The Sublime and Spirited Voyage of Original Sin

by Colette Moody

“Verily.” They kissed again, and Gayle was serious for a moment. “Now I need you to do me a favor, amor.” She continued dressing.

  The Spanish endearment lit Celia’s face. “Anything.”

  “Get dressed and go check on Anne to ensure she’s not dead. I’d hate to have gone through all that derring-do to rescue her just so you could snuff her.”

  “What if when she sees me, she attacks?”

  Gayle winked, opening the door to leave. “Just trounce her again.”

  *

  Celia peered into her own cabin with trepidation, somewhat surprised to see the room empty. Unsure of where Anne would have gone, she decided to search James’s cabin. There was no telling what Anne had told her brother, she thought as she ambled to his quarters with a pronounced lack of motivation. Perhaps she had made accusations that someone had pummeled her in some dramatic fashion, or maybe even beaten her with a mallet.

  When she arrived at James’s cabin, the door was slightly ajar, and with a renewed burst of courage she pushed it open. “Doctor, have you seen your sis—?”

  Celia unwillingly focused on the sight before her. There stood James—his breeches around his ankles and his pasty ass on full display—mounting Molly, whose rather dirty feet were acrobatically resting on his shoulders.

  “God’s teeth!” She was so stunned she was unable to move.

  “Celia.”

  James gasped and started to pick his trousers up, prompting Molly to shout, “Hey.”

  “Apologies. Forget I was here. Carry on,” Celia finally stammered, backing away and climbing to the deck, mortified.

  The rain had almost totally stopped, and she could see the sun behind a few clouds. Around her, many crewmen scurried about assessing the state of the ship and unfurling the sails. She was relieved that all three masts were intact.

  “Celia,” someone called from behind her. Turning, she saw James awkwardly holding his bunched breeches up at his waist. “Celia, wait.” He shambled over hurriedly, unable to move fluidly with his pants unbuttoned. “Let me explain.”

  She winced, then tried to politely feign congeniality, though still embarrassed by the scene she had interrupted. “There’s no need, Doctor,” she said, opening her hands before her. “I should have knocked.”

  “The fault is mine, miss. I was acting as a common cad. I am not typically so very base.”

  “James, I am not here to judge you. You must do as your will dictates. I am only sorry I interrupted…that,” she said, choosing the last word when nothing better came to her.

  James looked panicked. “You misapprehend, miss.”

  “Do I?” She was bewildered that she could have simply mistaken innocent behavior for something otherwise, but since the notion intrigued her she decided to give him the opportunity to try and convince her. Across the deck, Gayle approached them, appearing interested.

  “Aye.” He cleared his throat. “She came in for treatment of a malady.”

  “And were you checking her internal temperature?” Celia asked in amusement. “Did she have a fever?”

  James’s face turned red and he fumbled for something to say. “She said she had something she wished me to examine.”

  “And you were merely being thorough,” Celia said as Gayle stopped beside them. “If only all doctors shared your dedication.”

  “Is everything all right?” Gayle surveyed her ship’s doctor standing on deck holding his unfastened breeches up and put her hand protectively on the small of Celia’s back.

  “Aye.” Celia seemed derisive. “James was just explaining one of his medical-examination methods. It’s quite innovative.”

  Gayle studied the doctor’s completely sheepish expression and his state of partial undress and raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

  “Apparently, he can ascertain illness with his member.”

  “I never said that,” he stated. “It wasn’t like that, I assure you.”

  Gayle was starting to become uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation. Instinctively, she pulled Celia to her and wrapped her arm around her waist. “And who, pray tell, was he attempting to examine? You?”

  “Not at all. He was simply clarifying what I walked in on. It was strictly therapeutic in nature.”

  “And it involved his member?”

  “Aye, it was in someone, but purely in the name of medicine, apparently.”

  “You’re putting words in my mouth,” he insisted. “It did start out as an examination but simply became something more.”

