“My dear Lor… Mister Williams,” the priest said with a quick glance at Theodore. “I hear, and see, you are wounded. After this joyous event, shall we tend to your relationship with your Father?”
I almost told him I was far too injured to attempt such a thing, and then I realized he meant the Christian God; and then I remembered much of the conversation we had engaged in with the Marquis. It was all I could do not to roll my eyes and sigh.
“I feel I will survive this wound,” I assured him. “I do not feel I need make peace with God now, thank you.”
This seemed to disappoint him, but I ignored him as Gaston helped me to a chair. Then my matelot went to stand beside his bride, and the priest thankfully made short work of the ceremony.
“So, even though this did not occur in an English church, this will be considered legal in English law?” the Marquis asked in French with Dupree translating.
“Aye,” the priest said happily with a nod to Theodore. “I will record this marriage in the rolls and all will be as it should be.”
I was beginning to wonder how much of a donation we had made to the church.
“Well, I would see you married again in a Catholic church someday,” the Marquis said to Gaston as if he still questioned the legality. Thankfully Dupree did not translate this last for the others.
My matelot shrugged and awarded his father a patient, “We will do so when we are in France; this is the best we can manage here.”
“I know, and I am well pleased with what has been accomplished,” his father said quickly. “Thank you.”
Gaston took a deep breath, but held back whatever he would have said after glancing about the room. He nodded curtly. “Now we must return Will to bed,” he told his father.
We thanked the priest, and Theodore escorted him out.
My matelot turned to Agnes and embraced her to whisper something in her ear and she nodded solemnly in response. Then he came to me and helped me rise and walk to the door.
“If Theodore returns here,” I told Striker as we left the room, “Tell him we will visit his house on the way to the ship.”
“Good,” Striker said. “I’d like to be gone in an hour or so.”
I was pleased to hear it, though it left little time to settle our affairs. The thought of escaping this cursed place once again began to fill me with drug-muted excitement.
“I have told Agnes to give us some time to pack, and then we will meet with her to discuss how she will manage in our absence,” Gaston whispered to me as we climbed the stairs.
His voice was taut, and I held him tightly more to reassure him than support myself as we reached our room. At last we were safely alone and the door closed behind us. Gaston got me to the bed and dropped to his knees to wrap his arms around my waist and sob in my lap.
“We will be fine,” I murmured. “All will be well. We are not going to France… soon.”
“I married someone other than you,” he growled with the Horse’s voice.
“And what does that mean?” I asked lightly as I tried to recall how I had felt when I married. I succeeded and sighed. “It means nothing. It is just a legality needed so that your children will be legitimate.”
He sat back to regard me fiercely. “And what does that mean? If I get children on a woman, then they are mine if I say they are!”
I smiled. “You know I agree with you. And I love you for thinking as you do. But at this moment, I cannot discuss it. Now help me dress like a proper buccaneer, and let us escape these matters of civilization.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but then the fight left him in a prolonged sigh and he let his head fall on my knees.
“I love you,” he whispered.
We set our gentlemanly attire aside with relief and donned our buccaneer garb and weapons – to the best of my ability, with the rest readied upon the bed for him to carry. Gaston finished packing what little we would take, and stowed all else in the trunks that had been delivered to the room while I slept. Agnes arrived, and we gave her the fortune lining the bottom of the medicine chest in a bag and bade her find a place to hide it. Then Gaston spoke at great length about the dogs being gelded and all manner of things she should see to in our absence. Like the good girl she was, she took notes.
Then, with Agnes hauling part of our gear so Gaston could handle the medicine chest, we went to the stable and sat with Bella and the puppies for a time. When we returned, they would be dogs and would not remember us. We wished to capture as much of their peace and innocence as we could. Sadly, some things are very difficult to recall with the piercing poignancy that makes the memory truly worth keeping; I feel the grace granted by the puppies was one of those elusive wonders, and I mourned leaving them and it from behind a curtain of laudanum.
Striker found us, and we reluctantly gathered ourselves to say our goodbyes to the household. Gaston spoke to Liam at length, away from the others, and I made my way to the place where Striker and Pete were standing with Sarah. My sister handed Pete the baby and came to embrace me.
“So does my nephew have a name?” I asked.
“Aye, we had him baptized yesterday,” she said proudly. “Peter James Striker.” She grinned at her men before turning to me to whisper earnestly, “Take care of them for me.”
I smiled with the incongruity of it, as I gazed upon the robust men of whom she spoke whilst I leaned on her for support; but I understood.
“I will do all I can to keep them from harm.” I looked down at her and thought of other dangers. “You… If they should come for you…”
Her gaze hardened and her chin rose.
“Damn it, Sarah, go!” I hissed. “Give the baby to another and have them run, but you should go. Agree to whatever you must; do what you must to live; and we will come for you.”
Her breath caught, and she looked away. “I pray it will not come to that.”
“As do I,” I whispered, and held her tighter.
I looked beyond her and saw Pete and Striker regarding me with stern faces, and I realized they had heard my words. I shook my head forlornly. Striker sighed.
