Blacksouls

by Nicole Castroman

  Although their situations were different, Cara and Coyle were victims of their own circumstances as well. Work was scarce in rural Ireland, and their family had lived on the margins of survival. When their uncle Alastair had offered them both a place to work, they had readily accepted.

  The three of them were silent as they left the bustling docks behind. Coyle halted briefly to ask someone the way to The Laughing Fox tavern. A few streets away, they stopped at a clapboard building with a sign sporting a fox hanging in front. The structure appeared to be much newer than the other buildings lining the street. It smelled of fresh pine and pitch.

  Inside, it took a moment for Anne’s eyes to adjust to the dim interior after the brilliance of the afternoon sun outside. Sawdust covered the floor and a long wooden bar dominated one side of the room, its surface scratched and worn. Only a handful of patrons occupied the tables in The Laughing Fox. A single serving girl strolled through their ranks with large tankards of ale.

  Coyle approached the barkeep while Anne and Cara remained by the front door. Anne did her best to ignore the looks of the curious patrons by keeping her eyes leveled on an area just above their heads. The men were rough, their clothing worn, and their hair grimy. They were mostly likely sailors and dockworkers.

  “I’m looking for Alastair Flynn. Is he here?” Coyle asked.

  The barkeep wiped a glass with a rag, but paused at Coyle’s question, his thick eyebrows drawing together in a frown. “Who’s asking?”

  “My name’s Coyle Flynn. Alastair Flynn is my uncle.”

  Nodding to the back of the room, the man continued with his task. “You’ll be wantin’ to speak with Beth. If she’s here, she’ll be in the back,” he said.

  Anne took Cara’s hand as they followed Coyle toward the back. One man reached out and grabbed Cara around the waist. Yanking out of his grip, Cara turned on him, her face filled with disgust at the lecherous grin he gave her. The man laughed and reached for Cara again, but Anne grasped the man’s fingers and bent them back toward his arm.

  “Unless you want to lose that hand, I suggest you keep it for sipping ale.”

  The man’s eyes watered and he glared at Anne. “You stupid who—”

  Coyle’s fist slammed into the man’s jaw, and he sank to the floor at Anne’s feet. His companion jumped up, clearly ready to come to his friend’s defense. Coyle turned on him, his shoulders squared and his fists clenched.

  Anne watched each man closely, in case anyone pulled a blade. She’d spotted a tankard nearby and wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

  A loud voice boomed above them. “Get out of here, Amos, before I tear you apart myself.”

  The man struggled to his feet, the cheeks on his crimson face shaking. “You’ve never had a problem with me before, Alastair,” Amos cried.

  “That’s not true, you dirty bounder. I’ve told you to keep your hands to yourself while you’re in my tavern. This was your last chance.” Alastair crossed his thick arms over his broad chest. To Anne, he looked like an older version of Coyle, with the same smattering of dark freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. The wood creaked beneath his feet as he descended the steps.

  Glaring at the stern expression on Alastair’s face, Amos must have thought better of arguing with him. He shot one last surly look at Cara, and headed to the door, his friend following on his heels.

  Anne exhaled in relief as Alastair wrapped Cara and Coyle in his arms.

  Cara’s face relaxed somewhat and Anne could not help a twinge of envy. She longed for a connection with another family member; unsure if any still lived, Anne worried such a relationship was impossible. Feeling out of place, Anne clasped and unclasped her hands nervously.

  “You’re grown into a beauty, Cara Flynn. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to have you and your brother come stay with me,” Alastair said.

  “After what we just saw, I’m not sure I would have made this trip,” Cara muttered.

  “What happened?”

  Cara shuddered. “There was a fight near the docks. Someone pulled a knife and . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “Unless you have an escort, stay away from the docks,” Alastair said, his expression fierce.

  “It’s rather hard to avoid the docks when you arrive on a ship,” Cara pointed out.

  “And here I’d hoped the years had softened the sharp side of your tongue. No matter. You’ll be safe as long as you’re with me.” Alastair turned to give Coyle an appraising look. “Have you looked after your sister?”

