Kidd and the Kingdom

By Rick Stephan

Betrayed, unjustly imprisoned, and destined to be executed for murder and piracy, Captain Kidd faces an ultimate battle against the most powerful politicians of his day armed only with the secret knowledge of a hidden treasure and the uncertain aid of an ambitious prison chaplain. Enter a world of decadence and stolen moments of forbidden love with perverse puritans, promiscuous libertines, rich slave traders, and the Gin-Alley poor of London. Sail with marauding pirates from Port Royal to Madagascar to old New York. Here is the gritty, true-life story of two unlikely heroes both caught in a global struggle for power, monopolistic control of trade from Boston to Bombay, and a treasure of unimaginable wealth—all hinging on Kidd's confessions and the chaplain's final, impossible choice. Kidd and the Kingdom is a sweeping, epic tale of adventure, passion, intrigue, and the ultimate quest for freedom from bigotry, brutality, injustice, and the overwhelming forces of fate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Winged Words
• Release date: Mar 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393314547

Rick Stephan

Rick A. Stephan, Ph.D. is an award-winning writer and neuropsychologist classically trained in literature, philosophy, and history.

Book preview

Prologue

Execution Dock, London

May 23, 1701

AT THE INSTANT THE hangman’s rope broke, a teary mist swelled behind the unbelieving eyes of Reverend Paul Lorrain. He laughed and cried all at once.

Now, in the sudden silence of that moment, as William Kidd slipped into the slick sludge of the river wetland just below the scaffold, Lorrain knew he must relive his tortured choices once more.

This is your chance, Lorrain, Commissioner Blathwayte whispered, Kidd will take the reprieve now. As Lorrain turned his ear from the looming Blathwayte, he saw off to his right Secretary Vernon’s toothless mouth wringing out some command to a blank-eyed admiralty marshal.

Go to him, Blathwayte raised his voice, we can still do this.

A young girl selling putrid vegetables picked up a lettuce from her wheelbarrow and tossed it toward Kidd. Hang ‘em again! Her shout woke the crowd from their silence.

No! It’s God’s reprieve! An ancient blacksmith yelled through his mangled hands cupped round his wrinkled mouth.

God’s reprieve! God’s reprieve! Others shouted back in chorus.

There’s nothing left for me to do. Lorrain pulled back from Blathwayte’s tense hand gripping his shoulder. The marshal, dressed smartly in his formal red admiralty coat glittering with gold buttons, stepped cautiously through the mud and joined the hangman and another guard near where Kidd struggled to his knees. It’s too late, there’s nothing left—

Lorrain’s voice vanished, abruptly, as his eyes met Kidd gazing back at him. Those were the eyes so bright and pure, he remembered, that stole his senses on that day he first saw Kidd. How long has it been? Lorrain lost himself again in the light of those eyes.

Daddy! The girl’s shriek rose over the shouting mob. Please, my Daddy...

A baker near Lorrain slapped his hands to his face in a pale puff of flour and mockingly shouted back in a shrill voice, Daddy, Daddy! Then he dropped his hands to hips lost in a billowy apron. Your Dad is dead, dearie. Say good bye to Daddy!

With me now, Reverend, it’s your duty. Blathwayte pushed him on toward Kidd.

Secretary Vernon stabbed his pointed nose and chin in Blathwayte’s face, his gilded cane landing strategically across his path. This is an Admiralty matter, sir, let them at it.

And a matter for the Chaplain here. Blathwayte pulled Lorrain round the cane to Kidd’s side.

He’s been attended to, isn’t that right, Reverend? Vernon turned to the hangman wearing his crowd-pleasing white waistcoat and tall black hat. Earn your five-pounds, man! Get this done! The hangman hauled Kidd back to the ladder by his bound arms.

You stand in the way of this man’s final words? God himself has spoken here today. Blathwayte pointed to the heavens as well as the torn rope swaying above them. Am I to tell Parliament that you prevented this man’s confession?

Parliament? The marshal turned to Vernon. I can’t go against—

I want my Daddy! The crying girl had navigated through the tightly tangled throng and wrapped herself round Kidd’s waist. Marsh mud from Kidd’s shirt stained her porcelain cheek.

Ee’s a go’en to bloody ‘ell, the hangman snarled through his gray-white beard, then shoved the girl from Kidd.

Admiralty always bows to the will of Parliament. The marshal waved to the hangman. Let him speak to the Champlain. As the hangman released his grip on Kidd, the mob hushed to a low murmur like whispering wave foam melting over a dry beach.

Liz... Liz, you must leave, Kidd sputtered in a parched, choked voice. He smiled in the slimmest moment of contentment as his daughter seized him again.

No, I won’t go.

I do miss you.

I won’t let you go.

Liz, you must listen—

They can’t do this to my Daddy. She buried her weeping face in Kidd’s arms.

You must let me speak to your father now, child. Lorrain kneeled to face her.

They will take him from me...

It’s time that—

Please don’t let them take my Daddy from me.

Trust me, my child.

If I leave, I know they will take him.

Lorrain glanced up at the swaying remains of the rope. No, we never know how life may turn.

Liz, I am in good hands with the Reverend here. Go to your sister, your Mother. Kidd leaned down, lightly placed her head between his hands, and gently kissed her golden hair glowing in the last light of the setting sun. She smelled of honey toast, and he recalled the mornings along the East River when Liz would eat as many pieces of bread spread with honey that he and Sarah could carry to their picnic. He sighed softly as he rested his head on hers. I love you, Liz.

