by Kage Baker
“What other darky?”
“The other one,” said John. “Him that was right beside you in the thick of the fight, when we took the Santa Ysabel.”
“I didn’t see any other black men.”
John stared at him. “How’d you miss him? He was big as a house. Whacking away at the Spaniards with that bleeding great cleaver he carried.”
Sejanus shrugged. “You saw wrong. Must have been an indian, or a white man all smoked up.”
So certain he was, John supposed himself mistaken, what with all the fire and blood and confusion.
* * *
They came in sight of Tortuga that afternoon, and there were wild cheers when her green mountains could be made out. Later men crowded the rail as they cruised along her south coast, watching for the little town by the lagoon, where a river came down to the sea. The late slanting sun made all the houses look as though they were on fire.
Yet Tortuga was growing peaceful these days, not so much a place of drunken mayhem as it had once been. A thoughtful governor had imported better than a thousand whores, to turn the attention of the populace to more domestic matters. Many of the buccaneers had married and settled down now, scratching out livings on little farms up the steep-sided canyons. Some had opened taverns and shops on the waterfront.
There was no harbor to speak of, so both Harmony and Fraternity moored off the lagoon and sent men ashore in the longboats. Captain Reynald went ashore briefly and returned with one M. Delahaye, a shabby-looking little man with spectacles. He led him on a tour of the Harmony’s cargo deck to display her plunder. The two men talked affably together in French, as M. Delahaye made notes on a slate he carried with him, and at last he chalked up a figure and displayed it to Captain Reynald. Apparently Captain Reynald was pleased with the figure, for the two men embraced and went back ashore to seal their bargain with a friendly bottle of rum.
John watched wistfully from the rail, as the last of the crew prepared to go ashore.
“Reckon you’ll be glad to see our backs, eh?” said Anslow, digging him in the ribs. “You and the missus get some privacy at last!”
John smiled and nodded. “To be sure,” he said, thinking how winsomely the yellow lights of the town beckoned. There would have been good food ashore, and rum, and willing ladies to whom he’d have owed no debt but their set price.
“I don’t know but that I oughtn’t stay on board too,” said Mr. Tudeley, perched indecisive on the rail.
“No, you want to go ashore and have a hell of a good time,” said Anslow firmly, jerking his head at John and mouthing the words Honeymoon, remember? at Mr. Tudeley.
“You come on down, now,” said Sejanus, laughing as he rose to help Mr. Tudeley into the boat. “Maybe there’s a bookseller’s stall here. Maybe there’s a barber-surgeon to draw your tooth. Maybe there’s a church! You won’t know if you don’t go see.”
“I may as well,” said Mr. Tudeley, with a sigh.
They rowed ashore. John turned, wondering whether in fact he might win back Mrs. Waverly’s attention, if not her affections. He made his way down to their cabin, hefting a lantern, and found her emerging from the cabin with her arms full of bedding.
“Ah! There you are, Mr. James,” said Mrs. Waverly. “I thought I’d take the opportunity to sleep in my old cabin tonight. I have so fearfully crowded you.”
“Obliged,” said John gruffly. He felt a strong urge for a stiff drink, but the rum was locked away on the orlop deck. “I reckon I’ll sleep on deck, all the same, since there’s just me to keep watch.” He remembered Mr. Tudeley had been given some rum for his toothache, and wondered if there was any left. “Pardon me, ma’am.” He edged past her and opened Mr. Tudeley’s cabin, and thrust the lantern in.
Mr. Tudeley’s trunk was standing open, his clothes and books strewn everywhere. John grimaced at the untidiness. “Landlubber,” he muttered. He spotted the wooden tankard to one side and picked it up, but even before he opened the lid he could tell it was full. He tilted back the lid and peered in, and his mood brightened at once.
