Celia rolled her eyes. “You don’t have a cramp that needs to be massaged out, do you?”
“You’ve heard that one, have you?”
“Deception is beneath you.”
“If only you were, as well.”
“Is this you at your seductive best, Captain?” She seemed amused. “Is this the point where the wenches tumble blithely into your bed?”
Gayle sighed. “Apparently not.”
Celia helped Gayle recline, then pulled the blanket over her. “Don’t underestimate the power of sincerity, Gayle.”
“Sincerity?” She felt somewhat groggy.
“Some ladies want to know they’re more than just a lap-clap. They don’t want to hear the same declarations that won some other wench the night before.”
“And some ladies won’t believe anything you say, no matter how much you mean it.”
“Shh. Close your eyes. You need to sleep.”
“Aye.” Her fatigue was rapidly taking over.
Celia brushed her fingertips lightly over Gayle’s swollen temple.
“Are you staying a while?” Gayle asked, without opening her eyes.
“I might.”
“Because I do love to flirt with you. It cheers me.”
“Then it seems the least that I can do.”
“The very least. Please let me know when you’re ready to do more.”
*
Celia stayed in the captain’s quarters until Gayle fell asleep, which took very little time. Clearly she was drained from battle, and the blow to her head had done little for her vigor.
As Celia opened the cabin door, she was startled by a small figure lurking just outside it. As she shut the door and her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she recognized Anne.
“Ah, am I too late?”
“Too late?”
“Has the captain already found a companion for the night?”
“I’m sorry,” Celia stammered. “Are you saying you’re here to—?”
“Tend to some unfinished business.”
Celia furrowed her brow in irritation. “Not tonight, you won’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said.” Celia tried to keep from raising her voice and waking Gayle. “Ask your bloody brother to find you a place to sleep, and sod off.”
“Are you completely mad?”
“No, but apparently you’re deaf. Gayle’s been injured and she’s sleeping now. You’ll need to find someone else to mount tonight, you bloody gadfly.”
With that, Celia returned to the captain’s quarters and shut the door. She stood silently, waiting for the sound of Anne’s departing footsteps, and after an extended moment, it finally came.
Celia wasn’t sure what had upset her so much that she became totally unhinged, but she decided it was probably something quite logical and completely appropriate and pushed the thought aside.
Gayle lay on her right side in bed sleeping soundly, her chest slowly rising and falling.
Celia sighed and climbed in next to her. She didn’t trust that shrew Anne to stay away all night. After all, someone needed to make sure the captain was safe and resting comfortably. She owed it to the entire crew, didn’t she?
She turned on her side to face Gayle’s back, then awkwardly tried to stretch out without brushing against her.
Gayle suddenly rolled over, facing Celia, and her right arm intimately moved over Celia’s waist, but she didn’t awaken.
Celia lay uneasily studying Gayle’s striking and now placid features that, at present, were extremely near. She tried to force herself to relax and close her eyes.
Chapter Thirteen
When Celia’s eyes fluttered open, she was momentarily disoriented. Behind her sat Gayle, dressed and seated at her desk, drinking a steaming tankard of tea.
“Good morning, Celia. Did you sleep well?”
Celia ran her hand through her mussed hair in bewilderment. “I suppose so.”
“I imagine you did, since you’re still completely clothed—damn the luck.” She took another sip of tea. “Would you care for breakfast?”
“I would.” She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stretched. “Clearly you’re feeling better. Aren’t you the least bit interested why I slept here last night?”
One corner of Gayle’s mouth rose playfully. “If it’s any reason other than that you simply couldn’t bear to be away from my side, then no. I’m not interested.”
“Are you aware that James’s sister came here to see you?”
“Really? Why?”
“Apparently she felt you and she have some sexual chemistry. I believe she meant to bed you.” She rubbed her eyes sleepily.
“And you stayed here with me to thwart her?”
