As soon as everyone was back on board the Predator and the ship was charging east, Reynard called a meeting of his officers to discuss strategy for pursuit of Brian Lancaster in his cabin.
“I want you there as well, Mr. McNamara,” he said to McNamara. “I want you to be able to see what goes into a pirate hunt. You may find it educational.”
McNamara, given the angry words between him and Reynard, was surprised by the invitation, if indeed it could be called that, but he was not about to challenge the captain again. Within moments, he found himself once again in Reynard’s personal quarters with the officers, all of whom regarded him with hostile glances, particularly Niccolo Sabatini and Esau Tynan.
McNamara suspected that the devoutly loyal boatswain had been told about McNamara’s challenging of the captain’s decision to abandon the survivors of Ciudad d’Esperanza. He regretted the animosity that had come about because of that altercation, and was fearful that there might be severe retribution in store for him, but he did not regret standing his ground on behalf of the survivors of Ciudad d’Esperanza. Even if they murder me for it, he thought, although he naturally hoped it would not come to that.
“Here is what we know so far,” Reynard said, once they were all assembled. “We know it was Captain Lancaster who destroyed Ciudad d’Esperanza. We know that he apparently did it to eliminate any contacts and informants I had in the town and prevent them from helping me find him. We know he went south after the attack, ignoring Santo Domingo to the east. And we know that eventually, he’ll need to make port and replenish his supplies. He wouldn’t have gotten much from Ciudad d’Esperanza. Last, we have to take into account that he knows we’re following him. The question is, gentlemen, where will he go next?”
“Difficult to say, Captain,” Sills said. “There are many cities south of us where a ship can make port. Santa Marta, Maracaibo, Curaçao, and half a dozen more besides them. And, of course, he may change course, in which case there’s no telling where he might go next.”
“What I don’t understand is why he avoided Santo Domingo,” Tynan murmured. “We have agents there as well. If he attacked Ciudad d’Esperanza to kill our informants, why not Santo Domingo as well?
“Probably because Santo Domingo could put up more of a fight,” Sabatini replied. “Ciudad d’Esperanza was defenseless; Santo Domingo is not. If he is indeed thinking along those lines, it limits the number of possible destinations.”
“Indeed,” Reynard mused, pacing back and forth. “But is he planning another raid, or is he seeking sanctuary from us? Lancaster knows I would not simply do nothing and let the murder of my informants go unpunished.”
“But where could he go for safety?” Sabatini said. “Lancaster is too well known to the Spanish authorities in these waters, and he has a considerable price on his head. He’ll find no sanctuary in any of Spain’s remaining possessions in these waters, particularly after this latest exploit of his.”
“All the more reason why he needs to find friendly waters,” Reynard answered the quartermaster. “Spain will want to make him answer for Ciudad d’Esperanza just as I intend to, and they’ll be looking for him.”
A sudden thought popped into McNamara’s head. “Does Lancaster hold any letters of marque that would allow him to seek shelter when he needed it?”
The officers glared at him, and McNamara wondered if speaking up had been another mistake. Reynard, however, sat silently in his chair, his eyes closed as he mentally sorted through every scrap of information and every detail he knew about Brian Lancaster, until one finally came to mind, and he smiled.
“Now that you mention it, Mr. McNamara, Captain Lancaster used to be a privateer for the Dutch Republic, helping them against the French. And to the south lies Curaçao, which just happens to be under the control of the Dutch. The docks of its capital city, Willemstad, host ships from many nations, and I’d not be surprised if the King’s Ransom has been among them. Gentlemen, I do believe we’ve deduced where Captain Lancaster will be sailing!”
“Does that make sense, though?” McNamara replied doubtfully. “To attack Ciudad d’Esperanza and then run for safety?”
“Lancaster can be clever at times, and he’s a ruthless bastard,” Reynard said. “But he has been known to behave in an impulsive manner and commit an act of folly that he ends up regretting. It is his greatest weakness as a pirate captain. Perhaps after he’d destroyed Ciudad d’Esperanza as a means of sending me a message, he realized what an egregious mistake he’d made. Whatever his reasons, though, I am confident that Willemstad is his goal.”
