The men around her, kept busy by William's guidance, were milling about securing rigging, cleaning the deck or weapons, and practicing drills for combat. The wind was favourable, so the work was lax, but still, the signs of labour were there.
The cleaning was hard work, and sweat slicked many a brow and cast shadows on the backs of the rough cotton shirts that stuck to the men's backs. Hot breath over hotter sea air seemed to create its own environment aboard the ship, leaving it muggy and thick, but thankfully the wind cut through it. If Anne were below deck, it would be worse, but it was never as bad as some of the land-based establishments favoured by the same sailors. With no wind to carry the filth away, it would settle until layer after layer made breathing difficult.
At the far end of the ship, around the foremast, Anne could see many crewmates practicing with weapons and some holding contests of strength. Pukuh, the one-armed Mayan warrior prince, was doing push-ups as a crowd cheered him on. Three other crewmates—and maybe a fourth; it was difficult for Anne to see against all the rigging and bundle of bodies in the way—were also doing push-ups with Pukuh, but they all had the advantage of two arms.
One by one, sweat dripping to the deck, the other crewmates collapsed to the sole with a thump and a loud gasp for air, until it was only Pukuh left. The crewmates cheering them on exclaimed loudly for the victor of the contest but cut short as Pukuh kept going. Anne could see him straining, his one arm bulging with the effort and his whole body moving as he worked his way up and down. She knew how difficult it was to do one-arm push-ups, but he was as prideful as he was fierce. As his final act of pride to the astonished onlookers, Pukuh grinned at the top of his stride, then curled four of his fingers in, leaving only one left to hold him up. Through shaking extremities, Pukuh managed that one last push-up and then slumped to the deck.
The few in the crowd, as well as some who had gathered at the last moment by the cheers and the silence, erupted in cries of compliment, congratulations, and disbelief. They picked Pukuh up off the deck, slapping him across the back and pushing him around in displays of revered brotherhood. Through the sweat and exhaustion, Pukuh smiled slyly from the praise, saying words Anne could only guess from where she was. After it was over, the men went back to their drills, while some others continued the contest, though with far fewer onlookers.
Some of the crew were sitting in groups talking with fervour and exclamations with broad gestures, and others were singing along with Jack as he played a tune on his fiddle. It was a good day when he brought out the fiddle. When the man brought out his drum, it meant a storm was approaching, or a battle was close. The fiddle meant lively jigs and jaunty tunes about a sailor and a bar wench, or a sailor and a talking fish, or a sailor and most anything one could think of. Anne didn't know where this well of music came from for Jack to draw from, or if he simply plucked the words from the air as he did the strings of the fiddle, but the man was talented. A fiddle day was a slow day, but an enjoyable one.
Jack noticed Anne watching, and he had another crewmate of less experience take his place playing music. The other crewmates feigned disappointment and the man taking over lightly smacked and kicked the naysayers with a smile on his face before he began playing.
"Mr. Christian," Anne said with a slight bow.
Jack chuckled and pointed at Anne as he approached, then stopped and did a flourish. "Miss Anne," he replied with a posh, mocking drawl so unlike his north-western.
"To what do I owe this pleasure?" she asked.
Jack walked with her over to the port, a bit away from the rest of the crew. "I merely wished to inquire about your wellbeing."
Anne smiled. "I am well and thank you for asking."
Jack nodded, his expression genial, but nonplussed. He leaned in and lowered his volume. "Some in the crew express concern over Edward's sudden departure. You've done well in painting Edward and Herbert as the silent assassins while we create a distraction for them, but I know there is more to this." He looked Anne straight in the eye, his face deadly serious. "The late, sleepless nights, the imbibements when he thinks none are looking, the irritability, and now this?" Jack tilted his head as he frowned. "Edward's been treading water for a spell, and now he disappears? I've been down that road before. I may have even set some of the stones down for its foundation."