  “As much as anyone can look after Cara,” Coyle said. “She doesn’t listen to a thing I say. Maybe you can do a better job keeping her in line.”

  Cara shrugged. “I didn’t get into any trouble on the ship. After all, I had Anne to keep me company.”

  Alastair glanced at Anne standing back from the group. Despite his intimidating appearance, kindness flashed in his eyes.

  Cara linked her arm with Anne’s and pulled her forward. “Uncle, this is Anne Barrett. Anne, this is our uncle, Alastair Flynn.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Anne. What brings you to Nassau?”

  “She needs a place to stay,” Cara said, before Anne could respond. “And a place to work. I told her you wouldn’t mind employing her.”

  Anne flushed, wondering how Alastair would react to Cara’s generosity. It was one thing for Cara to make the offer. It was quite another for Alastair to follow through with it. His smile, however, put her at ease.

  “Anyone who can manage to keep Cara out of trouble for an extended period of time has my respect and approval,” Alastair said.

  Anne answered with a slight smile of her own. “On the contrary. It was Cara and Coyle who came to my aid. If it hadn’t been for them, I’m afraid my passage from England would have been much different.” Her smile faded and she shivered at the thought of the Providence.

  Cara gave Anne a comforting squeeze, while Coyle took a deep breath. “Uncle, I hate to cut our reunion short, but we’re in need of some help. We believe a merchantman was attacked not far from shore.”

  Alastair’s jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. “When did this happen.”

  “Two days ago,” Anne said. “The ship was the Deliverance, the largest of its kind ever built.”

  “You were supposed to travel on the Deliverance. What happened to the money I sent you?” Alastair asked.

  Cara blushed and Coyle shot her a dark look. “Cara took a liking to someone on the way from Donegal to Bristol.”

  “I didn’t know he would rob us,” Cara cried, looking like a guilty child caught in an act of mischief.

  “You should know better than to trust a pretty face.”

  “He wasn’t all that pretty once you were finished with him, now was he, brother dear?”

  Rolling his eyes, Coyle took a deep breath. “I recovered what I could from the money, but I wasn’t able to get all of it. Once we reached Bristol, we discovered the only ship we could afford passage on was the Providence.”

  Alastair nodded. “I thought you were a mite early. So you think the Deliverance was attacked?”

  “I do. Two ships approached it as we sailed away,” Anne said, as Alastair pursed his lips.

  “There was some talk of having an escort sent out to greet it,” Alastair said.

  Cara looked hopeful. “Perhaps those were the ships we saw.”

  Both Anne and Coyle shook their heads. “I don’t think so,” Anne said. “They followed us for several days. If they’d been sent to escort the Deliverance, why did they keep their distance from us?”

  “Anne’s right. They didn’t want to show their colors, which is why they didn’t approach the Providence.”

  “Why didn’t they have an escort when they left England?” Cara asked.

  Alastair gave a short laugh. “I heard the owner thought it would be a sign of weakness if he sent it off with an escort. It’s a foolish gamble to take with other’s lives.”

  Richard Drummond’s reputa
tion has clearly reached the West Indies, thought Anne.

  Coyle turned to his uncle. “Is there someone we can notify? Someone who might be able to offer some assistance?”

  “Aye. We’ll send word to Governor Webb. He’ll know best what kind of help, if any, can be provided.”

  Anne’s stomach dropped to her feet. It had been two days since they last saw the Deliverance. She hoped it wasn’t too late to help the survivors. If there were any.

  “Will he listen to you?” Coyle asked.

  “Aye, he will. I know Governor Webb personally.”

  Both Cara’s and Coyle’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’ve come a long way from Donegal,” Cara said.

  “I told your da I’d make something of myself.” There was no conceit in Alastair’s voice. It was simply a statement of fact.

  “Could we send word to the governor now?” Anne asked, desperate to act. Although she didn’t know for sure if Teach was on the Deliverance or not, there was a part of her that seemed to sense his presence. Or perhaps it was only her wishful thinking.

  “I’ll go myself. Coyle, you come with me. Cara, Anne, you stay here with Beth and let her show you to your rooms.”