Reynard rose from his chair, his eyes gleaming triumphantly. “Mr. Tynan, order the men to haul anchor and make ready to sail. Mr. Sills, set a course for Curaçao! We are once again on the hunt!”
As the officers filed out of the room, Reynard called to McNamara. “I want to talk to you alone, Mr. McNamara.”
McNamara shuddered, fearing the worst, but nodded wordlessly. Once it was just the two of them, he said, “Captain Reynard, I wish to apologize for my conduct on the beach...”
“Yes, yes,” Reynard said, cutting McNamara off as he waved his hand dismissively. “You’re forgiven. But only this once. Next time you raise your voice to me, or disobey an order, there will be severe consequences. Do I make myself clear?”
“Clear, Captain,” McNamara answered resolutely.
“Good,” Reynard said, before his expression softened. “Was that your first time seeing something like that?”
“I’ve seen pirate attacks before, and I’ve seen how soldiers treat the inhabitants of the towns they’ve captured after a long siege,” McNamara answered. “But what I saw today... I’ve never seen such wholesale, willful slaughter. And to see it so deliberately inflicted... all I can say is it’s a great thing you’re doing, helping rid the seas of the likes of them.”
“And I am grateful for your own assistance throughout this hunt,” Reynard said. “Particularly now.”
“I’ve done very little to warrant that kind of praise, Captain.”
“Oh, nonsense. It was you who made me think of Curaçao with your question. Don’t underestimate the value of what any man contributes. You don’t need to be the one to capture a ship or outfence a captain to be a valuable part of a crew. Do your duty, and do it well. That is all I require from you. Dismissed.”
McNamara breathed a sigh of relief and exited the captain’s cabin. He had expected to face some manner of consequences for his actions, and he would have faced them proudly. Someone had to speak for the survivors of Ciudad d’Esperanza, after all. Still, he could not deny he was relieved that Captain Reynard was willing to let the matter drop.
“You’re a lucky man, McNamara,” he heard Esau Tynan say behind him.
Startled, McNamara turned around. The boatswain was glaring murderously at him, fists clenched. “Mr. Sabatini told me about your questioning the captain’s orders. After a vote, no less,” Tynan continued. “You should be down on your knees praying to God for thanks that Captain Reynard is sparing you from any punishment for that. If it was up to me, I’d cut off your manhood and throw it to the sharks before having you keelhauled.”
“I truly did not mean to offend the captain, Mr. Tynan,” McNamara said, trying to keep his voice measured and his tone courteous. “I simply could not help thinking it was wrong to - ”
“The captain is never wrong!” Tynan roared, backhanding McNamara across the jaw and knocking him to the floor. As McNamara struggled to regain his senses, Tynan stared down at him, his eyes blazing fanatically. “The captain ordered, and you obey! You do not challenge Captain Reynard on any matter! I would suggest you learn that lesson as quickly as possible, or I’ll take great pleasure in instructing you!”
McNamara wiped away the blood trickling from the split lip Tynan had given him. Angry as he was over being struck, he held it back. This is Tynan’s responsibility, maintaining order on the ship, he told himself. This is their world, not mine, and I broke one of their rules. Now I must accept the consequences for the sake of the mission. “I have learned, Mr. Tynan,” McNamara said. “You and the captain have my assurances there will be no further outbursts from me.”
Tynan continued glaring at McNamara for a long while before storming away wordlessly. Only when the boatswain was a safe distance away did McNamara rise to his feet, rather than risk giving Tynan an excuse to knock him down again. He was grateful to still be alive, although he would be keeping a careful eye out for Esau Tynan from now on.
* * *
For a day and a night, the Predator sailed south towards Curaçao, the ship scything through the waves thanks to Sills’s gift for knowing how to sail with the winds. Spirits remained high, although there were some anxious mutterings as to whether Lancaster was truly headed to Curaçao or not. McNamara was among them, even though the idea that Lancaster might seek Dutch protection had been his. It was only a possibility, after all, and the ocean was vast. Lancaster could easily have circled back, leading possible pursuers on a false trail. He doubted that Reynard would simply let Lancaster slip away if he initially escaped, but who knew how much time and effort it would take to find him? Even worse, would the other officers blame McNamara for putting the false notion in Reynard’s head? Sabatini already mistrusted him, and after their last encounter, McNamara was certain that Tynan would welcome any excuse to murder him as painfully as possible.
