Her father was conscious when she saw him, and though he was extremely tired, his progress encouraged her. She told him that she had acquired two carpenters and a ship surgeon, in addition to thirteen other new crewmembers. She also assured him that she would return for him after venturing to Jamaica—a round trip of at least twenty days. He had wished her luck and told her to “sleep with one eye open.”
Returning downstairs, Gayle again thanked Smitty for all he had done and rejoined Celia, who had been waiting. “Did you finish the letter like I asked you?”
Celia handed her the parchment she had been working on.
“And how did you explain your absence? Or did you?” Gayle asked, perusing the note.
“Well, I’m sure Phillip told them I was abducted by pirates. So I explained that I was taking a small tour of the Caribbean and should be home in a few weeks.”
Gayle laughed. “You made it sound like you were on holiday?”
“I don’t want them to worry too much.”
“Perhaps you can take them mementos from your travels.”
“Hmm. And what would I take them from this place? Pirate vomit? Whore urine, perhaps?”
Gayle took the quill pen from the table, dipped it into the inkwell, and began to write at the bottom of the parchment in a swirly script. “You know, I hate to tell you this, but this is one of the few ports we’ll actually be welcome in.”
“What do you mean?”
“Most ports are not open to pirate ships.” She finished scrawling her addendum and put the quill down, removing two doubloons from her coin purse. “This is one of the good ones, sweetie.”
Celia was stunned. “And in the other ports?”
Gayle picked up the stick of red sealing wax and briefly held the tip over a lit candle. She then dabbed it to both doubloons and affixed them to the bottom of the missive. “In the other ports we’ll need to make landfall a different way—somewhere other than the docks. We’ll slip into town after dark.”
Celia sighed. “I see.” Gayle folded the parchment into quarters, then sealed it closed with the wax, this time pressing an image into it from the silver signet ring she wore on her left thumb. “Is that your family seal?”
Gayle handed the folded note back to Celia for her to examine. “Hardly. I nicked this ring off a Spanish privateer. There’s no telling who he pinched it from before I came along. I just fancied it.” The symbol pressed into the wax seal was that of a dragonfly lighting on the blade of a sword.
“Unique. What did you add?”
“I am assuming since you can read and write that your father can as well.” She slipped the ring back onto her thumb.
“Aye.”
“I explained that one of those doubloons was to pay the courier who delivers it. You should put your father’s name on the outside.”
Celia picked up the quill, loaded it with ink, and did so. “And the other doubloon?”
“To make his waiting slightly more bearable.”
They left The Bountiful Teat to run their final errand while in town. Celia followed Gayle as she walked purposefully back to the docks and over to the Juliet—a large merchant ship that was loaded and bound for the East Florida territory. Gayle caught the eye of a young crewman, no more than fifteen, and coaxed him over to her.
She gave him two silver pieces of eight and assured him that the recipient of the dispatch would pay him another gold doubloon upon receipt. The lad’s eyes went wide with greed, and he heartily agreed to act as courier, slipping the folded and sealed parchment into the front of his shirt and scurrying back up the gangplank.
*
When Celia awoke early the next morning, she was still in bed, but pressed firmly against the cabin wall, as the ship was listing to one side. She shook her head and marveled at her ability to sleep through something like that. Then she rose, brushed her hair, and dressed.
After she emerged from her cabin, she realized what had happened. The crewmembers had run Original Sin aground on a spit and were all scraping the barnacles and seaweed from the exposed port side of the hull. She cautiously maneuvered down a beam that led to the beach, then strolled through the fine sand toward the bow of the ship, studying Original Sin’s elaborate, colorful figurehead. Clearly she represented Eve, as she held a red apple in her outstretched arms, dangling it seductively before the crew. A green serpent wound up her nude body, but stopped short of covering her ample breasts. Though her pose seemed majestic and graceful, her expression was provocative.
“Ah, good morning, Celia.” Gayle regarded her warmly and nodded. “You slept well, then?”
“Seemingly. Do I smell meat cooking?”
“That you do.” She motioned past the ship. “The pig on our spit has another hour or so until it’s our lunch.”
“Really?”
“Aye. Careening can’t just be about ball-busting drudgery.”
“No, of course it can’t,” she answered doubtfully.
Gayle led her past the shirtless, sweaty crew that toiled beneath the sun. Caruthers, the bosun, shouted commands to them while fingering his braided beard. Celia was surprised that no one else seemed to find him as menacing as she did. But then she remembered nearly all of them seemed menacing to her.
They stopped at a makeshift shelter—sailcloth thrown over the branch of a tree to create a tent. In the shade a beam supported fresh fruit and bread where Gayle sliced a large section of pineapple with a small machete and said, “Here, break your fast with this.”
Celia liked its sweet juiciness. “How long will this take, all this business with the ship?” She filled a tankard with grog.
“Most of the day, unfortunately.”
“But aren’t they almost done? The hull looks nice and smooth from here.” She took a drink.
