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  Chapter Eleven

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  STRANGE CATCH FOR A FISHERMAN

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  “HOLLA, Blade! Come here!”

  The command was so peremptory that Justin, although it came from the window of Sir Robert’s own chamber, did not stop to put on coat or neckcloth, but went to answer it still hot from swordplay with Francis, his sleeves rolled to his shoulders and the naked sword in his hand.

  “You called, Your Excellency?” He hesitated just inside the door, trying to see through the gloom upon which the Governor seemed to thrive. And he had just noted a second man by the desk when Sir Robert answered.

  “I blatted out my lungs at you, aye. Put down that carving knife and come here—Master Shrimpton would speak with you.”

  Obediently Justin laid the rapier on a table and crossed to front Scarlett’s companion, the sober cut of whose long dark coat made even Master Ferkin’s dress seem mere frippery. The man wore his own reddish hair cropped close about his ears and his heavy jaw was clean-shaven so that the stern set of his large mouth was plain to see. A bad man to cross, Justin decided.

  “You wish to speak with me, Master Shrimpton?”

  “Aye.” The merchant made that word as ponderous as a churchman’s curse. “You were lately companied with those runagates now in prison?”

  “I was taken on the Naughty Lass true enough.”

  “What do you know of this man Cheap?”

  “He is numbered among the Lords of Tortuga, those successful captains who bring wealth into the island and do not lack for crews to follow them. He is reckless in battle but is an indifferent navigator and sailor.” Justin stopped short. How had he come to tell all this so easily to this wooden-faced fellow? There must be something compelling about those brown-yellow eyes which bored into him so unwinkingly.

  “Has he any other hidey hole except Tortuga?”

  Justin shrugged. “Half the cays are hidey holes for those ‘from the sea.’ They know these waters better than any map maker working for the Queen.”

  “But this Cheap, he has a special—a favorite cay to which he goes?”

  Justin turned to Sir Robert. “You, Your Excellency, remember what I have said. I have taken the Queen’s Pardon, but I do not hunt down my one-time companions. Though this I can say truthfully—I know of no special cay which Cheap may favor—”

  “And I think that this whelp lies, Sir Robert!”

  Justin went dumb and white. Shrimpton had not changed his position, he had not even raised his voice—he was like that stone idol with the pitiless face which Ghost Peter had brought out of the mainland jungles and fed with fresh cocks’ heads.

  “Let me have this cub, Your Excellency, and I’ll nose out Cheap soon enough.”

  Sir Robert arose from his armchair with the air of one saying farewell to a troublesome guest. “That is out of the question, Master Shrimpton. I have my own plans for Blade—”

  “You are sheltering a pirate, Your Excellency. Already men of standing have begun to ask why you are so tender of this rogue—”

  The Governor’s face was all well-bred surprise. “Do they now, Shrimpton? Faith, I had not thought that my actions went so carefully marked in Barbados. But you forget that Blade has taken the Pardon; he is no longer to be termed ‘pirate.’ ”

  “Are you so sure of that, Your Excellency? Many men before this have given lip service to serve their own ends. Cheap would relish a spy in Bridgetown.”

  “Would he now—?” asked the Governor softly. Two strides brought him to Justin. With surprising strength he swung the boy around and stripped down his shirt so that the merchant might see the deep-scarred flesh of his back.

  “Cheap did that. Do you think one of his willing servants would bear such a sign?”

  “So—the whelp was flogged. Well, men have been flogged before at sea and served better for such correction.”

  Justin pulled the calico back over his shoulders and fastened his shirt, stepping out of Sir Robert’s grip which had loosened. He was steady now—just as he always was when he knew that a fight had begun, so that he was able to face Shrimpton calmly.

  “True enough, Master Shrimpton.” He was glad that his voice was so clear. “Since it is plain that I am not to be trusted, may I now leave you to your business. I, too, have my bread to earn—with this!”