So he carried the rum up on deck, and sat there a while sipping it, looking up at the stars. He heard music coming from across the water, and sounds of raucous merriment from the little buildings with their yellow lights. It put him in a sentimental mood. He fell to thinking about Mrs. Waverly, and the way she’d wept for Tom Blackstone. He wondered whether any woman would weep for him when he should meet his end, whether he met it in battle or drowning in the green sea, or dying at a decent age in his brickyard…
He heard Henry Morgan’s voice in his head, then, telling him sharply that he was becoming self-pitying sodden drunk. “Aye, sir,” John said. He sighed, sitting upright and closing the lid of the tankard. He carried it belowdecks and set it back where he’d found it, in Mr. Tudeley’s cabin. Then he thought he’d better get his hammock, so he edged down the passage and went into his cabin.
Preparing to unfasten the hammock, he took out the roll of folded sailcloth he’d been using as a pillow and tossed it on the deck. It landed with a hard sound, a sort of rattling tinkle; several objects spilled out of it. John peered down, surprised. Then he grabbed the lantern and held it down to see better.
There was a little pearl-handled knife. There was a ring. There was a sort of doll made of a carved nutshell, with a body of ribbon scraps and rags. There were three parrot feathers bound together with gold wire. There was a piece of heathen money with a hole in it. There was a whistle carved from a bone. All hidden in his pillow…
John heard his heart beating. His mouth was dry. Stone cold sober, he turned and opened the door.
Mrs. Waverly stood there, looking at him with narrowed eyes. He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the cabin.
“What’s this, then?” he demanded. “What’s this stuff doing in my gear? It was you took it, wasn’t it, and hid it in my gear?”
She looked into his eyes a long moment, her gaze unfathomable; then she turned away and lifted her arm to hide her face. “Oh, God,” she moaned, with tears choking her voice. “It has begun again. Oh, poor dear Mr. James, forgive me, please forgive me!”
John lessened his grip on her hand a bit. “What’re you talking about?”
“They’re only trifles. I meant no harm. I can’t help myself—” Her tears were coming in full flood now. “Oh—Mr. James, I must—must throw myself on your mercy!”
John evened his breath, trying to calm himself at least. “First thing we got to do is put all this back,” he said. “And it’s a good job everyone else is ashore. Come on.” He stooped and swept everything back into the pillow.
They went into the crew’s quarters, with Mrs. Waverly whimpering and sobbing the whole while. She mastered herself enough to point mutely at each particular sea-chest, as John held up first one oddment and then another, so he could stow them back where they belonged. The whole time he listened hard, fearful of hearing footsteps creaking overhead that meant some of the crew had come back early. Once or twice he nearly told Mrs. Waverly to stop her noise, but gritted his teeth and forbore, realizing that rough treatment would only make her more hysterical.
When they were finished putting everything back, John took Mrs. Waverly by the hand and led her up on deck. “Now,” he said, seating her on the helmsman’s bench. “What in thunder did you steal all that trash for?”
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Waverly, her voice rising shrilly. “I have never known. Oh, Mr. James, please don’t tell! They were only petty, silly things, of no real value; and yet I should be so ashamed, if all those brave gentlemen thought less of me on that account.”
“They’d likely do a bit worse than think less of you,” said John. “I seen men flogged for doing what you done. You don’t go thieving from your shipmates.”
“But you’re pirates,” said Mrs. Waverly, looking genuinely confused. “You murdered everyone on that Spanish ship and stole their goods.”
“Well—yes—yes, we did. But they was Spaniards,
so it don’t count.”
“And before that, Captain Reynald and his crew stole the Fyrey Pentacost, whose crew were English!”
“Well, so they done, but he’s a Frenchman. So it wasn’t exactly like common thievery, see?”
“I see,” said Mrs. Waverly, with a sniff. “Common thievery is the sticking point, then. I did think I might have found myself in the one society in which persons might be better disposed to excuse my little frailty.”
“I’m sorry to say that ain’t the case, ma’am,” said John. “Your householder’ll go and fetch a constable if he catches you stealing his goods, but your pirate won’t bother with all that. He’ll just pull out his knife and stick you a few times to make sure you don’t go doing it again. D’you catch my meaning?”
Mrs. Waverly shuddered. “I suppose.”
“And with you being a woman and all,” John paused, uncertain how to phrase it delicately. “He’s likeliest to pull something else out first, afore he goes for his knife.”
Mrs. Waverly covered her face with her hands. “Oh, great God forbid!”
“How long have you been doing this?”
