Both Jaimy and I nod, neither one of us very enthusiastically.
"Very well, then, but you will be back onboard at five thirty in the morning, or you will be put on report," he says to Jaimy. "And you, Miss, will behave yourself. I do believe you have this officer in the palm of your little hand to do with him as you will."
The wine works on me, too, and I enter into the exchange.
"Mr. Fletcher is the captain of his own fate, Sir. As for behaving myself, I believe I have always done that," I say, speaking the first outright lie I have said this night. "Perhaps Intelligence should have fitted me for a chastity belt before we embarked on this mission."
Laughter all around—except from Jaimy. I give his hand an extra squeeze.
"Ah, if those medieval devices actually worked, I'm sure the Service would have put one on you!" says Dr. Sebastian. "Except that we know you to be an expert lock picker and would have the thing off in an instant."
"I'm sure it would have been deucedly uncomfortable," I retort, moving my bottom around a bit on the chair. "And totally unnecessary ... I think." I give Jaimy a hot look on that one.
Har-har!
These men have been at sea too long.
Much later I am locked in my lover's arms onboard the Nancy B., and that's the way the world's supposed to be as I figure it.
Oh, Jaimy, this is just so fine...
PART IV
Chapter 38
Boooooooommmm...
The sound of the cannon rolls out across the water, the signal from the Dolphin that she is turning west for Kingston and leaving us to our own devices. We are on course, 110 degrees south southeast and bound for Havana.
I knew the salute was coming and had decided to return it. My nine-pound guns, called that because of the size of shot that they throw, are puny next to the massive twenty-four-pounders of the Dolphin, but they still give out with a satisfying sound and can do much damage when called upon to do so.
"Fire, Mr. Thomas," I say, and John Thomas jerks the lanyard on gun number one, portside forward.
Crrrack!
I give it a moment and then say, "Fire, Mr. McGee."
Crrrack!
The powder smoke drifts away and I order, "Reload, lads. Davy, Tink, check the charges on the other guns, but leave the canvas covers on. I have a feeling we're going to have a visitor."
We have two nine-pound guns on each side of the Nancy, as well as a three-pound swivel gun mounted both fore and aft. The sailors tend to the cannons and then shortly give the thumbs-up signal. I nod and wait.
Dr. Sebastian comes up next to me on my quarterdeck. "You are expecting company?"
Professor Tilly had left us and gone aboard the Dolphin last night, there being no diving or other scientific research being done now, and relations still being rather cool between the two men of science since the near killing of me. Dr. Sebastian cannot forgive Tilly's failure to warn me about the Rapture of the Deep ... and the bends. The bell has been left in the Nancy's forward hold, which is good for three reasons. Number one, I think Tilly has lost interest in it and is ready to pursue his next foolish fancy. Number two, we'll need it to bring up the rest of the gold when we rendezvous in a week. The third is that I intend to keep it when all is said and done.
"Yes, Doctor," I answer, and before I can even scan the horizon, there is a call from Daniel Prescott on lookout above.
"On deck there! Ship to the east!"
Sure enough, the Dolphin was hardly out of sight when Flaco Jimenez's ship heaves into sight. I lift my long glass and see his colors flying at the masthead—a red devil's skull with the two crossed cannons below. El Diablo Rojo.
"Who is it?" asks the Doctor.
Dr. Sebastian could have gone off with Tilly, but he did not. I suspect our good Doctor, in hanging around with me, has gotten a bit of a taste for the high life—or the low life, depending on how you look at it. Plus, I'm sure he wants to get some more drawings out of me. We have done quite a lot already, including depictions of diving in the bell, but if a few more go into his leather portfolio, well, all the better, as he sees it.
"It's only Flaco," I say, snapping my long glass shut. "On the Red Devil."
"The pirate Jimenez? But—"
"Don't worry, Flaco won't hurt us," I say, trying unsuccessfully not to smile. "We were once members of the same ... fraternity. Plus, I have nothing onboard worth stealing"...fingers crossed behind my back..."But still..."
I do trust Flaco—up to a point. He is a pirate after all. But I do not trust that El Feo, not a bit. So I lift my voice.
"Battle stations everyone! Clear for action! Let's show him we have teeth!" My crew springs to their stations—Tink, Davy, McGee, and John Thomas to the port and starboard nine-pounders, Jim Tanner on helm, Joannie and Daniel to the hatch, standing by as powder monkeys. Higgins and I will handle the bow and stern swivel guns should the need arise. "Let's show him we are still in the game. Joannie, put up our black colors. Dr. Sebastian, best get below."
The girl gives an excited whoop, dives down into my cabin, and pops back out with my pirate flag. Then she whips down our American colors and hoists our Jolly Roger. I know what she is thinking—Look at that! A real pirate ship!
"Highly irregular," murmurs Dr. Sebastian, looking up at the grinning skull and crossed bones waving in the breeze.
"It's necessary, you'll see," I reply. "I will have to draw on some old friendships to keep us safe. Otherwise, we will have to fight."
