Chapter Thirteen

Standing on the quay beneath a savage midday sun, Amelia was grateful for the tricorn that shaded her eyes – grateful too that she wasn’t trussed up in stays and skirts. Too hot today for such flummery, and too serious.

The naval longboats were close to shore now, oars moving with intimidating precision, and Amelia forced herself to show no fear. These men, small in their uniforms, had the might of an empire behind them. She must not forget it.

At her side, Luc tugged at his cuffs. Unlike herself, he had dressed in his best coat today and stood sweltering in the heat. He said it was important to impress these people, to appear like men of business. Amy hadn’t been sure if he judged her a ‘man of business’, but she had determined to come to this meeting no matter what, dressed as she chose. The future of Ile Sainte Anne was at stake and she would not sit by idly while others decided her fate.

Further along the quay, just out of earshot, her father stood in close conversation with Overton. Heads together, they talked in voices not pitched to carry but she could see enough to guess at the meat of their conversation; Overton was talking urgently and her father was listening, nodding. Placating. Captain Overton, like his son, did not think this meeting wise.

She would show them both that they were wrong; she would make them see that this was the way of the future. It was certainly a good sign that the officers of Her Majesty’s navy had not arrived with a fleet at their backs. Surely, if they meant to destroy Ile Sainte Anne, they could have done so without preamble?

‘I will speak first,’ Luc said, cutting through her thoughts. ‘I will welcome them on behalf of yourself and your father.’

She glanced up at him, his handsome face marred slightly by his creased brow and the sheen of sweat on his skin. ‘You’re nervous,’ she said, feeling her own unease bloom at the sight of his.

Luc shook his head. ‘Just hot,’ he said, with a smile that didn’t fool her. ‘All will be well once the deal has been struck.’

‘If,’ she said, correcting his assumption. ‘If a deal is struck. We don’t yet know what it is they would trade for.’

Luc smiled, but it was a thin-lipped expression. ‘No, of course not, but we will know soon enough. Here they come.’

Turning back to the sea, she watched as the longboats reached the quay and lines were thrown to her men who waited on the dock to tie up the boats. The oarsmen were dressed in the customary slops preferred by most sailors, but in the stern of each boat sat men of a different sort: a dozen marines in their scarlet uniforms and two men of obvious rank, one with brocade and gold trim gleaming beneath the midday sun, the other dressed head to toe in black. Amy imagined their wool coats must be intolerable in the heat.

All but one of the men stepped out of the longboats with the agility of men used to the sea; the other man required assistance. She judged him to be close to her father’s age, although different in almost every other way. Whereas her father was lean and sun-weathered, this man was fleshy and florid. His neck seeped over the top of his collar, and his britches were stretched so tight they revealed far too much. Amelia kept her eyes on his face, determined not to smile as he levered himself to his feet and was helped out of the wobbling longboat and onto the quay.

He did not seem best pleased with his method of arrival, brushing off the assistance of the sailors with an irritated tut as he was hauled ashore. Then, after looking about him with the air of a priest in a brothel, he adjusted his uniform and turned to face them.

‘Ah,’ he said, with a slight nod to Luc, ‘Monsieur Géroux. Well met, sir.’

Stepping forward, Luc offered a bow. ‘Your Lordship, the honour is mine.’ Then, with a quick glance at the black-clad man, he said, ‘Mr Scrope.’

Amy looked on in surprise. Scrope was the dour man Luc had talked to in Porto Novo. Uneasy, she glanced at him; how was it that he knew these men? But Luc’s attention was fixed entirely on their guests.

Gesturing towards her father, he said, ‘Lord Morton, allow me to present Captains Dauphin and Overton, and on their behalf welcome you and your officers to Ile Sainte Anne.’

‘Honoured, I’m sure,’ Morton said, looking anything but. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief to mop his face.

Amy’s father stepped forward. He did not bow, merely said, ‘You are welcome, in peace, to Ile Sainte Anne, Lord Morton.’ Overton said nothing, just watched with his arms folded over his chest. ‘I hope,’ her father added, ‘that we can come to an arrangement that will benefit us all, sir.’

‘No doubt we will,’ Morton said, dabbing at his brow. He was red as boiled lobster, cooking in his uniform.

‘Perhaps we could discuss it inside, and out of the sun?’ Amelia suggested, afraid the man might collapse before the deal was done.

Morton stared at her, astonished, and Luc suddenly appeared between them.

‘My apologies, Lord Morton, I failed to introduce Captain Dauphin’s daughter, Miss Amelia Dauphin.’

