Читать книгу Pirate Blood - Eugenio Pochini - Страница 9

Late in the afternoon, Johnny started on his way back.

Remembering what had happened in the morning, he decided to take the longest way. He could avoid going through the Spanish area in doing so. His mother was certainly at work, plunging as usual in the suffocating smell of spices which impregnated the Passàro do Mar’s kitchen. She wouldn’t notice him, if he came home late.

He moved on along the east end of the harbour, getting over docks and road-steads. He sometimes cast a glance at the moored ships. Most of the crews had landed. He had often felt the impulse to sign on and leave Port Royal. But how? He wouldn’t bear the sea, not even for a week.

He heard Anne’s voice echoing in his mind at that moment, as powerful as only she could have, accusing him of being just like his father. He thought again over the story he had invented with Avery’s connivance.

I had to hand him some pincers, he revised it mentally, trying to look convincing even to himself. He told me to hurry up, so I turned. I didn’t notice a lower beam and I hit against it.

She might believe him, even if he could foresee her worried look, her goggle eyes and he wide-open mouth.

She was going to overwhelm him by her usual wave of scolding, about how dangerous the world was and everything else. Obviously, he expected her to ask the old man for an explanation. He would prove everything was right that same evening, when he was going to have a drink at the tavern.

I hope he won’t get drunk, he thought.

Farther on, the ground made some terracing, following a flight of steps which had been built against the walls of the harbour. Johnny walked up there without even stopping to think about it. He knew the area like the back of his hand. When he got to the top, he stopped there to look at the bay.

He had seen that sight lots of times, but he felt a different emotion that day, which he had never felt before. The dying sunset light was enveloping everything in violet brushstrokes. He felt sure for a moment that the air was even full of electricity, almost bringing some change forward.

“The wind is changing.”

Johnny winced. A man had come close to him while he hadn’t even noticed him, and he was staring at the inlet just like him. He was wearing a blue jacket and a shirt opening on his chest, tied by a green sash on his waist. He had knee-high boots on his feet. His face was pockmarked, as if he had been stung by hundreds of voracious insects and it was framed by a pair of long and thick dark sideburns, making it look as long as a beech-marten’s one.

“Something is going to happen, isn’t it?”, the boy asked him, not even knowing why he was addressing that man.

The other one nodded.

“Go back home, guy”, he told him. He put his hands on his hips and pushed his clothes aside in doing so. A sword hilt came into view. “A storm is going to break out soon. You don’t want to be around here, when that happens, do you?”

Johnny didn’t answer. He realized that he didn’t like that man. Especially when he smiled: he had his upper incisors set in gold.

He is a pirate, he thought and, while walking away, he could hear him sneer. It was a gloomy, unpleasant laughter. He turned, fearing the man was going to follow him. On the contrary, the pirate wasn’t caring at all about him.

The frantic life of the colony was dying away meanwhile. The streets were getting empty. The people who didn’t have a house to go back to, were showering inside the inns. The lamp men had started on their tour, lighting lamps and filling them with new oil. Oddly, there didn’t seem to be any dead man lying in the mud. But the night was going to be still long, to be sure about that.

Johnny walked all along the street separating him from the Pàssaro do Mar in a strange state of excitement, which he couldn’t understand. It was the fault of his meeting with the mysterious man. And he was still thinking about him, when he met one of the several guard spots scattered along the street, where a boy, about twelve years old, was hanging a warning. Some soldiers were surrounding him, looking curious.

“At last!”, one of them exclaimed

“I feared the governor had got soft”, another man added.

“Shut up”, a third one warned him. “You don’t want to be hanged too, do you?”

They went on discussing without really caring about it. It was different for Johnny. As soon as the boy had finished, he decided to move closer, attracted by the words heading on the sign.

ACCORDING TO HIS MAJESTY KING GEORGE OF ENGLAND’S WILL,

THE GOVERNOR OF PORT ROYAL SIR HENRY MORGAN

ORDERS THE EXECUTION OF THE PIRATE EMANUEL WYNNE

AT THE FIRST LIGHTS OF DAWN

He kept staring at it for a long time. After those words, there was a list of crimes Wynne had made. When he finished reading it, he started walking again.

He recollected the day when his father had taken him to watch an execution for the first time. He had put him on his shoulders, so he could see beyond the crowd. Johnny had kept laughing amused, till something had changed. His child excitement for that show had turned into horror, as soon as the rope had been passed around the prisoner’s neck. He couldn’t understand why he hadn’t expected to see him hanging there dead after a few seconds. Tears had suddenly started streaking his face.

“Why are you crying?”, his father had asked him.

