“Though yesterday was pretty fuckin’ close. And now we’ve another lass on board,” Caruthers complained. “How long d’ya think it’ll be before the blokes have that pretty li’l thing rogered at the rail?”
“Another good reason to leave Gayle at the helm,” Churchill said softly. “If these lads touch a hair on the seamstress’s head, Gayle will have their balls for breakfast.”
“No doubt.” Caruthers cackled, waving his knife at Churchill. “All right. We’ll see how she fares. The first sign of bleedin’ trouble, though, and over the side she goes.”
Chapter Three
“Gayle?” Captain Malvern weakly turned his head, searching for his daughter.
“I’m here, Father,” she answered softly, wiping his brow with a damp cloth. “How are you feeling?”
He coughed forcefully and squinted to focus on her face in the dim light. “I’ve had worse,” he rasped. “They can’t finish me.”
“But they like to come bloody close, don’t they?” She gently checked the bandages on his chest and abdomen. “We should be in New Providence the day after tomorrow. Smitty owes us a favor or two, I reckon. He should be able to fix you up right.”
“Am I that bad off?”
“You’ve lost a good deal of blood, and I’m worried that you’ve got enough bits of musket ball left inside you to cause infection,” she said.
“Thanks for sugarcoating it.”
“Well, if you want the bright side, I don’t think any of your organs were hit. Badly, that is.”
“Christ! Do you have any more good news for me? Is my head still attached?”
“For now,” she answered with a sigh. “Now drink this.” She lifted his head and poured a small amount of drinking water into his mouth.
“Where’s the rum?” he asked, disappointed. “I’m a man in pain, for the love of Christ.”
“I used all the rum on the wounded.”
“And what am I? On fuckin’ holiday? Where’s my bloody rum?”
“It’s in your wounds, old man. Don’t try me.” She pulled the warm cloth from his forehead, then returned it, cooled again with water. “You are the worst bloody patient anyone could have, you know that? You’re even worse than Mother was.”
He winced at the memory. Holding both her parents’ hands into the grave must be difficult for her. “I’m sorry, lass. Perhaps I’m too old for this life.”
“Strange how when I say that, it’s complete horseshit. Yet when you decide you’re too old, it’s an epiphany.”
“And if I decide to retire, what will you do?” he asked her, concerned. “You’re obviously too disagreeable to settle down with anyone.”
Gayle laughed. “Like father, like daughter.”
“Hardly.” He chuckled weakly. “Do you think you could helm this crew? Could you manage without me?”
“I have so far. I don’t know if that will change after we drop you—”
“They’ll want to keep things on an even keel,” he said. “I’ve been promisin’ them a hoard they won’t want to pass on. If they try and mutiny on you, let them know they’ll never have a piece of the Spanish Main.”
“And is the hoard truth or fiction, Father? You’ve talked of it as long as I can remember. If you had loot like that somewhere, why haven’t you gone to claim it?”
“I know my weaknesses, lass. If I had taken it thirteen years ago and divided it up amongst the crew and retired to an island, I’d be an old beggar now. I can’t keep a sovereign in my palm to beat the devil.”
“This is true,” Gayle said softly. “So pull through this, and we’ll go claim your spoils so you can retire in style.”
“Aye. Don’t let me die without diggin’ it up, lass.”
“You have a deal, old man.”
*
Someone knocked and entered Celia’s small cabin, waking her from a sleep so sound she was completely disoriented for a minute.
“What time is it?”
“Suppertime. Miss Malvern says you need to eat.” Hyde deposited something on the trunk beside her, and when he lit her lantern she saw it was a bowl of some substance with a tarnished spoon in it.
As though on cue, her stomach rumbled. “Apparently, Miss Malvern is right,” she said as she sat up while modestly continuing to cover herself with the blanket. “What is that?”
“Turtle stew.”
She picked up the bowl and stirred the thick contents slowly. “I see.”
