by L. A. Meyer
We swarmed aboard with me in the lead and all the Werewolves howling like banshees. The completely terrified crew of the smuggler was quickly rounded up and taken aboard the Wolverine, and Harkness and I went below to examine the cargo.
Putting my hand on the latch, I feel like a child at Christmas. Stop that now, you greedy girl. You get giddy and you are lost. You are doing this for your men, your country, and to get yourself out of a tight spot. Now settle down. I open it and go in.
I see stacks and stacks of boxes. "What is it, Jack?" I ask of Harkness as he pries up a board and looks inside a crate.
"Looks like dishes. Crockery, like. Dutchy stuff," he says.
"Let's get Higgins over here to see what he thinks it's worth. If anyone aboard knows, it'd be him."
"Get the Lieutenant's man over here," shouts Harkness to a man on the Wolverine and then follows me down into the cabins to search for more booty.
The Captain's cabin yields a good deal more money this time—probably earmarked for bribes, probably even some meant for Captain Scroggs. I'm just cuttin' out the middleman, I'm thinkin'. It was in a locked drawer that we smashed open, not wanting to stand on ceremony. Some other stuff in there, too. A miniature portrait of his wife. Letters from his daughters. Dear Papa...
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling a bit rotten now. Jared comes in and sees me and what I got in my hands and says, "'Tis the nature of the piratical business, lass, some gains, some loses."
I'm pondering on that when the shout comes from above.
"Captain! Here comes another one!"
In a flash I'm back on the deck, all soft thoughts gone. There is another ship heaving over the horizon!
Damn! She's seen us take this ship! She'll alert the others!
"Joseph!" I shout. "Get the men back to their stations! We've got to stop her!" But Jared is already back on the Wolverine and the sails, which had been hanging slack, are pulled tight and they fill, and we are again in pursuit.
Two ships, I'm thinkin' to myself, and no lights last night.
She was fast, but we were faster, and soon we grappled again. This one, the Heloise, tried to claw her way back to the shore when she saw us at our cherry-picking work, but we managed to catch her before she got back in sight of land. She tried a few shots at us and Harkness had to put a few balls through her sails to get her to heave to.
When we boarded her, though, the sight of me out front of the howling, cutlass-waving mob—me with my pistols in my belt, my hair flying free, and my own sword in my hand—was too much for the Captain, who swore something and lunged at me with his saber upraised. I managed to parry the blade on its way down, but it narrowly missed my arm as it swished by my side 'cause my parry was too weak. He lifted his sword again, no finesse, just brute male strength is all, and was about to bring it down on me again and I, in desperation, dropped the point of my blade and gathered myself for a lunge at his throat when Jared stepped up and dropped him with a belaying pin to the head.
The unconscious Captain was hauled off with the rest of his crew and we had ourselves another fine ship with its rich cargo of olive oil, cask upon cask of the stuff. I muse that tons of olives were grown in southern Spain, France's ally in this war, then they were carefully picked and pressed of their oil, the oil put in barrels and carried by donkey the length of Spain, up across the Pyrenees Mountains, up through France, onto a boat, and right into our hands.
Funny how things turn out, sometimes. The best-laid plans of mice and men...
"A busy day's work," says Jared, as we watch the two prizes sail off toward England.
"Hot work, too," I say. I'm thinking of how I shall dream some nights of that sword coming down and almost taking off my arm, and in those dreams I shall wonder if I really would have put the point of my sword through his throat. I don't know.
Harkness comes up to us and says the obvious, "We're gettin' stretched pretty thin, what with sending off two more prize crews." We sent the Heloise off under John Harper's command and the Jan Wemple off under Seamus Shaughnessy. Both of them'll be lookin' for Master's jackets soon, too. Too bad I won't be here to put them on their worthy backs.
"I know, Jack. I'm hopin' Robin gets back with the first crew and some word on how things are goin' with the Prize Court," I say, wearily. Details, details, details. If I'd have known command would be like this, I'd have stayed a ship's boy.
