The Black Ring

by William Westbrook

  It was very dark on deck, and the dead or near dead were lying about, many whimpering for the blessed end. Fallon went to each of them, kneeling down to give what comfort he could, holding their heads or their hands until they died. It was a wretched business, but these were his friends. Barclay had recovered enough to stand and was rubbing the back of his head, but his wits seemed elsewhere. When at last Fallon found Cully, the gunner sat holding his head and swaying back and forth, clearly concussed. Fallon thanked him for his handling of the long nine, which had diverted the attention of the little wolves away from Petite Bouton. But the one-eyed gunner seemed not to understand what had happened.

  Somers limped to where Fallon sat on the deck with Cully, but Fallon could barely look up. He suddenly found he was physically and emotionally spent from the death of his men and the discovery of a bleeding Elinore. Not even the death of the Holy One could rouse his spirits. Somers helped him to his feet and led him away to the capstan with his arm around his shoulders.

  “Elinore will recover, Nico,” said Somers softly. “She will mend.”

  “What happened, Ezra?” Fallon asked. “Why were you even here?”

  “When she got your letter about Beauty, we decided immediately that we had to come to Antigua to be with her. We were gripped with worry. Maybe it was unwise, in retrospect, though our intentions were good. But tell me, how was Beauty when you left her? Tell me she is recovering.”

  “When I left she was,” said Fallon. “But it will go slowly and there is no way to know if infection … it could still strike her down. It was a truly horrible wound, Ezra. It would have killed a lesser person.”

  Somers closed his eyes in thanks.

  “But, Ezra,” Fallon said anxiously, “tell me about Elinore, please! Was she on deck at all during the fighting?”

  “No, Nico. She was below,” said Somers. “But you see, there’s something you don’t know. I didn’t know it either before we sailed for Antigua. I think she wanted to surprise you. Elinore was carrying your baby.”

  Fallon swallowed. My God, he thought. My baby. What have I done?

  Somers read the guilt perfectly, expecting it even. It’s how he would have felt receiving the same news. Helpless and guilty. All that.

  “No, Nico,” he said. “Guilt is useless at a time like this. You both love each other, so there can be no guilt. Not on either side.”

  “So … she lost the baby … our baby?” Fallon asked incredulously. The full magnitude of Elinore’s misery was now apparent to him, and he understood why Paloma had pushed him away until he understood.

  “My God, Ezra.”

  ELINORE WAS ASLEEP in Fallon’s cabin thanks to a potion from Colquist, who continued to work into the night tending to the wounded by lantern. Six sailors lay dead on the deck, plus poor Brooks. And four of Petite’s crew would not see daylight.

  Thankfully, Aja had stepped up to take charge of getting the ship to rights and assigning a night watch in case the little wolves returned, which was unlikely given their sudden lack of leadership. The carpenter had his crew patching and fixing anything vital on Rascal. He’d sounded the well and reported no apparent shot holes below the waterline.

  The moon was just coming up halfway through the middle watch by the time Rascal felt secure, the dead crewmen and Brooks having been sewn into canvas weighted with shot and placed by the railing for burial tomorrow.

  A weary Fallon went below decks and quietly slipped into his cabin, where he saw Elinore asleep, the moonlight through the stern windows giving her an otherworldly quality. He studied her lovely face, a face he knew so well, and bent to kiss her forehead. She stirred slightly, then settled, her breathing long and slow. He backed away to the stern seat and stretched out in the moonlight. What he cared most about in the world was mere feet away, safe but damaged, and he wondered if things between them would ever be the same.

  IT WAS SOMETIME later that Fallon opened his eyes to an angel, and for a moment he imagined he’d died. But Elinore was real and he was alive and she was touching his face and crying silent tears and murmuring, “I’m sorry.”

  He sat up and pulled her beside him, holding her closely and stroking her hair and telling her he loved her, that one day they’d have their baby again, a lot of babies if she wanted, and they’d be married in the small chapel on Bermuda that faced the sea—in the spring of the year, when the small flowers bloomed among the rocks. She quieted, and held him with an amazing strength, clinging to his body and willing herself to believe everything he said.