Come now, Blathwayte ordered as he stretched low to drag her off Kidd. He will have a reprieve from Parliament, and this will all end.

It ends here, right there. Vernon pointed his cane to the scaffold beam, then faced Lorrain. Finish your talk with the villain, but be quick with it. He wiped his wiggly mouth with the back of his hand. Troublesome affair, this is, and now delays my supper.

It’s your affair, sir, and he will say so. Blathwayte stood tall and strong as a statue.

You had your chance, Commissioner, you and your Tory pigs in Parliament. Vernon sort of spit his words. You lost.

Leave us, Lorrain barked at both. His confession is before God alone.

Blathwayte nodded to Lorrain, knowingly, as if trusting in a secret understanding. He marched off with Liz. Vernon arched over to whisper in Lorrain’s ear.

Be done with this dog—the sooner to be on with the money.

I know the—

No talk of this reprieve.

I know our deal.

Good man. Vernon whispered, then repeated in a loud voice, Good man, God’s mercy to him. He limped back and merged with the encircling crowd.

Lorrain turned, lowering his eyes to avert Kidd’s face. He paused, then looked up.

Not over yet, is it Reverend? Kidd crimped his mouth in a contorted grin.

Lorrain’s lips rounded tightly in reply. Turning away once again, he glanced out to the boats of the Thames gathered for the public display. Sails darkened in the fading last light of the day.

Reverend, I do have something to say.

You do?

There’s something I need to tell you... Kidd’s voice gradually faded and broke, causing Lorrain to lean closer.

There’s nothing more you need to say, Lorrain answered in a voice quiet as Kidd’s own.

Yes, there is, Reverend. I want to tell you about... about the treasure.

Not the treasure, Lorrain snapped. We are done with that. Lorrain tried to recall when he first learned of the treasure, and how long it tormented him.

No, you must know...

Was it at Newgate, Lorrain wondered. No, before that.

Reverend, you must know the truth about the treasure.

Yes, it was that morning with Bishop Russell, and that strange Moslem man, Coji... Coji Baba.

Part One

Some Jonah or Other

April 1701

Chapter 1

R ed Bee Balm is the most useful. Lorrain twirled the plucked flower under his narrow nose, the pale purple of the petals tinting his already ruddy features.

It’s at eleven, I suppose.

Eleven?

No, earlier. Margaret Lorrain slouched deeper into her garden chair.

Many still carry the Fairy Thimbles, Beard Tongues, and Figworts. They do smell sweet, no doubt. Fine sandy hair tossed freely as Lorrain nodded in silent acknowledgement. But the sweetness passes too quickly.

Margaret rested her petite head on a thin hand atop her crooked arm, her light-brown bangs spread over delicate fingertips. She stared at her husband crouching over the bed of wild flowers growing just beyond their garden fixtures. Carla will know, she said to no one in particular.

Know what?

The time.

Lorrain looked up at the pale shapeless sun behind massing gray clouds. It’s still early. Ah, here’s the Pennyroyal.

What did you say? Margaret narrowed her dark eyes to actually notice her husband.

The Pennyroyal—it has its purpose, too. Lorrain rubbed several small leaves between his fingers and then held them beneath his nose. Such a forceful scent.

I’ll need ten-pounds for sure, Paul. Margaret rose straight in her seat. What did you get for that last confession in the broadsheet?

The last one?

You know, the highwayman.

Oh, that Thorpe man... George Thorpe I believe.

Whatever his name... what did you get for it?

Not ten-pounds. He was hardly anyone—

Well, I’ll need the ten all the same.

Carla, their new maidservant—a burly, worn woman though still no more than a child—bumped through the back door to the garden. Reverend, sir, at the door, it’s—

Oh, there you are, Carla. My fitting, when was it?

—Bishop Russell and some man, real strange like.

Bishop Russell? Margaret jumped from her seat. What’s he doing here, Paul?

I didn’t ask for—

We talked about this, Margaret interrupted, thrusting her angled arm through the air as if pounding an imaginary table. If you leave the prison, there’ll be no money.

I don’t know why he—

You make the prison out worse than it is. God knows we need more, but at least the broadsheets are something.

There’s higher pay for a superior position... Lorrain said in a low voice, not really intending to put up much of a fight.

Church pay is nothing.

Should I show them in, now, Madam? Carla was already edging her way through the door to escape.

No! Margaret ordered without turning from Lorrain.

There’s no other position, I say, Margie... not now. Lorrain waved Carla on. He is here on his own account.

Carla remained where she stood until Margaret nodded. You must be practical, Paul, we need that money.

Lorrain didn’t answer but shoved the flowers and leaves into the breast pocket of his dark gray vest, then sat behind a round wooden table near the flowerbed.

Was that bacon I smelled? God help me, but I never eat enough in the morning. Bishop Russell floated through the garden like a ghost, his thin white skin and hair appearing all the paler against his black robe.

You must have some. Lorrain stood and finally looked at Margaret. Bring a breakfast for the Bishop, and for...

No bacon. The dark-skinned man sneered in distaste. Tea?

Margaret stared at the stranger for far too long. Tea, yes, of course. Carla? She left for the kitchen still bewildered.

Lorrain held out his hand for the stranger, but he just bowed slightly at the waist. Coji Baba, he said in a rhythm distinctly different from any accent he had heard. His clothes were odd as well and appeared to Lorrain like a costume from one of those fantasy plays he saw at the city theater. Gold embroidery streamed over short-sleeves of a light lavender cloak drawn tight at the waist with a wide, gold-toned sash. Beneath the shiny smock were tight long sleeves of black and gold and, flowing below his knees, baggy golden pants. Above chestnut-colored cheeks and wide black eyes darting nervously was a hat-brim formed of a rolled and twisted white-cloth topped with a black bucket-shaped cap.

