Birds of Prey - Smith Wilbur (версия книг TXT) 📗
He kicked open the locked door to Llewellyn's cabin, and paused to survey the interior. It was beautifully appointed, the furniture carved and polished and the drapery of fine velvet.
In the writing desk he found the keys to the iron strongbox that was bolted to the deck below the comfortable bunk. As soon as he opened it he recognized the purse he had given Llewellyn. "I am much obliged to you, Christopher. You'll not be needing this where you're going," he murmured as he slipped it into his pocket. Under it was a second purse, which he carried to the desk. He spilled the golden coins out onto the tabletop. "Two hundred and sixteen pounds five shillings and twopence," he counted. "This will be the money for the running of the ship. Very parsimonious, but I am grateful for any contribution."
Then his eyes lit on a small wooden chest in the bottom of the box. He lifted it out and inspected the name carved into the lid. "The Hon. Vincent Winterton." The chest was locked but it yielded readily to the blade of his dirk. He smiled as he saw what it contained, and let a handful of coins run through his fingers. "No doubt the gambling losses of the good. Colonel Schreuder are in here but he need never be tempted to wager them again. I will take care of them for him."
He poured a mug of French brandy from the captain's stores and seated himself at the desk while he ran through the ship's books and documents. The log-book would make interesting reading at a later date. He set it aside. He glanced through a letter of partnership agreement with Lord Winterton who, it seemed, owned the Golden Bough. "No longer, your lordship." He grinned. "I regret to inform you that she is all mine now."
The cargo manifest was disappointing. The Golden Bough was carrying mostly cheap trade goods, knives and axes, cloth, beads and copper rings. However, there were also five hundred muskets and a goodly store of black, powder in her holds.
"Och! So you were going to do a spot of gun smuggling. Shame on you, my dear Christopher." He tutted disapprovingly. "I'll have to find something better to fill her holds on the return voyage," he promised himself, and took a pull at the brandy.
He went on sorting through the other documents. There was a second letter from Winterton, agreeing to the Golden Bough's commission as a warship in the service of the Prester John, and a flowery letter of introduction to him signed by the Chancellor of England, the Earl of Clarendon, under the Great Seal, commending Christopher Llewellyn to the ruler of Ethiopia in the highest terms.
"Ah! That is of more value. With some small alteration to the name, even I would fall for that!" He folded it carefully and replaced the chest, the purses, the books and documents in the strong-box, and hung the key on a ribbon around his neck. While he finished the rest of the brandy he considered the courses of action that were now open to him.
This war in the Great Horn intrigued him. Soon the south-east trade winds would begin to blow across the Ocean of the Indies. On their benevolent wings the Great Mogul would be sending his dhows laden with troops and treasure from his empire on the mainland of India and Further India to his entre pets on the African coast. There would also be the annual pilgrimage of the faithful of Islam taking advantage of the same fair wind to sail up the Arabian Sea on their journey to the birthplace of the Prophet of God. Potentates and princes, ministers of state and rich merchants from every corner of the Orient, they would carry with them such riches as he could only guess at, to lay as offerings in the holy mosques and temples of Mecca and Medina.
Cumbrae allowed himself a few minutes to dream of pigeon's-blood rubies and cornflower sapphires the size of his fist, and elephant-loads of silver and gold bullion. "With the Gull and the Golden Bough sailing together, there ain't no black heathen prince who will be able to deny me. I will fill my holds with the best of it. Franky Courtney's miserly little treasure pales beside such abundance," he consoled himself. It still rankled sorely that he had not been able to find Franky's hiding place, and he scowled. "When I sail from this lagoon, I will leave the bones of Jiri and those other lying blackamoors as signposts to mark my passing, "he promised himself.
Sam Bowles interrupted his thoughts by sticking his head into the cabin. "Begging your pardon, your grace, we've rounded up all the prisoners. It was a clean sweep. Not one of them got away."
The Buzzard heaved himself to his feet, glad to have a distraction from these niggling regrets. "Let's see what you've got for me, then."
The prisoners were bound and squatting in three files in the ship's waist. "Forty-two hardened salt-water men," said Sam proudly, "sound in wind and limb."
"None of them wounded?" the Buzzard asked incredulously.
Sam answered in a whisper, "I knew you wouldn't want to be bothered to play nursemaid to such. We held their heads under water to help them on their way into the bosom of Jesus. For most of them it was a mercy."
"I'm amazed at your compassion, Mister Bowles," Cumbrae grunted, "but in future spare me such details. You know I'm a man of gentle persuasion." He put that matter out of his mind and contemplated his prisoners. Despite Sam's assurance, many had been heavily beaten, their eyes were blackened and their lips cut and swollen. They hung their heads and none would look at him.
He walked slowly down the squatting ranks, now and then seizing a handful of hair and lifting the man's face to study it. When he reached the end of the line he came back and addressed them jovially. "Hear me, my bully lads, I have a berth for all of you. Sail with me and you shall have a shilling a month and a fair share of the prize money and, as sure as my name is Angus Cochran, there'll be sack loads of gold and silver to share."
None replied, and he frowned. "Are you deaf or has the devil got your tongues? Who will sail with Cochran of Cumbrae?" The silence hung heavily over the deck. He strode forward and picked out one of the most intelligent looking of his prisoners. "What's your name, lad?"
"Davey Morgan."
"Will you sail with me, Davey?"
