Press might have been afraid to step on.
Ten o’clock in the evening. Four bells in the night watch. Outside it was black night, but the chandelier overhead held enough candles that the room was brightly lit.
More money in this one room than most men I know would see in a lifetime.
And he was the guest of honor.
“Captain Press,” another of them was saying. Hobkins. This one was Hobkins. Owned a Jamaican sugar plantation, did a big business in slaves and silk from the Orient. Owned a dozen ships at least. Roger pulled his eyes from the silver arranged on the sideboard and met his eyes. The man was all silk and ruffles and chins.
“Captain, as you are no doubt aware, we here represent a good portion of the shipping between England and the Moorish countries. India, the Arabian lands, the Spice Islands. Thinking of getting into China trade. But that is not your concern, of course.”
Press looked long and hard at him, but the man would not flinch. He was flabby, but he was not weak. Weak men did not become as powerful as Hobkins.
Still, Press could hear the note of discomfort in his voice. Roger Press was not a subtle man. He had not gained his place through intrigue and manipulation, as these men had. He had fought and killed his way up, used and discarded men, won his present notoriety by being meaner and bolder than most, and outlasting the rest. He exuded violence, and it frightened these civilized men.
“Of course,” Press agreed.
“Our problem is this, and this is where you are concerned.” Another, Robert Richmond, took up the discussion. “We are suffering the most egregious depredations in the Indian Ocean. These so-called privateers, these Roundsmen, hunting after the Moorish treasure ships. The current Great Mogul is a bloody-minded heathen named Aurangzeb. Thinks the company is in league with these pirates. Even imprisoned our manager and fifty of our men till he could be convinced otherwise.”
“And it’s not just the Moors these rogues hunt neither,” Winston continued. “The villains are attacking our shipping. British East Indiamen. It’s piracy, is what it is, and it must be stopped.”
“Indeed.” Set a thief to catch a thief. Press had been as much pirate as any of those in Madagascar, and these men knew it. He had been granted a letter of marque and reprisal at the outbreak of the present war, had fought a few hard actions as a privateer, taken a few valuable and legitimate prizes. Now he was a sought-after fighting man.
Well, he would take their money and let them kiss his arse, one and all.
“Navy’s not worth a damn,” Sir Edmund continued. “Too busy with the rutting French to bother with the pirates in Madagascar. What we need is to make a show in the Indian Ocean. A show for this nigger Aurangzeb and for the damned pirates, too. Show them all we will not tolerate this nonsense any longer.”
“But I had thought the East India Company ships were armed like men-of-war,” Press said, deigning to make his first comment. “Sure they should be enough to fight pirates or Moors?” It was a question, the answer to which he already knew. But he wanted to make them say it. It would further reinforce his own invaluable stature.
“The company ships are armed, to be sure. But they are too damned weak to do any good. A drain on resources, worse than useless. Can’t find any active or intelligent men to command, can’t find enough men to man them like a fighting ship.”
What you mean, Press thought, is that you will not pay for enough men to man them like a fighting ship.
“And that, Captain, is where you come in,” said Hobkins.
“More brandy with you, sir?” asked Sir Edmund.
“Yes.”
Sir Edmund snapped his fingers. The attending servant filled Press’s snifter and then the other men’s.
“We are putting together our own expedition,” Sir Edmund continued, getting to the heart of the thing. “Two ships. A decent-size manof-war and a tender, also armed. The man-of-war is a frigate, sold out of the navy. We have named her the Queen’s Venture. And we’ve secured a royal commission for the hunting of pirates. Gives quite a bit of latitude.”
“We reckon it makes more sense for us all to pool our resources and put together an expedition that can genuinely be effective,” Richmond added.
Press nodded, sipped brandy. You bunch of tightfisted bloody buggerers, he thought. You could build a fucking armada, the money you got. One rotten old man-of-war and a tender! Cheap, bloody-
“We think you are the man to lead this thing,” Sir Edmund said. “No one expects you can entirely wipe out the villains in the Indian Ocean. But we want a lesson taught, do you see? Show ’em they ain’t as safe as they reckon. Go after them on the high seas and in their so-called strongholds on the island of Madagascar.”
“And St. Mary’s,” Press interjected. “Hotbed of piracy, St. Mary’s. It cannot be ignored.”
“Yes, yes, St. Mary’s, of course. You’ll receive the same pay as the captain of an East Indiaman, plus a double share of the prize money.”
“Twenty-five percent of the prize money,” Press said.
“Twenty-five… well, now…” Sir Edmund blustered, looking to his fellows for support.
You fat bastards, thought Press. You want to drive the pirates out and get richer still on prize money and plunder. Playing both ends of it, and me in the middle to do the dirty business.
“I don’t see how we can…” Sir Edmund said, in a tone that would admit no argument.
“Twenty-five percent or I shall bid you good day.” He took the silver toothpick between thumb and forefinger, stabbed it into his gum.
More muttering, soft consultation, and then Sir Edmund said, “Very well. Twenty-five percent.”
Press smiled. “You see, gentlemen, it would seem I am a pirate still!”
That joke received only weak smiles, a few uneasy glances. These men, Press knew, did not care to traffic with the likes of him, even if he was now a wealthy and famous privateersman, his clothing almost as fine as theirs. He reckoned they would burn the chair he was sitting in once he left, and toss away the glass he had used.
They despised him, feared him. Five years ago they would have seen him hanged, if he had come before the judges they controlled. But now they needed him.
That did not bother Press in the least. Being despised was nothing new to him.
For that matter, he would have taken their damned two shares if they had been more insistent. He didn’t care about that either. All that really mattered was that these stupid bastards were going to give him two powerful ships and a private army and governmental permission to rampage through the Indian Ocean.
They had specifically said that he was to go to St. Mary’s. That was what mattered.
“So, Captain, you will accept this commission?”
“Yes, Sir Edmund, I do believe I will.”
The Elizabeth Galley rolled along under a perfect sky, taking the sixteen knots of wind on the quarter and plowing an easy course through the blue, blue sea.
Their heading was a little south of east, their destination Bermuda. A lovely island. Thomas had persuaded Elizabeth that they should call there en route to London. The beauty of the place aside, they needed another six able-bodied seamen at least, if they were going to sail or fight their way unescorted through the cordon of pirates and French privateers that patrolled the approaches to the English Channel.
Newport or New York might have been better choices for that, but Marlowe did not care to put in at those places. Too many faces from the sweet trade, he argued, wandering about those waterfronts. Too many ghosts.
The wind had not failed them, and the ship worked as if she had never been laid up. The young black men from Marlowe House had labored at setting up the masts and rigging-the very best possible training-and so terms such as “topsail weather brace” and “fore course clew garnets” were perfectly familiar to them by the time they were under way. Halfway to Bermuda, and they were well advanced in their new careers as sailors.
The lookouts aloft had sighted three sail in the course of the passage, each one a potential enemy, each a potentially grave threat to the unarmed ex-privateer, but they had left each of them below the horizon. The Elizabeth Galley was still a fast ship.
They raised Bermuda a fortnight after getting under way, and the following morning the Elizabeth Galley stood in past Spanish Point. The men crowded the rails, the officers and Elizabeth on the quarterdeck, as Bermuda’s Great Sound opened up before them and they swung off to the east, threading their way into Hamilton Harbor.
One of Honeyman’s sailors was in the chains with the lead, another up in the foretop scouting for coral. They
