A Jester’s Fortune

'Two hundred,' Lewrie drawled, affecting to study his fingernails. Perversely, the Serbs whistled and catcalled, cheering with a muttering like the House of Commons on a testy day. Mlavic paused, as one hand went to his purse by its own volition, as if he had to assure himself he had that much. That drew more cheers, of the mocking sort, which made the pirate chieftain whirl about, glowering them to silence.

Aye, had enough o' the game, Lewrie bitterly told himself; and enough o' bein' hooted by his own side, too! It's all up.

'Five hun'red, British boy-fucker!' he spat, a triumphant grin on his face. 'Show me! Show guinea, now!'

'Six hundred,' Lewrie countered, stepping forward and hefting his heavy wash-leather purse, jouncing it like a juggler's ball. 'All two-guinea coins, Venetian ducats, Austrian guilders…' Mirko the guard didn't follow, and Kolodzcy, Howse and Spendlove had been allowed on their feet long since to root for him bid-by-bid. Far enough away from their captors, he wondered? This ain't goin' t'work, but…!

Lewrie turned, a mocking, jeering smile on his phyz, one brow raised in celebration, to face them. He winked and nodded, slow and significant, jutting his chin up slantwise towards the nearest armed men. Spendlove went pasty-pale, and Howse began to tremble. From Lieut-nant Kolodzcy there was a fatalistic bow of his head, and a quirky grin. 'Bid was six hundred guineas to you, Mlavic,' Lewrie taunted, stepping within a long arm's reach. 'Put up or fold.'

'Fun with me, hah? Fun with Dragan, hah?' Mlavic roared, and fumbled for his heavy money-bag. He ripped it open and spilled money on the ground in a glittering golden shower. 'One t'ousand guinea, I say! You no got that much, you…!'

Lewrie tensed, ready to spring, planning to go for one of those pistols first* then for Mrs. Connor. Shoot Mlavic in the belly, then take his scimitar or his butcher-knife? Mlavic half turned, though, of a sudden, raising his arms to jeer and show his empty purse to his men, who began that hackle-raising wolf howling song.

BOOOMMM! though. The harsh barking of a 9-pounder! The Rwarkk! of livened timbers by the beach. Mlavic turned to face it, goggling at the sight of one of his forty-footer boats in midleap after being struck by round-shot and grape in a froth of spray and splintered wood, blown clean from the water!

His back was to Lewrie. In that split second before he could turn, Alan dove forward, stung into sudden motion without thought. He got hold of both pistols by the butts and leaped free, levering back their dogs-jaws with his wrists. 'To me!' he howled, backpedaling towards where he thought Mrs. Connor had been. He collided with her, as she was of the same mind and had rushed to him, almost knocking them both off their feet. He had a quick glance to see Howse cowering away, Kolodzcy smashing a handy bottle over a guards head and seizing his sword arm and wrist. Spendlove was kicking the angelic-looking tormentor in his 'nutmegs' and lifting his knee in a rough-and- tumble 'Dutch Kiss,' a trick he'd obviously learned on the lower decks from the hands.

And BOOOMMM! again, and the second boat was leaping skyward.

'Stay at my back, don't let go of me or the boy!' Alan warned Mrs. Connor as he turned to face Mlavic. His sword was drawn, and he was crouching to fight! Lewrie leveled a pistol at his heart and began backing away towards that hut. Mlavic sneered at the threat, pacing forward slowly, just out of sword-reach.

'No loaded, British,' Mlavic sing-songed.

'We'll find out, then, won't we?' Lewrie grinned back, praying he was lying. 'Care to lay a guinea on it? What's your bid now, hey?'

At Mlavic's beck, a pirate rushed from the right, sword back for a head-lopping slash, and Lewrie aimed, pulled the trigger as the child and Mrs. Connor screamed. It fired! And the man pitched over backwards!

'One!' Mlavic laughed. 'Have one left.'

BOOMM! BOOMM! BOOMM! Sweet music, those three more shots from Jesters 9- pounders, this time loaded with grapeshot and canister, and fired a tad high, Lewrie took time to note. The trees and bushes on the desiccated island thrashed with the impact of a thousand musket balls or plum-size shot, a bit over the height of a man. But they drove nearly everyone to their faces or knees-Mlavic, too!

