Neither Nickel nor Bones was the stubborn or ornery type, and so they nodded amicably. The curiosity in their eyes still bothered me, but I supposed I could bear it. I knew I had done much to earn it. That thought alone was enough to threaten me with the light. I turned away from them and resumed studying the harbor and town beyond.
The light, or perhaps the darkness I would not let it reveal, was a hungry rumbling in my head and heart that nearly matched the pain in my belly. This struck me with renewed fear, but now I was not afraid I would remember that which I sought to avoid, but that its inevitable visitation upon me would occur at an inopportune time – say in the presence of anyone other than Gaston – and I would be struck by some frenzy or other loss of reason and control. Yet I knew that if I were to return to the officer’s room and attempt to turn to the light of my own accord, I would not be able to. I was still not ready. Thus, I wondered how long I could hold it at bay.
Gaston returned with a hunk of meat and a cup of warm water. With Liam’s help, he minced the beef as finely as could be managed. Then they put the bits into the cup and gave it to me to drink. I was able to suck the little pieces between my lips. Most went down my throat and made my belly happy, but a surprising number of little morsels seemed quite intent in staying betwixt my teeth. I rinsed them out as best I could, and resolved to suck on the remnants without complaint. I was quite disheartened with the idea of eating in this manner for several weeks.
“I suppose we could make a mash o’ fruit for ’im,” Liam said. “Iffn we ’ad bread, we could make a puddin’.”
Bones joined in on thinking of other things they could reduce to mash to feed me; and Gaston gave me a rueful smile and went to stow his musket and my bag with the other men, so that I was not carrying all our gear.
As we headed to the gate, Liam ceased reminiscing on the things one added to a pot to make a truly fine stew, and paused to look around. The smile quickly left his face; and a great sadness suffused him, and he cursed quietly and fell in with us.
I touched his shoulder gently, and he shook his head. “I keep lookin’ for ’im is all. I forget,” he said thickly.
As, I too, had felt there to be a thing missing in Liam’s presence, I could only imagine how it must have been for him: to be ever beside a man for twelve years and then to have him gone.
I looked to Gaston and saw his bandage, and fear and pending grief gripped me in equal measure. I stumbled.
Gaston was quickly beside me. “Do you wish to do this today?” he whispered.
I nodded. I felt little choice in the matter. I could not hide.
Our search for an alchemist or apothecary was not noted or impeded by any we encountered, and truly I was surprised at how few of our men we did see; but then we were avoiding the main castle and the square near it, where Morgan had holed up and the prisoners were held. At last we located a shop, and I assisted Gaston in rummaging about the place, until he did indeed find what we sought: not as bags of the flower pods to be pressed, but in a great jar of the elixir already prepared. Gaston explained to our friends that we were acquiring medical supplies, and then he and I spent a good deal of time carefully distributing the laudanum into smaller bottles and vials that we could put into Gaston’s bag. When we truly had three times as much of the substance as Gaston had ever made before – and we had been forced to appropriate another sack to carry it all – he regarded what was left of the jar with a heavy sigh.
“We must take the rest to Farley,” he said. “He might be disposed to use it.”
I was disposed to use it then and there, and I indicated as much to Gaston. He awarded me a patient smile and prepared a small draught for each of us.
I was offering my small glass in toast when we heard a trumpet call. Liam called for us from outside. With grim looks, we downed our cups and hurried to see what the fuss was about.
In the square, we quickly learned that Bradley’s men had easily held off a force sent from Panama. Much of this fortune was due to the mountains and treacherous forest east of us, and the road only being able to pass through an easily-defensible narrow defile.
“Ah, you,” a man cried when he spied us, “Lord Will, the Admiral be lookin’ fer ya. The Spaniards sent a man and a letter.”
Gaston cursed, but I sighed. We began to follow the man back to a large house on the square. Liam sent Nickel to fetch Striker, and then he and Gaston were tight about me.
“Do you wish to do this?” Gaston asked me in French.