He is a friend of the East India Company, Bishop Russell squeaked as he stared hard at Lorrain with his faded gray eyes.  A friend of ours.

Please, sit... my friend, Lorrain said anxiously as he gestured to the chairs round the table. His eyes never left Coji.

Ah, where to begin, Bishop Russell mused, with such troubling matters. He smoothed out his ruffled necktie as if preparing a napkin before a meal. If only we could all follow the light of reason, what guide God has given us. But such is man... He looked at Coji, then stopped. What I mean is, things change, Lorrain, and a reasonable man adapts.

God’s will be done...

Yes, yes, just as you say, God’s will be done. And the Tories, my friend, they are God’s will today.

Carla placed dark breads and a small plate of bacon in front of Bishop Russell as Margaret spied on them from just inside the door. Stretching her arm as far as it would go to keep her distance, Carla slipped a cup of tea around Coji’s back and dropped it on the table. Coji jumped at the sudden clink of the cup; Carla hopped back from him, then lumbered quickly through the doorway to hide behind Margaret.

Bishop Russell poked at the cold but still glistening bacon. They support our church against all others, and we are with them, see... and so is God. He snatched a piece and quickly gobbled down half its length. Soon Parliament and all England will be with them, too. He swallowed the other half, picked another, then passed the plate toward Coji. Meat?

No bacon, no pork! Coji bolted back from the plate.

Coji here is sent by the Great Mogul himself, Emperor of... Indostan...  India. Bishop Russell looked to Coji for help. A Mohammaden people?

Mohammed, yes, Coji spoke again in that strange voice, then tentatively tasted his tea.

The Empire has suffered greatly—the Mogul that is—at the hands of those heathen pirates. And the East India Company, and Coji here, are to see to the retribution.

I return with coin, Coji added.

Have I done something to offend them? Lorrain, still puzzled by the oddity sitting in his garden, couldn’t wait any longer for the Bishop to explain what they wanted with him.

"Something you’ve done? No, no, it’s what you will do."

What can I do for them?

For yourself. Bishop Russell quickly finished the last piece of bacon, the lingering oil bringing a touch of life to his pale lips. Your new prisoner, Kidd, you will attend to him, receive his confession. That is what you can do.

Receive his confession?

His confession should implicate others, here, in London, in the Privy Council itself.

If he confesses—

Those Whigs—Shrewsbury, Vernon, Lord Bellomont in the Colonies—they are behind Kidd. And they should pay.

Pay, yes. Coji repeated.

You always work your way with those prisoners, Bishop Russell ignored Coji. You just need him to speak about their connection to the affair.

I don’t see why that would be a problem, Lorrain answered quickly as he squirmed up in his seat. Why would that be a problem?

Bishop Russell just stared at Lorrain wondering if he could really be that naive. No problem at all, just as I say.

Those men, if they are involved as you say, they do run the Privy Council. Now that I think about it, it may not be—

As I said, the Tories are with us. That is good for you. They get what they want, you get what you want.

What I want?

Yes, out of Newgate Prison. There is a Deanery of the Diocese, a position just right for you, and a masterful stroke of luck for a man of but 30 years.

Now? After all these years, now you offer me this? I pleaded—

Be reasonable here, Lorrain. You have not advanced before because... well, you are not a man well suited to our church. Look at your clothes.

My clothes? Lorrain snapped back smugly. They are fitting for my work.

Waistcoat, pants, and leggings, like some common barkeep. Bishop Russell grabbed a loose fold of his gown to demonstrate his point. Where are your vestments of the clergy?

I am an Anglican, even if... you know I follow our law.

Yes, our good Church of England has graciously brought your kind into our fold. He sorted through the breads and seemed to find none to his liking. With the back of his hand, he slid the plate toward Coji. But have you really embraced our way?"

There is more to worship than your—

Watch what you say!

Lorrain settled back in his seat and considered his words. I serve God, and God’s will is that I also serve the Church of England.

Good man. A deanery is just right for you, of great service, a very high position even if it’s not part of our clergy. Bishop Russell leaned in toward Lorrain. And good pay, I might add. Many little ways to make a pence.

Good pay? Coji repeated.

Lorrain sighed, resigned. It is time I leave the prison.

Yes, it’s a dreadful place. And this confession is your way out. Bishop Russell studied Lorrain in his silence. I do think it foolish, though... well, unreasonable... to walk away from the money you make there. Think about what a broadsheet might earn you with a confession from such a notorious character. That and naming such powerful conspirators.

That’s true... yes.

More bacon? Bishop Russell smiled at Lorrain as if seeking his agreement.

Yes, more bacon, Lorrain agreed.

My fitting won’t wait, Margaret jumped into the silent pause. I must say goodbye to you... She turned to Coji, then continued, ... you gentlemen.

On your way? Bishop Russell struggled up, slowly, from his chair. Coji imitated the gesture. I believe we are done here, too.

Done? Margaret looked concerned. Bishop, no matter what Paul here may say, he does such good work at Newgate.

Yes, he cares for so many lost souls.

Who can they rely on for their salvation? Paul has saved many, and his writings, I am assured, have saved many others from a life of sin.

It is God’s work, no doubt. Bishop Russell stared at Lorrain as he answered her. A confession, now even more so, serves us all.

Madame, the coach is ready. Carla called from the protection of the house.

Yes, you are so right Bishop.

