“Whisper, how long are you here?”
“A week, Hunter. Were you tried?”
“Aye.”
“And judged guilty?”
“Aye.”
“So also me,” Whisper hissed. “On a charge of theft. It was false.”
Theft, like piracy, had a fatal outcome.
“Whisper,” he said, “what has happened to Sir James?”
“They say he is ill,” Whisper hissed, “but he is not. He is healthy, and under guard, in peril of his life, at the Governor’s Mansion. Hacklett and Scott have taken control. They tell all in the town he is dying.”
Hacklett must have threatened Lady Sarah, Hunter thought, and forced her to testify falsely.
“There is more rumor,” Whisper hissed. “Madam Emily Hacklett is heavy with child.”
“So?”
“So, it appears that her husband the Acting Governor never performs his uxorial duties upon the wife. He is not so capable. Therefore her condition is irksome to him.”
“I see,” Hunter said.
“You have cuckolded a tyrant, and all the worse for you.”
“And Sanson?”
“He came alone, in a longboat. There was no crew. He told the story that all died in a hurricane, save him alone.”
Hunter pressed his cheek against the stone wall, feeling the cool dampness. It provided a kind of solid comfort to him.
“What day is this?”
“Saturday.”
Hunter had two days before his execution. He sighed, and sat back, and stared out the barred window at the clouds across a pale and waning moon.
…
THE GOVERNOR’S MANSION was constructed of solid brick, a veritable fortress at the north end of Port Royal. In the basement, under heavy guard, Sir James Almont lay feverish upon a bed. Lady Sarah Almont placed a cool towel across his hot forehead, and bid him breathe easily.
At that moment, Mr. Hacklett and his wife strode into the room.
“Sir James!”
Almont, his eyes glazed with fever, looked over at his deputy. “What is it now?”
“We have tried Captain Hunter. He will hang on Monday next, as a common pirate.”
At this, Lady Sarah looked away. Tears came to her eyes.
“Do you approve, Sir James?”
“Whatever… you think… is the best course…” Sir James said, breathing with difficulty.
“Thank you, Sir James.” Hacklett laughed, spun on his heel, and left the room. The door closed heavily behind him.
Instantly, Sir James was alert. He frowned at Sarah. “Take this damnable cloth from my head, woman. There is work to be done.”
“But Uncle-”
“Damn it all, do you understand nothing? All the years I have spent in this godforsaken colony, waiting and financing privateering expeditions, and all for this one moment, when one of my buccos would bring back a Donnish galleon, laden with treasure. Now it has happened, and do you not comprehend the outcome?”
“No, Uncle.”
“Well, a tenth will go to Charles,” Almont said. “And the remaining ninety percent will be divided between Hacklett and Scott. You mark my words.”
“But they warned me-”
“Hang their warnings, I know the truth. I have waited four years for this moment, and I will not be cheated of it. Nor will the other good citizens of this, ah, temperate town. I’ll not be cheated by a pimple-faced moralistic knave and a dandified military fop. Hunter must be freed.”
“But how?” Lady Sarah said. “He is to be executed in two days’ time.”
“That old dog,” Almont said, “will not swing from any arm, I promise you. The town is with him.”
“How so?”
“Because if he returns home, he has debts to pay, and handsomely, too. With interest. To me, and to others. All he needs is a setting free…”
“But how?” Lady Sarah said.
“Ask Richards,” Almont said.
And then a voice from the gloom at the back of the room said, “I will ask Richards.”
Lady Sarah whirled. She looked at Emily Hacklett.
“I have a score to settle,” Emily Hacklett said, and she left the room.
When they were alone, Lady Sarah asked her uncle, “Will that suffice?”
Sir James Almont chuckled. “In spades, my dear,” he said. “In spades.” He laughed aloud. “We will see blood in Port Royal before dawn, mark my words.”
…
“ I AM EAGER to help, my lady,” Richards said. The loyal servant had been smarting for weeks under the injustice that had placed his master under armed guard.
“Who can enter Marshallsea?” Mrs. Hacklett asked.
She had seen the building from the outside, but had not, of course, ever entered it. Indeed, it was impossible that she ever do so. In the face of criminality, a high-born woman sniffed and looked away. “Can you enter the prison?”
“Nay, madam,” Richards said. “Your husband has posted his special guard; they’d sight me at once, and bar my way.”
“Then who can?”
“A woman,” Richards said. Food and necessary personal articles were brought to prisoners by friends and relatives; it was ordinary custom.
“What woman? She must be clever, and avoid search.”
“There’s only one I can think,” Richards said. “Mistress Sharpe.”
Mrs. Hacklett nodded. She remembered Mistress Sharpe, one of the thirty-seven convict women who had made the crossing on the Godspeed. Since then, Mistress Sharpe had become the most popular courtesan in the port.
“See to it,” Mrs. Hacklett said, “with no delay.”
“And what shall I promise her?”
“Say that Captain Hunter will reward her generously and justly, as I am sure he shall.”
Richards nodded, then hesitated. “Madam,” he said, “I trust you are aware of the consequence of freeing Captain Hunter?”
With a coldness that gave Richards a shudder down his spine, the woman answered, “I am not only aware, I devoutly seek it.”
“Very good, madam,” Richards said, and slipped off into the night.
…
IN THE DARKNESS, the turtles penned in Chocolata Hole surfaced and snapped their sharp beaks. Standing nearby, Mistress Sharpe, flouncing and laughing, giggled and twisted away from one of the guards, who fondled her breast. She blew him a kiss, and continued on to the shadow of the high wall of Marshallsea. She carried a crock of turtle stew in her arms.
Another guard accompanied her to Hunter’s cell. This one was surly and half-drunk. He paused with the key in the lock.
“Why do you hesitate?” she asked.
“What lock was ever opened without a lusty turning?” he asked, leering.
