Free The Pirate Devlin by Mark Keating Page A

slaves to colonise the bloody hole!'
      'What if he asks us over to him, Captain?' Devlin asked.
      Toombs's jaw clenched. 'What, pray, is that of a comment, Patrick?'
      'Wouldn't we be supposing a boat comes out to meet us, rightly so? They look around the ship, all done and happy, then they invite us to dine with them?'
      Everyone watched Toombs.
      'No, he dines with us. He comes aboard, we pull our pistols.' Toombs spoke as if the whole event had already happened and they were snug in their hammocks weighted down with gold.
      'But should we be asked to the island, we can't refuse, can we now?' Devlin turned to his fellow officers. 'It doesn't matter to the plan: if we sup on the island one night, the governor eats with us the next, but' - he paused, picked up a divider and pointed at the island - 'I suggest we land a boat here on the north shore, at the narrowest point, six miles north to south. Half a dozen men to cover the risk that we find ourselves separated from the ship. We could make our way there should we smell a trap.' He looked straight at Peter Sam. 'Six men to watch our backs.'
      Toombs's voice was strained. 'What are you saying, Pat?'
      'We're thinking of deeds against this man, ain't we? It's just an insurance that he's not thinking the same about us, Captain.'
      John Watson, the cooper, drew long on his pipe. 'That's not a bad plan, Captain. He has a thought sure enough.' The others stood still.
      Devlin carried on, 'And when they come aboard to spy us out, we only have enough blues for a quarter of the men. We should put as many men in the hold as possible. The rest are to dress as plain as print. I never saw a merchant yet with a hundred men aboard.' There were murmurs of agreement.
      Toombs looked around his table. 'Aye. Maybe so. We don't know what we're sailing into, that's for sure. No harm in safety, ladies, if that's the way you want your cards. Who's to sail the boat?'
      Peter Sam raised a hand. 'I'll take that honour, Captain. I'll pick my own cox'n and mates, if you please.'
      'Aye, but young Thomas will be with me, Peter. If I'm to go ashore, I want the handsomest lads with me. That carries you with me as well, Patrick, and you, Little John. Black Bill - you'll hold the Lucy for me until we return.'
      'Aye, Cap'n.' Bill winked.
      'Then that plan's a mainstay. That is if you're all happy now with Patrick's suggestion?'
      Toombs turned and vanished into the gloom of the corner of the cabin. He carried back a large roll of black cloth and unfurled a portion of it upon the table. The rolled-out piece revealed the cross-stitched eye of a white skull and a crude hourglass.
      'Stronger than pistols, boys. Swear on this.' All spat on their hands, Devlin last of all, and slapped the flag.
      'We have an accord!' Toombs jeered and rolled back the cloth. 'Dog-Leg! Rum for all!'
     
       
       He had never seen a morning rain of its kind before. It came down like a wall of water, giving an eerie luminosity to the courtyard below the window. The low, flat roofs of Cape Coast Castle hissed with steam. John Coxon looked up to the beamed ceiling in his quarters, apparently being ridden over by a thousand horses.
      Through the small paned window in his room, peeling its green paint, Coxon could see the hazy form of the frigate that would take him home. Back to sea. She lay out in the small bay, her almost skeletal prow grinning at him through the cascading rain.
      A fifth-rate frigate of thirty-four guns, no doubt twelve- pounders. Crisp yellow and black paintwork across her strakes. Coincidence or not, Phipps had made his proposal to keep Coxon there, and two days later the Starling appeared on her way back from the Indian factories.
      Not wishing to take command, he would come on board as commander under the captain. Probably some midshipman would be ousted from his berth for him, or perhaps the political adviser's space would be vacant. Nevertheless, he would be at sea.