published its findings into the deceit and chicanery woven by the Company’s directors. The loss to the general public and even those of greater means was catastrophic to the world. Devlin’s part in it was only one of the torn seams but at least it was one could be repaired, could be restitched, and Coxon would be its tailor.
He repeated: ‘What can you recall about Devlin, Walter?’
Kennedy trod carefully for a hundred nooses hung in the room to catch a wrong word.
‘I never have come across Devlin as a pirate. Had none of his doing, Captain.’
‘What about in London? What about Wapping? The Pelican stairs. What about your murdered father, Walter?’
Kennedy coughed the tough brisket down. This man he had never met had the knowledge of a judge, and all of it about young Walter Kennedy.
‘I never did for my father, Captain, I swear. I gave up all he had to my mother and sisters and went to sea.’
‘So you think Devlin may have done for him? Could that be the case? As you might remember it?’
At Coxon’s words the nooses snapped back into the ceiling; Walter Kennedy was free to run again.
‘Aye. Aye, Captain, that it could. Devlin lived with me and me old man. Me father found with a knife in him and Devlin gone.’
‘And you distressed so that you fled to sea yourself?’
‘Aye,’ he poured more of the warm wine. ‘Distraught I was. The sea my saviour. I am only sorry that I was led astray.’
‘Of course. And what if you had the chance to redeem your life of wickedness, Walter? What if I could take your repentant soul from this place?’
Kennedy wiped his chin. ‘You want me to find Devlin, Captain? I told the truth, as always I ever have, I never sailed with the man.’
‘You sailed with Howell Davis. You sailed as captain with Roberts and I need a man who knows the pirate islands of the East Indies. The Americas are not the place for pirates now.’
‘That’s not easy, Captain. Hundreds of islands for a man to hide on.’
‘You’re a pirate, Walter. One of the worst. A pirate to catch a pirate.’ He supped his own wine for the first time, his chest rising.
‘A chance for you to have revenge on the man who killed your kin . . . or silence those who may know otherwise – depending on your own objective of course.’
‘He to be dead then, Captain?’
Coxon became a portrait. ‘Do we have an accord, Walter?’
Kennedy could discern the first wails of the morning seeping through the damp ancient stone as those in the sick ward came to life and were dragged to their labour.
‘I’d be a poor son, Captain, if I didn’t seek justice wouldn’t I?’ He thought on the man who had become the pirate, the pirate Devlin, the cemetery in his wake. ‘Mind, it might be too painful in my sorrow to actually meet him again. Perhaps leave that part for better men. Such as yourself, Captain.’
Coxon squared back his papers, bid Kennedy finish the wine, stood to leave, even nodded a sententious smile before rapping on the door.
‘I would have it no other way.’
Chapter Two
1721. A good year to be a pirate. The purge of the pirates from the Bahamas in 1718 under Woodes Rogers’ cutlass and the pardon bestowed upon the rovers by King George had broken the spell for most.
Some returned to the life, to be sure, finding the hoe and the taxes lesser reasons to own a putrid shirt than times under the black flag. But the amnesty proved what amnesties only ever prove:
The ones that don’t take it, the ones that defy,
you can accord that thems will be the worst, Your Honour.
The Americas were now unfriendly shores. With the gruesome end of Blackbeard in 1718 the bell had begun to toll the end of the Caribbean’s ‘Golden Age’ of piracy. Hundreds had been hanged, notorious names swinging or staked out for the tide. For those bold and lucky enough to still sail, new climes were needed. The ‘pirate round’ was growing ever smaller.
Africa proved the course to shape, the
He repeated: ‘What can you recall about Devlin, Walter?’
Kennedy trod carefully for a hundred nooses hung in the room to catch a wrong word.
‘I never have come across Devlin as a pirate. Had none of his doing, Captain.’
‘What about in London? What about Wapping? The Pelican stairs. What about your murdered father, Walter?’
Kennedy coughed the tough brisket down. This man he had never met had the knowledge of a judge, and all of it about young Walter Kennedy.
‘I never did for my father, Captain, I swear. I gave up all he had to my mother and sisters and went to sea.’
‘So you think Devlin may have done for him? Could that be the case? As you might remember it?’
At Coxon’s words the nooses snapped back into the ceiling; Walter Kennedy was free to run again.
‘Aye. Aye, Captain, that it could. Devlin lived with me and me old man. Me father found with a knife in him and Devlin gone.’
‘And you distressed so that you fled to sea yourself?’
‘Aye,’ he poured more of the warm wine. ‘Distraught I was. The sea my saviour. I am only sorry that I was led astray.’
‘Of course. And what if you had the chance to redeem your life of wickedness, Walter? What if I could take your repentant soul from this place?’
Kennedy wiped his chin. ‘You want me to find Devlin, Captain? I told the truth, as always I ever have, I never sailed with the man.’
‘You sailed with Howell Davis. You sailed as captain with Roberts and I need a man who knows the pirate islands of the East Indies. The Americas are not the place for pirates now.’
‘That’s not easy, Captain. Hundreds of islands for a man to hide on.’
‘You’re a pirate, Walter. One of the worst. A pirate to catch a pirate.’ He supped his own wine for the first time, his chest rising.
‘A chance for you to have revenge on the man who killed your kin . . . or silence those who may know otherwise – depending on your own objective of course.’
‘He to be dead then, Captain?’
Coxon became a portrait. ‘Do we have an accord, Walter?’
Kennedy could discern the first wails of the morning seeping through the damp ancient stone as those in the sick ward came to life and were dragged to their labour.
‘I’d be a poor son, Captain, if I didn’t seek justice wouldn’t I?’ He thought on the man who had become the pirate, the pirate Devlin, the cemetery in his wake. ‘Mind, it might be too painful in my sorrow to actually meet him again. Perhaps leave that part for better men. Such as yourself, Captain.’
Coxon squared back his papers, bid Kennedy finish the wine, stood to leave, even nodded a sententious smile before rapping on the door.
‘I would have it no other way.’
Chapter Two
1721. A good year to be a pirate. The purge of the pirates from the Bahamas in 1718 under Woodes Rogers’ cutlass and the pardon bestowed upon the rovers by King George had broken the spell for most.
Some returned to the life, to be sure, finding the hoe and the taxes lesser reasons to own a putrid shirt than times under the black flag. But the amnesty proved what amnesties only ever prove:
The ones that don’t take it, the ones that defy,
you can accord that thems will be the worst, Your Honour.
The Americas were now unfriendly shores. With the gruesome end of Blackbeard in 1718 the bell had begun to toll the end of the Caribbean’s ‘Golden Age’ of piracy. Hundreds had been hanged, notorious names swinging or staked out for the tide. For those bold and lucky enough to still sail, new climes were needed. The ‘pirate round’ was growing ever smaller.
Africa proved the course to shape, the
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