You must see to it that he continues this work, these confessions, they are so important.

Yes, I will. We agree.

There’s a confession now of this villain... Kidd. Very famous. A printing might earn quite an income.

Really? How nice, Paul. How much do you think?

Margie, it really isn’t—

Oh, I would say several hundred pounds, Bishop Russell guessed. Maybe even a thousand.

A thousand you say? Margaret’s eyes sparkled in delight.

Thousand pounds? Yes? Coji searched their faces to understand what was said. Treasure return to Mogul.

Margaret was no longer interested in Coji. But I am late. Bishop... sir. Margaret nearly skipped from the garden to her coach.

Coji repeated to Lorrain, Treasure return to Mogul.

Treasure? What is he saying?

Kidd took a rich ship of the Mogul. That’s what I understand. Bishop Russell waved his hand to assure Coji that he would take care of the matter. The goods are missing, and this Kidd must surely know where they are. If he tells you, then Coji here can return it to the Mogul.

Yes... that’s where it should go.

The East India Company may even pay a reward for such information. He angled his gray mop-covered head to Coji. A reward? For the treasure?

The treasure, yes. To the Mogul.

In any case, we must return whatever we can to the poor victims of that pirate. It is only reasonable.

Reasonable, of course. Lorrain considered the value of the new broadsheet on Kidd. I have an appointment with the printer, before I go to Newgate.

Yes, we must take our leave—Coji must return to the Company office. Ready? Bishop Russell gestured to the doorway, and Coji followed him and Lorrain from the garden.

As they passed through the house, Coji stopped and admired two tapestries and a richly tailored divan Margaret had insisted on purchasing for a small gathering of hers just a month before. Bishop Russell took notice as well.

Very nice additions, my friend. They’re from Brussels, aren’t they? He bent near Lorrain’s ear. That tapestry, the one with St. George, that would suit my chamber... just what it needs. He then waited, silently, gazing at Lorrain.

Ah, yes... well then, you must have it, Lorrain whispered back. My gift to you."

Good man.

Lorrain was already late for his early round at the prison when he arrived at the Coffin Street Printer. Stephen Daye, master printer, bellowed from the rear, you owe me, Reverend, for that Thorpe sheet.

Lorrain twisted his way through high stacks of paper as he searched for the source of the voice, the sharp scent of ink gel blurring his eyes with tears. Owe you? You only paid me five pounds.

And you owe me the five. Stephen appeared with a tray of type, then vanished again behind his larger, second press. I’ve got all the sheets piled in the back—didn’t even pay for the paper. He scurried around Lorrain once more with a print boy following in his wake.

Forget the Thorpe sheet, I have— Lorrain stopped as the man disappeared yet again beyond the towering columns of paper.

You can forget it—you got your five. Stephen suddenly surfaced in front of Lorrain, his blonde hair blotchy with black ink stains. I had all my expenses. I need the five back. He turned around to the print boy who was creeping his way toward Stephen, lost under a teetering load of paper. They’re for the sermon sheets, he ordered, and pointed to the farthest press in the back.

The five is nothing, listen— Lorrain couldn’t speak fast enough, for Stephen was off to the press again.

Leave me, Reverend, this is a paying job.

Lorrain gripped him by the strap of his heavy, black apron. Listen, we can make a thousand or more with this new sheet.

Thousand? Lorrain finally won the attention of the frenetic printer.

It’s Kidd—the pirate. He’s at Newgate now.

Kidd! He’s been the talk for months.

And he’s at Newgate.

Not the Admiralty?

Newgate. He could be the most useful of all.

We must advertise.

Advertise?

The print boy returned to Stephen’s side. The first press is finished, Stephen said as soon as he noticed him. Can you pee now, boy?

I think... yes, the boy stammered, dropping his eyes.

Then take the tray and pee on the type—then wipe the gel off. Stephen looked back at Lorrain. Sorry, Reverend, it’s the only way to get that ink-gel off the type blocks. It’s about the only thing these apprentices are good for.

You were saying—

Advertise. It’s a big sale. We can make it bigger.

So, how much can we make?

Reverend, you are a fortunate man. Stephen threw his narrow shoulders back and puffed out his chest as if proclaiming a new law out on the busy street. You’ve found the way, Reverend, to make crime pay. A miracle, really. Give me a day to figure it.

I’m late... Lorrain hurried toward the door.

That five pounds, Reverend, I’ll figure that in.

Reverend? Just past the doorway, Lorrain halted behind a white-gloved hand of a footman in a bright red and white jacket.

Sorry, but I’m already late, Lorrain answered, slightly puzzled, as he angled past the unknown coachman.

You’re Lorrain... Paul Lorrain?

Do I know you? He looked over to a waiting carriage with lance-armed guards assigned to the rear.

You are Reverend Lorrain?

The footman, obviously a royal attendant, and the guards, now slowly trudging toward him, caused him such an instant of uncertain fear he quickly felt sick. I am... what business do you have with me?

Secretary Vernon needs to speak with you... immediately.

Secretary? You mean James Vernon... of the Privy Council?

You may ride with us. The footman slid his black-booted feet to the side so as to clear the way to the coach.

Lorrain mumbled to himself as he followed the guards, Maybe not so fortunate...

Chapter 2

The yellow-brick façade of Shrewsbury’s estate was always bright and clean; someone was employed just for that purpose. At sight of this alone, Vernon’s envy simmered.

Remain—I won’t be long. Vernon climbed the few stairs through the column-encircled portico with the help of his silver cane, the one he had selected earlier from his abundant collection. His bespectacled assistant, Thomas Henry, draped in a multi-layered shroud of letters, notes, and lists, remained in the coach as ordered.

