Jennifer Horseman

by GnomeWonderland

  Tonali sat in magical languor. The gold eyes appeared as two slits while his tail rhythmically lifted with his contentment. He appeared to know he was the subject of Garrett's quiet whispers, Juliet's receptivity and wide-eyed awe. She glanced at the cat, his message remained unchanged; Tonali had a profound indifference to her belief in him.

  Beauty was indeed a matter of perception, and Garrett's perception was complete as he stared with his own quiet marvel at the picture she presented. Like sunlight caught in a dark pool, her eyes filled with wonder, the question sat unspoken on her lips: Is this true? The long hair cascaded in a stream of dark silk behind her. He could not stop touching it. Clad only in the white silk nightdress, she lay on her side, and the beckoning curves of her slender figure appeared as a shadow beneath the white silk. He was going to kiss her, to lay her backside to the bed and fill her.

  Juliet abruptly became conscious of the warmth between them, a charged warmth, as if fueled by the light in his eyes. "You are laughing at me! Have you been teasing me? Is this what one calls a tall tale? A very tall tale?"

  "Does it matter, love?"

  She hesitated, confused. She wanted him to deny it, to swear his story as true as his next breath, but like his cat, he seemed indifferent to whether she believed him or no. "You did know my dream, though—" Apprehension rose on her features. "Mine was a bit different—"

  "How was it different?"

  "The beast in my dream had two parts . . . two heads.

  One was my uncle's but the other—" "Yes? Who was it?"

  "I couldn't tell ... I was just so scared, but it was like he was just watching—" "Passive? Unmoved by your terror?" "Yes! But how can you know?" Quite suddenly everything changed. "A wild guess," he said with something akin to contempt in his voice. Inexplicable anger replaced the warmth and amusement on his features, his hand tightened hard around her upper arm. "Actually, love, the answer, like all of life's answers, is remarkably, wholly, perfectly simple. All I want to know is, did Tonali kill that person, too?"

  She stared aghast, frightened by the abrupt change of his emotions, not understanding at all what caused it. "Garrett, you're scaring me—" "Answer the question. Did Tonali kill this person?" "I don't know . . . I'm not sure—" The emotion simmered as he contemplated her answer. He looked back into the terrified pools of her eyes, a terror that now could only grow. "Leave me now, Juliet, lest you discover a new meaning of this fear of yours." Juliet did as she was told. Quickly, quietly, she rose and slipped into the dark shadows of the room, a place where his gaze could not follow. As she lay back upon the hammock, Garrett extinguished the lamp. A low, cruel hiss sounded from the foot of the bed and she looked over to see two gold eyes watching her from the darkness.

  The sun shone bright and sharp beneath billowing white clouds. A strong warm wind blew across the deck from the west, pushing the great ship over huge swells the size of small hills. Juliet woke to the tenth bell and an empty room. She swung her legs over the side of the hammock and stood up. The room swayed menacingly, as if she were drunk, and for a confused moment she could make no sense of her disorientation. Then the room swung back. This was what Gayle meant when he said she had encountered only the best of weather so far. Voices rose against the wind outside. Listening, she heard the sound of a great commotion, running back and forth, a rolling of heavy barrels across the deck, sails flapping madly in the wind.

  The memories of last night came back to her with a gasp. Her hand reached to her mouth, her eyes widened. Why had he gotten so angry with her? What did he mean by it? She felt as if she had missed a scene in her own play, left to wonder about the ending. Either she had missed a scene or Garret was mad, yet somehow the latter didn't fit the picture she had of Garrett. He was many things, he was everything: good and kind, stronger and sharper than any man should be, noble, a larger-than-life hero, truly a man of myth and legend. Yet with the apparent capriciousness of the weather, he could also be her persecutor, mean and fierce, at times more frightening than the very beast in her dreams! He was everything but the only thing, the one thing, that might be an excuse for his behavior: mad. He was not now and never had been mad ...

  Why, then, did he get so angry at her?

  It was a mystery. She supposed the real issue was whether or not he would still be mad when she saw him again, and if so, what could she do about it? She didn't know that either. Yet if he was provoked by her again— how maddening it was to think of herself as provoking him, when she had always been completely innocent in the matter!—she had better have her clothes on for the battle.