“That man over there…”, he had just answered, pointing at the swaying dead body.

“He was a wicked man.” Stephen Underwood had tried to calm him down. “He had to pay for his crimes.”

Johnny had nodded, but he hadn’t perfectly understood what he was talking about. His gesture had been an instinctive one, due mainly to his irrepressible urge to go away as soon as possible.

“Just remember that you are going to meet a lot of people in your life”, Stephen had gone on. “Each of them made some mistakes. Some of them have mended their ways and decided to leave their past behind them. Some others, on the contrary, wear them proudly on their face, like sorts of masks. I’m warning you, don’t trust the latter. They will go on making mistakes and justifying themselves by saying that it’s your fault. And the worst thing is, they really believe what they are saying. Just like the man who has been executed today.”

While he was revising those words, he found himself wondering about how much he missed his father.

***

Judging from the row coming from inside the Pàssaro do Mar, he guessed that the customers had opened the dances. Someone had even started playing, since the shrill notes of a violin had joined the racket.

Johnny stopped under the porch for a moment and looked through the single window, pressing his palms against the glass. A large room made up the central body of the inn, whose walls were covered with cracked boards, reminding a lot the sides of an ancient sail boat. There was a counter at the bottom and, right on its left, the sooty mouth of a chimneypiece. The kitchen door opened on one side.

Dozens of candles were placed along the tables and on the candlesticks. The most pleasant thing in that place was just that: the light. Unlike the other inns scattered around Port Royal, Bartolomeu was proud of having the brightest one.

The boy saw him bustling about among the tables, carrying dishes and jugs to and fro. He had expected to see his mother there too, but there was no sign of her. Anne was usually the one who bustled about serving the customers.

He went back in the street and lifted his eyes to the single window in the room upstairs. The blinders were shut.

Yet he remembered having left them open.

She might have come back and shut them”, he thought. A shrill voice suddenly pierced through his head. Something might have happened to her! That bad cough never lets her alone. It’s getting worse every day.

A painful burning sensation ran through his belly. It was as if a rat had got on fire and kept gnawing his stomach in spite of that.

He ran breathlessly down the lane stretching along the inn, he opened a back door and climbed the stairs.

The sounds downstairs got blurred, muffled. It was like going through a tunnel dug inside a mountain.

And at the bottom of the tunnel, the golden sparkle of the pirate’s teeth was shining.

“Mother?”, he called out, knocking at the flat door. He didn’t get any answer from the other side. “Mother, it’s me. I’m going to come in.”

The room was enveloped in absolute darkness. There was a sharp smell of sweat inside, mixed up to something like rusty iron.

He finally identified it.

Blood.

Panic-stricken, he looked for the oil lamp on a short night table next to the door. He found it at the second attempt. He inspected the surface of that piece of furniture once more. When his fingers brushed against the linchpin, he made it click. The lamp shone with a weak flame and the light trail started to stretch on the floor, till it got to the foot of the bed. He noticed something just then. A very slight movement. Someone was moving in the shadow.

He heard a rattle at that moment, followed by a coughing fit.

That was enough to turn his doubts into certainties.

Anne was lying on the bed, her untied, long dark hair spreading in a mess on the pillow. They reminded him of the carcass of a giant octopus brought to the shore by the streams. Johnny went closer to her and she raised her eyelids a bit. Her face was cerulean, beaded with sweat. The corners of her mouth were stained with red. A blood trickle was running down her cheek, falling on the pillow where it had made a lumpy stain.

“John, is it you?”, she asked, her voice just a bit louder than a whisper. Her breast was dancing at an intermittent rhythm.

“Yes, it’s me”, he answered.

“I can’t see. My eyes are blurred.”

The boy was shocked, he didn’t know exactly what he should say. He feared that anything coming out from his mouth, could sound unconvincing.

“You’ll see, it’s nothing”, he played it down, caressing her forehead. It was icy. “You’ll feel better tomorrow morning.”

“How are you?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

The woman tried to smile. She moaned a second time, so he caught her hand.

“You must rest”, he told her.

“I know”, Anne admitted.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

“My throat is dry.”

Johnny went to the water basin and plunged a cup into it. He went back to his mother. He sat next to her softly, placing his hand on the back of her head to help her drink. The woman swallowed the liquid greedily.

“You’ve been working so much these days. You must sleep. Sleeping will help you.”

“I’m scared”, she rattled.

“There is nothing to be scared of.”

Am I trying to convince her…or myself?, he wondered.

“Just relax”, the boy went on, trying to hide his anxiety. “I’ll go downstairs and talk with Bartolomeu now. He must need some help in the kitchen.”

