Sea of Two Suns

by Nicholas McAuliff

  “I do not think now is the time for killing,” said Francisco.

  “I kill any man or woman who steals from me, always,” said the pirate.

  “When I glimpsed the map, I knew we would one day need it,” said the old man without fear.

  The pirate kept his stare fixed on Jerimiah for a long space while the old man studied the map. “You best hope this map pays for those sapphires,” he said, “Or your life will fulfil that debt.”

  Julius ran away and the edges curled back inward almost folding the map again.

  “Christ on the cross!” snapped the pirate as a flurry of hands steadied the map.

  Francisco held the corners down once more and exposed what looked to be a metallic celestial spoked wheel above the most northern bay, almost touching the cherubs. There was a dark black circle drawn deep into the map, so much so that it wore the parchment thin in that spot which was south center in Baffin Bay.

  Jerimiah’s shaking finger set upon that spot.

  “That is where the Inuit say the silver gleam shines,” said Francisco.

  “Further south the better,” said the pirate. “You have the map showing the western coast of the Greenland island?”

  “I do,” replied Francisco.

  “We can make course hugging the coast,” said the pirate tracing his finger along the New England coastline. Then the ice will be our concern, even if this chill follows the summer of devils, as you say Mexican.”

  “But the silver gleam came about only months ago according to the Eskimo,” said Isaac.

  “Nonetheless,” said Jerimiah. “Baffin Bay is our destination.”

  “If I can see the sun and the North Star I can navigate,” said the captain.

  “The frozen winds will not be at our back,” said Francisco with hesitation. “Nor will the current.”

  Again Jerimiah folded the map and tucked it away and laughter erupted from the group of men listening to the rambling drunkard.

  “Francisco,” said the pirate. “Go and listen to the rambler yonder and see what their plans are. He does not have the bearing of a captain. Let us see how many race us to this island.”

  Without acknowledging the pirate’s words Francisco walked toward the group and Isaac followed.

  The men pushed their way to the center stool without challenge as other men stumbled about the drunkard.

  “We heard your story and felt the inclination to join your audience, should you have us!” said Francisco.

  The drunkard laughed. His hair and face were filthy, he wore a headband and a shabby Reindeer pelt and held a wooden mug from which he sipped some bitter drink.

  “Do you make plan to sail?” asked Francisco.

  The man laughed again and shook his head. “I shan’t set sail, nay,” he said.

  “Then what do you here?”

  Before he could answer another knelt by his side and whispered something in the rambling drunk’s ear.

  A young clear-eyed man leaned into Francisco. “He was on one of the failed expeditions to find the passage,” he said. “He rambles when he talks, sort of like those old folks whose voices can no longer follow their crumbling thoughts. Sad thing to see. But he goes on about the passage and about French soldiers in Montreal and the eye.”

  “Eye?” said Francisco.

  “Right.”

  Francisco looked the young man up and down. “I see you loose your plans easily, make any man suspicious, forgive me,” he said.

  The young man held out his hand. “I’ll take what you offer before I set sail to die somewhere where even hardened navigators meet their fates.”

  Francisco placed a few shillings in the man’s hands.

  “The eye he says and then he goes back teary eyed to the Northwest Passage,” said the young man as he pocketed the coin. “They ran aground with an already broken ship in the Greenland island where the Inuit hold dominion. Many died of scurvy before that. But he says he led his men to the Fris-land. So I have learned in the past hour.”

  “Fris-land?” Said Francisco slowly. “The Frisland Island? No such thing exists, are you sure this is a captain?”

  “Unless the entire tavern supports his lie, aye, I am sure.”

  “Ah!” said Francisco. “Then we must speak.”

  Francisco took the seated man’s mug who offered no resistance and then he called for a whiskey and poured it into the mug and handed it back to the man who took it without thanks.

  “Did you find the frozen seas unnavigable this time of year?” asked Francisco.

  “You been huntin whales you’ll make it past the ice,” said the man. “Gots to leave now, though, foolish as it be!”

