by L. A. Meyer
I jump off his lap and look toward the chamber pot that sits in the corner. Then I glance at his bound arms and laugh. "If you think for one minute, Harry Flashby, that I'm going to pull that thing out and hold it for you while you are eased of your discomfort, then you are sadly mistaken."
Coarse laughter all around.
"Joannie, do you want to help out our guest in his time of need?" I tease.
"Eeeeeww," she squeals and dives behind my bed.
"Oh, well," I say, ruffling Flashby's hair. "We cannot have you messing up the cushion of my fine chair, now can we? We'd never get rid of the stench. John Thomas, Finn, please take our guest back up to the head, and do what you can."
Thomas and McGee come over to grab our captive and carry him away.
"Don't worry, Cap'n," grunts McGee. "We knows what to do with the sod."
They carry him out and I say, "Give us a song, Davy, to celebrate this fine day!"
And we do "Hearts of Oak" and "The Bonny Ship the Diamond" with much gusto and great acclaim, and presently the bound form of Harry Flashby is brought back into my cabin.
"And how did you manage the task, my fine fellows?" I ask of Thomas and McGee as they dump their burden back in his chair.
"Aw," says John Thomas. "We just pulled down his drawers and throwed him on a hole and made him piss like a girl, is all. He did it."
More raucous laughter, all at Flashby's expense.
I had pondered earlier about sending my two crushers, Thomas and McGee, over to Chiswell Street to meet Benny Crespo when he came back thinking to pick up the much-soiled Lotus Blossom, and to lay some well-deserved punches upon him, but then I thought, Nay, let that Randolph and his fellow thugs take care of the Creepo when they find both the Lotus Blossom and their master gone from that room, without a trace. Well, actually, there was a trace. I had left my silk veil neatly folded on the unrumpled bed as a token of remembrance. I am sure that Benjamin Crespo has come to rue the day he ever set eyes upon the Jewel of the East, and well he should.
"Doesn't do much for your manly esteem, does it, Flashby?" I chortle, plopping back into his lap.
He stares straight forward.
"Cat got your tongue, Sir?" I tease.
"So you mean to kill me, then?" he asks, his voice shaking.
"Oh, do be a man, Flashby. Bear up, my lad. Others have faced execution. I certainly have, and I am sure you, too, will face yours bravely. Well, actually, I'm not sure of that at all, knowing you as I do."
"I have money," he says.
"Of course you do, you lyin' son of a bitch. But you do not have enough money to buy yourself off, Flashbutt. Not this time," I say.
I stand and point my finger between his eyes. I drop the bantering tone and my voice hardens. "You tried to rape me when I was but thirteen. You tortured me when I was fifteen. You kidnapped me from my wedding when I was sixteen. And you bore false witness against me and James Fletcher last year, thinking to get both of us hanged. But it didn't happen, did it, you sorry bastard? No, it did not. It only served to get me condemned to life imprisonment in a foul penal colony and to drive James Fletcher to the edge of madness and beyond."
"Do not kill me, please," he whimpers.
"Kill you? Nay, though that would be a real pleasure, I shall not kill you," I purr. "No, what we are going to do is to deliver you to the Black Highwayman. Any mercy you might plead, you must beg of him!"
Flashby slumps in the chair at that news. Well, let him suffer, I say. Just let him...
"Skipper," says John Thomas from the door. "Someone's comin'. It's Mr. Higgins ... with a friend."
Hmmmm... I consider this, then I jump up and order, "Get the gag back on him, quick now!"
The soggy gag is stuffed back in Flashby's mouth as I pick up my napkin to wrap it around his eyes, effectively blinding him. Then I go to the door to welcome the visitors. I give Higgins a look and hold my finger to my lips, signaling that care is to be taken.
Higgins ducks his head to enter and I see him immediately appraise the situation.
"No last names, gentlemen," I warn. "While it's true that Mr. Flashby here, late of the Naval Intelligence Service, is not likely to be alive to tell tales in a few days, one can never tell. And it does not hurt to be cautious, hmm?"
"Leave you alone for a moment, Miss," says Higgins, "and no telling what one will find upon one's return."
Higgins is followed into the cabin by George Gordon, also known as Lord Byron.
