Ideas of Sin

by Cooper, R.

  Chapter One

  “S

  hip ho!” James snapped his head up from the smooth pages of the small book in his lap as the excited cry flew down from somewhere high above. Glancing toward the source of the sound, he saw a raggedly-clothed sailor of about his age sliding easily down the many ropes that dropped from the tall masts until the man suddenly jumped free of the twisted

  hemp and fell the last few feet to the deck. James went tense as the man seemed to be risking his life for a matter of yards, but the man landed about the same time that someone else let out a similar call, gesturing to one side of the ship.

  For a moment, almost distractedly, James admired the graceful way the half-naked sailors moved as they appeared from varied places about the ship and ran over to the port side. He still had not mastered their way of walking, not after this month and six days at sea on his voyage to the New World, but then he had never been one noted for his pose and ease of manner. The only thing he was truly noted for, his learning, held little interest for him as the news of another ship approaching them fully entered his mind.

  Some of the other men’s excitement caught him, and he craned his head for a better view, searching thoroughly for some sign through the gathering mass of bodies on the other side of the ship. But there was only the green sea, and he sighed heavily.

  It was the same empty, stretching mossy-hued sea he had been seeing for almost as many days back as he could count, taking him farther and farther away from home and nearer and nearer to Jamaica and his future. It had been a most uneventful voyage since they had left the isles off Portugal, scarcely even a squall to mar the journey. Providence had smiled upon the ship, that was certain, but James could not help but feel his heart pound with eagerness at the thought of the distraction the other ship offered.

  He had taken his coat and collar off in the heat, and quickly slipped both back on so as not to risk being seen in his state ofdishabille. He tied his wide collar at the back of his neck so that it fell over his coat, then glanced about and observed a few more of the crew. They were straining to look in the ship’s direction but were being ordered to remain at their work by the two officers standing at the stern. The good mariners seemed to resent it, scowling most fiercely, but did not disobey, and James flinched away from the thought of the marks on their back the officers had probably given them before, the real reason for their compliance.

  “Necessary,” Lord Cavendish had told him after seeing James’ stare as they had watched a mariner being flogged some weeks ago. The older man had given him a knowing, scornful look as he had said it, as if aware the James did not approve of the punishment, and as if he condemned his weak stomach as something below his station. James had had to fight the urge to answer; his stomach turning as much as it had the time his friends had taken him to watch the bear-bait.

  It was not the blood that had sickened him though Peter and Jack had teased him relentlessly that he was like a young maid. The blood had been plentiful enough, that was certain, but it was looking out into the screaming mob around the pit that had given him the desire to purge himself. But after the Fire, perhaps their exuberance was well deserved; at least that was what he told himself.

  Smiling a little at the sailors now to let them know that he would go look and tell them what he had seen, James carefully pressed the ribbon between the halves of the slim volume and pocketed it in the folds of his coat before pushing himself against the barrel of ale he had been using to prop himself up. Then he raised himself to his feet and crossed slowly across the deck to the other side, taking care to keep his stride slow on the softly rolling deck.

  A speck of darkness appeared on the horizon as he approached and James quickly yanked off his spectacles, wiping them on the upper part of his sleeve before replacing them and squinting through the smeared glass. A ship, he repeated silently in amazement, and then turned back to the sailors behind him, nodding in confirmation before he could forget. Neither man smiled, or indeed even looked at him, only continuing to stare at the view beyond his head, something about their manner almost fearful.

  Spinning back around, James peered easily over the heads of most of men gathered near him and looked again at the ship in the distance. The men were nearly silent, only the occasional expression of interest or doubt from someone just walking up. Then the call came again, from someone else up on the masts, or perhaps from somewhere else entirely; the sea sometimes played tricks upon a man, sending sounds and echoes from all directions.

  “Ship, sir! Port side!” A booming shout answered it, making the men around James back up slowly, though all kept their eyes on the other vessel. He was the only one to tear his eyes away and watch as the Captain emerged from his cabin, fastening the silver buttons on his frayed, stained pants as he marched up the stairs to look out over the water with his spyglass.

  “What colours does she fly?” Captain Carter shouted so impatiently that from where he stood, James could see the man’s spittle fly overboard. The air around James seemed to thicken at the question, and he frowned worriedly.

  “English, sir! Royal colours!” The answer made James smile in sudden relief, until he noticed that the tension in the broad, strong shoulders around him did not ease.

  “Dinnae mean much at all,” a thin voice chimed in behind him and James turned to see his young friend Ben staring up at him seriously. The cabin boy had yet to grow hair on his face, but looked man enough now when he turned from James to stare out into the water just as the Captain had done, his brown eyes distant. He was absently holding his patched trousers up with one hand and chewed on his full bottom lip before he spoke again. “Anyone can change a flag, Master James,” he explained slowly, as if James were lacking a brain, and James felt himself flush slightly in response, as he had at his first meeting with his employer. Then his frown returned and he too turned to study the sea.