  He had reached behind him and closed his fist on the hilt of the rapier which he now brought around with a flourish that pointed steel very close to Shrimpton’s thick body. But the merchant gave not even a flicker of an eyelid in return. Justin might have been a small boy indulging in a tantrum of temper—and so he felt under Shrimpton’s unmoving regard.

  “Aye. We must not keep you from your duties,” Sir Robert’s cool voice cut the silence. “You may go, Blade.”

  And Justin went, feeling very much as must a disobedient hound that is exiled to the kennels. But he also found within him a great and growing dislike for Master Elisha Shrimpton, a dislike almost as great as his wonder as to how Danby Johns had ever prevailed upon such a man to believe his tale of buried treasure. Master Shrimpton seemed more likely to label all such stories moonshine. And the boy began to have a kind of admiration for Johns coupled with the wish to know him better. A man who could make an island joke of Shrimpton was certainly no lack-wit—no matter who named him so.

  It was pleasant to get back to the garden and find Francis digging between two stones of the walk with the point of his weapon—a bit of mischief for which he could be most honestly reproved. And nothing is a greater relief from the feeling that one has made a fool of oneself than to be able to righteously scold another—as Justin discovered. By the time he had given tongue to all the Baronet’s shortcomings he was quite in humor again. Not that Sir Francis seemed greatly cast down. Instead he was waiting impatiently to get in a word of his own.

  “What did that red shark want with you?” he demanded.

  “Red shark?”

  “That is what the townsfolk call Master Shrimpton. He is a shark and he has red hair. But what did he want with you, Justin? To ask about pirates?”

  “Something of the sort. And why is Master Shrimpton interested in pirates?”

  “Because within the month he has lost two sloops to them. And now his brig lies in the harbor and he is afraid to let her sail lest they get her also.”

  “How can he be sure that his ships were not taken by the French—?”

  “The pirates sent him an impudent message—he found it on a table in his own house—thanking him for his kind indulgence in sending them good cargoes and complimenting him on the quality of the rum one of the sloops carried. So now people laugh behind his back and he wants a pirate to hang. Does he want you, Justin?”

  Blade laughed. “Mayhap he does. But Sir Robert does not appear ready to surrender me to him.”

  Sir Francis nodded. “Aye. His Excellency has a liking for you. Though he told Uncle Humphrey that you are a most stubborn rogue.”

  “I must thank His Excellency for the compliment,” said Justin dryly. “But now we’ll to work, if you please, Francis, and more limber with that wrist, mind you.”

  However, his pupil’s mind was no longer on the lesson and he went at the motions so lackadaisically that Justin lost patience—of which he never had too great a store at his best.

  “Have done. When you are minded to attend we shall go on with this lesson,” he snapped. Privately he decided that since the novelty had worn away from their employment, and Francis was discovering that he must really work hard, young Hynde was losing his taste for instruction. He had thought from the first that the Baronet would not be diligent at anything requiring labor. Though Justin would also be the first to admit that he was no proper tutor either.

  But, although Francis had been released from instruction, he was not pleased to take himself off. Instead he resumed his questioning.

  “Are you afeared of Master Shrimpton?”

  “Since I have an easy conscie
nce there is naught for me to fear.” Justin was looking about for Amos who, for once, was failing him.

  “But are you?” persisted Sir Francis. “Nigh half the town is.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, he is mighty rich and he knows great folk back home.” (Home to Sir Francis was, of course, England.)

  “Many men are rich and have friends in power and yet they aren’t feared.”

  “They do say in the town that he knows the Black Arts. Twice his ships have come through storms in which others floundered.”

  “He has skillful or lucky captains to thank for that. ’Tis skill and luck both which make a great captain.”

  “Is Cheap a great captain?”

  “He has been a lucky one. As to skill, Dirk Marteens is far his master. I have seen Marteens claw off a reef with the sea at its worst. Now he’s a captain worth the naming—”

  “Is he a pirate?”

  “No, rather buccaneer after the lod style, going out only against the Dons and not raising the Black Flag against all nations as the rest do. He has a mighty hate for the Dons because of some old hurt.”