Gordon surveys the scene. He sees both me and Joannie in black burglar's garb, many rough sailors scattered about, a small brown boy in a turban, and a bound, gagged, and blindfolded man weeping in a chair. His eye travels further, taking in my skull and crossbones Jolly Roger flag, my various trophies, like my swords, Buddha statues, my Ganesh, the Golden Dragon pennant, and oh, just all my glorious stuff. His gazing about is interrupted by Lee Chi coming in again, bearing another tray of Oriental delights.
Upon Lord Byron's entrance, I signal for McGee to toss Flashby onto the deck, which he hastily and roughly does, while I wave the poet to the now vacant chair.
"Come, my lord, and share our humble hospitality," I murmur, and bow my shaven head.
"My word," remarks Lord Byron. "I'll say it again, friend John. You do have some very interesting friends. 'Tis a shame I'm to be shipped off tomorrow. A great pity, indeed."
We do aim to please, my lord, in the way of Romantic Tableaux.
Chapter 43
Busy, busy, busy ... so much to do, so little time ... Tonight we attend a performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. Someone else is trying to reprise Mrs. Jordan's role as Hippolyta, but I doubt that she'll even come close. I am, however, looking forward to listening to Mrs. Jordan's comments on the actress's vain attempts to emulate her. And I'm anticipating the Royal Museum people's coming here tomorrow to inventory Charlie Chen's treasure trove, thanks to Lord Clarence's efforts on our behalf. Then, of course, there are other important tasks for me to accomplish, such as the disposal of Lieutenant Harry-the-Bastard Flashby chained up down below, the rescuing of my Lieutenant James Emerson Fletcher, and the refitting and supplying of my Nancy B. for another transatlantic voyage.
Oh, my, yes. So much to do ... But as for right now, I am ensconced in my lovely cabin, enjoying a nice leisurely lunch with my good friend John Higgins. He has just returned from seeing off his boon companion down at Tower Wharf, George Gordon having been bundled off by his fam ily on a Grand Tour of Europe, for his own good, of course ... and to protect the good name of the family.
"Lord B. took it all with good grace?" I ask.
"Oh, yes, never let it be said that George ever lacked grace," replies Higgins. "No, he sailed off, waving his hat in the breeze, his long dark hair blowing in the wind, a budding poem, I am sure, being formed in his mind." Higgins breathes a wistful sigh. "And, speaking of poems, he left this for you."
Higgins hands me a folded note. I open it and read...
Maid of the Orient,
Ere we part,
Give me, oh, give me,
Back my heart!
There is a discreet G.G. initialed at the bottom. I smile and refold the paper. "Very nice. I am honored," I say, tucking it into my bodice. Later I shall add some flower motifs to the border and have it framed to add to my collection of treasured things. "However, I think that I am not the one to be returning hearts."
A small laugh and a faraway look at that, but no reply.
"Do you think the trip will change our Lord Byron's ... ways?" I ask.
This time, I get a secret smile from the very reserved John Higgins. "I certainly hope not, Miss ... And frankly, I do not think it will be so."
I consider this and say, "You could have gone with him, you know. You are certainly rich enough."
"Yes, I could have, and as a matter of fact, he did invite me along. 'Come John,' he said. 'Let's be off to great adventures, fine deeds, noble causes, and we will leave the dull
world and all its cares behind and blaze new paths of glory...' But when all was said and done, I had to admit that I had ... responsibilities, and that it would be best that we part."
My eyes mist up at that and I look fondly upon my very best friend and place my hand on his arm.
"Dearest John ... there will be other friends."
"I know, Miss, but he was so ... never mind," says Higgins, clearing his throat. "Now, what are your plans concerning our unwilling tenant?"
"The prisoner below, you mean?"
"Yes, Miss, him."
"Well, it is all very simple. As soon as we reach an agreement with the Crown concerning various pardons and re-instatements, and dispose of the treasure lying below, we will tip off those who lie in wait at the Blackthorn Inn. In particular, we'll inform Bess, the landlord's daughter, that one day soon, a certain Sir Henry Flashby will be on the evening coach from Northampton bound for Plymouth. She will inform the Highwayman, of course, and all will be in train."