  Pirates, James realized finally, his heart suddenly beating like ten drums in his chest. The robbers of the West Indies were said to have no mercy on ships that resisted. He recalled the stories he had heard in precise detail and then raised his head as the Captain began shouting out orders. The stillness that had gripped the men before abruptly shattered, and they rushed about their tasks or ran below deck, hushed voices discussing the thousand possibilities.

  The few officers followed them, ordering them to be ready and making sure the men kept their voices low. James still heard their words however, blinking dryly as they penetrated his mind.

  If they acted peaceably, the pirates might let them go, unharmed but without their cargo. If they fought…there James faltered, flinging himself away from the water to study the officers, and the elegant swords hanging from their belts. For a moment he wished he had one, though he did not know how to use the thing should the need arise.

  The other ship was approaching fast; he could hear the crewmen marking its swiftness with admiration in their voices that the barked commands from the officers did little to stop. If they fought, his mind circled back to that thought, if they fought, the pirates would most likely kill the lot of them, perhaps torturing them first, or leave them in a ruined ship, drifting aimlessly until they all died anyway. That was what the stories said, he had heard sailors tell the tale often enough back in his father’s favorite alehouse. They were cruel and merciless in their search for gold, and were deaf to any cries for pity.

  Other passengers were racing up onto the deck for a look now; James tensely swung around at the sound of their shouts and then straightened automatically when Lord Cavendish appeared. His employer was red in the face and panting for air but only spared James a glance before marching up to the Captain on the quarterdeck to yell. Too far away to hear what was being said, James just stood there, still unable to move. He half e
xpected someone to give him an order as well but he was ignored for the most part. Just a passenger, and a lowly clerk at that, whatever his position’s title. No good for battle.

  Inevitably, he had to look back at the ship. He could see the flag now, the faded red and yellow seemed brilliant next to dull white sails, and he studied it with a strange fascination. It was odd to see the colours of their beloved England instill such fear. Friend and foe looking the same until actions alone showed their true mettle.

  “They would kill us all for…” James whispered to himself slowly, but could not finish. Theirs was not even a treasure ship, but rather a diplomatic one. Taking the new secretary governor to Jamaica, as well as all in his employ, and then several indentured servants and brave settlers wishing to begin a new life in the colony. Only on its return would it hold anything of value. Surely they would not…

  “Greedy dogs!” A man huffed loudly behind him, and James turned to stare into the furious face of Lord Cavendish. “My lord?” he questioned without thinking and then realized that the other man must have heard him talking to himself. Lord Cavendish snapped his thick eyebrows together in a frown and James recalled the man’s lectures on maintaining the appearance of a gentleman when in the company of his inferiors. Even now, his employer was wearing one of his best Persian brocade coats and had his hair tied back from his face. He had not found time to put on his large, flowing wig, but still glared at James until James recalled that he had not buttoned his coat or kept his collar straight. His feet were bare as well, and he flushed with embarrassment though he could not do anything about it now.

  It had been bloody hot, even on deck with the breeze hitting him, and none of the sailors had minded his undress. Oftentimes they worked without shirts, and no one, not even the officers, commented. A spark of anger made him frown at that, at being reprimanded for this, now, when it did not matter to anyone. But Lord Cavendish did not comment on that, only scowled behind him at the water. He pulled a square piece of cloth from his pocket and wiped his scarlet, sweating face as he did.

  “Greedy dogs,” he said again and then made a sound in his throat and spit onto the deck. “Pirates are whoreson thieves, boy, stealing for no other reason than greed.”

  James nodded, knowing that he was expected to and watched as the other man raised one hand absently and stroked the gold lining of his crimson coloured coat.

  “We’ll not let them have us, our honour won’t allow it,” he went on tightly and James jumped in place, a jagged bolt of alarm running through him.

  “My lord?” he asked blankly and saw the outlines of the crew dashing about behind him. They would die if they resisted, protecting nothing. He saw no honour in that. A low boom somewhere far away seemed to echo inside him at the thought. Lord Cavendish must have seen his shock, because he scowled and lifted his chin.

  “A man, a gentleman, does not allow himself to be taken, James, whatever the cost.” He looked almost pitying, as if James were a low class fool and a blockhead for not knowing this and James could not stop his mouth from opening, needing to argue that. The lord only stepped away, gesturing for James to follow him.

  Still furious, but remembering his position, James took one step after him and then ducked without thinking when something whistled sharply through the air over his head. A moment later he was tossed to the ground as a something landed on the deck, tearing through the boards and shooting spikes of wood in all directions.

  A ringing filled his ears and James shook himself absently before lifting his head. He was facedown on the deck, he realized distantly, and looked up with a frown. In front of his eyes was a gray haze. Smoke. That thought came slowly, though the horrid smell, now mixed with brimstone, was only too well known to him. He sucked in a breath and then choked when the acrid fumes burned his nose and mouth. His eyes dried too. He closed them before shuffling blindly backwards.

  Once on his feet, he blinked several times and then opened his eyes wide. He saw only figures running, the smoke seemed to shade them, keeping them darkened and he tossed his head impatiently.What in God’s name, he asked himself and then jumped again as another explosion nearly knocked him from his feet. Reaching out, his hands found what felt like the railing, and he clung to it tightly.

