“There’s plenty more where this came from. Dykstra, do you remember the time I took you to the brothel back in Batavia. Do you remember how magnanimous I was in giving you the two ‘virgins’?”
“Virgins, my ass,” Dykstra guffawed. “You didn’t fool me. Those were the two most experienced virgins I ever saw. They taught me a few things!”
Dykstra downed his rum and poured himself and Regan another hearty jolt. “What are these English women like?” he asked. “Are they as good as Clarice’s women?”
Regan stood and leered down at his friend. “Dykstra, old friend, I hate to tell you this but here isn’t a woman in the city who could hold a candle to the worst of Clarice’s girls. They cover themselves with twenty-three layers of clothes and a man gets sorely tired trying to remove them.” He grasped Dykstra’s shoulder and leaned over. “They bat their eyes and swoon. Dead away,” he said, throwing his arms wide and losing his balance and tumbling against the wall. He laughed drunkenly as Dykstra’s eyes popped. “And,” Regan said indignantly, “either they’re too skinny or too fat That’s why they wear so much. So we men can’t see what we’re getting.”
“Well, what are we going to do?” his friend asked piteously. “I came all the way to this goddamn city knowing you would take care of me. I was hoping for a woman tonight.”
“And you shall have one,” Regan laughed. “I’ll find you a woman if I have to waylay her husband for you. Nothing is too good for you, Dykstra,” he said virtuously. “What kind do you want, old, young, skinny or fat?”
“One of each,” Dykstra hiccoughed.
Regan pursed his lips together. “I know just the place,” he said drunkenly. “My son, Caleb, is operating a gambling ship at the harbor, and I’ve seen some women that might appeal to you.”
“We need another bottle,” Dykstra mumbled.
“Whatever you want,” Regan said, pulling the cork from another bottle and handing it to the captain. “Dykstra,” he muttered, “if you had a real virgin, would you know what to do with her?”
“What kind of question is that?” Dykstra asked, slurring his words. “I had a virgin once in Sumatra. Hours, Regan, it took hours. But, by God, she was worth every minute of it,” he said, sighing deeply.
“What happened to her?” Regan demanded as he took another pull from the bottle.
“You should ask, you bastard, you snatched her from me right under my very nose. You remember that dark-skinned beauty. The one who wore all the bangles. The one who pierced your ear! Now, do you remember?”
“That wasn’t all she pierced,” Regan mumbled as he slid half on and half off the chair. “I never forgave you for that. Look, I still have a scar from that damn hole in my ear,” he said, fumbling with his earlobe.
“What’s a bit of a scar between friends. I broke her in for you. You should thank me instead of grumbling,” he said, slipping from his chair onto the floor.
Regan eyed his friend and grinned. “I’ll forgive you for the virgin, but not for the damage to my ear. Is that all right with you?”
“Now that I think about it, she was a little too handy with that needle. How’s your wife, you bastard?” Dykstra demanded, thumping Regan on the back.
“Don’t ask and I won’t have to lie,” Regan laughed.
“The most beautiful woman I ever saw. You have luck up your ass, Regan,” he groaned.
“You got it all wrong, Dykstra. I divorced Sirena. I married someone else. Her name is ... is . . . What the hell is her name?”
“Whose name?”
“The woman I married.”
“How the hell should I know? Right now, I can’t remember my own. Maybe it’s Polly?” he said, trying to bring the rum to his lips only to have it dribble down his chest.
Regan leaned over to look at the front of Dykstra’s shirt. “You spilled good liquor, you bastard. What the hell kind of friend are you, anyway? You don’t even know my own wife’s name! Polly! It’s as good as any,” Regan laughed.
“I always liked Sirena,” Dykstra said, punching Regan on the arm. “I think she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and you’re the biggest goddam fool ever born. Come to think of it, I should punch your teeth out for the way you treated her. Maybe I will,” he threatened, raising his arm only to find it too heavy. He let it fall back on the table.
Regan looked at his friend from beneath scowling brows. “You want to fight? Why? What did I do to you?”