“Don’t go away.”

“I’ll be back soon.” Anne’s eyes turned bright. A tear fell down her face. “I’ve already lost your father. Don’t leave me alone.”

“All right. I’ll stay here with you.”

Johnny kept listening to the woman’s breathing, which was becoming regular again, till she fell asleep. He grasped her hand once more. Only then, he allowed himself to rest.

***

The governor’s carriage took Rogers to the harbour, following the track he had suggested to the coachman along the way. A strange paranoia had started peeping out inside him. The town was swarming with spies and the last thing he wished for was being tailed by one of Morgan’s lackeys. Of course, the postilion was going to get back and he could tell him everything… so he threw a bag full of money to him, when he got down the coach.

“You have understood, haven’t you?”, he warned him.

“As clear as a starless sky, captain”, the man answered.

“So tell me again what you are going to report”.

The postilion looked around. “If someone asks me, I must say I took the captain to the crossroads between the ancient walls and the main street. The one following the cape southward. I saw him get into a brothel, intending to spend some of His Excellence’s money in sweet company.”

The corsair felt satisfied. He gestured in agreement to the coachman, who left very quickly, leaving behind himself a trail of dust and crushed stones. He waited for him to disappear, then he walked along a lane leading down to the docks. There were no more than ten old buildings in terrible conditions and everything was plunging in a ghostly silence.

“Captain.”

Rogers didn’t need to turn. He could identified that catarrhal tone anywhere. “I’m pleased to see that you’re watching the area, O’Hara. Has anything happened during my absence?”

“Nothing important.”

“What about the rest of the crew?”

“They are sleeping.” O’Hara slipped out of the darkness and turned out next to him. “You took longer than expected. Has anything gone wrong?”

“We’d better discuss it privately”, Rogers cut it short. He could feel on himself the eyes of all the people spying on them behind the half open shutters.

Without adding anything else, they turned a corner. They walked along a narrow and stinking lane, till they could hear the sea washing. An old and neglected warehouse appeared in front of them, almost overhanging the docks.

“I left Husani on guard”, O’Hara explained, in a hoarse hiss.

The pirate smiled satisfied.

Of all the members of his crew, he would have entrusted just two people with his own life. The first one was James O’Hara himself, whom he had met several years before in Cuba. He was famous for being a loyal killer and his typical voice was due to the fact that his throat had been cut. His enemies had thought he was dead, without even checking it. On the contrary, nobody knew how he had survived. The second one, whose name was Husani, was a very big man, a slave in a cotton plantation in Virginia. He had been able to escape and sign up on a ship. Rogers had met him in Port Royal, where he had been charmed by the physical strength the African man had shown in a fight. Many people criticized him for the way he chose the men making up his crew. He didn’t care at all. He very much preferred working with gallows-birds similar to the ones he was hunting, rather than with spruced up and unexperienced soldiers.

After they had knocked at the door, they waited for Husani to come and open it. They didn’t have to wait for a long time. The door half-opened and a large dark face, with a grim look, peeped out in the opening.

“Good evening, captain.”

“Good evening to you”, Rogers answered.

The room was dirty. A low snoring echoed everywhere. Husani picked up a candle end and took his mates to a nearby table, being careful to avoid treading on the rest of the crew who was sleeping on the floor. Rogers sat down and O’Hara sat in front of him. He showed off the white slash of a scar under his chin. Husani stood at attention, but only after he had placed the candle on a rough canopy and filled three jugs with some dark liquor.

“So what, captain?”, he asked him.

Rogers searched through the pockets inside his jacket. He took out another bag, larger than the one he had thrown to the coachman.

“This is the first half”, he said. He threw it carelessly in the middle of the table. The coins inside it tinkled. “The rest when your work is done. As usual.”

“What shall we do?”, O’Hara inquired.

The corsair kept staring at the flickering flame of the candle. Time passed by. He finally answered in a far-away voice. “At first I thought that Morgan was making fun of me. Then I understood he wasn’t joking at all. And that was probably the worst moment.”

“Make yourself clearer.” O’Hara had started snapping his fingers. “What else does he want from us, after Wynne’s arrest?”

“The only problem is Wynne himself”, Rogers explained. “The governor had his own reasons for ordering us to look for him.” He stopped. “Do you remember what he was holding in his hand, when we found him?”

“A map”, the African answered decidedly.

“You have an excellent memory”, Rogers congratulated him. He searched through his pockets once more, he took out the roll Morgan had entrusted him with and placed it in front of himself.

O Hara stopped tormenting his knuckles. He put on an inquiring look. “Where should it lead to?”

