by J. P. Sheen
Eselder
“Your calm under pressure is astonishing. I’ve never heard such a genteel suicide note.”
“Is it too calm?” Eselder asked anxiously, flipping the parchment over.
“Well, it wouldn’t be my suicide note. Then again, I couldn’t write one. I’d leave ‘em all agonizing.”
Joggling the toothpick, Blake cursed. “The damn thing won’t give!”
“What happens if you can’t pick the lock?” Eselder asked anxiously.
Standing up, Blake unlatched the balcony door and pulled it open. “You’re going to jump overboard anyway.”
“I’ll sink right to the bottom!”
“You doubt my strength?”
“I can’t swim!” Eselder protested fearfully.
“I’ll be right behind you.”
“What if the ball and chain drags me down before you can get to me?”
Blake lost his patience. “Find your courage, lad!”
“My courage,” murmured Eselder. His eyes swept across the cabin. “Where could that have gone?”
“And don’t be cheeky, I—”
They both froze.
“Did you hear something?” Blake asked.
Eselder whispered frantically, “It’s Thornhill! Hide! Now! Quick!”
Blake threw himself at the window’s velvet draperies. His toes poked out the bottom in an absurd manner, and Eselder’s chain rattled noisily as the boy moved to stand in front of him. Blake remembered the suicide note just as the day cabin door clicked open.
That was it. They were sunk.
“What are you…what is that door doing open?”
Thornhill’s voice was laden with suspicion. Blake went stiff, hearing it.
“I…I was f-feeling seasick,” stammered Eselder, “I was letting in some f-fresh air.”
“You weren’t trying to escape?” Thornhill moved a few paces toward Eselder, and Blake silently lifted his knife.
Try it, Thornhill…just give me a reason…
“We’re at sea, captain,” Eselder remarked witheringly, “Where could I possibly go?”
“You could…oh, never mind! I just came back to retrieve my hat. The sun is terribly hot.”
Blake found that he was hot, all over. He gripped his cutting knife in a trembling fist. What, was he hoping that Thornhill would attack Eselder? The thought was horrifying. But he couldn’t deny it. He wanted an excuse to reveal himself. To leap out and stick a hole in Thornhill’s chest, faster than the man could say “breeches”.
“Yes, I expect you wouldn’t wish your face to turn any redder.”
“That’s quite enough from you!” Thornhill couldn’t mimic Thug Kurzon’s bark very convincingly.
Hatred seared Blake’s blood white-hot. Thornhill deserved it. He deserved to die. And Blake deserved to be the one who killed him. This was the man who’d lied to him, coerced him into the unthinkable, and then convinced him it had been his own free and willing choice. For years and years, he’d believed that lie. Murder would have been a mercy by comparison. Thornhill was the reason why Blake couldn’t look at Eselder the way an uncle should look at his nephew…and he wasn’t the least bit sorry. What had he wanted from Blake in the brig? What would have been the price for Eselder’s safety? If Blake had caved to Thornhill’s threat, would he have become his lackey, like Thornhill was Kurzon’s, controlled by his fear of the hangman’s noose and Eselder’s wellbeing?
The man was a devil.
Blake heard Thornhill head toward the door and nearly bolted from his hiding place. Then Thornhill paused. It was now or never…
“What’s that?”
“Nothing!” Eselder squeaked, and Blake’s heart did a cartwheel. Thornhill had discovered the suicide note! So, why didn’t he make sure that Thornhill got his comeuppance before they got theirs?
“The quill!” Thornhill’s exclamation was triumphant. “It’s been used…where’s the parchment?”
Eselder had been quick enough to hide his letter? Bravo, lad!
“You’re hiding it!” Thornhill declared.
Eselder said nothing, as there wasn’t much he could say. And still Blake hesitated.
“Hand it over,” Thornhill ordered him sternly.
“I don’t have it on me,” Eselder replied icily.
“With that ball and chain, there’s nowhere else it could be.”
“I d-don’t have it on me!” Eselder insisted.
“Oh, really?” growled Thornhill, sounding a little too eager, “Let’s see about that, shall we?”