  The young man leaned in again. “Most of them wait until the day after tomorrow,” he said. “Scared by the drunk’s ramblings about the sky. But still Captain O’ Leary plans to make sail at dawn.”

  “Tell me friend,” said Francisco to the old man. “Why not take the voyage with us and see if your knowledge can lead us to a silver haul? In that case the Northwest Passage will be meaningless.”

  The man drank down the whiskey with shaking hands and shook his head. “I shan’t set sail with a red sky. I don’t care what they say,” he said, laughing and wheezing and slapping his leg. “And I shan’t sail to Baffin Bay if you gave me a sack o’ gold!” He said through choking laughter, doubling over at his stool. “Nay,” he gasped, slapping his knee.

  “Red sky?” asked Francisco.

  “Aye!” said the man, and the others around catching up in drunkenness laughed too. “Ain’t you seen the sky?” he said, and for a moment his eyes were clear.

  “It is evening now friend,” said Francisco. “But earlier skies were blue and the old timers working the docks said there be no clouds that sign a coming storm.”

  The man shook his head. “The sky be red, and I shan’t set sail with a red sky, I said!” he screamed. All fell silent around the men and around the tavern itself.

  Isaac grasped Francisco’s arm and the Mexican shook his head. “I understand,” said Francisco. The man became teary eyed and Francisco motioned for a server to fill his cup again and the man drank down the offering as the two walked back toward the pirate’s table.

  “An old foremast hand I think who sailed for the Northwest Passage, we know how that went,” said Francisco as he sat.

  Jerimiah looked up suddenly. “Then his words are valuable, judge him not,” he said.

  “Well he doesn’t like the look of the sky and the sailors around grew weary at his tales and thanks to him we bought ourselves another day to wait for the Cree.”

  “He doesn’t like the look of the sky!” snarled the captain. “Long last I be surrounded by failures of land and sea!” he yelled.

  The pirate motioned for a server and then rounded the men’s’ cups in a circle as they were filled with drink.

  “He says he found the Frisland island.”

  The pirate slammed down his cup. “Then he wasn’t a captain,” he said. “Hoary old fool.”

  “But he was,” replied Francisco.

  “Perhaps the sea takes a man’s mind after so many years,” said Herb.

  “Perhaps!” said the pirate. “But a failed fur trapper would know little of that matter.”

  The tavern was emptying and only a handful remained. The streetlamps outside snuffed one by one to darkness and no more music played. Some slept overtop their rumpled coats and The Roc’s prospective crew were not seen. The rambling drunk man set upon his same center stool though none surrounded him now.

  McDaniel approached the old man and filled his cup. “Here,” he said. “On me old one.”

  The man nodded and downed the tankard.

  “Let’s see about getting you home, in your own bed, aye?” said the mercenary.

  “Now he got a sister comin later to get ‘em,” said a barkeep defensively. “That’s an old merchant captain you talkin to and he got a lot of friends around here.”

  McDaniel smiled. “I k
now of her,” said he. “I sailed under this fine man long ago and it gladdens me see him again. I can save her a trip, now she is on the southside, that right?”

  The barkeep shook his head rapidly. “Tavern street. She on the northside in the terrace house with the cobblestone entryway!” he bellowed. “The iron gates with the three angels’ heads atop.”

  “That’s right,” said McDaniel softly. He helped up the old timer who did not resist and together they shuffled toward the door. “Forgive me,” McDaniel said back to the barkeep. “Been a long time since this old Irishman has been to sea.”

  The barkeep nodded and put up a hand and extinguished the few remaining candles.

  Outside the Inuk approached and the three walked into the dark alleyways together as a single rider trotted by.

  The old captain laughed. “They all set sail with a red sky,” he said and laughed again. “I always said not to sail under the red sky.”

  The Irish mercenary escorted the captain into an adjacent alleyway and the Inuk stood at the front of it.

  “I know old man,” he said. And he put the old timer into a forward headlock and thrust his body up and down twice as if beating the dust out of an old rug. He trifled through the old captain’s pockets and took a gold pocket watch and then left the alley with the Inuk.

