Hunter attacked an English merchantman and took her passenger as prize, to justify his wrongdoings.”
“A most convenient event,” Hacklett said. “But why have we not heard of this same merchantman?”
“Probably he killed all hands aboard and sunk her,” Sanson said. “On his homeward voyage from Matanceros.”
“One final inquiry,” Hacklett said. “Do you recall a storm at sea on the twelfth and thirteenth of September?”
“A storm? No, gentlemen. There was no storm.”
Hacklett nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Sanson. You may step down.”
“If it please the court,” Sanson said, and left the room.
There was a long pause after the door slammed with a hollow, echoing sound. The court turned to face Hunter, who was trembling and white with anger, and yet he fought for composure.
“Mr. Hunter,” Hacklett said, “can you charge your memory with any particulars to account for the discrepancy between the stories you have related and those of Mr. Sanson whom you have said you respect so highly?”
“He is a liar, sir. A foul and black liar.”
“The court is prepared to consider such an accusation if you can acquaint the court with particulars which will serve in evidence, Mr. Hunter.”
“I have only my word,” Hunter said, “but you may have ample evidence from Lady Sarah Almont herself, who will contradict the French tale in all respects.”
“We shall certainly have her witness,” Hacklett said. “But before calling her, a perplexing question remains. The attack on Matanceros - justified or no - occurred on September twenty-first. You returned to Port Royal on October twentieth. Among pirates, one expects that such a delay represents a sailing to an obscure island, for the purpose of concealing treasure taken, and thus cheating the king. What is your explanation?”
“We were engaged in a sea battle,” Hunter said. “Then we fought a hurricane for three days. We careened in an island outside the Boca del Dragon for four days. Subsequently, we set sail but were besieged by a kraken-”
“I beg your pardon. Do you mean a monster of the depths?”
“I do.”
“How amusing.” Hacklett laughed, and the others on the tribunal laughed with him. “Your imagination to explain this monthlong delay gains our admiration, if not our credence.” Hacklett turned in his chair. “Call the Lady Sarah Almont to give evidence.”
“Lady Sarah Almont!”
A moment later, looking pale and drawn, Lady Sarah entered the room, took the oath, and awaited her questions. Hacklett, with a most solicitous manner, peered down at her.
“Lady Sarah, I wish first to welcome you to the Jamaica Colony, and to apologize for the dastardly business which must be your first encounter with society in these regions.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hacklett,” she said, with a slight bow. She did not look at Hunter, not once. That worried him.
“Lady Sarah,” Hacklett said, “it has become a question of importance to this tribunal whether you were captured by Spaniards and then released by Captain Hunter, or whether you were captured by Captain Hunter in the first instance. Can you enlighten us?”
“I can.”
“Please do so freely.”
“I was aboard the merchantman Entrepid,” she said, “bound from Bristol for Port Royal when…”
Her voice trailed off. There was a long silence. She looked at Hunter. He stared into her eyes, which were frightened in a way he had never seen.
“Go on, if you please.”
“… When we spotted a Spanish vessel on the horizon. It opened fire upon us, and we were captured. I was surprised to discover that the captain of this Spanish ship was an Englishman.”
“Do you mean Charles Hunter, the prisoner who stands before us now?”
“I do.”
“Please continue.”
Hunter hardly heard the rest of her words: how he had taken her onto the galleon, then killed the English crew and set the ship afire. How he had told Lady Sarah that he would pretend he had saved her from the Spaniards, in order to justify his raid on Matanceros. She delivered her story in a high-pitched, taut voice, speaking rapidly, as if to finish the matter as quickly as possible.
“Thank you, Lady Sarah. You may step down.”
She left the room.
The tribunal faced Hunter, seven men with blank, expressionless faces, examining Hunter like a creature already dead. A long moment passed.
“We have heard nothing from the witness of your colorful adventures with the Boca del Dragon, or the sea monster. Have you any proofs?” Hacklett asked mildly.
“Only this,” Hunter said, and, swiftly, he stripped to the waist. Across his chest were the tears and scars of giant, saucerlike suckers, an unearthly sight. The members of the tribunal gasped. They murmured among themselves.
Hacklett banged his gavel for order.
“An interesting amusement, Mr. Hunter, but not persuasive to the educated gentlemen present. We can all surely imagine the devices you employed, in your desperate predicament, to re-create the effects of such a monster. The court is not persuaded.”
Hunter looked at the faces of the seven men, and saw that they were persuaded. But Hacklett’s gavel banged again.
“Charles Hunter,” Hacklett said, “this court finds you justly convicted of the crime of piracy and robbery upon the high seas, as charged. Do you wish to say any reason why sentence shall not be carried out?”
Hunter paused. He thought of a thousand oaths and expletives, but none would serve any purpose. “No,” he said softly.
“I did not hear you, Mr. Hunter.”
“I said no.”
“Then you, Charles Hunter, and all your crew, are adjudged and sentenced to be carried back to the place from whence you came, and thence on Monday next to the place of execution, the High Street Square in the town of Port Royal, and there to be hanged by the neck till dead, dead, dead. And after this, you and each of you shall be taken down and your bodies hanged from the yardarms of your vessel. May God have mercy upon your souls. Take him away, jailer.”
Hunter was led out of the Justice House. As he went out the door, he heard Hacklett laugh: a peculiar, thin, cackling sound. Then the door closed, and he was returned to jail.
Chapter 35
HE WAS TAKEN to a different cell; apparently the jailers of Marshallsea did not care one from another. He sat in the straw on the floor and considered his plight with care. He could hardly believe what had happened, and he was angry almost beyond understanding.
Night came, and the jail turned quiet except for the snores and the sighs of the inmates. Hunter himself was falling asleep when he heard a familiar hissing voice: “Hunter!”
He sat up.
“Hunter!”
He knew the voice. “Whisper,” he said. “Where are you?”
“In the next cell.”
The cells all opened at the front; he could not see the next cell, but he could hear well enough, if he pressed his cheek close to the stone wall.
