It would not last of course. Eden was already messing his breeches with fear. All it needed was an arrogant sod like Alexander Spotswood to insist North Carolina do something about the problem of piracy and this lucrative little caper would come to an abrupt end. Teach did not want that end to be a sudden stop by a length of rope. And to avoid the hangman he needed to use his wit and cunning – and a fast, quality ship. A ship like the Sea Witch would do very nicely. Tempted, he narrowed his eyes, pondering, considering. Planning. It would not be easy taking the Sea Witch, but it would be a damned sight easier if she was at least nearby, and if Acorne was lured off-guard. Once the idea had settled into Teach’s mind that the Sea Witch could be his, he resolved to stop at nothing to get her.
Jesamiah had no doubt of what Teach was thinking; could see he was wavering. Was about to add another juicy carrot, when a girl, her hair festooned with ribbons, her gown of cream silk decorated with pink roses, pushed to Teach’s side.
“Edward, this is no good. No good at all.” Mrs Mary Teach stood beside the table, her hands on her hips. She noticed Jesamiah, had no idea who he was and was not best pleased at having yet another seafaring ruffian at her wedding.
“Sir,” she said disparagingly, “you have tar grimed all over you. Do you not know the purpose of soap?” She reached for her husband’s hand. “I have relatives wishing to speak with you, Edward, but you sit here talking to these knaves. It will not do.”
“Leav’n be, wummun. I bist busy.”
“No, I will not. My Uncle William wishes to inspect the catch I have landed.”
“Then thy uncle’ll be dis’pointed will’n he? Be gone with thee.” Mary flounced away. Jesamiah was inspecting his hand. There was a thick streak of ingrained tar across his knuckles, it would take him weeks to get it off, but he’d had to put it there to hide the tattoo of Tiola’s name from Teach.
Moving with exaggerated slowness, Jesamiah spat on the palm of his right hand and held it out. “I would not sail with anyone who did not know what he was doing. We are equals you an’ I. There ain’t no one to match us. No one.”
There were several other pirates he could think of who would dispute that, but Teach was vain and he would not disagree. He pushed his hand out further. “Do we ‘ave an accord, Cap’n Teach?”
Teach’s gaze did not waver from Jesamiah’s. He noted there had been no mention that twice now Acorne had proved himself to be the better man. Teach had lost the Queen Anne’s Revenge because of Acorne’s quick thinking and seaman’s skills, and he had nearly lost the Adventure for the same reason. As much as those facts annoyed him, Teach was astute enough to recognise Acorne’s ability. Maybe it would be a good idea to run together as a pack. Acorne could fit well into his plans, at least for a while. Until the opportunity to take the Sea Witch for his own arose. And he would ensure that it did. Add to that, this how-nowing to these prancing people here in Bath Town was beginning to get wearisome. His fourteenth wife, for all that she was young and pretty, was already proving to be one wife too many. Ah well, he could always do as he had before – take his pleasure then sail away, only to return when it suited him. The trick with wives was to keep them apart by several hundred miles of ocean. Love them, then leave them.
Acorne’s idea was a good one, but he was not going to make agreements too easily. He needed time to think it through. He ignored the outstretched hand. “I be enjoyin’ m’weddin’ feast. I’ll think on it.”
Retracting his hand, Jesamiah stood. “I have other business to attend. Sea Witch is moored down river. I sail tomorrow evening, take or leave my offer, Teach, I will not repeat it.” He finished his brandy and nodding a farewell, left.
Teach beckoned over his second in command, Israel Hands. “Set some’un t’see where he doos go. Rufus’ll do a good job, he’s as slipp’ry as tha fox he be named fer.”
“To follow him?”
“Nay, there bain’t many places here. Gen’ral headin’ll do.”
Teach was curious. What else in Bath Town would attract a man like Jesamiah Acorne? It had to be a woman. A woman at the Governor’s house? Had to be.
