Isaac screamed. “That was everything! That was the story of this journey, that may well have been all of your legacies!”
“Legacy is nil,” said the pirate taking the helm. “As your book underwater it all fades regardless. Fleeting pleasure is life. And the agony to get there the meat of it.”
XXVI
The curtains flowed like ghostly fingers into the loft as the Durango sun sank behind the low rolling hills and shrubby plains. About those plains were dotted mud and sod huts and low fires twinkled like lightning bugs some huge and some merely embers. Towards the city’s innards high rising terracotta homes blended with the dusk such that they looked to be part of that dusk.
A somber bell tolled thrice.
The tiny loft held a table which held a bible and water in porcelain bowls and red-stained rags which dripped onto the tan tiled floor.
“Francisco…Francisco,” came a woman’s low voice.
“No Maria,” said another. The old nuns changed sheets and gently rolled the woman side to side, as a ship would roll on the waters. “Francisco está el mar,” said the old nun. She wore a blue headband and else was all white.
Maria groaned. She opened her eyes once, “Francisco,” she said again, looking straight at the sun which peeked in only slightly through the transparent curtains. About the tiny portholes above the bed. Under that porthole was a simple cross, a vague image of Jesus of Nazareth upon that cross.
The old nun peered at the other. “No, Maria,” she said. The nun ran a cold rag over Maria’s forehead. “Maria,” she said.
By dark heavy quilts had covered the woman, her eyes now set in sleep evermore. And the priest read last rights. One of the nuns wept as only two others filed into the room.
A tall man wearing a faded and thatched yellow sombrero stepped bedside, his hands and face sun-burned, calloused and hard, his eyes seemingly the same. He peered down at the shape then sank to his knees, weeping fiercely and silently.
And the bells of mass had ceased; the sun had set. And no more dogs or children brayed excitedly from the streets and rustic clay-colored pavilions.
XXVII
Above and below deck the men’s cyclical pattern continued onward as much as would the night and day. Unspoken yet understood.
“How long, Francisco?” asked Isaac. “It’s the same, now. All around. Two days ago now there were still coasts, albeit far. Behind us is Hildale, and ahead?”
“Maybe nothing. As a writer you think too much. Take my advice and do not think in terms of time. For the sea will always win that battle.”
“Well I don’t know much for war,” Isaac said.
“Hoy!” shouted the captain. “All hands!”
Soon the men were herded towards the Bow, where the captain stood just in front of the helm, arms crossed and eyes bloodshot as they usually were.
Simon was placed on his knees, eyes watered.
“Speak,” yelled the captain.
“I deny it!” Simon screamed.
“When we get hungry, which we all are now, rations go missing,” said Jerimiah. “They just do, men. You all know that. You all know the pain of hunger, not worse than the pain of breaking ration. You all know what we suffer when the voyage becomes long. The tasty bits are gone, men! So now, as men, we bear our lot.”
“I honor the ration!” Simon screamed.
The captain handed Francisco a bundle of salt horse.
“Think you I don’t hunger, men?” said Jerimiah. “Of course I do. We all do.”
“To hell I’d steal a fistful of salt horse!” screamed Simon.
“Why then was it under your hammock friend?” asked Francisco. The Mexican broke apart stone-hard cheese, slicing off spots of mold and eating the white bits. He examined the salt horse as if it were a piece of prized inventory.
Isaac pushed his way forward toward the captain, who stood somber and motionless as a statue. “Let us explore the possibilities. Gentlemen! Let us think with reason rather than passion, anyone of us could have hoarded this food.”
“Aye,” said Jerimiah. “Any one of us, and it was the young one on his knees, there!”
All the men let out a rising growl.
Francisco continued slicing the cheese, placing wedges in his mouth.
“Julius put it there!” yelled Simon. “The damned idiot wants me gone because I corrected him when he drank seawater! I saved him, Captain! Saved him from poisoning himself, you should see that!”
The captain’s eyes narrowed further until they became red slits.