Pete, quite teary-eyed, returned the child to Sarah’s arms when I released her. “DoWhatWillSays. HeBeRight.”
She met his gaze firmly. “They will not arrive before you return.”
The Golden One’s eyes narrowed with speculation and doubt, but he nodded and embraced her.
I was moved to touch the little foot protruding from the blanket between them. The winds were a distant thing in my head under the aegis of the drug: more like breezes swirling thoughts about just beyond my grasp; but though my thoughts were wind-swept and elusive, my visions were very clear. I imagined vivid scenes from tales of old, both biblical and mythical, of the carnage and fear-born wrath of kings threatened by prophecies of firstborn sons. I thanked the Gods Jamaica was not a boy, or even mine, and then I told Them that I wanted my little nephew to live very much; even if that required my sister putting him to sea in a basket.
Gaston came to fetch me, and leaving teary women and stalwart men in our wake, we gathered our things and made our way to the Theodores’. Striker, Pete and the others who would sail marched on to the Hole, but Liam, Davey, and Julio stayed with us. Gaston, the Marquis, Dupree, and I went inside. I heard Gaston speaking with Theodore, confirming the arrangements all had been making as I lay about wounded and drugged, concerning Liam and the others and things that must be done. I ignored them and went to the back room to find Vivian and Jamaica.
I knelt beside my wife where she nursed our baby. I had planned to tell her what I had told my sister; but I realized it would only make her distraught and she did not need to hear it. She knew to run, and it was very likely she placed Jamaica before all else. Not that my sister did not; but Sarah knew of the dangers as a thing of speculation and distant concern, and had only once had violence threatened against her person. And she had managed that well enough. Vivian had known fear; she would not be brave.
Vivian reg
arded me with startled and concerned eyes, and I knew I must look quite the sight.
I smiled weakly. “I will heal.”
I could see the side of the baby’s face pressed against her mother’s teat as she nursed. The little mouth stopped its rhythmic sucking, and Vivian jiggled her to get her started again.
“She does that,” Vivian sighed. “It is like she forgets what she is doing.”
I thought of how healthy and strong my little nephew appeared in comparison, and Gaston’s sentiment about Jamaica returning to Heaven if the worst should occur. I knew she might die while we roved, even if nothing untoward befell the rest of them.
I glanced away, and found Vivian watching me with concern.
“What?” she breathed.
I sighed and gave her a rueful smile. “There was a time when I wished you dead, but now… I would not have anything bad happen to either of you. Be careful, and take care of her. You are a good mother.”
Her hedgehog bristles had risen in her eyes for a moment as I spoke, but when I finished, she smiled sadly. “You know, marrying you is the best thing that has happened to me.”
I shook my head. “Well, then, my dear, let us hope the rest of your life is better.”
She smirked.
Gaston had joined us. He regarded me with concern. I shook my head and moved aside so he could gaze upon the baby. Vivian jiggled the child and pulled her from her breast to hand her to my matelot. Little Jamaica proceeded to drool the contents of her mouth upon him. He smiled and wiped it away with the corner of her blanket.
I pushed myself up and brushed a kiss on Vivian’s forehead, before leaving them to dote on the child. I wandered out the back door and down the steps to the cistern, and there I sat and stared up at the hazy and cloud-filled sky. It would be beautiful shortly, as the evening was already awash with golden light, and soon the clouds would glow with color. I was overwhelmed by the sense of impending beauty, such that the winds receded well beyond even where the drug could dull and shelter me from them. And I was minded of a night that seemed an eternity ago, when I had stood on a bridge watching a river lit by a sinking sun. It had been a portent that had led me west – after a fashion – to all I now found good in the world.
I smiled warmly at Gaston when he at last emerged with swollen eyes to lead me away.
“How are we?” he asked as he took my hand.
“No longer worried,” I sighed. “We are loved.”
He smiled and kissed me lightly, and we went around the house to meet his father, Dupree, Liam, Davey, and Julio, and make our way to the Chocolata Hole, our ship, and escape to level road. When we at last stood before a canoe with our things loaded aboard it, I embraced Liam in parting and exchanged the usual pleasantries of such an occasion with good cheer. Gaston said goodbye to his father; and an observer might have thought one or the other of them were going to the gallows, for the sobbing that occurred there. At last I held the Marquis with great regard, and we said those things that are meaningless in light of all that had been said before. Then we were rowing away and at last being greeted heartily by those aboard the Virgin Queen. I felt free, yet still in the grips of destiny, as we waved goodbye to those left standing on the shore. We would see them all again, and any fear of a different outcome was wasted effort and showed a lack of faith in the Gods.
