Майкл Крайтон – Pirate Latitudes (страница 5)
“Indeed, pirates is what I should naturally call those cutthroat seamen.”
“There are no pirates in Port Royal,” Almont said. His voice was hard. He glared at his new secretary, and cursed the passions of the Merry Monarch that had provided him with this priggish fool for an assistant. Hacklett would obviously be no help to him at all. “There are no pirates in this Colony,” Almont said again. “And should you find evidence that any man here is a pirate, he will be duly tried and hanged. That is the law of the crown and it is stringently enforced.”
Hacklett looked incredulous. “Sir James,” he said, “you quibble over a minor question of speech when the truth of the matter is to be seen in every street and dwelling of the town.”
“The truth of the matter is to be seen at the gallows of High Street,” Almont said, “where even now a pirate may be found hanging in the breeze. Had you disembarked earlier, you might have seen it for yourself.” He sighed again. “Sit down,” he said, “and keep silent before you confirm yourself in my judgment as an even greater idiot than you already appear to be.”
Mr. Hacklett paled. He was obviously unaccustomed to such plain address. He sat quickly in a chair next to his wife. She touched his hand reassuringly: a heartfelt gesture from one of the king’s many mistresses.
Sir James Almont stood, grimacing as pain shot up from his foot. He leaned across his desk. “Mr. Hacklett,” he said, “I am charged by the crown with expanding the Colony of Jamaica and maintaining its welfare. Let me explain to you certain pertinent facts relating to the discharge of that duty. First, we are a small and weak outpost of England in the midst of Spanish territories. I am aware,” he said heavily, “that it is the fashion of the Court to pretend that His Majesty has a strong footing in the New World. But the truth is rather different. Three tiny colonies—St. Kitts, Barbados, and Jamaica—comprise the entire dominion of the Crown. All the rest is Philip’s. This is still the Spanish Main. There are no English warships in these waters. There are no English garrisons on any lands. There are a dozen Spanish first-rate ships of the line and several thousand Spanish troops garrisoned in more than fifteen major settlements. King Charles in his wisdom wishes to retain his colonies but he does not wish to pay the expense of defending them against invasion.”
Hacklett stared, still pale.
“I am charged with protecting this Colony. How am I to do that? Clearly, I must acquire fighting men. The adventurers and privateers are the only source available to me, and I am careful to provide them a welcome home here. You may find these elements distasteful but Jamaica would be naked and vulnerable without them.”
“Sir James—”
“Be quiet,” Almont said. “Now, I have a second duty, which is to expand the Jamaica Colony. It is fashionable in the Court to propose that we instigate farming and agricultural pursuits here. Yet no farmers have been sent in two years. The land is brackish and infertile. The natives are hostile. How then do I expand the Colony, increasing its numbers and wealth? With commerce. The gold and the goods for a thriving commerce are afforded us by privateering raids upon Spanish shipping and settlements. Ultimately this enriches the coffers of the king, a fact which does not entirely displease His Majesty, according to my best information.”
“Sir James—”
“And finally,” Almont said, “finally, I have an unspoken duty, which is to deprive the Court of Philip IV of as much wealth as I am able to manage. This, too, is viewed by His Majesty—privately, privately—as a worthy objective. Particularly since so much of the gold which fails to reach Cádiz turns up in London. Therefore privateering is openly encouraged. But not piracy, Mr. Hacklett. And that is no mere quibble.”
“But Sir James—”
“The hard facts of the Colony admit no debate,” Almont said, resuming his seat behind the desk, and propping his foot on the pillow once more. “You may reflect at your leisure on what I have told you, understanding—as I am certain you will understand—that I speak with the wisdom of experience on these matters. Be so kind as to join me at dinner this evening with Captain Morton. In the meanwhile I am sure you have much to do in settling into your quarters here.”
The interview was clearly at an end. Hacklett and his wife stood. Hacklett bowed slightly, stiffly. “Sir James.”
