I was not perhaps as swift as I’d hoped, for I had some trouble locating a knife, but eventually I snaffled a dangerous-looking dagger from a cutler selling his wares at a street stall. Not far from him a woman was selling crocks of rum and bottles of gin, and I was able to grab one of these crocks when she was distracted. I considered, given his present state, it would not take too much more liquor to render Dr Hatch so insensible he would not even notice our departure. Finally, I managed to find a small ewer which I filled with water, trusting I would not spill it on my return flight.
My dear mother had always stressed the importance of the lessons of the Good Book. I knew that helping myself to these things was something she would have considered sinful. But, needs must, I thought: Sophie’s need was greater than any commandment at that point and besides, denying the world a deadly dagger or a quart of rum was not such a bad thing to do really.
I was pleased to see that both Billy and Caleb were still guarding Captain Lightower’s lodgings. This suggested the captain was still trapped within, so feeling easier now I left the Cove to return to the clearing.
The doctor was lying as I had left him, propped up against the outside wall, hat and wig askew in the morning sun. I hovered above him tickling his chest with a branch. He opened one eye in order to swat away what he imagined was a fly and then opened the other eye as he saw floating just above him a disembodied crock of rum. His eyes widened with wonder and delight and he reached up to cradle it gratefully before drawing it lovingly down. It must have seemed to his befuddled brain that the gods themselves were delivering a chalice of paradise.
He jerked off the cork, raised the crock to his lips and guzzled. He placed the crock beside him and lay back again, smiling blissfully.
Leaving him to his dreams, I hurried back into the hut. Sophie had not moved and she gave me a welcome smile of relief.
‘This should not take long,’ I whispered.
‘I can be patient a little longer, now.’
Gently, I put the ewer to her lips and carefully, slowly unended it. Then I reached for the knife.
Without hesitation I began sawing at the rope. First of all, I released Sophie from the pole and she stood up gratefully, stamping her feet on the mud floor to get her legs working again. I then ever so carefully began scraping the blade at the rope that bound her wrists together.
It did take a while, but Sophie did not hurry me or express frustration. When I sliced through the last strands she shook her hands much as she had stamped her feet and then reached for the ewer I again proffered, murmuring her thanks. She took a deep draught then another and then whispered, ‘Where is the doctor?’
I pointed. ‘He is lying in a stupor just beyond. I don’t think he has moved since my first visit.’
Sophie gave a grim little smile. ‘Will he wake?’
‘I have provided him with another jugful of rum to satisfy his thirst. I doubt whether he’ll wake, but even should he do so, he is so mellowed by the drink he would not mind our leaving,’ I said, grinning.
Sophie made her way a little awkwardly to the door of the hut and peered into the brightness outside.
‘He is asleep,’ she said. ‘Let us go.’
I joined her in the doorway.
‘Give me the dagger,’ she said, ‘although I hope I do not need it.’
I hoped she would not need it, too, for it was a fearsome instrument. I was a little reluctant, but Sophie looked so set, so determined, I passed it to her a little gingerly.
‘Take care.’
‘I have seen a dagger before, silly.’
‘It’s that way,’ I pointed. ‘The pathway is not far through the trees.’
Before we left the clearing, I took a backward glance at the doctor. He remained in a blissful sleep. I gave a wry smile, wondering how happy he would be on the morrow.
There were the remains of a track under the trees, I imagined made by the owner who had once established his garden in the clearing. The grass had been trampled here and there, no doubt by the captain in his explorations and later when he and the doctor had hustled the gagged and blindfolded Sophie to the hut.
It did not take us long before we stood on the pathway and the harbour lay glittering once more before us. Sophie’s immediate concern was her house and she gave a little gasp of dismay when she saw how it had been completely destroyed.
‘Why would they do that?’ she whispered.
‘Desperation,’ I suggested.
‘It is not desperation, but despair they are owed now,’ said Sophie angrily. ‘Come, I must to my mother.’
‘She is aboard the Medusa,’ I said. ‘Or at least she was this morning when she interviewed Captain Lightower.’
‘I would interview Captain Lightower,’ said Sophie bitterly. ‘I have much to ask that man!’
It did not take us very long to reach the Cove, and the closer we became, the more energy Sophie was able to find. Before long, she was running down the quay and up the gangplank of the Medusa. She greeted the grinning Irish Peter with a heartfelt embrace, disentangled herself and ran to the wardroom.