Seventy-Six
Wherein We Regard Ambition
Despite the sense of peace in which I found myself enveloped, I was dismayed anew by the size of the Virgin Queen’s cabin. Truly, I had remembered how very small it was, but as impossible as it is to capture a thing of wonder such as the innocence and peace of puppies and hold it in your heart as a balm against misfortune, it is equally difficult to recall things which you do not wish to remember in excruciating detail, such as the precise feel of the pain of being shot, or the size of a ship’s cabin. The room was smaller than the stall we had slept in these past weeks: and it was filled with four hammocks. Ours was situated where our table had been on the last voyage. The Bard and Dickey still slept above us, with Cudro and Ash next to us, and Pete and Striker above them. Thankfully, all the pieces of netting were now well anchored at four points, so we had sagging beds and not swaying bags; but conversely, this meant there was room for nearly nothing else in the small space.
Gaston stooped to raise our hammock with his shoulder, and slid the medicine chest beneath it next to the bulkhead. The netting rested upon the box, as our bed was suspended so close to the floor I felt our arses would rest upon the planks when we were both in it. After a quick inspection and some cursing, my matelot determined we could not raise the anchor points without a great deal of effort, and the ropes were already quite short. So it appeared we would spend the voyage with our feet resting upon the medicine chest. I supposed it was better that than our heads.
He stowed the rest of our gear near the windows, and bade me lie in the hammock. I did so gingerly. Then he joined me, and not only did our arses indeed touch the floor, the sagging brought us together – a thing I usually took much comfort in – and put a great deal of strain upon my shoulder and the wound.
My matelot quickly clambered from the hammock and helped me out of it. Then he cut the ropes holding it to the wall. He guided me to sit upon the medicine chest, and I leaned against the wall tiredly and searched his face for signs of the Horse or fury and found only resignation.
“The shops will be closed,” he said thoughtfully. “I cannot see how I can purchase a mattress before we sail. We will need to redo the bolts and rings, and you should probably sleep alone for now.”
“Non,” I said. “Go and steal one. Or borrow. Theodore or Sarah can buy another on the morrow.”
He smiled. “True. Let me find someone to help carry one. Will you be well here?”
I sighed and smiled. “I will be fine anywhere in my current condition.”
My matelot sighed. “I do not know if I should give you more or less.”
This set me to laughing; and though he sighed with annoyance, he at last smiled.
Striker and Pete joined us.
“We need a bigger ship,” Striker said, and I saw my dismay at our accommodations written on his face.
I chuckled. “And we wished to return to sea…”
“There will come a day when I will not,” Striker said with a tired sigh.
Pete’s lips quirked in a wry smile, and I thought he would speak; but then he looked about the little room and sighed as well.
“Will you help me carry a mattress from Theodore’s?” Gaston asked Pete. “Will cannot lie in a hammock.”
Striker snorted as he looked to the netting on the floor. “I told them that one was hung too low; but there was only one man in it.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Your Spanish friend,” Striker said.
I snorted. “All the more reason, then… Why was he in the cabin?”
“Cudro said the men didn’t trust him at first.” Striker shrugged.
I could well imagine that, and I sighed. I would not have wanted to be Alonso: sailing with men as bigoted as the buccaneers could be towards all things Spanish.
Gaston kissed my cheek and led Pete out onto the crowded deck, to go in search of a mattress.
“How is he, truly?” Striker asked.
“Who?” I asked, wondering if he still spoke of Alonso.
Striker grinned. “How drugged are you?”
“I feel no pain,” I said slowly. “In truth, I feel little but peace and faith.”
He laughed. “Your matelot: how is he?”
“As he appears,” I sighed, not wishing to discuss the matter.
“He does appear sane enough,” Striker sighed and smiled. “You, on the other hand.”
I laughed, and it hurt, which only made me laugh more. “Aye, me, I am the one to question the sanity of.”
He grinned, and then frowned with amused thought. “You do seem to cause all the trouble.”
His words seemed to s
ober him, and he busied himself stowing their gear and muskets.
“I am sorry,” I said. “I do not wish to leave them, either, but if we stay it may well be worse in the end.”
Striker shook his head. “That is not… I married her.” He stopped and turned to face me. “And I would not take that back for all the gold in Spain. It just…” He shook his head angrily. “It’s like God is making a mockery of me. I resolve I cannot have everything I want – both Pete and Sarah – and then I can. And now, I want to be both a captain and her husband, and it seems I cannot have both those things, yet… I…” His frown deepened and he rubbed absently at a smudge on a wine skin he was stowing. “I hold out hope that I can. And because of that…” He looked up at me again. “I don’t want to resolve to have only one or the other just yet. I’m truly hoping something will happen soon that will… So that I don’t have to step down or hide.”
I nodded with understanding. I had known how the idea of it would trouble him the moment it was conceived.
“Perhaps some strange event will occur that will make that possible,” I said kindly.
“If I were a God-fearing man, I’d pray,” he sighed.
I smiled. “Sometimes it is sufficient to tell Th... Him, what you wish – without fear or even a bended knee. And, if you do not, how will He know?”
Striker grinned. “I’ll do that, then.”
Cudro entered. “A word, if you will,” he told Striker.
They began to walk out, and I asked, “Cudro, might I lie on your hammock for a time?”
He studied me for a moment, and then the remains of our hammock. “I wondered where they went off to in such a hurry. Oui, lie down, before you fall over, you damn fool.”
Treasure Page 60
