Chapter 109: A Confederation of Cutthroats
Jennings let the room settle after his last words before speaking again.
"None of ye came up here to kneel to Calloway."
His gaze moved around the gallery without hurry, giving every captain his turn. "And none of ye came to kneel to me either, so spare yourselves the trouble of wonderin’. I don’t want the bloody chair. Never have."
He spread his hands, palms open, like a gambler proving he had nothing hidden.
"Nassau’s never bowed to a governor in her life, and she’s not about to start bowin’ to one of us because Hornigold’s gone soft in the knees."
He let his hands fall and strolled away from the table, weaving between chairs. On the way past, he gave one lounging captain a light tap on the shoulder, another a flick against the brim of his hat.
"We’re pirates. We vote when it suits us, argue the rest of the time, and sail whenever a man can find enough fools willing to follow him."
Jennings turned back toward the table, a grin creeping onto his face as he looked from one captain to the next.
"That’s the whole of it. Any bastard at this table who fancies himself king of this rock is welcome to try."
He spread his arms in an exaggerated invitation, as though presenting an empty throne to the room.
"I’ll enjoy watchin’ his own crew vote him into a rowboat, like they did to the last one."
A low rumble crashed through the gallery.
"About bloody time somebody said it."
"Aye, and it takes a special kind of prick to sit there wearin’ enough rings for three men while swearin’ he’s never once dreamed of a crown."
Laughter burst across the room, much of it straight at Jennings.
Ashworth gave a snort. "I’d still take a royal pardon over a title. Pays better, asks far fewer questions."
Fernando agreed. "Any fool who calls himself governor’ll spend the next year explainin’ himself to a judge instead of enjoyin’ the title."
James clicked his tongue. He wasn’t surprised by the speech.
A pirate captain only stayed captain for as long as his crew reckoned him worth the trouble. Hornigold had managed that longer than most, which deserved a drink if nothing else. The mistake came when the man started countin’ years instead of knives.
Most of the captains in the room struggled to command the handful of lunatics already sailin’ under their own flag. The notion they’d happily answer to somebody else’s orders was funny enough that James almost wished someone would try it, if only to watch the funeral.
Thatch had less patience.
"Aye, very touchin’."
He leaned both forearms onto the table. "Only ye didn’t drag every captain in this rock up a flight of stairs just to tell us what we don’t want. What in the seven hells is yer plan, Jennings, if not to strut about like a whore who’s spotted a full purse walk through the door?"
Another roar rolled through the gallery.
Jennings waited until it died of its own accord.
"Bellamy already said the heart of it."
He inclined his head toward him without much warmth. "The jumped-up pup stole my own point, so I’ll not waste breath sayin’ it twice. We strike the British while there’s no old man left to tell us not to."
He leaned both hands on the table again. "There isn’t much fortune left in peckin’ away at fishin’ boats and little coastal traders forever, one miserable prize after another. I say every ship in this docks sails together. One fleet, one plan. Then we take some mark fat enough that every man’s share beats a whole season spent chasin’ scraps."
Vane’s grin split his face.
He clapped the nearest captain across the shoulder hard enough to nearly dump the poor bastard out of his chair.
"Now that’s what I call a plan."
He barked out a laugh and slammed his palm onto the table, rattling every cup within reach.
"I’m in. Don’t care if it’s some fat merchant, aadmiral, or the bitch sittin’ the English throne. Makes no difference to me, just say where we’re pointin’ the cannons."
"Naturally."
Levasseur watched his fingernails. "The dog starts barkin’ before he’s even seen the bone. Try not to piss yourself with excitement before the thing’s got a name, mon ami."
"Fuck off, Frenchman."
"I intend to. The moment this becomes tiresome."
Burgess wiped the sweat from his brow and looked between them. "A prize fat enough to gather this many ships and this many tempers won’t be sailin’ with an empty escort. You go after somethin’ that rich, ye’d best expect somethin’ just as well armed guardin’ it. I’ll be damned if any of ye have thought that far beyond yer own cups."
"There it is."
Vane rounded on him. "Knew ye’d find a way to piss on it before the rum went round twice. Ye’re a coward, Burgess. Always have been."
Levasseur folded his hands together.
"A remarkable sort of fool. Shitting himself before anyone’s even drawn a blade."
"Reckless bastards, the both of ye."
The red flush of anger finally reached Burgess’s face. "It’s easy enough to call another man a coward when ye’ve never had to count the cost of bein’ wrong."
The room erupted into overlapping curses, insults and arguments.
"I’ll not sail beside that thieving cunt. Last time he nicked half my powder."
"Half? Ye blind old bastard, I should’ve stolen the other half too."
"Keep yappin’. I’ll feed yer teeth to the gulls."
Rum sloshed over the table as the captains leaned in to shout over the others. Within moments, nobody seemed entirely sure whether they were fighting over the prize, old betrayals, or whose crew was least likely to piss themselves when the guns opened.
James let it burn itself out.
Cudjoe wandered over to stand beside him with his arms folded while Caesar drifted in from the opposite side.
Nobody stopped for them.
Thatch watched them for another few moments, his expression somewhere between bored and annoyed. Then he snorted, lifted two fingers, and made the smallest motion toward the table.
Caesar stepped forward.
His fist crashed down through the heavy oak with a crack like a pistol shot. The table lurched beneath the blow and cups leapt into the air. A jagged split raced through the timber from one end to the other before the broken halves sagged under their own weight.
The last insults chortled halfway out, every eye in the gallery turned toward them.
James swept an amused look across the room.
"Christ, either one of ye starts fuckin’ the other already, or shut the fuck up."
The gallery was cut short.
He nodded toward Jennings and Bellamy.
"Out with it. You’ve got everyone’s balls in a knot, so tell us who we’re stealin’ from."