I followed, narrowly avoiding being caught by the swinging door.
‘Sophia!’
Jenny Blade’s cry of delight brought Mr Griff running.
‘Mama!’
Sophie and her mother clutched each other for a long time, as Mr Griff stood smiling beside them.
‘When, Sophia?’ asked her mother at length. ‘How did this happen?’
‘I was tied up, Mama,’ said Sophie, ‘but was able to cut my bonds with this knife I found nearby.’ She held up the fierce-looking dagger.
The story sounded so improbable, I could not help but smile, but neither Jenny Blade nor Mr Griff was disinclined to believe her.
‘I had been taken to a hut in the forest, but hooded and gagged. This happened last night just after the storm ended …’
Jenny Blade and Mr Griff exchanged glances.
‘I know not who did this, but this morning when I escaped, that awful Dr Hatch was lying in a drunken swoon outside my prison. I am sure he must have been one of my abductors.’
‘No doubt,’ said Jenny Blade grimly, ‘and there is little doubt of the other.’
She left the wardroom and summoned Irish Peter.
‘Peter,’ she said. ‘Run to the town and tell Caleb and Billy to apprehend that rogue Lightower. The brig on board waits for him!’
She returned and held out her hands and Sophie held them.
‘Captain Lightower visited us this morning with a strange tale that you had escaped the fire and were being looked after by some person unknown. It was obviously a clumsy attempt at blackmail. I had feared you lost in the flames.’
‘Mother,’ said Sophie, ‘there were no flames before I was kidnapped. I believe those men set the fire.’
‘We will discover that,’ said Mr Griff firmly. ‘These rogues have a lot to answer for.’
‘My house,’ said Mistress Blade. ‘My peace of mind … You have no idea the agonies …’
‘But you are all right, Sophie? You were not otherwise harmed?’ asked Griff.
Sophie shook her head. ‘I am well,’ she said, ‘I have been well bitten too, by mosquitoes and all manner of other vicious life, and I am in need of drink, but …’
‘There is also the drunken doctor, ma’am,’ said Mr Griff. ‘Should we not be seeking him?’
‘I’m thinking now that it was a mistake to have plucked them from the sea,’ said Jenny Blade fiercely.
‘But there was Wicker, ma’am. You had seen him on the jolly-boat.’
‘Yes, Mr Wicker and his foolish passion to go to Cartagena.’
‘You will provide him with that ship?’ asked Mr Griff.
‘I may,’ said Jenny Blade, ‘I may not. I am not averse to being rid of him, although it might cost us a prize. However, I would like to ascertain first whether or not he was mixed up in this dirty business with Sophia.’
‘Oh, I doubt that,’ said Mr Griff. ‘There is no love lost between Mr Wicker and Lightower.’
‘I have so observed,’ said Jenny Blade, ‘and there is a story there, too, I’ll warrant, a dark story without doubt.’
‘Mama?’ said Sophie.
Jenny Blade turned to her daughter. ‘Oh, Sophie, I’m sorry. You must have food, and drink. I will see to it. Mr Griff, you will see to the apprehension of that drunken sot?’
‘It will be with great pleasure, ma’am,’ said Mr Griff, and he and Jenny Blade left the wardroom together.
Once their footsteps had disappeared, Sophie turned to me. ‘Do you think Mr Wicker had anything to do with my kidnapping and the fire?’ she asked.
‘I know he did not,’ I said.
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Mainly because he was nowhere near your house before or after the fire but also because Mr Wicker only does things that will bring him personal advantage, and there could be no advantage for him in being part of that misbegotten scheme. Quite the contrary.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Sophie.
‘In any event, as the lieutenant said, there is no love lost between him and the captain. They loathe each other.’
‘And yet,’ said Sophie, ‘there is a connexion.’
I nodded. ‘There is. I do not know what it is, but I know somebody who does.’
‘Who?’
‘You told me about him. Don Scapino, the one you said people call The Snake.’
Sophie’s eyes widened. ‘He is a poisonous creature.’
‘Well named, then,’ I said.
There was a silence and then Sophie said softly, ‘I haven’t really thanked you, have I?’
‘My thanks are seeing you safe again,’ I said.
‘I am grateful,’ she said. ‘It is just that I was so angry, especially when I discovered they had destroyed our home as well. Most of what I loved and owned was housed there.’
I looked at her, feeling her sadness. I remembered the clavier and the way she had filled the room with music.