“Mr. Hacklett. Mrs. Hacklett.”
THE TWO DEPARTED. The aide closed the door behind them. Almont rubbed his eyes. “God in Heaven,” he said, shaking his head.
“Do you wish to rest now, Your Excellency?” John asked.
“Yes,” Almont said. “I wish to rest.” He got up from behind his desk and walked down the corridor to his chambers. As he passed one room, he heard the sound of water splashing in a metal tub, and a feminine giggle. He glanced at John.
“They are bathing the womanservant,” John said.
Almont grunted.
“You wish to examine her later?”
“Yes, later,” Almont said. He looked at John and felt a moment of amusement. John was evidently still frightened by the witchcraft accusation. The fears of the common people, he thought, were so strong and so foolish.
ANNE SHARPE RELAXED in the warm water of the bathtub, and listened to the prattle of the enormous black woman who bustled around the room. Anne could hardly understand a word the woman was saying, although she seemed to be speaking English; her lilting rhythms and odd pronunciations were utterly strange. The black woman was saying something about what a kind man Governor Almont was. Anne Sharpe had no concern about Governor Almont’s kindness. She had learned at an early age how to deal with men.
She closed her eyes, and the singsong speech of the black woman was replaced in her mind by the tolling of church bells. She had come to hate that monotonous, ceaseless sound, in London.
Anne was the youngest of three children, the daughter of a retired seaman turned sailmaker in Wapping. When the plague broke out near Christmastime, her two older brothers had taken work as watchmen. Their jobs were to stand at the doors of infected houses and see that the inhabitants inside did not leave the residence for any reason. Anne herself worked as a sick-nurse for several wealthy families.
With the passing weeks, the horrors she had seen became merged in her memory. The church bells rang day and night. The cemeteries everywhere became overfilled; soon there were no more individual graves, but the bodies were dumped by the score into deep trenches, and hastily covered over with white lime powder and earth. The deadcarts, piled high with bodies, were hauled through the streets; the sextons paused before each dwelling to call out, “Bring out your dead.” The smell of corrupted air was everywhere.
So was the fear. She remembered seeing a man fall dead in the street, his fat purse by his side, clinking with money. Crowds passed by the corpse, but none would dare to pick up the purse. Later the body was carted away, but still the purse remained, untouched.
At all the markets, the grocers and butchers kept bowls of vinegar by their wares. Shoppers dropped coins into the vinegar; no coin was ever passed hand to hand. Everyone made an effort to pay with exact change.
Amulets, trinkets, potions, and spells were in brisk demand. Anne herself bought a locket that contained some foul-smelling herb, but which was said to ward off the plague. She wore it always.
And still the deaths continued. Her eldest brother came down with the plague. One day she saw him in the street; his neck was swollen with large lumps and his gums were bleeding. She never saw him again.
Her other brother suffered a common fate for watchmen. While guarding a house one night, the inhabitants locked inside became crazed by the dementia of the disease. They broke out and killed her brother with a pistol-ball in the course of their escape. She only heard of this; she never saw him.
Finally, Anne, too, was locked in a house belonging to the family of a Mr. Sewell. She was serving as nurse to the elderly Mrs. Sewell—mother of the owner of the house—when Mr. Sewell came down with the swellings. The house was quarantined. Anne tended to the sick as best she could. One after another, the family died. The bodies were given over to the dead-carts. At last, she was alone in the house, and, by some miracle, still in good health.
It was then that she stole some articles of gold and the few coins she could find, and made her escape from the second-story window, slipping out over the rooftops of London at night. A constable caught her the next morning, demanding to know where a young girl had found so much gold. He took the gold, and clapped her in Bridewell prison.
There she languished for some weeks, until Lord Ambritton, a public-spirited gentleman, made a tour of the prison and caught sight of her. Anne had long since learned that gentlemen found her aspect agreeable. Lord Ambritton was no exception. He caused her to be put in his coach, and after some dalliance of the sort he liked, promised her she would be sent to the New World.