by Rima Jean
He smiled. “Water. It’s what ye’ll be needing, eh?” He watched as I drained the tankard and held it out to him. It was, in fact, fresh water – unchlorinated, pure, and some of the tastiest stuff I’d ever had. “More?” he asked, amused.
I nodded. “Yes, please.” At that moment, the woman came back in, carrying a bowl. She slapped it down on the table, the stew barely slopping out, and, shooting me a sharp look, left again in a hurry. As the captain passed the bowl to me, I asked, “What’s her problem? Wait. You know what? Forget I asked. I have a more pressing question.” I paused, and the captain pointed to the stew.
“Eat,” he commanded. “All yer questions will be answered in good time. Ye need to eat, now. I don’t need ye fainting again, not on my watch.” Under normal circumstances, I would have argued. It was in my nature to be contrary. But the stew smelled damned good, either because it was good, or because I was famished. I slurped it down greedily, not minding that there were unidentified floating objects in it.
“Chicken?” I asked, as I chewed on a piece of white meat.
“Turtle,” he replied.
I didn’t pause. Eh. Well, it was always good to try new things. And damn, was that turtle tasty. I wouldn’t have thought pirates knew how to cook good food. I quickly emptied the bowl as the captain pulled out a long-stemmed clay pipe, filled it with tobacco, and reached for the brass lantern on the table. He carefully removed the candle and lit his pipe. I set the bowl on my lap, feeling somewhat sated, my blood sugar back under control. The captain and I stared at each other as he puffed at his pipe, filling the air with coils of smoke.
“So,” I said, taking a deep breath. “First of all. Who are you? I never thanked you for saving my life…”
The Irishman pulled the stem from his lips, his eyes narrowed. “I’m Edward England, captain of the Royal James. And you are?”
My mind was finally clearing, finally working properly. “Sabrina Granger.” I examined his face before asking, “So, is piracy your day job?”
“How now?” He looked genuinely perplexed. “Aye, I’m on the account. It’s no secret, that. The question is, what are you?”
I shook my head. “The year is 2011 right? Why is everyone acting like it’s the 1700s?”
Edward England leaned forward, blowing a thin stream of smoke from his mouth. His eyes were penetrating. “What did ye say? What year did ye say it was?”
I blinked. I spoke slowly, as if to a child. “Two. Zero. One. One. You did know that, right?”
He looked at me for what felt like a long time before saying softly, “Lass, ‘tis the year of grace- 1718.”
I’m not sure what I felt right at that moment. Annoyance? Impatience? Fear? Panic? A little bit of all of them, I’d say. I mumbled, “Stop bullshitting me!” Then, taking stock of England’s expression, I continued in a weaker voice, “When I fell of the boat, it was – is – 2011. I was on vacation with my friends.” I hesitated, the panic blossoming. “One of us is crazy, and it sure as hell isn’t me!” My voice became shriller, and the captain sensed my panic. He held his hands up.
“Easy, cailin.” His voice was soothing. “Certainly, there’s been a misunderstanding. Now, it’s not that I don’t believe ye. It’s that, should it get out what’s in yer mind, you’d be strung up for a witch, ye see?” He looked back at the door, then at me. His thin lips were pressed into a line, the creases on his brow pronounced. “Yer not in the friendliest of company here in Nassau. I don’t know what happened to ye, but I can tell ye that this isn’t the Nassau ye’ll remember. This here is home to the Flying Gang.”
My breath quickened, my mind unable and unwilling to accept a single word. “What’s that?”
Captain England smiled a little, a wry smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “The Flying Gang’s the most fearsome group of pirates that ever lived.”
I blinked. This is a joke. A horribly un-funny joke. Inside my mind, a battle raged, and my sanity was at stake. While I wanted to laugh at Captain England’s nonsensical words, I couldn’t ignore what I was seeing with my own eyes. Unless there were islands that looked remarkably like New Providence and Paradise Island somewhere nearby, and unless those islands were inhabited by hundreds of pirate re-enactors who really believed they lived in 1718…
I couldn’t process it. This had to be a hoax. As I sat there in the warm, simple frame house, looking at this man who, for all intents and purposes, had jumped off a movie set and decided he really liked playing pirate, I realized I had a choice: either play along, or get myself killed by a bunch of crazies. I fought back the desire to scream and cry and throw things, to beg that I be allowed to go home. It won’t do any good, I told myself. I was terrified, but I took a deep breath.