Rogers turned his eyes from the map and laid them straight on him. He did it with no hurry, trying to find the right time to answer him.

“To the Devil’s Triangle”, he finally exclaimed.

There was a moment of silence, during which the only noise that could be heard was the continuous snoring of the crew. Husani and O’Hara cast each other a quick, surprised glance. Then the latter threw his head back and sniggered, showing his scar in all its length. It was a horrible noise, a sharp screech, like a blade scratching on a rusty surface.

“Do you find it funny?”, Rogers asked him seriously.

“I didn’t know your sense of humour was so sharp”, the other man answered.

“No humour.” The captain tapped his finger on the map. “Wynne really seems sure about what he has drawn. And so does Morgan. That’s enough for me, as far as the governor is ready to pay.”

“For Judas’s blood!”, Husani burst out. “Have you considered at least that it could be just a crazy man’s frenzy?”

He nodded and did his best telling in a detailed way how things had gone, starting from his morning meeting with Morgan and his talks with Wynne.

Meanwhile Husani had grasped one of the chairs and had sat down on it. “How are you going to persuade the rest of the crew?”

“They don’t need to know the truth at the moment”, Rogers replied. And he suddenly remembered the warning Wynne had lavished on him: There is a price to be paid by the ones searching for the treasure.

He felt himself sinking into distress, as if the sword of Damocles was swinging over his head. He tried to push it away. He couldn’t allow himself to show any kind of hesitation. O’Hara’s providential intervention came to his help.

“Which warranties is the governor granting us?”, he inquired.

Rogers smiled. The disfigured side of his face twisted into a grimace which could make even the bravest man shiver. “This mission will be made in an absolutely legal way. After the execution, Morgan is going to give me a new letter of marque.”

“God save the King!”, Husani burst out in a scornful voice.

Some men stopped snoring, muttering incomprehensible words in their sleep. Then they started making deep noises again.

“Nobody knows the governor’s real intentions”, Rogers whispered. “Not even His Majesty. If Wynne is telling the truth, this map will lead us to an incredible treasure.”

O’Hara lifted his jug in the air. He hadn’t drunk a drop since they had started plotting. “May luck help us.”

“To our health!”, Rogers whished, imitating him.

The African giant joined the toast too. “May the devil take you, captain!”

They spent most of the night discussing the organization of the journey. They agreed about the fact that it would take them five days at least to get the Delicia ready. By the way, there was enough time to plan the expedition. However, a vague foreboding kept troubling Rogers’s heart. In spite of the apparent calm atmosphere, the fear he had been feeling all evening came back again and again. Besides the warning of the French man, Husani’s exclamation echoed in his ears.

May the devil take you, captain!

***

The bells of the only church in Port Royal echoed with a deafening clangour at the first light of dawn.

Johnny woke up accompanied by that sound. He had a terrible headache, a clear sign that he had slept too little and badly. He half-closed his eyes. He saw a face hovering in the air just before him. He didn’t identify it at first. Anne’s lying body was hiding a part of his sight. He was able to focus on it at last and heard Bartolomeu greeting him in his usual drawling accent.

“Try to speak English at least”, he begged him. “I haven’t closed my eyes almost all night long. My head is hurting.”

The other man burst out laughing. “You’re right. Sorry.”

Johnny got on his feet with trouble. His numb legs were threatening to give way. He was able to avoid a disastrous fall, just because the Portuguese was ready to help him. He caught him by his arms and put him at the foot of the bed.

“I can do by myself”, he said and went to open the shutters. A breath of fresh air got into the room. The sun filtered and his features stood out against the early morning light.

He had a sharp face, surmounted by a mop of dark hair which he kept tied in a ponytail. His dark and deep eyes gave him a threatening look, stressed by his thick black eyebrows which joined each other. His upper lip was framed by a sparrow-hawk moustache.

“How is your mother?”, he wanted to know.

“Not well”, Johnny answered.

They both looked at Anne. She was still sleeping. In spite of her relaxed breathing, she might have gone through a hard night. That could be understood from the painful look she had.

“Let her have some rest”, Bartolomeu went on. “There is nothing we can do.”

“But…”

“No objections”, he warned him. “Come with me. We must talk.”

The boy agreed, but unwillingly. He went downstairs, where Bartolomeu had him sit down on a stool placed behind the counter.

“Bennet was here yesterday evening.” Bartolomeu had started fumbling about a dusty bottle of rum. “I don’t care about what you do, nor about the stories you are forced to invent to avoid making your mother worry.”

He had forgotten it all, after the latest events. He instinctively pressed his forefinger on his nose. The swelling had decreased, as well as the pain. Luckily Anne didn’t seem to have noticed it.