  “And this was completely consensual?” Gayle inquired suspiciously.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good,” she replied. “Then I’d prefer to hear no more. You should go below and make yourself presentable, Doctor. You’ll more than likely have some minor wounds to tend to shortly. I’m sure not all of the crew came through the tempest wholly unscathed.”

  He nodded, but seemed so completely thunderstruck that he couldn’t move. His level of shock apparently tripled as Gayle leaned toward Celia, whispered something to her, then provocatively nibbled her ear. Celia’s eyes closed in what appeared to be rapture, and she seemed utterly impassioned.

  “Ah” was all he mustered in response. As Gayle gently fondled the round ass of the woman he obviously loved, he said “Ah” again and nodded frenetically. “I’ll just go, then.” He stared at them again, and they both looked back expectantly. “Right. Off I go, then.” He turned and headed back below deck.

  “Who was his member in, anyway?” Gayle asked after he vanished.

  “Molly.”

  “What an odd match.”

  “I could have gone the rest of my life without seeing that, I’ll have you know. I may have to stare at the sun to burn the image from my eyes.”

  “Well, before you blind yourself, I need a favor.”

  Celia’s voice dropped an octave in desire. “What kind of favor?”

  “Some of our sails were loosened and shredded in the storm—”

  “And you need someone to sew some proper new ones?”

  “Precisely,” Gayle replied warmly.

  “Consider it done. Other than that, how did the ship fare?”

  “Not too badly, though we’ll need to head to the nearest port for some repairs before we can sail any great distance.”

  Celia nodded. “I didn’t find Anne.”

  “I saw her a short time ago wandering on deck. She seemed fine.”

  “Fine, as in not completely bone-sucking insane?”

  Gayle beamed. “Well, more like fine for someone with a huge purple knot on her head.”

  *

  The closest port was Saint-Domingue, and though it wasn’t Gayle’s favorite location—it did not boast the gamut of imports and exports that New Providence or Kingston had, for in those ports you could find anything you wanted, for a price—she was nonetheless pleased to find a fairly remote area to repair Original Sin.

  The two new carpenters worked resolutely to get the ship trim and proper to sail again, and Gayle ensured more roasted meat and fresh fruits were on hand, and copious amounts of grog for the swigging.

  Celia and Gayle traveled a fair distance on foot to reach a town that actually had a tavern. Prior to embarking on this journey, Celia had not spent much time in taverns, and now she understood why. This most recent establishment, a dilapidated and tiny structure called La Malediction du Diable, was by far the least desirable of the lot. Somehow each pub they managed to enter was exponentially more filthy and depressing than the previous one. Celia could scarcely imagine any place more revolting than La Malediction du Diable, as it was stale, dim, and dank inside, rather like a primordial cave, but it would have to do.

  “What does the name mean?” she asked Gayle, trying not to touch anything as they entered and approached the bar.

  “The devil’s curse.” Gayle stepped over a tanned, weathered man who lay prone on the floor, singing loudly in French.

  “What a perfect description. They read my
mind.”

  “Aye. It could do with some curtains,” Gayle said, waving down the barman.

  “Oui?” the dark-skinned, broad-shouldered native asked.

  Celia marveled as Gayle and the barman began a lengthy conversation in French, of which she was able to interpret only occasional syllables. The barman seemed very interested in whatever Gayle was saying, and ultimately he nodded and left.

  “Where’s he going?” Celia inquired quietly.

  “To see what provisions he has in the back to sell us.”

  “I didn’t know you spoke French.”

  “Un peu,” she answered smugly.

  “Conceit is so unattractive.”

  “Well, how can you command someone to surrender if you don’t speak their language?”

  “I suppose that has a certain logic.”

  The barman reemerged then, and he and Gayle discussed something else at length. She finally withdrew some coins and paid him, then motioned for Celia to head back outside with her.

  “His son will follow us to the ship to deliver the goods.”

