Till Dawn Tames the Night

by Meagan Mckinney

  "No, miss." Benny sent a wary glance in the direction of the quarterdeck.

  "Take me to your cabin, then. We'll see to Koonga, and if Vashon doesn't like it, then I shall be most happy to butt horns with him."

  "All right, miss." He relented. "I'd be obliged if you could care for Koonga. I'm right worried about her." His voice quavered.

  "I'll do everything I can." Aurora took his arm. He helped her descend the companionway and they disap­peared inside the deckhouse, not once paying attention to the wrathful green glare of the man on the quarterdeck.

  "Where are they going?" Vashon snapped to Isaac, his gaze riveted to the deckhouse.

  "Perhaps she wanted to take tea with Flossie."

  "Did you see her hug him? What's going on between those two . . . ..?"

  Isaac chuckled and finished charting their course. "Is that jealousy I hear in your voice, Vashon, or am I going deaf now?"

  "Don't be absurd. Benny's a lad, hardly seventeen."

  Isaac looked as if he couldn't help himself. A mischie­vous glint appeared in his eyes and he added, "Of course. Little Aurora's only about nineteen. Much too old for him. Oh, but they're probably just friendly-like. You know—"

  Vashon slammed his hand on the railing. "She bla­tantly disobeyed me by going to Flossie's cabin."

  "Well, then, perhaps she's not with Flossie."

  Vashon whipped around. "What do you mean?"

  "Nothing, nothing, Vashon." Isaac looked about ready to burst. "Perhaps Benny and she are taking a stroll on the gundeck. She does like the boy, you know. It wouldn't be impossible that she just wanted to spend a moment with him."

  "I'll tell her whose company to like!"

  "You can't beat her into liking you, Vashon."

  Vashon stiffened. His voice turned cold. "I don't care who she likes, or hates, for that matter. I just want her submission."

  "Well, it seems clear to me you aren't getting it this way. You two get along as well as thunder and light­ning."

  "Then she'd better expect a little rain today." Vashon swung down the companionway and strode toward the deckhouse.

  "Oh, the poor little darling," Aurora cooed softly as she looked down at Koonga shivering upon a paltry bun­die of soiled rags. The little monkey stared up at her with such soulful eyes, Aurora was beside herself. She felt as if she were back at the Home, tending to a sick babe.

  "Get me some weak tea, Benny," she directed. "And a little bit of hardtack. We'll see if we can't get something into this tiny wretched creature."

  Benny nodded and Aurora picked up Koonga, letting the rags fall away.

  "Do you need anything else, miss?" he asked.

  Aurora cradled Koonga to her bosom. The little mon­key trembled like a Quaker.

  "All we need now is a blanket," she said, cooing softly to her charge.

  Outside, Vashon was just passing by Benny's closed cabin door. He stopped dead when he heard Aurora's strange request for a blanket.

  "Will this one do?"

  Vashon looked at Benny's door. Again he heard Aurora's voice.

  "Yes, that one's perfect. Isn't it, my darling? My dear little sweetheart?"

  "Don't we need something more?" he heard Benny ask. "I've heard sometimes that bleeding—"

  "Oh, no, don't even think about that now. Let's take our time with this. This should get much further along before we need to consider that happening." Her voice softened. "This is really very simple, Benny. You needn't be afraid. Something like this can occur anytime. It's be­yond your control. Just be gentle with your hands and soft with your voice and I know you'll be well rewarded for it."

  Vashon's eyes opened wide. He looked as if he'd just been punched.

  "Don't be afraid now," he heard Aurora coo. "I've been taught well. You can trust me. There, that's it. Yes, yes, that's it—"

  Vashon burst into the cabin like a madman. Aurora and Benny looked up. Benny was holding Koonga wrapped in a blanket like a proud father showing off his newborn.

  "Do you always make such a spectacle of yourself, Vashon?" Aurora asked coolly.

  "What's going on in here? I heard—" Vashon stopped himself short as if he suddenly realized how ridiculous his thoughts were.

  "Koonga is ill, sir," Benny said. "The miss here said she could tend to her. I'm sorry I disobeyed. Sir," he added helplessly.

