Sea of Two Suns

by Nicholas McAuliff

“What news, I said.”

  “They are gone.”

  “What do you mean gone?”

  “The Cree. It was Nukilik and his sister Arnaaluk who produced the ledger and cajoled the idiot into believing it was a letter of import.”

  “I hated them from the moment I saw them,” said the Ordained. He removed his Ushanka and his long curls spilled out over his shoulders.

  “They took four hams from the storehouse,” said Dupan.

  “You told me days ago when you returned from that sentry’s post that nothing had been amiss.”

  “Forgive me,” said Dupan. “Further instigating today brought new word from the trappers running lines southward. They took two horses from the stables. They took their spears, their long rifles, one of the dogs and seven rolls of furs too. Entire rolls.”

  The Ordained dropped his knife and rubbed his eyes. “Then they stole from the Fur and Pine company,” he said. “Send riders to New Fort Chimo and see who we know in Halifax. Two ships I want outfitted for the ice. One of them at least tread to find the passage.

  “Those sorts of ships are not easily had sir. And in high demand by the crown.”

  “Yes. The Limeys think finding the passage will redeem their failure in this new world it seems. Open the coffers if you must.”

  “How many sir?”

  “Two I just said!”

  “Send where sir?”

  “To the bloody Baffin Bay! That is where they are going. All of them. Let them know Fur and Pine will follow dissenters to the sea, as well. The lure of silver has always corrupted men’s hearts.” The Ordained sighed deeply.

  “As you say sir.”

  “And have that sentry hung please. I grow ill watching him shuffle about and cry.”

  “Of course sir. But McDaniel, is he not already seabound with the Eskimo?”

  “He overestimates his ability. He will not be enough with the way this is going, and his servile demeanor sickens me. We need many wasps to flush out these ants.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Tonight!” said the chief. “I want riders toward Chimo tonight. You lead them. That damned ring headed pirate has a part in this, I know it. I should have had him skewered when I had the chance. Bastard!” He slammed his fist hard on the desk and the dogs stopped eating.

  “I see. It will be done sir.”

  “Send word to the traplines, recruit fifty trappers to ride to New England to spread word of a bounty. I am sure they will be joyous to leave their duties here. I want all New France and America after them. Let it be known what becomes of men who engage in this futile grifting of Fur and Pine. Let it be known. Spread word down to St. Augustine and west to the Missouri. For their capture we offer one hundred silver dollars or Spanish dollars. Or the equal in gold.

  “That is a large fortune sir. I fear they will be lost before even reaching the Bay. Our vessels are not meant for the crushing ice.”

  “You know the ways of sail? Tell me Dupan of your last arctic voyage, please.”

  “Forgive me sir. But a sail to the Bay is unlikely to end in anything but death. For those who seek the silver, too.”

  “You still misunderstand me, after all these years. I will show them my meaning and my will. You will deploy two vessels to the Bay, and if God wills it then they will be protected from the crushing ice and their flesh warmed by the holy spirit itself.”

  “Very good. Vive La France.”

  “Shut up! The Mexican one. The whaler. He will be going. The loudmouth. The one who passed through here two years back. Asking questions and poking his fingers where they did not belong.”

  “I do not remember sir.”

  “No, Dupan, because your brain is made of stone and because bloodlust is your only pursuit. But he is dangerous and above all else he must be brought to me alive. We have much to discuss.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “I want them all back to me alive, if possible. I want them hanging feet first from the gates, hanging in the open winter air. I will first hear their pleas before I set them alight regardless.”

  “Aye sir.”

  “How does a Mexican end up in Halifax?” asked Herb.

  Around the tavern were less men and the commotion of the initial rendezvous had settled. Around the table also sat Francisco, the pirate and Isaac.

  Julius slept like a cat upon a window ledge while others looked on bewildered at the man who acted like a little boy.

  “How does a fur trapper end up at sea?” Francisco responded.

  “Ha!” yelled the hunter. “Our quarry ran dry, Mexican.”