There's a line of people to report to me.
First is Higgins: Yes, the cargo of the Heloise is valuable. "Very valuable. The finest Delft, Miss. I took the liberty of taking a few settings for your cabin? Ummm?"
Then Drake: "We haven't got much more room for prisoners, Lieutenant. I'll have to build another cage. And it's getting pretty foul down there."
Christ! Like running a slaver! I think, and then say, "Right, Peter. There won't be many more, if any. And oh, by the way, do you remember that cove who was dressed as a gent on the first ship we took? The Emilie? Good. Have him taken out and put alone in the brig. Thanks."
Peter Drake and I go down into the hold where the cage of the brig sits. I am dressed in full pirate queen regalia, and Drake has pistols and sword lashed to himself as well. The formerly well-dressed cove, who had by now divested himself of his finer clothes in a vain attempt to fit in with the other seamen, sits on the bench, disconsolate.
Before coming down, I asked Peter if he would respond "Right away, Captain," to any outrageous request I might make of him. He cocks an eyebrow and agrees.
"So, Monsieur," I say in French, "what were you doing on that ship that tried to evade our noble blockade?"
"I am but a poor businessman, Mademoiselle, only doing my business," he replies, again in French. Something strikes my admittedly tin ear about the way he pronounces Mademoiselle, having heard it pronounced by experts back at the Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls.
"A poor businessman, indeed!" I snort. "Come now, Monsieur, out with it! You know you are headed back to England for a noose, do you not? Why not make a clean breast of things?"
"But, Mademoiselle..." he says, shrugging, his palms up.
"Do you speak English?" I demand. I put the Lawson Peabody Look on my face: chin up, lips together, teeth apart, eyes hooded and absolutely devoid of pity.
"Ah, non. Je ne parle pas anglais." Again the palms up, and this time with the supplicating eyes.
I turn to Peter Drake and say in English, of course, "I am done with him and I'm thinkin' the men need a little sport after their work today. Take him out on the deck, cut off his bollocks, and give him fifty lashes. Then bind him up and throw him overboard. Oh, and put an anchor around his neck, 'cause I don't want his body washin' up onshore and warnin' others of his ilk. I'll be in my cabin. Let me know when the fun starts." I go to leave.
"Right away, Captain," says Peter Drake, right on cue, heading briskly to the cage.
The man in the cell crumples to the floor.
"No, no, Miss, please don't," he says. In English.
"Let us start with your name." I say. "And before we start, let me tell you something you do not know. I intend to set each and every one of those French smugglers safe on French soil when this is all over. If you want to be among them, I suggest that you speak plainly to me. You can choose to believe me or not on that score, but your only alternative is the noose. Do you understand?"
I settle down for a long conversation.
He says that his name is Frederick Luce. It turns out that he is an important cog in the smuggling operation and he gives me many names—those exporting, those importing. Those bribing, those being bribed. I take it all down and I lock it in my drawer under my bed.
He says he tells me all, but I don't know. ... I leave him alone in the cell to fester further.
That night I dine by myself, with Higgins, of course, in attendance. We have the pretty Delft dishes and other pieces of finery that we have lifted off the Jan Wemple—Higgins, for all his deference and his obvious education in the
finer things, is not averse to a little larceny, it seems, when it is in the service of one's master.
Higgins slides the covered dish in front of me and then takes the silver cover off of it to reveal the sliced meat and savory gravy and grilled potatoes that lie steaming beside it. I had not seen the silver cover before. There is a small white cloth covering my wineglass, I guess to keep the dust out, and he whips that off and pours the wine into it and then steps back out of sight behind me.
"Did you know, Higgins," I say, taking a sip of the wine, and leaning back, "that as little as a year ago I, myself, was in service?"
"Oh yes?" he replies.
"Yes. I was a chambermaid. I made beds, emptied slop jars, served dinners, washed laundry, combed hair, anything I was asked to do. Does that make you think less of me?"