As he passed through the cavernous entrance hall with its intricately decorated coved ceiling, high columns, and paneling of polished alabaster, Vernon’s agitation swelled to fill the vast space itself.

My Lord is in the North side. May I show you?

Vernon nodded as he straightened his floppy flat wig.

The butler led Vernon along the narrow statue gallery to the North sitting room door. The children have joined him, sir.

No matter, Vernon snapped, and pushed past him. I will be short.

Lord Shrewsbury was lying across a blue-leather, mahogany, and parcel-gilt sofa, his white bedclothes covered with a heavy gray-wool blanket. His eyes were closed.

My Lord, Vernon woke him. We must talk?

Yes, James. Keeping his legs covered, Shrewsbury pulled himself upright with obvious effort and frequent groans. There is a delicate matter.

A child screamed, and Vernon now noticed four children on the far side of the room. A small boy, no more than six or seven, looked rather odd in full adult dress: formal purple-velvet waistcoat, long ruffled white shirt, matching purple pants, white leggings, and a finely powdered wig. He played soldier, menacing his little boy playmate with a mock sword pulled from a sash draped over his shoulder. The playmate, ducking from the sword, was a perfect miniature replica of an adult as well, a fine navy man, dressed for adventure with a dark-blue cap and rich wool jacket. He held a gilded mirror, no doubt stolen from one of the girls, and pointed it toward Vernon. Two girls huddled on the floor below the boys, each dressed in a lace and ruffled formal dress with pearl-detailed bonnets. They were assembling, apparently, a dangerously teetering house of cards.

If only I had my health, James... if I had the strength, I’d take the lead in this matter.

Vernon rubbed his face as he turned back to Shrewsbury, pulling his already elongated cheeks even further into what appeared like a permanent frown. He sat in an armchair beside Shrewsbury. You are not well... again, my Lord?

Tired... very tired.

You are a slave, sir, tireless in your service.

And you have served me well. But I... I fear I may need to retire from the Privy Council.

My Lord, you must not. Vernon’s permanent frown nearly broke into a secret smile.

I fear it is time. And you are such an industrious man, so diligent—you have assisted me for so long. Shrewsbury reached for his cup on the end table at his head, but Vernon quickly delivered it to his mouth for him. You must be named Secretary of State in your own right.

My Lord, I only wish to—

James, it is a dangerous time for us.

Yes, my Lord, but I am such a poor man to stand for our party.

Nonsense.

Look at me. Vernon rose and opened his arms. You have already raised me far above my humble abilities. I have no teeth, and look the fool speaking in Parliament chambers. Vernon manipulated his mouth like a dying fish. They hoot at me like a freak at a fair.

It’s the words that matter, not the speaking.

Not in the Commons. Vernon’s eyes circled the room, then dropped under the weight of Shrewsbury’s extravagance. I have no peerage, no status, no wealth. The fortunes of the Whigs are best placed with others of higher means.

James, we have no time for your larking about with these self-effacing rants!

My Lord...

The Tories will have a senior seat in the Secretary’s office. But you know the work, you will be relied on...

The paperwork?

I have every confidence—

The Tories have the votes in Parliament, that’s the battle ground. Debating is not my—

The battle will be won or lost before we take the field.

Sir?

This matter... this Kidd affair.

Yes, that is unfortunate.

The Tories are buzzing with it. They see it as their club for knocking us from the Council. The talk is of impeachment.

It has turned bad, yes.

I fear if this man... Kidd... if he speaks of me, of Somers, Orford... it will be the end of our rule.

The papers, what names are on—

Bellomont signed. But our servant names were used for our interests.

Vernon looked at the children nervously as the soldier continued his attack. Then it’s Kidd alone who can hurt us?

He met with Orford and Somers. He can make the case. The King, too.

Vernon was silent as he stared at the children. The girls had managed another layer to their construction. The East India Company will want blood, Vernon began speaking toward the children, then turned to Shrewsbury. This won’t go away.

I fear not. Shrewsbury sighed and closed his eyes.

Commons has grown into the habit of finding fault. Some Jonah or other must be thrown overboard.

Who do you mean by—

A little man would be the most useful... the most proper for this purpose.

You are right.

Vernon spoke slowly to be as clear as possible with his malformed mouth. Kidd is a little man.

He is, you are quite right. Shrewsbury’s eyes glistened with a returning glow of life. And he must be stopped from doing permanent damage.

The Tories will have him speak before the House. We cannot stop that—it would not look good.

No, we must appear as if we hide nothing.

No, nothing to hide. Yet— Vernon stopped speaking as the young captain bounced between him and Shrewsbury.

He is set on killing me, Father, the boy protested. I have no defense.

Why would he do that? Shrewsbury smiled at his son. You must have done something.

No, I tell you, I am the most innocent of all.

Then no harm shall come to you.

My Lord, Kidd’s testimony... we must make it our own.

Go, go... no harm. Shrewsbury sent his son off to play.

Vernon broke free from a deep thought, and then pushed himself from the chair by the top of his cane. It is left to me for now, as with all our cares.

How are you to arrange it with Kidd? They will not let you speak to him alone... not now. He is a close prisoner—allowed no outside contact.

Others can without suspicion. Vernon headed for the door without waiting for a reply. My Lord, I must return to my office.

In the slight gray light that somehow tunneled through to his narrow office, Vernon absently stared at the growing mounds of paper and their countless matters of state. With just one assistant, and no help from the many powerful but lazy Lords, Vernon single-handedly managed all but the most important details of the Privy Council. He grew tired of the endless hours, day after day, and for so little pay.