"And...?"
I sniffle, draw in a breath, and continue, none too steady. "And then the Highwayman will stop the coach, and we'll deliver Flashby to his fate. Jaimy will probably put a hole in him, whereupon I shall reveal myself and, of course, Jaimy will be amazed. Then he'll sweep me up onto his mighty steed and we shall pound off to the Nancy B., locked in each other's arms. We'll set sail for America and we will be married at long last and there we shall stay until our names are cleared of all disgrace. The Royal Navy will reinstate Jaimy and I shall be permitted to pursue my interests unencumbered."
"Very neat, Miss. I hope it happens in such a way," says Higgins with some doubt in his voice. "And Lord Allen?"
I smile at the thought of that particular rogue settling down to any kind of stable married life. "Ah, my dear, dear Richard. My dashing Captain of Cavalry ... Alas, I fear domestic bliss is not in the cards for you. There are lots and lots of girls and many fine adventures in your future, of that I am sure. You will get over one Jacky Faber very quickly, as a little of her goes a long, long way, as we all know..."
But I will never get over you, dear Richard, never...
I shake thoughts of the gallant Lord Allen out of my easily befuddled mind.
"And the girl, Bess," continues Higgins relentlessly. "The landlord's undeniably beautiful daughter...?"
That brings a frown to the Faber forehead, but I answer evenly, without malice, "I have gathered a pouch of gold for the girl, which will hold her in good stead, in payment for her ... service to Jaimy in his time of distress. I am sure she will find that adequate compensation," I say, ardently wishing the subject would change. Mercifully, it does.
"Very good of you, Miss. I hope it will serve."
"Umm."
"Now, as to the unfortunate Mr. Flashby's current condition ... I trust you are not abusing him, Miss?"
"No, I am not, though the temptation is strong. I have directed Lee Chi to provide Mr. Flashby with all the fresh water he requires. Also I have described the kind of foul gruel I was given in Newgate where I was confined because of the same Mr. Flashby, and our very clever Mr. Lee has cooked up a similar concoction. It has been served to our guest and I hope he enjoys it."
"Umm. Cruel punishment, indeed, especially since he knows just who is dishing it out."
"Yes, that makes it all the better ... Indeed, it is true. Vengeance is sweet ... and best, as they say, served cold, as cold as Flashby's lunch. Here, Higgins, have some of this goose liver pâté. It is quite good on a nice puffy biscuit ... and the oysters are very plump and fresh. Ravi, Mr. Higgins's glass, if you would?"
"Thank you, I shall," says Higgins, falling to the excellent repast. "And thank you, too, Ravi. This is all very nice. I am surprised we are not to eat it in front of Lieutenant Flashby."
"Well, that would certainly be fun, but it would have been too much trouble bringing him up, and I certainly wouldn't want to eat down in the bilges."
The Nancy B. is a clean ship, but as for the bilges, well, they stink on any ship and mine is no exception. Having neither time nor inclination to build an actual cell to accommodate our hostage, his ankles and wrists, which are encased in good stout chains, are merely shackled to the bulkhead. He sits on a little platform above the sloshing water that has leaked or sweated through our hull. With the stench of a dead rat or two floating in the mess, it is very much like Hell ... Not quite, but it will serve for Mr. Flashby till he can be delivered to the real one.
We continue eating and discussing the many charms of London town, which we are both very much enjoying, when there is, yet again, a discreet knock on the door.
"Come in," I call, and Liam Delaney's large form fills the doorway.
"Liam! Come join us!" I exclaim upon seeing my dear old sea dad.
"Maybe later, Jacky," says Liam. "But right now, it's best you come out on deck. We have a visitor."
Wot?
I put napkin to lips and dash out to scan the harbor. I am amazed to see what looks like a Chinese junk being rowed up the Thames. From its masthead flies the Golden Dragon pennant. But, no, it is not Cheng Shih on the Divine Wind. No, it is smaller than that, and as it approaches and pulls in beside us, I am shocked to see a very fat man dressed in Oriental finery, seated in a palanquin on the deck of the ship with a very familiar female figure beside him.
The fat man lifts the mouthpiece of the hookah he has been smoking and gestures to me.