  She looked at the still-closed door and, not wasting another second, jumped up and hurriedly went about dressing. Once done, she took a book and sat upon the sofa, trying unsuccessfully to concentrate. An hour or more passed as she waited patiently for someone to come in with a breakfast tray, but at the sound of the twelfth bell she realized no such thing was going to happen.

  All this commotion . . . what was happening?

  Juliet went through the doors. Polly flew to her shoulder from his perch just outside the doors. "What's happening, Polly? What's all the commotion?" "Chase to leeward! All hands, chase to leeward!" "Why," she asked out loud, "do I waste breath talking to you?" "You bloody fool! All talk, I say, all bowk!"

  "Exactly."

  Juliet emerged on the top deck. All hands was right, everyone appeared busily engaged in sailing the ship. The strong wind caught the sails, billowing the great white sheets to full measure as the ship rolled over huge swells. It felt like flying. Walking proved most dangerous, and as she made her way clinging tightly to the rail, she marveled at the men hanging precariously from the topsails.

  Garrett stood on the main deck. His long hair was pulled back and he wore a worn vest and breeches, bootless. None of the men crowding around him wore shoes, and as she made her way down the ladder of the quarterdeck she saw why. The soles of her boots on the wet deck made walking like maneuvering on ice. Garrett's long arms braced against the rail as he alternated shouting orders behind him and staring out at sea. Without thought, her gaze followed his and she froze at the unexpected.

  Land! There it was, stretching as far as the eye could see. Land! Forgetting the slippery decks, she ran to the rail to greet the welcome sight. After weeks of nothing but the barren ocean desert, the majestic gold mountains of the dark continent made her laugh and clap her hands; she resisted the urge to dance a jig.

  "Land, Polly, land!"

  "Land ho, and a jolly good fellow he be!"

  Gayle joined the chorus as he came up behind her and Juliet swung around. With a burst of joy, she threw her arms around him. "Land! Tis the prettiest thing I've ever seen!"

  "Aye," he laughed with her. "Like snow on Christmas morning, it makes one want to sing carols."

  "What will happen now?"

  "See that mountain?" Gayle pointed. "It hides the ancient city of Tangiers, where we will make port and where Garrett will court the Moroccan king and his wholly French court. And you've never seen anything like this court! It is a thing to behold. . . ."

  With enthusiasm and the impressions of the young, Gayle tried to describe the infamous Moroccan court: its inner and outer rooms, the pervasive hedonism, despite the king's professed Muslim devotion. "The food, the beautiful women presented for entertainment, and the baths, better than the Roman ones in England—"

  "Oh, how I wish I could see it, too!"

  Though Leif had mentioned more than once that Tangiers was not a place to take a young lady, the Moroccan court sounded so much like the fairy-tale places she visited in her mind that she could not help but want to see it with her own eyes. "So Garrett is to pretend to be the pirate at this fantastic court, in hopes of discovering where the French fleet has gone off to?"

  What fun men have! It sounded like an exciting adventure! Oh, if only she could go, too!

  Gayle's thoughts teeter-tottered without her realizing it. He thought of the importance of this mission and he not only fe
lt abruptly solemn but also afraid. "Aye, and may God be with him."

  "Will the French ambassador know for sure where the French fleet has gone to?"

  "No," Gayle shook his head, "not for certain, but if there's any chance, if anyone knows, 'twill be the people in the king's court."

  In her imagination, an imagination that took flight more and more often now that she felt free again, she imagined meeting this king: curtsying, batting her eyelashes, flirting. She'd win his admiration only to share her secret, that another had already captured her heart, a sailor in the French fleet, "... and oh, Your Highness, if you care at all for me, do tell where I might post a letter to him?"

