She came back to herself and realized the sea eagle, for that is what it was, was still gripping her hand. It looked at her, then at Motoya, and let out a shriek that sounded almost triumphant. Just then, the dawn sun broke through under the clouds to the East, and rays of light lanced across the waves. They had escaped the storm.
Later, in her cabin, the bird sat on a perch she had the carpenter make by fixing a dowel into one of the ribs. It showed no inclination to fly off and accepted food from her hand only. Ray only narrowly avoided getting pecked when he tried.
Montoya sat patiently, waiting. Scarlett finished brushing her hair out and asked,
“Something happened up there, what was it?” she asked.
“You found your spirit guide and totem,” Montoya answered, “the storm sent him to us.”
“It’s a male?” she asked, looking at the eagle.
“Might be. Could be a girl, hard to tell,” Montoya said straight-faced then grinned, “if it lay egg, then it a girl for sure.”
Scarlett remembered the tattoo she had on her right hand of the iguana and looked at it. She then looked at her left. There were a series of small scabbed wounds where the eagle’s talons had pierced her skin. She hadn’t even noticed it at the time.
“Can you tattoo these?” she asked.
Montoya nodded but Ray spoke up,
“Tattoo? Tattoo what, where? Mother will have a fit if you have a tattoo!”
As they approached the Antilles, the weather settled, and the waves reduced to a liveable three feet high. The sun shone and Scarlett stood on the quarterdeck watching the flying fish skim away from them.
Montoya said her spirit guide would reveal its name to her at some point, but Scarlett decided she couldn’t wait and would call her Elvira as she decided she must be a female.
Elvira was never far away and always ready to ride on her shoulder or wrist. Right now, though, she was settled on a ratline enjoying the sun and watching the flying fish. Suddenly, she launched and soared upwards, paralleling the ship. She kept pace with them, level with the mainmast top until, suddenly, she stooped, her wings back, and dove towards the water. Her target, an unsuspecting flying fish, was plucked out of the air, impaled by her talons.
Scarlett watched and rubbed her hand where she now had eight blue dots to show where Elvira grabbed a hold of her that stormy night. Montoya was lounging on a cannon watching the young bird. He estimated it was not much more than a year old and would be half as big again by the time it was fully grown. He smiled to himself, Kefash would approve of Scarlett’s totem and spirit guide. The eagle was a strong spirit.
“The good thing about having a sea eagle as a pet is that it can feed itself,” Absalom stated as he climbed up the steps to the quarterdeck. He took them one at a time, his short legs not able to take them any faster than that.
“But it still shits below its perch. I’ve cleaned up after it and put a box with some torn-up caulking in it to catch it from now on. It will still stink of fish, though,” he grumbled.
Scarlett smiled. All was well with the world. Elvira was fed, Absalom was grumbling, and the Fox sailed towards the smudge on the horizon that was Bonaire in fair weather.
Bonaire was not what she expected. It was nothing like St Lucia or the windward islands. They were lush and covered in forest. Bonaire looked dry and dusty, covered in scrub with the occasional burst of yellow flowers.
They sailed around the South end of the Island and up the West coast, taking their time and enjoying the view. The first thing they saw were salt pans being worked by black slaves overseen by men on donkeys, and windmills for pumping water.
There was a barrier reef running along the coast that they could see in the crystal-clear water below them. It was teeming with fish and every now and then, they would see large schools of blue fish grazing across the coral and smaller schools of large silver fish spiralling.
“I wonder why they do that?” she asked Montoya, who just shrugged.
Suddenly, numerous small fish jumped out of the water, causing it to foam. Scarlett caught a glimpse of a long silver body darting below the surface, a huge barracuda on the hunt for his dinner.
Many of the men were casting lines over the side to catch their dinner and were mostly successful. Paul was a keen fisherman and yelled in delight as he hooked a big one. Scarlett watched as he fought what had to be a monster from the way he struggled to pull it in.
He fought for a good five minutes when he started to shout at something in the water. Intrigued, she stepped to the side to see what was afoot and burst out laughing at the site of a pelican trying to grab his fish.
Paul was not amused and was frantically pulling the line in to try and get the fish aboard. The pelican doggedly followed, snatching at it with its beak and trying to scoop it up in its huge pouch.
The fish came up the side with the bird following it and just as Paul got his catch to the rail, the bird lunged and got the huge fish in its beak. What followed would be retold over and over again. The bird tried to fly off, but Paul held on to the line and was almost lifted off the ground. He managed to pull it in until the bird was close enough for him to kick.
He missed with his first try but got it on the side of the head the second time. The only problem for him was he had bare feet and the bird had a hard head. The net result was the bird got angry and Paul was hopping on one foot!
The crew was delighted by the contest and loudly encouraging both Paul and the bird as bets were offered and accepted.
The titanic struggle continued until, with a mighty heave, Paul dislodged the fish from the pelican’s grip and fell backward as it shot out and hit him in the chest.
