by L. A. Meyer
Ummmm . . .
“Sort of like our lovely hammock back on the dear old Dolphin, eh, Jay-mee?” is what I say, snuggling into his side. “’Cept it’s a little more wet.”
“It is that, Jacky.” He laughs, his breath coming a bit fast. “We only lack Davy standing over us, calling us a pair of sodomites.”
Recalling that magical time in our youth, when we were just kids on a wounded British frigate, cast adrift with not much of a future to hope for, I sigh and trace my finger down through the center of his brow, down his nose, over his lips and chin, and down to his throat.
“Mmm, it’s so good to be here beside you, love,” I murmer, luxuriating in the warmth of the water and the feel of his body here next to mine.
Oh, yes, Lord, thank you for this gift . . .
He in turn lifts his own right hand and places it on the part of my head that is bald and leaves it there.
I have noticed that whenever my head has been shorn, various males of my acquaintance seem compelled to place the palms of their hands upon my bare skull, and I think I know why . . .
“Yes, Jaimy, I know what you are thinking . . . and believe it or not, it is true. Under your hand is a mind, a person, a brain. I know it is sometimes hard for you to believe that, but it is true. And that which is under your hand loves you very much”
With that, I squirm around and place myself between his legs, my back toward him. Taking the bottle of bath oil from Chi-chi, I hand it to Jaimy, saying, “My turn now, dear one”
He applies the fragrant oil to my back and rubs it in with his long, strong fingers, and I moan with pleasure at his touch.
Purrrrrrr . . .
“Oh, yes, right there, Jaimy. Oh, yes, that is so nice . . . so nice . . .”
After several moments of exquisite pleasure, I feel him move my pigtail to the side and uh-oh . . . back to reality . . . as I know he is looking at the new addition to my bodily splendor.
“What is this, then?” he asks.
“It is the mark of Cheng Shih,” I say. “The Mark of the Golden Dragon.”
“So you are her slave, then?”
He has tensed up—I can feel it.
“No, Jaimy, it just means that she has . . . given me her protection.”
He is silent, and he has stopped massaging my back.
“Will you be with her again, tonight?” he finally asks.
I sigh and say, “Yes, Jaimy, I will.”
Another silence . . . then . . .
“You have made yet another bargain for my safety, haven’t you, Jacky?”
I don’t reply for a moment, then I reach back and pull his arms around me, across my chest, and push myself back against him.
“Jaimy, love, you must learn to live in the moment. We must take what we can get in this world.”
“But . . .”
I wriggle my bum a bit. That should ease his mind a tad.
“Look, Jaimy, in this case, she is justified. I did try to burn down her ship. By rights she should have killed me. And she did not.”
“Because she wanted to . . . use you.”
I whip around in the bath to face him.
“Use me?” I ask. “Just how does she use me, Mr. James Emerson Fletcher, Man-of-the-World-Who-Knows-Everything-There-Is-to-Know? Hmmm?”
He looks off, uneasy, and says, “You know . . .”
Uh-oh . . . The male mind must be set at ease.
“No, I don’t know.” I put my palms to either side of his face and look into his eyes and say with all sincerity, “Believe me, Jaimy, Chinese women are very reserved and very . . . shy about some things.” A lot more shy than a certain Mam’selle Claudelle de Bourbon back in New Orleans, that’s for sure. “And she might look like a heathen devil, but to me she is very kind.” Mostly, I’m thinking, remembering that switch. “And very proper, too. Now just pet me, Jaimy, and put everything else out of your mind”
I turn around again and feel his strong hands on my back.
Oh, yes, Jaimy, just like that . . .
I lean back against him and feel his arms encircle me again . . .
Ummmmm . . .
No, we did not come together as one in that lovely tub, James Fletcher and I. That would have been awkward and probably gotten the both of us beheaded. No, when I go to the marriage bed, be it legal or not, I want it to be made up with the finest silk sheets on a day that is perfectly beautiful, with the windows open and a gentle breeze blowing and the birds outside singing a glorious song. That’s what I want for that day.
On this day, however . . .
The door bursts open and Ravi rushes in.
“Missy Memsahib! Come quick. We have found our dear ship!”
