Fic: Metal and Words, 15/16
Title: Metal and Words, 15/16
Author: Aletheia Felinea
Beta: compassrose7577. Thank you so much!
Rating: PG-13 overall
Wordcount: ~4500, this chapter
Characters: (this chapter) Jack Sparrow, plenty of OCs, and... maybe you'll find someone else ;)
Genre: Gen fic supposed to be a crime story.
Time: Months before CotBP.
Summary: The sweet air of Tortuga can be dangerous sometimes, even for the certain Captain. And curiosity can kill a sparrow. Or... save?
Disclaimer: Not my hunting territory, The Big Black Mouse prowls here.
Previous parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14
Note: The fic was translated from Polish. Jeśli wolisz czytać w oryginale, zapraszam.
Santo Domingo, Jack found, hadn’t changed much from the time he had last seen it. The docks were still crowded, Malaga and rum kept flowing in taverns, and señoritas still loved fancy uniforms. He regretted a little, in Port-au-Prince, he hadn’t the time to see what impression his sword might have made on a certain Antoinette he remembered. And one Jeanne, and Yvette, and Brigitte... But here Inez, Elena, Dolores, Margarita and one Enrique appreciated it sufficiently.
Still, he was already bored a bit after two weeks in taverns, hunting for whispered or shouted gossip.
*
“Gonzalo, ye ol’ fogey, where were you! Come on, I got a bottle asking to be attended. Happen to have a cigar or two in your pocket somewhere?”
“Haven’t seen one in a week, unless you count crumbles in the lining. Well, Mendez, looks like times are coming when I’ll be the one asking for cigars... If you come across my Ignacio, don’t even mention tobacco in his earshot.”
“Haven’t seen him yet. Lucecita has been in the stocks these three days since, has she not? Lost him on the way, or what?”
“Got rid of him, not lost! See, there was a storm, right? She blew a hatch cover, and the ol’ tub swallowed a holdful of water before they could secure it. They say, the hold looked like a boiling pot of tobacco brew. Come to find out, of the hatch crew, Ignacio was to batten down this one, together with one lad who didn’ make out of this storm alive. He swears he did his duty, but the tarpaulin was threadbare. They paid him with the cat instead of pesos, and claimed he’s lucky to see port.”
“So he’ll be looking for a bunk elsewhere, now?”
“Nothing of the kind! ‘Don’t speak to me about the sea anymore, Dad,’ he said. He scraped up the last of his money and aims to buy the marlinspike shop from ol’ Gómez. Says he won’t ever sell Lucecita so much as a piece of bootstrap, even if the Captain hisself comes beggin’.”
*
“Dammit, what is that? You got no decent ale in here? John, what is their word for ‘beer’?”
“Slipped my mind, but I can remember it again when you remember you owe me ten shillings from the last port.”
*
“...And, listen to this, he told me Gorgone’s mainmast would sooner sprout bloomin’ violets before she’ll make the hundred miles to Jamaica again. Unhealthy waters for a hard-workin’ pirate, he said so.”
“Hush, we’re not in Tortuga. Black Ali, you say? Usually he’s the one what makes waters unhealthy for hundred miles around.”
“He is, aye. Most recently, it was for one Indiaman off Negrillo. Once they saw the Gorgone, they took a wrong turn in haste and ran aground. And, Ali’s tellin’, just when the Gorgoners were gettin’ ready to help the Indiaman lighten - guns loadin’, blades checkin’, room in the hold makin’ - suddenly a boat like a Roman cathedral emerges from behind a cape.”
“…So gilded?”
“So big! And with a cross on her flag as well. Ali said seein’ her, it called to mind every god he’d ever heard of, for the Gorgone could have easily fit under her bowsprit. Well, maybe without the topmasts. The Dauntless was on stern. Ali said it stuck in his mind.”
“Hadn’t he heard there’s a ship of the line in Port Royal now?”
“How could he, since he’d been checkin’ for the last year as to whether the Golden Coast is indeed golden. Came back to the Caribbean a month ago, sayin’ he was fed up with slavers. Y’know what an ugly and poor plunder they make. Speakin’ of Port Royal, Ernesto, weren’t you there just recently? Is it true what they say, that Ingles are buildin’ such a fleet as if they had all the Antilles together with Mexico to guard, not just one island?”
“One island, aye, but covered in plantations as your cur in spots, and the Company’s Indiamen swarm around it like fleas. They have much to guard and they’re buildin’ a fleet, oh, they are. Walkin’ the docks, you see Navy blue wherever you turn. Just the day I was hauling anchor, a new brig came, swifter than any pirate, or so they brag at least.”
“So we can soon expect some almirante fresh from London, eh? One wonders how much he would be worth, if we were to borrow ‘im and ask nicely if they want ‘im back?”
“Commodore, les ingles call it. I heard they aren’t even waitin’ for London’s grace, but goin’ to promote a certain captain they have in the Caribbean already. They laugh in the taverns that he hangs pirates so fast, the fort gets a bigger rope supply than the ships. Then again, looks like Black Ali hadn’t danced yet, since you’ve met him recent enough to hear the story?”
“Aye, not that day at least. With their draught, les ingles had to round the cape like a whale ‘round a harpooner, and in the meantime the wind took a lucky turn for the Gorgone. Still, Ali said seeing three decks of portholes opening above him, an eighteen-pounder peeking out of each one, he thought about retiring for the first time in life.”
“So he’d seen ‘er, but made it through safe and sound?”
“Well, not exactly. Seems to me we need to call ‘im White Ali from now on, he hee!”
*
“Nellie, darling, happen to have a needle and thread at hand? I’ve caught a nail.”
“I have somethin’ better. You see that cross-eyed one over there, by the door? He trades dresses, straight from Paris and London, or he claims so.”
“And you don’t want him?”