  “The French still bring ample bounty back to Paris. Tons and tons of furs. Many a Frenchman I met in my time in New France, many. Seems to me the smart Brits and Americans worked their way inland, when New France was smaller than the breadth of ranges sweeping north and south of the Hudson Bay.”

  “I’m not a damned Frenchman,” said the hunter, his eyes narrow slits. “My papa come from Scotland and mama had been here since before this nation formed. We true Americans. But sooner would we find bones than pelts. Beaver, lynx and fox. Martin and Muskrat. I scoured the pines north and south of New France, damn you. I’ve seen men freeze in the Missouri for a fox or two. As if the woods be some illimitable well spring. The spring gone and run dry.”

  “Why not go independent? Most Brits and Americans learned quick. Else their bounty be confined to whatever be left after the lions eat.”

  “Confined to south of the damned St. Lawrence, when they let us,” said Herb.

  “Spoils of war,” grunted the pirate.

  “Aye,” muttered Isaac. He filled his mug from a large tankard on the table. “To think that the Brits would violate the Treaty of Paris after all those years.”

  “Played right into the French hands, they did,” said Herb. “Used that to justify expanding New France and then blockaded London Port. To which the Brits responded-”

  “Aye!” said Jerimiah as he sat down with the men. “We responded by sailing a fleet to Paris, but they were ready for that too. It was like the sea caught fire that day, fire above the water. The sun never sets over British Dominion, true. But the French found a way to blot it out. And now under their shade sprouts a kingdom in the frozen north of the new world, as it was once called.”

  “That was yesteryear,” said Herb. “Don’t know much or care bout Brits and French and their politics these days. But it seems to me, Francisco, that whales still skirt the coastal pools on both ends of our great country now. Aye. Sperm and Minke, Blue and Right! ‘There she blows,’ they say, still. You can hear the bellows daily from those crow’s nest propped up along the coast, just out San Francisco. There she blows, Francisco. All that liquid gold escaped you somehow. Liquid American Gold!”

  “Go on,” whispered Francisco.

  “Seems to me that a Mexican just don’t have a place with a harpoon in his hand,” he said. “Not in American waters, anyway.”

  Francisco finished his drink, pouring another shot of whiskey and finishing that too. Without breaking eye contact with the hunter, he downed the man’s tankard. But before it was finished it was slapped out of Francisco’s hand, sending froth and beer all about Isaac and Jerimiah.

  “Avast!” screamed the pirate.

  Francisco’s veiny hands were clasped onto the hunter’s shoulders, pushing him into the bulkhead.

  Once, twice the hunter tried to rise from his stool. Twice Francisco slammed the man back down. The hunter threw an empty whiskey bottle, where it skated off Francisco’s head and shattered.

  “Rile them down god damnit!” barked an old whaler from another table.

  Men were separated at both sides of the tavern. The hunter with his bear skin about his shoulders; he was more an enraged bear himself than a man.

  The pirate held Herb against the bulkhead, his corded muscles twisting and turning in his arms and his teeth set to a grit.

  Francisco’s eyes burned a green fire; he had no blood on his face despite
the bottle bouncing from his head. “I took your liquid gold!” screamed the Mexican. “I took your women in New York! I’ll captain a whaleship while you freeze on the fucking Missouri!”

  IX

  “Long last I would have to ride one of these damned machines,” said the pirate.

  “The mountains fly by like clouds,” screamed Julius as other passengers looked at the man.

  The crew boarded the archaic train and sat on wooden benches, gripping where they could. A new day shined from on high.

  A man with three seabags over his shoulders entered the train behind the men.

  “Put those bags here,” Francisco said sternly while pointing at an empty seat.

  The man followed the instructions. He was young and short with a hairless head and small amber eyes narrow-set.

  The pirate approached the small man. “Now listen,” he said with a finger in the man’s face. “Already you are in debt to me. I paid a messenger boy to send word to the filthy mill where you would still reside had you not answered the call for deckhand. Your board and chow too came from my coffers. Work hard at all times and never question me, and you just may be sailing home with pockets full of silver.”