“Not afraid of Lancaster, are you?” Knowles asked him as he and Jones sat with him in the galley for the crew’s supper. The rest of the crew, except for Hale, who was stationed in the gun deck, was avoiding McNamara, and he was glad for their companionship.
McNamara shook his head. “Not at all. It’s our charming and friendly shipmates I’m concerned about. They look like they want to stab me in the back and throw me overboard long before we ever lay eyes on the King’s Ransom. I’m surprised they haven’t tried it already.”
“Well, you did challenge the captain’s authority,” Jones reminded him. “We’ve told you before, this is a very loyal crew. They take affronts to the captain’s authority very seriously.”
“I wouldn’t worry much, though,” Knowles said dryly. “They won’t kill you without Reynard’s permission, not even the officers. If he hasn’t given it yet, odds are he won’t.”
McNamara couldn’t help but laugh. “So I’ve learned from Mr. Tynan. You’ll pardon me if I don’t find that very reassuring.”
“Once we do find Lancaster, they’ll all be in too much of a celebratory mood to remember they’re mad at you,” Knowles added. “Or too drunk. Same thing, actually.”
“You seem confident that we will find him.”
“Your idea about Curaçao sounds like a smart one,” Jones said. “And if you’re wrong, we’ll sail as long and as far as we have to. Captain Reynard doesn’t give up once he’s on the hunt, and he doesn’t fail. We’ll find Captain Lancaster if it takes us twenty years to do it.”
* * *
It did not take twenty years. It didn’t even take one week. At dawn the morning after next, the tranquil silence was broken by a cry from McNally atop the crow’s nest. “Ship ahoy!” he bellowed as he scrambled down the mast to the deck. “Ship ahoy!”
The cry was passed along, and within moments Reynard was on deck and racing to the bow with his spyglass, most of his men excitedly crowding behind him, McNamara among them.
Captain Reynard peered through the spyglass in the direction McNally was pointing and grinned broadly. “The Fates are with us, lads! It’s the King’s Ransom!”
The men all cheered at the news. “Do you think they see us, Captain?” someone cried out.
“I don’t know,” Reynard replied. “Mr. Sills, why don’t we get a bit closer and make sure that they can?”
Sills and the crew laughed at the captain’s joke. “It would be a pleasure, Captain!”
As they had done before, the crew began to ready weapons for the battle to come as the Predator began to inch closer and closer to the King’s Ransom, near enough to see the brigantine in retreat at full sail.
“He’s making a run for it!” Sabatini exclaimed.
“Let him run!” Tynan said with a sneer. “He can’t escape from the Predator.”
“I’m thankful for your confidence in our ship, Mr. Tynan,” Reynard smiled. “But I’m not that patient. I want a battle now, not a long chase, and I think I know how to provoke one. Raise the colors!”
A black flag was hoisted bearing the image of a hideous yellow skull in the middle. Two yellow skeletal arms holding cutlasses were emerging from a lake of fire, the swords crossing below the skull’s chin. The crew cheered again as they looked upon the battle flag they had followed Captain Reynard under for years, a symbol of the terror and bloodshed that always followed in the Predator’s wake, now feared by their former pirate brethren.
“He can’t possibly miss that,” Reynard said. “It’s a direct challenge. He’ll not want to look a coward in front of his crew any more than he likely already has.”
As Reynard predicted, the King’s Ransom was indeed turning around as fast as it was able to and heading straight for the Predator. McNamara, watching anxiously, had almost forgotten how maddeningly slow the pace of a chase at sea could be, even if the two ships were heading straight towards each other.
“Mr. Sabatini!” Reynard cried to the quartermaster. “Alert the gun crew and tell them to be ready to fire on my command!”
The order was passed to Robert Hale, who likewise passed it down through each room of the gun deck. “Ye know what ta do, mates,” he told his gunners.