  The thing is, he meant every word.

  FORTY-FOUR

  AT FIRST LIGHT, when the horizon could be scanned and pronounced all clear, Rascal made her way out of Bahia Salinas. The wind was out of the northeast, and Barclay sailed south along the coast of Porto Rico before turning eastward for a long larboard tack along the southern coast of the island. Rascal was under reefed topsails, mainsail, and foresail but still bounded along energetically, plunging and swooping over the white-capped seas like a horse making for the barn.

  Aja and Barclay had things well in hand on deck, knowing that Fallon would need to be with Elinore down below. He had been present to bury Brooks and the dead crewmen that morning but had not been seen since. Rascal’s decks had been holystoned back to their usual condition, the spilled blood sanded off, but the gouges and furrows remained to tell the tale.

  Somers was at the stern, looking over the taffrail as the sea passed underneath the ship. In his mind, the hiring of Stuyvesant had set in motion a chain of events that had led inevitably to the battle in Bahia Salinas and to poor Elinore’s miscarriage. Colquist had said the constant pounding of cannon fire had no doubt been the cause. Now, Elinore wasn’t going to be a mother, Nico wasn’t going to be a father, and he wasn’t going to be a grandfather, at least anytime soon. And he found all of it unbearably sad. A child had died because he’d made a bad decision. What was that line from Euripides?

  Come back. Even as a shadow, even as a dream.

  But nothing would bring the dead child back.

  Somers watched as Elinore and Fallon stepped on deck, holding onto each other for mutual support. Elinore had barely spoken to Somers last night and not at all this morning. Give her time, Paloma had said. But it was hard, and Elinore’s silence made him feel all the guiltier.

  Elinore had changed into a simple dress and she had a bit of color back, but her face looked drawn and utterly sad.

  Somers thought of the battle with the little wolves, as Fallon called them. Petite had been all but done for when Rascal suddenly appeared, and he shuddered to think what would have become of Elinore and his crew if Fallon hadn’t shown up when he did. It had turned out badly enough as it was. Could Stuyvesant have made a better show of fighting? Perhaps, admitted Somers. But Stuyvesant was a cold, dead bastard so it didn’t matter now.

  What mattered, the only thing that mattered now, was that he thought he’d seen Elinore smile at Aja. Smile, by God! That lifted his spirits immeasurably and gave him hope that she would recover. And what was this? Elinore was walking toward him, her arms outstretched, tears streaming down her cheeks. My God, could he be forgiven?

  FALLON WATCHED as Elinore and Somers embraced, and held their embrace a long while, each apparently not wanting to let go. Somers had no doubt been blaming himself for the miscarriage, somehow, but Elinore didn’t. And when Fallon told her of Somers’s courage in tangling with Negro Sol her eyes grew wide, for without that single act it might all have all ended in death, the Holy One giving no quarter.

  Paloma approached with a cup of coffee in each hand and gave Fallon one.

  “I’m glad to see Elinore and her father like that,” she said, motioning to father and daughter holding hands now and talking at the stern. “It will take her awhile to come back to herself, Nico, but she will find her way.”

  “Yes,” said Fallon. “She is going slowly, even with me. I am not asking questions. Only answering them. Not giving advice, only lis
tening if she wants to talk.”

  “I see why she loves you, Nico,” Paloma said with a smile. “How did you get to be so smart?”

  THE SHIP changed watches and Barclay marked their position on the slate with each tack, though Porto Rico was still easily in sight by the first dog. Aja had taken a tolerable noon sight, which got very close to Barclay’s own; the young man was actually a navigator of some skill now. Barclay was impressed, doubly so upon learning how Aja had taken charge of the ship when he’d been knocked senseless.

  It was late in the second dogwatch when Elinore was ready to speak to Fallon privately. They walked to the starboard railing, and she told him of feeling unwell the past two months and the doctor confirming her pregnancy. Initially she’d been embarrassed and fearful of a scandal, but then shame turned to the possibility of joy as she thought of telling Fallon. He stopped and turned to her and held her tightly as she began crying softly. The crewmen working nearby found something pressing to do elsewhere in the ship.