  Sure enough, a boy of thirteen or so met them around back with a wheelbarrow filled with smoked meats, and they began the long walk back to the ship.

  “So, I guess we need to decide our next destination,” Gayle finally said, somewhat hesitantly.

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that we can either head back to New Providence to pick up Father…” Gayle swallowed as though the conversation was uncomfortable for her. “Or we can go back to the Florida Territories and take you to your family.”

  “And which would you prefer, Gayle?”

  “Obviously, I’d rather you stay a bit longer. Which would you prefer?”

  “And what happens once your father rejoins the crew?”

  Gayle was silent for a moment. “I suppose he’ll become captain again.”

  Celia shook her head. “Pity. You cut a fine figure of a captain.”

  Gayle’s face lit up at the compliment as they continued up the dirt path. “Well, perhaps when he finally swallows the anchor and retires from the sea I’ll have another chance to command my own vessel. Or if Father’s stashed hoard is still where he left it, with my share of the loot I’ll be able to buy myself the grandest ship ever built. Or perhaps purchase my own island.”

  “He has a hoard?”

  “Aye, he’s talked of it the whole time I’ve sailed with him. He was a crewman on a sloop that took a Spanish merchant vessel one clear morn and lost nearly all of its crew in the process. This resulted in a great many spoils and very few people to split them amongst.”

  “Typically not what would be considered a hardship.”

  “He loved the sea so much that instead of quietly retiring with his wealth, he took enough of the booty to buy Original Sin and stashed the rest somewhere in the Caribbean.”

  “Where?”

  “He’s never told me—or anyone, for that matter. He’s not what you would call a trusting soul.”

  Celia chuckled. “After getting to know what buccaneers are like, I can’t say as I blame him.”

  “Verily.”

  They marched on silently for a spell.

  “So,” Celia said, “I suppose someone here in Saint-Domingue could take another message back to my father, don’t you think?”

  Gayle looked quite pleased. “I have no doubt.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Nearly four weeks after his daughter’s abduction, Andrew Pierce was becoming increasingly agitated and found it difficult to sleep at night. His wife Lucita had tried to help him relax—to convince him that their daughter’s letter was a sign that she would be back soon, as healthy as she was when they last saw her.

  He was filled with a profound growing doubt, however. The more the days wore on without any further contact from Celia, the more anxious he became.

  When the scrawny seaman entered the tailor shop late in the day on that humid June afternoon, Andrew dared to hope that he might carry another missive penned by Celia.

  “Can I help ye?” he asked expectantly.

  “I have a letter for the tailor.” He offered him the parchment in his hand.

  Andrew eagerly snatched the dispatch and examined the seal on the back. It was the same dragonfly symbol that had been pressed into the last one. He quickly tore the parchment open and began to read.

  Father,

  I wish so much that I could talk to you and Mother about the amazing things I’ve seen in the last few weeks. I’ve witnessed deadly duels at sea, the despicable misery of the slave trade, and a perilous hurricane. Never have I dreamt that such vim and excitement existed. Before now I lived my life passively—allowing things to simply happen to me. Now, I am in the thick of it, and everything that has preceded this venture pales in comparison. In a few days we leave Saint-Domingue and set sail for New Providence. I’ll write you again at the next chance I get.

  My deepest love to you and Mother,

  Celia

  This time, secured to the bottom of the letter, were five gold doubloons. He pried one off and held it out to the courier.

  “Is this what you were promised, lad?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then you’ll have it, but I need to know a few things first.”

  The young sailor glared. “What things?”

  “Who engaged you to deliver this?”

  “A lady. A right pretty one at that.”

  Andrew narrowed his eyes. “What did she look like?”

  “She had dark hair. And eyes blue—like the ocean.”

  “Was she with anyone?”

  “Aye, with the cap’n of Original Sin.”

  “Original Sin?” He scrutinized the floor as he processed this information.