  “Aye,” said the man. “Though we missed our quota I did sail once as foremast hand and I know how to hold a harpoon.”

  “How many years have you seen?”

  “Twenty-three, sir, but-”

  “Quiet,” said the pirate. “This isn’t a whaling expedition. At least you have some wits about you and some time at sea, unlike this one here,” said the captain as he threw a hand toward Isaac.

  “Aye, aye captain,” said the man.

  “Know this, my will becomes your own while we are at sea. And at sea should you attempt to shirk your duties in any way, I’ll throw you overboard myself.”

  “Aye,” said the man.

  “Now what is your name?” said the pirate again pushing a finger in the man’s face.

  “Simon! An Englishmen at heart, but after my second name they called me Mr.-”

  “Simon!” snapped the pirate. “From here on out, you answer questions with minimal words. Already there be too many talkers on this voyage and if there be another I may just dive headlong from the masthead before our first night out.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Horses were released from tethers ahead and steam billowed high as the machine set to motion. For some time they all remained silent, as the rest of the rail’s occupants too looked memorized at what transpired outside. Time flew by indeed like the land outside. The rusty red of dawn gave way to only blue at last, and then to a higher sun.

  “New Bedford,” A man at last yelled as the sound of steam and grinding iron came to a gradual halt. “New Bedford!” he said again.

  The men disembarked with seabags and saddlebags in tow and followed the pirate single file through the commotion. The salt in the air stank and screaming gulls were heard though the port was not yet in sight.

  Locals looked at the newcomers as farmers might wolves skirting the fields; hiding just into the tree line but brazen enough to bare their teeth while the sheep screamed in deathly anticipation.

  “Now,” announced the pirate from a seaside tavern stool. “We don’t drink tonight, no one, hear?”

  “Aye,” came a few grunts from the men.

  “Now by this time tomorrow if no Cree or Inuit arrive, we set sail. Let us eat something.”

  The pirate motioned to a server pouring drink and whisking away plates and boards.

  From the tavern’s portholes naked spars dotted the heavens. Some with their topgallant sails unfurled; varying widths and heights were seen beaming whitely under the October sun. A line of ships reaching to the clouds. And the riggers ascended and descended as time passed, visages of tiny men climbing about the riggings, sails furling and unfurling and shouts booming as men worked. A symphony of wood chisels and claw hammers and saws.

  “Old man,” said the pirate, “I leave it to you to secure some lodging for the eve,” he said, tossing coins onto the table.

  “Aye aye,” said Jerimiah as he pulled the rounds toward him.

  “No man speak of who we are or what we are to do,” said the pirate. “Francisco, with me,” he said.

  “To where?”

  “To find a bloody ship.”

  The duo headed into the busy streets and toward port where the sounds of gulls and working men dominated all else. Through mud strewn alleys they walked westward and passed a team of draft horses heaving down a Brig sidelong. Heavy iron bells tolled for inbound ships and chickens scurrying underfoot were promptly kicked aside by the pirate.

  As port came into view a team of mule pulled wagons rolled by and some finer dressed folk eyed the ship work from a safe distance. Specks of snow fell light and switched to rain intermittently. Atop a wooden stage a Deacon finished some sort of outdoor sermon and men in stove pipe hats sang Joy to the World in baritone voices.

  “Early for Christmas aye?” said Francisco.

  “Not up here,” replied the pirate. “There. Yonder will lease a ship to the right company for a price.”

  And ahead was a fashioned wooden anchor enveloping a rustic Ship Chandlery where merchants and tradesmen gathered as others wrote busily in ledgers and deeds. Behind them in a tiny corner of the port sat several smaller vessels of old. They were moored and dilapidated and looking anything but seaworthy.

  “We never discussed that,” said Francisco.

  “What be there to discuss? Have you the coin to buy our ship? Have you the gold? Have you thirty years’ salary as an honest working man?”