It bridled to be introduced as her father’s daughter, and not as captain, but before Amy could correct Luc, Morton said, ‘Daughter, eh? I took you for a lad.’ He lifted an eyebrow and looked her up and down. Amelia doubted very much that he had mistaken her for a boy. ‘Well, well, we have come to a savage place indeed,’ he said to the man standing next to him. Mr Scrope smiled and murmured words beneath his breath that Amy didn’t catch.

Luc cleared his throat, tugging at his sleeve. ‘Lord Morton, if you please, we have refreshment awaiting you in Captain Dauphin’s home. There we can discuss business.’

‘Business, yes.’ Morton’s attention left Amy, darting quickly out into the harbour. ‘I see that we can, Géroux.’

Luc merely smiled his answer and bowed.

The walk to the fortress was long. Morton set a slow pace, his breathing reduced to wheezing gasps long before they reached her father’s court. Luc paced anxiously at Amy’s side the whole way, darting surreptitious glances through the trees towards his ship where she sat at anchor just past the Hawk. Amy tried to catch his eye, to ask him what he was looking for, but he was lost in his own thoughts.

At last her father led them inside the grand hall, the cool shade a welcome relief, and as he talked to Morton of the fortress, Amy joined Luc at the window and followed his gaze out across the harbour. The British ships were resplendent in the sunshine, pristine and new, their sails neatly reefed and brass gleaming. The Hawk sat to their larboard side, elegant and well seasoned. A grand old lady of the sea, she was, and—

Amy blinked against the glare and looked again. There were men in the Hawk’s rigging, all along the yards. She was preparing to sail. Zach was going to run.

It was then she noticed how the British ships had placed themselves between the Hawk and the harbour entrance – if Zach wanted to leave he must pass through the British line.

The skin prickled on the back of her neck. ‘Father—’

‘Not now,’ Luc hissed in her ear.

She looked at him in surprise. ‘But do you see what—?’

‘Of course I see it. Don’t worry. Hazard won’t try to sail yet; he won’t risk running the blockade in daylight. We have until nightfall to secure the deal.’

She stared at him, a sick feeling fluttering in her chest as she remembered Zach’s warning. For every deal you make there’s a price to be paid. Take care it is not so high that you lose everything you value in the bargain.

‘What do they want?’ she said. ‘Luc, tell me what they want here.’

He touched her arm, casting a cautious glance towards Morton. The chairs that were usually gathered around the fireplace, or hidden in the hall’s shadows, were now arranged around a long, scrubbed table that was laden with the best fruits and meats Ile Sainte Anne had to offer. Morton sat at one end, flanked by his lieutenant and the lank-haired man, Scrope, drinking down a clear draft of chilled wine while her father exchanged a cautious glance with Overton. He had retreated to his customary place in the shadows, watching proceedings through cynical eyes that reminded her all too much of Zach’s. Suddenly she wished very much that he were here.

‘Now we come to it,’ Luc said, guiding her towards the table. ‘Take your seat, Amelia, and you will hear their terms.’

As they joined the table, Morton was sucking on a piece of mango. He cast the skin aside and reached for another slice. ‘So,’ he said, dangling the fruit from his fingertips, ‘to business, then.’

Her father sat down opposite him. He ate nothing, only watched Morton. ‘As you can see,’ he said, ‘We have many exotic fruits and spices that—’

‘So does every other sandbar from here to the cape,’ Morton said. He dropped the fruit onto his plate and sucked juice from his fingers. ‘Let me be honest with you, Captain Dauphin. We’ve not come here to trade in fruits or spices.’

From the fireplace Overton made a scornful sound. Morton ignored him. ‘You have much here,’ he continued. ‘Much to protect for so small and insignificant a place.’

‘If it’s so small and insignificant,’ Amy said, ‘I wonder that you trouble yourself to come so far.’

Morton looked at her down the length of the table, and then glanced at the other men as if waiting for someone to rebuke her. No one did. His eyebrows rose. ‘You’re a very forward young lady, Miss Dauphin.’ He bit into another slice of mango, the juice running down his chin.

‘I say what I think. And it’s Captain Dauphin, if you please.’

He laughed. ‘Is it indeed? Singular.’ He dabbed juice from his face with his handkerchief. ‘Very well, Captain Dauphin, I shall tell you why I have come so far. I am here to make an offer. This place, this so-called Ile Sainte Anne, poses a threat to us.’

‘We pose no threat!’ her father objected. ‘We simply wish to live free.’

‘Well, you do more than that, don’t you?’ Morton said. ‘You shelter pirates.’

‘Free men of the sea who refuse to be shackled by the powers of this world. Men who are left to rot in the great cities of your empire, sir. Men brave enough to stand up and take from those bloated with greed in order to feed their children.’