What do we have from the colonies?

Another box today, sir... just over here. Henry pushed the package along the floor just to the side of Vernon’s dark desk, careful not to disturb the three canes propped against it.

Bellomont?

Henry dug through the mass, then removed a wax-sealed letter. One, he reported, then placed it before Vernon.

A moment... before we start.

Henry backed out to his own table in the adjoining room. He removed his glasses and slowly rubbed his already tired eyes. Then, quickly, he slurped down what remained of his cold coffee in what might prove his only free moment all day.

Vernon didn’t move. Although now raised to the Secretary position, he had no real political power for the job... and no funding for help. By sheer toil alone, he was indispensable to the ruling Whigs. And where does that go? Now the Tories will remove his few friends, and that will be the end of it. I should fill my pockets with stones and leap off the bridge, he muttered to himself.

Carelessly, he opened the letter from Bellomont and glanced through his pleadings. When Bellomont referred to Kidd, his world went darker still.

I doubt whether Kidd can be proved a pirate, given the charter from the original partners. That is for you to decide. But there is a quantity of gold and jewels that I have sent home with him, and I am told, as Vice-Admiral of these Seas, I have a right to a third part of them. If you and the rest of the Lords come in for snacks, I shall remain satisfied.

Vernon knew he would see none of it. The morning sun finally crept over his shoulder to light the letter. Vernon read further and grew light himself.

These are now but trifling matters, I believe, for you and me, for I have come to learn from Kidd himself that there is a fortune in coin and jewels that he has safely hidden away, and no other knows of it. Pray, through whatever means you can, have him reveal its location to you alone, and we shall then have our riches, something I know we have prayed for these many years. I may mount whatever expedition necessary to acquire it, no matter where it may lay, with the many ships here at my command. It is the location we need, and that must come from Kidd. It would then be best for him to pay for the crimes with his life.

Vernon nearly squealed with delight when Henry announced the arrival of Lorrain. Yes, now... I will see him straight off.

Henry busily eliminated the collected portfolios stacked on the only chair near Vernon’s desk, and Lorrain uneasily sat down, his eyes searching the room for clues to his fate.

Vernon forced a smile. Reverend, to the point, you are the Chaplain at Newgate?

Yes—

And you administer all rites to the prisoners there?

I do. Lorrain was determined to say as little as possible until he knew what was to become of him.

That includes this pirate... Kidd.

I have heard he is at Newgate now.

But it will be to you alone? Vernon was satisfied with how quickly he had gained the advantage with this obviously frightened man.

I assume so, although I have not yet—

Fine, you must guard your right to the prisoner.

Yes, sir.

Vernon considered his words carefully. Reverend, you are now at the center of a storm. This prisoner, Kidd, he has become quite a troublesome matter.

He has, sir?

Yes, he has, Vernon said sharply, his anger briefly unmasked. And now you are at the center of this whole messy affair.

I can assure you, sir, I have nothing to do with—

You take his confession, do you not?

Yes, but—

Then, like it or not, Reverend, you’re caught up in this thing. Vernon thrust his face forward, his sharp nose and chin cutting Lorrain right to his deepest fear.

Lorrain squirmed slightly, and Vernon saw his moment.

See here, I’m not going to waste your time and mine by trying to fool you into believing I’m your friend or can become so. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. I don’t have time for such niceties.

Lorrain became even more uncomfortable.

It’s black or white now, Reverend, and much rests on either side. You must choose.

Choose... choose what?

You’re either with me or you’re not. You help me, and you will be richly rewarded. My friends are quite powerful, I assure you, and they can raise a man like that! Vernon waved his arm to demonstrate the ease of their beneficence. But if you don’t, I will consider you against us. Vernon squinted his eyes, staring hard and squarely at Lorrain. That may not be wise.

I tell you, sir, I don’t know what I can do.

You are in a position to influence Kidd. There is much you can do.

I have little sway over the likes of these... these prisoners. They are of their own mind. Few renounce their ways or ask God’s forgiveness.

That is of no concern to me.

What then am I to choose?

You must govern his confession—he must not implicate any of the King’s ministers, or suggest they had a hand in his thievery.

His confession...  is confidential...

Yes, between you, him, and the broadsheets. Vernon slid back in his chair, his long loose cheeks returning to their relaxed frown.

Tell me what it is you want, Lorrain gasped, now fearing the worst—no broadsheet, no money, no favors from Bishop Russell.

"With the right outcome, with his silence and a bit of information I’m looking for, a bishopry can be yours—the Bishop of Monmouth, I believe, could be arranged, and a seat in the Lords Spiritual.

No, no, that is... I mean, you can do that?

Then you will assist me with Kidd?

What am I to do?

Chapter 3

As he stepped from the coach at the intersection of Newgate and Holborn Streets, as near to Newgate Prison as the driver was willing to venture, Lorrain paused and precisely refolded his minister’s collar in a complex twist and knot, a unique pattern of his own devise that he had committed to memory after many years of repetition. He then placed within the folds his freshly cut Red Bee Balm flowers, forming a kind of low veil, so as to mask the horrid stench of the place.

Lorrain toddled through the ornate, five-story high gateway, checking his vest pocket to assure himself that he also had some pennyroyal leaves in reserve. Kidd, he learned, was hidden away among the worst solitary chambers of the South Wall.