Despite the scorn that Mary and her father were so keen to pour on him, Edward Teach was an educated, intelligent man. His West Country dialect was looked down upon by those in established society, but it was an old tongue, akin to the Saxon of Wessex and he saw no reason to change it just to suit their jumped-up snobbery. In Teach’s opinion those who went clackety-clack and gabbled two dozen words a minute had nothing of value to say. His style was to take it slow and to ponder, which frequently made people underestimate his mental ability, giving him a clear advantage. And a quiet chance to ponder riddles. Riddles such as what Acorne was up to.
He was swiving the newcomer at Archbell Point. The midwife. Had to be. Yass, and what vessel had she arrived on? The Fortune of Virginia. So there was the answer to another riddle. That was why Acorne had stopped the attack.
Teach sat through another dance, thinking and watching his wife making a fool of herself with a young fop who had teeth like a horse and a laugh like a jackass. There would have to be a few harsh lessons in decorum if he decided to keep her.
Did he want to sail in consort with Acorne? Not especially, but nor did he want to stay here mouldering with these poultry-headed mummers. Another month of this and Spotswood would have no need to worry, he would be driven mad enough to hang himself. There again, was Acorne telling the truth? He was right about Knight. A useless worm if ever there was one.
Teach’s thoughts returned to Sea Witch. Acorne had a good ship. She was fast – and seaworthy. He also had good taste. That little missy, the midwife, was a woman worth drubbing. There was something different about her. Something inexplicable that drew him like north draws the needle on the compass. Something she was hiding. He sat, stroking his beard. He would like to see that young woman again. He had unfinished business with her.
Israel Hands came back, bent low to talk quietly into Teach’s ear. Teach nodded. “Along tha river path thee say? Why fore’n he be goin’ there d’ thee s’pose?”
Mary was allowing the fop to twirl her around and around, her mouth open in laughter, her skirts flying out to reveal too much of her ankles and lower leg. Making a public slut of herself. Teach had had enough.
“Israel, tidden good t’ be blatherin’ roun’ here. Gather tha crew, I as reckon as we ought be makin’ us’n way down river. Time us had us own fun of a frawze to do, eh?”
Delighted Israel agreed. Land life was boring for a sailor, and all these self-important bags of wind made it doubly so. He trotted off to round up the men and make ready as Teach stepped out into the twirl of dancers, earning himself several annoyed rebukes when he trod on toes or used his elbow to force a way through. Reaching his wife he clamped his fingers around her wrist and glowered at the orchestra until they scraped to a ragged silence.
“Tha party be over. Fetch’n thy things, wummun. We’re goin’ aboard my ship an’ settin’ sail.”
She attempted to wrest her arm free; failed. “But we cannot. My guests – our room, it is all made ready.”
“Then it’ll need be made unready. Fetch’n thy things or come as thee be.”
“Look here, Teach, Edward, I do not think –”
Teach cut his father-in-law short. “That’ll be thy trouble, thee casn’t think.” He let go of Mary, turned to leave. “I’ll send some’un to escort thee aboard.”
“Where are you going?” she shrieked. “I demand to know.”
Teach stopped at the open doors and scratched at his backside. “If’n tha must be knowin’ m’business, I be ‘eadin’ fer a sits on the privy. What I doos after tha’ be me own conc’rn.”
Ten
On the Night of the Dead, he was aware of others crossing the frozen ice. Could sense their presence, hear their nervous laughter and anxious squeals as feet slid, or the ice shifted and creaked.
What fools they were! They were already dead, they could not die agai
n! Yet no soul knew what would happen if one fell beneath the ice, or should fail to cross back over as dawn first touched the eastern skies and the River turned again to flowing, deep, dark water. Be condemned to walk forever, lost between the two worlds, he assumed. For him though, he would not be returning. The Witch Woman was to use her Craft to help him stay among the living for a while. If something went wrong, well, it was a risk he was prepared to take. Nothing could be worse than the condemnation he was already enduring, and would continue to endure for all eternity unless he set things right and paid for his guilt.