  Then she described Stuyvesant coming into her cabin and Fallon stiffened. He could feel his body going on full alert even as Elinore described Somers coolly coming in behind him with his pistol out and marching him up the companionway and onto the deck. It was a Somers kind of trial: Her father quoted Heraclitus and was about to kill Stuyvesant when Elinore threw her punch and took care of business herself.

  Fallon could feel his body calm down, Somers being a man you could count on, and Elinore being a woman you could count on. The next part of Elinore’s story he could speak to from his vantage point on Rascal’s deck. She asked how the attack on Petite Bouton began, and he described the sloops swooping in, firing again and again. Elinore said her pains had begun with the first broadside. She had grown tense and anxious as the ship shuddered with each hit, and then the pain had grown worse and she had known something was horribly wrong. By the time she’d understood what it was, it was done. And she had fainted, no doubt from loss of blood.

  Fallon expected her to break at this point, to crumble and cry, but she stiffened her back and looked out to sea for a long moment.

  “Why did those ships attack us?” she asked. “They had no idea who we were or where we were from.”

  “They’re pirates; we called them the little wolves. Usually they attacked slavers, overwhelmed them and stole the slaves to sell for profit. But they had attacked us once as well, and we beat them back. No doubt they came into the bay and were just as surprised to see you as you were to see them. But there you were, a prize for the taking, something purely opportunistic. Lucky we were following them.”

  “And did you fight all three ships?” she asked incredulously.

  “Well, yes,” answered Fallon. “We really had no choice. But when your father pushed the brig around, the tide turned for us.”

  Elinore was still absorbing Fallon’s explanation when Aja appeared at their side.

  “Mr. Barclay’s duty, sir, and he’d like to come about on larboard for a long tack,” he said.

  The afternoon passed like this, tack on tack, and the ship’s bell rang out and the watches were changed, and when at last it was time for dinner Fallon asked Somers, Aja, and Paloma to join him and Elinore in his cabin. It would be a tight fit, but it was their last night at sea, for tomorrow would see them in English Harbor. Fallon couldn’t hope for a lively evening, but he did hope for a pleasant one where they all could look forward in anticipation rather than backward with sorrow. After all, they would see Beauty tomorrow.

  In the event, he was not disappointed. Two bottles of claret during the meal worked wonders on the group dynamic, and Paloma and Elinore especially were becoming friends. Paloma shared her story with Elinore and Somers, noting Aja’s daring in setting Young David free, which both embarrassed and pleased the boy. She said little of Davies, but a careful observer could read between the lines. And Elinore, of course, was a careful observer.

  When at last the stories were told and all things were known that would ever be known that night, they went off to bed. Fallon took a last turn around the ship with Aja, making sure of the watch rotation and checking the course with Barclay. It was a spectacular night, the kind of night that often moved Fallon to dream of Elinore, or write to her, but now she was below decks, perhaps just slipping off her dress and climbing into his cot.

  It was not a night for romance, he knew that. It was a night for holding the woman he loved and making the world safe again.

  FORTY-FIVE

  YOUNG DAVID made his way westward by night and rested during the day, aware of the danger he faced from soldiers who would stop at nothing to find him. He was sure the soldiers had seen him run along the beach as Rascal had sailed away from Matanzas.

  He passed the fields that had been burned at his hands and foraged for food in gardens and drank from streams. He had a knife and flint that he’d stolen from a farm, but he had no real plan except to carry on westward, past where he’d been captured, and continue to burn the cane.

  He refused to let others join him, choosing instead to free slaves and move on quickly. He grew thinner and tired, frightened by noises in the night, awakened by noises in the day. In the time since he’d escaped from Matanzas he’d freed more than two hundred slaves, most of whom would eventually be recaptured and punished. He understood that. But he also knew that even a few moments of freedom restored what slavery stole from men and women: dignity.