Gayle picked up a piece of bread and tore it into mouth-sized pieces. “There’s more to it than simply the scraping. The men need to replace rotten, worm-eaten planks and apply oakum, tallow, and tar. Then we roll the ship and work on the other side. That’s where those Scottish boys come in handy. They have most of the new planks already cut and ready to put in.”
“Blimey,” Celia cursed, wiping the perspiration from her brow with the back of her hand.
Gayle appeared amused. “You’ve loosened up a speck, haven’t you?” she said, popping bread into her mouth.
“When you are at Rome, do as they do there,” Celia replied with a swig of grog.
“And when in hell?”
“Throw another log on the fire?”
“You’ve become the picture of acclimation.” Gayle drank some grog slowly. “You know, you could actually help us a great deal today.”
“I? How?”
“Our sails are in disrepair and need a practiced seamstress’s touch.”
“Truly, Captain? I can help?”
“We could travel much faster to find your misplaced whore. The lads aren’t the best at sewing. The stronger the seams, the faster she goes.”
“Done. I’ll get right on it—once I’ve finished my meal, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Greetings” came a sickly sounding call from behind them. They turned to see James shambling over. “Um…ahoy, or whatever it is they say.”
Gayle raised one eyebrow and scrutinized the doctor. “You don’t look well.”
He coughed, probably trying to suppress the reflex to retch at the smell of food. “I’m not quite adjusted to the roll of the waves,” he gasped.
Celia took another bite of ripe pineapple. “You are a trifle green.” She slurped softly as she bit the rind.
He gagged.
“Doctor, I’m assuming you’ll pass on a bite to eat?”
He covered his mouth with his hand. “Unless you have something that will make this pass, Captain. An herb or plant, perhaps?”
“Hmm. I’ve heard that ginger root helps,” Gayle said. “But we don’t have any on board. You need to rest while we’re on land, and once we sail again,
stay on deck as much as you can. Going below deck will make it worse.”
“How did you make it all the way from England?” Celia inquired.
“Mostly hung over the rail.” He frowned at the victuals on display.
Gayle crossed her arms in front of her. “But that trip must have taken well over a month. Did it never improve, even after all that time at sea?”
He almost gagged again, then paused before he spoke. “The crew had told me it would pass sooner if I stayed below deck, though now I know this is false. They also told me to drink as much rum as I could stomach, and that wasn’t helpful either. In fact, I can’t remember ever vomiting so much.”
“You obviously made fast friends on that ship,” Gayle said, almost under her breath.
“It took me over a week to start feeling better. I must have lost a stone. My clothes are hanging on me.” He tugged at the loose waist of his breeches. “I had thought all that was behind me, but I guess being on land for a day or so was enough to start the cycle again.”
“Well, the more you’re at sea, the sooner you’ll adjust to the motion,” Gayle said. “You may have a few queasy days, but by the time we get to Jamaica you’ll be as hardy as the rest of the crew.”
With that, James shuffled away, perhaps to find some shady area that didn’t neighbor aromatic foods.
“Hmm,” Celia remarked quietly once he was out of earshot. “What kind of a doctor can’t treat himself?”
“He’s one dandy who’ll really need to prove himself, especially when we need him most. If he doesn’t—”
“What?”
“If he doesn’t, the lads will most likely spill his guts.”
“Can’t you prevent that?”
Gayle shook her head. “Doubtful. Remember, my command here is tenuous. My best chance against mutiny is to not give them a reason to kill me. If the good doctor ends up being more hindrance than help, the crew’s majority, not me, may decide his fate.”
“Should you tell him that? Perhaps it will give him incentive.”
“More than likely it’ll just make him vomit more. Let’s see if he comes ’round on his own.”
*
The careening had obviously increased morale. When the pig was roasted to perfection, the crew ate heartily, enjoying the fruits and breads that they had gone so long without. Grog and wine flowed in abundance to fight off the ravages of the Caribbean sun.
During breaks the crew amused themselves with music and dancing, and at one point—much to Celia’s mortification—a farting contest, which, disturbingly, Molly won.
The crew, which labored throughout the day, seemed more relaxed after their brief time in port, yet also eager to get back to sea. They sang chanteys as they worked and told amusing stories to see who could elicit the biggest laugh.
Celia began tending to the sails, and after she showed the two crewmen who had previously been repairing them a trick or two, the men seemed genuinely impressed by her skill. She determined that the more value she brought to the crew, the more they would accept her—though she still didn’t trust a single damn one of them.
When dusk had fallen, the careening was complete and the tide had finally risen high enough for Original Sin to depart. As the newly repaired sails inflated with the first gusts of evening wind, the ship wended south as the waxing moon ascended.
*
Andrew Pierce tried to concentrate on the seam that he was altering, but his mind kept wandering to his missing daughter. She had been gone for over a week, and no one had seen a trace of her after the bloodthirsty pirates had brutally abducted her.
Oh, Dr. Farquar had stated that he had fought valiantly to save her, but the man had emerged without a scratch, so Andrew doubted his story. In fact, if he hadn’t heard from others that a pirate vessel had defeated the British Navy just off the coast the evening she disappeared, he would have instantly concluded that the doctor himself had done something despicable to Celia.