The bird leaped on the prone man, who gathered up his prize and rolled so his body was on top of it. It stood on his back and grabbed him by the head with his beak. Paul thrust himself to his feet and launched his own attack on his wily adversary, swinging his arms and yelling.
The pelican backed up then flew into the rigging, where it found a perch and stared malevolently down at him before soaring into the air.
The entertainment over the crew went back to their jobs and amusements, but Scarlett noticed that the bird followed, keeping the ship in sight.
Chapter 18: To have and to hold
They came up on Klein Bonaire, the small island that sheltered the main port on the West side of the island. The mooring grounds were tucked in between this low, flat uninhabited island and the main island. There was a wooden jetty and a few buildings but not much else.
“The main town be Rincon and that’s inland on the other side. I always thought they built it there as a defensive measure but I’m not sure on that as its not fortified,” Daniel informed the rest of them who had never been there before.
“What are those then?” Scarlett asked, pointing to the buildings.
“Warehouses, merchants, chandlers, that sort of thing. They will buy from anybody and not ask questions as to where it came from. They also get raided fairly regularly, so they only keep the minimum of goods here.”
That made sense to Scarlett, who wanted a first-hand look at the island and never turned down the chance to replenish their water or fresh food.
“Drop anchor. Let’s re-supply and re-water,” she ordered.
Scarlett took a boat ashore with her usual escort, which they shared with the empty water casks, and strolled down the dock. A large, shaggy-haired man left the nearest building and approached them.
“Who are you and what’s the name of your ship?” he asked in Spanish with a distinct Dutch edge to it.
“We are English, actually. The ship is the Fox and I am its captain,” Scarlett replied distractedly, looking past him as if he wasn’t important.
“Oh! I am sorry. I thought you would be Spanish as your ship is obviously Spanish built. I am Eric van Dreumel, acting harbourmaster and representative of the Dutch East India Company,” he replied in almost perfect English, except a tendency to sh his s’s.
Scarlett turned her full attention on him and served him with her best smile.
“Then you are just the person I want to talk to,” she stepped up to him and looped her arm through his, leading him towards the buildings. He would have enjoyed it more if her sword wasn’t digging in his thigh and her escort weren’t glaring at him in such a threatening way.
“I want to replenish my stores of fresh produce. What can you supply?” Scarlett asked.
He concentrated.
“We have fruit, of course. Mangos, limes, lemons, and oranges, maize, rum,” he swept an arm around the island, “not much else grows here. We have ample stores of dried peas and beans.”
“What about livestock?”
“Goats, chickens, and a few pigs,” he replied.
“No beef?” Scarlett lamented.
“No, cattle don’t do well on this island, but you can get some from Curacao,” he apologized.
“Do you have any goods for sale? My hold has room in it for some more cargo,” Scarlett asked.
Eric stopped and looked at her, the name of the ship and the colour of her hair finally coming together in his mind.
“I have heard of you. The Spanish call you the Scarlet Fox and say you are a witch.”
“I know!” she leaned towards him and said conspiratorially, “they mean to burn me if they catch me.” She stood back and held out her arms. “Do I look like a witch to you?” Eric blushed as he took in her curves, which were very adequately displayed by her fighting outfit.
Just then, Elvira decided to join them and swooped in to land on her outstretched arm, causing Eric to step back in surprise. Montoya had to grab his arm to stop him stepping back off the dock and into the sea.
Scarlett looked fondly at the Eagle that gave Eric an amused look.
“Oh, don’t be afraid! This is just my pet! Elvira meet Eric. He is a friend,” she introduced him as she ran a finger over Elvira’s head.
Eric didn’t look convinced; thoughts of witches and their familiars were whirling around in his head. He was a good Catholic boy from South Holland and was terrified of the inquisition, and if they said she was a witch then he wasn’t about to gainsay them. North Brabant had only recently shaken off their Spanish rulers and South Brabant was still under Spanish rule.
However, he was first and foremost a businessman and witch or no witch, he wasn’t about to turn down a profit. He regained his composure and indicated she should walk beside him.
“I have recently acquired some high value cargo that wouldn’t take up a lot of room. Do you know what Ambergris is?”
“Yes, its used by perfumiers,” Scarlett replied, “the going rate is fifty pounds a pound, I believe,” she added casually.
Eric didn’t answer. He had never dealt in Ambergris before and fifty British pounds, or pieces of eight, a pound sounded like a good deal to him, especially as he only took it as part of a job lot from a Chinese trader.
They entered into the gloom of his building, which turned out to be a warehouse. The air smelt of timber and spices, molasses, and hint of rum. There was another smell that she couldn’t identify, so she asked,
“What is that smell? It’s sort of smoky,” she asked with a sniff.
Eric frowned then brightened,
“Oh, that is castor oil. We make it here on the island. It’s used for all sorts of things. It makes a very good laxative!”
Scarlett made a mental note to get a small barrel for the surgeon. Constipation was a common problem in the crew due to the limited diet.