  XI

  “Ah the sea!” proclaimed Herb the hunter. “I remember my time on the merchant ship,” he said fondly. “Will be nice to hear the gulls again and feel the roll and flow of the waters.”

  “You do not talk about the sea the eve before you set sail upon the fucking sea!” yelled the pirate.

  The tavern was less crowded on a new evening but the air still heavy with apprehension.

  “It seems we are still missing the Cree,” said Francisco. He looked around the tavern where coral rays cast inside from the dimming sun without.

  The pirate grimaced. “We will make do with six,” he said. “And Julius has his sea legs under him and knows how to unfurl a sail, under watch perhaps but he is another pair of hands.”

  “So I assume we drinkin tonight too,” said Herb.

  The pirate did not answer but motioned to a server who came over empty handed. “A full round. And whiskey for me and the Mexican.”

  The server shook his head. “This is your second evening here.”

  “We paid in silver!”

  The server shook his head again. “This is not a poor man’s establishment gentlemen. You paid for one evening,” he said pointing to the table of steaming opened clams and black bread in the center to which other patrons helped themselves after handing over coin and shilling and note.

  The pirate ruffled through his purse and threw a pile of shillings on the floor where they rolled and clamored.

  “Obliged,” yelled the server.

  The pirate stayed still looking like he was close to violence. The server picked up the shillings and then placed a large tankard of beer on the table without serving it and left out the whiskey.

  Entered suddenly were three figures; two had their faces obscured by heavy hoods and looked swaddled with stark white heavy furs and scarfs covering all but their eyes.

  The other was a clean-cut Englishmen who stood tall and broad and wore a fine velvet coat and trousers and square toed shoes to match: all black. He held a fine oaken cane around a silver bull’s head handle, yet he appeared to not lean or stand on the thing. Around his neck hung a cross which glinted in the tavern light and caught the eyes of most.

  The pirate slammed down his tankard. “You!” he screamed. “Auspicious time to show your sour face!”

  As if answering the pirate, a shabby Newfoundland hound of all black ran to him and put his head in the pirate’s lap.

  The Englishman lumbered toward the table with a frown on his face. He was worn by the years and his hair a greyish brown. He sat down wordless near the Mexican and Francisco leaned away from him as he did.

  Herb grasped the elephant gun and stood it on its stock.

  “Gentlemen,” said the pirate. “This is our surgeon and I know he don’t look it but he can cook a feast at sea. Get this beast away from me!” he shouted as the hound circled the men.

  “Does he have a name?” asked Francisco.

  “Lukas Turner is my name,” the man said with a strong English accent. He clapped his hands and the hound came to him. He held the cane and motioned toward the two behind him.

  “Turner?” said Francisco. “Are you of relation to captain Turner? Of Boston?”

  Lukas shook his head. “Not that I am aware of. No captains in my line, I am afraid.”

  Simon stood and extended a hand which Lukas took slowly. “Simon is my name,” he blurted. “Foremast hand formerly of the-”

  “Well met,” said Lukas.

  “Was not aware you were still in Quebec,” muttered the pirate.

  “Where else? Word of the silver shine permeates Montreal too. All New France and beyond, in fact. They say men southward as Virginia trek to see about the voyage.”

  The two figures removed their hoods and exposed were a man and woman of all black silky hair and dark eyes and hard expressionless faces. They both stood the same height while the man seemed to be constructed of stone and steel and they took seats near Isaac and Jerimiah. They looked like they could be brother and sister or twins.

  “Now no one says you can sit!” snapped Herb.

  “I do not care what you say,” said the long-haired man. He pushed his hair behind his ears and it ran down almost to mid-back, longer than the woman’s sitting beside him. “Already I caused the demise of one man to head south and I would not shirk for another,” said the man. From his back he unslung a long war harpoon of whalebone and sealskin bindings and an ivory tip long as a dagger but thinner. He leaned it on the bulkhead near Herb’s elephant gun.

  “Looks like mine is bigger than yours,” said the hunter and a grumble of laughter came from the adjacent table.