“I know nothin’ about Paris, but no more than a year ago I was freezin’ my arse off on London streets, and my cousin is a seamstress at a dressmaker in Port Royal. I can tell ya, these rags of his are pretty enough, but only what ‘ey have London-like is the bodices. Whoever can manage to fit in them, certainly‘s not me. Besides, looks like he fancies the thin ones, didn’ spare a second glance at me.”
*
“Antonio, pour me what you’ve got good there, just quick, gotta go back soon!”
“Whoa, look who’s coming. Have you remembered your brother-in-law, at last? I was beginning to think my abode’s too humble for you.”
“You’re free, so you can’t know how far it’s to a tavern for a married man. Happen to have any leftovers in your pots?”
“The husband of the mansion’s cook asking for a snack? Aye, I might have something. Carmencita makes such gazpacho and looks at me nicely enough that, who knows how much longer I can stay unmarried? How’s Felicia and the newest babe?”
“Good pair of lungs, I can tell you. We should name him after some warlike saint, he yells so much. Felicia is all right. I’d rather not get in her dishcloth reach today. Barely managed to get away for this little bit.”
“Heh, and I was wondering what you’re doing here. What have you done?”
“Not me! The storm is thundering up there, and the poor man below gets struck. Doña promised her maid two of her oldest dresses, as soon as she gets new ones. The maid is having an upcoming wedding; she’s marrying an ensign of the Governor’s Guard. She’s the kind of cook that even a dog wouldn’t eat it, but the ensign is young and foolish. So she made a deal with my Felicia, one dress for such a wedding feast that everyone will remember it for years after. And, you see, I heard from the boy of the fish supplier, a French merchant came into port yesterday. He said they’d been unloading silk all day. This morning, Doña ordered a carriage and I heard myself her telling the coachman to take her to the dry-goods merchant. As soon as she disappeared beyond the gate, the maid, together with Felicia, rushed to the wardrobe to try on and ask the seamstress in advance for fittings and mendings and whatnot… Then Doña returns unexpected, furious as a cat with a trampled tail; the first place she goes is the wardrobe. Tell ya, Antonio, soon even the moths were fleeing and they could hear for a mile around the earful the maid, my Felicia, and even the seamstress were getting. Then Doña grabbed some piece of cloth and dashed into Don’s cabinet. Before she allowed him a word, even rats in the cellar got to know that she’s not going to appear in town in the same mantilla for the tenth time, and Don Escriva was welcomed to wear such a bonnet himself, since everything fades in a month in this damned climate. And what does mean that embr… embagr…? Uh, that is, why merchants can’t sell Alençon lace and Lyon silk in Santo Domingo? Once he heard it, Don Escriva shut the door and said it’s for, er... how it was, diplomatic reasons. And that it was the French who started it, but he spoke much quieter.”
“So how could you hear it?”
“What? Don’t give me that look, I was cleaning the doorknob. Brass needs a lot of polishing, you have no idea. And it blows maldito cold straight into your ear from the keyhole, but, well, you must look closely to find every spot. Though maybe the cabinet is draughty as well, ‘cause Don Escriva mentioned something about relations cooling down... But I don’t know what it had to do with the French. Seems to me he didn’t know either, ‘cause he said something about waiting for explanations.”
*
“Oh! Crap, that’s the second knife this week. And it broke on nothing more than a dry twig! Carmencita, do you have a blade handy? I need some herbs from the bunch...”
“Wait a moment, Raquel. A shard fell behind your collar, I saw. Don’t move. Antonio should have a talk with that botcher posing as a blacksmith, with a large club in hand. Juanita from the Crown and Anchor told me a cleaver fell apart in their cook’s hands, too... Ah, I got it, here it is.”
“The previous one broke on a bone... Have we any spare knives at all, now? Why’re you giggling?”
“’Cause it looks like we have to ask Nellie. She always has a knife hidden under a garter.”
“Ahem, do I hear ladies are in need? Let me offer you help, which costs only a kiss. You see-”
“Pablo, if I hear once more about that dagger of yours that you bragged about already to seven men since this morning, you’ll earn a pan to your head, I swear.”
“But señorita Carmencita haven’t heard-!”
“I can tell her for you, both versions, including the one which slipped out yesterday, when you were drunk. It’ll take less time. How did it go? Not in Havana, but in Port Royal. And not three robbers, but one English officer. And not that they tried to rob you, but you were drinking with him. And you didn’t take the bauble from their chieftain, but you won it from the Englishman. You can’t even tell good tales, Pablo.”
“Tell tales? Me?! It’s all true, strike me dead if I lie!”
“Sure, you’d be long dead if that was true. You introduced yourself as a pirate to the English armada’s lieutenant, and he dragged you to a tavern instead of the gaol, didn’t you say? Anyway, it would be the first time you managed to win anything.”
“It was hard not to win, since he was staring more at me than his cards. He even read what is engraved on the blade. Here, this says ‘Brown’, and the smaller ones below it: ‘WT’.”
*
“Good God, Miranda! What are you doing here? How...!”
“Joined a convoy of mules, Aunt Raquel. All the way from Port-au-Prince.”
“But that pretty Frenchman of yours, didn’t he have a boat?”
“Don’t even mention that hijo de puta! He’s no more French than me... Turned out, a noose for desertion awaits him in Havana.”
“Hush, darling, mind your tongue. Sit here and tell me all about it.”
“You see, he was telling me all the time, what a hacienda I would have when we reached Port-au-Prince. And when we did, there was a hacienda, sure: a shack, where he kept old nets! And no wonder, he didn’t need anything larger, since he hardly left the tavern.”
“I keep telling you, it’s better to earn money in a tavern than lose it there. That’s why you came back?”