Eselder gasped, stumbling back into the curtains and effectively squashing Blake, who desperately grabbed the windowpane to keep himself and Eselder from tumbling into a heap. In the midst of their scuffling, the door opened again.
“Captain Thornhill?” asked Cheddar, very hesitantly, “Mr. Kurzon’s asking for you. He wants you right away.”
“What? But I…oh, very well, I’m coming! We’ll settle this later, Your Highness.”
No, you won’t! I’m taking him, Thornhill! You won’t have me, and you won’t have him!
Thud! Thud! Thud! Blake’s heartbeat matched Thornhill’s heavy footfalls. Last chance, last chance, last chance…
Then the door shut, and Blake’s opportunity was gone forever.
Eselder drew back the curtains and happily announced, “He’s gone!”
“I know that, dumbsquat, why are you stating the obvious?”
Eselder recoiled, leaving him ashamed. What, had he wanted to sacrifice Eselder to get his revenge? No, he was glad Eselder was such a quick thinker…and a fairly good liar too, when it came down to it. He got that from his uncle.
“All right, here we go,” Blake said, forcing a lighthearted tone back into his voice, “Ready to commit suicide?”
“I suppose as ready as I’ll ever be,” replied Eselder, looking relieved.
“That’s the can-do attitude I’m looking for!” said Blake, sticking his knife in his belt, “Now hold still.”
He was afraid he really would have to lug Eselder, ball and chain and all, across the sea. To his relief, the lock finally turned, and the manacle fell from Eselder’s bony ankle.
“We’ve got to jump together. If there’s more than one splash, it’ll be suspicious,” Blake explained. With a grunt, he hoisted up the ball and chain.
“Ready, boy?”
Blake didn’t give Eselder time to respond. He grabbed the boy’s neck and shoved him toward the door.
“Then let’s go!”
For a split second, through the cabin door’s glazed window, Blake thought he saw a shock of bright red hair. Then he and Eselder were out on the balcony, hurling themselves overboard. Wind whistled in Blake’s ears, and then—sploosh!—they hit the water. Dropping the ball and chain, Blake quickly latched hold of Eselder. After a couple of thumps on the head, the boy got the message and stopped clawing for the water’s surface.
Blake did his manful best, paddling like mad through the water with one hand and grasping a ball of dead weight with the other. He’d never tell Eselder, but he was very thankful that the boy had lost so much weight. Even so, his back and muscles burned like fire. Everything was a bright blue blur. Blake spat curses, taking them as far as he could before responding to Eselder’s frantic tugs on his shirtsleeve.
They came up for air beside the Sandpiper’s stern, Eselder spluttering like a boiling kettle.
“Grab hold!” Blake gasped.
Coughing, Eselder latched onto a loop of chain running down the schooner’s keel. Blake panted, “With any…luck…somebody will have…heard our splash…and found…your note…by now!”
“What…now?”
“Working…on it!”
They floated in the schooner’s shadow, out of the Swift’s line of vision, while Blake came up with phase two of his fabulous plan.
“Mr. Ransom?”
“Eh?” Couldn’t Eselder see he was thinking?
“Mr. Ransom!”
“What, boy, what?”
Blake angrily looked over and blinked. Treading water, he stared at the seagull perched on Eselder’s shoulder. It was the most hideous bird he had ever seen, being mostly bald, with a knobby stump for a leg and dirty, crooked feathers. Then it squawked, and Blake and Eselder simultaneously flinched. The bird sounded like it had been chain-smoking cigars its entire life. Blake tried to scare it away by flapping his arms and instead splashed Eselder in the face.
“Shut up!” he hissed, “Go away! You’re going…to get us…caught!”
The seagull cawed and pecked irritably at his hand. Blake jerked it back with a hiss as the bird spread its wings and took to the air. It flew down the ship’s starboard side and through a square porthole, straight into the schooner’s belly. Blake’s eyes lit up. That was it!
“Eselder, follow me!”
“I can’t.”
“Oh. Right.” Blake’s heart sank. “Grab hold, then.”
With the last of his strength, Blake towed his human cargo over to the porthole and grunted, “Check…first!”
