The First House

by Robert Allwood

  She handed back the babies to the rough men, who began to cry immediately, and with a venomous flick of her hair made her way up to her room. The Frost household was a stone-hewn farm turned into a home by her father’s father. The walls were thick in stucco; stuffy during the summer and snug during the winter, where an archaic stone fire pit dominated most of the open space that made up their first floor. Gold paced about her room strewn with trinkets and drawings. It was an organised mess that she had proudly cultivated over the past year, and her interest in the exotic and curious had superseded her maturity. She slammed her door shut, to make a point, and removed the heavy box she’d kept underneath her bunk. It was a foot in length, only an inch deep. Scrawled on its pewter surface were fantastic creatures: hippocamps, octopods, mermaids. An orb filled with waves dominated the centre of the motif. Inside the orb was a circle, or a shield, with a cross affixed at the bottom. Her father, although a worldly sailor, never shared her belief of myths and monsters. His mind was on his ship, business, and her upbringing. Gold considered herself blessed to have such a pragmatic father.

  The content of the box had cost her father a tidy sum and was her present at twelve years old. She smoothed her fingers over the dents and decorations on the surface and scratched at the patina that had built on the base plate. Inside, snug in velvet, was an opaque jewel that looked as though emerald and quartz had melted together in fire. It smoked in her hands and glittered and swung heavy when suspended from its chain. Sunbeams caught the gem and spread themselves across her walls in dots and lines. Gold laughed as she threw open her window sash and held it up to her eye. She fancied herself able to see the world through the sight of a fish, wobbled and mercurial. She sat on her bed, relaxed her mind and conjured a daydream of the deep sea and sailing ships: which, from the fictional narrative revolving in her mind, cumulated into sleep.

  ✽✽✽

  She woke when her father kissed her on her forehead. It was dim outside. Dawn had crept up behind solemn clouds. Heavy rain had pooled which had turned the land into a single splotch of black earth. Downstairs, breakfast was ready. She usually made it. In her father’s eyes there was a twinkle that she hadn’t seen in years.

  ‘Come on sunshine, time for something to eat, big day ahead of us.’

  Gold mumbled and twisted herself deeper into blanket she had brought with her; bare feet frigid and tapping on the stone floor of their small kitchen.

  ‘You never make breakfast.’ Gold said.

  ‘I didn’t mean to treat you like that yesterday–we did not have anything serious to talk about. I’m sorry.’ Her father apologised.

  Gold dug into her sausage and eggs.

  ‘You mean that woman.’

  ‘Lady. Lady Saville, yes—but I think she’s a Lady no longer.’

  ‘So, she did whore herself?’

  Her father shot a dark look at her, a sign he was on the verge of anger. Gold said sorry and dropped her head. What food had landed in her stomach had started to improve her reluctant mood; she felt more ready for the day.

  ‘Let’s not forget, she was under my protection during the expedition. Nobody dared touch her either.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘A witch my crew calls her. Getting her on board a vessel with God fearing men was incredibly difficult.’

  Gold nodded disinterested as her father spoke once again of this woman and how wonderful she was. She pulled her blanket tight and stamped her feet. They needed a break from this life. Every day filled with the same chores to keep the old place in check. She felt that her desire for a voyage had built up in the monotony. Her last trip to London was a few years ago and it had stirred the spirit of adventure within her. Gold now sought out pewter trinkets with delicate filigree on them; black–wood animals popular amongst children; dirty maps and crinkled books filled with distant descriptions of tales from afar. The most dramatic change was the wanderlust in her legs, they would not keep still. Some mornings she said goodbye to her father with a skip out of the front door and would run down to the market on her own; most of the merchants and stall—sellers had given her the moniker That Black Hair Girl. They would also give a smatter of compliments on how tall she was for her age and how she could turn a young boy’s head with a twist of her hips. Perhaps her restlessness from exploring grew from the pair of legs she had? She didn’t know, nor did she particularly care. She observed her father as he wiped the grease from his lips and boarded the windows of the house. Their valuables locked away into a water–tight chest.

