“So the EITC wants exclusive rights to trade with these people, savvy?” Jack explained to his assembled men. “Everything was going along fine with the trade negotiations, until this Kermalan prince and his royal aunt, some kind of dowager princess, along with one of their guards, got snatched by slave hunters while they were on an expedition to buy cloth from another tribe. So the word went out to the top EITC officials to do anything in their power to gain the Kermalayan king’s good will.
“Lads, I’m proud to tell you that none other than our very own employer, Mr. Cutler Beckett, managed to track down, locate, and purchase the dowager princess and the guard, but the brother had already been put on a slave ship bound for the New World. So Mr. Beckett sent the princess and the guard along with us, so they can identify the young prince. My orders are to find and acquire this captured African prince.”
A low murmur of surprise followed Jack’s revelation. “I hardly need to tell you, mates, that this assignment is a feather in our caps. Mr. Beckett is counting on us! Returning their kidnapped royalty to the king of the Kermalayan tribe should pave the way for them to agree to exclusive trade with the EITC! If we succeed in our mission, it could mean a tidy bonus for every member of this crew.”
An excited murmur broke out on deck, along with a few muted cheers. “I know I can count on you all to do your duty, mates,” Jack finished. “Dismissed.”
Ayisha listened to the crew scatter, speculating excitedly about how they’d spend their extra money, and had to hand it to Jack—he’d spun exactly the right tale to ensure his crew’s cheerful cooperation; it was an inspired mix of truth and fantasy.
Only Jack, Robby, and Chamba knew that the story Jack had spun for his crew’s edification wasn’t true. After Jack’s talk with his men, Ayisha no longer saw anyone make the sign of the evil eye. The crew treated her politely, with respect, but no warmth. That was enough for the princess. She had Tarek to talk to, and, increasingly, Chamba. It wasn’t long before Ayisha regarded the young sailor as a friend.
To pass the time on the voyage, she asked Chamba to teach her to read English, and every day they practiced together for an hour. Ayisha made rapid progress. In a few weeks she was able to work her way through poems by John Donne, Walter Raleigh, and William Shakespeare. Reading matter aboard the Wicked Wench was limited, but Jack had a few books, Robby had a well-thumbed Bible, and, surprisingly, Frank Connery had a book of Shakespeare’s sonnets. Ayisha took delight in being able to read again, though many of the references required explanation.
Together, Ayisha and Tarek took advantage of their new sea legs to explore every nook and cranny of the Wicked Wench. In the beginning the princess was frightened of the guns, both large and small; the first time Jack had the crew drill with muskets and pistols, Tarek had to quickly escort her back to their “cabin,” because the sound of gunfire brought back vivid memories of the day the slave traders captured them. Chamba patiently reminded her that there were pirates on the high seas, and that the ship and crew had to be able to protect themselves. She remembered Jack telling her that the two rogue pirates, Borya and Christophe, were still capturing ships and giving no quarter. Firearms and cannons, it seemed, were necessary in this world. She forced herself to watch every small arms drill.
By the time Jack held the first drill with the big guns, Ayisha had managed to conquer her fear. She stuffed her ears with bits of fabric, and watched the gunners as they readied and fired the big twelve-pounders.
She was fascinated by the way the gun crews swabbed out the barrels of the cannons, loaded them with powder and shot, then touched off the powder holes with their slow matches. The sweating crews slaved over their cannons, competing to see which team could fire the fastest and come the closest to hitting the floating targets Jack had had the carpenters make for firing practice.
As the Wicked Wench sailed westward, Ayisha grew increasingly restive with her enforced idleness. She had no skills as a sailor, but she did have other skills, useful ones. Sailors were hard on their clothing, and, while some of them were good with a needle and thread, many others were not. She asked Chamba to pass the word that she would be willing to mend clothing if crewmen provided her with the thread. Hearing this, Chamba grinned broadly and promptly brought her a pair of loose sailor’s pants with a huge rip in the seat, and a shirt that most people would have torn into rags. He also provided a skein of thread.
