Keffer, J [Hornblower's Legacy 03 Brewer and the Barbary Pirates by James Keffer

Author:James Keffer
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Penmore Press LLC
Published: 2019-04-01T23:00:00+00:00

The following morning found Gerard and Brewer in the captain’s cabin. Bush sat behind his desk, the letter of marque from the Venetian sitting before him.

“This makes two we’ve found with his signature,” Gerard said. “Why does he sign them? Why not the Bey?”

“Perhaps it gives the Bey a way to deny involvement,” Brewer said. “He gets to blame it on Reis.”

Bush shrugged. “We’ll ask Reis when we catch him.”

Gerard smiled. “Perhaps our friend in sickbay can tell us where he is.”

“Capital idea, Gerard,” Bush said. “Let’s have him in. Mr. Brewer, pass the word for two marines to fetch him.”

Brewer did so, and as the men waited, Ali came in and made a preliminary report.

“Captain,” he said, “these are intelligence reports on movements of British shipping.” He held one up. “This one says four ships are scheduled to leave Malta on the seventeenth.” He held up another. “And this one says that ships will find good hunting ground off the Neapolitan coast for the next three months.”

“Well done, Ali,” Bush said. “Get with Mr. Bell; I want a translation ready to go with the originals to the admiral along with a copy to stay with me. How goes it with the papers Mr. Gerard brought back?”

“They appear to be more of the same, Captain, sir.”

“Very good. The same goes for them, then.”

“Aye, sir.” The Arab departed on his errand just as the Venetian’s captain appeared with two huge marine guards to encourage his good behavior and cooperation. Bush motioned for them to bring him in and seat him before the captain’s desk. He was a small man, stocky in build like a teamster, broad in the shoulders with muscular arms. Deep set dark eyes dart about the room before settling on the man seated behind the desk.

“I am Captain William Bush of His Majesty’s frigate Lydia,” Bush said. “What is your name?”

The man looked about like a trapped animal, eyes hooded, until one of his marine guards nudged him with the butt of his musket.

“Me name is Sean Blakely.”

“An Irishman.”

Blakely’s chin rose. “And proud of it, too.”

“An Irishman,” Bush leaned forward, his voice menacing, “with a letter of marque signed by Murad Reis.”

Blakely shrugged. “What of it?”

“A letter of marque signed by a turncoat,” Bush sneered. “You must be just as much traitor as Reis! Corporal, get him out of my sight!”

The corporal standing behind the prisoner took him by both shoulders and lifted him bodily from the seat.

“Ay! ‘Ere, now, Captain!” the prisoner barked. “You got it wrong!”

Bush nodded to the marine, who dropped the Irishman back into his chair.

“I may raid British ships—under a letter of marque, mind you; I ain’t no pirate—but I do it for a United Ireland! I ain’t no blankethead, and I’m not about to turn away from my Catholic roots, neither! Reis may be a traitor to his country, his church, and his shipmates, but not me!” He shook his head in disgust. “What do you expect from a bloody Scotsman, anyway?”

Brewer turned away to hide the smile that crept across his face.

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