Chapter 64
Once again I am crouched, hidden behind the main hatch of the Cerberus as we approach the unwary Lorelei Lee. Except this time, it is Jaimy who stands up on the quarterdeck as I lie here below with my Chinese cohorts, ready to spring. Our boarding party lies out of sight of those on the Lorelei Lee—me, Cheng Pao, and a dozen of his best swordsmen, and Cheng Shih. We will board the Lee in that order, right behind Ian McConnaughey, who stands ready at the port rail of the Cerberus. The Divine Wind lies over the horizon, with other ships of Cheng Shih’s fleet. We are arranged such that I might point out Ruger to Ian and possibly talk the other officers out of a pointless fight—I would hate to see them hurt.
Oh, yes, and there are some one hundred Chinese swordsmen down below decks as backup. I hope they will not be needed.
“Two thousand yards,” says Jaimy, up near the wheel, splendid in his clean blue Royal Navy jacket, his glass to his eye. Ah, how good to hear his voice.
So, knees up, rump on deck, back against the hatch, sword across my back, I wait . . . and hark back to our lovely bath this morning . . .
I had turned again in the bath. “What is . . . or was . . . your plan, dear?” I asked as I lay my head back against his shoulder. “After you so heroically took over the Cerberus?”
“My plan? It was to arm my ship at Batavia, get down to New South Wales, offload that stinking mob of worthless convicts, collect the head price on each of them, then get the hell out of there to come looking for you. That was my plan . . . Till you and your heathen horde came along”
“The head price?”
“Yes. The ten pounds six bounty paid for any convict delivered alive”
“But how—”
“Captain Bligh, the governor of the penal colony, has never met Captain Griswold. I planned to stand in for him and take the reward.”
I twist around again, sloshing water to the deck, and grasp him by the shoulders, looking into those beautiful gray eyes. “Why, Jaimy,” I say, giving him my best, delighted open-mouthed grin. “That is a scam worthy even of me! I am so very proud of you!” Then I hug him to me. “So romantic—the fearsome pirate Captain Jaimy Fletcher, the Scourge of the South China Sea, come lookin’ for his lady love, lost somewhere on the great rolling sea!”
Jaimy gives out with a gentlemanly snort. “Some fearsome pirate—a tub of a ship without a single gun.”
“Well, you did look rather romantically piratical the other day, your face a mask of menace, your mighty sword raised above my poor head.”
“To think I tried to kill you back then, not knowing . . .”
“Aw, go on wi’ ye, Jaimy,” I say, giving him an underwater elbow and a quick kiss on his cheek, knowing full well how he dislikes it when I put on the Cockney accent. “And, luv, ye didn’t even come half close to splittin’ me poor bald noggin!”
He laughs, placing his hand once again upon that bald head.
“And Higgins, now,” says Jaimy, looking off. “How goes he?”
Hmmmm . . . He must have heard . . .
I pull away from him a bit, put my finger on his nose, and look him in the eye.
“You are my own true love, Jaimy, and I mean that with all my heart and soul, but John Higgins is my best friend in this world and if—”
&nbs
p; He laughs and pulls me to him. “Do not worry, dear one, I could never be jealous of our good John Higgins, no matter what.”
I think to give him my “In spite of what all has gone on, I am yet a maiden” speech, but, no, I do not. He must take me as I am, or not take me at all.
“Well, good,” I say nestling my face into that spot where his neck meets his shoulder.
He is silent for a bit, plainly musing about something. Then he asks, “Why do you think the Dragon Lady is so . . . taken with you?”
I ponder this, then reply, “I think she finds me . . . fascinating . . . because of the way I look—my hair, my skin, and all. She calls me her Golden Child when she is in a good mood. She calls me Little Round-Eyed Barbarian at other times because, I suppose, my eyes are not slanted like hers or any other Chinese woman’s eyes. And because I am a barbarian, from her point of view. She seems intrigued by accounts of my exploits—it is plain that Chinese women do not generally act as I do.”
“Nor most English women,” says Jaimy with a bit of a laugh.
I give him another poke with my elbow and signal Chi-chi, who comes over with another pitcher of hot water and pours it in.
“Ahhhhh . . .”