How could she do it, in her bad shape, he wondered.

“She is a very strong woman”, the innkeeper underlined. “But you don’t have any right to do those silly things. The boy who is bothering you today, will turn into the drunkard who will stab you tomorrow.”

“Is that one of your precepts?”

The Portuguese frowned at him. He didn’t seem to like the mocking tone he had just been addressed by. He started swallowing the liqueur.

“No, it isn’t”, he answered with a sneer. “I’ve just made it up.”

Johnny had been fearing till then that he would been given a new telling-off and he was ready to spring up. He didn’t care about anything, except his mother. That simple joke was enough to make him change his attitude.

“Come on, have a drop too”, Bartolomeu encouraged him soon after. He handed the bottle to him.

“In the morning?”

“You’ll have to turn into a man sooner or later. Let me see what your nature is. Be brave!”

The full and dense smell of the rum got to Johnny’s nostrils and he couldn’t hold back a disgusted grimace. He brought the jug softly to his lips and threw his head back. The liqueur slipped hot and sweetish down his throat. When it got to his stomach, it took fire with all its force.

“It’s burning!”, he exclaimed. A series of powerful coughing started twisting his chest. It went on like that for a while, before the amused eyes of Bartolomeu, who couldn’t stop laughing at all.

***

The governor was used to being an early-bird. Especially when he had to watch an execution. In those cases, he could hardly ever fall asleep, waiting impatiently for the moment he would go to the gallows square.

It was different that time.

After having dismissed Rogers, he had preferred to withdraw into his rooms, without touching any food.

He had ascribed his insomnia to his too spiced meals, besides anxiety. Foreboding that he wouldn’t fall asleep anyway, he had ordered Feller, his personal butler, to bring him one of the black maids who worked in the kitchen.

“You must be Abena”, he had said as soon as he had brought one of them to him.

The slave had just bowed slightly and had kept standing next to the door, looking around herself with a puzzled look.

“Don’t be afraid, my dear. Come here.” The governor had shown a predatory smile off. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

“Now, Your Excellency?”

“Yes.”

That sounded simple and Abena had started undressing. Morgan had examined her with curiosity, just like a child observing an unknown phenomenon. Then he had started undressing too. He had taken her by force and Abena had let him do it. It hadn’t lasted long, but he had looked satisfied anyway. Then he had fallen asleep.

The next morning Feller got into the room holding a tray with a glass of wine and all the things Morgan needed for his toilette: a basin of fresh water, another one full of rice flour, a series of jags with make-up and sweet-smelling clothes.

“Good morning, Excellency”, he said.

Morgan mumbled something. He took the glass and gulped the wine down, without deigning to taste it. Even if he was recognized as the most important authority in charge in Port Royal, many people still considered him as a mean and shabby pirate.

“A perfect day for a hanging”, Feller stated. He pulled the window curtains back and placed all the necessities for the day on a baroque-style cupboard.

“Where is the girl?”, the governor asked instead. He had reached his arms out, sure he would find her still sleeping next to him.

Feller didn’t lose his composure. He picked up the wig and powdered it with the rice flour. “She came out of your room without even asking for your leave. One of the gardeners saw her going back to the slaves rooms at night. These niggers are really impudent. I’m sorry I brought her to you.”

“It doesn’t matter”, he mumbled. He got up from the bed and moved to the cupboard. “Take her to the jails and let her be whipped.”

“As you wish.”

Morgan started wiping his face. When he had finished, he kept looking at himself reflected in the mirror. “Have you questioned the coachman?”

The butler spread a cloth and helped him get dry. “Captain Rogers seems to have stopped at a brothel. He probably wanted to spend some of your money.”

“That’s possible.”

“Do you trust him?”

Feller’s question seemed impudent to him. Morgan had always considered him as a small person, not only for his physical aspect but also for his character. He rarely let himself go to personal considerations.

“Absolutely not”, he answered. “In spite of that, he is the most skilled pirate who has ever sailed the Caribbean Sea.” He unscrewed the lids of the jars and rubbed a thick layer of greasepaint on his neck and face, giving them a noble paleness. Then he put some red colouring on his lips and cheeks. “Is our carriage ready?”

“Certainly”, Feller answered.

“Very well”, Morgan commented and started dressing up with the most formal and smartest clothes he owned: a white silk shirt and a leotard the same colour. All that was matched by a blue doublet. He completed his outfit by his unfailing wig, which was going to cover his thin reddish hair.

Once he had finished, he took a step back, to let the butler have a look. Feller fixed his shirt collar and nodded satisfied.

“You look perfect, Excellency”, he claimed.