“Enjoy the meat while we have it,” Hyde advised. “And the vegetables we nicked from the navy ship. We was runnin’ low on provisions until then, so eat hearty. It’s the best we’ve had in weeks.” With that, he departed.
After a tentative taste, Celia found the stew quite appetizing. True, it wasn’t the best meal she had ever had, but it was definitely the best one in the last twenty-four hours—albeit the only one in twenty-four hours. It was warm and contained some potatoes and carrots, and the turtle meat wasn’t as chewy as she had initially feared.
After finishing, she stretched, got out of bed, and put on the breeches and shirt. Hyde had been correct—the sash was a godsend. She gathered her hair up with a ribbon that rested by the bed and went out into the night on the main deck.
There, five men were seated in a circle, one of them playing a concertina and the others singing a sea chantey she had never heard before.
Down in Port Royal you’ll find Mary Louise;
She’s the ugly old whore
who’s down by the shore,
but at least she’s free of disease.
She’s the favorite of many, that Mary Louise.
Her great arse is as wide
as the Indian sky,
but it’s guaranteed to please.
So let’s raise a tankard to Mary Louise.
Just one gold piece will pay
to have her nine ways.
’Cause she likes to come in threes.
Celia’s face felt flushed, and she quietly moved off starboard to gaze over the rail at the moonlight bouncing off the vast sea. Had someone predicted her future two days ago, she would never have believed any of this. But as exciting as it was, she felt a bit like chum to the sharks.
“Well, lookee here.” The menacing voice made her jump. “You look a right sea-maiden, wench.”
She had to force her eyes to focus in the dense darkness, but she finally recognized Dowd, seeming slightly drunk. “Um, thank you?”
“In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were a mermaid.” He lurched toward her, and she instinctively retreated until her back was up against the railing. “’Cept you ain’t got no tail, do ya?” He moved toward her again. “Do ya have a tail, lassie? Lemme see.”
Celia brought her arms up to push him away and braced for the impact of his hulking body, but it didn’t come.
“Dowd.” Gayle stood just a few yards from them. Her cutlass was drawn, but it was too dark to make out her expression. “I don’t think you’ll be handling any of that particular tail tonight,” she said calmly.
Dowd raised his arms in surrender. “Easy, now, miss. I was havin’ some harmless fun.” He slowly faced her.
“Hmm. I’d have to question your understanding of both ‘harmless’ and ‘fun.’ We may need to get you a lexicon.” She slowly lowered her cutlass. “Go find something else to abuse, Dowd. This one’s off-limits to you.”
“Savin’ her for yourself, are you?” he mumbled as he skulked away.
Celia found Dowd’s remark odd, but her sudden amnesty would not let her delve deeper into its mystery. “Thank you, Gayle. You have extraordinary timing.”
“Most fortunate for you,” she answered, sheathing her weapon. “You should probably not be out here. I’m sure Dowd isn’t the only sailor who wants a handful or two of you.”
“But I changed into the men’s clothes, as you suggested. Surely they wouldn’t want a handful of, well, of this.”
Gayle smiled. “You might be surprised at how fet
ching you are. And you might also be surprised at how very long we have been at sea.”
“Ah, I see. So am I to stay in your cabin until we return to Florida?”
“Hopefully that will not be necessary. When we dock in New Providence, the men should have some time to—”
“Indulge in some of their excesses?” Celia suggested tactfully.
“I was going to say ‘buy some whores,’” Gayle clarified. “But your statement was much more elegant.”
“New Providence sounds as though it will be a unique experience.”
“Oh, for you it will. Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on you while we’re in port. It’s your engagement send-off, remember?” Gayle guided Celia back toward her quarters.
“No matter how hard I try to forget,” Celia said, exhaling slowly to quiet her nerves. “Did you just say I looked fetching?” she asked, attempting to speak of happier things.
Gayle’s face lit up. “That I did.”