“Can ’e do this?” Liam asked Gaston in English.
I snorted with amusement and continued following the man leading us to Morgan. The laudanum was easing all my cares away, and I seemed to have no issue with the languages.
Gaston’s hand closed tightly about my arm, and he turned me to face him. He studied me with an earnest frown. I awarded him a shrug and kissed his nose.
He sighed and addressed Liam. “He will not appear addled, just drunk. And if he does exhibit strange behavior, we can explain it as the drug I gave him.”
Morgan was ebullient when we reached him: this seemed as much due to my arrival as to the victory. He thrust a letter at me and demanded, “Tell me what it says.”
“He cannot,” Gaston said, and pointed to my bandaged jaw.
“Does he need that?” Morgan asked with annoyance.
“He will need paper,” Gaston said firmly.
Morgan swore. “We will need that, well enough, for the writing of a return missive. Hurry, hurry, their envoy is waiting, and I wouldn’t have him think us barbarians who can’t even write.”
I endeavored to ignore their search for paper and ink, and unfolded the page and began reading. The letter was from the President of Panama. We were expected to leave by nightfall. I wondered what the president would do if we did not go, since he had already failed to reach us. In that, I thought the letter to be a rather perfunctory gesture made in the expectance of such. What else could he do, congratulate us?
Once they gave me paper, I knew Morgan would have no patience for reading any notes I might make as to the tone, and so I merely rendered a literal translation.
Morgan was greatly amused, and in his pacing about, he mentioned the possibilities I had considered. Then he said, “But it is no matter. Our ships are here; we can retreat any time we wish.” He looked to one of the captains. “Begin loading the treasure, but make no alarm of the matter.”
Striker had arrived while I translated the note, and Gaston had left my side for a moment to speak with him. Then Striker had stood about waiting with the other captains present.
Morgan now looked to Striker and told him, “Leave a few men at your fort as lookouts, and bring the rest into town. I do not fear the sea.”
I wondered if Striker would be so kind as to leave us at the fort. I wanted little of the town, and I was not yet ready to be stuck upon the ship. But, of course, he might not think we were capable lookouts.
Morgan turned back to me, and began to dictate his response before I could allow that thought to make me angry, or sad.
As I had expected, Morgan ransomed the town for a truly noble amount of three hundred thousand pieces of eight, threatening death to all the prisoners and destruction of the town and forts if his demand was not met. I made it sound polite and a little less perfunctory than the president’s note, without any sarcasm as to lack of a Spanish position.
When I finished, Morgan considered the Spanish words, mumbling through them. I could see doubt in his eyes as he occasionally glanced at me.
With a sigh, I snatched another piece of paper and wrote, It is as you said, and it is polite. Go ask someone who reads Spanish to read it aloud for you, or translate it. I suggest Julio.
He snorted dismissively, and folded and sealed the page. “Nay, I trust you. I am merely concerned that the blow to your head might have diminished your diplomatic abilities, seeing as it was a Spaniard that struck you.” He chuckled, but there was mischief in his eyes, as if his mention of the
matter was meant to goad.
I wanted to tell him that it was not a Spaniard who struck me, but Pete, because I had been…
The room spun and I found myself in the cave again. The light was blinding, so bright I could not see anything within it, even though I was facing it. I felt a great urge to throw my hands before my eyes and cry out; but there was a steadying hand upon my arm, and I turned to find Gaston watching me with worried eyes. For a moment we were in the cave together, and then we were once again sitting at the table in the house Morgan had claimed.
“He becomes dizzy from the wound on occasion,” Gaston was telling Morgan.
I met Morgan’s speculative gaze with the best reassuring smile I could manage.
Morgan shrugged, but his eyes were narrow. “I once got kicked in the head and could not see well with one eye for a week. It passed, but while it was about, I sometimes could not think clearly.”
“Men oft become addled when hit hard,” someone said.
With a snort of annoyance, I wrote, I am not addled, in large block letters.