She, the Witch Woman, had said she would help him, so why did he sit here and listen to all those unseen forms make their way with gleeful chatter to the hearth-fires of their loved ones for this one night? Why, why did he just sit here?
He looked again at the sodden paper in his hand. At the unbroken seal. Why had the boy not opened it? Not read it?
He had retrieved the letter and sat here, holding it, though night had fallen and it was time to go. Sat here, grieving.
Some of the words he had written were not too blurred and could still be read, but he had not the heart to look at them. He had tried to explain, had tried to tell his son that he had loved him in life – as he loved him now, in death. He had been a fool. Such a bloody fool.
“Captain? Captain Mereno? I cannot hold the energy I need to do this for long. You must come now or come not at all.”
The Witch Woman, Tiola. Jesamiah’s lady was a good woman and Charles had a moment’s doubt and guilt about deceiving her, for there was more to this than he had revealed.
He stood, dropped the letter. A wind flurried and blew it away as he set one foot upon the ice. He caught his breath as it crackled beneath his boot. He had scoffed at the others – he saw now why they had been so afraid!
He took one slow step, then another, and another. He had been told, when first he came to this place, that he had to pay a high price to relieve the burden of his guilt.
Where land becomes sea
And sea becomes land,
Where one is not the other
And all is not it seems;
Time stands and waits
For the life beat to cease.
He walked towards the Witch Woman, the midwife who brought life into the world, her arms outstretched towards him in welcome.
He hesitated. Did he want to do this? No, he did not, but he had to. To find peace, to rest, he had to pay penance.
He had to take the life of his son.
Eleven
It was cold beside the River, the touch of ice in the air turning Tiola’s breath to mist. Everything was white with hoar frost and glistened under the careful watch of every star that lit the Universe. In any other place it would have been beautiful, but not here by the boundary between Life and Death, where souls crossed from one world to another. Where, on the Other Side, those who could passed into the Eternity of Peace; the Elysium Fields, Valhalla, Heaven. It had many names, and as many appearances. What was happiness and contentment to one, could be hell and suffering to another. The exact state of peace, joy, happiness, was the choice of each individual soul. Unless that soul was unable to choose because regrets obstructed the acceptance of what was, and what had been.
Tiola was unsure that she was doing the right thing. The fact that she had the ability to do something did not make it acceptable. But Charles St Croix Mereno had asked for her help, and so in an oblique way, had Jesamiah. The both of them had an entwined past that needed laying to rest, and sometimes choices were not always easy or comfortable when balanced against conscience.
“You must come now,” she called, “while the energy does flow between this world and that, while the boundary is open and Life is Death and Death is Life.”
As he came nearer she could see him more clearly. He was much like Jesamiah, except Jesamiah’s black hair and dark eyes were from his mother. Charles had the same swagger, the same air of pretended confidence – a mask to hide the reality of stomach-twisting fear. She reached out her hand and took his. It was cold, ice cold. He stepped ashore, exhaled a breath that, unlike hers, did not puff a misted cloud. He was not a corpse; he was clothed, his flesh looked like flesh, his reddish hair was tied neatly at the nape of his neck with a ribbon. He looked human, looked alive, but he was not either and only those who had known him would be able to see him. And only if he wished it so.
“On this night alone,” Tiola said as she welcomed him to her side of the River, “I can work my Magick, for the opposition between the Light and the Dark becomes suspended. The balance is level and neither can influence the other. Nor can I be detected amongst the chatter of returning souls.”
“A temporary cessation of the battle?”
“If you like. For this one night, between the setting and the rising of the sun, Death, in whatever its chosen guise, and the Bone Mother and the Soul Hunter do not have claim over the dead. While the River runs still and turns to ice, there is a flux of motion between the plains of existence. That is why I can bring you here.”
They walked together a while, Charles wondering if he should tell her the full truth of why he had come, but about to speak, he stopped, pointed along the path. Someone was coming. A lantern, held high, was throwing a bobbing patch of light to the muddied ground, footsteps splashed in the puddles.