*
Celia spent the next two days sequestered in that tiny cabin, leaving only briefly when she found it absolutely necessary. She slept, ate what Hyde brought her, and tried to read Gayle’s book about death and the afterlife, though she found it rather morbid. She counted every visible plank more than once. Therefore, a mixture of relief and trepidation filled her when, thanks to some rather robust winds, Original Sin finally moored at a small New Providence dock. She steeled her nerves and tried to mentally prepare herself to enter “drunk and dirty whoreville,” as she now referred to it.
When Gayle appeared in the cabin doorway and salaciously asked, “Ready, miss?” Celia’s stomach lurched.
“I imagine so.”
“Splendid,” she replied. “Take this.” She handed her a small cutlass and sheath that seemed quite dangerous.
“What am I to do with this? I don’t know the first thing about fighting.”
Gayle nodded. “You and I realize that, but the rest of the blokes in town don’t. It’s there to be seen, but not to be drawn. You follow?”
“I suppose.” She took the weapon and stared at it in confusion.
“It goes across your shoulder like this,” Gayle instructed, draping the weapon over her.
“Are you sure I shouldn’t just remain here and wait for you?” Celia suggested.
“You want to stay here on the ship with the twenty-five or so men we’re leaving on board while I go into town?”
After a brief silence Celia asked, “And how do I walk with the cutlass on?”
*
Dowd and Abernathy were tasked with helping Captain Malvern get into town. They created a makeshift litter, and Gayle and Celia accompanied them past the dock and into a seedy-looking nearby tavern, whose conspicuously handmade sign over the door read The Bountiful Teat. They used a rear entrance, with a blanket covering Captain Malvern entirely, so it looked as though they were simply transporting some black-market goods. No one questioned them, much to Celia’s surprise and profound relief.
Inside a dank back room, they met a slight, gray-haired man with spectacles and a beard that contrasted with his very blue eyes.
“Smitty,” Gayle called.
“Gayle,” he said, seeming surprised and glancing at the covered litter. “Who is it?”
She pulled the blanket off the captain’s face. “It’s Father.”
“Holy Mother of God,” he muttered. “Bring him over here.” He motioned toward a small cot. Dowd and Abernathy deposited the captain where they were instructed, then stood back as Smitty began to examine him.
Gayle knelt beside Smitty. “He received some musket balls to the belly and chest. We tried to get them all out, but I’m not sure we succeeded. He lost a lot of blood.”
“How long has it been?” Smitty asked, raising the unconscious captain’s eyelids and studying the inside of them intently.
“Three days.”
“And has he been conscious at all?”
“Aye,” she answered. “On and off.”
“And can he be left with me here? For a few days—or longer, if needed?”
“Done,” Gayle said matter-of-factly. “Can you save him, Smitty?”
“I hope so, lass,” he replied softly. “Go have a drink inside and give me some time to examine his wounds. I’ll come find you when I know more.”
Gayle kissed his cheek and stood up. “Thanks, Smitty. I’ll have a drink ready for you.”
Smitty winked. “Bourbon, if you please.”
Gayle motioned for Celia, Dowd, and Abernathy to follow her to the front of The Bountiful Teat.
“Should I even ask how this place got its name?” Celia whispered as they entered.
“Probably not,” Gayle answered, surveying the folk in the tavern guardedly.
They all settled around a rectangular table against the west wall, and after a few minutes a beautiful serving wench with chocolate-colored skin and deep emerald eyes approached.
“And what can I get—Gayle?”
Gayle looked at the woman with what Celia interpreted as feigned surprise. “Desta. How are you?” The words were pleasant enough, but she didn’t sound very sincere.
“Much better now,” she answered huskily, tracing Gayle’s shoulder with her index finger. “It’s been a long time, my love.”
Celia stared unblinkingly at this very open display. She scrutinized Abernathy and Dowd, who not only didn’t seem shocked, but almost indifferent, albeit slightly amused.
Gayle, though, seemed flustered indeed. “We need four rums and one bourbon.”
“Whatever you desire,” Desta said, and vanished.
