Chapter 107: Every Ambitious Bastard
The Rose came with her canvas coming down from the yards, men swarming through the rigging as naturally as gulls finding a fresh catch. Mooring lines flew ashore, then drew tight against the pilings.
By the time her keel was put to rest in Nassau’s muddy embrace, Cudjoe had already left the babysitting to Briggs and crossed the deck to meet James at the gangway.
"Ship’s in good hands." Cudjoe looked James over. "Ye’re not."
James pressed a hand against his chest. "You wound me, Cudjoe. Truly wounded. A man sails clean across the Caribbean and this is what he gets."
"If I leave ye tae yer own devices for an afternoon I’ll find ye recruitin’ volunteers tae storm Havana."
He fell into step beside James as they went down the gangway. "Last time I did, ye came back covered in shite, swearin’ about a swamp panther."
"That were one time."
"One time’s enough. I’ve a fair suspicion ye’d treat it as a challenge tae outdo yerself."
James scratched thoughtfully at his jaw.
"Well... it’d be a shame to disappoint ye expectations."
Cudjoe’s mouth twitched.
Nassau had never been peaceful, but James felt the change the moment they left the waterfront behind.
The streets were packed, with sailors crowded outside taverns that could not have seated most of them, and the easy laughter he remembered had given way to tension. Men stood in hard little knots, speaking low instead of shouting over mugs of rum. More than one kept a hand on a sword hilt that had no business being drawn yet.
Outside a tavern with no sign above the door, two men shoved each other hard enough that a third had to wedge himself between them before steel cleared leather. Nobody watching seemed surprised, and a few even looked disappointed when it ended without blood.
The women who normally worked the street lingered close to doorways instead of calling men over. They watched the crowds with more caution than interest this time.
"Bellamy’s the only one with the balls tae keep what he’s took," one man declared from a cluster outside a rum shop.
"Jennings has more ships than the lot o’ ye put together," another shot back. "He’ll have the whole place before summer’s out."
Cudjoe never broke stride.
"Seems to be the same discussion every doorway since we docked, I’d wager."
"Aye." James nodded. "Only difference is which name they’re shoutin’."
They had not gone another block before a hand clamped around James’s arm and hauled him sideways into the mouth of an alley, pulling him clear of the traffic. His own hand had already started toward Verdict before he realized who had grabbed him.
"Christ, Thatch."
James pulled free more on principle than necessity.
"A man could lose a hand doin’ that to a stranger."
"Ye’re no stranger, Calloway. Ye’re just late."
Thatch flashed a grin broad enough to show most of his teeth beneath that wild beard, then dragged James into a rough embrace that ended with a heavy slap across the shoulder.
"Thought ye’d gone and got yerself killed somewhere, the way ye vanished."
Behind him, Caesar occupied most of the alley without seeming to try. He gave Cudjoe a short nod.
"Caesar."
"Cudjoe."
That seemed to settle everything that needed settling between them.
"Right then."
James looked from one to the other.
"You didn’t drag me off the street for the pleasure of me company. What’s happened?"
Thatch’s grin went out at once. "Whole business has holed herself clean below the water, Calloway. Nassau’s comin’ apart at the seams, and half the town’s already pickin’ over what’s left."
James had more than enough context to guess what had happened.
"Reckon then Bellamy’s took Hornigold’s ship out from under him."
Thatch frowned so hard his beard seemed to bristle with it. "Now hold on. I’ve been carryin’ that morsel round lookin’ for somebody worth tellin’, and ye’ve gone and stolen the words clean out of my mouth before I’d the pleasure."
James snickered with a smile.
"I can put ’em back if it’d make ye happier."
"It wouldn’t."
Thatch jabbed a thick finger into James’s chest. "Heard you barely got boots on Nassau dirt, yet somehow ye’re already a day ahead of the rest o’ us. One of these years I’m goin’ to discover ye’ve got a cabin boy hidin’ inside every tavern in the Caribbean."
James scratched at his jaw.
"That’d be too much work."
"Don’t dodge me."
"I wasn’t plannin’ on it."
"So how’d you know?"