"No, Miss, I could not think more of you were you a member of the royal house. You delivered me from a horrid situation and I will not forget it."
"Um," I say, "that was largely luck, you know."
"Luck that you made happen, Miss," he says and then we are silent for a while. I turn to my dinner, which is, of course, delicious. Once again I reflect how easily I get used to the finer things, as if they are going to last forever, which I know they are not.
While I'm eating, I think more about those lights on the beach. The night before we took the Emilie, the lights blinked at us from the shore, and Frederick Luce was on board, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the sailors. Then we took the Heloise and the Jan Wemple and there were no lights the night before and we found nothing out of the ordinary on board, nothing like Mr. Luce. Hmmm.
Higgins clears his throat behind me and I say, "Yes?"
"Forgive me, Miss, but may I speak?"
"Yes, of course."
"Did you know that I am not a member of the ship's company but am instead a free hire?"
"Which means...?"
"Which means I was hired directly by Captain Scroggs. After Lord Hollingsworth died and I was looking about for a new post, I thought a sea voyage would be just the thing," he says, letting just the slightest bit of bitterness creep into his voice.
Ahhh...
It must have been horrible for him—abused by the Captain and shunned by the crew because of ... the way he is. No friends, no one to talk to. I say nothing and he goes on.
"I know you will leave the ship soon, and I wish to go with you."
I think about this and say, "You know, Higgins, I am just as likely to be poor, in jail, singing in taverns, or about to swing for my sins as I am to be in my current condition."
"Yes, Miss, but I will follow you wherever you may go."
"I will, of course, take you with me, but surely you can find a more suitable post?"
"Perhaps. But certainly not one more ... interesting."
Well.
"All right, Higgins," I say, looking around at our splendid table. "You may start making preparations for our departure. I suspect it will be in a few days."
That night, as I lie asleep in my bed, He comes again for me, the pirate LeFievre with his noose that he puts around my neck and then pulls it tight till I'm choking and this time I look on the ground next to the keg that I'm teetering on and I see my cut-off arm lying there and bleeding with my sword in my dead hand. Then the keg is kicked out from under my feet, the rope bites into my neck, and I scream and I scream and I hear Jacky! Jacky! What's the matter! and I think it's Amy and I say, Save me, Sister, save me! But it's not, it's the speaking tube that's sayin' that and it's not Amy but Tom up on the deck and it's Private Rodgers who's shakin' me awake and there's Higgins and oh ... oh ... oh...
And then, later, as I have calmed myself and am heading back into sleep, I hear Tom say through the tube, "The lights, Lieutenant. They're back."
I say, "Aye," and lie awake for a bit more.
Chapter 20
"Captain!" yells Ned through the tube. "Another ship is coming out!"
My eyelids seem glued together but I shake myself awake and plunge out of bed, out the hatchway, and up onto the quarterdeck, blinking at the light. I didn't think they'd try again. I'd thought they had the news that we were waitin' for 'em out here by now, but I'll take this gift, I'm thinkin', however unclearly. Ned hands me the glass and I squint through it. The ship is in full sail and again it looks like they mean to cross our wake as so many did before ... before we started nailing them.
It is a fast ship, a brigantine—not as big as the Heloise or the Jan Wemple, but fast and sleek, and sure to contain some sort of treasure. I think of the lights that were blinked at us last night and I want to know what is in her.
"Beat to Quarters!" I yell, for what I know is the last time, and the feet pound and we are in hot pursuit.
"Take them now, Mr. Jared, in plain sight of the land. Let them know that no more will be slipping out."
He grins his wolfish grin and says, "Aye, Captain, we will take her. You'd best get dressed."
I look down at my nightshirt blowin' about my legs, my bare feet on the deck, my hairy ankles plain for all to see, and I have to agree. I head down to my cabin and find that Higgins has laid out both breakfast and uniform for me, the breakfast being good and the uniform having been cleaned and brushed. He gets the breakfast into me and me into the uniform and then I'm back on deck.