  “Beth?” Cara asked.

  The barkeep had mentioned Beth when they first entered.

  A tender smile crossed Alastair’s face. “Aye. Beth. She’ll be pleased you’re finally here.” Striding to the swinging door, Alastair motioned with his hand for the others to follow him.

  The big and well-equipped kitchen held a fireplace, and shelves filled with brass pots and pans. Garlic, drying peppers, as well as herbs and spices hung from the ceiling over wooden cupboards. A petite woman with mahogany skin stood beside a narrow table, instructing two girls as they chopped carrots and onions.

  “Beth, let me introduce my niece and nephew, Cara and Coyle Flynn. And this is their friend, Anne Barrett. Coyle, Cara, Anne, this is Beth Morris.”

  Beth smiled, her face lighting up as she greeted them. Alastair placed a kiss on Beth’s cheek. “I’m off to visit Webb on some business. Will you show the girls where they’ll be staying?”

  “Of course. Is anything wrong?” Beth’s soft and melodic accent drifted into Anne’s ears. It reminded Anne of her mother’s, the way Beth ran her words together, and her use of soft vowels.

  Cara and Coyle watched their uncle with interest. Anne, too, noticed the affection between Alastair and Beth. Although Anne’s parents had not been as demonstrative, she could not help thinking of them. Anne warmed to the pair immediately.

  “A merchant ship might have been attacked. We’re going to see if anything can be done to help. Is Benjamin outside?”

  “I believe so,” Beth replied.

  Alastair led them to a crescent-shaped courtyard between the tavern and a single-storied house. A vegetable garden lined one side of a large wooden barn on the other side of the enclosure. Shutters and flower boxes decorated the structures. “Benjamin, come meet our guests,” Alastair called.

  A tall, broad-shouldered young man came out of the barn, his brown eyes steady as he shook Alastair’s hand. Benjamin’s skin was a shade darker than Beth’s, and Alastair greeted him in a foreign tongue Anne didn’t recognize. Benjamin wore breeches and a brown shirt, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Thick, raised scars covered his hands and arms, evidence of a whipping. Anne’s breath hitched in her throat, and she felt an intense flash of fury at the unknown person who had performed such a barbarous act.

  Alastair nodded to Benjamin after making the introductions. “I’m taking my nephew to meet with the governor. Please keep an eye on things for me.”

  “Yes, sir,” Benjamin said, his English heavily accented.

  The three men turned toward the tavern, but Anne couldn’t stop staring at Benjamin’s scars. “Who did that?” she breathed, unaware she’d spoken the words aloud.

  Beth gave Anne an understanding nod. “His former master. Benjamin works for Alastair now. He’s free to come and go as he chooses, just like anyone else in Alastair’s employ.”

  Anne bit her lip, grateful Benjamin hadn’t heard her. It was one thing to hear about the horrors of slavery, but quite another to actually witness the effects of the barbaric institution.

  “You must be very tired after your trip,” Beth said, breaking the stilted silence. She led the girls through the front door of the house and down a short hallway. “I’ll bring you a tray of food.”

  “Thank you, but I’m not very hungry,” Anne said. Between the scene at the docks and the unknown fate of the Deliverance, she doubted she’d be able to rest. Or eat.

  “Have you known my uncle long?” Cara asked as Beth guided the girls into a room with a large bed and dresser. Thin lines of light trickled through the shuttered window.

  “For nine years.”

  Curiosity rang in Cara’s voice. “Are you in charge of the kitchen?”

  Beth gave Cara a knowing smile. “I help your uncle with The Laughing Fox” was all she said.

  Before Cara could pose another question, Anne spoke up. “How long will it take to deliver a message to the governor?”

  “Not long. If Governor Webb is at home, Alastair will be allowed to see him immediately.” Pride filled Beth’s words and light shone in her eyes.

  Cara let out a low whistle. “I wish my da were here to see this. When Uncle Alastair left Donegal, everyone in the family believed he’d be back within five years.”

