The Pirates and the Nightmaker by James Norcliffe Read Free Book Online Page A

Wicker, then, in a firm voice. ‘I believe that there is a vessel not many leagues from here yonder.’
    He pointed over his shoulder in the direction from which I had come. He then added, ‘We must find the strength todraw nearer to it. The men should take shifts at the oars.’
    Captain Lightower opened one sceptical eye and then stared at Mr Wicker in astonishment.
    ‘I see that you have assumed command of this craft, Mr Wicker,’ he observed. ‘And furthermore would have me and my men ordered by your delusions.’
    ‘Certainly not, Captain,’ said Mr Wicker amiably. ‘And I am certainly not deluded.’
    ‘You have been too much in the sun,’ growled the captain.
    ‘You will recall, Captain,’ said Mr Wicker, ‘how I was able to persuade you to grant me passage on the
Firefly
?’
    The captain stared at him balefully.
    ‘You will remember, gentlemen, the unfortunate end of Jacob Stone?’
    The men, who had been staring at Wicker, shifted and looked away.
    ‘With those things firmly entrenched in our memories, Captain,’ said Mr Wicker easily, ‘I really do consider it important that we row towards the barque
Medusa
which lies just beyond and where I am sure we will receive a welcome from her captain, Jenny Blade, well known in these waters for both her barque
and
her bite, although which is worse, I cannot tell …’ He laughed at his own jest, although it was greeted with silence by the others.
    I looked at Mr Wicker in surprise. I was certain I had not mentioned the name of Jenny Blade. Had he been able to read my mind? That was a most disconcerting thought and it troubled me deeply. Did that mean, then, that he must know of Sophie and how she could see me and speak to me? On theother hand, he had seemed familiar with the
Medusa
, and if that were the case it might only mean he knew the name of her captain. Once again I realised what a deep and mysterious man Mr Wicker was and I reminded myself that I must never take him lightly or underestimate him.
    The crew, too, were having similar thoughts albeit for different reasons. Perhaps it was the memory of Jacob Stone, perhaps it was the easy assurance of Mr Wicker, or perhaps it was the chapter and verse of his assertion: the name of the ship and the name of its captain, or probably all three, but after brief muttering and glances to organise themselves, four of the men took to the oars and began to row in the direction of Mr Wicker’s pointing finger.
    To my surprise, the captain did not countermand the instruction, but remained scowling in the stern gazing at Mr Wicker with hate-filled eyes.
    ‘You have done well, little man,’ murmured Mr Wicker, turning to me. ‘We will make a perfect combination.’
    I mentioned earlier that I had sought praise from Mr Wicker for my discoveries, but something in this praise chilled me. He had not said,
We have made a perfect combination
; instead he said,
We will make a perfect combination
.
    He spoke of the future. He spoke as if what I was now, and what I was to be to Mr Wicker, would continue to be.
    I felt a chill that I had experienced only once before. We had been not far from the Caribbean Sea when we had encountered a strange-looking brigantine, heavily armed and with a barricade of iron dividing the top deck.
    ‘What is that?’ I had asked Dr Hatch.
    ‘That, Master Loblolly Boy, is a slaver bound, I dare say, for Jamaica same as us. There’ll be more human misery below those decks than a man could possibly reckon. Give thanks you were born an English Christian and not an African heathen, or you could have been counted among the poor benighted souls below.’
    The chill I felt then was the chill I felt now. Mr Wicker was hinting that from now on we would be a
combination
, a combination, I suddenly understood, of master and slave.
    At least, unlike the slaves on the brigantine, I had no chains of iron. On the contrary, I had wings — and wings surely meant freedom? Without even thinking and without