“I like Sirena,” Dykstra complained, “and you left her behind when you left Java. Christ, Regan, I thought she’d become a madwoman when she watched the tip of your tops’l drop over the horizon.”
Suddenly Regan grew serious. “When was this?” he asked, trying to enunciate.
“The morning you sailed out of Batavia harbor. Sirena came riding up to the company office with her hair flying down her back. Ah, I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman.”
“She came to the offices and what?” Regan pressed.
“She came riding down the wharf like the hounds of Hell were on her heels. She ran down the dock and into the office calling for you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman happier than she was at that moment. Cheeks all flushed and pink from the ride, the glow of love lighting her eyes ... Christ, man! How could you leave her behind? When I told her you’d already gone I watched the destruction of a woman’s heart. You really are a bastard, Regan.”
Regan fought to clear his head so he could absorb Dykstra’s words. Sirena had told him the truth. Heaven help him, what had he done? Blindly, he reached for the bottle and wrested it from Dykstra’s hands.
“You’re more than a bastard, Reg, you’re the biggest idiot I’ve ever met! There can’t be another woman as gorgeous as Sirena. Or is there, you old dog? Is Polly as beautiful?”
Regan shook his head. “No one is as stunning as Sirena,” he said, lurching to his feet. “And do you know what, you son of a bitch, she said she’s going to ruin me.”
“Serves you right,” the captain retorted, holding out his hand for Regan to help him to his feet. “Anybody with a scar on his ear doesn’t deserve someone like Sirena. I hope she does split your gullet. I hate the name Polly. Parrots are named Polly.”
“A bird, eh. Well, she doesn’t eat like a bird. She eats like a ... a wolf, and all she wants to do is spend money. Come on, old friend, it’s time you met ... what’s her name. I’m going to take you home so we can sober up.”
“I hope she eats you out of house and home and sends you right into the poorhouse.”
Camilla donned her shawl in preparation for going out when the doorpull sounded. She opened the door and stood back, a look of shock on her finely wrought features. “You’re crocked,” she snapped. “Quickly, get inside before someone sees you,” she said, grabbing Regan by the arm and pulling him into the foyer. “Who is this?” she demanded as she let her eyes fall on the staggering seaman at Regan’s side.
“He’s the one who told me your name,” Regan laughed uproariously.
“Take him out of here before you embarrass the lot of us. Wherever you found him, take him there and leave him,” she demanded imperiously. “I won’t have two drunks in my house. This instant, Regan!” she said, stamping her foot.
Regan swiveled and almost lost his balance. “Did you hear what . . . she ... said? I’m to take you all the way back to Batavia.”
“What does she know?” Dykstra slurred as he reeled behind Regan to a large overstuffed chair. “What kind of brothel is this; there’s no liquor. For shame,” he leered at Camilla. “You’ll never do any business this way. Is she the keeper of this establishment?” he asked Regan in a low whisper.
Regan shrugged. “Fetch my friend some rum,” he ordered Camilla.
“Fetch it yourself,” she snapped. “I’ve never been so ashamed.”
Regan assumed his full height and wobbled slightly on his legs. “And how do you think I feel; here I bring my friend home and he thinks you run a whorehouse?” He wagged a
finger under Camilla’s nose and reached for her. Nimbly, she sidestepped his outflung arm and moved away.
“You’re drunk,” she hissed. “Father was right, you do love your rum!”
“Regan, you sly fox, you didn’t tell me this was a father-daughter enterprise. How grand. Now where in the hell are the rum and women?” he asked, struggling to his feet.
“Get him out of here,” Camilla said through clenched teeth.
“Captain Dykstra brought me money from Batavia. Do you still want me to take him out of here?” Regan demanded, his eyes narrowed. “Enough money to pay your bills for another month.”
Camilla reconsidered for a moment. “All right,” she acquiesced, “but have him back where he belongs before I get home. Enjoy your own soused company,” she sniped as she closed the door behind her.
“You bastard,” Dykstra shouted. “The only woman to be seen and you let her get out the door. Now, what are we going to do?” he cried pitifully.