  Sir Francis nodded solemnly. “Just as Sir Robert has a mighty hate against all pirates because he has an old hurt too—”

  Justin stopped in the tying of his neckcloth. “An old hurt—what?”

  “I heard my Uncle Humphrey speak of it to my mother. The pirates took a ship on which one dear to Sir Robert was traveling and nothing was ever heard of the ship or her passengers again. Since then the Governor has vowed death to all pirates. D’you know, I think that it has something to do with the lady in the green dress—”

  “The lady in the green dress? But who is she? There is no woman at the palace.”

  “She is in the picture, silly—the big one in Sir Robert’s bedchamber. Most always it is covered with a scarf, but once I saw it plain. She isn’t a very pretty lady, not like my mother, but her eyes follow you around the room. Jason says she has witch eyes and he won’t go in where she can see him; he won’t go in there at all when the scarf is off.”

  “And you don’t know who she was?”

  “Nobody knows—save my uncle—he is the closest friend Sir Robert has. Do you suppose that Master Shrimpton will also have a great hate for pirates now?”

  “If he is as you say, a pinch in his money bags will doubtless serve as good a hurt as any. Where is Amos?”

  “He is gone on an errand for my uncle. I am to bide with you today.”

  Justin sighed. “Very well then. But we shall spend it as I decide. Have you no plainer coat?” He eyed the finely-laced wine satin with marked disapproval.

  “No. But I’d as leave take this one off. It’s hot,” answered the Baronet cheerfully. “What are we going to do, Justin?”

  “We are going fishing. Aye, leave your coat here, and your wig too. Knot this kerchief around your head to keep the sun off.”

  The small cove where they settled themselves some time later was cut off from the inland by two steep cliffs down one of which zigzagged a goat path. But here, as Justin had some days before discovered, one could perch on the sea-wet rocks and throw out a line without attracting a circle of interested spectators. And in the tide pools were all sorts of queer small creatures most exciting to watch— as Francis speedily discovered.

  “No,” the older boy replied wearily for something like the fifth time, “I do not know what that fish is called or how it lives. If you want such answers you needs must ask some scholar. Come away from that pool now—are you wishful to find yourself over your head in water?”

  The Baronet squatted down in the warm sand and grinned up at his victim. “I like you, even if you be a cutthroat pirate. And I’m right glad Master Lewis had to go home. This Caraway—he won’t find the watching of me easy—”

  “And who is Caraway?”

  “Some short-haired ranting fellow out of the northern colonies. He is kin to Master Shrimpton and is warranted learned. My mother has spoken of having him to tutor me, only she is not sure whether he be a gentleman—”

  Juston laughed. “So you have either a pirate or a codfish to watch over you. Faith, that’s a hard life, Francis. I wonder that you can bear up under it.”

  But the boy made him no answer. Instead he was staring down at something in his hand.

  “Look what I found! It was here in the sand! A knife! Now mother cannot say me nay, this I found myself!” He was rubbing it clean across his fine breeches when Justin caught it out of his hand.

  “Learn how to handle such tools properly before you brandish them about. Look, already you have slit the cloth of your breeches. This is a dangerous toy—”.

  But it was not at the long, evilly sharp blade of the dagger that he was looking. That ivory hilt carved into the likeness of a rearing stallion—he had seen it before. The tiny green gem eyes winked in the sun just as they had done in sunlight and lantern light many times in his memory. How had Cheap’s cherished sash knife come here in the sand?”

  “Give it me!” Sir Francis pulled at his arm. “It is mine, I tell you! I found it right here in the sand!”

  “First we must show it to your uncle or Sir Robert.”

  “You mean it is treasure trove? That it must be shown to the Queen’s men?”

  “Aye. It is treasure trove of a sort. Wrap it up in that napkin they put about our bread and cheese. That will keep it safe.”

  While Sir Francis was obeying that order Justin wandered around the cove. As far as he could see none but the tide and the birds had ever been there before them. Even the goat path showed no evidence of any feet save their own. And yet there was the knife and it had been recently lost. There was no dimming of the steel by time or weather.

