by L. A. Meyer
I look out and see that we are once again in front of that dark temple, the one that holds the black statue of Kali, Goddess of Death, and the scimitar-wielding guardians of the gate to the place are now waving their weapons about their heads and screaming, “Kali! Kali!” and are rushing towardus.
Oh, Lord, what have I done now?
I slide down off the elephant’s back and reach up for Mairead, but she is already on the ground and running after Ravi.
We pound off down the street in the general direction of the ship. The parade has stopped for the moment, the elephants standing quiet.
“Missies! Under here! Careful!” shouts Ravi, ducking under an elephant’s belly. We follow—Lord, look at the size of those feet!—and emerge mercifully unsquashed on the other side of the parade and find ourselves at the mouth of a narrow alley.
“Here! Quickly!”
We run down the length of that, turn right on another street, through some laundry hanging on a line, the sounds of the pursuing thuggees giving wings to our feet.
Oh, why cannot I ever think before I act?
We dart through a doorway to a house, past some very surprised people, and out their back door.
“In here, Missies! Quiet now!”
We crouch in a low shed and wait.
Silence, except for our heavy breathing.
“Ravi think we have lost them.”
He peeks cautiously out the door. After a few minutes he says, “Come. We are not far from your big boat.”
Again we start running, and then suddenly we burst back into the light. It is the wharf and there is the blessed Lorelei Lee!
Sure is handy having a street-smart urchin around when you need one.
“Let’s get back aboard, Mairead, and we’ll—”
“Kali! Kali! Kali!”
I twist around and, sure enough, those crazy berserkers are coming at us screaming, “Ferengi! Maarma! Ferengi! Maarma!”
I know what ferengi means, and I strongly suspect that maarma means KILL!
“Faster, Mairead! We can make it!”
Mairead, however, is plainly winded, and slows, gasping.
“Ravi! Help me!”
The boy and I grab her arms and drag her forward toward the foot of the gangway. Gaining it, we push her up and onto the ship, and I shout up, “Sailors! Pull up the brow as soon as we are aboard!”
Mairead goes safely over the rail and I go to follow, but behind me I hear Ravi say, “Goodbye, Missy Memsahib.”
I look back to see him standing at the foot of the gangway.
“Thuggees now kill poor Ravi for helping Missies. He go to Brahma to be with Mommy. Thank you, Missies, for fine day. Be not sad. This good karma for me. Ravi hope to come back as happy monkey to sit at Missy’s feet to amuse you with high-jinkings. Or maybe sweet puppy dog . . .”
He kneels to accept his fate and looks up at me with those enormous brown eyes.
“Sweet puppy, my ass. Get up here, you little fraud!”
I go back down and grab him by his thick mop of hair. “Get yer skinny butt up here, you crazy little wog!” I shout, pulling him up the gangway and flinging him across the deck.
“Pull it up, mates,” I cry, and they do it, leaving the thuggees howling below, waving their scimitars in impotent rage.
Uncomprehending but stern and suspicious looks from the quarterdeck follow us as we go below.
Oh Lord, in trouble again . . .
Chapter 40
“Thanks for not being too angry with me, Higgins,” I whisper in the darkness of our room. I have my head on his shoulder and I’m running my forefinger through the whorls of fine hair on his chest. It is much too hot for me to wear my nightshirt, but Higgins insists upon wearing his. I swear, the man refuses to sweat. The cool bath I had enjoyed earlier had helped somewhat with the heat, but that benefit had soon worn off. Oh, well, better than being cold, I suppose.
“I don’t know what comes over me sometimes.”
“While I realize that it is youthful high spirits that rule your conduct, would it be totally out of the question for you to stop to think for a moment before plunging into action?”
“Please, Higgins, do not scold me, for I have suffered much this day.”
A heavy sigh is all that is heard from my dear husband, John.