The King’s Ransom was slowly making its way within range, almost to the point where McNamara could make out the details on the figurehead.
Reynard was watching her intensely, like a cat ready to pounce. Suddenly, the captain cried, “Hard to larboard, Mr. Sills!”
The Predator veered suddenly to her right, putting it perpendicular to the King’s Ransom and in perfect position to deliver a broadside to Lancaster’s bow without risking being hit by one in return. The King’s Ransom, however, turned out to have forward guns, although not with sufficient range to hit the Predator.
Reynard’s men laughed scornfully as the shot landed half a ship’s length away from the Predator, including Reynard himself. “It appears that poor Captain Lancaster has forgotten a thing or two about marksmanship,” he sneered. “Mr. Sabatini! Tell Mr. Hale to show Lancaster what proper gunnery is all about, at my command!”
The word was passed along, but not a shot was fired. McNamara watched the King’s Ransom make a larboard turn in order to deliver a broadside of its own, and realized what Reynard was waiting for. The angle the two ships were at from each other meant that the Predator had a target, while the King’s Ransom did not as yet. By waiting to fire, though, Reynard would give Hale a bigger target to shoot at, and a little more distance could be closed at the same time. McNamara’s hands were slick with sweat with anticipation, readying himself for the fierce exchange of cannon fire that was about to begin.
“Wait for it,” Reynard
said, his eyes gleaming with impending triumph. “Wait for it...
steady... fire!”
A moment later the entire vessel seemed to shake as all fourteen of
the Predator’s starboard cannons unleashed a
furious barrage of smoke, flame, and lead. The cannonballs flew
straight and true towards their targets, tearing through sails and
shattering masts. The brigantine listed back and forth amid
splintering wood and flailing bodies being flung about like rag
dolls.
The King’s Ransom, although battered from the Predator’s withering fire, still had plenty of fight left. Turning so the ships were now parallel to each other, she got off a broadside of her own, and the Predator shuddered from the impact of the enemy fire. McNamara suddenly became alarmed as he recognized that Reynard was fighting from a serious disadvantage, as his goal was capture instead of making a kill. Captain Lancaster, however, would obviously not show such restraint. McNamara reminded himself that Reynard was obviously aware of this and taking this into account.
Indeed, Reynard seemed to be enjoying the fact that the King’s Ransom was putting up a fight. “I don’t think Lancaster’s quite learned his lesson yet,” Reynard said. “Another broadside!”
Again the Predator fired, and again the King’s Ransom swayed unsteadily from the fierce cannonade, provoking a cheer from the crew, several of the shots breaking through the enemy’s own gun deck.
“By the living God, you do your trade a credit, Mr. Hale!” Reynard exclaimed. “Mr. Sills, get us closer! All hands, prepare to cast grappling lines!”
Long ropes were brought out, with heavy metal hooks attached to one end of each rope. When cast, the idea was to catch them on an enemy ship’s railing and pull the vessel closer in order to board it. The King’s Ransom would be able to fire whatever cannon she still had in working order at point blank range, but then again, so would the Predator. The Predator fired a third time, and again the brigantine listed from the impact, heavily damaged.
“Mr. Sabatini, tell Mr. Hale to hold fire,” Reynard commanded. “I want her captured, not sunk!”
The Predator was now nearly side by side with the King’s Ransom. Lancaster had been saving his remaining shots for this, and the Predator shuddered as cannon fire pounded her hull. McNamara feared for the safety of Hale and his other friends from the Keighley, and was relieved when he saw them all on deck, muskets bundled in their arms. Hurriedly, Hale and Tynan were supervising the distribution of muskets and the formation of most of the men into ranks at the gunwale, McNamara being placed in the second rank. While this was going on, the strongest of Reynard’s men had cast their grappling lines, nearly all of which landed true, and pulled them with all their might. The grappling hooks held fast, and little by little, the King’s Ransom was being dragged towards the Predator.