“Truth be told, not yet. I thought, if he could draw a full net from the sea every morning, I’d put up a stall, and maybe someday I’d have a hacienda, at last. But he fancied his drinking companions more than fish. And he would believe anything, so long as you told him it was a great secret. He’d never set sail at dawn, since he’d heard once that a red sun bodes blood. And have you ever seen a green sunrise, Aunt? ‘Don’t bother your pretty head’, he kept saying. ‘We’ll sail to Jamaica and you’ll be a great lady, with your own plantation.’ Then someone told him in Mexico roads are paved with precious ore and quicksilver floats in rivers. He talked about it for two days, and when he began to get his boat ready on the third day, ‘Huh,’ I thought, ‘it bodes ill’. Well, that gave me an idea, so I paid three fat chickens to an old voudun, who forecast weather for fishermen, to tell this fool of mine he should keep away from Englishmen and not ever come close to quicksilver, ‘cause they’re bad luck, a fortune waits for him in the sea, instead.”
“And he believed it?”
“Sure he did! But with my luck it was in an ill hour... He gave up Jamaica and Mexico. Two days later, there’s a big ship with lilies on the flag coming to the port. This time I recognized the French fleet, but there was another behind the first, with a faded flag and some triple sign on it. One fisherman, who served in the Armada in his youth, said it’s the English Company. I look at my sweet boy, and he’s standing dumbstruck and staring at them. ‘What’re you seeing there,’ I asked, but I already had a feeling that I had wasted three good chickens. He said ‘Mercurio’, or something like that, was written on the English’s stern, and that he had once heard an old scholar call quicksilver by this name. Eh, why did I go after a man who can read? Nothing good comes of that...”
“Honey, nothing good comes of a man who tells sweet things in poor French. Were you fed up at last?”
“I was. Last I saw him, he was launching the boat and promising he’ll shower me with gold, if I go with him in search of some El Dorado, somewhere in the wilderness. What happens to me now, Aunt?”
“There, there, don’t cry. There’s always a place for one more girl in the kitchen. Antonio will frown and grumble, but he’ll allow you back, if it earns him a smile from Carmencita.”
*
It was time to go back.
***
There were dispersed but still recognizable circles of ash and soot from campfires on the beach. If the late Felicita had a successor, she wasn’t visible anywhere, but chickens wandered around, and there was a goat tied to a pole, picking at the grass with a bored air. A few boats tied to the pier bobbed on the gentle waves of the surf, and two smaller dinghies rested on shore. Smoke raised from the chimney, and dozens of bare and booted footprints criss-crossed the sand. The place looked far from deserted.
Jack counted the boats and chickens, carefully examined the goat, and finally, having decided he won’t manage to gather any more courage, took a breath and pushed open the door.
The inn seemed more crowded than ever. Jack stopped at the threshold, hesitant as to whether it was better to sneak stealthily, or make a great entrance, with a shining grin and a jangle of baubles once more weaved into his hair. Not that it really seemed to matter, however. A few of the nearest heads raised or turned; a few indifferent gazes glided off the pirate, and then went back to their plates, mugs and talks, forgetting him immediately. Jack looked around and steered toward an unattended table in the darkest corner. The glare of Jorge behind the bar stopped him mid-step. Jack flashed what was intended a cocksure grin, but felt rather like a desperate grimace, and stepped back, bumping against something warm, broad and disturbingly firm.
“Look what the cat dragged in!” thundered above his head. “Dad was right: you’d come again.”
Jack sprang away and looked back, and up. And up. ‘Something’ turned out to be Jacinto’s chest. He stood there with an axe on one shoulder, a load of chopped wood under his arm, and a very white grin on his massive face. The giant examined the pirate hat to boots and back, like a peculiar find in a net drawn from the depths, and then threw the wood under a wall with a deafening rumble. The axe and grin still on place, Jacinto grabbed Jack one-handed and turned him to face the bar.
Jorge didn’t grin and said nothing. Jack realized he had said nothing, either. He hesitated between ‘You look great, mate!’ and ‘You were waitin’ for me? How touching,’ but he bit his tongue instead.
After a long minute, Jorge took a mug and filled it. Mug in hand, not lowering a look heavier than the hand upon the pirate’s shoulder, he came from behind the bar with an obvious limp.
Jack, his eyes transfixed on Jorge’s, tried to recall the location of the nearest door and how far his boot heels might be from Jacinto’s bare ankle, not that it would provide a big advantage.
“If I wanted to be a bait, I’d go to a fisherman,” snarled Jorge after another long minute. “But I’m rather tempted to see what one could catch on a hook with a sparrow skewered on it.”
He slammed the mug on a table, turned and limped away. The hand on the pirate’s shoulder gave him an indisputable offer, the pirate’s knees gave up and Jack flopped on the bench at the table. Jacinto laughed, sounding like a rocky avalanche filling a cave, gave Jack a friendly pat on the back, almost breaking his spine, and disappeared through the door to the courtyard. A moment later, came the axe’s crack and noise of splitting wood.
Jack caught the breath squeezed out of his lungs, blinked his watering eyes and tried to straighten up. Then he blinked once more, sniffed and looked down at the table. He froze staring into the mug Jorge had left. It smelled of something that could be rum, if someone managed to squeeze it from oranges grown on black pepper instead of black soil. On the nearby isles, Jorge’s home-made beverages fetched a price in gold twice as high as twenty-year-old wines from the Old World. There was one variety, though, which Jorge sold no one, no matter the price. Those few, who had the opportunity to try it, swore the bottles Jorge kept to himself held a liquor stronger than English powder, golden like a sun over the horizon, and smelling sweet, like the pirate freedom.
From his stool in a far corner of the tavern, José watched the still figure behind the table for a long while. The pirate gaped at the mug before him with a face of an enamoured teenager. José thoughtfully sucked his pipe-steam. Then, with a groan, lifted himself from the stool.
“Next time I’ll be jailed wif ya, flee alone. M’stayin’,” he said, sitting on the bench next to the pirate.
Jack, startled, put a protective arm around his mug, casting an askew glance at the old man. “Next time, don’t let ‘em jail you,” he muttered. “What, you didn’ like the forest?”