“I wish I had women like that throwin’ themselves at me,” Abernathy commented to no one in particular.
“No, my friend. You just think you do,” Gayle said.
When Desta returned with the tankards on a tray, everyone was silent. She laid the drinks out first to the men, then to Gayle. Finally, she eyed Celia. “And who is this?” she asked Gayle as she carelessly slung Celia’s rum in front of her.
Before Gayle had a chance to respond, Celia announced her own name defiantly and locked eyes with Desta.
“Desta,” Gayle broke in, “I need some sailors. We lost a lot of men and took some damage the other night.”
“I might be able to find you a few recruits.”
“How many and how soon?”
“Maybe a dozen, tonight.”
“Good. Have them meet me here,” Gayle instructed in rather hushed tones. “I’ll need all you can get.”
Desta nodded and disappeared again.
Celia brought the rum to her lips and drank. “By all that is hallowed,” she cursed, her entire larynx ablaze. “This is rum?”
Dowd laughed, and Celia assumed he was probably recalling the other night and enjoying her discomfort. “They make it here in the backroom,” he explained with a snort. “It’s not for the weak of heart.”
“Not a drinker?” Gayle queried, a twinkle in her eye.
“I have had wine and claret before. But nothing that burned as this does. This is like acid,” she gasped.
“Shall we have Desta bring you something else?” Gayle sounded as if she was half joking, but Celia wasn’t certain.
Celia set her jaw firmly. She refused to be the only one at the table unable to choke this noxious shit down. And she was certainly not ready to be a laughingstock in front of Gayle’s rather antagonistic doxy. “No. I will drink this, thank you.” She took another, larger sip, and when her vision blurred slightly, she merely blinked the room back into focus. She could do this, she reasoned, and hopefully it wouldn’t leave her paralyzed, or brain-damaged.
Abernathy picked up his tankard and slammed the contents back in a lengthy series of swallows. He ordered another drink by rapping the bottom of the now-empty tankard lightly on the table to get the tavern keep’s attention.
“Pace yourself,” Gayle warned him. “We’ll be here quite some time. I don’t want to have to carry you back to Original Sin aga
in.”
“Again?” Celia asked.
“Abernathy has a bit of a problem with his legs,” she explained. “Once he’s passed out, they don’t work anymore.”
All at the table found this quite amusing, and as Celia laughed softly, she marveled at the way the inside of her nose burned, as though she were breathing fire. She mulled this over for a moment. The others would tell her if that were the case, wouldn’t they? To convince herself that they certainly would, and that she need not flee from the tavern screaming madly, she nonchalantly held her fingers in front of her nostrils to make sure they were emitting no heat. To her relief, they weren’t.
“So how long will we be staying here?” she asked, taking a much smaller sip of rum this time. If she didn’t want this toxin to permanently blind her, she needed to slow down.
Gayle also took a swig. “We’ll probably leave the captain here with Smitty, though I’m not sure for how long. We’ll spend the day letting the lads unwind in town, tonight I’ll pick up a few additions to the crew, and we’ll head to a remote site to careen tomorrow.”
“Careen?”
Abernathy, having no refill on rum yet to occupy him, explained, “We make land somewhere. Beach the ship and repair and clean her.”
“We’ll also need to restock provisions for the next voyage,” Gayle added. “We can’t stay in New Providence too long.”
“Worried the authorities might catch up with you?” Celia whispered, terribly excited by all this illicitness.
“I think the lass is more worried about Desta catching up with her,” Dowd said with a snort.
At that, Abernathy also began to laugh, just as Desta appeared from the kitchen—as though conjured by their words—to refill his tankard. “Thanks, lass,” he muttered, obviously elated as he communed with his beloved liquid. Celia thought she could actually see the blood vessels in his nose burst as he drank.
Celia also watched Desta gaze wantonly at Gayle, clearly trying to catch her eye.
The Sublime and Spirited Voyage of Original Sin Page 3