  “Your uncle is one of the most respected men on the island,” Beth said. “Governor Webb stops by the Fox at least once a week.” The warmth faded from Beth’s face and her voice turned hard. She walked to the door. “Stay here and rest. Alastair should be back before long.”

  “Thank you,” Anne said, following her. “For letting me stay here.”

  Beth paused and gave her a slight smile. She tucked one of Anne’s wayward tendrils behind her ear. “I’ll send for a bath. And we’ll do something about this hair. You’ll find the weather here a little more agreeable for your curls.”

  Anne’s chest warmed at the motherly gesture. Beth had a calming presence about her that Anne hadn’t felt in quite a while.

  The older woman left, leaving Anne and Cara to scrub their hands and faces of the dirt and grime from the Providence and Nassau’s docks.

  “I hope the governor will truly send help,” Anne said, getting the feeling that Beth did not care much for the governor.

  “Why wouldn’t he? It’s an English ship and Nassau is an English settlement.” Cara struggled out of her dress. “Although I don’t know how people can live here in this heat,” she muttered. “I wish my da would have accepted the money Uncle Alastair offered him. But he was too proud to take it. Men and their silly pride.”

  Anne walked to the window. She knew how much Cara missed her mother. They were the unfortunate victims of a rift between Alastair and Cara’s father. Family was important to Cara, and she hoped to earn enough money to send back to her parents. If her father wouldn’t accept assistance from Alastair, Cara hoped he’d accept it from his own daughter. Cara’s greatest wish was to be reunited with her family. Anne wanted to help, which was why she needed to send word to her father’s solicitor immediately to get him to send the other half of her inheritance—if Richard Drummond would still honor his word and send her the rest.

  Cara lay down on the bed, dressed only in her shift. “We’ll do what we can to help you, Anne. We’re your family now. Try to get some rest. When we both wake up, maybe we’ll feel better.”

  Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Anne tried to relax. Cara was right. They were her family now. Although they weren’t blood-related, they’d treated her better than most people she’d ever known. She and Cara had slept side by side for weeks, sharing secrets and wishes in the dark, falling asleep exhausted, knowing that Coyle guarded their door. Anne knew about Cara’s desire to get married and settle down and Coyle’s hopes to follow in his uncle’s footsteps and own a tavern of his own one day. And
both of the Flynns knew about Teach. Anne wished for the millionth time that Teach could meet them. He’d warm to their kindness, humor, and humility.

  Anne leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees to ease the tension settling between her shoulder blades. The exhaustion weighed on her, tightening muscles, making her fingers tremble, and drying her eyes. She could not free herself from the tumultuous thoughts haunting her mind. Every time she pictured Teach, pain unfolded in her chest, squeezing the breath from her lungs. She’d give anything to see those green eyes once more.

  Cara’s soft snores lingered in the room. She had an enviable knack for falling asleep easily, even during squalls aboard the Providence.

  But Anne always struggled.

  Determined to rest, she lay down on her side. She squeezed her eyes shut, her stomach gripped in a vice of fear. Her mother had often told her if one lost courage and hope, one lost everything. The desperate strength of her hope was her one link with Teach. As long as she clung to her courage, all was not lost.

  Anne stared at the wall in front of her, until her lids slowly lowered. In the distance a dog barked. Someone shouted. A shot rang out.

  Anne’s eyes flew open. Nassau wasn’t safe.

  But please, she prayed. Let Teach be.

  CHAPTER 6

  Teach

  “We lost young Daniel during the night,” John said, approaching Teach at the helm. Gray clouds hung heavy in the sky as the Deliverance limped toward the Bahamas.

  John and Teach took turns guiding the ship and did their best to ensure the injured men were as comfortable as possible despite their circumstances. They’d lost the ship’s surgeon during the battle, as well as their medicine chest.

  The weary and sweat-soaked crew was somber, though the mood aboard had more to do with the heavy burden of lost comrades than it did the weather. Those injured during the battle littered the weather deck. Every once in a while, a painful groan rose up to the heavens. Bloodied bandages covered opened wounds, and the air was hot and smelled of death and rotting flesh.