Cutthroats of the Coast

Chapter 15 - Turning the Tables

“Yes, the guards are very good at their work,” Nathaniel smiled.  “They will keep a close on eye on this gold for the King.”  He patted one of the chests, still smiling.  “I think it’s time we made our tally, Mr Luke, don’t you think?”

“Yes indeed, Mr Broadbank, I think it is past time.”  The little clerk nodded eagerly.  He fair skipped to the ledger, opening it to the day’s page.  Quickly taking up a quill and penknife, he whittled away at the point for the inkwell.

I tried to catch Solomon Jones’s eye across the great table but he would not look my way, seemingly more interested in his cigar on which he blew at times, nurturing a bright ember on the tip.  Ramsbottom also appeared reluctant to meet me.  Instead he was more interested in the stairwell and was not really attending to what Nathaniel was saying to him.  Still as pale as lime cast upon a corpse, I wondered if he was preparing to run.

“I said, sir, it is a wonder you did not come upon some Dutch privateer on your voyage,” Nathaniel prompted Ramsbottom.

“Hmm?” Ramsbottom said distractedly.  “What?”

“Oh, it is of no mind, sir.  Pay me no heed, I was only making conversation but I can see that you appear discomforted.  Let us be about this count.”

Nathaniel stepped back and invited Ramsbottom and I to unlock the chests with a perfunctory gesture.  We duly obliged, Ramsbottom only fumbling like a farm boy at a whorehouse and I dropping, then kicking, my key across the floor.  I muttered my apologies and retrieved it so that I could complete my complex assignment.

At last, we threw back the lids.  Soft leather bags filled each chest to the brim.  Mr Luke rubbed his hands together and adjusted his weighing scales.

“This should not take long, gentlemen,” he grinned.  “I only need weigh them.  Mr West has already confirmed that we have most our money in specie of one denomination.  Guineas, was it not, Mr West?”

I nodded.

“Good, good.  I only need adjust my scales and Mr Broadbank may be about his business.”

“Oh?” Jones asked icily, removing his revolting cigar to speak. “What business?” 

It felt that there had been a sudden increase in the temperature of the vaults.  It was certainly close and Jones had done his best to fill the space with his choking tobacco smoke.  Although I was certainly sweating like a swineherd, I could not ascribe it to the heat.  My guts twisted with anxiety, wrenching my belly with the gripes.  It took all my attention to contain the great storm of wind that threatened to erupt from my arse.  My anxiety had a cause, of course.  It had only taken a moment but by some unseen signal, everyone within the vaults understood that something precipitous was about to happen.

Nathaniel stepped back from the table, letting Garbett take position before him.  Jones and Ramsbottom stood side by side across from me and drew slightly closer together.  Jack Frith stood a pace to my left but the other men had gathered in a loose knot close to the chests.  I noticed that many were reflexively clenching and unclenching their fists.  I cast about and seeing the set look on the men’s faces, I realised that our moment had come.  I knew why they cast covetous eyes upon the chests and it was not for the gold within.  Well, it was partly for the gold within but mostly for the pistols, cutlasses and boarding axes that lay beneath a false bottom, two bags down inside each chest.

There was something so daring about that plan that even today, as I sit scratching away at my memoirs with a quill at my father’s desk, I sometimes catch my breath at the audacity of it.  We had captured an English ship of war carrying pay-chests to Tangier.  Were we to sail away with our haul of booty?  No.  We sailed on and used the letters of introduction we found aboard, and the gold itself, to furnish us with as convincing a masque as possible.  What was the purpose of putting our heads into the lion’s den? Merely to use our captured gold as an investment, that was all.  It was a speculative plan to be sure, but it was no worse than fitting out a ship to sail for America, as so many men of the City were wont to do.  To gain entry to the great treasury of Tangier, we had to make a deposit first.  Our daring enterprise had been most amusing to plan, and devilish tricky to undertake, but overall each step had been carried through with success.  Why did I feel so uncertain, then?