  “Your point understood. But you owe me from Durango. To hell with your blood money!”

  Francisco stepped into the pirate’s face.

  “Aye and that’s why you’re here Mexican. The only reason!”

  “Is that right? Seems without me you would still be sailing the Black Sea raiding merchant ships!”

  Working folk nearby stared at the duo: two red faced seamen eye to eye, one with a Mexican accent and the other with a disposition as though he were constantly ready for death.

  “Gentlemen!” came a voice.

  Isaac jogged toward the men and donned his beaver skin hat and threw a fur over his shoulders as he did.

  “None asked you to leave the tavern!” scolded the pirate. “Francisco! whoever this is best start to understand the situation at once!”

  Francisco nodded. “Calm down,” he said. “Isaac, come,” he said, waving the writer toward them. “We are going to lease a ship.”

  “I told them to stay at the tavern and await the damned Eskimos from Fort Cognac!” said the pirate, not looking at Isaac.

  “Forgive me,” said Isaac. “Herb finished his flask when you left moments ago, then Jerimiah knocked the flask out of Herb’s hands, then-”

  “Enough!” snapped the pirate.

  “This is Isaac Isaacson,” said Francisco. “I didn’t properly introduce you back in Boston. He writes what he sees.”

  The pirate grimaced. “No place for a writer at sea.”

  “He needs a story. He expects no share of the bounty should we find it.”

  In an instant the pirate was nose to nose with Isaac. “Tell him he will use his hands, soft as they are, to follow my will at sea,” he growled lowly while staring down the writer. “Tell him I care not for his suffering. And if he tries to pocket an ounce of silver from this journey I will cut out his eyes.”

  “Well you just told him,” said Francisco.

  “Obliged,” whispered Isaac.

  As the men approached the open-air Chandlery they were eyed suspiciously by the merchants. One stopped and leaned down upon the ledger he was hitherto scribing and waited in anticipation.

  “Good day,” said the pirate in a voice attempting courtesy but which came about as a barked order.

  “Alright,” answered the merchant.

  “We want to inquire on leasing a ship.”

  The merc
hant removed his glasses. “Many do,” he said. “I want to inquire on living in one of those terrace homes,” he said pointing toward the multi-story homes farther up the docks.

  The pirate shook his head and reached into his shirt and produced a tiny leather pouch.

  “We are former whalers,” said Francisco. “All between us we have thirty years at sea.”

  “Your reputation is of little import here,” replied the merchant.

  Francisco eyed the ships. “I can tell from these tryworks that these ships are not of today,” he said. “How long since any of them have seen a voyage?”

  “Twelve years they have been berthed,” said the merchant as he donned his glasses again and resumed work on the ledger. “They are seaworthy, I assure you,” he said. “Should your lease be approved, we will provide two goats, a sapling pig, a bushel of lemons and five barrels of fresh water. Your liquor and surplus water is your own lot, but there be five empty butts in the hold. We shall have her varnished for you and done a once-over, which will take a day and one half.”

  “We don’t have a day and a half,” said the pirate.

  “I do not care what you have,” said the merchant. “We put no stock into these vessels until we get the monies, and we operate on no timetable but that of our own!”

  Francisco eyed one particular vessel up and down and walked toward it and brushed his hands over the hull.

  “Hoy!” shouted another monocle-wearing merchant.

  Francisco ignored him and examined the ship. She was square rigged; her fore and aft sails though furled showed spots of mildew peppered about them.

  “Can you have the masts scraped?” asked the Mexican. “Would save us a great deal of time.”

  “A once over, as I said gentlemen. We are all former men of the sea. She will be ready, I assure you.”

  She looked to be an oversized schooner. The hull above the waterline was edged with green algae and hard barnacles and the oak on the deck dryer than that of a desert. Upon that deck the helm was missing two spokes, yet the compass twinkled under the sun. Faded onto the bow was a name printed in yellowed letters: The Roc. And highest of all from the bow was a tarnished silver-plated head of a ferocious eagle whose eyes were missing.