“In the next few days, men,” he called. “On the docks as we arranged, eh?”
Enthusiastic agreement from the crowd answered him. Captain Morgan waved and the driver took the coach forward. Steve finally relaxed slightly for the first time since the buccaneers had confronted them.
“I am coming from my plantation in Rio Minho Valley,” said Captain Morgan. He smiled in the faint moonlight coming in through the windows of the carriage. “I hate to see buccaneers fighting each other when I am about to assemble new crews for my ships. We must fight the Spanish together.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Steve.
“I see you are both chilly,” said Captain Morgan. “I shall buy a round of rum at my favorite tavern. It will warm you both.”
“We’re looking forward to it,” said Steve.
“As am I.” Captain Morgan nodded to Jane. “John, I shall see that you are especially comfortable.”
Jane nodded, looking at Steve. If Steve understood Captain Morgan, he was not fooled by her appearance. Yet he seemed to respect her masquerade.
As the carriage swayed and creaked down the road, pulled by a team of lively horses, Steve tried to remember what he could about Henry Morgan. All he could recall was that Morgan had been a buccaneer captain. According to what Rita had told the team in the beginning, the commission from Governor Modyford meant that legally, right now, he was a privateer. Steve saw that he was wealthy, and that he was a big, barrel-chested, confident man, but he was surprised to see that he was also soft -spoken and considerate.
“From where to do you hail?” Captain. Morgan asked.
“From California,” said Steve, with a slight grin. “John, here, is from up the mainland coast.”
“California.” Captain Morgan eyed Steve closely. “That would be a Spanish possession on the far ocean, if I remember my maps rightly. You look a bit Spanish, in fact. Yet you speak English comfortably, albeit with an odd accent.”
“We are buccaneers,” Steve said firmly.
“Aye, that you are. Any man has a fair chance with me. Jamaica has buccaneers from every land. So tell me about your recent voyage.”
Steve decided that as long as he avoided mentioning the future or robots, telling Morgan their story was not likely to change history. During the ride into Port Royal, he told Morgan about the Cadiz and the Sidonia. He briefly mentioned the Hungry Hawk and the Old Laughing Lady; Morgan recognized the names and knew their captains.
“I told them I’d be gathering a fleet,” he said grimly. “I am not pleased that they went adventuring so close to my own call for crews. Good men and ships might have been wasted. Well, I suppose the temptation was too great to pass up. Still, I will want them with me. I hope they will be ready.”
Steve was sure that asking Questions about Morgan’s plans was not wise.
The town gate was closed when the carriage arrived. Steve noticed, however, that the driver only had to shout Captain Morgan’s name to the sentries in order to have it opened. The carriage drove into the town and down to the waterfront.
Steve looked out the window at the taverns and shops. By now, some were familiar. However, the carriage drew up at a tavern that he had not noticed before. It was a small storefront, no different from many others.
“This is not the wildest tavern in town,” said Captain Morgan. “I would say it is not the best, either, but it’s a favorite of mine. You will join me for that rum, eh?”
“Of course,” said Steve.
Jane smiled and shrugged.
The footman opened the door for them. At Captain Morgan’s gesture, Steve slipped out first and waited for Jane. Then they followed their host into the tavern.
It was a small, cozy establishment lighted with torches on the walls and candles on the rough wooden tables. The tavernkeeper greeted Captain Morgan familiarly, as did several of the buccaneers drinking at the tables.
Captain Morgan took a big, round table in the middle of the room. He ordered three tankards of rum, with an amused smile at Jane. She was still not speaking, to masquerade as “John,” but Captain Morgan seemed to consider it merely a mild joke.
The rum was served with a bottle and a plate of tropical fruit. Captain Morgan raised a tankard to Steve and Jane. They clanked theirs against his.
“To good sailing,” said Captain Morgan, before taking a long drink.
“To good sailing,” Steve repeated.
Jane muttered the same quietly, smiling shyly.
“I say,” said Captain Morgan, studying Steve again in the light. “You have a trace of Moor in you, do you?”
Steve laughed and decided to explain his ancestry to Captain Morgan the best he could. “I live in Spanish California, but my family originated in, uh, Cathay. You’ve heard of it?”
“Ah! Yes, I’ve heard tales of distant Cathay, on the far side of the world. Never been there. May hap I’ll go someday.” He took a drink of his rum. “What’s it like?”
“Uh-I don’t know.”
“Eh?”
“I was born in, uh, the New World.”
“Ah! I see, of course. But I still don’t understand how your English is so good if you grew up in New Spain.”
Jane suppressed a smile, and hid behind her tankard.
“Well….” Steve tried to think of an answer. “Captain, I suppose we have more English speakers in California than you realize.”
“Hm! Well, it could be. I wouldn’t know.” Morgan gestured to the plate of fruit and waited until Jane had taken a banana and Steve had picked up a bunch of grapes. “What I do know is that Spain has plenty of rich pickings in this sea, and all the way down the Atlantic Coast.”
“The Spanish Main,” said Steve, repeating a phrase he remembered.
“Aye, so it is. And someday I’ll cross all of it.” Captain Morgan peeled a banana for himself. “It’s full of sweet little towns just waiting for a man of vision to take, just one of these days.” He took a bite of the banana.
“Really?” Steve spoke casually, aware that Captain Morgan was in a mood to talk shop with them. He also realized that he was very hungry, and saw that Jane was reaching for an apple.
“Spain has the richest cities in the Americas,” said Captain Morgan. “And the strongest.”
“The strongest?” Steve took another banana.
“Aye! Oh, any city can be taken, all right. But it takes thought and planning and men of stout heart.” Captain Morgan glanced at both of them and sat up. “By the stars, I forgot my manners! You two have had no supper, I wager.”
“Well…you’d win your wager.” Steve grinned. “But we welcome your hospitality as it is.”
“Nonsense!” Captain Morgan waved to the tavernkeeper. “Two beefsteaks for my friends here! Potatoes, too!” He smiled and spread his arms. “No guests of mine go hungry.”
“We are in your debt,” said Steve.
17
When the grilled steaks and boiled potatoes arrived on wooden platters, Steve and Jane ate eagerly. Steve found his steak rather tough, but he was too hungry to care much. Jane did not complain, either. The tavernkeeper brought sea salt, black pepper, and some sort of red peppers to spice up the meal. Around them, the tavern remained nearly empty.
“May hap you heard about my voyage to Cuba last year,” said Captain Morgan, before taking another swig of rum.
“Hm?” Steve made a noncommittal noise, glad that his mouth was full. He didn’t want to insult the Captain by saying he had not heard of it, but he also didn’t want to be caught pretending to have heard of something he hadn’t.
“The attack on Puerto Principe,” said Captain Morgan, relaxing in his chair. “It’s in Cuba, to the north of us here in Jamaica.”
Steve nodded, glancing at Jane. She shrugged slightly, indicating that she knew nothing about the subject either. Captain Morgan did not seem concerned.