Anne looked away from Jack's gaze for a moment, out to sea. She recalled Jack's story about losing his family to a jealous naval admiral, George Rooke, and his struggles with the drink, and the gambling. He had been able to overcome it somehow.
She knew what had been happening to Edward too. She tried to talk with him about it, but he wouldn't open himself to her. And now, he found his father alive and trying to kill him? It would be enough to drive anyone mad.
After a long silence, she asked, "How did you manage it?"
"Aye, there's the rub, miss. I still am." Jack joined Anne in facing the sea and leaned his arms on the railing. "Every day, at some point in the day, I want it. Most times, it's the smell, and you can't avoid that here by any means," Jack said with a dark laugh. "But, some days, it could be nothing and just like that," he said, snapping his finger, "the worm's in you and not letting go." Jack was silent for a moment as he moved around and began gripping the railing. "The only thing that keeps me going is knowing that I have a family here. That I didn't lose mine back then, I just gained a few new members now." Jack glanced at Anne, his eyes shining. "I can't tell you what Edward needs to get by in the day, but I know he needs us, and he needs you."
Anne took a long, measured breath, making sure not to let her emotion show. She wanted to tell him everything at that moment. She wanted to say to him that Edward had run off on his own with no consultation. She wanted to tell him that she's just trying to keep things held together, wanted to scream it, but she couldn't. She needed to be resilient, and they needed to present a unified front to the crew. If they knew the truth, she wasn't sure she could keep the crew together.
She looked at Jack Christian once more. He was as loyal as they came, a faithful friend of Edward's and smarter than his appearance would lead one to believe. He would understand and could provide a voice of reason to the crew where she could not.
"Mr. Christian, I will not lie to you. We may be heading into a battle soon, and we cannot have the crew worrying over Edward and his decision. I hope you can understand and help the crew to understand, for their morale. If Edward is on this island, then we will laugh about it, and you and I can have a long chat with him together." Anne placed her hand on Jack's.
"And if he's not?"
"Then our chat will have to be delayed, and in the meantime, we'll be the best damn distraction Calico Jack has ever had to deal with."
…
The longboat landed at the natural shore on the coast of Los Huecos, carrying with it the landing party appointed by William, as well as a few sightseers. Queen Anne's Revenge bobbed with the waves just a short distance from the coast. Far enough that they wouldn't hit land, but not too far in case the landing party needed to abscond quickly.
Along with Anne, William, and six other crewmates, Alexandre, the Queen Anne's Revenge's surgeon, and Victoria, his partner in medicine and possibly more, as well as former crewmate of Calico Jack, sought to join in of their own accord. When asked about their wishes for joining, the Frenchman replied with a curt "research" in his usual sly manner. Victoria refrained from answering, but her typically cold eyes were more distant than usual, a well-submerged burg rather than her typical frost.
Anne saw no benefit to leaving them on board and significantly less use to arguing with them, so she let them join. When Victoria emerged from below wearing her leathers and had her buckler strapped to her arm and her short sword at her hip, Anne became suspicious. When Alexandre brought a large satchel that jangled with the tune of the surgeon's instruments, and he too had a pistol and his immaculate rapier at his side, Anne's suspicions turned to an anxious knot in her gut.
What calculations
had you come to this conclusion, mon ami?
Anne had already been expecting trouble on the island, but she was hoping they could gather some intel first. The first rule to winning any battle was knowing the other person's strengths, as well as your own; whether to strike fast and hard like a battle axe, whether to whittle the enemy down like a thousand mosquitoes sucking a man dry, or whether to retreat and seek another way all depended on the information. Without such intel, Anne would be lacking.
Anne hated to be lacking.
After she landed her feet on the shifting but stable ground of the sandy coast, Anne closed her eyes with her back to the other crewmates. Anxiety would do her no good here, especially when she needed to project absolute and unwavering strength. As a woman attempting to lead hardened men, she could settle for no less. She took the anxious feeling, wrapped it in a flaming hand, and with one last curse to Alexandre for his gift, she snuffed it out with a lengthy but silent exhale.
