"Enough silver for each hand t'get two, three keg apiece, right away," Balfa cannily speculated. "Delay de reckonin', n'est-ce pas? Set aside dead men's shares, in plain sight?"
Poor and poltroonish as the Spanish resistance had been, they still had managed to slay or mortally wound at least seven of their buccaneers before going under. Wives, children, and lovers were due a lost man's "lay." Or what Balfa and Lanxade could later swear was a proper share, after… deductions. Those wounded, but not mortally, were owed bonuses, too, depending on whether they'd lost something off their bodies; an eye, hand, digit, or foot, a leg… a "pension" paid in one lump sum if their seagoing life was curtailed by disabilities.
"You fear your own men?" Helio de Guilleri asked with a gasp of surprise. But then, he was used to absolute obedience and deference from house slaves and street negres, those below his social class. It never occurred to him, would never occur to any of his cohorts, that the piratical trade was the freest sort of democracy.
"They discover the sum we took is off, yes," Lanxade whispered, wondering if old Boudreaux might not be quitting the trade at the best time, after all… and might it not be in his interest to do so, too.
"Well, this schooner is worth a lot, too, so couldn't they wait until it, and that British prize, were sold, and we-" Helio asked.
"Non, mon cher!" Lanxade hastily objected. "This schooner must disappear, and quickly, before the Spanish begin a search for her. If they lose a guarda costa lugger, a few local merchant ships, that they could abide. Blame the Anglais. But a royal vessel, with two million dollars aboard? Even they would be stirred to action."
"Well, take her back to Grand Terre, unload her, and strip her of anything useful," Helio pressed, sounding almost whiny to them.
"Tow her back outta Barataria Bay, den sink her in deep water," Balfa cagily suggested, "so nobody ever see her again, by damn."
"Sink her?" Helio gawped, louder than he'd meant to. "Why can't she be sold… to some stupid Yankees, perhaps?" he plaintively posed as if ruing the loss of a single ecu of her worth.
"Sink her?" his sister Charite demanded, stalking up from astern to join them, her dainty left hand fisted about the hilt of her smallsword in sudden dismay, and her knee-high boots drumming on the decks. "Sink her, will you, messieurs!' She's the equal of Le Revenant, with better guns aboard her. We need her to begin building our own fleet! Helio, tell them! Carriages could be built, the artillery could then be used ashore… for our Creole army, for our coming revolution!"
"We were just discussing that, Charite, ma soeur, uh… " he lamely stammered, blushing under his sister's indignant glare.
"Capitaine Balfa has been promised a ship of his own," Charite continued, her colour high over any less-than-zealous enthusiasm for their cherished cause. "Et voila, here she is. When word gets out, hundreds of men will come forward to crew her. Capitaine Balfa then can choose only the best. The others can enlist in your regiment, mon frere. They will come like… that!" she exulted with a boyish snap of the fingers of her free right hand.
"Tiens, there is a difficulty, Charite," Helio muttered, gazing away, unable to meet her eyes. "We will speak of it later, if… "
"Let us speak of it now, Helio," she countered. "Or is it too complicated a matter for a mere woman to understand, hein?"
" Quel dommage. We're out of targets, alas," Don Rubio Monaster pretended to mourn as he and her cousin Jean-Marie casually sauntered up to join the leaders of the expedition, which was to their minds a natural right. They were still smirking over the "hunter's bag" they had shot or skewered while there yet had been survivors from the Spanish vessel's crew or armed guard. "Eh, something is amiss? Why all the long faces? We did just win a great victory, did we not?"
"They insist that we must sink this ship after looting her," Charite informed him with the slightest plaintive sound, as if looking for a supportive voice to champion her argument.
"Well, I suppose we should," Rubio said with a simper. "When a blind Spaniard could recognise her a mile off, ha ha! A pity surely. But, we can salvage her artillery and such."
"Hidden far up Barataria Bay, she'd be safe enough, as safe as Le Revenant has been," Charite hotly pointed out. "Cher Capitaine Balfa to command her, with two ships to prey on the Spanish cochons."
"I quittin', me," Balfa baldly told her.
"What?" Charite spat, aghast at that news. "But, you cannot!"
"Losin' dis ship, de Spaniards git too stirred up," Balfa laid out in a calm voice. "My share be more'n enough t'get by a long time. Got a bad feelin', mademoiselle. A longtime sailor's 'sight,' " he added with a shiver.
"But!" Charite spluttered for a moment, then turned icy cold. "Tres bien, m'sieur, " she said, distancing her demeanour. "If you have a… foreboding, then… we could promote a promising mate for command of this schooner. And honour you for your contributions."
"We cannot keep her, cherie, " Helio gravely told her. "It is a risk we cannot take."
"But we do need a second ship, yes?" Charite snapped, rounding on him as if he'd let her down, too. "If not at once, we could make a third cruise with Le Revenant and take a suitable merchant ship, then add to her armament with this ship's guns, yes? With news of this success, recruit more eager volunteers to man her, yes?"
"Well, of course, but…" Helio quickly agreed with a shrug of his shoulders, mostly to cool her ardour.
"Then I have a promising man in mind who seems more than eager for adventure," Charite schemed. "That mercenary former Anglais Navy man, Willoughby." She blushed as she raised that possibility to them, the mention of his name and nation. "He is nearly penniless, dismissed his service, and will do anything for riches. A very useful man who can be… lured." She blushed, too, to describe her lover in such a harsh fashion when the thrilling memory of his hands, his lips, his thrusting body was still fresh in her mind. "He would do anything for me, n'est-ce pas?" she intimated with a cruel grin forced to her lips.
"Not if he's run off in terror!" cousin Jean-Marie Rancour hooted with dismissive scorn and glee.
"Jean!" Rubio cautioned, but it was too late, and Jean-Marie waded in deeper despite the elbow aimed at his mid-ribs.
"We did for both of those uppity poseurs, didn't we, Rubio? The Anglais and that nosey Americain Ellison who followed you, Charite… that night you bearded the Anglais?"