They worked their way through the warehouse and Scarlett noted things that would fetch a good price at home, including several boxes of coral. Eric had a slate on which he made notes of the things she chose and when she was done, he led them into a small office at the back of the building.
He got out an abacus and started to add it all up.
The man’s an adept! Scarlett thought as his fingers flashed back and forth over the beads.
“That comes to seven hundred and forty-two pieces of eight,” he announced as the last bead clacked home.
A Piece of Eight otherwise known as a Reale or Dollar was the equivalent of a British pound or a sixteenth of a Doubloon. Scarlett did some sums in her head and replied,
“I will give you forty-five doubloons,” which was around one and a third less than he had asked.
Eric considered that. He preferred gold to silver but that was twenty-one pieces of eight less, a significant discount. But then, he thought, gold was gold. He spat on his hand and held it out,
“Done!”
Scarlett spat on her hand, slapped his and sealed the deal. She sent Emeka back to the boat with a message for Steven to get men over to load he cargo.
All through this, Elvira stayed put on Scarlett’s arm but as soon as they exited the warehouse, she spread her wings and soared into the air. Eric looked at Scarlett’s forearm where the bird had perched, saw the indentations in her skin and the odd spot of blood where her talons penetrated her skin.
“Falconers normally wear a gauntlet or arm guard,” he told her, “wait here a moment please.”
He went back into the building, returning with a pair of thick leather gauntlets and a wrist bracer normally worn by a bowman.
The bracer had four buckles and was long enough to cover her forearm from around two inches below the elbow to just above her wrist bone. It was tapered to account for the shape of the arm and with an extra hole in each of the straps would fit well. The gauntlets were old and the palms were made of chamois while the backs and the wrist guards were of heavier leather.
“Take these as my gift to you,” Eric told her with a smile, “it is good to do business with someone who knows what they are looking for, and I hope you come back again.”
Cargo loaded, water and fresh fruit replenished, three goats for milk, six kids for meat, and a dozen chickens for eggs and meat in the manger, they set sail. They slipped out from behind Klein Bonaire and into the Caribbean Sea, heading Northwest, straight for Jamaica. A pelican paced them.
The weather was fair and the run up to Port Royal uneventful. Elvira took to flying along beside their escort, watching it curiously and occasionally making mock attacks as if to drive it off. The pelican wasn’t so easily put off.
Paul wanted to shoot it, but the other men thought that would bring bad luck so all he could do was try and ignore it. All the same, he swore he could feel its gimlet gaze boring into his back whenever he was on deck.
They sailed into Port Royal and tied up alongside the Caribbean Queen. Scarlett jumped across to talk with her father.
“Did you get everything?” he asked after he hugged and kissed her in greeting.
“Yes, look Dad, I have been thinking, anything could happen between here and England, so it is foolish to keep all the treasure on the Fox, even if she is the better armed. Why don’t we split it between the ships and halve the risk?”
“How much is there?” Smoker asked.
Scarlett grinned. She hadn’t told her father the full extent of their take.
“Oh, only about two hundredweight,”
“Of gold?”
“Yes, and another of silver, a cask of pearls, ambergris, blue amber, coral, and other jewels.”
“Holy mother of God! You never told us about that!” Smoker exclaimed.
Scarlett just grinned. She knew this was more than they had made in their best years of smuggling, even after they gave the men their shares and the crown theirs in payment for their letter or marque.
They divided up the treasure and that night under cover of darkness, shipped half over to the Queen. Scarlett included a copy of the list of money owed the crew as well, just to be on the safe side. In the morning, they re-watered, topped up their stores, and were back at sea straight after lunch. They were going home.
Before they left, Scarlett instructed Malakai Harwood to start looking for suitable plantations they could buy when she returned. There was good money to be made in
sugar and its by-products molasses and rum.
Their route would take them West around the North of Jamaica, past the Caiman Islands, around the West end of Cuba, North up the coast of America to catch the Westerly trade wind to push them across the Atlantic and home. Ships did it all the time and most of them made it without incident.
At the same time they set sail, a pinnace left the port in a hurry following the same route. Its captain, a French buccaneer called Jacques Moineau. He heard about the reward the Spanish put on Scarlett’s head and had every intention of collecting it. A female captain was an abomination in his view and if the French sank her or burnt her, he didn’t care.
His small ship was much faster than the two British ships and he made the best of the current and the wind to fly past the Caimans and around the tip of Cuba to Havana. He entered the port through the channel under the guns of the fortress.
The Spanish had a squadron in port, and he headed straight to the big three decker flying an admiral’s pennant.
“What can I do for you, monsieur?” the admiral asked when Moineau was introduced.
“I have information on the British privateer you call the Scarlet Fox,” Moineau declared.
The Admiral looked at him; unshaven, moustachioed, flamboyant but filthy clothes, well-worn weapons.
“You are looking for a reward, I presume?” he asked with the faintest hint of a sneer.
Moineau pulled a flyer from his pocket and placed it on the table.
“Reward for the capture or information leading to the capture of the pirate known as the Scarlet Fox. I have information.”
Scarlett Page 19