  “Here,” said Francisco, motioning a server. “Get some food and beer in you, for tomorrow we set sail and the night grows late as it is. What are your names?”

  “I am Nukilik and this is my sister Arnaaluk,” said the long-haired man.

  The woman smiled and nodded her head.

  “Do not think a dog is coming on this voyage,” said the captain.

  “Miska,” said Arnaaluk, and the Newfoundland perked up from where he sat at the woman’s feet. “He will be coming.”

  The captain threw up his hands.

  Herb looked her up and down. Her eyes were like black wells into the sea and her demeanor enchanting.

  “Take your eyes from my sister lest I remove them from your skull,” said Nukilik.

  “I can do that myself,” said Arnaaluk in broken English.

  The hunter stared at Nukilik for a moment then averted his eyes. “So the Eskimos can speak American I see!” he said.

  “They are Cree,” said Lukas. “And because of them I still have feet on which to walk,” he said. “Perhaps with a struggle. And hands with which to operate. Perhaps I will use those hands to remove your tongue,” Lukas said.

  “Injuns an Injun,” said the hunter. “Frozen Injun or desert Injun the same. Same to me they is.”

  “Your names are Inuit are they not?” said Francisco.

  “Aye!” said the captain. “We need every man and woman here,” he snarled. “Bare minimum crew as it is.”

  “So now that’s one less share for the lot of us!” yelled the hunter. “You says two Cree at most ‘cept now there be a third mouth to feed,” he yelled pointing at the pirate.

  “Shut your mouth and get your finger out of my face,” said the pirate. “You and the Jew have less value on the sea than anyone here and you are fortunate that I heard your plea in Boston. Think you I may saw your leg off at sea or would you rather a surgeon do it?”

  “Rather keep the leg!” said Herb.

  “You’ll prey for my saw when frostbite nips at your toes and your feet
are macerated,” said Lukas.

  Food arrived and the brother and sister tore into it while Lukas said a prayer and then helped himself.

  “Speaking of frostbite,” said the pirate. “I hear your northern brethren speak of a warm winter, is that such?”

  Nukilik shook his head. “Still do not be deceived. Our tombs may very well lie frozen atop a field of ice where the sea once ran. But the ice is little this year, so far. You whites see that as a good omen for your exploration, but our elder companions shuddered when they told the story, only once did their ancestors glimpse such warmth, and it is not a good thing. Like a blizzard in the high of summer.”

  A woman in red approached, beaming with pitcher in hand. In her rusty-red hair she wore a rusty red handkerchief too.

  “Rum?” Nukilik asked.

  “No rum, but whiskey if you fancy!” said the woman.

  “That will do us well,” said Nukilik.

  “Perhaps you should ease off the liquor,” said Arnaaluk. Isaac studied her speechless as if trying to understand a difficult concept and he scribbled in a bounded journal.

  “Find me interesting man?” she asked and scanned the writer up and down.

  Isaac seemed to blush and grin. “Forgive me I do,” he said looking at both brother and sister. “And in no patronizing tone, please know this, I am merely an observer.”

  The dog rose up placing his paws on Nukilik’s lap. “No Miska,” said the Cree.

  “We have not the chow to feed that animal on board!” yelled the pirate.

  Arnaaluk eyed the captain up and down. “You have the look of a man who broke through life’s weariness and became something worse.”

  Francisco let out a bellowing laugh that sent the tavern silent for a brief moment.

  “That so?” said the captain.

  “You both got an Injun tint to your voices but tell me again who you is?” asked Herb.

  “We are Cree, but our mother’s tongue was Inuit,” answered Nukilik.

  “I’ll tell you about your mother’s tongue!” replied Herb.

  Julius ran over and touched the woman’s hair and she smiled and tilted her head.

  Nukilik stood with clenched fists and as he did Francisco shouted and stood and Herb the hunter stood and the pirate stood but in a motion Nukilik threw Julius to the deck. In another motion he grasped Herb around the throat and the hunter reddened and stilled in seconds.