“Let’s hurry up, then.” Morgan walked out of the room, turning down the large entrance staircase. “This damned doublet is choking us to death.”

***

Johnny started coughing again as soon as he got out of the inn. After his misadventure with the rum, Bartolomeu had suggested him to have a sip of hydromel, saying it would help him.

It hadn’t been like that. He ran behind a lane, kneeled down and crossed his arms on his chest. Then he threw up. The sour taste of his gastric juices blurred his eyes, making the outlines vague. He had to wait in that pose for some minutes, before he could get up.

“How disgusting”, he panted, while he plodded along the lane.

“Get out of my feet!”

The powerful voice of a soldier was shouting at him. Together with his brothers-in-arms, he was guarding a person’s lifeless corpse. One of them had grasped him under his armpits and was dragging him along the street, in the stillness of that torrid morning.

There’s something different here. That thought rose spontaneously in his mind, even if he wasn’t just referring to the sight of the corpse, but to the absence of the usual crowd blocking the main street. On the contrary, he got still more surprised when the tradesmen shut up their stalls and swarmed to the harbour.

Even the prostitutes had disappeared.

“Of course!”, he exclaimed. He called out one of the guards, who had kept back from the others. “Has the execution already started?”

The soldier was puzzled, as if he didn’t understand what he wanted from him.

“Not yet”, he finally answered. “If you hurry up…”

Johnny couldn’t hear the rest of his words. He was already running breathlessly, following the stream of people flowing to the location of the event.

***

Once he got into his carriage, Morgan felt puzzled in finding Rogers sitting comfortably among the quilted cushions covering the seats. He looked calm, without any hint of anxiety. And it was just that self-confidence which made Morgan nervous.

“What are you doing here?”, he asked, without being able to hide his dislike.

“I thought you would like a bit of company”, the pirate answered.

“You are presuming too much, captain.”

“Come on. Don’t be stiff. It’s you who dragged me into this matter, after all.”

Morgan claimed his right not to reply. There were just a few things which could annoy him in his life. One of them was sitting just in front of him. Nobody had ever dared make fun of him so openly.

“How are you going to behave?”, he asked Rogers.

“It won’t be an easy task”, he explained. “The map has no landmarks. We will have to sail blindly.”

“We are sure you’ll get through.”

Rogers shrugged, as if he wanted to show that he didn’t care at all about that matter. Since they had left, he hadn’t stopped looking out of the window even for a single moment.

The governor for his part was immersed into the deep estimation that Port Royal was certainly a wealthy colony, even if that wasn’t enough to make it pleasant. And the area they were going through proved it. The streets turned into narrow lanes stuffed with dirt. The buildings, leaning on each other, were very badly made. Even the colonizers had something wrong. In spite of that, being a greedy and opportunistic man, he had understood he could exploit the town according to his wishes. By the way, which were the differences between a pirate and a politician?

“We are sailing in a few days”, Rogers suddenly stated. “The crew has to arrange the last preparations. I haven’t given them much information about the journey yet.”

“The fewer people are going to get involved, the better for us.”

“However, I won’t be able to keep the crew forever in the dark about what we are going to do. I could risk a mutiny.”

“You aren’t risking anything, captain”, Morgan replied. “Even in that case, you would get the money we agreed on anyway, together with the new letter of marque.”

“Aren’t Wynne’s ravings scaring you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“If that was just a crazy man’s raving, we still would have nothing to lose.” The governor wiped an invisible crumble of dust away from his doublet. “Father Mckenzie must be confessing the prisoner at the moment. For what it’s worth.”

“We are all sinners”, the corsair sentenced.

“This is a cynical and cruel world. You should know it better than us. We didn’t think you were a moralist. Do you have any Puritan ancestry?”

“My ancestries aren’t important.”

“So, what is the reason for this sudden moralizing lecture?”, Morgan cut it short. “ Monsieur Wynne can send his filthy soul back to his Creator without any ceremony more. We have gotten what we wanted to know. If many people come to the gathering, better for us, so we will be able to grip the population. They are going to understand that nobody can escape God’s judgment.”

The pirate mumbled in agreement without any enthusiasm.

“Wynne’s hanging will be an unforgettable event.”

After that last consideration, Morgan waited for them to get to Port Royal.

***

The square was divided into two parts: the lower area, where the people were crowding, and a higher one, where the gallows had been erected. They communicated with each other by some stone stairs, guarded by dozens of soldiers. Around that area some cabins had been built, serving both as lodgings and as warehouses for weapons and ammunition. Several communication trenches connected the main body of the fortress to the ramparts and each of them had its own cannon battery. The south walls overlooked the sea instead. The donjon stood there.