‘I should go,’ I said. ‘You must eat and then rest. You have suffered much.’
Once again, Sophie reached out her hand. I took it and made my farewells. The mention of Mr Wicker had reminded me that I should really not stay away from him too much longer.
As it happened, it was not Mr Wicker I next encountered but the stocky inventor, Daniel Flynn. I was walking down the main thoroughfare when I saw the angry figure of Captain Lightower being frogmarched in a skewed and ungainly fashion between slight little Billy and the massive Caleb. The captain was shouting at them to unhand him, pleas they were utterly deaf to, but which at the same time amused the other people on the street, who took occasion to jeer and shout unhelpful comments. This only served to add to the captain’s fury, which he vented even more loudly, and which led in turn to even more jeering, more laughter.
Clearly, Billy and Caleb on Irish Peter’s instruction had straightaway entered the boarding house to retrieve the captain, for now the outside door stood wide open and a number of the residents stood there watching as their fellow tenant was being marched away.
One of these spectators I realised was Mr Flynn and I darted across to talk to him.
The other residents drifted away and we were left standing alone in the doorway.
‘Goodness,’ said Mr Flynn. ‘What was that all about?’
I told him all that had happened and he looked at me in astonishment. ‘Burnt her house down? Jenny Blade’s house?’
‘And kidnapped her daughter, Sophia,’ I added.
‘Oh dear,’ said Mr Flynn, ‘I fear that was a terribly ill-advised thing to do.’
Just at that point a shadow fell over us, and I looked up in alarm to see Mr Wicker. He was looking at Daniel Flynn in astonishment and at me with an obvious and frightening suspicion.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘this is such an unexpected pleasure, Daniel. I had no idea you were in the Cove. It is also a most unexpected surprise to find you in conversation with my little loblolly boy. I was quite unaware that you two were acquainted.’
‘We’re not!’ gasped Daniel quickly, too quickly.
I remembered fearfully that Mr Wicker was the one man Mr Flynn had hoped to avoid in the Cove, and now my foolishness in stopping to talk to him had brought about this feared encounter.
‘You’re not?’ asked Mr Wicker disbelievingly. ‘But here you are talking together just like old friends.’
I looked up at Mr Wicker’s sceptical face. I knew I could not lie to him, could not dissemble. I knew, too, that I could not allow myself to be trapped in those green eyes. At the same time, I could not let him know I had met Captain Bass, or all would be lost. He would learn I was no longer completely in his thrall. He would bind me to him again and he would never let me break free.
There was only one chance: while I could not lie to him, I might be able to leave things out. I would have to take a risk and tell Mr Wicker sufficient truthful things so that he might be satisfied.
‘I do know Mr Flynn,’ I said.
He shifted his gaze. ‘You do, little Loblolly Boy? I am utterly intrigued.’
I glanced quickly at the bumbling inventor, praying that he would not jabber some contradictory nonsense and give the game away. It was too dangerous, though, even for a warning glance, as Mr Wicker was studying me relentlessly.
I swallowed. ‘I was looking for you, sir,’ I said, ‘yesterday, and I visited that tavern, the Rope and Gibbet …’
Mr Wicker said, ‘Go on.’
‘You were not there, sir, but your friend Don Scapino was. He was talking to this gentleman.’
I turned and nodded at Daniel Flynn. Thank goodness, the short man nodded back affirming my account eagerly.
‘I approached the table curious to overhear their conversation.’ I dared to look back at Mr Wicker, trying my best to look innocent, simple. ‘I thought there might be something in their discourse of interest to you, sir.’
I thought this evidence of my slightly underhand behaviour might appeal to my master, and I was apparently right, for he gave me a bleak little smile and again said, ‘Go on.’
‘I believe I was correct, too, for I quickly found they were discussing an astrolabe. This gentleman was trying to buy it back from Don Scapino, but Don Scapino told him what he had told you, that the astrolabe was in Cartagena, and in possession of the commandante.’
Mr Wicker turned to Daniel Flynn and said, ‘Is this true, Daniel? You wish your astrolabe restored to yourself?’
Mr Flynn nodded unhappily but did not dispute my story. I felt a little more confident and decided to play my last card, praying that the inventor might understand what I was doing and not spoil things with some uncalled-for admission.
‘One thing troubled me, Mr Wicker,’ I said.
‘Yes, little Loblolly Boy, what troubled you?’ asked my master.