The surviving crewmen of the King’s Ransom were now all assembled on deck, a vicious, savage looking mustering of men, their anger and loathing masking the fear they all evidently felt. They were desperately hacking away at the grapping lines, hoping in vain to break the ships free of each other. At Tynan’s command, the first ranks of assembled musketeers poured a deadly volley of lead into the pirates, the roar of the guns nearly drowning out the cries of dying and wounded men. While the first rank was reloading its muskets, the second was given the command to fire. McNamara, who had never been much of a marksman, picked his target carefully and fired. The man pitched forward, a bloody bullet wound in his chest, but McNamara could not be sure his own shot was the one that killed him.
As McNamara reloaded his musket, he saw a tall, bronzed figure with untidy blond hair striding across the deck of the King’s Ransom, bellowing orders to the men and ordering them to form musket lines of their own. He was dressed in fine crimson garb, and McNamara supposed this was Captain Brian Lancaster himself. The pirate ranks, now that they had evidently been cowed into standing and fighting as opposed to giving in to panic, were now firing at will, and dead men were dropping to the deck all around McNamara. McNamara was no coward, and this was hardly the first time he’d faced musket fire, but he had always dreaded facing guns, as one could not parry a bullet the way you could parry an enemy sword. All you could do was hope you weren’t the one a gunman decided to target. Not that that was any guaranteed defense - the guns of the day were not known for their accuracy, and some less than others. He fought back the familiar sensation of nausea and dread that came with the adrenaline produced by battle as Tynan again gave the order to fire.
At last the two ships were touching, and muskets were being cast aside as cutlasses, hanger swords, axes, and flintlock pistols were drawn on both sides.
“All right, lads, we’ve given them enough of a taste of lead!” Reynard exclaimed as he drew his schiavona, his crisp voice rising above the chaos of battle and the shouts of angry and frightened men. “Now what say we give them a taste of steel?”
The Predator’s crew erupted with a savage war cry in response, their weapons at the ready. Reynard was marching in front of them rallying them into a state of frenzy, seemingly heedless of the enemy bullets whizzing by him.
“Remember, nobody boards before I give the word!” Reynard ordered as he finally stopped his pacing, coming to a halt right next to McNamara. Reynard turned to him, clapping him on the shoulder. “You ready for this?”
“Aye, Captain,” McNamara replied with an eager smile. “Are you?”
Reynard grinned, a predatory gleam in his eye. “I was born for this.”
Raising his sword high into the air, Reynard shouted, “After me, lads! The King’s Ransom is ours!”
The Predator’s crew hurled themselves off the gunwale and swarmed onto the pirate vessel. The sounds of gunfire soon gave way to the clash of steel as the two crews struggled in a brutal melee battle. Reynard was in the thick of the fight, using his serpentine moves to kill or wound one foe after another. Sabatini, at his side, used powerful broad strokes of his cutlass to batter down his enemies, making the most of his strength. McNamara, relieved that the fighting had now switched to hand to hand, was eager for the opportunity to do his share and help apprehend Captain Brian Lancaster.
One after another, Lancaster’s pirates challenged McNamara, and one by one they were downed by efficient strokes of McNamara’s borrowed cutlass, either dead or wounded. A ratty-looking pirate slashed at McNamara, and he parried the blow and riposted with a thrust. As the pirate attempted to block it, McNamara flicked his wrist downwards, bringing the blade back up on the other side of the pirate’s sword, and ran the wretch through. Another came charging at him with an axe, but rather than parry McNamara dodged the stroke and cut at the pirate’s arm, forcing him to drop his weapon and retreat from the battle.
From the corner of his eye he watched Hale fighting one of Lancaster’s men. As Hale parried a wicked slash, the force of it knocked him off-balance. Hale toppled to the deck, dazed from the force of the fall, but with still enough wit to keep his grip on his sword. His enemy was giving him no time to get to his feet, and the master gunner could only clumsily parry overhead as the pirate delivered one frenzied stroke after another. McNamara could tell that Hale didn’t have much longer. He dispatched his current adversary with a well-aimed lunge, leaving him lying wounded on the deck, and raced towards Hale with all the speed he could muster. As Hale’s assailant disarmed the master gunner with one brutal stroke, he raised his sword to deliver a killing blow. Before he could unleash the attack, McNamara was upon him, his blade piercing the pirate’s lung. The man screamed before toppling lifelessly to the blood-soaked deck.