"Eyes sharp, men. We don't know what to expect out there," she shouted over her shoulder. The men behind her yelled an "Aye" back as she walked up the incline to the rolling hills ahead.
At the top of the first small hill, the sand of the beach met the grass in stark opposition to one another. The sand appeared to be clawing its way forward as the grass and earth fought to stay aloft, causing the grass to curl down and almost touch the sand beneath an overhang. The grass clung to its former solid ground like a climber on the edge of a precipice. One slip and it would crash away, and it too would become the sand.
Across the small beach, Anne could see many such scenes of the eroding coast, exposing years of compacted earth and stone to the air. The soil here was unstable near the beach, and if it held true across the island, then they were unlikely to have any ports aside from the town that Silver Eyes occupied: one major town for trade, which the other villages supplied.
Once at the top of the hill, Anne was able to get a better view of the island, or at least what she could see of it. The rolling hills obstructed much from view, but she noticed the top of a few buildings to the north, one being a large bell tower, as well as a well-travelled dirt road nearby.
William and the other crewmates crested the hills to join Anne, and she directed their attention to the village nearby. "We'll head there first. Stick to the road and keep your weapons hidden as well as you can manage for now. We don't want to alarm the villagers and have them sending scouts to warn Silver Eyes."
Anne looked over her shoulder, and the crewmates who were watching her nodded their understanding while some took in their surroundings. They each had cloaks covering down to their ankles, and each of them adjusted the weapons on them to remain concealed under the heavy fabric.
"Hubert, Lucas, head to that hill over there and keep watch." Anne was pointing to a rather tall hill just west of the town. "You should be able to see the town and the ship from there. If you see anyone leaving town or any ships approaching, find us." The two crewmates gave an "Aye, Captain," before leaving for the hill.
Anne led the others down the dusty dirt road towards town. As they approached, the hills tapered off and turned into fields filled with rows upon rows of farmland. Anne could see wheat prominently, with some just ripening for harvest, as well as large fields of corn, and smaller fields of potatoes, tomatoes, varieties of lettuce, and other greens Anne couldn't distinguish.
Going from the salty air of the sea to the hot sand and earth on the coast, to the freshly tilled soil, manure, and vegetables felt like stepping into another world. Most of the places that Anne had been to, not just while with the Queen Anne's Revenge, had been towns of considerable size, large bustling machines composed of men and women working at a pace set to a particular rhythm, the rhythm of people trying to stay alive and make a living in a harsh world. Stepping into this village, which couldn't house more than fifty residents, was like stepping through the gates to a new world. A smaller world, a slower world, one removed from the harsh realities of life on the sea, or life led by the whims and fancies of others.
As they walked into the village, they passed by farmers, old grizzled men with their sons at their side, working the fields. Using hoes, they delicately removed weeds from the budding vegetables or crushed bugs threatening the harvest between rough, dirty, but skilled fingers. They waved and called pleasant hellos to Anne and her company, broad smiles on their faces as though they had no care in the world and were welcoming to any and all visitors.
The joviality forced the knot back into Anne's gut.
This was not the attitude of a village of oppressed men and women under the thumb of a tyrannical pirate regime. It wasn't even reminiscent of a remote village visited by eight strangers who, even with weapons hidden, had the appearance of fighters. No one sounded an alarm, none rushed to tell the other villagers of their arrival, and not a single person gave them a wary look of concern.
Peculiar. Anne could describe it no better than peculiar in her mind. If they hadn't been in the heart of enemy territory, it would have been a simple thing, an oddity she could whisk away with the thought that they were a strange group of people. Here, though, it set her mind to a razor's edge.
Without thought she settled a hand on the golden cutlass at her hip. She only came back to her senses when she felt the tip of the metal, guarded in a sheathe, pressing against the fabric of her cloak. She adjusted her weapon and forced her hands to her sides.
When they reached the village proper, where the farmland turned into houses and a few small businesses, she had to force herself to keep her hands still.