My umbrage over the matter seemed to reassure Morgan. He chuckled and left us, presumably to give the missive to the envoy; but for all I knew, he might seek Julio.
I cared not. I wished to be away. I stood slowly, and Gaston’s good arm was immediately about me. Striker was on my other side a moment later, and I felt quite foolish as they ushered me from the room as if I were an invalid.
“The envoy will return with a reply on the morrow, I would imagine,” Striker said grimly as we walked outside into the square. “Will should rest until then.”
Recalling my earlier thought on the matter, I pointed in the direction of the fort.
Striker sighed, “Aye, at the fort, you will rest.” He looked around me to Gaston. “Did you get what you needed?”
“Oui,” Gaston said, “and we must stop and see Farley.” He did not appear pleased at doing this.
Liam, who had been waiting with Nickel outside, joined us. He was carrying the jar of laudanum.
We went to the house where the wounded were, and Striker and Gaston urged me to sit on a barrel near the entrance and remain there. I was not sure if it was because they wished to continue the pretense of my being prone to dizziness, or if they were worried I was truly addled enough to wander off. I took Gaston’s hand and gave it a kiss.
“Are you well to stay alone?” he asked quietly in French.
I nodded: with an expression that I hoped conveyed my puzzlement over his concern.
He sighed and whispered, “Will, you closed your eyes and sat gripping the table for several moments. All saw it.”
I nodded, so it was a thing easily explained by dizziness. I was damn pleased I had not cried out or warded my eyes as I had wished. I smiled, gestured at myself and the barrel I sat on, and pushed him toward the door.
With a nod, he left me with Liam, Bones, and Nickel. Striker had slipped inside as well, and I wondered if any of the Queen’s men were wounded.
I stood, and was immediately surrounded by my companions. I waved them off and went to the doorway to peer into the dim light at the wounded. The rooms I could see contained a score of men spread all about. Most were wrapped about the head, shoulders, or arms with bloody bandages.
“Poor buggers,” Bones muttered. “Makes me damn glad I’m a musket man. I do na’ fancy stormin’ the gates o’ forts where they can throw things down on ya. Most of these blokes are maimed for life if they don’t die o’ rot over the wounds. Me, I’d rather be shot and dead than maimed.”
Liam stiffened beside us, and I wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Nickel punched Bones in the arm, and the lanky man looked confused as to what he had said to deserve it.
“I suppose,” Liam said quietly, “that death might be a bit better than havin’ half your face gone from boilin’ oil. No pain once ya be dead. Lessin’ ya go ta Hell.”
The silence was awkward for a moment; then Nickel said a thing I wished to, and I was pleased with him.
“Otter was a kind and good man,” Nickel said, “I am sure he was welcome in Heaven.”
Liam sighed. “I don’t know… I wish there be another place a man could go instead o’ Heaven or Hell.”
“Well, there’s Purgatory,” Nickel said with a frown.
“Naw,” Liam said. “Just a place ya went when ya be dead. No reward or punishment like, but just a place, like here, where there be both good an’ bad, and a man can ’ave some pleasure o’ life an’ maybe some sorrow, but… It na’ be fair that it be one or the other. A man don’t always have a chance ta live the life the priests say will please God.”
I could not stand there silent in the face of his pain. I wondered if I could locate paper and ink in the house, or even charcoal and a wall. I wanted to tell him of the Elysian Fields, and that man had not always believed as he did now about such matters.
“Me maw always said that ya know ya be good and go ta Heaven if ya do right by yur fellows and ya feel God loves ya in yur heart, even if ya be hated by the clergy and the righteous,” Bones said. “An’ she said Heaven was a place like Earth, an’ that a person could find whatever made ’em happy there, that’s why it be Heaven.”
I could have kissed Bones’ mother. I settled for clapping Bones’ shoulder and smiling. I chuckled and shook Liam lightly.
Liam gave me a curious look. “Ya be the right philosopher, Will. Ya believe that?”
I nodded.
“I would na’ be tellin’ no priest that,” Bones drawled. “They done hung me maw fer witchcraft.”
