
“I had a great deal of help, son. More than I can ever repay,” Hawke said, pulling the two children to his chest as tightly as he could, thinking then of Nick, and Gunner, and of course his dear Hobbes and all they’d done to make this most wondrously joyful reunion possible. Looking up, he saw a radiant Caribbean woman with massive golden rings in her ears standing over them, the brilliant smile on her face shining down on the happy little family.
“So, you’re the papa, is that so?” she asked. “Well, well, I been their mama for the longest time and I know better than anybody how happy they are to see you. Just as handsome as they said you might be, too!” Sookie threw back her head and laughed. “My, my! What a joyful day!”
“You took care of my children all this time?” Hawke asked, smiling at Sookie.
“Oh, yes, Daddy, she truly did!” Annabel exclaimed.
“Them and a lot more where these two come from,” Sookie said, laughing. “Have you put paid to that loathsome pirate yet?” Hawke nodded that he had. “Well, now old Billy’s gone, just you watch this! You ain’t never heard a ship explode like this, Lord Hawke. No matter how many sea battles you’ve been in!”
Sookie inserted two fingers into her mouth and let out a piercing whistle. Hawke heard loud barking and saw the big black dog bounding back across the deck and disappearing down the dark stairs of the midships companionway. Instantly, there was a shrill explosion, just as Sookie had promised. Not of cannon or gunfire, but of children’s laughter! All about the decks, hatches popped open, doors were flung open, and small shaggy heads emerged, blinked in the brilliant sun, and shouted for pure joy.
From every corner of the vessel they poured, children of all ages, filthy and dressed mostly in rags, but all of them now laughing and singing and leaping about from the sheer wonder of being in the open air again, of being in the warm sunshine once more, of being free. There were animals, too, released from captivity. Dogs and cats, goats and pigs, and birds of every description. Hawke was amazed to see a number of brilliantly colored tropical birds fly up out of the hatches and perch up in the rigging! He even saw two Shetland ponies with two near-naked boys astride them, go trotting across the deck! And still the children poured from the bowels of the ship, bursting forth from every hatchway like laughter itself.
Soon enough, hornpipes and harmonicas, fiddles and fifes appeared, and the sound of children singing cheerful rhymes and sea shanties could soon be heard from stem to stern, as on the Mystère’s crowded decks, and even spilling over to the Merlin, a great many French swabs and English jack-tars and happy children whirled each other about under the noonday sun in an endless swirling jig.
Lord Hawke, standing on the poop deck beneath the fluttering towers of war-torn canvas, with one of his laughing children in each of his arms, looked down upon this joyful scene and turned to Sookie at his side.
“Ever see such a sight in all your life, Sookie?” he asked her, letting his eyes gaze over the bobbing and dancing heads on the decks below, to the forward end of the great vessel and then up into the rigging where now scores of brilliantly colored birds of yellow and blue and green, every exotic shape and hue, were singing their songs of the deep Amazonian rain forest to the children dancing gaily below.
“No, for all love, I surely ain’t, sir,” Sookie replied, shaking her head in wonder. “Children are truly the light of the world, your lordship.”
Her laughter floated lightly out over the children’s happy faces like the sweetest music of all time.
