"T'ain't so bad, John!" said Israel Hands. "We're better placed here than the other forts, and well provisioned besides."
"Hmm," said Silver. Warily he looked out past the crenulations they'd raised atop the ramparts, working at night when the Indians couldn't shoot. That'd been Israel Hands's idea. Now the fort looked like a story-book castle, but a man could take a bit of shelter when he looked out. They had timber shields mounted round the gun-barrels too, with a slot for sighting, to hide the gunners so the swabs outside couldn't shoot into the emplacements.
Yes, they'd learned some new tricks, and Fort Silver always had been the strongest. It was on rising ground, and they'd cleared the trees and bushes further out, for the work had been done early on when there was more time. The result was that the sharp-shooters with their long guns couldn't overlook the fort, and couldn't get close enough for their best marksmanship: not without a four-pound shot coming out to greet them!
Now there were twenty-seven men and a boy inside the fort, counting Billy Bones, still in leg irons and not to be trusted, but not Ben Gunn, who'd gone off on his own when they manned the fort, since he couldn't bear being locked in, and Silver couldn't bear being locked in with him.
"You're in command, Mr Gunner," said Silver.
"Aye-aye, sir," said Israel Hands, and raised a hand to his hat. Silver went down the ramp from the walls and found Mr Joe, sat quiet in the shade by himself.
"Hallo, lad," said Silver, and sat down with his one leg stretched out in front of him and the green parrot on his shoulder.
"Pretty thing!" said Mr Joe, and reached out to touch the bird.
"Wouldn't if I was you," said Silver.
"Awwwwwwwwwk!" said the bird. "Bugger off!"
"Sorry, lad, but this old bird's contrary, and she don't like it here, do you, Cap'n?" He stroked her head and ruffled her feathers, and she rubbed herself against him and nibbled his fingers.
"John Silver! John Silver!" she said, and gently nipped his ear with a beak that could crack walnuts.
Silver looked at the bandage over Mr Joe's eye.
"How's it doing?"
"It hurt a bit."
"Is it hot? Swolled up?"
"No. It bad when I got here. Very bad. But Mr Hands, he cleaned it out with a spoon." He tried to be offhand, tried to be bold, but he shuddered at the memory.
"Had to be done, lad… But never mind, the girls'll like you with a patch!"
"Huh!"
"Them Indians…" said Silver.
"Cap'n?"
"You say they jumped on you in the woods outside Fort Foremast?"
"Aye, Cap'n. And they catch all the rest. Eight men. But not me."
"Why not?"
"Me run fast. Me run to Fort Spy-glass. Me call out loud. They let me in."
"So then what?"
"Me tell them in Fort Spy-glass. Me tell them we got to come here."
"To Fort Silver?"
"Aye, Cap'n."
Silver nodded. The garrison of Fort Spy-glass had been twelve men. Thirteen, including Mr Joe. Of that total, just seven had reached Fort Silver.
"Blasted Indians!" said Silver.
"Aye, Cap'n."
"So why'd you come here?"
Mr Joe blinked. It was obvious.
"For you, Cap'n! You the big man. The best man. You know what to do!"
Silver sighed.
Selena turned away. It was another counciclass="underline" long and protracted and herself forbidden to take part. She walked off. It was very dark. The few Patanq not already at the fireside looked sidelong at her as they edged past to get there: tall, dark figures, with gleaming skulls, black eyes, and the animal smell that hung over them. The smell was sometimes the first you knew of their presence, for they made no sound at all.
She made them uneasy. They didn't know how to treat her. Bentham said they'd walk straight into one of their own women if she didn't get out of the way. They'd knock her down and never look back. But they didn't know how to treat a woman who wore men's clothes and carried pistols, and who was ranked as an equal by Sun-Face, whom they treated with profoundest respect… and fear.
Bentham said Dreamer thought Flint was the Devil — Satan, Lucifer, the Evil One — walking the Earth in a man's body… a nasty thought on a dark night! Selena shuddered and looked all around. Then she frowned. Bentham said too much! Bentham was always trying to talk to her, and it was Bentham that'd made it a joke that she'd come ashore to treat the wounded, and insisted that she should be part of the fighting instead. And Flint had laughed too, and Dreamer and the Patanq had looked on, blank-faced with their guns in their arms, and wondering what was a man and what was a woman among the white ones.
"Selena!"
She turned. Huh! It was Bentham himself… herself- whatever — following her. She stopped.
"What do you want?" She put her hands on her pistols. She wasn't what she'd been a year ago. She knew what was in Bentham's mind — whatever Bentham was — and once it would have frightened her, and disgusted her. But things were changed. Bentham might be nearly twice her weight and a foot taller, but she'd seen how men dropped when she shot them, and saw no reason why Bentham shouldn't do the same.
"Well?" she said.
"I wants to talk," said Bentham in his soft voice.
"That's close enough!" she said, half pulling a pistol.
It was hard to see Bentham's expression in the dark forest, but he raised his hands and bowed his head.
"Miss Selena," he said, "please listen. Please listen to what I'm offering. I wants you to know that my intentions — "
That was as far as Danny Bentham got.
"No!" said Selena. Flint was bad enough, but Bentham? "Now you listen to me," she said, "I don't know what you think you are, and I don't care. But I don't want any of it. Go away, Danny Bentham… you're just a woman dressed up as a man!"
Bentham stopped dead. Nobody said that! Nobody dared! And it hurt. Especially from her. Bentham tried to be angry but couldn't. Instead, Bentham was belittled and bereft. And when Selena turned and walked away, Bentham couldn't find the will to follow her but stood with the slow tears flowing.
Selena walked off and found a quiet place and stood with her hands over her face, burdened by all the old fears and hopes. Flint would kill Silver. She knew that now. Never doubt it. He'd been chuckling about the Patanq and their rifles, and said it was the end of Silver's forts, and he was already planning how he'd kill Silver when he got hold of him. So Silver was gone. But even if he wasn't, what would Silver, or Flint, or even Cowdray — who looked at her so moon-faced — what would they want with a black woman, even a lovely one, once they'd rolled her on her back? What did any white man want with a black woman? Even in Charlestown, they'd treated her as a doll, not an equal.
What could she do?
Chapter 30
Just before noon Cornelius Van Oosterhout came up on deck, and the crew instantly doffed hats and moved respectfully to the lee side of the quarterdeck, for he was a man of great authority. He commanded aboard this ship — and throughout the Patanq fleet — by order of Dreamer the medicine sachem, by order of Flint the pirate, and by virtue of his skill as a navigator… not to mention his ability to put any man flat on his back who gave trouble.
He'd soon had quite enough of Mr Foster and Lucy May, and had moved to the best ship of the fleet: The Lord Stanley a Whitby-built collier-bark of three masts and four hundred tons. She was a stout, weatherly ship with deep holds, comfortable cabins, and a master, Mr James York, who was a muscular young man, thick-waisted, black-stubbled, and heavy-fisted, who ran so smart a crew that Van Oosterhout could concentrate on his calculations, leaving the ship entirely to him.