Earlier in the day, after the howling dervishes had been urged by the truncheons of the local police to leave the dock and return to their temple, Captain Laughton had come back aboard. And he was not a happy man, oh, no. He was, in fact, fairly steaming with anger. Mairead and I were made to come out to stand before him.
“I had to personally apologize to the damned Governor and to that goddamned jumped-up heathen of a Maharajah! Damn!” he roared upon seeing my very abashed self standing on the deck with Ravi wrapped firmly around my right leg, looking very fearful. My colorful garb hung on me limply and no longer seemed quite so gay and charming.
“Furthermore, we have been invited to leave this fine port immediately because of your conduct today! All hands make ready to set sail!”
There is a great groan from all about. No one is pleased—neither the Captain, nor his officers, nor the crew, and especially not the whorey Crews, as they had been doing a right brisk business.
“Beat the bleedin’ crap out of her!” I hear Mrs. Barnsley shout. “Ruint our fun, she did!” cries another. “Flog the little twit till she’s croakers!”
Somehow I don’t think a simple heartfelt apology is going to serve here.
“Mr. Higgins,” orders the Captain, pointing a stiff finger at me. “You will now take that wife of yours and give her a very sound thrashing!” The Captain turns and stalks off toward his cabin. “And when you are done beating her, you may attend me in my quarters. I will need a drink! A stiff one!”
Higgins, looking very stern, comes over to me, wraps his hand around my neck, and drags me off squalling to our cabin, banging me against several bulkheads along the way.
After I am flung through our doorway and land on the floor, I look up somewhat fearfully at Higgins. I know he is mad at me, so I really don’t know what to expect.
“Get that goddamned garish whorish dress off of you, right this instant! Yes, the knickers, too! Bare your worthless bottom. NOW!”
I go to do it, but . . .
John, you wouldn’t . . . would you?
No, he wouldn’t. He takes his leather razor strop from the washstand and slaps it hard against his palm.
Slap!
“Take that, strumpet!”
He nods to me, and I take the cue.
“Yeeeow!” I scream. “Please, husband, no more, I beg of you!”
“No more? Hardly.” Again the leather strap hits his palm.
Slap!
“Oh, Lord, help me!” I screech. “I shall die!”
“Nay, you shan’t die, you little tart, not till I am done with you and your bottom is as red as a beet!”
Slap! Slap! Slap!
“Mercy, Sir! Please! Ow!”
Slap! Slap! Slap!
“Yeeow!” I howl. “I am undone!”
Slap!
“There,” says Higgins, putting aside the strap. “I hope you took a good lesson from that.”
I bawl away, crying out my supposed shame and pain.
“Be quiet, girl, and cover yourself,” barks Higgins. “I must see to the Captain. And for God’s sake, try to behave!”
With that, he stalks off.
Continuing to sob my theatrical sobs, I shed my sari and put on my powder monkey gear. When I’ve changed, I dip my fingers in our water pitcher and sprinkle some water on my face to resemble tears. Then I go back topside to look for Ravi.
Blinking in the sunlight, I see that we have already sailed far from the land, and we are headed south on a nice quarter reach, sails trimmed properly, and all is well. Good. Just the way I like it.
With my hands on my tail as if it burns from my recent beating, I head forward.
I do
not go four steps before I feel a familiar form at my side, entwining his fingers in mine. I look down into those big brown eyes, brimming with tears.
“Ravi hear poor Missy screaming in much horrible pains,” he whimpers. “Ravi sorry. Ravi cry, but could do nothing to stop beatings.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, boy, I’m tougher than I look, and I’ve been beaten before,” I say, giving his thin shoulder a shake. “Come, we must see what has befallen Missy Mairead in that regard.”
We are heading toward the Newgater quarters when I hear . . .
“’Bout time . . .”
I turn to see that the madams Barnsley, Berry, and MacDonald are all seated at a table set up on forehatch and are playing at cards. They all grin broadly at me, happy in my recent comeuppance. It is Mrs. Barnsley who speaks first, of course.
“Wouldn’t sit down, if I was you, dearie. You might find it a bit painful.”