“Rob, are you hurt?” McNamara asked, shaking Hale gently before pulling him to his feet.
“I’ll live, thanks ta ye,” Hale grunted as he stood. He grinned at McNamara and clapped him on the back. “I owe ya one, mate. Ye was watchin’ my back, an’ from now on, I’m watchin’ yers.”
“Much appreciated,” McNamara grinned back, giving a hasty salute before having to return to the fray.
Meanwhile, Reynard, the blade of his sword nearly completely covered in blood, came face to face with Captain Lancaster himself, a basket-hilt backsword in hand. The perfection of Lancaster’s handsome features was spoiled by the ugliness of the contemptuous glare that contorted his facial features as he stared down Reynard, blue eyes wide open in maddened fury.
Reynard answered Lancaster’s rage with a cold, mocking smile. His shirt was ripped in two places where he had been grazed by enemy swords, and he had been in the thickest of the battle from the beginning, but he did not show a single sign of fatigue. He wasn’t even breathing hard.
“Good day to you, Captain Lancaster,” Reynard said pleasantly. “Pardon my dropping by unannounced.”
“Oh, no trouble at all,” Lancaster retorted. “I see you got the message I left for you at Ciudad d’Esperanza.”
“I did, thank you,” Reynard replied. “Tell me, were you planning on destroying every city in the world where I had contacts and agents, or was a defenseless seaside town all you were man enough to match yourself against?”
“I just knew one would be all it took to encourage you to find me,” Lancaster said defensively, although not entirely convincingly. “Now that we’ve found each other, I can finally give you the traitor’s death you deserve!”
“Ah, is that why you turned tail and fled when you saw my ship approach?” Reynard taunted. “A most intriguing strategy. Did you intend to sail around the world in order to attack me from behind?”
Snarling, Lancaster lunged at Reynard, unleashing one powerful stroke after another. The pirate was both skilled and strong, and his long limbs gave him considerable reach. However, he wasted a great deal of movement on his reckless slashes, which Reynard both dodged and parried with ease, driving Lancaster back as he riposted.
The sardonic, taunting smile on Reynard’s face made Lancaster even angrier and more reckless as a result, and it ended up leaving him open to Reynard’s sword grazing him across the chest. It was not enough to seriously hurt him, but enough to draw blood and convince Lancaster to fight more carefully. As they engaged again, Lancaster tried switching tactics this time by focusing on lunging, trying to use distance to fend off Reynard, but Reynard held him at bay with his serpentine movements, using his superior speed to counter Lancaster’s strength and range. The two battled back and forth across the deck, Reynard smiling like a cat toying with its prey, clearly enjoying himself.
As the two captains dueled, the fighting on board the rest of the ship had reached its climax and was now winding down. Reynard simply had too many skilled fighters and marksmen on his side and Lancaster’s men soon found themselves overwhelmed. Esau Tynan, bellowing his captain’s name, charged two men and cut them down in an instant. Reverte had dispatched several opponents with expert shots with his flintlock, and was now engaged in close quarters combat. “Young Jim” Knowles, despite his youth, was veteran of enough fights to fend off a burly pirate, eventually putting him out of the fray with a lunge that drove nearly half a foot of sharp steel into the man’s belly. Arthur Jones was fighting with a lean, wiry man with a sallow face, drooping mustache, and dark eyes that were now wide with fear as he recognized he was dueling a man far more skilled than he with a sword. He tried to regain the offensive, hoping to stop Jones’s attacks, but his reckless attacks left him open enough for Jones to stab him with surgical precision between the ribs.
Lancaster, in the middle of his fight with Reynard, could sense that his men were losing, some even surrendering rather than continue the combat. “Keep fighting, damn you!” he bellowed to his men in the midst of a slash at Reynard’s neck. “I’m not losing the King’s Ransom to scum like these!”
“Actually, you are,” Reynard said, his face showing no traces of exhaustion or fatigue despite the lengthy duel with Lancaster.