I tell the Messenger of the Watch to have George Piggott lay to the quarterdeck. In a minute he appears. Tucker is with him.
"Mr. Piggott. You are to resume your duties as midshipman. Go put on your jacket. Your duty station will be here with me on the quarterdeck as Junior Officer of the Watch. Do you understand?"
I want Georgie to have at least one action as a middie.
Georgie nods and turns to Tucker, and they exchange a kind of handshake, which I know to be some sort of brotherhood thing, and then both go off, Georgie to the midshipmen's berth, Tucker to his station as powder monkey for the Division One guns.
We wait now, as we close in on the other ship, which is fast, but I think we can catch her. My crew is more experienced, more attuned to getting the last ounce of thrust out of every sail. I can't say it's all due to me, but some of it is.
Georgie appears back on deck, buttoning his jacket and pulling it down tight. I notice that the coat is a bit looser in the waist, a bit snugger in the shoulders now. I go up to him and smooth the jacket over his back, brushing it off a bit.
He looks up at me. "When I was demoted, it was you that did it, wasn't it? Not the Captain..."
I sigh and say, "Yes, Georgie. It was me." I see his hurt look. "But I never really took you off the books as midshipman. You've been one all along, and now it's time for you to resume your duties."
He nods but says nothing and takes a few steps away from me and assumes the Parade Rest stance.
The ship, which I now can see is named L'Emeraude, carries four guns, which look to be twelve-pounders, two on either side. She is well armed. She probably has a stern gun, too, since a ship this small would be more used to running than chasing. I am proved right in this when we see a puff of smoke from her fantail and a ball whizzes overhead.
I feel Georgie jerk by my side and he ducks his head. I remember what he had said about not being able to stand up when the time came. Steady, Georgie, steady...
Harkness on our bow chaser puts a shot over her bow, and, honor being satisfied, L'Emeraude strikes her colors. After all, what merchant captain in his right mind, with five, maybe six guns, would fight a King's ship, even a small one like the Wolverine with eighteen guns, all manned with crack Man-o'-War's men? I wouldn't do it, that's for sure.
The men set up their Were-wolves! Were-wolves! Werewolves! chant as we close with L'Emeraude.
"You have the deck, Mr. Piggott," I say, and climb into the netting on the starboard side. Jared brings her in perfectly, and I leap onto the deck, followed by my Boarding Party. Again an astounded Captain stands there, but he doesn't hand over his sword. He just spits out the word Brigand! Then he spits for r
eal on my boots and says Pirate! and then Drake hits him and then he ain't saying nothin'. Not spittin', neither.
Harkness goes to check the main cargo, but I go down into the cabins.
The lights last night—I wonder what I will find?
I go to a door and try it, but it is locked. I smell smoke. Could someone be trying to scuttle the ship? I lift my foot and slam my booted heel into the door by its latch and it flies open. I'm little, but I'm strong.
Charging in with sword drawn, I see a well-dressed man hurriedly stuffing papers into a cloth sack. There is a small fire on the desktop into which he has already thrown some letters. There is a pistol on the desk next to the fire and when he sees me, he picks up the pistol and aims it directly at my face.
My mouth drops open and there is the roar of a pistol firing, but it is not that pistol, no, it is the pistol in the hand of Joseph Jared, which he has just fired next to my ear.
I'm seeing all this as in a dream. A small hole has appeared in the well-dressed man's forehead. He stares sightlessly forward for a moment, then crumples to the deck, the pistol falling from his hand. I stand stunned, my mouth still open.
Jared whips me around and puts me up against the bulkhead. He grins his damned cocky grin and says, "That's at least three times I've saved your life, Puss-in-Boots, and now I'm gonna collect some reward." And he kisses me hard on my still-open mouth. Long and hard.
Finally, he backs off and looks at me, smiling. "First time you've ever been kissed by a man, Puss? A real man?"
I come back to my senses and say, breathlessly, "Put out the fire, Jared."