  The dream vanished and she laughed gaily at the preposterous idea, her silliness. "And, if that nefarious pirate we both know so well doesn't find out where the French fleet is hiding," she twirled around in a make-believe gig, laughing carelessly with a singsong to the music of her voice, "then good-bye to all things grand: teatimes and muffins, roast pies and Christmas carols, and good old English sense—"

  Gayle caught her by the arms, jerking her upright. "Don't be a fool, girl," he stopped himself from shaking her senseless. "Garrett may be playing a game, but the stakes are high." Softly, solemnly, he said, "Thousands of lives are at stake, Juliet; each one is precious. Each is a young man like me. Men who have wives and children to care for, mothers and fathers. If Garrett doesn't find out where the French fleet is, and if he can not get the information back in time to move our ships, the price will be much higher than simply substituting French coffee for English tea."

  As if she had received a hard slap to her face, she froze with the sudden reality, but it was too late. Gayle turned away. Of course he was right. She had just gotten so carried away with the sight of land at long last, it had been like a drug, not just lifting her spirits but sending them soaring. Yet this mission and Garrett were important. Far more important than any of her childish fancies, she saw, embarrassed by her foolishness and sorry

  Gayle had seen it.

  Knowing the only person who could still talk while working, she turned from the sight and ran to the galley to find Pots. She found him dumping barrels of refuse over the side of the ship. Italian and Irish, he was a huge man, less tall than wide, with curly dark hair, red fleshy cheeks, and a long half-foot mustache that he always twisted in his fingers. He looked like a jolly good fellow and he was; Pots could always be counted on not just for tasty morsels but for good conversation. "Ah, lass, did you see the pleasant sight?" he asked in his curious voice of mixed accents.

  "That I have! A sight as welcome to my eyes as some food would be to my stomach."

  Pots laughed, lifting up another barrel of refuse and heaving it over the side. "I guess with all the excitement they forgot to bring you some food. There's some fresh bread in the oven, and you know where the cheese is. You can put a teapot on yourself. I'll be with you in a minute."

  Juliet went into the galley. She placed a pot of water over the stove, continuously lit for its nearly constant use, and with pot holders in hand, she went about getting the bread out. The delicious aroma filled the small space and she smiled.

  With a still-steaming piece of bread in hand, she waited for the whistle. She stared into space, dreaming of different things—mostly of what Tomas would think of these adventures—when her gaze abruptly focused on a familiar jar.

  It sat unobtrusively on the bottom row of the spice rack, the shelf where Gayle kept his medicines and potions. Just seeing it again scared her, and without fully comprehending her motives, she cast a quick glance outside. Pots' back was turned. Hurriedly she reached for the jar and slipped it inside her apron pocket. Her heart raced, but she managed to hum a nonchalant tune as Pots returned, nearly taking up the entire small space with his girth. He poured her some tea and set about his work, chatting about his task ahead.

  Port only meant more work for him. He had to oversee the supplies for the return journey, and Garrett was a harder captain than most when it came to this chore. For starting from the first day in port, the galley and the hulls had to be full to brim, in the event they had to leave with . . . "fire at our hides, and believe me, 'tis the case more often than not . . ." So Pots had to assume each day in port was the last. . . .

  An irresistible idea occurred to her. "Oh Pots, I know Garrett won't take me to the court, but do you think he would let me go to the market with you? I promise I won't be a bother!"

  Pots thought of all the trouble it would bring him. If Garrett did let her come with him, it would no doubt be with at least four armed guards, all of whom would have twopence to say on what he was buying and what he was not. "Oh, lass, I don't-" "Oh, please?"

  He took one look at those hopeful blue eyes and saidj "Go on. Ask Garrett first, and if he says yes, then—" "Oh thank you, thank you!"

  She ran back outside to find Garrett. She spotted Tonali on the main deck beneath the ladder and ran to the spot, knowing Garrett must be on top. In her excitement, she slipped. Tars helped her back up and after a quick expression of gratitude, she raced to Garrett. She scrambled up. Garrett's men surrounded him, as all eyes rested on the upcoming port. The ship sailed round the curve, and in moments the ancient city of Tangiers would emerge in the distance.

  The men called excited greetings as they let her pass. She came to Garrett's side only to realize she had completely forgotten the horrible incident of the previous night in the morning's excitement. He had not forgotten, she saw, trying to ignore the unkind emotion in his gaze as he turned to see her there, even as he shouted down- to the men on deck. "What is it, Juliet?"