“I hadn’t given offense in years,” said Mrs. Waverly. “Oh, Mr. James, pity me! I am sure it is grief and the desperation of my present circumstance that has made it break out again. My father was old gentry in Hertfordshire—well-bred but improvident, and too trusting—we lost our manor and he died untimely, and we were obliged to go live with an aunt in London, in very mean circumstances—I think it began then.
“I am sure I do not know what possessed me. I could never recall how it had happened afterwards—all manner of oddments would be found in my apron pockets, or once or twice in my stockings. Spoons, mostly. Other people’s thimbles. Hair ribbons. Nothing anyone would consider real theft, surely!
“And when I was happy and at peace, it would never happen at all. You see, do you not, Mr. James, that I am no malefactor?”
“Of course not,” agreed John, though he was remembering Bess Whidbey who’d lived in the next street but one in Hackney, who’d been arrested coming out of a shop with a packet of brass pins hid in her bosom, and when they’d gone to her room they’d found row upon row of packets of pins lined up along the cupboard shelf, never opened, and her cool as ice the whole time declaring her innocence.
“Did Tom know about what you done?”
Mrs. Waverly nodded, weeping afresh. “Such a kind man—such an understanding man. He knew that I should die of shame were I ever caught out, and he protected me. And in truth, when dear Tom was alive I was seldom troubled. Will you not have mercy on an unhappy woman’s weakness, Mr. James?” She reached out and clasped both his hands.
“Aw—” said John, and then her mouth was on his, she was grabbing his arms fit to leave finger-marks and pulling him down to her. He overbalanced and fell on one knee on the bench, which hurt considerably, but her mouth tasted of comfits and her little white teeth were raking his lip.
Except—
“Wait,” he said, coming up for air with effort. “Wait. I thought you was sweet on Reynald. I ain’t fighting no adultery duels with any Frenchman, especially when you and me ain’t really married in the first place.”
“Oh, Mr. James!” Mrs. Waverly tossed her head impatiently. “How can you imagine I should so demean myself as to dishonor Tom’s memory with a person like Captain Reynald? I but play a role, as you do. Circumstance has placed us at the mercy of these wild and vicious men; what is more prudent than to smile, and flatter them, and make myself generally agreeable to preserve myself from harm?”
“You’re not staying on in hopes of getting yourself some more earrings, then?”
“Sir!” said Mrs. Waverly, pulling away from him and sitting straight. “That insinuation is unworthy of you! One might as well ask why you have made no move to escape. We need but slip over the side, after all.”
“Well,” said John. “Where’d we go? The island is all bloody pirates. We’d only be leaving devils we know to trust ourselves with devils we don’t. And anyone agrees to take us to Leauchaud for a price is going to want to know why we’re going.”
“You’re not staying on because you find a brigand’s life suits you?”
The shot hit home. John scowled at her.
“You can argue like a lawyer when you’ve a mind, can’t you?”
“Of course I can. Consider, Mr. James: you are a man. You have at your disposal tremendous strength and courage with which to defend yourself, to say nothing of cutlasses and pistols. What have I, a weak and feeble woman, by comparison? Naught but my wit, my grace, my politesse!”
“True enough,” said John, though he remembered a girl who had wielded a cutlass and pistol well enough and feared nothing. Her kiss had burned his mouth like white rum; and the memory of that gave him a bleak feeling, and suddenly he didn’t feel like having Mrs. Waverly right there on the steersman’s bench anymore.
“You’d best go below,” he said, turning away from her and looking out at the lights of Tortuga. “I won’t tell a soul what you done. You mustn’t do it anymore, mind. Not as long as we’re aboard this craft.”
“You have my most fervent gratitude, Mr. James,” said Mrs. Waverly, rising and adjusting her garments, which had become a little disheveled in their embrace. She wished him a pleasant goodnight and went below.
EIGHT:
Roistering
JOHN WOKE WITH THE sun in his eyes and the awareness of having heard a loud crash. He leaped up and fell sprawling from his hammock. The crash came again; something was striking the hull, amid a great deal of drunken laughter. He scrambled to his feet and went to look over the side.