He felt guilty for pushing his daughter into her engagement with that great twit. If only he had listened to her when she had complained of his dry demeanor—or his lack of a chin.
Just then a young sailor entered the shop. “Are you the tailor?” he asked.
“Aye.” Andrew looked over his spectacles to examine the lad.
“I’ve a message for you,” he blurted, presenting the sealed letter clumsily.
Wary, Andrew accepted the dispatch, suddenly afraid it was a ransom note. He pulled the seal apart and unfolded the parchment, elated to see his daughter’s handwriting.
Father,
I hope this missive finds you well and that you and Mother have not been overly distraught by my disappearance. I’m sure you were told of the pirates who abducted me to assist with the medical treatment of their wounded crew. At their merciful and rather benevolent treatment, I have willingly offered to stay on to assist them on a special errand. I’ll be in the Caribbean Islands for a few weeks, and then I am told I will be returned completely unharmed.
My deepest love to you both,
Celia.
Beneath this message, another was written in an unfamiliar hand. And below it were two gold doubloons fastened to the parchment with sealing wax.
Please give one of these doubloons to the courier of this letter and keep the other for yourself, as a promise of your daughter’s imminent safe return.
Andrew pulled the doubloons from the paper and used his thumbnail to scrape off the red wax. He hesitantly addressed the young man before him. “Did you see my daughter?”
The courier shrugged. “What’s she look like?”
“She’s got dark hair, but bright blue eyes. The top of her head comes to about my shoulder,” he said, holding his hand up.
“Aye. I saw her.”
“Did she seem well?” he asked hopefully.
“Aye, sir, quite well. She’s quite a looker, your daughter.”
“She didn’t appear manhandled?”
“Not that I saw, sir.” The lad looked nervously at the floor. “Do you have my payment, sir?”
He tossed a doubloon over to the young man, who snatched it greedily from the air and dashed back out into the street.
Andrew examined the remaining gold coin in his palm. He couldn’t imagine what manner of pirate captain had kidnapped his only daughter. He seemed to lack the viciousness they were reputed for—to have allowed Celia to write a letter explaining her whereabouts and to have compensated him this generously. After all, this single doubloon could easily feed his family for more than a month.
What he was certain of now, however, was that the chinless doctor’s story was completely false. Celia claimed that the crew had spirited her away to help them tend to their wounded. Why would they have taken her when a doctor was available?
“That weak, gutless bastard!”
He hurried upstairs to show his wife the evidence that their daughter was alive.
Chapter Seven
The first few days they headed to Jamaica were relatively uneventful. Original Sin continued to make decent headway due to strong gusts and the condition of the ship itself, which had never been in better shape.
Like the preceding two evenings, Gayle had asked Celia to join her in the captain’s quarters for supper. After several meals below deck with the rest of the crew, Celia was more than happy to dine with someone who wasn’t preoccupied with bodily functions, beheadings, or the word “fuck.”
Celia had begun to look forward to the evenings she spent with Gayle, as she was able to speak openly about virtually any subject. Gayle was knowledgeable about a great many things, but she still seemed genuinely interested in whatever Celia had to say—which sadly was quite an unfamiliar feeling.
She knocked on Gayle’s door.
“Come in.”
Inside, Gayle was seated at her desk, with a chart before her and a compass in her hand.
“Are you busy?”
Gayle shook her head and set the implement down. “No. I ev
idently let the time get away from me. Please, come in,” she said, rising from her chair. “Sit down.”
Celia did just that, pulling up a chair at the small table and running her hand through her hair.
Gayle seemed to freeze and simply stared at her, then cleared her throat awkwardly. “I’ll let Cook know we are ready for supper,” she said, her voice cracking. By the time Celia turned to address her, the door had shut and she was gone.
Alone in the captain’s quarters for the first time, Celia stood and slowly perused the items around her. A small bookshelf built into the wall contained such tomes as The Seaman’s Secrets and A Waggoner of the Spanish Main.
“Hmph.” She exhaled in disapproval because it all was decidedly dry. She drifted to where Gayle had been sitting and glanced at the chart on the desk—a beautifully colored nautical rendering of the Caribbean islands. She traced the outlines reverently and glanced at the ornate gold compass beside it and the metal dividers used for plotting distance and course.
The cabin door opened and Gayle returned, holding two tankards. She shut the door behind her deftly with her foot and extended a drink. “Here you go, bonita.”
“Thank you.” Celia took it. “We’re having wine tonight?”
“Why not? We may as well indulge. We’ve made excellent progress so far.” She brought her wine to her mouth and drank.
Celia followed in kind. “And will the meal be as celebratory as the drink?”
“Aye.” Gayle looked pleased with herself.
“Ooh, and what is it?”
“Salmagundi.”
“Salma-what?”
“Salmagundi,” she repeated. “It’s quite a treat.”
“And what’s in this treat?” Celia smiled broadly, showing Gayle that she was game.
The Sublime and Spirited Voyage of Original Sin Page 6