“Well, you needed your rest. Besides,” she stood and faced Gayle, “you certainly wouldn’t have been at your best—head wound and all. Would you want to send that girl back to Bristol thinking you were an inept fumbler?”
“Inept fumbler?” she asked, rising.
“Surely you have a reputation of some kind to promote. Had I not intervened, all of England might soon have heard that you were all thumbs, so to speak.” She coughed nervously and stared at the floor, fidgeting.
Gayle chuckled. “That reason may be even better than the one I was deluding myself with. I’d say you owe me.”
“Pardon?”
“You owe me,” she repeated, holding up her index finger and stepping closer. “One night of torrid, passionate, hungry sex.” She waited for a response, her finger still erect in the air.
Celia raised a saucy eyebrow. “I’ll see if Anne’s still willing, then.”
“Sweetie, Anne is nothing but willing. That may be the solitary word on her tombstone when her life is snuffed.”
“It’s good to see that you fancy the intellectual types.”
“I thought we were speaking about the types who fancy me.”
“Yes, the blond and lusty type, it appears. I’m sure you’ll have no problem arranging your night of sex.” She said the last word as though it were something extremely distasteful.
“As much as it saddens me, we have other, more pressing things to attend to, Celia.”
“Do we?”
“Aye. We’re back in Port Royal. We need to make a quick stop and then take our leave in a brace of shakes.”
“What’s happened?”
“Only what we planned to happen. Dowd and some of the men went to the Pleiades and waited for the slavers to arrive with their cargo.”
“How many did they have?”
“About a hundred.” Gayle crossed her arms. “Once we dispatched the traffickers we gave the slaves the option of either signing on to Original Sin or going free and trying to find their way back to the Ivory Coast.”
“Did any sign on?”
“Twenty-four did. The rest disappeared into the night with their families, or were hoping to return to their families. The poor, bloody bastards.”
“So we’re sailing back into Port Royal to—”
“Sell the Pleiades and all the jewelry we’ve acquired. There’s a shop in town run by a fellow who’ll buy the loot we’re carrying, which makes it much easier to split among the crew.”
Celia nodded.
Gayle cleared her throat. “So, are you interested in coming along?”
“To fence your plundered spoils? How can I refuse?”
“If only you were this eager in regard to my first offer.”
*
By the time Celia had readied herself, Gayle had already sold the Pleiades to Deadeye Magee for a very healthy sum—as, sadly, fully fitted slave ships were worth a great deal more than simple sloops or merchant ships.
It was still very early in the day, though, when she and Celia entered a seedy place in Port Royal called The Queen’s Lavaliere. It was amazingly filthy, considering the fact that the stock was nothing but jewelry and gemstones.
The proprietor of the shop, a short, elderly man, sported the r
ed, blotchy complexion of a raging alcoholic.
“Good day, fine ladies,” he said, seeming to sense from Celia’s and Gayle’s odd yet tailored clothing that they might possess ample purses.
“To you as well, sir,” Gayle said, striding to the counter, a substantial leather satchel slung over her shoulder. “I’ve been told that you have a fair eye and will give a proper price for gold jewelry.”
In actuality, Gayle had heard nothing of the sort and knew that statement to be utterly false. This little man was known to be as crooked as a ram’s horn, and it took someone who knew what they had and what it was worth to beat him at his own game—just the kind of challenge that Gayle relished.
His rosy, gnomish face crinkled in delight. “You have heard correctly, my dear.” He shuffled over to where she stood at the counter.
“I have acquired a number of fine items,” she said, opening her satchel.
The gnome’s eyes lit up. Gayle could smell the aroma of rum on him and was glad she was here early in the day, as she envisioned him to be a wee, angry monkey of a drunk. She eyed him suspiciously.
She produced several jeweled items from Santiago’s stash and set them on the counter. The shopkeeper picked up the sapphire-encrusted dagger and withdrew it from the bejeweled scabbard, examining the blade.
“’Tis a pity this is so flawed.”