As soon as Johnny walked through the gates, he plunged into a confused and messy crowd. He had at first the unpleasant feeling of having got lost, of being absolutely out of place in such a disarming spot.

From where he was standing, he could hardly see the gallows. He had to find a way to get closer. Luck came to his rescue as soon as the governor’s carriage arrived. The crowd was forced to part, so he took advantage of that and slipped as close as possible. He could do it without any trouble. Then a hand grasped his shoulder. He swallowed hard, fearing someone had it in for him. A soldier might have disliked what he had done. He took ages to turn round.

“What are you doing here?”, Avery addressed him, taking him by surprise.

“You really frightened me”, he replied bewildered. “I thought you were one of the guards!”

The old man burst out laughing, showing the few teeth he still had. “Do you have a guilty conscience by chance? Are you afraid of ending up over there?” and he lifted his hand lazily in front of himself.

Following his knotty finger, Johnny was bewildered by the simplicity of the structure the soldiers had built: a cross beam, supported by a post where a solid slipknot was hanging from. Everything was placed on an elevated stage, more than three meters high, which could be reached by a stair.

“Have you seen many people go to the gallows?”, he asked.

“Oh, yes, I have.” Avery’s features got wrinkled and his eyes turned unusually blank. “These people don’t care about the prisoner, only about the sound of his neck breaking. Experience has taught me to be indifferent. You are going to learn this lesson too in time.”

John was struck. He had heard a vague suffering in the old man’s voice, as if a painful memory had come to his mind. If he has really watched so many executions, he should be used to it. So, what is upsetting him?

His own fancy answered him. Bennet Avery is a pirate, John. Haven’t you understood it yet? The rumours about him are true. He was on board the Queen Anne’s Revenge. He might know the prisoner!

His wondering was covered up by the crowd rejoicing in agreement. Someone was exalting the governor’s arrival. Morgan came out of the carriage, followed by another person. The two men walked up the steps leading to the elevated area in the square.

“Some people will never change”, Avery grumbled disgusted.

Johnny didn’t seem to understand. “What do you mean?”

“Before turning to politics”, the other man explained, “the governor was an unscrupulous pirate.” His previous anxiety was wiped away by a spiteful mask. “He never hesitated to kill the members of his own crew. As far as cruelty was concerned, he came just after Edward Teach.” When he uttered that name, he was shaken by a shiver that the boy could only see quickly. “The guy behind him is called Woodes Rogers. He is a corsair. He is famous for being one of the fiercest pirate hunters.”

“So, why are they together?”

“Gold can work miracles.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“You will have to learn that too”, Avery stated sadly. “Lots of men lost their lives trying desperately to amass wealth. That’s a disease which can’t be healed.”

Johnny nodded in agreement. He understood what he meant, even if he had never had anything to do with money. When his father was running the trade company, he was too young to understand its value. Now the few coins he was able to spare looked like a treasure themselves.

“They are going to start”, the old man stated. “That is the hangman.”

A bully had turned out from one of the huts, followed by a young man who was slinging a drum over his shoulder. He greeted the governor and his guest nodding slightly. He then climbed the stairs with some trouble.

A whisper went through the spectators, like a growing wave. The drum started rolling and three soldiers came out of a second building. The last one was escorting a worn-out man, dressed in rags. He had a bad limp, his hands were tied behind his back, his oily hair was covering his face. Most of his body was marked by deep wounds and some of them were bleeding.

The crowd started laughing and making a din and someone threw vegetables at him. A man even threw a stone, which hit the prisoner’s forehead. He staggered and almost fell down, then he recovered his balance and lifted his face towards the crowd.

“Walk on!”, a guard shouted at him.

“Bastard!”, the crowd echoed him.

The prisoner was escorted under the gallows at a slow and limping pace, then he was forced to stop. The young man stopped rolling his drum. One of the soldiers stood at attention, unrolled a parchment and started reading. “For His Majesty’s and the Jamaican governor, sir Henry Morgan’s will, the present Emanuel Wynne has been sentenced to death by hanging. He is accused of murder, thief, kidnapping and piracy.”

The last word made the spectators turn into a wild frenzy, so that Johnny even started fearing for his own life. He realized that those people were in a fit of fury he had never witnessed before. They were all shouting, with no difference in sex and age. Many of them were even rushing to the stairs, to lynch the pirate by themselves. The soldiers were forced to take their weapons out and push the rioters back.

That’s what Avery meant, he thought. They want to see him dead. All at once. They don’t care about anything else.