Ayisha set to work and mended them so quickly and expertly that, seeing her handiwork, other crewmen passed along their clothing. When she’d first made the offer to do mending for the sailors, she’d done so out of a desire for useful work to occupy her hours, but her mending had an unforeseen, but positive, benefit. Over the next fortnight, she noticed a distinct change in the attitude of the crew—while walking the weather deck for exercise, most of the sailors she encountered nodded and smiled.
The Zerzuran woman often worked at her mending chores up on the weather deck, where the light was good. Her needle flashed through fabric smoothly, with the ease of long experience, and she stitched away, watching the crew as they made sail, spliced lines, or performed any of the dozens of tasks necessary to keep the Wicked Wench in good repair and seaworthy, ready for anything from foul weather to pirate attacks. Watching the men drill with cutlass, pistol, or musket was the most interesting activity. Jack and Robby held practice sessions almost every day.
Jack worked at honing his skills, too. He practiced swordplay with Robby, Lucius Featherstone, and Etienne de Ver. After Tarek expressed interest, Jack added the Zerzuran guard to his list of fencing opponents. The style of fighting taught to soldiers on Kerma featured very different techniques from the English, French, Italian, or Spanish “schools” that Jack had been exposed to in the past. Jack had the eunuch demonstrate his favorite moves, and began practicing with them, introducing them into his fencing repertoire.
Ayisha was puzzled as she watched Jack practice. In stark contrast to his usual blithe insouciance, Jack was honing his fencing skills unrelentingly, almost grimly. When he had no one to practice with, he drilled by himself, using assorted targets he set up, repeating each move until he could do it perfectly.
One day, when he finished a session, he half-collapsed onto the bottom step of the ladder leading up to the quarterdeck, puffing like an overridden horse. As his breathing eased, he sat there, staring gloomily at nothing, swigging thirstily from the canteen he’d brought with him. Concerned, Ayisha picked up her mending and made her way across the deck to sit down near him, tucking the skirts of her only dress neatly around her bare feet.
She pointed to the canteen. “I’m thirsty. Will you share?”
Jack came out of his brooding reverie with a start, as though he hadn’t seen her approach. “Sure, love,” he said, passing it over.
Ayisha took a gulp, finding that it was watered ale. “You have been practicing hard, Jack.”
He nodded.
“Do you practice like this with the sword during every voyage?”
Jack shrugged. “I try to keep in practice,” he said, “but no, I don’t practice every day.”
“Then why now? What is different?”
He gave her a somber glance. “Just restless, I suppose.” His mouth tightened. “I want to be ready…just in case.”
Picking up her mending, she set to work again, making small, even stitches with the ease of long practice. “Just in case? Jack, do you believe you will need to fight, in order to rescue my brother?”
“No,” he replied. “Whenever possible, I prefer not to use brute force, love. Trickery is smarter and works better.” He took another swig from the canteen. “Armed assaults tend to be messy, and are often ill-conceived and poorly executed.” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “All that blood and…stuff. Me, I’ll take intelligent cowardice over foolhardy bravery any day.”
“I agree,” Ayisha said, with a faint smile. “I suppose it’s most likely my brother will be working on some plantation. Do you have any ideas for ho
w to go about rescuing him? It cannot be easy for slaves to get away, or more of them would manage it.”
Jack shrugged. “Haven’t gotten that far yet, love. I’m still mulling it over. This is the kind of situation where you make it up as you go along.”
“I see.” She put the last stitch in place, knotted the thread, then bit it off neatly. “There,” she said.
He gave her a smile. “My crew looks nearly as shipshape as the Wench, since you’ve been fixing their clothes.”
She nodded. “And they smile at me and greet me pleasantly now. I’m nearly finished with the things they’ve given me. I work fast.” Reaching over, she poked a finger through a ragged tear in the loose sleeve of his shirt. “It’s time to start on your clothes, and Robby’s. Mr. Connery brought me his mending last week, so he is done.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Jack said. “Any sailor learns to mend his own clothes. Some of them get quite handy at it.”