‘After he’d told Mr Flynn this, Don Scapino then suggested that Mr Flynn should go to Cartagena to treat with the commandante. This way, he suggested, he might be able to buy the astrolabe back.’
I had hit home, I could see.
‘Did he, indeed,’ said Mr Wicker evenly. ‘Is this true, Daniel?’
Again, Mr Flynn nodded miserably. ‘He told me there could be a ship travelling soon from the Cove to Cartagena and I might seek passage on it,’ he said.
‘The devil!’ exclaimed Mr Wicker. ‘The Spaniard has the gall of Old Nick!’
I breathed a little more easily, but then Mr Wicker asked me coldly, ‘But this was yesterday. Why have you not reported this before?’
I shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but most times when I saw you, you were with Don Scapino, so it was not possible, and then there was the excitement of the storm and the fire and I quite let it slip my mind.’
Mr Wicker seemed to accept this. ‘Did Mr Flynn tell you what the astrolabe is capable of?’ he asked.
I shook my head. ‘No, sir.’
This was true. The captain had told me of the astrolabe’s miraculous powers, not Mr Flynn.
There was a pause, as Mr Wicker studied us both carefully. I was almost sure my strategy had worked but I dared not show any sign of relief.
‘And Daniel,’ said Mr Wicker, ‘have you decided to secure a passage on this vessel the don has spoken of?’
The inventor shook his head decisively. ‘No!’ he said. ‘No!’
‘But, why ever not?’
‘Because Don Scapino has presented it to the commandante of Cartagena, and he treasures it. It is now lost to me forever. I would not be able to persuade the commandante to return it.’
Mr Wicker smiled. ‘But Daniel, you have not explained your reasons for wishing the astrolabe back?’
Mr Flynn looked crestfallen. ‘Because I built the astrolabe for the captain,’ he said, ‘Captain Bass. And, foolishly I lied to him. I told him I had lost it in Portobelo, when really I had sold it to Don Scapino in Portobelo. I thought I could hide the lie, but then …’
I had a sudden fear that Mr Flynn would say that he’d heard that Mr Wicker was searching for the astrolabe and this would give the game away completely. Mr Wicker would immediately suspect the only source of this information.
I held my breath looking apprehensively between the two men.
‘Then?’ asked Mr Wicker.
‘Then,’ said Mr Flynn, ‘I realised I could lie no longer to the captain. He is not a person you can lie to, you know. I realised the only thing to do would be to persuade Don Scapino to sell it back to me …’
I breathed out slowly. Danger passed.
Mr Wicker now smiled openly. He was pleased about something and I was not long in finding out what it was. He was gloating.
‘I don’t suppose there’s any harm in telling you this now, Daniel. Please know that the ship bound for Cartagena, the ship you have decided not to join, has, in fact, been commissioned by me. Unlike you, I do intend to treat with the commandante. And unlike you, I do intend to obtain the astrolabe from him.’
‘You do? You do?’
‘I do, Daniel. And it will also give me great pleasure if, when you do bring yourself to tell the truth to Captain Bass, you tell him that, far from being lost, the astrolabe is, or soon will be, in the hands of his dear friend Wicker.’
Mr Flynn nodded unhappily.
Mr Wicker looked positively buoyant. ‘Remember, Daniel: the astrolabe you built for Captain Bass, you really built for Nicholas Wicker.’
He laughed as Mr Flynn’s face fell even further, so much I thought he might burst into tears.
At that point, Mr Wicker took his leave and bade us farewell.
I felt sorry for Mr Flynn, and rested my hand on his arm.
‘All is not lost,’ I said. ‘Do not forget, I have been charged by the captain to retrieve the astrolabe.’
Daniel Flynn looked at me, brightening.
‘You have? Of course, you have.’ And then his face fell again. ‘But how will you do this?’
I did not know the answer to that, and I realised that I had been deliberately not thinking of the difficulties that lay ahead.
All at once, too, something a little murky gave me pause.
Daniel Flynn had told Mr Wicker that he had built the astrolabe for Captain Bass.
Captain Bass had not told me that.
Captain Bass had told me the astrolabe must be retrieved because of the harm it could cause if it fell into the wrong hands.
But was it not possible that he really wanted the astrolabe back simply because it was his?
What assurance did I have that Captain Bass’s hands were the right hands?
As Mr Flynn wished me good morning I was left with a sudden quandary, with the feeling that the waters I was swimming in were darker and deeper than I had imagined.