“Flawed, is it?” Gayle asked. “Show me where.”
He pointed to one of the larger stones. “Here. This jewel has a blemish, inside.”
She studied the stone closely. “That must be the drink talking, little man. That sapphire is perfect. Every jewel on this is perfect.”
“What?” He seemed stunned by her recrimination.
“I have no problem putting this ‘flawed’ merchandise back in my satchel and disappearing from this shop forever, my soused friend.”
“Bah. I didn’t say the flaw was a large one.” He retrieved the dagger and assessed it again.
Celia slowly perused the wares on the other side of the shop and tried not to touch anything, as several layers of grime covered it all. Behind her the little shopkeeper was making an offer of some kind, to which Gayle firmly replied, “Bollocks, old man.” She tried to ignore them both.
So much had happened in the last two weeks—she felt like a completely different person. The thought of returning to Florida to marry Phillip seemed totally foreign now.
Perhaps the gypsy woman had been right after all. Phillip had never really been the one for her—she supposed she had known it all along. She’d tried to convince herself otherwise to make her lot in life seem more palatable, but she wouldn’t be able to abide such delusions now.
What had the fortune-teller said was her fate? Something about water, which, given the past two weeks, truly was a given. Practically every moment had been on or near water.
Then she had said something about a tempest—“a royal tempest’s gale.” Lord only knew what “golden fire in twilight” referred to. And if Anne was the woman abducted by the seven sisters, then the rest of her fortune might be just as painfully inadequate. She sighed.
“Look, you vinegar-pisser,” Gayle was saying—the bitter words commanding Celia’s attention—“I’ll not be bamboozled.”
“You are abusive, woman,” the elf shouted back.
Suddenly, an item in one of the cases seized Celia’s interest. She wiped some of the scum away from the glass case to get a better view of the ring inside.
It was magnificent—a gold band with a stone the likes of which she’d never seen. It sparkled with blue, green, and red.
“Something catch your eye, Celia?”
Gayle was suddenly beside her. She had been so rapt in this bauble that she hadn’t even heard her approach. “That ring’s exquisite,” she whispered, pointing to it.
“Aye, that’s a beauty.”
The goblin appeared to remove the ring for closer perusal. Celia pointed out which one she wished to see, and when he withdrew it, the stone caught the light brilliantly.
“What is this gem?” Celia slipped the ring onto her finger and marveled at how well it fit.
“It’s an opal,” he answered reverently. “That one is a twilight fire opal, as it looks like fire, ocean, and sky are inside the stone.”
“It’s lovely.” She admired it on her hand, holding it in a beam of sunlight, then caught herself. “What did you call this again?”
“A twilight fire opal.”
“On a gold band,” Celia added.
Gayle didn’t seem to understand and shook her head curiously.
“A golden fire in twilight,” she clarified.
Gayle’s eyes widened in recognition. “Well, trice me. And what ungodly sum are you charging for it, old man?”
His eyes twinkled. “Well, this ring does two things for the wearer,” he explained dramatically. “It protects from disease, especially blindness. The opal is said to keep your eyes clear and bright.”
“And the second?” Celia asked.
“It’s an aphrodisiac.”
“We’ll take it,” Gayle blurted.
*
Celia supposed that she could have resisted more when Gayle offered to buy her the opal ring, but she did feel strangely drawn to it. And apparently, buying the item had helped the negotiation process with the shopkeeper. Gayle managed to unload all her precious items, netting them an astounding 7,500 gold doubloons.
“’Tis a pity we can’t stay in town longer and spend some of this money,” Gayle said as they strolled from The Queen’s Lavaliere.
“I had no idea piracy was so lucrative.” A gust of wind blew her hair wildly.
“In ordinary circumstances, it’s not. You must be a good-luck charm.”
“I doubt I’m the cause,” Celia said humbly, stopping at a merchant’s fruit stand and lifting a ripe mango to smell. “Perhaps it was that gypsy fortune-teller. Maybe it wasn’t my fortune she saw. Maybe it was yours.”