James’s grin widened. "I’ve spent enough years around ambitious men to know what happens the moment one smells an empty chair."
Thatch stared at him for a long moment, then gave a disgusted shake of the head. "You know, I almost preferred believin’ ye’d made a bargain with the Devil. It’d be simpler than listenin’ to ye explain yerself."
Cudjoe folded his arms.
"He does that. Best get used tae it."
"Well?" James asked. "How bad is it?"
Thatch snorted. "Like you don’t bloody know already, his crew voted him out. He refused one too many British ships, and enough of the lads got tired of watchin’ fat merchantmen sail by untouched. Black Sam Bellamy’s been sayin’ for the better part of the month that Hornigold wears a pirate’s coat over a merchant’s conscience and enough men believed him to make it stick."
"And Hornigold? Where’s the old man now?"
"Bugger me if I know. Maybe the Devil whispers in yer ear before he comes to mine."
Caesar’s deep voice rolled through the alley.
"Jennings happy. Jennings always happy when other man fall down."
"Caesar’s got it."
Thatch gave a short nod. "Jennings been stirrin’ every pot in the docks since it happened. Wants the whole mess figured out before he has to risk his own neck for the chair."
"And has he?" Cudjoe asked. "Or is every ambitious bastard in the harbor still circlin’ the same empty seat?"
"Every last one."
Thatch spread both hands.
"Vane wants it, though he’s barely got a ship worth boastin’ about."
"He’ll still swagger in like he commands a fleet," James snickered.
"He only needs one deck and an audience," Cudjoe nodded.
Thatch snorted.
"Levasseur seems to fancy him next."
Caesar grunted. "Frenchman."
"Exactly," Thatch said. "Everyone reckons he’d sell the chair before he’d warm it."
Cudjoe clicked his tongue. "What about Burgess?"
Thatch rolled his eyes.
"Wants the chair well enough, but not if somebody might stick a knife in him for sittin’ in it."
"So he wants somebody else to win it first," James scratched his chin.
"So he can decide afterward they were his choice the entire time," Cudjoe added.
"And Bellamy?" James asked.
Thatch’s smile faded. "Bellamy’s got the Marianne, aye, but the lads who put him there already wonder if they’ve backed the wrong horse. They are still watchin’ to see whether he can keep her long enough to prove them right."
"None of which explains why I get the feelin’ this concerns me more than it should."
"Because it does."
Thatch’s grin came back.
"Your name’s been floatin’ round ever since this whole mess started."
Thatch jerked a thumb toward the harbor. "You sail into Nassau with that fat brigantine of yers, broad enough to cast shadow over the docks, and now nobody fancies meetin’ her head-on. The lads reckons you’re buildin’ her big enough to trade broadsides with the King’s own ships, and once folk start tellin’ stories like that, they’ll be shoutin’ yer name whether ye fancy it or not."
James frowned.
"Call my lass fat again and I’ll have you rowin’ to England in a bloody washtub."
Thatch grinned through his beard.
"Fat she may be, but she’s broad as a whore’s arse and twice as stubborn."
"That’s because she was built right. Not every man dreams of commandin’ a glorified fishin’ smack."
"Aye, there’s the prick I remember."
He clapped James on the shoulder. "And that’s exactly why they’re shoutin’ yer name. They reckon any mad bastard who sails a beast like her has already got some dafter notion brewin’ in his skull."
James snorted. "They’re welcome to reckon. I’ve no desire to spend me days wipin’ the arses of every squabblin’ sea cock on this rock."
Thatch threw back his head and laughed.
"Fair enough. I’d sooner herd sharks than these bloody fools."
James let out a breath. He looked to Cudjoe, who answered with nothing more than a raised eyebrow. Somehow, that said everything.
Thatch jerked his head toward the crooked street that climbed to the Rat.
"Come on. They’re all waitin’."
The four of them fell into step.
"So who’s actually sittin’ at the Rat?" James asked.
"Take the worst table in Nassau and fill it with captains."
"Right then."
He rolled one shoulder loose.
"Reckon it’s time I went and paid them all a visit."