Tiola turned to Charles Mereno, but he had gone. She had played her part, now it was for him to sort his conscience and quieten his soul.
With a warm smile she waited to greet the man coming towards her. The one she loved. Jesamiah.
Twelve
“Tiola?” Jesamiah lifted the lantern higher, caught sight of his woman a few yards ahead. “What the fok are you doing in the dark by the river? What if you’d fallen, hurt yourself?”
“That is not likely, luvver, I can see perfectly where I set my feet.”
“Without a lantern?” He was standing before her now, perversely cross because he had been concerned and had no need to be. And because he had unjustly shouted at Joe Meadows a few moments ago for letting her come along here on her own. It had not helped that Meadows had shouted back, or that Jesamiah knew full well he had not been in the right.
“I need no lantern, Jesamiah. I appreciate your anxiety but it is unwarranted.”
“You were with someone. Who was it?”
“I have been about business this night.”
Belligerently he studied her face in the flickering, yellow light, remembered belatedly what night it was and what she had probably meant. He looked sharply around, could see no phantom ghosts prowling in the darkness.
Her witchcraft worried him, not because he was afraid of it, although there was an element of that this particular night. Ingrained superstition was hard to ignore. His fear was for her safety. Not long ago they hanged or burned witches; there was no guarantee that, were she to be identified, the noose or the flame would not suddenly be resurrected.
He lowered the lantern. “I yelled at Skylark for not accompanying you.”
“Then you had better apologise to him; I did not want to be accompanied. Only the dead could have walked with me to where I went.”
Again Jesamiah’s eyes flickered towards where he was certain a man had disappeared beneath the trees. If there had been someone he was no longer there. It did not occur to him to doubt her fidelity; her loyalty put his wanderings to shame. He puffed air through his cheeks, admitted the truth of his unease. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Teach has got me on edge, and I have missed you more than I can say.”
Tiola threaded her arm through his and continued down the path, heading for the Town. “It has been hard not sharing my thoughts with you these weeks. I am protected this night because there is a surfeit of Magick in the air, there are other spirits, there is much power, but once we have parted and the dawn comes, my protection will be gone and I will again not be able to speak with you in our private way. Not until the babe is safely born.” She reached up and cupped his cheek with her
palm. “But my silence will not be for long and I do so love you, Jesamiah.”
He set the lantern down, took both her hands in his. She was cold, as if she had been touching ice. The proposal coming out of nowhere; he suddenly asked, “Will you marry me, Tiola? Now. Here, tonight?”
She nodded. “Ais. I will.” She had been waiting a long while for him to say those words in a way that he meant them.
“I can get Governor Eden to officiate if I offer him a tempting payment. I…”
Reaching up she stopped his words by putting her finger on his lips. “No. There is an older, more binding way for us to follow.”
She took the lantern and set it in the centre of the path and moving her fingers above it released a gentle hie…asssh sound. And the lantern had gone. Only the stub of the candle and its flame remained: a blue flame that flickered and wavered in the wind, but never faded and would not be blown out by earthly means.
Tiola began to sing; words that had no meaning, a lilt that ached the heart for it was so full of love. And as she sang, the candle became two candles, and then three – and the three flames were green in colour, the hue flickering to brown and then purple as the three candles became a circle of six.
Her song changed in pitch, the unheard words in the rippling cadence transforming the six purple flames to a glowing red, and as they then turned to orange the six candles became nine and the orange flared brighter and brighter until the flames burnt with a fervent yellow heat. Tiola’s voice rose like the joyous song of the lark and lifted the candles until they danced in the air three feet from the ground in a perfect circle of bright white.
The Circle of Light, the Circle of Love.
She took Jesamiah’s hands so that their arms formed around the candles in another unbroken circle, and she walked with him, around and around and around three times, as the circle of candles turned, and the stars circled above. The circle set within the circle, within the circle. Unbroken. Unending. Forever.
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