Read Bring It Close for Free Online Page B

with weevils and maggots? Let’s go see, shall we?”
    Roughly, Jesamiah grasped the man’s coat collar and hauling him to the door kicked him, slithering and half falling down the stairs, deaf to Masters’ cries of outraged protest.
    “No cockroach merchant bilks me, savvy?” Manhandling him outside, Jesamiah thrust the spluttering man against the sea wall and holding him there, one hand gripped into his collar, the other digging the pistol between his ribs, called down to the men in the longboat.
    “Jansy, Jasper; break open a couple of those casks. Mr Masters ‘ere is insisting on inspectin’ the quality of the contents. Wants t’make sure we’re takin’ fresh produce aboard.”
    A pause, a splintering of wood, then growls of outrage.
    “Meat could practically walk into the ‘old of its own accord, Cap’n,” young Jasper, self-appointed cabin boy to Captain Acorne, announced with a snarl.
    “Flour’s rank too,” the older man, Mr Janson, echoed. “I’ve seen better vittles dished out to slaves.”
    Kicking Masters in the back of his left knee, Jesamiah forced him down to the grubby cobbles. “The stores you showed me were in fine fettle; decided to switch good for bad, did you? Well I suggest you change things around again pronto, or for these last few minutes of your miserable life you’ll be regrettin’ crossin’ me.”
    Letting go of him, Jesamiah marched back into the warehouse. Masters stood, brushed the grime off his breeches, and straightened his wig. He was a short, weedy little man with eyes like a weasel’s. “You threaten me, Captain Acorne, and I’ll have the militia on you! I don’t stand no truck from you pirates! These are the barrels you approved, these are the barrels you’ll be getting!”
    From a few yards away, leaning against the trunk of a shading palm tree, Rue sniffed loudly. Exaggerating his French accent, Jesamiah’s second-in-command tutted and shook his head. “It is not good to be annoying le capitaine, Monsieur . ‘E does not threaten, ‘e promises. And le capitaine’s promises ‘e always keeps.”
    Moments later Jesamiah reappeared at the doorway, backing out, unravelling a line of fuse. He laid it on the ground, stood with his pistol raised in one hand, the fingers of his other fiddling with the three blue ribbons threaded into his hair.
    “You start shifting shipworthy provisions this instant, Masters, or you’ll be ’avin’ bugger all to ship in about two minutes.” With a smile, Jesamiah tipped his three corner hat to the back of his head and shrugged. “Bugger all except smouldering timber and a pile of ash and rubble.”
    He squatted beside the fuse, clicked the hammer of his pistol and checked there was a resulting spark in the pan. “Not a good idea to store gunpowder along with other supplies, Mr Masters. Not a good idea at all.”
    “You, you scumbag! You bastard miscreant! You–”
    Nathan Crocker – Nat – and the African, Isiah Roberts appeared on either side of Masters, linked arms with his. Nat, first mate, an ex-Royal Navy Lieutenant, lifted the money pouch from the merchant’s coat pocket and tossed it, with a satisfying chink of coin, to Rue. Isiah felt into the man’s inner pocket, removed the banker’s draft.
    “We’ll be having this back, I reckon,” Nat drawled while Isiah rested a dagger blade against Masters’ throat.
    Jesamiah held the end of the fuse to the spark. It sputtered and as he gently blew on the slight glow the fuse began to fizz. He set it on the ground, stepped backwards a pace and watched the hissing plume of smoke and array of sparks disappear slowly into the dim interior of the warehouse.
    “I suggest all you slaves inside there get out now,” Jesamiah called after it, “or start preparin’ t’meet your maker.”
    They ran, shrieking and frightened: black men, women and children; a sprinkling of white convicts.
    Masters squirmed but all he could do was watch in horror as Jesamiah Acorne stood,