Regan thumped his friend on the back and grinned. “No loss, she’s not for the likes of you ... or me. I think we should sleep off this drunk, Dykstra. I don’t think either of us could take a woman in this condition. Come with me and I’ll find you a bed.”
“Speak for yourself, you son of a bitch,” Dykstra shouted as he followed Regan. “You’re burned out, an old man,” he needled. “You lost a good and beautiful woman and you live in a house of ill repute run by a father and daughter. I never heard anything so disgusting in my whole life,” he said piously. “Never.”
“Just shut the hell up, Dykstra, and mind your own affairs. I’m not an old man and I’m not burned out. And I didn’t lose Sirena. I can have her anytime I want her. All I have to do is snap my fingers and she’ll come running.”
“Ha! And what will Polly what’s-her-name say to that?”
“Dykstra, didn’t you learn anything. Any man whose had a hole in his ear is superior to all others. It’s a sign of virility.”
“Bastard, you made that up,” Dykstra said, falling on the bed. He was asleep immediately. Regan leaned over, lost his balance and laid down next to his friend. Loud, erratic snores permeated the room for hours.
Lord Farrington amused himself by shuffling a pack of playing cards. His thoughts worked as quickly as his nimble fingers. A pall seemed to be settling over him, and it was an effort to quiet his racing mind. Who was torturing him this way? What could anyone want with him? For the first time in his gambler’s life he had landed in a safe berth, and now he was about to be tossed into the swelling, churning sea.
A strong gust of wind came up and the cards scattered over the deck. Dropping to his knees, he noticed a slim pair of ankles boarding the ship. A foolish look on his face, he rose to acknowledge the young woman who asked for Caleb. With a mischievous smile, Farrington escorted her to Caleb’s quarters. A haughty look about her, she thanked him and entered the room, carefully shutting the door in his face.
The lord smirked to himself. If the young rascal weren’t careful, he would find out he bit off more than he could chew. The lovely thing with the ravishing ankles belonged to Caleb’s father and somehow he didn’t think Regan would take lightly to Caleb playing games with his wife.
Regan woke first, his mouth dry and his tongue cottony. He shook Dykstra out of his stupor, then called the servants to administer to them both. An hour later, they descended the steps in preparation for an evening aboard the Sea Siren.
“That was some bout we both had,” Dykstra laughed. “I seem to remember getting here but not much else. Tell me, Regan, how is it that Caleb opened a gambling ship? And, I believe, you told me it was the infamous Siren’s ship he is using.”
Regan shrugged. “Bought it from a harbor master in Spain. I would think when the Siren retired from the seas she would have her ship in Cádiz and moved on to other interests.”
Dykstra looked at Regan suspiciously, but said nothing.
“I’ve been toying with the idea of going into business with Caleb. I have something I want to talk over with you when we get aboard. I’m glad you came, my friend. I was at a low ebb when you walked through my office door. It’s not a pretty story, but I need another ear for now. I would appreciate your unbiased opinion, Dykstra.”
Captain Dykstra frowned. They had been friends for quite a number of years. It was obvious something was bothering Regan. Was he in some kind of financial trouble? He remembered the lightened look in Regan’s eyes at the mention of the profits from the nutmeg crop. “Regan, I wanted to tell you something, but when we were in the offices, the rum made me forget. I can’t swear to it, but I think I saw Dick Blackheart on the wharf when I debarked. He spotted me staring at him. He seemed as though he were defying me to acknowledge him. He walks with a stiff leg and his left arm is damaged, but his face is still as hateful as ever. I would swear that it was him. I figured to myself that after the Siren ran him through he made off somehow and managed to make his way back here to his homeland. Have you seen him or heard that he’s about?”
Regan was stunned. “I saw the Siren kill him with my own eyes!”
“Did you see him die or did you see her injure him and toss him overboard?” Dykstra asked.
“Neither,” Regan answered shortly. “Things were wild. The Siren was ordering her wounded and my own to be tended. I suppose he could have gotten off the ship. For both our sakes, I hope you’re wrong, Dykstra.”
“So do I,” the captain mumbled to himself.