José chuckled wheezily. “Sure, trunks everywhere around like masts an’ balls whistlin’ like in the ol’ times. Only my bones not as obedient as ‘ey used to be...”
“Still, you managed to get ‘em away. I could swear I recall one bosun, who more than thirty years ago used to sit at a table in the biggest tavern in Tortuga, open his recruiting book and a bottle of rum, and kept sayin’ that an uncertain ball’s better than a certain noose.” Jack flashed a grin.
“Look at ‘im, how ya dare to mouth back at old man, you snotnose,” José grunted. “Ya barely reached above that table those times. And as for gettin’ away, well...” He scratched his gray stubble and sucked noisily at the pipe. “It was Jacinto who toted my ol’ bones on his back, and later half-carried ‘is father as well, when some last piece of lead reached Jorge. Oh, when we’re at it, ya owe me a pipe!” José presented the stem angrily, only the stem, ‘cause the pipe’s bowl was missing.
Jack groaned, then rummaged in his coat’s pocket and threw a big porcelain pipe on the table. The spurs hadn’t been the only reason he had made the most part of way down from the Governor’s mansion much faster than he had wished. Contributing much to that was the pockets and even the lining of the sapphire coat had been filled significantly more than on his way up. Jack had left most of the ballast - together with the coat, spurs, boots, hat and rapier - in Santo Domingo, but had kept the pipe. It had an exceptionally buxom mermaid painted on it.
“When did ‘ey leave?” he asked, watching the old man admiring the pipe with a broad, if toothless grin.
“Methinks we huddled like boars in the thicket a fortnight, give or take.” José leaned against the wall and put the new pipe’s stem into his mouth. “I was all for heading to the east. Limeys won’t risk pokin’ the Spanish bear, I was sayin’, and Tortuga wasn’t so far. But Jorge said he’d sooner set the inn on fire over ‘eir heads than flee from ‘is own land. Every morning Jacinto sneaked atop one rock ya could see the bay from. ‘E said boats kept soundin’ the reef and forest paths were swarmin’ wif patrols, but the camp seemed less-manned. Turned out why, when ‘e saw ‘em once hangin’ less lucky deserters. At last, one day barely Jacinto left, ‘e comes back again and says, ‘Da, ya wanna see it.’ So we limped together, climbed the rock an’ couched under a bush. We lookin’, and ‘ere’s a ship just beyond the reef, hung with Froggy lilies all over an’ bristlin’ wif canons from a few dozens of portholes. Decks and riggin’ were crowded as if ‘ey expected a boarding, but looked at the empty sea behind ‘eir backs more than at the bay wif the Limeys.” José cackled.
“Empty all the time? For three weeks?” asked Jack, who had heard in Tortuga tales about three or four battles, and skirmishes in no less than two dozen versions, told by - so far - half-a-hundred eyewitnesses. He privately suspected one of those tales could be true: it contained surprisingly little powder, only one pirate boat and not a word about loot.
“We hadn’ heard Limeys shootin’ again...” José thoughtfully scratched his bristly cheek. “Jacinto said ‘e happened to see fisher masts on the horizon at times, but ‘ey vanished quick. Though looks like there were eyes on ‘em that saw enough, an’ tongues that must had later set in motion, cause at last one of the pirate brethren appeared. Would ya count everythin’ ‘ey’re tellin’ now,” José gestured with the pipe toward the other tables and chuckled. “Funny they didn’ take each other’s wind. But I could swear I saw only Mélusine.”
“Saw?”
“Aye, cause she came the same day as the Frogs.” This time José cackled so hard it took some time for him to catch his breath. “Limeys put a boat on water, Frogs put ‘eirs, too. Barely ‘ey had time to met at the reef’s line, an’ we’re lookin’, it gets crowded ‘ere, cause ‘ere’s a busty lass comin’ from behin’ the cliff - Mélusine’s bow, that was. An’ the Frogs didn’ even wait, but fired wif a full broadside, though it was too far, yet. The smoke was still thick when the Limey brig added ‘er own greetings. We’re lookin’, and Mélusine puts in a tack an’ that was all we saw of ‘er.”
Jack nodded. Mélusine, in the common opinion the fastest among ships anchored in Tortuga, carried only a dozen canons. Now Jeunét, her captain, kept claiming that he would have taken a rich loot in Jorge’s bay, if his French honour had allowed him to sink subjects of Le Roi. Of course, that immediately earned him a mocking title of Le Corsaire d’Honneur.
“An’ those in the bay?” Jack asked.
“All got down to draggin’ the brig over the reef.”
“An’ she didn’ get stuck?”
“Didn’. Though ‘ey had to get the men off-board, till ‘ere left maybe five wif the helmsman, and ‘ey got rid of everythin’ that didn’ belong on the riggin’. Seen wif my own eyes a sea chest fallin’ from the stern window. ‘Ey all together set off to the west, as quick as the brig managed. Later, as we were checkin’ wif nets if ‘ey had left anythin’ worthy, we found a gap in the barrier. Looks like that other night the reef had torn ‘eir belly, but ‘ey must had broken out quite a piece of rock, too. Jorge wants to hire a few wif boats and have ‘em drop a load of stones down, to close the canal. ‘E says anythin’ larger than a single-sailed jolly won’t be sneakin’ ‘ere till he lives, and even beyond the reef ‘e don’t wanna see anything other than Jolly Rogers.
Jack wrapped his hands around the mug and leaned against the wall, too. “He won’t,” he said quietly.
***
Next day at dawn, Jack wrapped the silver-mahogany saddle, stirrups and bridle with an old blanket, bound it with a piece of rope, and with the bundle upon his shoulder he left Hans’ shelter. He walked down to the muddy road, turned east and found the southern path, into the forest and Hispaniola’s heart.
He didn’t notice a figure following him in distance like a detached shadow.
-----------------------------------------------------
Footnotes
Negrillo Coast on Jamaica is called Negril nowadays.
