Assassin's Creed: Black Flag by Bowden Oliver

Author:Bowden, Oliver [Bowden, Oliver]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2013-12-03T06:00:00+00:00

THIRTY-FOUR

MARCH 1716

We set course south-east or thereabouts. Edward said he’d seen this particular galleon lurking around the lower reaches of the Bahamas. We took the Jackdaw, and as we sailed we found ourselves talking to James Kidd and quizzing him on his parentage.

“The bastard son of the late William Kidd, eh?” Ed Thatch was most amused to relate. “Is that a true yarn you like spinning?”

The three of us stood on the poop-deck and shared a spyglass like it was a black-jack of rum, trading it in order to peer through a wall of early-evening fog so thick it was like trying to stare through milk.

“So my mother told me,” replied Kidd primly. I’m the result of a night of passion just before William left London . . .”

It was difficult to tell from his voice if he was vexed by the question. He was different like that. Edward Thatch, for example, wore his heart on his sleeve. He’d be angry one second, hearty the next. Didn’t matter whether he was throwing punches or doling out drunken, rib-crushing bear-hugs, you knew what you were getting with Edward.

Kidd was different. Whatever cards he was holding, he kept them close to his chest. I remembered a conversation we’d had a while back. “Did you steal that costume from a dandy in Havana?” he’d asked me.

“No, sir,” I replied. “Found this on a corpse . . . one that was walking about and talking shite to my face only moments before.”

“Ah . . .” he’d said, and a look had crossed his face, impossible to decipher . . .

Still, there was no hiding his enthusiasm when we finally saw the galleon we were looking for.

“That ship’s a monster, look at the size of her,” said Kidd as Edward preened himself as though to say, I told you so.

“Aye,” he warned, “and we cannot last long face-to-face with her. You hear that, Kenway? Keep your distance, and we’ll strike when fortune favours us.”

“Under cover of darkness, most likely,” I said with my eye to the spyglass. Thatch was right. She was a beauty. A fine ornament for our harbour indeed, and an imposing line of defence in its own right.

We let the galleon draw away towards a disruption of horizon in the distance that I took to be an island. Inagua Island, if my memory of the charts was correct, where a cove provided the perfect place for our vessels to moor, and the abundant plant and animal life made it ideal for re-stocking supplies.

Thatch confirmed it. “I know the place. A natural stronghold used by a French captain named DuCasse.”

“Julien DuCasse?” I said, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice. “The Templar?”

“Name’s right,” replied Edward, distracted. “I didn’t know he had a title.”

Grimly I said, “I know the man and if he sees my ship, he’ll know it from his time in Havana. Meaning he may wonder who’s sailing her now. I can’t risk that.”

“I don’t want to lose that galleon,” said Edward.

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