“I did not!” Julius screamed and jumped up and down, stamping his boots heavy on the deck. “I did not!”
Isaac grasped Francisco’s arm and the half-eaten cheese fell to the floor.
“What!” said the Mexican.
“You cannot let this stand. This man needs a fair trial.”
“He did have a trial. We are at sea. This is a trial at sea and he stole food.”
“Put his hand to the mast,” the captain ordered as Jerimiah handed the pirate a hammer and long iron nail.
“I saved him, damn you!” screamed Simon.
“Wait! Yelled Isaac. “Captain! Wait!”
Francisco and Jerimiah dragged Simon over the deck and pressed his hand flat and high onto the main mast.
“Saved him!” the deckhand moaned.
Blood trailed in a neat line onto the hammer’s head. Once, twice, three times. A fourth strike amidst a long scream, and the thing was done.
Isaac slumped down onto the deck, hugging his knees. Francisco leaned down into the writer’s face. “This is the sea you do not want to write about, is it?” he said.
The wind picked up from aft, smooth and cool and blue above as was the temperate sea below them. Free of pack ice though the white bricks of frost were seen ahead.
The comfort of those winds cooled Isaac who felt a hot rush in his forehead.
“Fix stunsails,” the captain ordered.
Simon’s screams turned to low groans.
“Aye captain, set stunsails,” Francisco bellowed.
From the yardarms extended wide sails port and starboard as if The Roc were an irritated eagle bloating its chest against the wind.
After a pause Jerimiah broke the silence.
Since we sailed from Plymouth Sound
Four years gone or nigh’ Jack
Where there ever chummies known
Such as you and I, Jack?
Most of the crew broke into a chorus.
Long we’ve toiled on the rolling main
Now were safe ashore Jack
Don’t forget yer old shipmates, folly rolly rolly rolly rye-o!
The small deckhand seemed to be in a daze of sleep and pain, his eyes opening only slightly when the sun shined upon him. He groaned then, and his eyes closed but he still rocked back and forth, his hand blue under a smear of red.
“How long must this go on Francisco?” Isaac yelled.
“That’s the captain’s call,” said Francisco. He had cold eyes as he examined the undulating icy masthead above with a hand cupped to his forehead.
“How long!”
“Maybe twelve hours,” said the Mexican calmly.
“That’s barbaric!”
“The sea is barbaric Isaac. That man earned his due,” yelled the Mexican putting his focus on the writer.
“Aye and earned the loss of a hand?”
“The man earned his due. He stole food at sea and thus he will probably lose the hand. Lukas will look when the captain decides to release him.”
Just then Simon shrieked as Jerimiah pulled out the nail. In one motion the old man extracted the red iron and dragged the man below deck.
“See,” said Francisco. “Your mercy has come.”
Below deck the surgeon’s greying hair was illuminated by a shaking lantern.
“Hold this,” said Lukas, handing Isaac the light. He inspected the wound as Simon groaned.
“Hold him steady!” The captain snapped
as he descended the ladder.
“What make you of the hand?” asked Francisco.
“It has started to fester,” replied Lukas. “Likely from grime on the nail. It may or may not pass. If he gets a fever he will probably die. Heat the iron.”
Jerimiah removed a clean, flat machete from a low bed of coals fixed to the stove, now glowing red.
With a rolling motion the surgeon pressed the blade over the deckhand’s wrist and his hand separated. The same blade now singed and smoked, cauterizing the stump as the man let out a groan that sounded like a scream without strength.
The surgeon removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. “Keep it covered with oil when it cools,” he said. “And give him extra water for three days.”
“Bah!” said the captain. “Belay that!” he said.
Lukas threw up his hands. “Fine! Give him nothing for three days?”
“Aye!” screamed the captain.
Simon groaned again.
Jerimiah became red and leaned into Simon’s swollen face.
“All that for salt horse!” the old man screamed.
“Enough!” said Isaac. “The man has been punished has he not?”