I thought carefully before speaking, watching England puff quietly on his pipe. Finally, I said, “I was in 2011 when I fell off the boat, and now I’m in 1718. Is that what we’re saying here?” I didn’t give him a chance to answer. “If everyone here, in 1718, would think I’m a witch, why do you give me the benefit of the doubt? From your perspective, I’m completely batshit crazy.”
England replied, “Because I believe that ye’re from someplace very foreign, and that ye found yerself here unexpectedly.”
I pushed my disheveled hair from my face as I asked, “But why do you believe that?”
England set his pipe down carefully, knitting his brow. “Because we found this floating with ye.” From beneath the table, the captain withdrew my backpack. As I gasped, he continued, “I didn’t let anyone look inside, save myself and my quartermaster, Jameson… It made him mighty wary of ye, lass, and angry with me when I protected ye.”
I took the backpack eagerly from him. Something from my life, something from the sane world… I began to chatter excitedly to England. “The booze cruise was my friend Tanya’s idea. I insisted on loading all of our stuff into one backpack, so we wouldn’t lose anything. I can be anal about stuff …”
As I spoke, I unzipped the backpack – it had definitely seen better days – and immediately began fishing for my Blackberry. I pulled it out joyfully, and on a whim tried to turn it on. Nice try, Sabrina. Then I went through the other items quickly: my iPod, also shot to hell; a blister pack of Dramamine for motion sickness (it sure would have been nice to have this a little while ago); my friend Tanya’s makeup bag, most of the items inside in good condition, including three multi-colored, ribbed condoms (Christ, what had Captain England thought of that? At least they were still in their packaging); Sky’s romance, most of it water-logged and illegible (thank God); another of Sky’s books, Rovers of the Sea, still fairly legible since it was wrapped in a Barnes & Noble bag; a couple bikinis and cover-ups; and finally, our wallets. I tore mine open, pulling out a picture of Sophie and clutching it tightly, the tears starting to well up.
England cleared his throat, and I looked up at him. “Did you go through everything here?” He nodded. I held the picture out to him. “Then you’ve seen this? It’s my daughter, Sophie. I miss her so much!”
England took the picture, holding it gently between his rough, callused fingers. He studied it for a while then said softly, “It’s an amazing likeness. How…?”
Oh, yeah. They didn’t have photographs in 1718. If this guy was putting me on, he was doing a good job of looking bewildered. I hesitated. “It’s a photograph. It’s an image that was, well, painted by… light.”
He smiled, still looking at the picture. “She has yer mouth.” As if suddenly aware of what he’d just said, he thrust the photo back at me, not meeting my eyes. From his bald spot down to his chest, he went scarlet.
Taking the picture, I realized, somewhat abruptly, that I had my feminine wiles at my disposal. It had been so long since I’d used them, I’d forgotten they existed. When was the last time I’d made a man blush like that? Had I ever made a man blush like that? “Captain England,” I said in my best damsel-in-distress voice, peering up at him from under my eyelashes. “Help me. Please. I have to get
back to where I was – wherever that is – so that I can see her again.”
He looked up, baffled. “Help ye how, lass? Drop ye back in the middle of the sea where I found ye? I could try to get ye passage on a trading ship headed for the Colonies, perchance…” He put out his pipe and tucked it behind his ear, and then started wringing his hands thoughtfully. “The thing of it is… ye have bloody poor timing! Vane’ll not suffer a single ship leave the harbor.”
“Who?”
England huffed with frustration. “I haven’t the time to explain it to ye. Charles Vane is a pirate – and not one the likes of ye should ever meet.” His eyes blazed as he spoke. “The Jacobites are not sending help, and King George’s royal governor is arriving any day now to take the island from the pirates. We’ve no intention of accepting the royal pardon, and it’s gotten nasty here in Nassau.”
King George, Jacobites… It all sounded vaguely familiar. Too bad I hadn’t paid much attention in my world history class. I shrugged. “Even if you could send me to the U.S. – I mean, the Colonies – where would I go? I’d still be in 1718, right?” I waited for him to reply, hoping he’d say no, actually, he was part of a group of pirate re-enactors who just took the re-enacting to another level and, lo and behold, he’d get me back to 2011 ASAP. But he merely nodded, deep in thought.