There were men working wagons, repairing wheels and feeding horses, women gossiping near the local general store while a pair of men played a game of chess on the deck near its entrance, and some just walking to another part of the village on an errand. Anne could hear the slow, methodical clang of metal striking metal in a nearby smithy, though she couldn't place the building among those she could see.
In the centre of the hamlet, Anne was able to better see the tall bell tower, and it was by far the most arresting architecture around them. The other buildings looked well worn, old, and humble. The bell tower had all the same trappings, but the bell itself glinted against the late afternoon sun with a brilliance no ordinary metal could produce. The golden light reflected off what appeared to be a pure gold bell of at least a few hundred pounds. That golden bell's metal resembled Edward's cutlass at her side, and a blade owned by his father, Calico Jack—or by his other name, Benjamin 'The Golden Horn' Hornigold.
The sight of that bell smashed away any doubts about this being an island under Calico Jack's purview. There was no chance this hamlet could afford, or even desire, a bell of such opulence. The bell had some significance on the island, perhaps some significance related to the strangeness going on with the citizens. Whatever the meaning, Anne didn't wish to stay long enough to find out, but she had the feeling that to continue, she would have to find out.
Each of the villagers in the centre of the village took note of them, nearly in unison, and each did the same simple wave and hello the farmers and their sons had done on the way in. Two flicks of the wrist, a slight bow of the head, and back to what they were doing before. If not for the consistent banging from the smithy, and the horses chomping, the village would have been silent for the few heartbeats that the wave took.
Alexandre and Victoria walked past Anne, and only then did she notice she had stopped moving. "Intéressant…" the Frenchman mumbled on his way past.
"Wait, Alexandre," she called sharply.
Alexandre stopped and turned on his heel. "Oui? Yes?"
Though he had stopped, his tone was curt and perfunctory. His eyes wandered with each movement from the villagers, and his tapping foot alluded to his impatience more than anything about his manner. It seemed his foot was the most spirited thing at that moment, a stark contrast to the people around them who seemed to be merely going about the motions of activity. If this were a play, the villagers were the atmosph
ere, and he the principal.
Anne leaned forward and spoke for Alexandre's ears only. "There's something… odd about all this. We need to stay together."
Alexandre smiled, though the smile was as devoid of life as the hamlet around them. "Then you may stay together. I wish to learn more of this… étrangeté… my own way."
As though the matter were settled, he turned back around and walked away. It was then that Anne noticed Victoria already talking with some of the citizens, a sheaf of paper in one hand and a piece of graphite in the other. She had her shield and short sword exposed, and she and the people she was talking with paid them no heed from what Anne could tell.
Anne shook her head and rubbed her temples. After a moment, she composed herself and headed towards the general store to see if she could gather some information. Before heading up the steps to enter the store, she instructed the crew, save William, to stay outside, but within sight.
Anne and William both stepped up the well-worn wooden steps and into the general store. The cracked paint on the wood and the groans and creaks as they stepped spoke to the age of the building, and if that hadn't been enough, the scuffs and indents that warped the wood over the years was a reasonable testament.
Inside the store, a small establishment that could fit no more than thirty in the room standing shoulder to shoulder, the walls were lined with an assortment of miscellaneous items. Glass display cases separating the standing area from the owner also contained all manner of trinkets for sale.
On the left, there were bags and tins of spices, dried meat and other fresh produce from the farms outside, next to what appeared to be a second-hand set of pots, a dark iron fire poker and tongs made by the local smith, and some tools Anne wasn't familiar with. At the back, Anne saw other, heftier tools for maintaining livestock and axes and pistols and muskets with ammo and cleaning instruments in the glass cases. On the right, there were homespun fabrics and clothing made in town, from what Anne could tell, and separated on its own were well-made clothes and dresses that must have been imported. In the glass cases in front of the clothes, there were glasses of assorted sizes, ladies' gloves, and toys for children.
Blackbeard's Family Page 6