  Vashon looked down at the monkey shivering in Ben­ny's arms. He closed his eyes, and it was clear he thought himself all kinds of a fool. "Take Miss Dayne to her own cabin and let her care for the monkey there. It's not . . . quite the thing for her to be in your cabin, Benny."

  "Oh, what shocking hypocrisy," Aurora began, feeling as if she could have slapped him right in front of Benny. She looked Vashon straight in the eye, and a lesser man would have fled from the cabin with his tail between his legs.

  "Take her to her quarters, Benny," Vashon ordered impatiently.

  "Aye, sir. Right away, sir." Benny handed Koonga to Aurora and led her out the hatch. All the while she stared daggers at Vashon.

  Benny deposited Aurora and Koonga in her cabin and promptly went to get the tea and hardtack. When he returned, Aurora coaxed Koonga to take a spoonful of the tea. She hardly noticed in the warm Caribbean heat that Benny had rolled up his sleeves, until she looked up and saw his knobby elbows pop out while he broke the hardtack.

  She was, of course, taken aback by the black-stained skin at his joint. Not that she'd never seen that before; on the contrary, at the Home more boys than not had soot irreversibly ground into their knees and elbows and feet. The Home had always taken in more than its share of abused chimney sweeps' apprentices. She was just sur­prised to find one on the Seabravery.

  "You were a climbing boy, weren't you, Benny?" she asked softly.

  Benny looked down at his elbows and hastily rolled down his sleeves. He blushed and Aurora was suddenly struck by what a handsome fellow he was.

  "You worked in Spitalfields?" she asked gently.

  "No, miss. Bristol. That's where Vashon picked me up."

  "How old were you?"

  "Ten, miss. My mum died when I was three. That's when I began climbing."

  "I see." She quickly averted her gaze, not wanting Benny to see the pity in her eyes.

  Of all the cruel businesses, being a sweep's apprentice was the most abhorrent. A boy was forced to climb those narrow chimneys—naked, of course, so that he would not catch his clothes on fire from all the burning soot clogging the airflow—only to find himself trapped in a black, choking labyrinth of tunnels. If he did as he was told, he nearly suffocated from the lack of air; if he should by chance want to retreat, his master urged him higher by the pins stuck into the soles of his feet. Adding to this that the average age of a climbing boy was under six—the smaller the better, "Small boys for small flues" being a common sweeps' advertisement—she could think of no more deplorable institution. It broke her heart that dear Benny had ever been subjected to it.

  "It weren't so bad, miss," Benny said. "Vashon put me out to sea. I've been on this ship nigh six years now."

  She didn't want to feel admiration for Vashon, but in spite of herself she found it admirable that he'd helped Benny. Not wanting to belabor the thought, however, she quickly said, "It's only right that someone saved you, Benny. You're such a hard worker, Vashon couldn't ask for more."

  Benny blushed again. She was completely charmed.

  "I hope Vashon ain't too mad at me because of Koonga," he finally said.

  "No, no! I shall speak to him on your behalf if you like."

  "Thank you, miss." Suddenly shy, he hobbled to the door.

  But before he left, Aurora couldn't squelch her curios­ity any longer. Chastising herself for being so shockingly forward, she asked, "Did you lose your leg when you were a sweep then, Benny?"

  "No, miss," he answered, appearing not at all bothered by her question. "I was twelve when my leg came off."

  "I see," she said, unwilling to probe further.

>   "Vashon had it done."

  She gasped. That was not the answer she had expected. "Why—why would he . . . ? I can't imagine . . ." she stuttered, tripping over her words. Her horror only in­creased when she saw how uncomfortable she was mak­ing Benny. She stumbled all over herself, trying to smooth things over. "But, of course, this is none of my business. I should never have asked, Benny, I'm sorry. I only meant to—"

  Suddenly a terrible thought occurred to her. It was so terrible she couldn't even think it, but it persisted until it rose like an ugly specter, unable to be vanquished until she spoke the horrible words.

  "He didn't do it as some sort of punishment, did he, Benny?" she asked, terrified. "I mean, I cannot believe Vashon would do such a thing, especially to an innocent child, but since we all know he's a pirate and pirates do such terrble deeds—"

  "Oh, no, miss. My leg was full of sooty warts."