---------------------
The next part
Your thoughts welcomed, as always. :)
Author: Aletheia Felinea
Beta: compassrose7577. Thank you so much!
Rating: PG-13 overall
Wordcount: ~4500, this chapter
Characters: (this chapter) Jack Sparrow, plenty of OCs, and... maybe you'll find someone else ;)
Genre: Gen fic supposed to be a crime story.
Time: Months before CotBP.
Summary: The sweet air of Tortuga can be dangerous sometimes, even for the certain Captain. And curiosity can kill a sparrow. Or... save?
Disclaimer: Not my hunting territory, The Big Black Mouse prowls here.
Previous parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14
Note: The fic was translated from Polish. Jeśli wolisz czytać w oryginale, zapraszam.
Santo Domingo, Jack found, hadn’t changed much from the time he had last seen it. The docks were still crowded, Malaga and rum kept flowing in taverns, and señoritas still loved fancy uniforms. He regretted a little, in Port-au-Prince, he hadn’t the time to see what impression his sword might have made on a certain Antoinette he remembered. And one Jeanne, and Yvette, and Brigitte... But here Inez, Elena, Dolores, Margarita and one Enrique appreciated it sufficiently.
Still, he was already bored a bit after two weeks in taverns, hunting for whispered or shouted gossip.
*
“Gonzalo, ye ol’ fogey, where were you! Come on, I got a bottle asking to be attended. Happen to have a cigar or two in your pocket somewhere?”
“Haven’t seen one in a week, unless you count crumbles in the lining. Well, Mendez, looks like times are coming when I’ll be the one asking for cigars... If you come across my Ignacio, don’t even mention tobacco in his earshot.”
“Haven’t seen him yet. Lucecita has been in the stocks these three days since, has she not? Lost him on the way, or what?”
“Got rid of him, not lost! See, there was a storm, right? She blew a hatch cover, and the ol’ tub swallowed a holdful of water before they could secure it. They say, the hold looked like a boiling pot of tobacco brew. Come to find out, of the hatch crew, Ignacio was to batten down this one, together with one lad who didn’ make out of this storm alive. He swears he did his duty, but the tarpaulin was threadbare. They paid him with the cat instead of pesos, and claimed he’s lucky to see port.”
“So he’ll be looking for a bunk elsewhere, now?”
“Nothing of the kind! ‘Don’t speak to me about the sea anymore, Dad,’ he said. He scraped up the last of his money and aims to buy the marlinspike shop from ol’ Gómez. Says he won’t ever sell Lucecita so much as a piece of bootstrap, even if the Captain hisself comes beggin’.”
*
“Dammit, what is that? You got no decent ale in here? John, what is their word for ‘beer’?”
“Slipped my mind, but I can remember it again when you remember you owe me ten shillings from the last port.”
*
“...And, listen to this, he told me Gorgone’s mainmast would sooner sprout bloomin’ violets before she’ll make the hundred miles to Jamaica again. Unhealthy waters for a hard-workin’ pirate, he said so.”
“Hush, we’re not in Tortuga. Black Ali, you say? Usually he’s the one what makes waters unhealthy for hundred miles around.”
“He is, aye. Most recently, it was for one Indiaman off Negrillo. Once they saw the Gorgone, they took a wrong turn in haste and ran aground. And, Ali’s tellin’, just when the Gorgoners were gettin’ ready to help the Indiaman lighten - guns loadin’, blades checkin’, room in the hold makin’ - suddenly a boat like a Roman cathedral emerges from behind a cape.”
“…So gilded?”
“So big! And with a cross on her flag as well. Ali said seein’ her, it called to mind every god he’d ever heard of, for the Gorgone could have easily fit under her bowsprit. Well, maybe without the topmasts. The Dauntless was on stern. Ali said it stuck in his mind.”
“Hadn’t he heard there’s a ship of the line in Port Royal now?”
“How could he, since he’d been checkin’ for the last year as to whether the Golden Coast is indeed golden. Came back to the Caribbean a month ago, sayin’ he was fed up with slavers. Y’know what an ugly and poor plunder they make. Speakin’ of Port Royal, Ernesto, weren’t you there just recently? Is it true what they say, that Ingles are buildin’ such a fleet as if they had all the Antilles together with Mexico to guard, not just one island?”
“One island, aye, but covered in plantations as your cur in spots, and the Company’s Indiamen swarm around it like fleas. They have much to guard and they’re buildin’ a fleet, oh, they are. Walkin’ the docks, you see Navy blue wherever you turn. Just the day I was hauling anchor, a new brig came, swifter than any pirate, or so they brag at least.”
“So we can soon expect some almirante fresh from London, eh? One wonders how much he would be worth, if we were to borrow ‘im and ask nicely if they want ‘im back?”
“Commodore, les ingles call it. I heard they aren’t even waitin’ for London’s grace, but goin’ to promote a certain captain they have in the Caribbean already. They laugh in the taverns that he hangs pirates so fast, the fort gets a bigger rope supply than the ships. Then again, looks like Black Ali hadn’t danced yet, since you’ve met him recent enough to hear the story?”
“Aye, not that day at least. With their draught, les ingles had to round the cape like a whale ‘round a harpooner, and in the meantime the wind took a lucky turn for the Gorgone. Still, Ali said seeing three decks of portholes opening above him, an eighteen-pounder peeking out of each one, he thought about retiring for the first time in life.”
“So he’d seen ‘er, but made it through safe and sound?”
“Well, not exactly. Seems to me we need to call ‘im White Ali from now on, he hee!”
*
“Nellie, darling, happen to have a needle and thread at hand? I’ve caught a nail.”
“I have somethin’ better. You see that cross-eyed one over there, by the door? He trades dresses, straight from Paris and London, or he claims so.”
“And you don’t want him?”