  Cuba’s rolling plains stretched almost six hundred miles in front of him, arcing to the south before giving way to mountains in the southeast. Young David walked by the stars, lights without names to him, but small reminders each night that he was moving in the same general direction as the night before. Where that would take him, he had no way of knowing. He was a night explorer, carrying anger and redemption in his heart.

  And fire in his hands.

  FORTY-SIX

  ENGLISH HARBOR in the forenoon.

  Rascal glided in on a light breeze and Fallon brought her to rest against the quay at the dockyard in her old spot as if it had been held for the ship. Renegade was nearby, apparently still undergoing repairs, but she looked fit to Fallon’s eye. And there was Jones waving from the quarterdeck, his hat in the air, one arm in a light sling. Paloma and Elinore and Somers were all on deck, taking in the scene as Fallon pointed out the various buildings. A lone figure sat in a chair under a tree at the water’s edge in front of the hospital, a light shawl draped over her shoulders. But now she was up, walking slowly but with determination toward the ship, her peg leg pushing softly into the path next to the harbor.

  The entire crew aboard Rascal cheered Beauty and tossed their hats in the air; she smiled in return, giving them a low wave as she couldn’t raise her arm just yet. The ship docked, and Elinore was the first off and ran to Beauty to gently embrace her, followed by Somers and Fallon gathering around with absolute joy on their faces. Now here was Aja, as well, and Beauty gave him the best hug she could. She was noticeably thinner and weak, but her eyes were clear and the set of her chin said: I’m back.

  Paloma stood to the side until she was introduced by Fallon; she was part of the little family now. It was a joyous moment, yet tinged with sadness for all of them, for poor Brooks was dead along with many of their shipmates. James Wharton was dead and Young David might well be, of course. But Beauty was quite alive, and that was to be celebrated.

  Fallon asked Aja to carry word to Davies aboard the flagship that he had a special visitor waiting for him, and Aja left in the gig as soon as it could be lowered. Meanwhile, the little party moved aboard Rascal, a bosun’s chair lowered for Beauty, and in very little time an awning had been rigged under the main boom, and chairs and stools had been produced. Each crew member came by to pay his respects to their first mate, for she was revered as well as beloved. And finally, Colquist appeared, the one who had probably saved her life by removing the splinter that had nearly ended it. In his medical way he asked after her health and, assured it was amazingly good, he beam
ed proudly.

  And when at last the greetings had all been given, there came a hail from Aja as Rascal’s gig clapped on. In a moment, the admiral’s gig clapped on as well, and then the admiral himself climbed over the side and stood face to face with Paloma Campos. Elinore and Fallon watched in anticipation, for these two had not seen each other for several years. Perhaps the fire they once had had died. Or cooled, at least. Perhaps time had … but no, Davies held out his hands and Paloma took them in hers. Most of the crew looked away, slightly embarrassed but pleased, for it reminded every sailor of his own sweetheart or wife and the reunion they would have when they returned to Bermuda. Aja, being at a curious age, didn’t look away at all and saw Davies embrace Paloma and hold her a long while, tears in their eyes and smiles that seemed permanent on their faces.

  Well, it was a moment.

  The gathering on deck continued all afternoon, fortified by wine and rejuvenated by the Garóns arriving just as it was about to break up, for they would need to be acquainted with all the stories, too. They were particularly interested in Paloma, of course, being fellow Cuban loyalists, and the story of Young David genuinely moved them. Fallon considered pulling Davies aside to tell him about the French ship-of-the-line at Saint-Domingue, but thought better of it. That bad news could wait a bit. The world seemed very complicated just then, or maybe it was always complicated, but at that moment events seemed to overwhelm all their senses. It would not be the first time, or the last, that someone wondered: What is the world coming to?

  FORTY-SEVEN

  FALLON WAS ROWED to the flagship in his gig the next morning to give his full report to Admiral Davies. He intended to fill in the considerable blanks between the major points he’d already given Davies under the awning aboard Rascal the day before. Davies greeted him in the enormous great cabin, asked after Elinore’s health and, assured all was as well as could be expected, bade Fallon begin.