  She looked at him. Her expression turned from pain to disbelief. She'd never heard of any child surviving that evil. Sooty warts were a common sweep's malady, and once the growths started on a boy, she'd never heard of a way to cure him.

  "What a miracle you survived," she whispered.

  "Yes, miss. That's what Doc Sovens said. He didn't want to cut off my leg. He'd taken me for crowbait al­ready, but Vashon made him do it."

  "You must have been terrified. Only twelve, were you? Such a brave little man to believe in Vashon so much." Tears sprang to her eyes.

  "Yes, miss," he said quietly. "It's easy to believe in Vashon."

  "Is it?" She hid the bitterness in her eyes.

  "Aye, miss. When he visited me the morning my leg was to come off, he pulled up to my bedside with a bottle of rum. He poured me a glass, treating me just like I was a fellow man. We drank that whole bottle and I don't remember nothing. Doc Sovens even said Vashon had to hold me down on that table. But I don't remember. Too much rum. And you know, miss, I think he planned it that way. He got me stinking drunk so's I wouldn't re­member a thing."

  "He was right to do it," she said, her voice trembling with emotion for the boy.

  "That's why it's easy to believe in Vashon. He always does the right thing."

  Not always! she wanted to shout, pointing to her kid­napping and her seduction. But when she looked into Benny's expressive blue eyes, she knew she couldn't ma­lign Vashon. If nothing else had been made clear by this entire conversation, it was that Benny's faith was abso­lute. He wouldn't believe her.

  "Thank you for being so candid, Benny," she said, "It was cheeky of me to pry like that. I hope you'll forgive me."

  He blushed again, then nodded. "If you'll just take care of Koonga, I'd be most obliged, miss."

  She looked down at Koonga. The monkey's chills had ceased, and it was now fast asleep in her arms like a babe at its mother's breast.

  A smile touched her lips. A terribly homely babe, she couldn't help thinking. "She'll be all right," she assured him. "She just needs a little care."

  "Thank you, miss." Benny gave her a shy smile, then nodded his head.

  She watched him go, her mind still on the picture of him and Vashon guzzling down a bottle of rum, doing it just so poor Benny, then only twelve, wouldn't remember the rest of that terrible day. It was a very different picture of Vashon. She'd seen Vashon fight and kill and . . . un­bidden the memory of the night at the governor's man­sion came back to her with heart-stopping clarity . . . yes, she'd even seen him make love. But experiencing those facets of his character had only made her want to fight him harder. She wanted her relationship with him to be about as pleasant as a fist slamming into a brick wall. She hated him.

  Yet the picture of Vashon making Benny drink himself to oblivion touched her where she didn't want to be touched. She despised the feeling more than she despised him. Yet as much as she hated this man who fought and killed and seduced, she couldn't reconcile it with the pic­ture of the man with Benny.

  Because that was a man she could love.

  MIRAGE

  . . . a spot inexpressively beautiful.

  —Bryan Edwards:

  The History of

  the British Colonies

  in the West Indies (1793)

  Chapter Nineteen

  "We're two weeks from Bermuda." Asher's words were nervous yet anticipatory.

  Peterborough looked behind him and found Asher standing on the deck of the Merry Magdalene. Dis­missing him, he turned back to stare at the endless sea. "We should be there by now," he snarled.

  "Are you unhappy with our choice of ship? I thought you liked her." Asher walked around to stand next to him along the rail. "After all," he said, rubbing his hand along the polished teak, "the Magdalene's swift and ex­pertly handled. Better still, her crew's as ruthless as a vulture after carrion."

  "That stupid captain is positive he can find Mirage." Peterborough scowled. His brilliant green eyes searched the horizon as if Mirage would just appear if he looked hard enough.

  "He'll find it. We've oiled him with enough gold—he doesn't dare fail."

  Peterborough hardly seemed to listen. He just looked out to the horizon like a man obsessed. "He's out there," he said almost to himself. "I can just feel him closing in on the Star. I can feel this noose tightening around my neck."

  "The Chronicles could be wrong, you know. Even if Vashon does get it, the curse, if you will, may just not work. It doesn't pay to be superstitious."

  "What do you know, fool?" Peterborough snapped.