“It was your palm she studied, not mine. Besides, two of her predictions have come true. What else was there?”
“Ah, a ‘royal tempest’s gale.’” She put one mango down and picked up another, testing its firmness. “Perhaps she meant you.”
Gayle stared off to the south. “Hmm…I don’t like the look of those clouds.”
“Aye,” the fruit merchant replied politely. “Storm’s a-brewin’.”
Another gust of wind hit them, and Celia asked the merchant how much the mangoes were.
“Three for a penny,” he answered toothlessly.
“Maybe next time.” Gayle took Celia by her hand. “We need to get back to the ship.”
“Why the rush? Still worried about what happens when they find McQueen and his crew?”
“No, we have a newer, fresher concern.” Gayle pulled Celia briskly through the marketplace.
“Bloody hell.” Celia sighed in exasperation. “What’s happening now?”
Gayle stopped and faced her. “Look at the clouds over my shoulder.”
“Gray, and pleasantly billowy.”
“And the wind?”
Celia paused. “Rather blustery.”
“Now stop and listen. Do you hear the birds? The frogs? The cicadas?”
“No. How very odd.”
“Are you ready for the rest of your fortune to be realized?”
Celia saw nothing but solemnity in Gayle’s expression. “A royal tempest’s gale?” she asked weakly.
“We’re in bloody Port Royal, after all.” She jerked Celia back into motion and they hurried toward the docks.
Celia processed that statement as she allowed Gayle to weave her through obstacles. “Shit,” she mumbled, viewing the storm clouds in a new and alarming way.
Chapter Fourteen
“Cap’n,” Dowd screamed. The wind and rain whipped him so strongly Gayle could barely hear him. “We’re making no headway.”
“Aye. I was afraid of that. She just won’t wear it,” she yelled. Original Sin was
almost totally unable to maneuver in the storm.
“Can we ride it out, you think?” he shouted, clearly fearful.
Gayle wiped the rain from her eyes. She had tried to outrace the storm, and that tactic had clearly failed. If she was to truly try to weather it, she needed to decide now—while it was still possible to climb the rigging and secure the sails without anyone being swept overboard.
“Aye,” she finally answered. “Furl the sails and drop the anchor. We’ll ride it hawse-fallen and hope the masts don’t get spent.”
“Aye aye, Cap’n,” Dowd called, scurrying off to pass her orders to the crew as quickly as possible.
“And we’ll hope we don’t get spent either,” she added to herself.
*
Below deck, Celia was becoming nervous. Gayle had practically sprinted back to Original Sin once she saw the storm rolling in, had all but lobbed the whores back onto the dock, and had departed in great haste. As the ship rocked violently, its wood creaking in dissent, she sat on the edge of her bed in virtual darkness, as no one was allowed to have a lit flame aboard while the seas were so rough.
She sighed.
She had left her door propped open so that faint light from other parts of the ship provided something for her slowly adjusting eyes to focus on. Above deck, powerful gusts blew, and the scrambling crewmen shouted as they battled to keep the ship afloat. She worried for Gayle and wondered about her safety up there, as this wasn’t fit weather for anyone to be in.
Celia fidgeted nervously with her hands and fretted about their fate. “Bloody fortune-teller,” she muttered.
She thought she heard a scream from above deck and jerked her head up, but she was uncertain if it was another vicious gust of wind shrieking through. The ship lurched suddenly starboard and, thrown off balance, she had to steady herself with both hands or be thrown backward.
They could perish in this tempest, she supposed, but she wasn’t really afraid to die—though she regretted not doing certain things. She had wanted to accomplish so much in her life and had thought she’d have so much time. Now she realized that before she’d boarded this ship she hadn’t really been living—merely going through the motions of a life.
The Sublime and Spirited Voyage of Original Sin Page 12
