Under the Jolly Roger

by L. A. Meyer

  Afterwards, when the session is about over, Drake says, "You have been coming along. I did not think it possible, but you have attained a measure of skill in a very short time. A small measure, to be sure, but still ..." He trails off, maybe slightly embarrassed? "Please wait here, if you please," and he goes off.

  What?

  In a moment he is back, bearing something wrapped in a cloth. "This is for your efforts ... in spite of your ... troubles ... in trying to make this a real fighting ship."

  I take the bundle from his hands and unwrap it. It is a sword and scabbard with leather harness.

  "Why ... why, thank you, Drake," I say, looking in wonder at the thing. "I don't know what to say..."

  "I have daughters, Miss," he says by way of some explanation. "Here. Permission to touch?"

  I nod and say yes and he takes the belt and wraps it around my waist and cinches it tight. Then another strap of leather goes across my chest, over my shoulder, and back down across my back to attach again to the belt, to support the weight of the sword and scabbard, which Drake now snaps onto a ring on the harness. The sword hangs easily to my side.

  "There," he says. "It is to be hoped that someday you shall tell your grandchildren how you once trod the deck of a Royal Navy ship with a proper sword by your side!"

  I pull out the blade. It gleams as it comes out of the scabbard.

  "The smithy had the forge fired up yesterday. I took a standard rapier and cut it down some in length, then pounded and tempered the blade and sharpened it all the way down until just above the hilt. I shortened the pommel—it fits your hand, I trust?" It fits my hand perfectly. I nod. "And I changed the hand guard from the simple bell to a more saberlike protection for your hand."

  As always, when someone does anything really nice for me, my eyes start to well up. He sees and says, "None of that, now. We must exercise with your new weapon now. Carefully, though, as I've no wish to lose an eye. En garde!"

  That evening, after I stand the Second Dog and turn the ship to the south, I go into the cabin to try to get a good night's sleep. I'll have the Four to Eight and things will change forever right after that.

  But before I do that I kneel down and take the sword in my two hands. You shall be Persephone, after the Greek goddess who was condemned to spend half of each year in Hell as the consort of Hades, the Lord of the Underworld.

  I look over at the shape of my would-be consort lying dead in the bed. You Gods, both Greek and Christian, know that I, too, have gone through some sort of hell down here, so Persephone you shall be.

  I clutch Persephone to my chest as I curl up next to the door, my nose sucking up the fresh air from the outside.

  And so the deception continues. Until tomorrow.

  Chapter 17

  I step off the quarterdeck at eight in the morning, having been relieved by a very sleepy Ned. I pat his shoulder. Don't worry, Ned. Your one-in-three watches will soon end, however things go for me.

  The Four-to-Eight watch was uneventful. No flashing lights from the shore, but I learned from Tom that there had been some on his watch. Good.

  I send word to Higgins that the Captain and I will want no breakfast today.

  It is a beautiful morning with a nice alongshore breeze. We have just turned to the southern leg. I stand at the rail for a long time, looking out toward France. I wait, and I enjoy the day. I take a turn around the deck. I wait.

  I go to inspect the guns. They are in good order. Swabs and wads in place. Everything clean, all lines and carriages taut.

  At about ten o'clock, I go back out to the quarterdeck and take a long glass and climb up the ratlines into the maintop and look out toward the coast. The ship rolls along and it feels good under me and...

  There! Another smuggler has nosed his way out from the coast, seeking, once again, to cross our wake without incident. Why am I not surprised? Did those flashing lights tell me something? I think they did, and if not, they will.

  I take a deep breath and turn to the business at hand.

  I send word for Bo'sun Morgan and for Higgins.

  "Bo'sun, I want you to have the table from the officers' mess brought up and set it there on Three Hatch. I want there to be five chairs. One at the head, two on that side, one on that side, and one at the foot." The Bo'sun looks confused but decides not to argue, and he goes to have it done.

  "Higgins, I want the table placed fore and aft. Set the table for five, two places on one long side, one place on each of the other sides. You will set out five glasses and place a bottle of the finest ... Madeira, yes, on the table. You may draw the wine from the Captain's stores. Understand?" He bows and withdraws.

