“Yes,” said MC 2.
“Where are you from, friend? Old England, or one of the colonies?” Roland spoke casually, but he was watching MC 2’s face carefully.
“A colony,” said MC 2.
“Which one?”
“Virginia.”
“Virginia.” Roland thought a moment. “That’s up on the mainland coast, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you been in Jamaica?”
“Not long.”
Roland watched him a moment, then just gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and turned to watch Port Royal slowly shrink behind them.
Rita guessed that MC 2 was being careful under the Third Law of Robotics, which required him to protect himself if he could do so without violating the other two Laws. That would explain his reluctance to converse. She didn’t know if he had really been manufactured in Virginia or not, of course, but it was possible.
She turned her back on both Roland and MC 2 and gazed out to the open sea.
10
Wayne knew he had very little time to follow the Hungry Hawk before it was lost on the open sea. His only hope was to find someone with a ship already outfitted who was willing to sail. He paced up and down one of the docks, squinting into the sunlight as he studied the ships.
“No use,” he said to himself, finally. The distance was too great for him to see the kinds of details that would tell him if a ship out there was supplied for a voyage. He glanced around for the nearest tavern and hurried toward it, planning what he would say as he walked.
The tavern was shadowed from the hot sun, of course, but the humid air was stale and motionless inside. Wayne blinked for a moment, waiting for his vision to adjust. Then he went to the bar and waved to the burly man behind it.
“What’ll it be, mate?”
“I’m looking for a man with a ship ready to sail,” said Wayne, keeping his voice low.
“What’s his name?”
“No, I mean, I want to find such a man. Can you help?” He leaned on the bar.
“What’s in it for me?” The burly barkeeper wiped the bar idly with a damp cloth.
“A cut from his end.” Wayne glanced around warily, though the place was almost empty. “I have word that the Hungry Hawk is after a fat Spanish merchant ship.”
“Is he, now?” The barkeeper’s tone betrayed some real interest. “I did hear Quinn sailed ‘cause he was desperate for a little hard coin.”
“What better time is there? But I know which way he went and where he’s headed.” That last part wasn’t quite true, of course, but Wayne knew he had to gamble.
“That old Quinn. He just might do that. He’s a tricky one. Don’t shoot his mouth off like so many men in this town.” The barkeeper was silent a moment. “I know a man who might want to speak with you. But I’ll take my cut from both sides, thank you.” He held out his hand.
Wayne knew he had no choice. “Don’t waste any time. The Hungry Hawk is already under sail.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his few remaining coins. “It’s all I have left,” he said, dropping them into the other man’s palm.
“Better than naught. Stay right here.” The barkeeper walked down to the end of the bar and spoke quietly to someone mopping the wooden floor. With a quick nod, the other figure leaned the mop against the wall and darted out the back door.
Wayne wiped sweat from his eyes and collapsed into a seat. Without any money left, he couldn’t pay for a drink at the bar or any food or lodging later. If his plan didn’t work, he would probably have no chance to catch MC 2. In order to survive he would be forced to return to his own time and risk getting caught in some trap back at the Bohung Institute.
Through the open doorway, he could still see the Hungry Hawk sailing away. It seemed to move with painful slowness to someone accustomed to supersonic airplanes. Of course, speed was relative; a pursuing ship would be subject to the same winds.
Wayne was starting to doze in the heat when he heard the sound of fast, hard footsteps clunking into the tavern. Startled, he sat up quickly. A man’s shadow was blocking out the sunlight.
“Who wants me?” The shadow shouted, shifting shape slightly as he looked around in the nearly empty tavern.
“What’s in it for me?” The barkeeper walked down the length of the bar toward him.
“You’ll keep your throat whole. Now your man brought me over here with a story, but you’ll see no money from me until I’ve heard it all.”
“He’s the one,” said the barkeeper, nodding toward Wayne.
“Oh?” The man in the doorway came inside and glowered down at Wayne. He wore a broad-brimmed hat with several plumes on it; under the hat, long brown hair hung to his shoulders. His beard was full and shaggy; he wore a white linen shirt, black knee breeches and buckled shoes, and a cutlass swung at his side. “I’m Captain Mick Tomann of the Old Laughing Lady.”
“Wayne Nystrom, Captain. Have a seat.” Wayne sat up, gathering his wits.
Tomann sat down, watching him suspiciously. “You know of a Spanish pigeon, do you?”
“Yes,” said Wayne. He didn’t, of course, but if he could grab MC 2 on the high seas, he could just take him back to his own time from there. “But the Hungry Hawk has already gone after it. I’m looking for a partner.”
“What do I need a partner for?”
“I can tell you where to find the prey.”
“Quinn is headed northeast around the island, probably headed for the coast of Cuba. I saw that on my way here just now. Any fool can see that.”
“Ah, but what if you lose him? I know where he’s going. And you’ll need time to get under way.”
Tomann frowned at him, resting one hand on his cutlass hilt. “Not much time, matey. I have some supplies already on board for a voyage I’ve already planned. Any my crew is hanging about on the waterfront, with naught to do and spoiling for a fight.”
“You have the ship and the crew and I have the information.” Wayne jerked his thumb toward the sea. “The Hungry Hawk is under sail even as we speak.”
Tomann grinned suddenly, slammed his fist down on the table, and leaped to his feet. “Aye! Let’s go. The Old Laughing Lady is a schooner that can outsail that fat old brig on any sea, in any weather!”
Wayne smiled with relief and stood up. The barkeeper came forward.
“Captain,” said the barkeeper. “Since I brought you two together, I believe a consideration for your humble servant is in order here.”
Tomann whirled on him, drawing his cutlass in a wild, sweeping motion. The barkeeper jumped back.
“We shall see, my humble friend. If the pigeon is found heavy in the water, I shall bring a trinket back home for you. Until then, back away.”
The barkeeper did so.
“Come on, friend,” Tomann added to Wayne. “We have a crew to gather.” He sheathed his cutlass and strode out.
Wayne hurried after him.
Steve grinned as he trotted after Hunter. The big robot was carrying a massive armload of lumber on one shoulder, under the front end of the planks. He was easily able to carry the load, but Steve was hustling along under the rear end of the lumber, pretending to help so that passersby wouldn’t notice just how impossibly strong Hunter was. In addition, Hunter was carrying a bunch of woodworking tools in his other arm.
Jane walked alongside Steve, amused by the masquerade.
Hunter kept walking after the docks ended. The trio wove their way through a variety of other work areas and warehouses along the water before they finally left the occupied areas behind. Then Hunter stopped and turned to look back over his shoulder, carefully checking to see that he did not strike Steve or Jane as he lowered his load to the sand.