Pirate Code by Helen Hollick

emphasis he ticked the attributes off on his fingers.
    Cynically Jesamiah answered, “And even if there was another, unlike myself, he would not be in a position to be blackmailed into doing it. Which means there is one bugger of a lot of detail you’re leaving out.”
    In apologetic agreement Jennings cleared his throat, admitted, “You always were astute.”
    Stamping over to the bench Jesamiah threw himself down, folded his arms and scowled. “Don’t bother telling me any more. I don’t want to know. I am not getting involved.” He pulled his hat down over his eyes, feigned settling into sleep.
    “Very well. There is something more important. Wickham had a contact on Hispaniola – a spy.”
    From beneath the hat, Jesamiah mumbled, “So let him get on with all this.”
    “Ah, but you see,” Jennings scratched at his scalp under the itch of his wig. “All we know is his English code name. Francis Chesham.” Jennings spread his hands; “We have no idea of his real name, whether he is Spanish, Creole, half English or half Irish like Wickham was.”
    “There you go with that we business again. I ain’t interested.”
    “Nor do we know where or how to contact him. Wickham never told us, he said we had no need to know.”
    “How very short-sighted of you not to insist.”
    “The last we heard from Wickham, he said he thought Chesham was in danger. We are worried that he could be imprisoned or dead.”
    “How unfortunate.”
    “Jesamiah you are not being helpful here. I want you to find him. Find out if he is alive, let him know you are taking Wickham’s place. It is imperative we contact this fellow as soon as possible.”
    Jesamiah stood, threw his hat to the bench in annoyance and stared up at the small, barred window. Outside, after last night’s rain, it was a beautiful day; the sun bright, birds singing, white puffballs of cloud idling over a blue, blue sky. “No. Vete a la mierda ,” he added coarsely. “Get someone else to piss into the bucket for you.”
    Annoyed, slapping his palm against the bars, Jennings cursed. “You ought to know; Tiola pleaded guilty, gave no defence of herself. She said nothing except to confirm she is your mistress. They are assembling to witness punishment right now. It is to be the standard twelve lashes.”
    Jesamiah closed his eyes. Dear God…He turned back to face Jennings. Had no choice, the bastards knew he had no choice!
    “All right, you bloody win. I need to be there. I need to show my support for her in front of this poxed island. Get me out, damn you, and I’ll go to Hispaniola, find out what I can about this Chesham. But there is one condition.”
    “Which is?”
    “Rogers stops this injustice, now, and grants Tiola an annulment.”
    “That’s two. Unless your name is Henry Tudor, Jes, only Parliament can pass a ruling of divorce. It can be a long, costly business.”
    Jesamiah growled. He knew that. “In Nassau Rogers is the Government. If you want me to do this for you, give your word that he’ll find a way to circumnavigate the law of divorce.”
    Dropping the butt of the smoked cheroot to the floor and carefully flattening it with the tip of his cane, Jennings shook his head. “I cannot give that sort of word.”
    Ambling to the cell door, Jesamiah pressed his face close to the bars, malice puckering his mouth and nose. “What will be in this rebellion for you, Henry? For Rogers? Will you be taking over del Gardo’s considerable share of the trade profits once he’s gone? Those poor bastards on Hispaniola will rebel, make a fight of it and give their lives – for what? For greedy Spanish masters to be replaced by British ones?”
    Jennings was walking towards the door, his cane slowly tap-tapping. He said nothing. What point in denying the truth?
    “If you want me to help you Henry, I suggest you get someone in here who can give his word about divorce.”

Seven
    An hour. A long hour in which the sun trundled its slanting rays over the