“I’ll have Kat bring ye some proper clothes so ye don’t stand out any more than ye already do,” he said finally, standing up. “Stay here. So long as ye’re in this house, ye’re under my protection. Jameson won’t tell a soul, I’d wager on it.”
Alarmed, I stood up, unsteady on my feet, my head spinning. “Where are you going? Don’t leave me.”
Captain England froze, looking at me with an expression I couldn’t place. It was gone as quickly as it had come, and he replied gently, “I’ll not leave ye, cailin. But there’s business I must attend to. I’ll be back shortly after sundown.” And with that, he was gone.
Chapter Five
The woman, Kat, sauntered in carrying a pile of clothes which she promptly dropped on the table. Before she could head out the door, I ventured, “Excuse me?”
She turned to look at me haughtily, setting her hands on her hips. A strand of dishwater blonde hair fluttered into her eye. I cleared my throat. “Um, would it be possible for me to wash up?” I felt like I needed to add, “With some clean water? And soap?”
Kat pouted, her eyes shining with disdain. “Soap! What do you think this is, the Royal Court?” Before I could answer, she’d left, snickering to herself. I shut my eyes and rubbed my temples, willing myself not to lose it. I had begun to lose hope that this was all a bad dream. The panic bubbled inside of me, threatening to seep out in the form of a blood-curdling scream, but I forced myself to focus on the task at hand. Best case scenario: I keep it together and figure a way out of this mess. Worst case scenario: I’m considered dangerous to a bunch of lunatics and killed. So far, I had Edward England on my side, it seemed; I had to make sure I didn’t lose him.
Kat carried a bucket of water into the room and practically dropped it at my feet, water sloshing from it. She glared at me as she said snarkily, “Anything else for your ‘ighness?” She shook her head as she stormed out. A rag was draped over the side of the bucket. I stared at it for a moment, wanting to cry. How was I going to get clean? Clearly, I wasn’t. Just as well, I told myself. Maybe the stench of my own filth would overpower the stench of the others. How was I going to survive around here if I constantly wanted to throw up? I grabbed Tanya’s makeup bag, rummaging through it. God bless Tanya and her constant one-night-stand preparedness! She had a small travel toothbrush and toothpaste. After all the puking, I needed a good teeth-brushing. Too bad she hadn’t included soap, deodorant, shampoo…
A crash of thunder distracted me from my lament. Rain. Nature’s shower. England had told me not to leave the house, but I couldn’t think of anything better than letting the rain wash the past few days from my skin. Had it been days? I didn’t even know. It felt like years. I suddenly began moving with urgency. I would leave everything here, and after soaking in the rain for a few minutes, I would come back. I froze, thinking about my plan. Leaving the house in my clothes was a bad idea. I glanced at the clothes Kat had left for me: a white linen shift with full sleeves, a brown corset and petticoat, and a faded blue gown. Beneath them were two straight leather shoes with pointed toes and a slight heel.
God almighty, where was the underwear? And how the hell was I going to get that corset on without any help? I thought about the sullen Kat pulling the laces of my corset tight around my torso. She’d have a bit too much fun with that. Hang the corset. I’d throw on the shift, petticoat, gown and shoes and let them get washed too. I’m sure they needed it. I struggled into the smelly clothes and rushed out of the room into the smaller adjacent one, where Kat was sitting. I barely looked at her as I breezed by, mumbling something about being back soon. I doubted she would try to stop me; she didn’t seem fond of me or the attention Captain England was giving me.
The rain had just started, and the fine mist quickly turned to heavy rain. People rushed into hovels and their simple homes, not paying any attention to me as I sighed, turning my face up to the sky. I walked slowly, willing the water to wash away the filth. What I really needed was to take off the clothes, but that clearly wasn’t going to happen… unless I could find somewhere secluded. And even then it was probably a really bad idea. If I really was in 1718 (what an absurd thought! I laughed nervously just considering it), then men weren’t used to seeing women’s calves around here. On the other hand, if I really was in 1718, people were afraid of water and fresh air, thinking it made one vulnerable to illness, right? Awesome. So long as it rained, I would be alone. I had never wished for rain so hard in my life.