I swore vehemently. Nickel was appalled, but Liam smiled slowly, and then he laughed. I looked to Bones, and found him frowning at Liam’s humor. I was surprised; I had thought Bones to be jesting. I was not sure whether Liam had also thought it a jest, or if our Scotsman were just so overwrought that laughter at Bones’ words seemed an easier path than tears.
“It weren’t funny,” Bones said sadly.
I could take no more. I tore the bandage from my head and grasped Bones firmly by the shoulders. “It was not. It was a horrible thing,” I rasped carefully, trying to move my jaw as little as possible. “I hope… I pray that God meets priests at the gates of Heaven, and smites those who have done horror in his name down to the lowest pits of Hell.”
“Amen.” Liam said. “I weren’t laughin’ at yur mother. I just…” He turned away and wiped his now-teary eyes.
Bones nodded solemnly. “I pray me maw were right in her thinkin’. She were a good woman, an’ I canna’ bear the thought o’ her bein’ in Hell, neither.”
“What are you doing?” Gaston hissed from the doorway.
I turned to face him and held up my hand in supplication at his concerned anger. “Bones’ mother was hanged for witchcraft, and Liam is worried that Otter is in Hell,” I said slowly and carefully.
“That be ’bout the gist of it,” Liam said.
Gaston smiled slowly. There was great regard for me in his gaze. It made my heart ache. He came to hold me with his good arm.
“My love,” he whispered, “You cannot minister to them until you heal.”
“I am sorry,” I whispered back, “but you were not here to speak for me and…”
His fingers were on my lips. I quieted, and when he was sure I would not try to speak again, he led me to the barrel and sat me down. With Farley’s help he re-bandaged my jaw.
Farley spoke nervously as he worked. “I know the mandible joint here to be broken, but I was not sure of other injury or…”
Gaston silenced him with a nod. “As I said, you did well, very well, and we thank you. I am sorry.”
Farley quickly shook his head. “Nay, nay, it was… You were distraught. I wish I had known of the laudanum you carried, then. It would have made it all much… easier.”
“If… such a thing occurs again,” Gaston sighed. “And Will is not there to calm me, please search our things for laudanum if you do not have any yourself, and drug me insensate.”
“I will do so,” Farley said; and with a final compressed smile and a bob of his head at me, he left us.
Our friends had retreated a little, and we were somewhat alone; but, of course, I could not speak to voice my anger that Gaston had suffered such a wound being sewn with nothing to dull the pain. Striker’s words surfaced: Gaston had attempted to kill Farley and…
I could see Gaston lying there with Pete and Cudro holding him down, crying for me with his broken voice while Farley worked upon him.
I clutched at Gaston and held him tightly; my ragged sob was restrained by my bandage and the curious realization that what I was envisioning was not a thing I had seen. There had been no cave, no light; it was merely a nightmare vision like the ones I had visited upon myself concerning his sister’s death and his flogging. It was not the thing I feared.
“Will?” Gaston whispered.
I released him. I wanted paper, or to tear the bandage from my head again, but I was sure he would not allow that, and the only paper of which I knew the ready location was in my bag, back at the fort. I stood and took his hand. He allowed me to lead him down the street. All the way there, I thought of what I must say. I composed great paragraphs in my head, and then discarded them.
We at last returned to the fortress, and I found my bag. As it was near the men still there, I took great care to meet no one’s eye. I took my things and retreated with Gaston in my wake. The sun was high overhead, and there was little shade to be found. I finally resolved that this was another light I must deal with, and sat atop the wide wall far across the fort from the others. I dug out the paper and quill.
Gaston joined me with a reluctant mien, and I knew he did not wish to face the light any more than I.
I wrote, I cannot frolic until I know how I fell. I cannot face the light of truth alone. I am afraid it will burst upon me beyond my control. Help me.
Gaston settled more comfortably beside me, but his expression did not relax from guilt. He fidgeted with the edge of my bag, and then he finally met my gaze with tear-filled eyes.
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