  Hearing Garrett's harsh tone, Leif watched hesitancy come into Juliet's eyes. He slipped his arm around her shoulders, a gesture of comfort and support. Something caught Garrett's attention behind her, and as Garrett turned and shouted orders that way Leif thought to distract her by asking: "Are not the smells heaven-sent, Juliet? Good God, if your eyes haven't taken on the very aqua green color of the Moroccan sea!"

  Juliet knew he was trying to soften the effect of Garrett's harsh-tone and she nodded, though she had a sudden fascination for the tips of her slippers. She shoved her hands in her apron pocket, felt the potion and then blushed, nervous suddenly.

  "Yes?" Garrett turned back to her, "what?"

  "I was wondering . . . see, Pots said it was all right with him if I went to the market—with him of course— and well, I do so want to see Tangiers up close and—"

  "Not a chance, love. Tangiers is no place for a girl—"

  "I'm not a girl," she said in an indignant burst, save for the last word, which came as a whisper as she abruptly realized at least a dozen men stood listening.

  "You're not?" Garrett's brow lifted, a wicked smile lit his eyes. "Amazing! I can't imagine why I've been so misled, but oh, love, don't tell me I've got an honest-to-God grown woman on board?"

  The men chuckled and Juliet blushed. "That's not fair. I just want to—"

  "Heed me now, love. You are not taking a step off my ship."

  "Oh, but why?"

  "Why? It wouldn't be safe with an armed escort that consisted of every last one of my men. Women are chattel in this part of the world, and your lovely white skin alone could fetch upward ... of, oh, I imagine twenty thousand pounds; your beauty would triple that. Goddamn wars have been started for less—"

  It was sudden and confusing, like a loud roar. A great hushed shock descended over the men, alerting Garrett as he looked up from pleading blue eyes to confront the sight of Tangiers. Juliet's eyes followed.

  Forty or more magnificent ships sat in still, aqua blue waters with the ancient city of Tangiers a backdrop behind them. Sunbaked rooftops spread like a gold blanket beneath the burnt side of a mountain, stretching as far as the eye could see. A great white palace sat atop the city, overlooking the entire emerald bay. An area of colorful tents marked what must be the marketplace, and oh my, she thought, as the ship inched slowly forward, even the scents were exotic and—
r />   "My God, have mercy!"

  More swearing followed, blasphemous cursing, all of it hushed, as with shock. Juliet's gaze flew to Garrett. The look on his face would rouse the dead. She looked back out at the bay for the source of distress, but all she saw were those tall magnificent ships.

  Leif grabbed Garrett's arm. "Fly! We have but a chance—"

  "Nay." Garrett knew, still staring with shock. "They have spotted us. The hulls are full, we would never es-' cape a chase. We are trapped .... May God save us all."

  "What?" Juliet cried. "What's wrong?" "That," Garrett pointed, to the great ships sitting in the harbor, "is the French fleet."

  Tension grew in the collective silence. Waves washed across the bow and great gusts of wind caused the sails to flap, each sound unnaturally loud against the human stillness. One by one, all gazes turned from the harbor to Garrett, searching for the guidance only he could give. Yet for a long time Garrett could not speak as he stared at a sight that would forever change the course of human history; a sight that shaded history blood-red with thousands of lives lost.

  "We are doomed. . . . The situation is impossible." He finally faced his men. "Step alive! 'Twill not do for them to witness our shock."

  Garrett turned back to the ship, while his men disbanded. Only Juliet and Leif remained on the quarterdeck, still staring at the sight. "Leif, I don't understand. I thought we had to locate the French fleet?"

  For a long while he, too, could not speak. As if to rid himself of the weight of his emotion, the wide breadth of his shoulders shrugged as he turned to see the worry filling her eyes. "Aye, we have found them, but you had best believe they won't let us sail out with the knowledge."

  "But ... but why not? They don't know who Garrett is, do they? They don't know he's a spy?"

  "No, but they won't take the chance. No one is above suspicion, especially Garrett. They're not likely to let a fishing boat leave the harbor. And they would suspect everything if Garrett should want to sail out before the fleet."

  She searched his face, her comprehension startling. "So Garrett can't get the information to where the British fleet waits?"