“I know nothin’ about Paris, but no more than a year ago I was freezin’ my arse off on London streets, and my cousin is a seamstress at a dressmaker in Port Royal. I can tell ya, these rags of his are pretty enough, but only what ‘ey have London-like is the bodices. Whoever can manage to fit in them, certainly‘s not me. Besides, looks like he fancies the thin ones, didn’ spare a second glance at me.”
*
“Antonio, pour me what you’ve got good there, just quick, gotta go back soon!”
“Whoa, look who’s coming. Have you remembered your brother-in-law, at last? I was beginning to think my abode’s too humble for you.”
“You’re free, so you can’t know how far it’s to a tavern for a married man. Happen to have any leftovers in your pots?”
“The husband of the mansion’s cook asking for a snack? Aye, I might have something. Carmencita makes such gazpacho and looks at me nicely enough that, who knows how much longer I can stay unmarried? How’s Felicia and the newest babe?”
“Good pair of lungs, I can tell you. We should name him after some warlike saint, he yells so much. Felicia is all right. I’d rather not get in her dishcloth reach today. Barely managed to get away for this little bit.”
“Heh, and I was wondering what you’re doing here. What have you done?”
“Not me! The storm is thundering up there, and the poor man below gets struck. Doña promised her maid two of her oldest dresses, as soon as she gets new ones. The maid is having an upcoming wedding; she’s marrying an ensign of the Governor’s Guard. She’s the kind of cook that even a dog wouldn’t eat it, but the ensign is young and foolish. So she made a deal with my Felicia, one dress for such a wedding feast that everyone will remember it for years after. And, you see, I heard from the boy of the fish supplier, a French merchant came into port yesterday. He said they’d been unloading silk all day. This morning, Doña ordered a carriage and I heard myself her telling the coachman to take her to the dry-goods merchant. As soon as she disappeared beyond the gate, the maid, together with Felicia, rushed to the wardrobe to try on and ask the seamstress in advance for fittings and mendings and whatnot… Then Doña returns unexpected, furious as a cat with a trampled tail; the first place she goes is the wardrobe. Tell ya, Antonio, soon even the moths were fleeing and they could hear for a mile around the earful the maid, my Felicia, and even the seamstress were getting. Then Doña grabbed some piece of cloth and dashed into Don’s cabinet. Before she allowed him a word, even rats in the cellar got to know that she’s not going to appear in town in the same mantilla for the tenth time, and Don Escriva was welcomed to wear such a bonnet himself, since everything fades in a month in this damned climate. And what does mean that embr… embagr…? Uh, that is, why merchants can’t sell Alençon lace and Lyon silk in Santo Domingo? Once he heard it, Don Escriva shut the door and said it’s for, er... how it was, diplomatic reasons. And that it was the French who started it, but he spoke much quieter.”
“So how could you hear it?”
“What? Don’t give me that look, I was cleaning the doorknob. Brass needs a lot of polishing, you have no idea. And it blows maldito cold straight into your ear from the keyhole, but, well, you must look closely to find every spot. Though maybe the cabinet is draughty as well, ‘cause Don Escriva mentioned something about relations cooling down... But I don’t know what it had to do with the French. Seems to me he didn’t know either, ‘cause he said something about waiting for explanations.”
*
“Oh! Crap, that’s the second knife this week. And it broke on nothing more than a dry twig! Carmencita, do you have a blade handy? I need some herbs from the bunch...”
“Wait a moment, Raquel. A shard fell behind your collar, I saw. Don’t move. Antonio should have a talk with that botcher posing as a blacksmith, with a large club in hand. Juanita from the Crown and Anchor told me a cleaver fell apart in their cook’s hands, too... Ah, I got it, here it is.”
“The previous one broke on a bone... Have we any spare knives at all, now? Why’re you giggling?”
“’Cause it looks like we have to ask Nellie. She always has a knife hidden under a garter.”
“Ahem, do I hear ladies are in need? Let me offer you help, which costs only a kiss. You see-”
“Pablo, if I hear once more about that dagger of yours that you bragged about already to seven men since this morning, you’ll earn a pan to your head, I swear.”
“But señorita Carmencita haven’t heard-!”
“I can tell her for you, both versions, including the one which slipped out yesterday, when you were drunk. It’ll take less time. How did it go? Not in Havana, but in Port Royal. And not three robbers, but one English officer. And not that they tried to rob you, but you were drinking with him. And you didn’t take the bauble from their chieftain, but you won it from the Englishman. You can’t even tell good tales, Pablo.”
“Tell tales? Me?! It’s all true, strike me dead if I lie!”
“Sure, you’d be long dead if that was true. You introduced yourself as a pirate to the English armada’s lieutenant, and he dragged you to a tavern instead of the gaol, didn’t you say? Anyway, it would be the first time you managed to win anything.”
“It was hard not to win, since he was staring more at me than his cards. He even read what is engraved on the blade. Here, this says ‘Brown’, and the smaller ones below it: ‘WT’.”
*
“Good God, Miranda! What are you doing here? How...!”
“Joined a convoy of mules, Aunt Raquel. All the way from Port-au-Prince.”
“But that pretty Frenchman of yours, didn’t he have a boat?”
“Don’t even mention that hijo de puta! He’s no more French than me... Turned out, a noose for desertion awaits him in Havana.”
“Hush, darling, mind your tongue. Sit here and tell me all about it.”
“You see, he was telling me all the time, what a hacienda I would have when we reached Port-au-Prince. And when we did, there was a hacienda, sure: a shack, where he kept old nets! And no wonder, he didn’t need anything larger, since he hardly left the tavern.”
“I keep telling you, it’s better to earn money in a tavern than lose it there. That’s why you came back?”