“But you are not one of those types of sailors,” she pointed out. “I have seen examples of your mending skills.”
He chuckled. “‘A hit, a very palpable hit.’”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s a quote from a Shakespeare play called Hamlet, about a prince who can’t decide whether or not to avenge his father’s murder by killing his uncle, the king. The final act of the play is a fencing match, and, early on, Hamlet touches his opponent, Laertes.” He demonstrated the concept by holding up his hand and then poking himself in the palm lightly. “When you touch an opponent with the tip of your weapon, it’s called a ‘hit,’ savvy? It’s how they score matches.”
Ayisha puzzled over this. “If Hamlet was a prince, why did he not become king when his father died?”
Jack frowned thoughtfully. “It’s been a long time since I read it. I believe his uncle, Claudius, more or less usurped the throne. He also married Hamlet’s mum.”
“Well, if Prince Hamlet could not make up his mind, his uncle was right to take the throne,” Ayisha declared. “An indecisive ruler is a disaster for a kingdom.”
Jack laughed. “That’s a refreshing way of looking at it. Claudius as the heroic savior of Denmark, and Hamlet as the dithering villain.” He took another drink, then offered the canteen to her. She took a sip, and handed it back.
“How many more days to reach Antigua?” she asked.
He shrugged. “A few days, perhaps a week, at most. Depending on the wind, as you’ve doubtless learned by now.”
Ayisha nodded. “Then I shall need more work to keep me busy. May I look through your sea chest, to see what needs mending?”
“Sure,” he said. “Chamba knows where I keep the key.”
“Good,” she said. “I know I do not have to do this, Jack. But it’s something I can do, and it helps pass the time. Life at sea can be…” She searched for a suitable word. “All the same, every day. What is the word?”
“Monotonous? Tedious? Dull? Unvarying? Tiresome? Boring?”
She laughed. “Thank you. I believe monotonous is the term I shall choose.”
Ayisha spent the better part of the next three days, on and off, mending the entire contents of Jack’s sea chest—stitching up every ripped seam, every ragged tear, and patching all the holes. She even picked out his own clumsy attempts at mending and re-did them neatly. When she finished the clothing, she darned all of his stockings. Then she did the same thing with Robby’s sea chest.
Neither Ayisha nor Tarek left the Wicked Wench during her stay in Antigua. Free blacks were so unusual that they were in danger of being accosted by local authorities, who might well demand to see their official papers—and, of course, they had none. So the two Zerzurans perforce remained aboard, watching the off-loading, then the loading, of cargo.
Chamba did take shore leave, but was under strict orders from Jack to remain with his mates at all times. “I have no papers for you, lad,” Jack reminded him. “So if you got picked up as a runaway, I’d have a bloody difficult time getting you released, savvy?”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
Ayisha watched Chamba head off down the gangplank, in the company of his mates. She sighed, thinking of how good it would feel to have solid earth beneath her feet. But Jack was right; it was too risky for her to leave the ship. Feeling depressed and frustrated, she decided to go back to her cabin. Perhaps she’d take a nap.
As she headed across the weather deck, she heard footsteps thudding up the ladder from the main deck, and Jack emerged. He was wearing his newly mended snuff-colored coat. “Ayisha!” he exclaimed. “I was looking for you.”
She tried to smile. “You have found me, Jack.”
“I just took a look in me sea chest, and found your handiwork. I haven’t thanked you for all that mending you did,” he said. “So…thank you.” He gave her his most charming smile. The sight of him inexplicably cheered her, and she found her own smile turning genuine.
“You are most welcome, Jack,” she said.
“Wait, that isn’t all, love,” he said. “I’d meant to return them to you before, but I forgot.” Holding out his hand, he opened it, to reveal her Zerzuran gold earrings. “Small enough thanks for what you did, since they’re yours, after all, but, here you are, darlin’.”
Ayisha smiled. “My earrings! My father gave those to me. I am so glad to have them back.” Quickly, she slipped the wires through the holes in her earlobes.