Eselder struggled to clamber up, and Blake cursed as he smacked him in the eye with his foot.
“It looks clear!” Eselder said softly.
“Then…climb…in!”
Eselder tumbled inside. Blake followed, feeling like a much-abused pack mule. The reek of decaying fish immediately hit his nose. Why? Why did they have to stow away on a fishing boat?
The deck was filled with empty, overturned barrels. Perched on one of them was their seagull friend, watching them closely with its beady eyes. Blake glared at it, but amazingly, it didn’t make a sound. He helped Eselder clamber into an empty fish barrel.
“Stay there,” he instructed, wagging a stern finger.
“Where on earth would I go?” Eselder muttered as Blake sealed him inside. Making a mental note about the cheekiness of princes, Blake climbed gingerly into the next barrel, trying not to barf. And not a moment too soon. Footsteps thudded down through the hatchway and into the lower deck.
“Seems that’s everything.”
“Seems so.”
“What d’you think, Limey?”
“’Bout what?”
“’Bout His Royal Highness.”
“Baloney. All of it.”
“Young ‘am Cheddar. Swore ‘ee saw it with ‘is own eyes. Went barmy an’ jumped clean overboard.”
“Now why would ‘ee do that? Besides, that Cheddar’s always been a daft one.”
Heavy steps pounded down the hatchway, followed by a furious howl.
“’Ow dare you! We worked on this ‘aul fer three bleedin’ weeks, an’ ya come an’ steal it, ya pack a’ bleedin’ thieves! You get yer bleedin’ arses off this ship, or—”
Blake winced irritably, for the shrill yowl was more grating than nails on a chalkboard. Clearly, the other men thought so too, for one of them barked, “I’d shut my pipehole if I was you, boy, ‘less you want to be crammed in a barrel and taken along with the fish!”
A petrified silence followed this threat. Then the boy fled back above deck. The men chortled. When they stopped, one of them remarked, “Poor fishskewers. Looks like they’re out of business, eh?”
“Not our concern. Come on, Harry!”
Harry and Limey pounded onto the top deck, roaring, “All’s loaded!”
Blake could imagine the reaction that provoked from the Sandpiper’s cabin boy. Probably up there cursing the Swift’s crew to bleedin’ pieces. It was true that the fishing schooner’s run-in with the Swift was bloody bad luck for her crew. But it was a stroke of mighty good fortune for Blake and Eselder, so he couldn’t feel too sorry for the fishermen.
With a tired grin, Blake rested his head against the barrel.
He had done it. He had snatched Eselder from Thornhill’s claws. He’d kept the boy safe, and not in the way Thornhill had proposed. Eselder would never know how much it had cost him. Charles Thornhill was still alive and well, and would probably be so for many years. But Eselder was also alive and well, and that was what mattered.
Now they were on their way to freedom, and sunnier horizons.
Wouldn’t Jaimes be so thankful if he knew? Wouldn’t he fall at Blake’s feet in gratitude for saving his son? Wouldn’t he humbly beg Blake’s forgiveness for being a selfish, double-crossing arse?
Wouldn’t he be proud, of them both?
Blake felt a wistful pang. It was a childish, and rather embarrassing wish.
But he wished Jaimes did know.
20
The Call Of The Deep
There was a raging storm that night.
Rain hammered on Blake’s window such that he could no longer see the moon. A knock sounded on his door, but he didn’t move, staring at the white torrents striking the glass. He heard the door handle turned.
“Everyone outside can hear you carrying on, you know!” Jaimes snapped at the boy dressed in a snug silk cravat and fashionably tight breeches.
Blake’s bedroom looked like a tiger had been set loose in it. Everything was torn apart, ripped to shreds, shattered to bits. For a moment, Jaimes looked overwhelmed with grief. Then he yanked off his spectacles.
“This has to stop, Blake. It’s going to stop.”
Blake fingered the shell in his pocket, not acknowledging the veiled threat. Then, shaking his head he clucked, “It’s so sad, Jaimes. Am I the only thing you can actually control?”