One of the boats had come back from town. Mr. Tudeley lay unconscious in the bottom and Sam Anslow sprawled back on the oars, so their blade ends rose dripping from the sparkling sea. Sejanus was attempting to jump for a bit of knotted rope that hung down from the rail. As John watched, he caught it and pulled himself up, giggling.
“Good morning, sir!” he declared. “How was your delightful conjugal evening?” He fell over the rail.
“Hope yours is as nice,” said John, feeling mean. “If you ever get a woman to marry you. What the hell happened to him?” He jerked his thumb downward at Mr. Tudeley. His question provoked a fit of fresh laughter from Sejanus, and Anslow sat there snickering too.
“Oh, that’s quite a story,” said Sejanus, getting to his hands and knees. “Yes sir, that’s what you’d call one of those epic stories. Where to begin. Where should we begin? How would you say we ought to begin, Mr. Anslow, sir?”
Mr. Anslow made a gurgling noise in reply.
“Well, sir,” said Sejanus, pulling himself up on his knees via the rail. “Well. Little Mr. Tudeleley, or Winty as he asked us to call him—short for Winthrop, don’t you know? He had this rotten tooth. We went ashore, he said, ‘Oh, please, for the love of Jesus let us find a barber-surgeon to draw my tooth, before we do aught else’. So we were agreeable—weren’t we agreeable, Mr. Anslow, sir?”
“Was,” said Anslow.
“We searched high, we searched low, but no place could we find us a barber-surgeon,” Sejanus continued. “So I said we ought to go drink some rum, as it might take the edge off Winty’s toothache. And first he said he couldn’t possibly, and then he said he really couldn’t, and then he said, ‘Oh, well, if you fellows are having some too I suppose a dram wouldn’t hurt’. So we went to a little rum-shop and we set about drinking.
“By and by, this other fellow noticed Winty’s groaning and swishing rum around on his tooth, and he asked what was the matter with him. We replied for Winty, didn’t we, Mr. Anslow?”
“We did,” said Anslow.
“And this man said, he said, ‘Monsieur, I shall be happy to draw your tooth, in return for a drink.’ I asked him was he a barber-surgeon and he said no, he was a blacksmith. Same thing really. And before Winty could do more than scream, Mr. Blacksmith had Winty’s head under his arm and a pair of plie
rs out. Luckily—” Sejanus rose, with infinite care, to his feet and stood there swaying. “Luckily, one of us thought to stop him before he pulled out a tooth at random, and told Winty to point out the rotten one. Was it you thought to stop him, Mr. Anslow?”
“Naw,” said Anslow.
“Why then, it must have been me. And, crack! Out came that tooth, and Winty was on his hands and knees on the floor spitting blood. So we picked him up and told him he was a brave hero. We bought rum for him, and the jolly blacksmith too. Little Winty liked the rum so well after that, he had another, and still another. By and by he said, ‘Let’s go roistering, my lads!’
“I said to him, I said, ‘Define roistering for me, Winty, my man’ and he replied with a word that is not generally used in polite company. And as I recall Mr. Anslow said—what was it you said, Mr. Anslow?”
“Hell yes,” said Anslow.
“And we asked Brother Blacksmith if he knew where there was an establishment properly fitted up for the purpose Winty had in mind. Brother Blacksmith said ‘Why, yes, indeed, I do know of such a place!’ So we went there. We bought a bottle of rum to take with us, just in case there wasn’t any where we were going.
“But it turned out the ladies kept a fine cellar full of good drink. Which was fortunate. I will draw the veil of discretion over what we did there, sir, but Winty astonished everyone by his fortitude. We could scarcely believe it, could we, Mr. Anslow?”
“Could have knocked me over with a feather,” said Anslow.
“Even if we hadn’t had those two other bottles,” said Sejanus. “The ladies begged us to take him away, at last. They were exhausted by his company. They had to send out to the house down the lane for reinforcements. So we loaded Winty on a chair and carried him back. And here he is.”
“You forgot the part about the tattoo,” said Anslow.
“Bless me, so I did.” Sejanus hiccupped. “Well. What do you think? Shall we pass a bight of rope around him, and haul him aboard?”