At the quarterdeck the men assembled in silent haste. By now all were clothed in heavy furs, their faces covered leaving only the eyes as blue and green and grey slits surveying the deck. Despite the past Diablo Verano, icy chunks still covered the sea as such that the captain manned the helm endlessly, ignoring the compass and snaking through the hard expanses of not-yet coagulated white.
“Eyes up, boys,” said the captain. “We cannot be far. Another day, perhaps two.”
“Captain,” said the surgeon. “Below deck, please.”
Below deck Simon lay silent and wide-eyed, a cold sweat on his forehead. The surgeon unwrapped his hand and his wrist was blackened and when touched the man responded with a wheezing airy sound though his expression did not change.
“How bad?” asked Francisco.
“Bad,” said the captain. He stood and walked to the hammock side and placed a hand on the small man’s forehead.
Simon shook and sweat and his eyes were covered with a white glaze.
“Captain,” said the writer. “We need to turn back. This man needs help.”
The captain looked down on the shaking man. “You killed yourself,” he said. He unsheathed his Kukri gleaming blue and ran it quick and clean across Simon’s throat.
“How!” Isaac gasped.
Simon gurgled for a long minute and then ceased to shake as a pool of red spilled fast onto the deck. It sounded like rain.
“Prepare him for burial at sea, then overboard with him,” muttered the captain as he wiped the blade clean.
“Aye captain,” came a rise of voices.
Above deck the men assembled starboard as the dusk set. The dead was placed atop a long board, one end held by two men and the other balanced on the stern. He was wrapped in a woolen shroud and each sailor approached and touched him once.
“Go now into the deep,” said the surgeon, making the sign of the cross.
The men followed suit.
Lukas trickled a vial of fresh water atop the dead man with one hand and grasped his bible with the other, touching Simon with it once.
“Lord, give him to the sea,” Lukas went on. “May his soul walk in the valley of the shadow of death unhindered, knowing thou awaits to free him from the burden of sin. Christ the lord, our savior.”
“Christ the lord, our savior,” a chant from all save Isaac.
“Christ the lord!” shouted Julius.
Two men lifted either side of the board and the dead slipped into the sea.
Isaac grasped the bow and looked downward as the brown shape soon merged with the infinite blue.
XXVIII
“Long time cousin,” said McDaniel. The Irishman stood on the deck with heavy waterlogged furs while the Inuk stood guard at his flank.
A plank connected McDaniel’s schooner to Captain Turner’s larger whaling vessel. At the bow the moonlight reflected Harpy etched in gold. All the crew were bound in rope and irons while Walsh sat stoically above them.
The Inuk guarded the crew with his long rifle aimed, while McDaniel stared down at Captain Turner.
“Do not call me that,” said she. She looked toward Walsh. “It seems, my first mate, that you were our nightwatchmen and our portent of death. I knew, if I may be honest.”
Walsh went to speak but nothing came from his lips.
McDaniel motioned to his Inuk companion, who descended into the captain’s quarters with haste, then to the forecastle, and about the quarterdeck, back down. He was heard trifling through seabags and chests and cupboards.
Turner laughed. “No silver here,” she said. “Never did find the island. The pirate will, though. And I’ll rest peacefully under the waters thinking of you glowing purple as you hang from some gallows in the frozen north.”
“And yet you forfeit your life, cousin,” said McDaniel. As he spoke the Inuk handed him the captain’s log, bound by scarlet string.
She looked back at her crew. “Forgive me,” said she. “Forgive me and know that I will sail with you again in the next life, would you have me.”
“We will sail with you, Captain!” screamed a man. “Until-”
And a shot blared over the quiet ocean. The man’s head slung back and a red spray marred the starlight.
“Rians!” another screamed. He too was shot once, twice in the forehead. The Inuk reloaded his pepperbox.
“Cowards!” Turner screamed. She looked at Walsh. He was unbound and took his side by McDaniel. “And you,” she snarled. “Burn in hell.”
Walsh said nothing.
“It is time,” said McDaniel. “Set her alight. You brought this fate unto your crew, good cousin. And yourself.”