Gales of laughter from the other two.
I lift my nose and pass them by. Grrrrr . . . Let those old biddies rejoice in my apparent downfall. We shall see . . . just you wait.
We dive down to the quarters and find that Mairead has not suffered much. In fact, we find that she has been regaling all with the tale of the day . . .
“And then we got up on the head of the elly-phant and then Jacky”—there is much clapping and laughter from all my girls. Mairead still wears her sari and swirls about imitating the dance we did on the elephant’s back—“why, here she is now!”
I bow and grandly announce, “And here is our bold champion who delivered us from the assassins of Kali!”
I push Ravi forward to stand before them.
“Oh, he is darling!” exclaims Mary Reibey. “Do you think you’ll be able to keep him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tell ’em he followed you home,” says Mary Wade. “That usually works.”
“All Missies very beautiful and kind,” says Ravi, putting on the big eyes. “This poor larka thinks he has died and gone to heaven.”
“We’ll see about what kind of heaven you have landed in, boy,” I say, “after we have secured your berth. Come with me.”
I learn that Mairead had been spared harsh punishment because of her Condition and had been given only a few swats with a switch on the backs of her hands, as well as a stern lecture on the perils of falling under the bad influence of one such as me. She feigned contriteness and promised to be good. I know the name of that tune, Mairead, I think, and chuckle to myself when I hear of all this. I have sung it many times myself.
Although the others express great concern over my recent treatment, Mairead does not. I give her a wink and she gives me one back. She knows Higgins, and she also knows he would never hurt me.
After giving instructions for more appropriate garb for Ravi—I think our Powder Monkey uniform would be just the thing—he is measured, and I take him back on deck.
Nearing the quarterdeck, I spy Higgins emerging from the Captain’s cabin and we go to him.
Ravi locks himself around my leg yet again.
“Oh, Missy Memsahib! It is the Sahib who did the beatings on your poor body!”
“Head up, Ravi. Stand straight. Things are not always as they appear.”
The lad makes an effort to stand and not tremble and I say, “Higgins, this is Ravi. It is probable that he saved my life today, and I want to keep him. He has some English, so he will understand when you speak to him. Ravi, this is my husband, Mr. Higgins.”
Ravi lets go of my leg and bows down and puts his forehead on the deck at Higgins’s feet.
“Much congratulations and hopings of much marriage bliss, Big Sahib, and enjoying fine flesh of pretty Missy Memsahib, too.”
“He has some English, Higgins,” I snort. “But not a lot of sense.”
“That could be said of others of my acquaintance,” Higgins sniffs.
Though he faked the beating earlier today, I do think the sentiments he expressed at the time about my conduct were, indeed, heartfelt.
“Come on, Higgins, this lad could be—What the hell is that?”
Higgins follows my gaze skyward to the thing sitting in the rigging.
“It is a monkey. Mr. Gibson brought it aboard to provide him some amusement,” replies Higgins.
“She nice monkey,” offers Ravi. “Ravi meet before when Big Sahib beating on poor Missy.”
“Oh. Well, anyway—”
“She’s allowed ashore and she comes back in disgrace with a filthy wog in tow. To be expected, I suppose.”
Uh-oh . . .
First Mate Ruger has appeared, cross-armed, on the quarterdeck, looking down upon me with displeasure. “If I had been given the task of whipping some sense into you, the job would have been done right, I assure you.”
“He’s not a filthy wog. He has bathed daily in the waters of Mother Ulhas,” I retort.
“Well, get rid of him.”
Ravi understands enough to again wrap himself around my leg, whimpering.
“If Mr. Gibson is allowed to bring a monkey aboard, I should be allowed my wog.”
This conversation is interrupted by the appearance of Captain Laughton, who when apprised of the situation allows that Ravi can remain aboard provided I pay for his food and upkeep.
I agree to that, and me and my wog beat a hasty retreat and resolve to stay out of sight for a while.