  “Aye, quite a trim and proper square rigger, one of the nicest I’ve seen. It looks to have a crew made up largely of liberated slaves.” He paused and laughed to himself. “A rather varied crew, you might say.”

  “And this dark-haired lady, did she seem well? Happy?” he asked, thinking only of his daughter.

  “Aye, most happy, and right chummy with her cap’n, if you ask me.”

  Andrew was appalled. “Chummy?”

  The seaman snorted in crude amusement. “I’d wager her depths have been plumbed, if ye get my meanin’.”

  Andrew grabbed the lad by his shirt and pulled him sinisterly close. “That lass is my daughter, you black-mouthed galoot.”

  The messenger’s face registered instant remorse and a fair amount of fear. “Apologies, sir. I only meant that…” He clearly fumbled for a lie. “Her beauty goes deeper than her looks.” He seemed somewhat satisfied with himself for being able to come up with anything at all.

  Andrew glared at him angrily, unsure whether to indulge his powerful desire to disembowel this man. He took the doubloon in his hand and pressed it into the sailor’s forehead firmly with his thumb. After several seconds, he let go and the coin stayed affixed there. “Take your bloody wage and get out of my sight. If I see you again, I’ll spill your guts onto the ground.”

  The cowering seaman grabbed the gold from his forehead, leaving its impression embedded lightly into his skin, then darted out the door into the street, where he quickly disappeared from view.

  Andrew stood motionless for a moment in the middle of his shop. “I’ll not bloody have it.”

  *

  Phillip Farquar stared at himself in the mirror before him. He combed his unruly eyebrows with his pinky finger and sighed, rather pleased with his results. How dashing he was.

  True, his betrothed had more than likely been raped and cannibalized by murderous pirates, and he was terribly saddened that he would never be able to press his face between her melon-like breasts and thrum his lips together happily—such a waste of a wonderful figure. He sighed again.

  Well, he would have to secure himself a new fiancée at the supper party hosted by the Ramírez family. He glanced at his black attire again and turned to the side to asse
ss the exact slope of his posterior. What a shame that decorum prevented him from wearing anything bolder than this dreary color. Only by feigning that he was in mourning could he attend functions at all, though, fortunately for him, Celia had not yet become his wife, or he would have to perpetuate this charade even longer. He would simply have to make the best of it.

  With any luck, the butcher’s daughter would be there—a lovely little dark-skinned slice of pulchritude ripe for the picking. He imagined mounting her and closed his eyes to enjoy the fantasy.

  A loud knock on the door jarred him from the butcher’s daughter and her plump thighs. “Bloody consumptive quibblers.” He stalked to the front door and opened it. “Pierce!”

  Andrew Pierce eyed the fop angrily. “Going somewhere, Doctor?”

  Phillip’s eyes shifted nervously to the right, but he said nothing.

  “Out to meet women, perhaps?” Andrew said darkly as he stepped over the threshold, shoving Phillip backward. “Has your fiancée’s abduction already slipped your mind?”

  “Of course not, sir,” he stammered. “But I feel the need to be in the company of others, to console my broken spirit.”

  “Well, let us see what else of yours may be broken before the sun has set this evening.”

  Phillip blanched. “Are you mad, sir?”

  “Not mad. Determined. You bloody well gave my daughter to the pirates, didn’t you?”

  “What? How can you accuse me of such a deed?” Phillip blustered.

  “She has been corresponding with me, you great, addled blackguard.”

  “She’s alive?” The instant he uttered the words he regretted them and contorted his face, biting his lower lip.

  “I knew you had figured her for dead.” Andrew drew a dagger that had been sheathed and cached in the small of his back. “You knew those ruddy pirates had only come for medical help, and you let them take her instead of yourself, didn’t you?”

  Phillip began to panic. Andrew appeared crazed and was brandishing a weapon that he clearly looked as though he meant to use. He was definitely going to have to get better locks for his front door. “I meant to save her,” he shouted, lifting his hands protectively in front of his chest, palms exposed. “But they…they were so fast.”