“Here we are. What do you think of her?” Regan said, pointing to the twinkling lanterns that outlined the ship in the hazy fog.
Captain Dykstra nodded. “An impressive sight. Did the boy do all of this on his own?” At Regan’s affirmative nod, he fell in line to board the ship behind a long string of people chattering like magpies.
“I don’t think my gut can take any more rum today; let’s just head for the tables and see how our luck is running,” Regan suggested. “What’s your fancy, Dykstra, cards or dice?”
“I think I’ll take a crack at the dice,” the captain grinned.
“See that man at cards, the one who’s scowling? He’s Sirena’s new husband,” Regan said coolly. “He’s also my father-in-law.” Dykstra shot his friend a grim glance, but said nothing. “You can tell by the look on his face he’s on a losing streak.” What in the hell was going on, Regan wondered as he threw the dice and watched the tiny dots appear.
Midway through the evening, his pockets empty, Regan stepped back to study the milling gamblers as they tossed money on the round tables with gay abandon. Women dressed in their finest, their jewels sparkling in the glowing lamplight, squealed with delight at every toss of the dice or flick of the cards. He felt his eyes drawn time and again to Stephan Langdon. It seemed his luck had turned for the better. Regan noticed a deft movement of Stephan’s. Caleb, who was standing behind Stephan, was obviously angry. He nodded his head slightly to Lord Farrington and moved away from the wild activity Stephan was creating. Regan grinned to himself. Langdon was a card cheat and Caleb had found him out and was about to inform the lord. It would be interesting to see what happened.
Captain Dykstra tired of the dice and sauntered over to Regan, a glass of wine in his hand. “How much did you lose?” he asked quietly.
“Enough,” Regan answered curtly. “Watch,” he said as Caleb walked over to Sir Stephan and whispered in his ear. Even in the dim light, Regan could see the man’s eyes were alarmed and indignant. He laid down his hand, picked up his money and followed Caleb.
“What is it I’m supposed to be watching?” Dykstra asked.
“Caleb just caught a card cheat who happens to be my father-in-law and Sirena’s new husband. It will be interesting to see how my son handles the situation.”
“If he’s smart, he’ll give him a warning and let it be known that from this point on he’s going to be observed sharply. I’ll say one thing for you, Regan. Wherever you are, there’s always some sort of trouble brewing. Do you think the boy ca
n manage it or should we give him a hand?”
“For now, let’s let him have his head. He’s got his partner to help him if he runs into difficulty. If the boy doesn’t panic, he’ll be all right.”
“I’ll stake you to a game of faro,” Dykstra said affably as he withdrew a sheaf of bills for Regan’s inspection. “Keep your eyes out for a comely wench for me.” Regan laughed as his eyes circled the room. He was glad Sirena wasn’t in evidence. If word got back to her of Stephan’s escapade, he wondered what she would do. A ripple of apprehension washed over him as he picked up the cards.
Stephan Langdon stood on the deck, his stance arrogant. “Whatever you called me out here for had better be important,” he said coldly.
“Oh, it is,” Lord Farrington said in exactly the same manner. “Cal caught you cheating with cards tucked in your sleeve.”
“What a dastardly lie!”
“Then what do you call this?” Caleb demanded as he handed over two identical cards.
“How am I supposed to know. I could call you out for this humiliating experience.”
“That won’t be necessary”, Lord Farrington said suavely. “From now on, one of us will be watching you every time you come here. We had no wish to embarrass you in front of your friends, that’s why we asked you out on deck. The next time we will show no such courtesy, but will make an example of you in front of the others. This,” he stated, “is just a friendly warning. It would be wise if you left now and didn’t come back for a while. There might have been someone other than Cal who saw what you did.”
“This is despicable,” Stephan snarled. “You, sir, are a cur of the worst sort. Believe me, I will not forget this. A cheat indeed! I believe you maintain a crooked operation and are using me as an excuse to cover your own dastardly ways.”
“Perhaps you would like to go inside and make that accusation in front of the rest of the patrons,” Caleb said in a deadly voice. “Then we could retaliate with our charges against you. It was a foolish thing you did.”
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