"Neih hou, my dear little envoy. I have come to see what joy my presents to the British Empire have brought!"
Chopstick Charlie...?
Chapter 44
"But how did you ever get here so quickly, Charlie? Surely we left far ahead of you." It is early evening and we are riding in Chopstick Charlie's palanquin, an ornate box affixed with sets of poles, held by eight strong men, four on each side. They carry us along at waist level when the way is clear, and hoist the whole thing up to their shoulders when the crowd gets dense. Very convenient, I'm thinkin', for it works really well. It gets us a lot of strange looks, that's for certain. Charlie is in one seat, and facing him are Sidrah and me, side by side, looking very fine, I must say. She's in her Rangoon best, black hair combed and pinned up high with jeweled combs, and me in my usual knock-'em-dead Oriental garb, my head newly shaved and polished and my blue-green sari wrapped all about me.
Ravi sits atop the palanquin, grandly giving directions to the men who carry us through the London streets ... and to two others who escort us—Ganju Thapa and his fellow Gurkha, each of them with their wicked, inward curved khukuris.
We are taking a brief tour of the neighborhood, and then we are going to the Cockpit. I have arranged for us to meet Richard Allen there. Just how we will be received, looking as we do, I do not know. But hey, I've been thrown out of better places.
"It is really very simple, my dear," says Charlie, gazing about at the passing city. "While you took the long way around the southern tip of Africa, I merely took a shortcut. I sailed my little ship, well protected by Ganju Thapa and twelve of his fellow Gurkhas, around India and up the Gulf of Aden and through the Red Sea to Suez. There is a canal there, you know."
I frown. "Hmmm ... I recollect from my time in the Mediterranean that the canal did not go all the way through to Port Said." I had learned from Dr. Sebastian that... yes, the canal is almost completely cut through that last bit of desert ... A pity, for it would shorten the time to get to the rich Orient by many weeks. And it would not take them long, considering all the slave labor they have. But you know those Arabs ... renowned in mathematics and science, but when it comes to digging a simple ditch, they just cannot get together on that. The phrase "trying to herd cats," I believe, was coined when dealing with Arab politics...
"Ah, too true, too true, but merely a minor inconvenience. When we got to the end of that canal, I simply hired a contractor who rigged a cradle for our small ship to which was attached many stout poles. There were a number of slaves assigned to each cross-pole and we were carried across th
e land and deposited into the Mediterranean Sea. You see?"
"Carried? Your whole ship?" I ask incredulous.
"Slaves work cheap, you know. A little gruel at the end of the day and they are, if not happy, at least allowed to live another day. If one stumbles and falls, another is whipped into his place."
"That's awful, Charlie!" I exclaim.
"It was not awful at all. In fact, it was quite smooth and comfortable—much better than the sea. I did not even have to get out of my palanquin."
"That's not what I meant, Chops. Those poor men."
"It is a cruel world, child, and ... Oh, look, there's Hyde Park. I used to go there often when I was but a slip of a schoolboy."
Looking at Charlie's jolly face and present girth, it is hard to imagine him as a skinny boy, alone and afraid in a strange land.
"But the Arab lands are rife with bandits, Charlie. Did you not fear you would be taken?"
"With my Gurkhas by my side? Surely you jest. One Gurkha is worth a hundred other men. The Gurkha war cry is 'Jai Mahakali, ayo Gorkhali' which means 'Glory be to the Goddess of War, here come the Gurkhas!' Ha!"
Gazing fondly about at the scenes of his young manhood, Charlie continues the account of his journey here:
"As a consequence of sailing through the Mediterranean, I was able to stop off in Greece to pick up a few more things, such as some very nice statues of comely young maidens that I thought the King might enjoy. Knocked them off this porch thing on a place they called the Cropolis or something. No one seemed to mind. The whole place was a wreck, anyway. Nobody said anything to my Gurkhas, at least when they were chiseling the things off."
"You would not call it plundering, Honored Father? Stealing another country's cultural heritage?" I ask.
"Ha! Listen to her talking of 'cultural heritage,' she who has been, by her own account, beggar, thief, pirate, and buccaneer in the not-so-distant past! No, I think of it more as 'protective custody' for those cultures that cannot manage their own affairs."