I walked aimlessly down the road, past the glowing huts and taverns, until I saw the beach, not vibrant with pirate activity as it had been before. The men had sought shelter in their tents, and the beach lay deserted in the pounding rain. I blinked through the water, looking for a private spot to sit. Just on the strand, I saw an overturned canoe, abandoned to rot in the tropical brush on account of a gaping hole in its bottom. I made my way through the wet sand and, making sure I was alone in the immediate vicinity, sat carefully on the canoe behind several palmettos and sandfly bushes. I was soaked, but not brave enough to disrobe.
I had so much to think about. I didn’t know where to begin. For starters, I missed Sophie something fierce. What had happened to me? What? I ran through the memories sequentially. I felt myself start to lose my grip on sanity and forced myself to focus. Shutting my eyes, I took several deep breaths. I was good at focusing on the task at hand – it was how I’d climbed the corporate ladder. Single-minded focus. I had to use it now like I never had before.
For some reason, I thought of The Truman Show, with Jim Carrey’s character living a fake life in front of the cameras but not knowing it. Maybe if I kept walking I would reach the end of the movie set, the end of the glass dome. Instinctively, I looked up into the palmettos for hidden cameras. I groaned, raking my fingers through my wet, tangled hair. Focus! Focus, Sabrina. I had to pretend, at least for the time being, that I was in the early eighteenth century. How was I going to cope? I thought about all the things I needed but didn’t have: personal hygiene items, my Blackberry, cotton underwear, multivitamins, Lexapro… I hung my head, the tears stinging my eyes.
Focus, Sabrina. You can do this. Chances are, you’ll be so busy trying to get out of here alive that you won’t have time to be depressed.
On the bright side, my vision was 20/15. I’d had LASIK a year ago, thank God. I couldn’t imagine being in 1718 (or a place that, for all practical purposes, was like 1718) and being in need of contacts or glasses. I’d already be dead, I’d guess. Completely crazy, for sure. Another plus: I was up to date on all my vaccinations. Of course, I was still susceptible to smallpox and all that… OK, I wasn’t going to let my thoughts go in that direction, it would do
no good.
The rain had slowed to a fine drizzle. I shivered, wondering how things were going at the firm without me. Had the merger gone through? I imagined my secretary Linda frantically fielding calls from our clients, desperately trying to find me. I felt a knot of anxiety in my gut at the thought. “The law firm will survive without you for a week, Sabrina,” Sky had told me with a roll of her eyes. Yes, it would survive without me, but would I survive without it? And what about Sophie? Could I survive without her? At least I didn’t have to worry about her welfare – Jake always did everything for her anyway. I was never around, I was always working. In spite of myself, I began to sob. I would focus in a second. But first I had to cry my head off. I wailed aloud, letting the tears stream with abandon down my face, letting the sobs shake my whole body. It felt good.
“Well, now, ’allo, poppet!” A male voice, too close for comfort, made me jump up and spin around.
Two men, their arms crossed, stood looking at me from the thicket. Although they were several feet away, I could smell them, and my weak stomach flipped threateningly. They looked to be in their twenties, maybe even in their late teens, thin and wiry, wearing dirty linen shirts and petticoat breeches. One wore a knitted cap while the other had a dirty calico scarf wrapped about his head. They both had knives tucked securely in their bright red sashes, new and clean against the rest of their clothes. The look in their eyes was… predatory.
I backed away instinctively, looking over my shoulder for help. One of the men wiped his mouth on his sleeve and mumbled, “Christ, but she’s a pretty thing! What a bit o’ luck, eh, Dick?”
The other nodded, his eyes sweeping me up and down. “I’ll say,” he replied. “It’s been too long…”
I bolted. I wasn’t just about to wait for those guys to finish their discussion. I knew, however, that there was no way I could outrun them. Not a chance in hell. Not with my lack of sustenance, my roiling stomach, my inability to run in the sand, in long skirts, wearing really uncomfortable shoes… So as a rough hand clamped down on my arm, I let out a scream to end all screams. A hand came down on my mouth, another yanked on my wet hair. I was back behind the sandfly bushes, lying in the sand, the weight of one of the men holding me down.