"Trust her, Doctor," urges Higgins. Since "Battle Stations" has been called, he has brought up my sword and pistols and he straps them on me. The grips of his own two pistols stick out of his waistcoat, primed and ready. "She has a certain way with these brigands." Being one herself, Higgins is thinking, I'm sure.
The Doctor goes below to his lab, which I hope will not very shortly be turning into a bloody surgery.
The Red Devil is a fast little brig—I know because I had raced her many times on my sweet Emerald and almost lost a few times—with six twenty-four-pounders on either side. There are two chasers—nine-pound Long Toms mounted forward, 'cause that's what a pirate does, chase its prey, unlike an honest merchantman like the Nancy B. 'Course everything's a mess, with ropes hanging everywhere, stained sails, unkempt men lazing about the rigging and staring down at us—all things that offend the Royal Navy sailor in me.
Flaco swoops down upon us and pulls his ship alongside. Some good seamanship is shown as he matches his vessel's speed with ours so that he can call over from his quarterdeck.
"Hola, Jacquelina! Qué pasa, muchacha?"
I go over to my rail and Flaco goes to his so that we are face to face.
"Nada, Flaco," I call back. "We are nothing but simple sponge divers going in to Havana to sell our catch."
He looks up at the sponges drying on our rigging. Joannie has been diligent in collecting them in the shallows while I was below, collecting gold, but we do not have nearly the number that we had on our last trip into Havana.
"We know you are anything but simple, Jacky, my heart. We have been watching you, going up and down in that thing that looks like a cathedral bell. We are not stupid, nor are we overly greedy. Come, dear one, share with us. It will benefit us both. You give us half the gold, and we'll give you and your ship safe passage to wherever you want to go. What do you say?"
I say, "Get yourself off, Flaco. If you are good, I will let you buy me a drink at Señor Ric's when we get to Havana."
The rascal grins back at me. "Surely not a proper welcome for your once and future lover, Captain Flaco Jimenez."
"You flatter yourself, Flaco. I was never your lover, and you know it."
"Si. But it was a close thing, querida mía, and you know it was," he says. "So let us take up where we left off and let me board you now."
"You may board my ship, but as for me, you will board nada."
He motions to his man on the helm, and the ships come together. Then he hops aboard, flamboyant as usual—cocked hat on head, braided hair ending in ribbons, beads, and tinkly bells, teeth gleaming in his tanned face. He wears loose pantaloons tucked into heavy boots, a frilly white shirt open at the neck, and a brocaded waistcoat over that.
"You treated me badly when last we met, Flaco." I stick out my lower lip and put on a pout.
"I am sorry, my heart, but my machismo got the best of me." He grins, making a mock bow and putting one knee to the deck. "It always happens when I get close to my sweet little Inglesa."
"I don't like being dumped on the floor," I say, with a sniff, "by some second-rate pirate, like you did to me at Ric's."
"I do not mind being called a pirate, my soul, but I am wounded by being called a second-rate one by the very love of my life." He puts on a hurt look. I try to suppress a smile but am not successful. I find it very hard to stay mad at this jolly rogue.
"And now you will demand to search my poor little boat for this supposed gold?" I ask. "That is so rude and unkind of you, but go ahead. We have nothing to hide."
"The fact that you, my devious little rabbit, would allow us to do so assures me that we would find nothing, so we shall not look."
From the corner of my eye, I notice something that Flaco does not. His ship has drawn away from us, perhaps a little farther away than he would like. Then there are sounds that Flaco does notice—cries of alarm from his ship, the crack of shots being fired.
Uh-oh...
Flaco's head snaps up. His ship is pulling away from our side. "What? What is...?" And then he realizes—it's mutiny! He has been betrayed!
"Feo, you bastard son of a whore!" he shouts, shaking his fist. "Bring the ship back here!"
"Lick her boots, weakling!" shouts El Feo, now astride the quarterdeck in full captain rig, complete with feathered turban. The distance between us is closing again. "We just had an election, and you lost. El Diablo Rojo now has a real Captain!"
Flaco Jimenez stands straight and tall, glaring at his mutinous former First Mate.
"You go over and ask the girl, oh so polite," continues El Feo. "'Oh, please tell me where is the gold?' like a maricón, a fancy boy. What happened to your cojones, Flaco? When did you lose them? I do not know, but I think you lost them today for good! No ship, no famous pirate Jimenez!" Much laughter from the pirate ship, where stand many men with muskets aimed at us. I recognize none of them—Flaco's loyal men must be locked below, or else dead.
Grinning pirates holding cutlasses line the lee side of the Red Devil and they beat the hilts of those swords against the rail and shout out insults and curses. Muerte! Muerte! Muerte! Death! Death! Death to the gringos! Death to Jimenez! Death to the English girl! Muerte! They mime drawing their swords across their throats and point at us. Muerte!
Well, we'll see about that!
"I will now come over and show you how a man asks a stupid girl a simple question," El Feo says, coming over to the rail and pulling out a long thin knife from his broad leather belt. "Compadres. Shoot the old woman Jimenez." All the muskets are then trained on Flaco's chest.