  “Justin, here comes a boat! We’ll have company at our fishing.”

  With his hand on the knife in his belt Justin turned. Young Hynde was right, a small dugout was heading into the cove, its single passenger dipping his paddle with the ease of one knowing full well where he was bound.

  “Why, ’tis only Danby Johns,” Sir Francis said disappointedly. “Send him away, Justin, else he’ll make our ears ring with his old talk of flowers. The lack-wit!”

  Johns had sighted the two on shore. His bristled jaw dropped and he was the picture of dull astonishment. But he pushed on until he was able to splash through the surf and draw up the dugout above water level.

  “Whar be th’ other?” he asked.

  “What other?” Justin countered. With a quick hand he shut off the stream of questions about to burst from Sir Francis.

  “ ’Im wot wos ’ere afore.” Danby screwed up his face in a visible mental activity. “Ain’t I seed ye afore, marster? In th’ night time loike?”

  Had Justin been alone he would have claimed drinking acquaintance with the fellow, but because Sir Francis stood there—all ears—he hesitated too long.

  “Aye, now I ’members. Ye would ’ave me speak o’ them wot comes at night! Got any rum, marster? I’ll be yer man right willin’ fer that.”

  “There’s no rum here,” Justin said brusquely. Sir Francis was looking at him oddly, drawing a little apart so that he could watch both Danby and Justin. “Who is the man you came to meet?”

  “Why ’im wot ye wanted to ’ave word wi’ afore, marster. Th’ Cap’n who’ll settle Marster Shrimpton—may th’ Lord rot th’ flesh from ’is stinkin’ bones! Leavin’ a pore owld sailor man wot always did right t’ lie in jail fer want o’ a ’andful o’ shillin’s. Black-’earted ’e is, that’s wot— plain black-’earted!” Danby was now so deep in his own woes that Justin had to shake him to gain attention.

  “But this captain is to meet you here?’

  “Aye. Wot ’ave ye done wi’ ’im, marster?” Danby stared about him as if expecting to see someone rise out of the sand.

  “There’s no one here now—”

  “Then I’ll wait. Mayhap ’e’s fergot th’ hour loike.” Danby dropped down into the sand, taking no further interest in the
other two. Justin waved Francis back against the rock wall of the cove where he joined him.

  “Listen to me now, Francis,” he half whispered. “This may be of grave importance. Sir Robert does not lie at home tonight so we cannot reach him. But do you go to your uncle as speedily as you can and show him that knife you found. Tell him what Johns has said of meeting someone here and that I will stay hid above that I may spy upon this meeting—”

  Francis twisted out of his grip with some of his old petulance.

  “Why must I go? I want to see too—”

  Justin took firm hold of the remaining rags of his patience. “Because that message must surely reach your uncle and there is no one else to go. I am depending upon you for this, Francis. Now we shall leave here together, but when we are above and out of sight, you will go on alone. Come.”

  They did just as Justin had planned and Johns watched them scramble out of sight with little interest. Luckily their second contest of wills occurred well beyond the rim of the cliffs. There Sir Francis flatly refused to do as he was bid and Justin used his final weapon—the threat that their fencing lessons were ended for all times.

  “Sir Robert will make you teach me!”

  “Francis, you are acting like an unbreeched babe!” snapped Justin. “Would you let these pirates escape?”

  “Pirates! How know you that it is a pirate Danby has come to meet?”

  “I don’t. I only suspect that that is the case. Now get to the Major and he will be heartily proud of you for this —your helping to catch pirates. Mayhap you will even be brought into court to tell your story.”

  That last argument told. For Francis set off and left the older boy to find what he hoped would be suitable cover from which he could watch the cove and those in it.

  Chapter Twelve

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  OLD FRIENDS’ MEETING

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  GOOD HIDING places which overlooked the cove were hard to find and the one Justin at length selected was none too comfortable. In fact he thought that he was like to be grilled by the sun unless Johns’ friend came quickly. But as yet the old man did nothing but snore in a patch of shade which Justin envied him fiercely.