“There’s some as don’t like the idea o’ Jack bein’ dead, and you know that rightly. We’re not out to murder our own number, Hawk, and that’s a fact, it is.”
The Hawk leaned across the table, skewering a piece of roasted lamb from a trencher in the center. His eyes met those of Captain Stoker. “Jack was well aware that theSilver Messengerwas mine. I laid claim to her back here in March, the very day we learned that she had set sail from England!”
“Jack spoke of it first—”
“Jack mentioned the ship, sir. He was interested in the Spaniard,La Madonna, out of Cartagena, at that time!”
“Still—”
The Hawk slammed his knife, meat and all, into the table, and stood. “Listen to me well, me hearties!” he called, his voice ringing out. The music ceased. In seconds, the room came silent. Every man and woman looked at him, some with trepidation, and some, the Hawk knew, like Blackbeard, with interest. Some would respect his stand, and some would whisper behind his back. “One-Eyed Jack is dead, that is a fact, and that he died by my sword I do not deny! But I did not seek his death, he desired the fight, for he disturbed what he knew to be my intention, my prize. He died in combat with me, and me alone. He died by the very rules we all know here within our hearts. If any man here—or woman”—he interrupted himself, bowing to Anne Bonny—“cares to dissent with my words, I am ready to listen. Face me now, for whisperers will know my wrath!”
A fist slammed against the table. William Logan stood. The Hawk faced Logan. They had grappled once before, in this very room. Logan had wanted an English ship, and the Hawk had seized it first. They had dueled here with cutlasses.
And Logan had lost a hand before Captain Stoker had stepped in to end it all.
Logan wanted blood now.
“The ways that I sees it,” Logan said, “Jack was already aboard theSilver Messenger. He had claimed the ship for his own. He had done battle, and he had taken the prize.”
The Hawk planted a boot atop a bench and leaned forward casually. “He knew the prize was mine. The ship was not secured when I came aboard. Jack could have given way, and sailed clean and free. He chose to fight. And he died.”
“So you’re saying, Captain Hawk, that one of our brotherhood has the right to another prize?”
“It was my prize.”
“His prize—that you seized from him.”
“The overfine logic is yours, sir.”
“What’s logic?” a drunken whore whispered, and hiccuped.
Logan bowed low to the Hawk. “Logic, sir! As you will have it!” He turned, and with his men in tow, he exited the establishment.
No one else moved for quite some time. Then a young pirate, an Englishman, rose and spoke quietly. They said that his name was Richard Crennan, but whether that was true or false, no one knew. Men left their homes to seek their fortunes, dreaming of riches. Most of them thought to return to their homes one day, and so they seldom used true names, or gave out true facts regarding the towns from which they had hailed.
The Hawk liked young Crennan. He was a gentleman pirate, so they said, and hailed from a good family somewhere. Like the Hawk, he made money on his hostages, and disdained murder.
“I say that this matter is well and done!” Crennan called out. He raised a pewter mug. “We all know the Silver Hawk. He laid claim to theSilver Messengerout of England, I know well, for I was here, in this very room, when he did so. He did not betray our articles of brotherhood! He fought a fair fight. I say, gents, that that is that!”
“Here, here!” came a voice. It was Blackbeard, the Hawk saw. The man was a bloody cutthroat, but a strong ally nonetheless.
Hawk turned to Anne Bonny. “Madame, I crave your opinion?”
She smiled. Once, he thought, she had been a young thing. With dreams similar to those dreams that haunted other young maidens. He did not know what had drawn her here.
“I saw, Captain, that you have presented yourself well. The matter is done, and the facts established.”
“I thank you, Mistress Bonny!”
He sat again. The proprietor made an appearance again, bringing wine and bread and more lamb to the table. “Hiding out lest there be trouble, eh, Ferguson?” the Hawk inquired, amused.
“Captain Hawk, I tell you, the roof is thatch, since you fine sirs do continually see fit to duel and set fires. My tables are ramshackle, easily replaced. My hide, though tough, is not so easy to replace, and so, good sir, yes! I disappear at the slightest hint of trouble.”
The Hawk laughed and poured more wine for Captain Stoker. “Ease up, Cap’n! The matter is settled now, and peacefully at that.”
“Logan will not let it lie. Already, he seeks to carve your heart from your body, you know!”
The Hawk waved a hand in the air. The musicians began to play again. A harlot shrieked with glee as a seaman poured a trickle of wine into the valley of her breasts. Laughter rose, and the night was made merry once again.