“I am what I am, Jaimy,” I say, luxuriating in the warmth and the closeness of his body. “Maybe Cheng Shih sees a little bit of herself in me. I don’t know . . .” Then I give out a low chuckle. “Just wait till she gets a look at the Lorelei Lee’s figurehead when we catch her. Ha. You, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind, dear one. Now, where were we? Oh, yes . . .”
Ummmmmmm . . .
I did not get switched today for my conduct in that tub—nay, just a very stern look from Cheng Shih. My robe wrapped around me, I threw my nose in the air, put on a partial Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls Look, and she let me get away with it . . . for now . . .
That was this morning. This is now—and now we must all, whether we be Chinese, Irish, or Brit, take the Lorelei Lee.
“One thousand yards,” says Jaimy.
By his side is Padraic Delaney, looking noble, and Arthur McBride stands there, too, looking down at me. I had heard that Jaimy had given him a good thrashing when he took over the Cerberus, but it’s plain that the lad never learns.
“Five hundred yards,” comes the countdown from the quarterdeck. The Lee looms closer.
I look down at my shiv, once again tucked in my belt. Jaimy gave it back to me yesterday, saying he and the Irish lads could not have accomplished their escape from the hideous hold of the Cerberus without that blade. I don’t doubt it. The cock’s head I had carved on the handle those many years ago looks up at me as if to say, How many more notches in me now, Jacky, me lass? How many dead men on a poor shiv’s hilt?
Be quiet, you, is what I say, shoving him down deeper into my belt, his face against my belly, shutting him up.
“One hundred . . . Prepare to board.”
I wait . . . wait . . . wait . . .
And when I hear the thump of the sides meeting, I jump up and shout, “NOW GIVE ME BACK MY GODDAMN SHIP!”
Ian is already over the rail as I lope along his side. There, on the quarterdeck, stand Mr. Seabrook and Mr. Gibson, both wearing expressions of extreme shock. They had expected a simple gam twixt two English vessels, and what they get is a swarm of Chinese pirates bent on their destruction—that, and one very angry Irishman.
“Wait! All of you!” I cry. “Seabrook! Gibson! Put down your arms! There are just too many of them! You cannot win! You will not be harmed! I am your own Jacky Faber and I promise you this!”
They stand immobile, unable to move. Then their drawn swords point down to the deck. They know that they are lost.
“Which one, Jacky?” asks Ian at my side, his voice cold.
There is one who has not lowered his sword and it is Ruger. He stands, his sword in his fist, his eyes wild. He had expected a gam with Captain Griswold of the Cerberus, further expecting, I know, to be able to trade some of his female cargo for money, whiskey, or who knows what—the same trade Captain Laughton had refused all those weeks ago. Well, it ain’t gonna happen, Ruger. You will get something else, you cur.
“That one there,” I say, reaching back and whipping out my sword and pointing it at Ruger.
“You,” says Ruger, fixing his eye on me. “No . . . not again . . .”
But he need not be concerned with me. Ian McConnaughey steps up and puts his sword in Ruger’s face. “You dared to put your hand on my girl”
Ruger, realizing his peril, retreats a step, and then swings his sword wildly at Ian’s head. Ian easily parries the blow, bringing his own blade back and then slipping it into Ruger’s belly.
Ruger drops his sword and sinks to his knees and hangs his head, sobbing, “Mercy . . . please . . .”
“Ian! Dear husband!”
Both Ian and I look over to the hatchway and see Mairead standing there, her arms out.
Ian steps away from Ruger, his anger spent, and Cheng Pao, taking this as a signal to end things quickly, whips out his sword and swings it, taking Ruger’s head off in one clean stroke. The sword goes back in Pao’s scabbard before Ruger’s head hits the deck.
All is silence. I feel Cheng Shih come up next to me, and I know I am expected to do something . . . and I do it.
Ruger’s head lies at my feet. The eyes blink once, then cloud over. I resheathe my sword, then lean down to grab a fistful of hair and lift up the head. It is surprisingly heavy, but I carry it over and present it, dripping, to Mairead.
“Blood for blood, Sister,” is all I say. I feel Cheng Shih’s arm come circling around my waist, making me steady.