  Tucker is the Messenger of the Watch. "Tucker," I say, "go get Mr. Wheeler. Wake up Corporal Martin and ask him to lay to the quarterdeck. I'll need Earweg, the loblolly boy, too. Be respectful, but do it. And when you have done all that, tell Jack Harkness and Joseph Jared that their presence is requested on Three Hatch. Oh, and have the Master of Arms bring up Mr. Raeburne from the brig. That is all."

  I go down to the cabin, hearing the buzz of curiosity behind me. I know that as soon as my foot touches the deck on my way out, the entire ship will know of the table, and wonder at it.

  I go down to the cabin and I strap on Persephone, then I go and get the pistols, and after checking that they are loaded, jam one into my cross-chest strap and one into my belt. My trousers are tucked into my boots. So, looking like the perfect pirate queen ... I hope ... I go back on deck.

  They are all there: Tom Wheeler, Earweg, Seaman Harkness, Seaman Jared, and, standing between the two Marines and next to the Master-at-Arms Drake is the prisoner Midshipman Robin Raeburne, his hands shackled together in front of him. He blinks at the light and then looks at me. I do not smile or otherwise acknowledge his gaze. He lifts his chin and casts his eyes about, probably looking for the noose. I'm sure he suspects that the reason for all this is that he will be hanged today by order of the Captain for his mutinous conduct, in spite of what I had told him. After all, I'm just a girl. What influence could I possibly have with the cruel and vile Captain Scroggs?

  I'm sure the crew also thinks that this is what is about to happen, as there is a low hum of sympathy, I believe, for the young man. Robin takes a deep breath and looks calmly off into eternity, a noble expression on his face.

  Good for you, lad.

  I go to the chair at the head of the table and Higgins pulls out my chair. I sit down, carefully. I know I present quite a sight already and I don't want to look ridiculous by tripping over my sword and sprawling across the deck. My back is to the quarterdeck, which holds only the helmsman and Ned. I face the entire crew, both those on the deck and those in the rigging. That is how I arranged it to be.

  Higgins fills my glass with the sweet wine. I don't touch it.

  "Mr. Raeburne, you will please sit there, next to me, and, Drake, if you would sit there." Higgins goes over and pulls out the chair for Robin. He looks confused, but he sits down, with Drake, looking guarded, next to him. The Master-at-Arms has to sit next to him because he's holding the end of the chain. I would have Robin unshackled, but I don't have the authority to do that on my own. Not yet, I don't.

  Higgins fills his glass and that of Drake. Robin doesn't touch it, but only looks intently at me, me who's trying my best to look calm and collected. With Robin chained the way he is, I don't think he could reach the glass, anyway. Drake doesn't touch his, either.

  The ship is dead quiet now, and I don't think there's a soul aboard who ain't listening in to all this.

  "Harkness, if you would be so good as to sit here"—I motion to the place to my left—"and Jared, if you will sit there ..." and I nod to the place opposite me.

  They look at each other with eyebrows raised in question, but they do it. Higgins does not pull out their chairs, but he does pour the wine into their glasses. They do not reach for them.

  I say nothing for a while. I look about as if this was just a jolly family outing, he
re out on the shining sea. Finally, I say, "I must commend the crew and especially you, Jared, and you, Harkness, for your performance over the last few days. I think I can safely say the ship is in fighting trim." They say nothing, only nod in a guarded way.

  "That is good," I continue, "for I mean to take, as prizes, those ships that have been coming off the coast and thumbing their noses at us all these weeks."

  There is a sharp intake of breath around the table.

  "You mean the Captain ...," says Harkness, narrow-eyed, leaning toward me.

  "I mean I am going to take those ships and you all are going to help me, and by doing so, will make yourselves rich. Rich in prize money."

  I pause, letting this sink in, and then I say, "The Captain is dead. He has been dead ever since that night he tried to have his way with me."

  They are astounded. The men on deck and in the rigging let their breath out in one sharp whoa! of astonishment. Robin's head snaps up and his countenance undergoes a transformation upon hearing me say the word tried.