“I b-beg your pardon?” Jaimes’s stilted voice cracked. Blake turned around.
“I’ve heard them whispering,” he said, savoring every poisonous word, “They talk about you behind your back, you know! That you’re Parliament’s puppet, plucked right off the streets of Yaletown! That it was a choice between you or someone who’d actually pose a threat!”
The two brothers glared at each other. Their eyes were red, swollen, and utterly exhausted. Then Jaimes took a deep, steadying breath and began through gritted teeth, “You listen to me, Blake, and listen well. Our parents are dead. You’re my brother, and it’s my responsibility to raise you as they would have seen fit—”
“You’re one hell of a failure.”
“You’re going to Cribbshire Abbey, Blake, and you’re going to wake up from these damn silly dreams you’re lost in!” Jaimes barked, “I know they helped you cope on Moanamiri. But you’ve got to let them go and live in reality.”
Blake’s face was ablaze, but his eyes were dull and haggard.
“If this is reality, I want no part in it,” he whispered, “I’d rather be drowning in the deep.”
Jaimes exploded. “Oh, wonderful ambition, Blake! I’m sure killing yourself is a far superior prospect to attending Cribbshire Abbey and living the same kind of life as everyone else!”
“You don’t understand anything!” Blake shouted, his eyes bloodshot and his hands balled into fists.
Jaimes gave him a hard, penetrating look. “You’re not telling me something, Blake.”
Blake felt a sharp jolt but gave no indication of it.
“But I can’t force you to confide in me, and I’m not going to beg you to do it! If you have something to say then speak up!”
So much rage boiled up within Blake that he didn’t know what to do. There was so much to say! But all he could remember was how dark it had been in that storeroom on Moanamiri. That was something he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—say, so instead, he shouted, “You weren’t there for me!”
“I wasn’t there for you?”
Jaimes looked absolutely furious. Blake didn’t flinch, but inside he recoiled and fled down deep to a place where Jaimes couldn’t touch him.
“After all I’ve done for you…if that’s what you really believe…”
Blake’s chest heaved. He braced himself for the pain that was coming, but Jaimes only snapped, “Here’s a thought, Blake! Perhaps it isn’t always about you! I could really have used your support these last couple months, did you ever think of that? Instead, you’ve been nothing but a thorn in my
side, the whole…damn…time!”
His words cut Blake to the quick, but he didn’t show it.
“Are you surprised, Your Majesty? You know where I come from, who raised me! And you can’t change me.”
Jaimes stared long and hard at Blake. Then he looked sad, like he realized the truth of what Blake said…and it broke his heart. The look made Blake’s mind spin with fury. He ground his teeth and spat at Jaimes, losing all resemblance to the child Jaimes had once consoled.
“You’re not my brother! I have no family left! I’m going far away across the sea! You’ll never see me again!”
He expected Jaimes to blow up at that, but Jaimes just sadly remarked, “When you used to speak of the sea, you were always chasing after something. Now you speak in terms of running away. What are you running away from, Blake?”
Sharp knives stabbed Blake’s chest. He opened his mouth, but the truth—the filthy truth—stuck like dirt in his throat. He spat, “Maybe you, ever think of that?”
It was time to bring this chat to a swift end. He shoved a hand into his pocket and drew out the “lucky shell” he had given Jaimes on Moanamiri, so many years ago.
“Aye, I broke into your room and went through your things,” Blake confessed brightly, “Look what I found in your wardrobe, all covered in dust!”
Jaimes grew pale, and Blake laughed.
“That’s right, Jaimes! This isn’t all I found. I also stumbled across a letter from your dead mother to her dead father. It talks about her son’s claim to the throne. Her son.”
Jaimes’s expression wilted. He looked devastated. He didn’t even ask who Blake had enlisted to decipher the letter.
“Who was she, Jaimes?” Blake asked in a low voice. “You know. I know you know.”
Jaimes hesitated. Then, looking resentful, he revealed, “A Sharid woman, who read palms for a living and called herself the Sea Queen. Father fell in love with her on one of his voyages…if you call that love. She was already pregnant when he brought her back to live on Moanamiri. I was seven at the time.”