The ship takes a gentle roll, and a light breeze comes in through the porthole. It rolls over Higgins and me as we lie abed.
Ahh, that feels soooo good.
I turn over and put my nose to Higgins’s ear. I hear a well-bred sniff from my bedmate. “What is that smell?”
“What? Oh, yes . . . It’s jasmine perfume. Do you like it?”
“Rather strong stuff, Miss, to have survived your bath,” he says, disapproval evident in his voice. “I am sure that particular scent has never assaulted the senses in a proper English drawing room.”
“Oh, but it will, Higgins, if Mother England succeeds in her plan to take over India, which seems to be her intent. All her young lasses will be wearing jasmine, if only to show their independence and anger their parents. Believe me, Higgins, I know young girls and their ways. That’s why we’ve got to get in on it.”
“In on what, may I ask?”
“Why, the trade to India and the East, of course—Japan, China, even. Faber Shipping cannot leave it all to the East India Company. Wouldn’t be fair, them having it all.”
“Might I remind the President of Faber Shipping that she has received a life sentence to the penal colony in New South Wales?”
“Yes, Higgins, but you have not been so condemned. Faber Shipping is now a thing that exists separate from me. I merely own much of the stock. You know that I always just wanted to have a small ship to take stuff from a place that had a lot of that stuff to a place that did not have a lot of that stuff and so prosper. It didn’t work out quite that way for me. But there are a lot of people that depend on that little company, and I intend to see that it continues to exist. Faber Shipping must go on, Higgins, and you must be the one to do it in my absence. Say you will do it for me . . . for all of us?”
Silence . . . then . . .
“I will do what I can, Miss.”
“Good, Sir John of the Strong Hand and Forgiving Nature,” I say, snuggling in closer, now that a degree of coolness has entered our cabin.
“Ravi will be a very good addition to our company. Take him back to Boston, educate him—he is very bright, you will find—and in a few years, he will be an excellent liaison to India. He speaks the lingua franca after all, and he is a very cunning little fellow.”
“Umm . . . My Errant Mistress is always thinking, even when she is being wildly irresponsible.”
“I try to be good, Higgins,” I say, for the hundredth time, nuzzling my nose behind his ear. “I do.”
“I thought that being respectful of local customs was part of Faber Shipping Worldwide’s charter.”
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I give him a glower in the darkness. “My good conscience was not with me.”
“That is because you contrived to get yourself lost. You are lucky the Captain is of a forgiving sort.”
“Forgiving? He had me beaten.”
“The Captain has his vices, but he is not stupid. I’m sure he saw through our little farce today. He knew I would treat you lightly, but he did have to make a show of punishing you.”
I roll over and sigh. “But, oh, Higgins, what a wonderful place! I would so love to visit again!”
“Well, at least you did not return with a ring in your nose.”
“That was an option at one of the shops, actually, and I did consider it, Higgins, but I demurred. I heard Mistress Pimm whispering in my ear that it would not be at all . . . seemly.”
“A wise decision, for a change.”
I feel sleep coming and murmur, “Goodnight, husband. You do take such very good care of me.”
Chapter 41
James Fletcher, Convict
Onboard Cerberus
Someplace Very Hot
Jacky Faber
Onboard another prison ship
Someplace as hot and as vile, I suspect
Dearest Jacky,
I hope you are well and in good spirits, but I am sorry to report that ours are beginning to flag. The treatment grows more savage by the day, the food worse, the water more putrid, the meat more rotten. I do not know how much more we can take. Twelve men have already died from the maltreatment, their bodies taken out of the foul hold and thrown overboard without ceremony.
I am glad, in a way, that these messages to you are of an ethereal nature and not written down on paper, as I do not like coming off as a complaining scrub—additionally, I would not wish to burden you with our trials, knowing full well that you have travails of your own.
I fear we grow dispirited, and I know we must do something, something to give us some hope. I wracked my brains over this and then I recalled those belaying pins I had seen during exercise, lying carelessly in the scuppers.