Like him, the prison wore a mask. The finely rebuilt front façade and gate disguised the fortress within, which decomposed more each day as if in empathy with its overcrowded captives. Stone and mortar crumbled to the touch. Floors and walls were barely visible, smothered as they were in this mysterious black filth that seeped between the blocks of stone and grew from the very bowels of the citadel. Lorrain believed it a concoction of dark dirt blended with an unending supply of human urine and excrement. The stench from this fermenting mixture merged with the unmistakable air of thousands of unwashed bodies. It formed a sickening smell, a putrid odor of rancid meat or rotting fish.

It’s liberty time, Byron Evans reported as he met Lorrain in the crammed central courtyard. I expected you earlier.

Just then, a short Basque prisoner with gore-blackened ulcers scattered over his naked chest and back stumbled into Lorrain, leaving a dusty swath across his black coat. Not the best timing, Lorrain agreed.

I already spoke to Bushell, Byron said as Lorrain pulled the frail boy back against the wall to protect him from another crowded onslaught. Byron then gently dropped his doll-like face and dark round eyes at an angle to his narrow shoulders, causing his girlish black hair to fan out over his ear. He needs you, Byron added.

Who did you say?

Bushell, the miller who lost his hands.

Yes, I remember. Lorrain looked away impatiently. You are an Ordinate now, you may comfort him.

He has asked for you just this morning.

Lorrain thought Byron’s silk waistcoat and noticeably rich clothing uncalled for in his present station as a chaplain’s attendant. The third son in a noble family, Byron could not hold any titles or estates, but would soon gain the privileged position of the ordained clergy with an income supplemented by his wealthy family. Byron just wore the clothes he was accustomed to.

You must care for him, Byron, I am not disposed. Lorrain shuffled toward the other side of the yard.

Not disposed? Byron seemed genuinely surprised. You told me yourself that—

Something important has come up. Lorrain absently searched the yard.

But Bushell will die today.

Who?

The miller. He will die today.

I have no use for him now. You may console him as you will.

But I have no authority to grant absolution.

I grant it for him now. Ah, there he is. Lorrain pushed past Byron and scurried alongside an immense mountain of a man with but a few delicate strands of black hair pulled over his oily baldhead.

A real fucking pleasure today, eh Reverend? Thomas Clarke, the adjutant warden, spit a large quantity of fluid at Lorrain’s feet. Then, lantern in hand, he rolled ahead through the dank corridors leading to the South wall, oblivious to the strange cacophony of curses, shrieks, and moans emanating from the darkened halls. He stopped at a heap of gravel and stone below a narrow cave-like entrance cut in the grimy wall. Blocking the hole were thick ancient planks fettered with rusted iron.

Damn you bastard pigs of Hell! Thomas spat to punctuate his frustration. If you’re playing dice again I’ll shove ‘em up your ass! Out of the dark emerged two stumbling sentries, ale spilling down their chins, and waistcoats glistening from some greasy meal. After Thomas rebuked them in a spitting tirade, the guards opened the lock and dipped the light through the door.

Inside, Kidd looked worse than an animal. Lying naked in his own waste, his entire body was encrusted with a thick tacky film. Scattered blotches of pallor skin peeked through the dirt, giving him a marking like some beast from the Dark Continent. His hair, wild and long, fell in thick mats about his head and chest. Although his body was broad, his bones protruded in hard angles where hunger had scraped away his flesh. Fleas bounced all around him. Yet, what captivated Lorrain most were his eyes: luminous and blue, encircled in white on an otherwise blackened face, they glowed as if a last vestige of spirit, some telltale breath of soul underlying a senseless creature from the depths of the earth.

You here to anoint the sacrifice? Kidd said, looking up at Lorrain.

Thomas replied by shoving him to the floor against the wall. The other guards doused him with a bucket of vinegar and threw him a shredded rag. Kidd let out a muffled moan. With the vinegar to cover his smell and the rag his body, they dragged him to a shadowy chamber next to the guard station. Kidd sat on a lone wooden stool under the harsh light of a quivering lamp.

You’re wasting your time, Reverend. His voice was brittle and dry.

It’s your good fortune that I’m permitted to speak with you, Lorrain coughed out the words through the burdened air. I’m interceding on your behalf so you might confess your sins and receive the grace of God.

Oh? You too? Everyone, it seems, is after my confession. As he spoke, Kidd tenderly peeled away layers of dead skin from an open wound on his wrist. But no one wants the truth.

I’m not here to condemn you... or judge you, Lorrain said. I’m here to grant you God’s forgiveness.

Kidd looked up from his rotting wrist and stared in his direction, vainly trying to pierce the harsh shadow enveloping him from the sputtering lantern. Freedom interests me far more than forgiveness.

Kidd’s gazing eyes once again mesmerized Lorrain, and he hardly heard him speak. This man was as fearful as some demon from the Inferno, Lorrain thought, why do I still feel pity rising from my heart? From the rims of Kidd’s eyes, Lorrain now noticed faint smudge lines trailing down his cheeks like streambeds cut by rushing waters. They pointed to an unfathomable sorrow flowing through him, arising from some sensitivity uncommon to this wicked place. Most prisoners quickly lose their compassion, their feelings, even their grief, and are hardened into a cruel indifference. But Kidd still cried. After all his days in windowless cells no larger than coffins, after months chained in stinking bilge water below the rotting decks of prison ships, and after weeks of isolation here from all that can be called human, this man could still sustain such a torrent of anguish that it surged right over the shores of his eyes.

I would like to help you in any way I can, Lorrain barely uttered through a wave of conflicting emotions. Perhaps freedom may lie in your confession.

And perhaps, Reverend, that confession might help you? Kidd snapped back.