“How do you claim yourself?”, the soldier asked, turning to Wynne. That was an ordinary question, simple and expected, and the answer wasn’t going to change things.

The pirate didn’t answer.

“May God have mercy of your soul”, the man finished. He sheathed the parchment and cast a glance at the governor, who answered by waving his hand lazily.

Wynne was forced to walk up without wasting any more time. When he was half way, his legs turned shaky and he almost slipped backwards. The audience shouted in protest. One of the soldiers grasped him and forced him to go on.

“His fate is settled”, Johnny considered sadly. “Why are they so pitiless against him?”

He waited for Avery to speak, taking his involvement for granted. As he got no answer, he turned to look at him.

He was puzzled by what he could see.

The old man eyes were so bright that they were almost reflecting the sunlight. He was holding back his tears just because he didn’t want to show himself in that condition.

Meanwhile, Wynne had got to his destination and had been left in the hangman’s hands. Dozens after dozens of voices were croaking their scorn once more, followed by a more powerful rolling of drums. Kane placed the prisoner on the trapdoor carefully and tightened the slipknot around his neck. Everything was still, even the air. Also the far-away washing of the waves had calmed down.

The French man took all the spectators by surprise at that moment. He burst out laughing loudly, overcoming the noise of the drum and of the crowd below. It was as if a cannon had fired not far from there.

“That’s how they are repaying me for having told them where the greatest treasure the world has ever seen is hidden!”, he shouted.

An icy silence fell over Fort Charles. There wasn’t any sign left of the folly which had spurred the pirate’s brain. Even Morgan looked shocked about that, his mouth wide-open with an idiot look.

“Governor”, Wynne addressed him, “where have you put the map I drew up to get to the Devil’s Triangle?”

An excited yelling started spreading through the crowd. Just like many other people, Johnny turned to look at Morgan: under the white paleness of his make-up, he could notice a slight blush of uneasiness and anger appearing on his face. He then glanced back at Avery. Before his eyes met the old man’s ones, he noticed someone else’s shape, not far from where they were standing.

He was the pirate with golden teeth.

The boy staggered, as if someone had punched him in his stomach. The man was focused on listening to Wynne’s words. For just a moment, Johnny was sure he even saw him smile lightly.

“Why has he come?”, he mumbled. He got absolutely sure and was able to dispel all his doubts: that man was making him feel breathlessly scared.

“What did you say?”, Avery asked him.

“Over there…” Those words died in his throat. The guy had vanished. Johnny looked frantically for him, searching carefully the sea of heads surrounding him. He couldn’t find him anywhere.

Meanwhile Wynne kept shouting: “If my fate is going to hell, better to hurry up!”

Morgan seemed to wake up from his indolence. He started shouting orders, but nobody was able to do much. Wynne had finished by bursting out laughing even more powerfully for the second time, increasing the spreading mess which had got hold of the fortress.

“Kane!”, he screamed. “The trapdoor! Open that damned trapdoor, silly idiot! What are you waiting for?”

The hangman grasped the machine lever and pulled it. A series of sounds followed each other very quickly. Wynne then hurtled down, keeping kicking and swinging in mid-air. In spite of the violent rebound, his neck hadn’t broken. Not only that. Even if he was choking, he didn’t stop laughing his heart out. His face started turning purple and his tongue came out of his mouth. He bit it till he tore it apart. A gush of blood stained his lips and cheeks, just like the petals of a blossoming rose.

“Let someone stop him!”, Morgan shouted, joining the frenzy of the people watching that havoc.

Only the man next to him was ready to act.

He climbed to the gallows and drew his sword out. Once he got to the platform, he slipped out of Kane’s grip who had tried instinctively to stop him, surprised in seeing him there. He hacked the rope with a clear cut and the French man crashed to the pavement at last. The impact let out an unpleasant noise, coming from broken bones. He rolled on himself twice, letting agonizing sounds out, then his body turned suddenly still.

Johnny watched all that with his heart in his mouth. Wynne’s image got impressed into his retina like a fire mark. He couldn’t avoid it anymore. He could distinguish each detail: from the pirate’s unnatural position, his broken legs and his bent trunk, to his livid face, stained by the blood he had thrown out. The disgust of the execution had shown in all its horror.

“Let’s go, Johnny.” Bennet Avery was recalling him to order. “I’ve heard what I wanted to. What’s more, I don’t like all that mess.”

The boy nodded, still more shocked: the old man had seldom addressed him by his name. Besides, he had been aware of something vaguely mysterious in his attitude, a rather sinister feeling.

His fancy overwhelmed him like a river in flood, so much that it was able to wipe his perplexity away: Avery knew much more then he implied and the moment to find it out had come.