  Asher pursed his lips, obviously annoyed. "Not much, I'm afraid. Look at me, I'm on a damned pirate ship in the middle of the Atlantic and I haven't eaten anything better than lard and hardtack for days!"

  "You've dined well on another course, if the noises from your cabin last night are any indication." Peterbor­ough narrowed his eyes.

  "Perhaps, but fool that I am, I still entertain thoughts of another meal altogether."

  The viscount looked down at the soft male hand on his shoulder. A jaded smile curved his lips. "Your infatua­tions are beginning to interfere with our chase, Asher. You know, Worthington's demise can be duplicated in a much more creative manner. A night spent with me and I guarantee you'll be glad I shot you." He gave Asher a promising look. Asher blanched and removed his hand. He quit the deck before Peterborough could make an­other comment.

  Alone, Aurora looked across the prow to the crystal blue sea below. The mountainous islands of St. Kitts and Nevis were straight ahead, and though it appeared that there were only two distinct islands, she'd learned that there were really three. What looked like another misted emerald peak on St. Kitts was actually the notorious isle of Mirage.

  She'd run out of time. When they arrived at Mirage, Vashon was going to be merciless. He would get her rhyme eventually, just as he'd gotten her. He would win simply because he was the more driven.

  Now it was time for her to act. To make sure he did not win. She'd lain awake all night thinking about her plan and the sacrifice she would have to make. But she could see no other way. She had to safeguard her posi­tion.

  Placing her fingers at her throat, she touched the lizard locket. As long as she had it, there was the strongest of possibilities that it would find its way into Vashon's hands. He already suspected she had the rhyme some­where. It was only a matter of time before he realized the pendant she wore was in fact a locket with the second verse engraved within it. When he had her locket, he would have taken everything from her; her body, her honor, and her past.

  She slipped the necklace over her head and pulled where it caught in a tangle of her hair. Holding it tight, she closed her eyes and thought how bitterly she would miss it. It was the last thread that held her to her father. As a child, it was the only thing truly hers, not given to her by the charity of others. Now it would be lost, gone forever in a graveyard of brilliant blue. But she had to do it. If she had any self-respect left at all, she must.

  She held the locket out over the railing. The sun glinted off the emeralds, onto the sea
below. She closed her eyes. She couldn't look. It broke her heart that she had to do it, but there was no other choice. She'd rather lose it to the sea than lose it to Vashon.

  She let go. That very second her wrist was taken in a clamp and an iron-hard body moved next to her, leaning over the rail. Her eyes flew open and she heard the deli­cate tinkle of her gold chain as Vashon lunged to catch it. She leaned over the rail, praying that he hadn't retrieved it, but then he straightened, and in his hand, dangling precariously from its gold rope, was her locket.

  He stared at her, his gaze punishing and angry. They did not exchange words. He moved his focus to her locket and studied it for a long moment, as if not sure why it was of such value. But soon his thumb found the catch and it sprang open, the second verse there for all to see.

  "I hate you," she whispered when he took her arm.

  "Obviously," he answered, leading her back to her cabin.

  Aurora would always remember the colors of Mirage. They were simple colors—green, blue, yellow, and black —but on Mirage they left her breathless.

  The green was the palms that spiked over the island's mountain until they disappeared in a sultry mist of clouds. The blue was the Caribbean that surrounded the island in as many clear tints as there were angels in heaven. The yellow was the sun that bathed everything in a translucent wash of light. And lastly there was black, the glittering jewels of volcanic sand that made up the beaches of this paradise.

  Vashon fit in well. Mirage seemed to loosen him, to take the edge off his hard, dark character. When he was on his island, he seemed more savage yet more relaxed. He'd shed his meager attempt at looking civilized and wore only a pair of loose white trousers, not bothering to hide the dragon at all. His servants dressed better. But as his body grew more tan beneath Mirage's sun, he seemed more apt to smile and his laughter was heard more often.

  She didn't see him often. After the Seabravery made port, she was taken to his house, Dragonard, and kept locked in an apartment, well away from Flossie and even from Benny. A series of anonymous servants waited on her, and her only friend in the world was Koonga, who was allowed to stay with her while the little monkey recuperated from her strange malady.