“Truth be told, not yet. I thought, if he could draw a full net from the sea every morning, I’d put up a stall, and maybe someday I’d have a hacienda, at last. But he fancied his drinking companions more than fish. And he would believe anything, so long as you told him it was a great secret. He’d never set sail at dawn, since he’d heard once that a red sun bodes blood. And have you ever seen a green sunrise, Aunt? ‘Don’t bother your pretty head’, he kept saying. ‘We’ll sail to Jamaica and you’ll be a great lady, with your own plantation.’ Then someone told him in Mexico roads are paved with precious ore and quicksilver floats in rivers. He talked about it for two days, and when he began to get his boat ready on the third day, ‘Huh,’ I thought, ‘it bodes ill’. Well, that gave me an idea, so I paid three fat chickens to an old voudun, who forecast weather for fishermen, to tell this fool of mine he should keep away from Englishmen and not ever come close to quicksilver, ‘cause they’re bad luck, a fortune waits for him in the sea, instead.”
“And he believed it?”
“Sure he did! But with my luck it was in an ill hour... He gave up Jamaica and Mexico. Two days later, there’s a big ship with lilies on the flag coming to the port. This time I recognized the French fleet, but there was another behind the first, with a faded flag and some triple sign on it. One fisherman, who served in the Armada in his youth, said it’s the English Company. I look at my sweet boy, and he’s standing dumbstruck and staring at them. ‘What’re you seeing there,’ I asked, but I already had a feeling that I had wasted three good chickens. He said ‘Mercurio’, or something like that, was written on the English’s stern, and that he had once heard an old scholar call quicksilver by this name. Eh, why did I go after a man who can read? Nothing good comes of that...”
“Honey, nothing good comes of a man who tells sweet things in poor French. Were you fed up at last?”
“I was. Last I saw him, he was launching the boat and promising he’ll shower me with gold, if I go with him in search of some El Dorado, somewhere in the wilderness. What happens to me now, Aunt?”
“There, there, don’t cry. There’s always a place for one more girl in the kitchen. Antonio will frown and grumble, but he’ll allow you back, if it earns him a smile from Carmencita.”
*
It was time to go back.
***
There were dispersed but still recognizable circles of ash and soot from campfires on the beach. If the late Felicita had a successor, she wasn’t visible anywhere, but chickens wandered around, and there was a goat tied to a pole, picking at the grass with a bored air. A few boats tied to the pier bobbed on the gentle waves of the surf, and two smaller dinghies rested on shore. Smoke raised from the chimney, and dozens of bare and booted footprints criss-crossed the sand. The place looked far from deserted.
Jack counted the boats and chickens, carefully examined the goat, and finally, having decided he won’t manage to gather any more courage, took a breath and pushed open the door.
The inn seemed more crowded than ever. Jack stopped at the threshold, hesitant as to whether it was better to sneak stealthily, or make a great entrance, with a shining grin and a jangle of baubles once more weaved into his hair. Not that it really seemed to matter, however. A few of the nearest heads raised or turned; a few indifferent gazes glided off the pirate, and then went back to their plates, mugs and talks, forgetting him immediately. Jack looked around and steered toward an unattended table in the darkest corner. The glare of Jorge behind the bar stopped him mid-step. Jack flashed what was intended a cocksure grin, but felt rather like a desperate grimace, and stepped back, bumping against something warm, broad and disturbingly firm.
“Look what the cat dragged in!” thundered above his head. “Dad was right: you’d come again.”
Jack sprang away and looked back, and up. And up. ‘Something’ turned out to be Jacinto’s chest. He stood there with an axe on one shoulder, a load of chopped wood under his arm, and a very white grin on his massive face. The giant examined the pirate hat to boots and back, like a peculiar find in a net drawn from the depths, and then threw the wood under a wall with a deafening rumble. The axe and grin still on place, Jacinto grabbed Jack one-handed and turned him to face the bar.
Jorge didn’t grin and said nothing. Jack realized he had said nothing, either. He hesitated between ‘You look great, mate!’ and ‘You were waitin’ for me? How touching,’ but he bit his tongue instead.
After a long minute, Jorge took a mug and filled it. Mug in hand, not lowering a look heavier than the hand upon the pirate’s shoulder, he came from behind the bar with an obvious limp.
Jack, his eyes transfixed on Jorge’s, tried to recall the location of the nearest door and how far his boot heels might be from Jacinto’s bare ankle, not that it would provide a big advantage.
“If I wanted to be a bait, I’d go to a fisherman,” snarled Jorge after another long minute. “But I’m rather tempted to see what one could catch on a hook with a sparrow skewered on it.”
He slammed the mug on a table, turned and limped away. The hand on the pirate’s shoulder gave him an indisputable offer, the pirate’s knees gave up and Jack flopped on the bench at the table. Jacinto laughed, sounding like a rocky avalanche filling a cave, gave Jack a friendly pat on the back, almost breaking his spine, and disappeared through the door to the courtyard. A moment later, came the axe’s crack and noise of splitting wood.
Jack caught the breath squeezed out of his lungs, blinked his watering eyes and tried to straighten up. Then he blinked once more, sniffed and looked down at the table. He froze staring into the mug Jorge had left. It smelled of something that could be rum, if someone managed to squeeze it from oranges grown on black pepper instead of black soil. On the nearby isles, Jorge’s home-made beverages fetched a price in gold twice as high as twenty-year-old wines from the Old World. There was one variety, though, which Jorge sold no one, no matter the price. Those few, who had the opportunity to try it, swore the bottles Jorge kept to himself held a liquor stronger than English powder, golden like a sun over the horizon, and smelling sweet, like the pirate freedom.
From his stool in a far corner of the tavern, José watched the still figure behind the table for a long while. The pirate gaped at the mug before him with a face of an enamoured teenager. José thoughtfully sucked his pipe-steam. Then, with a groan, lifted himself from the stool.
“Next time I’ll be jailed wif ya, flee alone. M’stayin’,” he said, sitting on the bench next to the pirate.
Jack, startled, put a protective arm around his mug, casting an askew glance at the old man. “Next time, don’t let ‘em jail you,” he muttered. “What, you didn’ like the forest?”