  For a moment even the ringing left him and there was only silence and smoke. He put a hand to his stomach and tried to hide the fear that was making him ill. His body was shaking and the ship under him seemed to be moaning, shrieking silently. Reverberations filled his chest, tearing his body apart. His head was spinning, and he took his hand from his stomach to press against his forehead. Something thick and wet warmed his fingertips, but he paid it scant attention, straining to hear anything at all.

  He needed to hear or see something, anything, but the world remained blank and empty and he was a stranger in a desolate, undiscovered country; alone and lost without even the comfort of light. His heart seemed to seize as the panic overtook him and the hand on his head clenched uncontrollably, smearing the warm mess over his forehead. Feeling it there only made his fear greater and he dropped his shaking hand before opening his mouth and screaming, wanting to at least know that he was not dead with the sounds of his agony.

  Loud cries abruptly burst on him from all directions, men screaming for life as he was. He sagged against the rail in surprise, inhaling the clouded air as if it were a long forgotten countryside breeze, and then took one step forward before stopping, unable to focus enough to do even that. Smoke cleared, blown away, and colours and blurs appeared. Voices begged attention from all sides, some calling for help, others urging men to stand their ground. One rose above the others, quivering with open fear.

  “Pirates!”

  James turned toward the sound in time to see the black, round shape of a cannonball smash through the wall of the Captain’s cabin. The impact seemed to move the ship like a strong wave would have, and James lost his balance and fell back. His ankles hit something and he tumbled back onto the deck, on his arse this time. He barely felt the new pain, too intent on the smoking hole in the wooden wall so many yards away. For one moment, he could only wonder that his steps had placed him somewhere else, that Providence must have somehow saved him when he ought to have died.

  The pirates were firing upon them, James registered at last, and looked out in the direction of the water. Masts and sails were visible over the top of the rail, and he felt his heart seize in his chest to see them. The ship was impossibly close. Some sort of demon, he thought slowly, his thoughts seemingly as thick as mud. Nothing of this earth moved with such speed, this had to be the work of Lucifer himself.

  Heart racing, James moved back and then raised himself up, not daring to take his eyes off the other ship. This was not truly happening, he assured himself and then blinked at the sight of the flag flying boldly atop the ship’s bowsprit now. Instead of familiar and glorious red and yellow it was a plane of black, relieved only by the pointed head of a grinning devil, its eyes as red as fire. The malevolent face seemed to confirm his terrified thoughts and James felt his muscles clench so tightly that they began to shake and tremble as if with fever.

  His feet took him several steps back without his notice. Only the feel of a sturdy mast at his back made him stop and then he leaned into it, hoping its strength would somehow be shared with him. Keeping his arms low, he gripped the wood firmly so that he would not fall again and then made himself take a deep breath, ignoring how the lingering smoke still burned through his chest.

  Tearing his eyes away from the doom that surely awaited him and everyone else on board, James looked around. He took in the panicked state of the men quickly, seeing some running for weapons and others merely standing there and staring as he was doing, making him wonder for a moment if they were as frightened as he was, if such a thing were possible. He could not see any of the officers, nor the Captain though his loud voice was somewhere, echoing from the sea itself.

  Readying to fight, James thought the orders were, though
few of the men seemed to be responding. His belly turned sickeningly as his mind cleared at last and he imagined the disastrous consequences of the order to resist, especially if only a handful obeyed it.

  A man does not allow himself to be taken. James remembered his lordship’s words with a surge of anger. Not all aboard were men yet. Thinking of the child Ben, and the few men younger than himself who numbered among the passengers, James’ anger grew. Spinning around to look in the other direction and squinting through the haze, he could just make out a retreating figure in red, and then swung around the mast to better see the rest of the deck. Most of the wood was in pieces, scattered around the gaping craters the cannonballs had left. Some men were down, sprawled out limply in awkward positions at each scene of destruction. James had only a heartbeat to guess at whether they were dead or merely battered before he saw Ben and jumped forward. The cabin boy was crouched against one of the fallen men, scratching at the man’s waist with his hands and it was only when James was a footstep away that he could see clearly that the boy was tugging at the belt there.

  It was an officer, Lieutenant Berry, James thought though he could not be certain without turning the man over. There was a large, spreading pool of dark red under his head, as if he had struck his skull on something when the blast had flung him to the ground. James knew little of physick, but he could see that, added to the man’s motionless body, it was likely that he had been killed.

  Ben looked up at him with eyes as round as barrel lids as he came closer, but James just frowned and looked up to the quarterdeck to where he could actually see Captain Carter now, blustering at something and waving his sword in the air. James’ stomach churned to see that, but he followed the Captain’s gaze and twisted his neck around sharply.

  The loud smack of wood onto wood sounded over the din as narrow planks suddenly appeared at the low gaps in the railing, and James went still, watching in disbelief as a man appeared at the top of one of them. The billowing sails of the ship at his back seemed to mark him, a black outline on white, the reverse of that dreadful flag. He was slender, more so with the gray smoke dimming his figure to barely a shadow, but the sight of him nearly caused James to loose his bowels with fright.