She grinned and a gold tooth glistened under the cold moon. “I’ll come back for you cousin,” she said. “Come the day. I’ll come back.”
“Aye,” McDaniel whispered.
Flames licked toward the black sky. They rolled about the sails, about the riggings and the masts crumbled with a crack. The crew screamed, while Walsh and McDaniel and the Inuk ran over the plank and loosed their smaller vessel away from the blaze.
Captain Turner’s eyes reflected the fire. The same color, it would seem. Behind her all was a high-pitched wail. All were writhing like spilled fish upon the deck.
She too burned. Her limbs, her hair, even. Yet she stood in silence as her ropes burned as well. With one hand she cocked a silver derringer and fired toward the tiny light bobbing away from the death. She was like a fire wisp to their eyes.
And Walsh screamed out as his as a coin-sized hole erupted from his shoulder.
She laughed, once more, even as her flaming figure sank with her brothers or perhaps sons into the eternal sea.
“More,” Walsh whispered in pain, clutching his shoulder. “More gold than I know what to do with. That is what was promised to me.” He looked back from the schooner, seeing now only a smoldering flat mass upon the sea.
“Don’t look back there,” said McDaniel. “Look at me.”
And as Walsh looked, McDaniel drew and fired the Inuk’s pepperbox pistol.
The Inuk grabbed the dead man’s collar with one hand, casting him into the sea.
“Cannot suffer a traitor,” said McDaniel. “No. Especially not at sea. Would you agree?” he asked.
The Inuk ignored him. His eyes reflected darkly from the sea.
“They’ll have stopped at one of these islands,” the Irishman said.
From his dim algae eyes no hesitation came. His hand rested atop a lance fastened to the helm. Ahead was the frozen sunlight glinting from high mounds of ice rising from the dead sea. From those bergs ice sheets fell into the sea and sounded like lions roaring from the heavens.
“We must turn back before we become ice locked,” said the Inuk. “Two men will not reach the bay. It is by fortune only that we made it
this far. A full crew would not reach the bay you insane white demon!”
“No more of that talk,” said McDaniel softly. “I told you.”
“Three men may have been enough,” scolded the Inuk. “You killed our savior!” he roared.
“Hold course,” repeated McDaniel.
“I cannot, I will not. Not northwest. That is not a sea for men, you white fool. They are gone! Three ships I burned for you. To hell with Fur and Pine.”
McDaniel turned but his eyes stayed still. “You are beholden to Fur and Pine,” he stated.
“I am beholden to no one! No company! Nor would I sail anymore with one who killed their own cousin.”
“Shame,” said McDaniel. “Shame I had to take her life. And I pray for her, such that she was. Alas I bear no responsibility for her choices, I am not bound to be her guardian or ally.”
“By blood you were!” said the Inuk.
Frozen gales brushed the men’s hair sideways and squinted their eyes.
“Fur and Pine resides on these seas,” said McDaniel, pointing beyond starboard. “It would behoove you to know that.”
“To hell with Fur and Pine,” said the Inuk.
McDaniel turned and the Inuk did too, reaching for the lance. But McDaniel feigned and at once a flintlock pistol emptied its iron ball. The Inuk fell silent into the depths.
“Shame,” said McDaniel. “Very well,” he said, as if speaking to his dead shipmate. “For God, for Fur and Pine, let us find this frozen island of silver. And let us sink it into the sea.”
XXIX
“Forget the bloody map!” yelled the captain.
Jerimiah ignored the pirate and studied the map feverishly. Isaac did the same. Leaning in with monocle and running fingers over barely discernible latitudinal and longitudinal lines.
“As if you know what you are doing!” yelled the pirate.
Francisco snatched the monocle from Isaac’s eye and himself studied the map with Jerimiah. “We should have seen it by now. It is another Frisland after all,” said the Mexican.
“I remember before we left the Bay in aught-” stuttered Jerimiah.
“I don’t care for what you remember,” said the captain. “Hold course,” he ordered and went below deck and Julius followed.
Sea of Two Suns Page 21