Mairead nods. “Blood for blood.”
Then I throw the vile thing over the side and she runs to her man and wraps her arms about him.
Blood for blood, indeed . . .
Chapter 65
Once the last trace of the hated and hateful Ruger has gone over the side, I leap to my quarterdeck and put one foot to either side of the centerline, just the way I like it, the better to feel the movement of my glorious ship. Oh Lorelei, I thought never to see you again! Then full of pure joy, I lift my voice.
“This is Captain Faber . . . oh yes it is! And I have the con. Mr. Seabrook, you are now my First Mate and you are relieved of this watch.”
He looks about him at the crowd of heavily armed Chinese that has just swarmed aboard, and nods. He shrugs and says, “Captain . . . uh, Faber, indeed, has the con.”
And, oh! It feels so good!
“All topmen aloft to make sail!” I bellow, bouncing up and down on my toes. “Right full rudder! Helmsman, follow that junk!”
The Divine Wind had been signaled after the Lorelei Lee was secured, and she has joined us, pulling to the head of the formation, with the Cerberus and the Lee, side by side, behind her. We have been joined by another ten of Cheng Shih’s ships, which fall in aft and to either side. Nobody’s going to mess with her fleet, that’s for sure . . . least of all, us.
I am still sucking in great gulps of glorious free air when I hear . . .
“Welcome back, Miss,” says my dear, dear Higgins, joining me on the quarterdeck. “Lovely outfit, quite exotic—and your hair . . . Well, what can I say?”
“Good to see you, too, Higgins,” I say, my face beaming out my joy at seeing him again. I take him by the arms, go on tiptoes, and plant a good one on his cheek.
“Umm, I must say, Miss, that in spite of my usual optimism concerning the state of your health when you have gone missing, this time I rather despaired of ever seeing you again. In this world, anyway.”
And can you be misting up a little, Higgins, even you?
“Ah, well, Higgins, you have seen that I do have a way of bobbing back up,” I say, snorting back a tear of my own. “Sort of like a cork.”
“Indeed, Miss. Ah . . . do I see your Mr. Fletcher standing on that deck over there?”
I look over to see Jaimy
standing on the quarterdeck of his ship.
“Yes, you do, Husband.”
“Hmmm. Well, I certainly wish him the joy of his command, and since he is here, I believe I must regretfully give up my wife,” he says, musing. “And since we are very near some Muslim lands, I believe I will use their method in solving this particular marital problem.”
He places his hand on my smooth forehead and intones, “I divorce thee, I divorce thee, I divorce thee. There, it is done.”
“So I’m a single girl again?”
“Just so, Miss.”
“Thank you, Higgins. I did enjoy being wife to you. I hope I was a good one,” I say. “Now permit me to introduce my friend and protector Admiral Cheng Shih and her translator Brother Arcangelo Rossetti, Society of Jesus.”
I notice the Divine Wind has turned east and I give the helmsman a significant look and he understands, adjusting his course to follow in the wake of the junk. Cheng Shih is plainly wasting no time at all in getting us back to where the coveted Buddha lies.
Higgins bows low and gets a slight nod of the head from Shih and a decent bow from Brother Arcangelo, who has been translating in a low murmur ever since he came aboard. I know that she is a bit puzzled over the “husband” thing, but I’ll explain later.
“Higgins, some refreshments for our guests, perhaps? In my cabin, if you would.”
Higgins has miraculously managed to remove all traces of Ruger from my cabin. The windows are open, the breezes blow through the thin gauzy curtains, and there is none of his stink in the place. It’s all just so lovely—so good to be back in my very own lovely cabin again. I fling myself across my bed and revel in my return.
The table is set by—the Weasel? Himself? How can it be? Oh, this is so delightfully rich! And Higgins sets out a fine spread. After asking him to arrange a meeting later with me and the officers—and with Mrs. Barnsley, Mrs. Berry, and Mrs. MacDonald—I settle in and show Cheng Shih around my cabin and show her something about our food, our drinks, and our ways. She examines all the relics I have collected in my travels—my scrimshaw, my amphora, my figurines, and such. I play my guitar for her. And my fiddle. My concertina, too. And she is pleased.