'Run!' Lewrie cried, dropping the empty pistol and grasping Mrs. Connor by the hand in the short moment of grace that partial broadside had bought them. He made it to Kolodzcy and clubbed down one of the guards from behind, freeing the Austrian to pick up a sword and that man's pair of pistols. A moment more and they were with Spendlove, who was hewing about with a cutlass, keeping two at bay. A quick shot and one was down with a bullet in his kidneys, and their swords were clashing. Spendlove, freed, turned his attention to the other and began the cutlass drill… left foot stamp and down-left slash, right foot stamp and back-slash right, balance step and recover. He beat the Serbian's scimitar aside and round-housed a back-slash that laid the man open.

'The hut!' Lewrie shouted, stooping to retrieve a Turk-style sword.

'Out of the line of fire… go!'

BOOMM! BOOMM! BOOMM! This time, aimed lower, and men who had leaped back to their feet were swept away in a howling, shrieking horror. Not just pirates, unfortunately, but some of their victims as well, who'd been dashing about witless. Mlavic had dropped once more to his belly, barely ten paces behind. He was up in a flash, bellowing orders and trying to muster his chaotic, half-drunk men into a fighting force. They came from the woods or huts where they'd been sporting, down from the stockade, running for stands of muskets, then drew swords and began to form a rough protective line above the beach.

This kept Mlavic too busy to deal with Lewrie, for a moment. They dashed for the hut, Alan dragging the woman almost off her feet in his haste, now they had another shot-bought moment of grace. A pistol lit off and Lewrie turned to see another pirate spin about and drop, just by the hut's side. Kolodzcy growled something in German and cocked his other pistol. And there went the little fifteen-year-old girl Mlavic had his eye on at first, stark-naked and screaming up the hill for the prison.

Howse leaped to his feet, almost under Lewrie's, to run whining ahead of them, still weaponless. Spendlove had armed himself with two more pistols by then, and shoved one at Howse, who took it in passing, still intent on some dubious safety. 'Can't find more pistols, sir,' Spendlove confessed as Lewrie reached him.

'Three shots, then,' Lewrie noted, looking to the beach for a sign of a landing-party. Could they hide somewhere? But where would be safe? And where the hell was Knolles? Surely…!

'Four… I reload dhese,' Kolodzcy panted. 'Ged our swords, I beg you, sir. Gif me your pistol. Herr Spentluff unt I, ve vill hold dhem off.'

Lewrie ducked into the hut, tearing away the flimsy sailcloth door, and scrounged about for weapons, leaving Mrs. Connor and her boy shivering outside, the boy crying incessantly. He found his sword and Mr. Spendlove's prided dirk, the elegantly ornate small-sword Kolodzcy wore. But no more firearms.

'Down to the beach, ma'am,' he urged as he came out. 'Take the boy and go, now, while there's time. Our landing-party-'

'If the pirates are between here and there…?' she whinnied in a breathless pant, half out of her wits with terror, but fighting hard to master herself. 'We all should go?'

'Might as well, we've ruined supper!' Lewrie cracked, happy to have his hanger once more in his hand. He looked at her, and was most surprised to see her smiling! She still shivered with fright, but she was smiling, tittering on the verge of semi-hysterical humour, like a doomed man who'd rather not weep, thankee.

And noticed for the first time, by the amber light of Mlavic s camp-fire, what a stunningly handsome woman she was! So exotically high-cheeked, with a squarish jaw that tapered to a pert chin and a wide, full-lipped mouth. Large amber eyes aslant like almonds, heavy-lashed and browed…! Her classically sculpted little nose…!

Damme! he goggled. Splendid poonts, tool 'Bout t'be knackered or no, and I'm gone calf-eyed over-

'Whatever shall we do now, sir?' Mr. Howse interrupted, coming from God knew where, which apparently he hadn't deemed completely safe. Lewrie had the thought he could hear that worthy's teeth knocking together. But the man had a pistoll

'Mr. Howse, make yourself useful. See Mrs. Connor and the lad down toward the beach. Take that harem pig- sticker yonder and gimme your pistol.' Howse stooped for a massive chopper of a blade, handed the pistol to Lewrie-who winced as the fool offered it half-cocked and barrel-first, with a hellish-shaky finger still on the trigger!