Snarling, Lancaster took his backsword in both arms and drove it downwards with all of his strength. Reynard side-stepped the blow and parried downwards, hitting the blunted edge of the backsword and driving it into the wood of the deck. The move left Lancaster wide open for a moment, and the blade of Reynard’s schiavona was instantly at his throat.
“Now comes the part where you and your men surrender yourselves and your ship,” Reynard said softly. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer I kill you. I hope to bring you in alive, but I suppose I can always find another pirate captain for my collection.”
Unarmed and helpless to resist, Lancaster jerked his head into a stiff, resentful nod. “Lay down your arms!” he cried out to those of his men who were still alive and able to fight.
Reynard’s crew erupted in a joyous cheer as they raised their weapons and fists high into the air. Reynard, beaming with triumph, stripped the sash from the waist of a dead pirate and used it to wipe the blood from his sword.
“Secure all these men in the brig below,” he ordered. “We’ll have a skeleton crew take the King’s Ransom back with us to Kingston. Mr. Tynan, you’ll be in command of her. Select a dozen men and have Henry Harrison make enough repairs that she can make it back to port. We’ll finish refitting her once we’ve returned to Jamaica. Mr. Reverte, you’ll take Tynan’s place as boatswain aboard the Predator in the meantime.”
“Aye, Captain!” Tynan said proudly. He went about the task of selecting men to man the King’s Ransom.
Reynard turned back to the rest of his crew, a mischievous smile on his face as he turned to Sabatini, who had joined his captain at his side. “Mr. Sabatini, it’ll be a long way back to Kingston, and I’m worried our grog supply will slow us down. Be so good as to make sure the crew helps us dispose of it properly tonight. I’d say they earned it. Provide them with any you might find on board this ship as well.”
This brought another round of cheers and raucous laughter. Sabatini smiled also, although it faded as he stole a cautious look at McNamara. “Aye, Captain. But not so much that they’re no longer able to perform their duties?”
“Well, naturally. I expect better of my crew than to get so blind drunk that they can’t do their jobs or hold their tongues.”
McNamara was confused by that last part. “What does he mean by holding tongues?” he whispered to a nearby crewman.
“Oh, he just doesn’t want anyone saying anything that could provoke a fight,” the man replied after a moment’s hesitation. “Drink does all sorts of things to a man, makin’ him say things he ought not to.”
McNamara nodded in comprehension as he felt the tension within him finally fade, now that the fighting was over and won. He looked around to see if he could spot Hale or any other familiar faces. He spotted Knowles, whose blond hair had been darkened by smoke and gunpowder. His face had been likewise blackened by powder, and he was bleeding from several small wounds. But what most concerned McNamara was the expression on his face. One of Knowles’s friends from the Keighley had evidently been killed during the fight.
“James?” McNamara asked. “What happened? Who was it?”
“Kibbee,” Knowles said sadly. “Sam Kibbee. He was shot while boarding the King’s Ransom.”
“I’m so sorry, James,” McNamara said, laying a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. Although he hadn’t gotten to know Kibbee at all, he understood the difficulty of losing a comrade and friend, someone you’d served with and gone through hell with, was never easy. Knowles, at his age, couldn’t have experienced that kind of loss too often despite his background, and it was obviously hitting him quite hard. “What about the rest of our friends?”
“They came out all right, thanks to you,” Knowles said, brightening somewhat at this. “I saw how you saved Rob’s life. That bastard would’ve skewered him if you hadn’t skewered him first.”
“I’m glad I was able to reach him in time,” McNamara answered, embarrassed by the praise. “I easily could’ve been too late.”
“I wish I could’ve saved Kibbee somehow,” Knowles muttered. “He was right next to me when he was shot. If I’d been able to do something, shove him aside or warn him… have you ever tried to save someone and not be able to?”
McNamara sighed. “Aye, James. Many times during the wars. Men I served with, men I had under my command… it’s a hard thing to not be able to save the life of a friend, just by misfortune of being in the wrong place.”
“Does it ever get easier, over time?”
McNamara shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
He clapped Knowles on the shoulder and suggested they take advantage of the grog being handed around before none was left. Their victory had come at a price, as all too many victories do, but there had been victory, and at least they were alive to celebrate it.