  Before they can do anything else, I continue in command voice. "Corporal Martin, you will take Earweg into the Captain's cabin and verify what I say. Earweg, you will then undress him and examine him for any wounds—you will find none. He died of a brain or heart stroke in the excitement of his desire to wear the mantle of my maidenhead. In which attempt, by the by, he did not succeed." So much for "the Captain's whore," you dogs. "When you have done that, you men at this table will verify it and will sign a paper to that effect drawn up by Mr. Wheeler here. Do it, Corporal Martin!" I bark out as he hesitates. The Marine and the loblolly boy go down into the cabin.

  I notice that men have come down from the rigging and are beginning to make a circle around the table. Better do this quick, I think. Even though the day is cool, sweat is trickling out of my armpits and down my sides. My face is dry, though, and I place the Look upon it and hope for the best.

  "You men," I say to Jared, Drake, and Harkness, "and all you men"—I raise my voice to the throng pressing ever closer—"have a decision to make. I am Acting Lieutenant Faber, made so by Captain Scroggs before you all, as you well know. I have been written into the ship's log as such, and, as such I am, and have been for the past four days, by lawful succession in the naval chain of command, the commander of this ship!"

  Growls and grunts and disbelieving ahs! greet this announcement. The Hmmmm! starts up again, this time not in my favor.

  I lean back in my chair to look all languid and without fear or care, even though my heart is pounding hard in my chest, and I say, "It is simple. Here are your choices: You can stand in open mutiny to my lawful authority, bind me, confine me, do whatever you want with me. When the Court of Inquiry convenes, they will doubtless commend you for your courage in standing up against a foolish woman. They will probably pin medals on you, and then they will most certainly hang you, for you know there are no exceptions to mutiny!" I lean into that one.

  I let that little nugget of doubt worm into their brains and then I say, "Or, you can follow me, take lawful prizes, and be happy in your newfound wealth. If there is any problem with all of this later, it will be on my head, not yours. You can truthfully say you were only following lawful orders. What will it be?"

  This is the moment, right here, right now. Whether Jared and Harkness and Drake will follow me and whether they can hold the crew. Whether in one minute I am in command of this ship or in its brig. Or worse.

  "I fer one ain't gonna be followin' no orders from no jumped-up splittail what thinks she's a bleedin' officer!"

  Uh-oh...

  That came from a group of men gathered about the foot of the mainmast. There are growls of agreement. Curses, too. I look over and see that it has come from none other than Cornelius Muck, himself. His crew of ne'er-do-wells, slackers, and Waisters is around him, nodding and mouthing their agreement.

  I jump to my feet. "Hear me on this, all of you! When I was child, I was an orphan on the streets of London. I was a member of the Rooster Charlie Gang and we lived in our kip under Blackfriars Bridge. Is anyone here from Cheap-side?"

  The crew is taken aback by the sudden turn this has taken, but I have known, from their Cockney accents and the slang they use, that there were many from my old neighborhood aboard, and several from the crowd do say, Yes, I'm from Cheapside, and one in the rigging says, Aye, I remember that gang, and suchlike. They are mystified, but Muck is not. A look of sudden fear crosses his face, and I can see him trying to make his way back into the crowd.

  "Then you must know of Muck, the Corpse Seller!" I sing out. "He who gathered us up when we were dead and sold our bodies to the anatomists who cut us up and treated us most foul! Do you remember?"

  More calls of Aye and I remembers the bastard! Muck tries to get back and away, but he can't—the crowd is too close.

  "Well, there stands, 'neath that beard and cap, and under the false name of Asa Horner, none other than Cornelius Muck, the Cheapside Ghoul, the Purveyor of Corpses!" I make my arm ramrod straight as I point my finger to Muck's stricken face. He shakes his head no ... no ... but it ain't gonna do him any good.

  Hands are put on him and men peer into his face. Good God, it's 'im! It's goddamn Muck, himself! says a voice and e got me little brother! And 'im not dead but a few minutes! says another and a body snatcher! Here, on our ship! and then, the thing that dooms him ... He's the Jonah! The cause of all our bad luck!