Jack nodded. “They’re beautiful.” He gave her a wry glance. “I’ll look forward to seeing you wear them as your proper self one of these days…and when you do, their beauty will fade by comparison.”
It took Ayisha a moment to puzzle this out, but when she did, she could feel heat rise in her cheeks. She dropped her gaze, not knowing what to say. “Thank you, Jack,” she managed, after a moment.
“Well, I’m off for a bit of shore leave,” he said. “Robby will be on watch while I’m ashore, so if there’s anything you need…”
“I’ll be fine.”
She watched him head off across the weather deck, then down the gangplank, and thought how lucky she was. What if Jack Sparrow had actually been the man Cutler Beckett had believed him to be? If Jack had been that man, it would have meant the destruction of her homeland, the end of all she held dear.
But Jack Sparrow wasn’t anything like Cutler Beckett or Mercer. He was, as her father had said, a good man, a man who was doing his best to fulfill his promise to the dying pharaoh. Recalling how she had treated him for those first few weeks after they’d met, Ayisha bit her lip. She’d been cold, cynical, and imperious.
Touching an earring, she thought, I owe him so much. How can I ever repay him?
As she headed down the ladder to the main deck, she found herself thinking about the contents of Jack’s sea chest. She’d seen Jack’s new clothes, folded and put away, saved for special occasions. They were well-made garments, of good-quality fabric, but they were completely plain. Knowing Jack, he probably wished they weren’t plain. A slow smile curved Ayisha’s mouth as she recalled the rose and periwinkle paint in his cabin. Jack’s taste definitely ran to the bright and flamboyant, though he’d apparently never had the money to indulge his inclinations in his clothing. As she reached the bottom of the ladder, she paused, as an idea struck her. I have the gold and silver thread, and the colorful embroidery silk. Why not put them to good use? I enjoy doing fancy work. Why not?
Turning around, she headed back up the ladder, moving briskly. She had seen where Chamba put the key to the captain’s cabin. She’d fetch the clothes now, while he was gone, and set to work in secret. I’ll surprise him.…
By the time the Wicked Wench left Antigua, loaded with barrels of molasses and sugar, Ayisha had begun her project. She used the gold thread to embroider the big turned-back cuffs and the lapels of the collarless jacket, decorating them with intricate scrollwork. By the time she was finished, Lord Penwallow himself would have been pleased to don that coat.
Next she turned her attention to t
he canary-colored waistcoat. The front side of the vestlike garment took much more time than the coat to embroider. Current fashion in men’s waistcoats dictated they be worn long, nearly as long as the coats, which reached all the way to the wearer’s knee. Using all her god-granted talent and skill, Ayisha created a fanciful design of twining vines, using pale green thread that was tasteful, but vivid. The green was the same color as the gem in her bracelet, the chip that had been taken from the Heart of Zerzura itself. Luckily, that silk thread had been purchased for a new waistcoat for Mr. Beckett, one she hadn’t made before she left. So she had many skeins of it.
When the vines were finished, she accented them with little white lilies and blue flowers, using the same shade of blue as the coat.
After the ship left Antigua, Jack continued northwest as though he were following the Triangle, but that was coincidental; his course headings were actually determined by Tia Dalma’s compass. It led them northwest, past Puerto Rico, Hispaniola, and Cuba.
Ayisha completed her work on the waistcoat the day the Wicked Wench passed the Inagua Islands, just north of the eastern tip of Cuba. She waited until Jack was busy up on the bow, then smuggled the embellished garments back into his sea chest.
The next morning, as Jack checked the compass heading, he gave Ayisha a satisfied nod. “It’s my guess Shabako is on New Avalon, love. It’s the northernmost island where the soil is rich enough to raise sugarcane, and a lot of slave ships are bound there. I’ve been there many times, and I know the general layout. We’ll put in at the biggest port, Viviana, where the Viviana River flows into the harbor. All the plantations transport their cane products by boat, so each plantation has its own dock. We’ll row down the river, and you can watch the compass as we pass each dock.”
Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom Page 45