José chuckled wheezily. “Sure, trunks everywhere around like masts an’ balls whistlin’ like in the ol’ times. Only my bones not as obedient as ‘ey used to be...”
“Still, you managed to get ‘em away. I could swear I recall one bosun, who more than thirty years ago used to sit at a table in the biggest tavern in Tortuga, open his recruiting book and a bottle of rum, and kept sayin’ that an uncertain ball’s better than a certain noose.” Jack flashed a grin.
“Look at ‘im, how ya dare to mouth back at old man, you snotnose,” José grunted. “Ya barely reached above that table those times. And as for gettin’ away, well...” He scratched his gray stubble and sucked noisily at the pipe. “It was Jacinto who toted my ol’ bones on his back, and later half-carried ‘is father as well, when some last piece of lead reached Jorge. Oh, when we’re at it, ya owe me a pipe!” José presented the stem angrily, only the stem, ‘cause the pipe’s bowl was missing.
Jack groaned, then rummaged in his coat’s pocket and threw a big porcelain pipe on the table. The spurs hadn’t been the only reason he had made the most part of way down from the Governor’s mansion much faster than he had wished. Contributing much to that was the pockets and even the lining of the sapphire coat had been filled significantly more than on his way up. Jack had left most of the ballast - together with the coat, spurs, boots, hat and rapier - in Santo Domingo, but had kept the pipe. It had an exceptionally buxom mermaid painted on it.
“When did ‘ey leave?” he asked, watching the old man admiring the pipe with a broad, if toothless grin.
“Methinks we huddled like boars in the thicket a fortnight, give or take.” José leaned against the wall and put the new pipe’s stem into his mouth. “I was all for heading to the east. Limeys won’t risk pokin’ the Spanish bear, I was sayin’, and Tortuga wasn’t so far. But Jorge said he’d sooner set the inn on fire over ‘eir heads than flee from ‘is own land. Every morning Jacinto sneaked atop one rock ya could see the bay from. ‘E said boats kept soundin’ the reef and forest paths were swarmin’ wif patrols, but the camp seemed less-manned. Turned out why, when ‘e saw ‘em once hangin’ less lucky deserters. At last, one day barely Jacinto left, ‘e comes back again and says, ‘Da, ya wanna see it.’ So we limped together, climbed the rock an’ couched under a bush. We lookin’, and ‘ere’s a ship just beyond the reef, hung with Froggy lilies all over an’ bristlin’ wif canons from a few dozens of portholes. Decks and riggin’ were crowded as if ‘ey expected a boarding, but looked at the empty sea behind ‘eir backs more than at the bay wif the Limeys.” José cackled.
“Empty all the time? For three weeks?” asked Jack, who had heard in Tortuga tales about three or four battles, and skirmishes in no less than two dozen versions, told by - so far - half-a-hundred eyewitnesses. He privately suspected one of those tales could be true: it contained surprisingly little powder, only one pirate boat and not a word about loot.
“We hadn’ heard Limeys shootin’ again...” José thoughtfully scratched his bristly cheek. “Jacinto said ‘e happened to see fisher masts on the horizon at times, but ‘ey vanished quick. Though looks like there were eyes on ‘em that saw enough, an’ tongues that must had later set in motion, cause at last one of the pirate brethren appeared. Would ya count everythin’ ‘ey’re tellin’ now,” José gestured with the pipe toward the other tables and chuckled. “Funny they didn’ take each other’s wind. But I could swear I saw only Mélusine.”
“Saw?”
“Aye, cause she came the same day as the Frogs.” This time José cackled so hard it took some time for him to catch his breath. “Limeys put a boat on water, Frogs put ‘eirs, too. Barely ‘ey had time to met at the reef’s line, an’ we’re lookin’, it gets crowded ‘ere, cause ‘ere’s a busty lass comin’ from behin’ the cliff - Mélusine’s bow, that was. An’ the Frogs didn’ even wait, but fired wif a full broadside, though it was too far, yet. The smoke was still thick when the Limey brig added ‘er own greetings. We’re lookin’, and Mélusine puts in a tack an’ that was all we saw of ‘er.”
Jack nodded. Mélusine, in the common opinion the fastest among ships anchored in Tortuga, carried only a dozen canons. Now Jeunét, her captain, kept claiming that he would have taken a rich loot in Jorge’s bay, if his French honour had allowed him to sink subjects of Le Roi. Of course, that immediately earned him a mocking title of Le Corsaire d’Honneur.
“An’ those in the bay?” Jack asked.
“All got down to draggin’ the brig over the reef.”
“An’ she didn’ get stuck?”
“Didn’. Though ‘ey had to get the men off-board, till ‘ere left maybe five wif the helmsman, and ‘ey got rid of everythin’ that didn’ belong on the riggin’. Seen wif my own eyes a sea chest fallin’ from the stern window. ‘Ey all together set off to the west, as quick as the brig managed. Later, as we were checkin’ wif nets if ‘ey had left anythin’ worthy, we found a gap in the barrier. Looks like that other night the reef had torn ‘eir belly, but ‘ey must had broken out quite a piece of rock, too. Jorge wants to hire a few wif boats and have ‘em drop a load of stones down, to close the canal. ‘E says anythin’ larger than a single-sailed jolly won’t be sneakin’ ‘ere till he lives, and even beyond the reef ‘e don’t wanna see anything other than Jolly Rogers.
Jack wrapped his hands around the mug and leaned against the wall, too. “He won’t,” he said quietly.
***
Next day at dawn, Jack wrapped the silver-mahogany saddle, stirrups and bridle with an old blanket, bound it with a piece of rope, and with the bundle upon his shoulder he left Hans’ shelter. He walked down to the muddy road, turned east and found the southern path, into the forest and Hispaniola’s heart.
He didn’t notice a figure following him in distance like a detached shadow.
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Footnotes
Negrillo Coast on Jamaica is called Negril nowadays.
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The next part
Your thoughts welcomed, as always. :)