Lorrain didn’t answer. Thomas, confused as to whether he should now strike the prisoner for talking back, looked at Lorrain for any sign of anger. I should think, Lorrain revealed only what he was willing to admit, that gaining the full confession and repentance of such a notorious pirate would not hurt my position in the church.

Notorious pirate? Kidd grew animated as he slowly shook his head. Incredible... it’s beyond belief how far from the truth people live. To all the world, I am the most evil of men, singled out beyond all pirates, thieves, and murderers. Like Judas, they think, I am a traitor. But I am innocent—that is the truth. It’s truth that holds me here.

Kidd had raised his voice to an impassioned plea when it failed him. He began gasping for air between raspy coughs, his bony body shuddering with each convulsion. Thomas, thinking now was the time to move after such an impudent display, pulled his immense arm back to beat him in the face. Lorain moved between them to stop him. Kidd ended his fit by spitting some bloody phlegm.

It’s wrong of me to pretend that I have never sinned. I am no better, no worse, than any other man. No, I am not blameless. Kidd’s blistered lips had cracked from coughing, and now oozed a puss-filled serum. He dabbed his lips with the back of his hand. There is so little truth left in this world.

"Will you tell me the truth?" Lorrain asked.

The truth may not be what you expect.

I’m prepared for that.

Are you also prepared, Reverend, to accept the world naked and unadorned? Are you prepared to abandon your safe, civilized world and leave your cherished beliefs behind? Kidd examined Lorrain’s face, then challenged him further. You are young. You are a man of religion. My world is very removed from yours.

I’ve been the Chaplain here for many years... many years. Worse men than you have poured out their most private horrors. Lorrain spoke the truth, but he lied, too, for there was something different about Kidd that intimidated him, made him feel like a naive child in his presence. Lorrain then feigned a knowing smile, as if to say that nothing could shock him. I’m willing to risk it. he said.

Kidd just smiled back.

If you could get me a pipe and tobacco and maybe a bit of gin for my pain, I think we could talk some more. As he spoke, Kidd flashed his eyes to the side, telling Lorrain he should do something about Thomas and the guards.

Bring what he asks, then leave us, Lorrain’s eyes never left Kidd’s as he spoke.

Thomas spat toward Kidd. He’s a dog, Reverend. A mad dog. I’d sooner feed my balls to pigs than serve this bastard liquor. Thomas spread his log-like arm over Lorrain’s shoulder and jerked him toward the door. You listen to me, Reverend, I know what I’m talking about. You leave him to us. We’ll get his bloody confession. The two guards snickered as one pulled Kidd off the stool by his hair and began dragging him out. You go back to your chapel now. You’ve done your duty, but there’s just no helping scum like this. He’ll do his talking at Wapping dock with a rope round his neck.

No! I will speak with the prisoner. Lorrain had gained Kidd’s confidence, and he was not going to let his good fortune slip away. Forget the gin. Bring the pipe and tobacco for me. And I will hear his confession in confidence.

Thomas was startled. He stared at Lorrain for a moment with his dark icy eyes, uncertain as to how to react. Then he laughed. That’s right, Reverend, you have your smoke. Why not? You two have your little talk. But afterwards, the dog belongs to me.

The guards threw Kidd back in the room, sending him rolling in a cloud of dirt through the loose straw spread across the floor. They brought another chair for Lorrain and left, remaining just outside the chamber. Another guard entered a moment later and handed over a long clay pipe already stuffed with tobacco. Lorrain held it out for Kidd.

You know, on ship, tobacco is forbidden. If you’re caught below deck with a lighted pipe, you’re sentenced to death... or worse. Kidd didn’t take the pipe, but just seemed to study it in Lorrain’s outstretched hand. Fire, Reverend, it’s the fire. I’ve seen it turn a magnificent galley into floating ashes within minutes. In just a flash—it’s gone, with all hands lost.

Lorrain sat on the hard edge of the stool.

I’d sooner wreck on some forgotten reef or face the full broadside of a man-o-war than challenge a fire on board. All that timber, tar, and line—there’s just no hope.

Kidd turned away from the pipe and began scouring the floor below him. After discarding two strands of straw as unsuitable, he finally settled on a small dry twig.

A ship’s company reserved the worse punishment for those who disobeyed this law. Instant death was a reward for the favored. Banishment was the thing... banishment to a deserted sandbar with one cask of water and a pistol. Kidd studied the twig as he spoke. The sandbar had to be lifeless, barren. The best were those that fell below water at high tide.

Kidd limped over to the lantern and held the stick to the flame, occasionally blowing on the end until it glowed a bright red. Then he turned back to Lorrain and asked in a barely audible voice, Reverend, would you like to light the pipe?

I don’t smoke.

You don’t want to lie to the guards, do you? Why don’t you give it a try, just between friends? If you do, I’ll tell you what that pistol is for.

The pistol?

The pistol was a kindness.

Yes, a kindness.

Considering it of no importance, and likely to put Kidd at ease, Lorrain took the pipe and let Kidd light it from the smoldering stick. Lorrain gently puffed on the long thin stem, simply blowing the smoke, and passed the pipe over. Kidd seemed very satisfied with himself. With his head tilted slightly back, his eyelids hanging half closed, he sat back down on the stool as if he were settling into some overstuffed divan. The smoke flowed from the pipe in rolling curls, then swirled about his head, filling the room with a surprisingly pleasant air.

"Captain Tew would speak of his voyage to the East only if he had a pipe in his mouth. Didn’t matter who he was talking to—a tavern full of drunken sailors