‘Criminals.’ Morton took another drink from his cup. ‘Petty criminals for the most part, I concede, but one …’ He bared a shark’s smile. ‘There is one who is of interest to the Admiralty.’

Amy went cold. ‘Who do you mean?’

‘I think you know, Miss Dauphin. The pirate who escaped our nets in the Caribbean, the pirate whose ship is currently moored in your harbour.’

‘You mean Zachary Hazard?’ her father said. ‘You expect us to surrender Zach to you?’

From the fireplace came the steel hiss of a sword being drawn. ‘He’s my son.’ Overton’s voice was as sharp as the blade he held.

Her father glared at Luc. ‘This is the deal you expect us to make?’

‘No.’ He was pale with alarm. ‘Listen to the trade he proposes.’

Morton lifted a hand to quiet them. ‘Gentlemen, there’s no need for concern – it’s a proposal I have for Captain Hazard, not the noose.’

‘What kind of proposal?’

‘The days of piracy are over,’ Morton said, leaning back in his seat. The wood creaked alarmingly beneath his weight. ‘But the days of war are not. Why waste Captain Hazard’s notable talent for the stopping and taking of ships when we can use it to our own advantage?’ He cast a look at Géroux. ‘Against the French.’

Luc didn’t answer, face impassive save a twitch of his jaw.

Amy narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re offering him a privateer’s commission?’

‘What better man to capture scoundrels and liars than a scoundrel and liar himself?’ Morton reached for a large piece of pineapple and began to suck the juice from its flesh. ‘It is a simple enough trade, is it not? Bring me Hazard, and we shall leave your island alone.’

It seemed an unlikely bargain, and Amy stole a disbelieving look at Luc. But his mouth was set in a grim line and he said nothing.

‘Why come to us?’ The question came from the shadows, where Overton still nursed his bared blade. ‘Why not go straight to Zach?’

Morton spread his hands. ‘We are civilised men, Captain Overton. We’ve no appetite for unnecessary violence.’ He smiled again. ‘In my experience, sir, your son is somewhat reluctant to talk to the navy.’

That, Amy could well imagine.

‘He won’t come,’ Overton said. ‘He knows your ship; he’s probably already sailed.’

‘That would be unfortunate,’ Morton said. ‘For him, for you and for your island.’

With a beat of panic, Amy remembered what she’d seen aboard the Hawk. Zach was going to run the blockade, the Hawk against three ships of the line. It would be carnage.

‘Of course,’ Morton continued, ‘if Captain Hazard resists I will be forced to send men ashore to dig him out of this little rat’s nest.’

‘If you do,’ Overton growled, ‘we’ll cut them to ribbons and send your ships to the bottom. Don’t think we ain’t ready to fight.’

But they weren’t ready, not really. Amelia’s panic rose into her throat and she half climbed to her feet.

Luc stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. ‘He’ll come,’ he told Morton. ‘Hazard will come if Amelia asks him.’

‘What?’ She turned to him in horror. ‘No.’

‘Hazard won’t fight for this place, Amelia,’ Luc hissed. ‘You owe him nothing.’

‘I won’t betray him.’

‘It’s of no matter,’ Morton said, laying his napkin on the table and pushing himself to his feet. ‘Captain Hazard is not the only brigand on this island.’ His cold gaze came to rest on her father. ‘Who knows how many others my men might uncover among the beggars and whores when they come ashore?’

‘I do not fear you,’ her father said, also rising. ‘I am willing to die for what I have built here.’

‘Very well, then.’ Morton gestured and one of his men stepped forward. ‘Take this felon—’

With a whisper of steel Overton’s blade came to rest against the soldier’s red coat. Everyone stopped moving.

Violence crackled through the air; it danced across Amelia’s skin like lightning. Luc’s fingers bruised her shoulder and from the corner of her eye she saw the man behind Morton reach for his weapon. The storm was about to break.

‘Wait!’ She held up her hands; stepped in front of him. ‘Wait.’

‘Amelia.’ Her father growled the warning and behind him Overton gave a grim shake of his head.

Yet what choice did she have? She’d seen enough of the world to understand what would befall the women and children of the island if Morton’s men came ashore. And she knew very well what fate awaited her father and Overton, and all who called themselves pirates. Their lives, the future of Ile Sainte Anne itself, lay in the balance.

One man in exchange for over three hundred lives; her duty was clear, though it clamped like irons about her heart.

Turning away from her father and Captain Overton, unable to meet their eyes, she matched Morton’s calculating gaze instead. ‘Very well,’ she said, refusing to allow her voice to shake, refusing to betray her anguish to this man. ‘I shall summon Captain Hazard.’

And God have mercy on my soul.