“I don’t agree with him. Any changes we cause are minor and will be absorbed by the larger forces of history.”
She suppressed a smile. “I agree with you.”
“MC 2 was with you. Did he join the fighting on the Sidonia?”
Rita hesitated. “It won’t matter. Everyone is sailing back to Port Royal, anyway.”
“I guess that’s true. But I still want to know which ship he was on when you saw him last.”
“Yes, he joined the fight on the Sidonia. I suppose the First Law took over.”
“That’s what I figured.” Wayne studied her quietly for a moment.
“Well?”
He shrugged, then nodded toward the bed. “All right. You might as well get some sleep tonight.”
“What are you going to do with me?”
“For now, Captain Tomann will keep you here. When we reach Port Royal, I’ll go look for Hunter; I know he’s looking for me, too. Maybe we’ll make a deal.”
“A deal?”
“I’ll trade you for MC 2 and Hunter’s promise not to interfere with me.” Wayne moved to the door and then turned with a smile. “I believe that the First Law will force Hunter to place your welfare ahead of MC 2’s. Now, after I leave, I’ll have to bolt the door from the outside. You bolt it from the inside, too. You wouldn’t want a drunken Captain Tomann coming for a visit.”
Steve watched the sun go down in the west over the island as he and Jane walked through the thick Jamaican forest. The sweet aroma of flowers filled the air. They found themselves hiking by moonlight through the trees toward Port Royal. Then they came across a dirt road with wagon ruts and followed it. The moon shone down on the road, but only shadows were visible on each side.
“I hope this goes to Port Royal,” said Steve. “Following the sun to go west was easy, but we can’t see the stars too well, with all the trees overhead.”
“I suppose it does,” said Jane. “Where else would it go, this close to town?”
“Nowhere else I know of,” said Steve. He rubbed his arms. “My clothes are still wet. Are you cold?”
“Yes. But I’m drying out slowly. I’ll be okay.”
“I’m still not used to this humidity. In the desert, we would have dried out almost right away.”
“What’s that light over there?” Jane pointed to their left, up ahead.
Steve looked. A small light flickered through the trees; some distance away. “It must be someone’s campfire.”
“Aye, that it is,” said a man’s voice.
As Steve stopped in surprise, the dark silhouettes of people stepped out of the shadows, merely shadows themselves in the darkness. Their movements rustled the tree branches and underbrush as they came forward. They had obviously been prepared for intruders. Some blocked the road in front of Steve and Jane, but others came out of the trees on each side of the road. When Steve glanced over his shoulder, he realized that some were behind them, too. He could hardly see them.
16
“And who might you be?” One of the men in front of Steve had spoken.
“Steve and John,” said Steve, hoping Jane would say nothing. In the dark, the strangers could stand close and still not see that she was a woman. “We’re shipwrecked off the Hungry Hawk.” Taking a deep breath, he decided to be bold. “Who might you be?”
“I’m Nick Van Dyne,” said the man in front of him. “Lately of Port Royal, but we haven’t done so well lately. So it’s our fire you see.”
“We saw those ships from the shore this afternoon,” said another man. “And we heard you coming down the road just a bit ago.”
“Aye, we did,” said Nick, resting his hand on his rapier. “But we have not been welcome in Port Royal for some time, those of us whose gold ran out. We haven’t had a ship to crew for some time. I think these two might have some plunder they could share with us.”
“We don’t have anything,” said Steve.
“Ha! Two Spanish ships were in that fight today, and they both set sail with the others back for Port Royal. I say they were both fat pigeons with plenty of booty for every buccaneer who took part in the voyage.”
“We got thrown off the ship during the fighting,” said Steve, carefully eyeing the buccaneer on his left. That man was holding his cutlass in one hand, down by his side. “No plunder had been divided yet.”
“We shall see,” said Nick, drawing his rapier. “Grab them both!”
Steve had been ready, however. As soon as Nick had reached for his rapier, Steve had whirled to the man holding the cutlass near him and punched him in the stomach. He wrenched the cutlass away just in time to block a thrust from Nick, backing up a step. Then, half-expecting the other buccaneers to jump on him from all sides, he waited for Nick’s next stroke.
The crowd of buccaneers laughed, however, at the way Steve had caught the one man by surprise and taken his sword. Meanwhile, Steve figured that he had little to lose by fighting. These pirates were more aggressive, and probably more desperate, than those on the waterfront of Port Royal. From the bullies and brawlers he had known in the desert back home, he was sure they would respect a fighter. Any attempts he made to mollify them now would be considered cowardice.
“Stand back!” Nick laughed. “He’s a poor man with a sword, but has spirit. Let’s see what else he has.”
Steve kept the cutlass high in front of him as Nick feinted, twirled his point in Steve’s face, and lunged again. As before, Steve knocked the thrust aside with a minimal movement; he could see that a big swing of his arm would momentarily leave him wide open. He really didn’t know what he was doing, however, and had to back up again to avoid a quick flurry of short feints from Nick.
“Get him, Nick!” The man who owned the cutlass shook his fist at Steve.
“He got the better o’ you, all right,” said someone in the crowd, and they all laughed.
Steve’s opponent was quick and confident. All Steve could do was block the strokes he could and slowly back away from the others. Sooner or later, he was likely to back into a tree or trip over a rock or log and fall.
“Stand to, fellow,” said Nick, laughing. “How can we fight if you keep running away?”
“Aye,” called another man. “He probably jumped overboard and swam for shore the same way!”
The buccaneers bellowed with laughter.
Vaguely, as Steve parried again, he heard the sounds of horses and the creaking of some vehicle on the road behind the crowd. He didn’t dare turn to look, but a large, looming shadow blocked the moonlight in his peripheral vision. In front of him, Nick also refused to look away.
Voices sounded behind the crowd. Then, suddenly, the buccaneers gave enthusiastic greetings to someone. The crowd moved quickly away from Nick and Steve and Jane.
“It’s Captain Morgan,” called someone loudly. “Nicky! He’s coming!”
The crowd parted and a tall, burly man strode through the opening.
“Good evening, men,” he said heartily. “So, having a little fun, are you?”
Nick glanced at him quickly, then lowered his rapier, still watching Steve warily. “Evening, Captain.”
Steve dropped the cutlass on the ground. He was grateful for the interruption and wanted to give Nick no excuse to resume the fight. Whatever happened next, he and Jane would have better luck trusting to chance than trusting his fencing.
“A personal row, I suppose.” Captain Morgan looked back and forth between Nick and Steve. “I say, fellow, you’re all wet. So is your friend.”
Steve peered at him in the moonlight. He wore a broad-brimmed hat with plumes, a fancy ruffled shirt, and an unbuttoned coat. A sword and scabbard hung from a polished belt that had a pistol stuck through it. He spoke with a British accent that was different from the ones Steve had heard in Port Royal.