  The babble of voices grows louder and louder. I rise and go to the rail and look out over the water to France. Behind me, I hear the sound of a struggle, but I do not turn to look. If someone wants to take this moment to put a blade between my shoulders and settle this that way, then so be it. My last sight on this earth will be the beautiful ocean slipping by my keel on a beautiful, soaring day.

  There are sounds of desperate pleading behind me, cries of no ... please, no! then a long, long gurgling sound, then silence. Sounds of something being dragged. Then a splash. Then, again ... silence.

  So, Rooster Charlie, so...

  I turn back to face the crew. Jared and Harkness are standing at their chairs. Jared is smiling at me. "What's it to be, Lieutenant?" he says.

  Taking my seat again, I reflect that sometimes it takes blood to properly seal a bargain. "Please sit, gentlemen. Drake, please unlock Mr. Raeburne's bonds." All sit and Robin's hands are freed. He rubs his wrists and looks at me with real heat in his eyes.

  "You, Mr. Raeburne, are to be First Mate. You, Mr. Jared, are to be Master's Mate. You, Mr. Harkness, are to be Gunner's Mate, and you, Mr. Drake, are to be Sub-Lieutenant-at-Arms. Mr. Wheeler, read that into the log." I see their chests swell at being elevated to warrant officer rank. "A glass of wine to seal the bargain." I lift my glass and they do, too, and we all drink them down.

  "I will dine with my officers tonight in my cabin. That is, if we are not otherwise engaged. As for now, we are going to take that ship!"

  As one my men look out toward the smuggler. A roar of pure greed comes from their throats.

  I rise and call out, "Beat to Quarters! Clear for action!"

  Feet pound on the deck and the men go running to their stations, joyous as any pack of wolves in sight of helpless prey. I go up on the quarterdeck to relieve Ned who dashes to his station as Fire Control Officer with Tom. I see Georgie and Tucker tumble out of the foretop and head for the port guns, and I confer with Jared and Harkness as to our plan.

  "Mr. Jared. I want to continue south for a bit till our quarry goes over the horizon. Then turn east and parallel their course for about a half hour till we are out of sight of land as well. Do you understand why?"

  Jared's cocky look is back on his face. It gives me some satisfaction to recall that, during the session at the table, that look was gone for a bit. "You do not want to alarm those on the shore so that they will stop sending ships out?"

  "Even so, Mr. Jared. You have the con. Mr. Harkness, you will ensure that all the guns are ready. And I want you to personally make re
ady the Long Tom up in the fo'c'sle. It's possible it may see some action this day, and, if it does, I want you to do the firing."

  Jack Harkness grins and goes to knuckle his brow and then remembers his new station and bows instead and says, "It shall be done, Lieutenant."

  "Thank you, Mr. Harkness."

  I guess that is what they have decided to call me. Lieutenant. Lieutenant Faber. I think about it and decide that I like it.

  Robin comes up to me now. "I am so glad, Jacky, I..."

  "So am I, Robin, but now you must go down and clean up. I have put Seaman John Harper in charge of your old division. As First Mate, your place during Quarters will be by my side on the quarterdeck. Go down. We will have the Captain's funeral soon, and you must be presentable." He hesitates, then nods and goes to leave.

  "And Mr. Raeburne..." He turns and looks at me. I lay two fingers over the lace in my lapel. "...when we are in public..."

  He flushes and says, "Yes, Lieutenant." He turns on his heel and is gone.

  Sorry, Robin, but if you think things are going to be as they were, you are wrong.

  I send the Messenger of the Watch for Higgins and when he arrives I say, "Have Earweg prepare the Captain's body for burial. Then, if you would be so good, see what you can do to fix up the cabin for me. I know it's distasteful ... the bed and all..."

  Higgins bows and says, "On the contrary, Miss. This is the happiest day of my life. I shall do what I can."

  I take a deep breath and go to my usual spot on the quarterdeck, right in the middle with one leg on either side of the centerline so I can get the feel of the ship. I look up at the sails and find that they are perfectly set, and when I look back down, I am astounded to find little Eli Chase, the smallest of the ship's boys, standing in front of me with a drum strapped on his waist, his hands holding the drumsticks poised above it, his eyes fixed on my face should I give an order that requires his drumming. Oh, my...