  Several sailors entered their home after the meal. They boasted on their raucous achievements from the previous night. She was familiar with them all by name and they scuffed her head in the same fashion as her father did. Gold stowed her most valuable possessions, and helped secure them onto a carriage waiting outside. She sat on top of the tarp and ropes while the old home faded from her view. Each bump and jolt in the road shrank the house until it was gone. Her father trotted beside them on a mare while the rest of his men walked. They were happy to be outside, happier still to finally be back at sea where they could be at peace with the world; and the world could leave them in peace.

  The Tail was almost the same before she had left for Lady Saville’s expedition. The crane had gone, as had some of the rougher edges along her prow. Fresh paint adorned the railings. New cloth for the lateen sails, and the once tattered flags cleaned. She was a grand old lady, a stubborn and doughty ship that had seen many ports, and taken on many men. The innuendo had not escaped Gold, and was a test for new crew, to see if they had a sense of humour about them. Gold stood with John as they admired the effort her crew had put back into her. Many had not returned from having spent their small bars of gold. The crew that had returned wore new clean clothes cut of modern fashion. Those with gaps in their teeth had gold caps, and their grins were the largest. On the busy dock Gold spied Sarah and her men as they waited for permission to board. She catcalled at Sarah who gave a curt wave back. The infirmary accommodated the children, with extra care taken to make sure the room was as warm and clean as could be. Parcels, missives and wishes from citizens sat next to the sundries in the hold. Passengers and those who sought asylum from London’s strife took shelter in the bilge. The journey wasn’t long, within two days they would be on the Storm Coast proper. Danger came from the lawless passage that fed into The Channel.

  ‘We have to pass by New Port,’ he said in a whisper, while they both mulled over the charts.

  ‘Pirates?’ said Gold.

  ‘Rebels. Men not controlled by the Crown. That’s what Westminster calls them. They have a small fleet in that coast. Check with the Quartermaster, would you?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I want you to make sure our cannons are ready; our swords are sharp and the besses loaded.’

  Gold’s eyes widened. She knew her father was making her excited on purpose, but she played along all the same. She sat up with a mock salute.

  ‘Aye captain.’

  He laughed and returned the gesture.

  ‘Check on our Lady while you’re below deck. Don’t want her to feel left out.’

  Gold looked at him sly.

  ‘Should I tell her to meet you in your quarters Captain?’

  She had never seen her father blush before. He drained his wine and looked at her. Gold left embarrassed. She hadn’t meant to say it. Was her father that affected by that woman? She shuddered.

  Gunners below deck had stowed the cannons and were now enjoying the interlude. Musket men checked their weapons and armour with prudence. Gold noted most of them had a long stare, a distance that remained on their faces. Some had little of their face left. Cavernous scars and deep wounds plagued the few that had seen the most violent conflicts. She strode towards Sarah’s cabin as the ship picked up sail and lurched out of the bay. Incense burned in a small brass cup. It filled out the cabin in a cloying smoke, which stung Gold’s eyes and made her rasp. Out of her bunk Sarah was sat next to an old tome either
in study or in prayer, Gold couldn’t decide. Two cots with a child in each were in a corner of the cabin. They swayed in their cotton hammocks; sound asleep.

  ‘Makes good reading does it?’ said Gold.

  Lady Saville did not reply. She skimmed ahead in the book before she shut it.

  ‘Spells can be copied onto paper. I’ve brought my favourite with me.’

  Gold trembled, but still puffed her chest out. ‘Why did you leave London? It must have been hard on you. All that gossip, all those rumours.’

  The Lady stood with her book in hand and removed the cup of incense. She sat back down on her stool and moved another out in front of her. She patted the empty stool, motioned for Gold to sit opposite. Gold chewed her bottom lip and considered to walk away. She could sense it was a trap. Perhaps she was to be upbraided for speaking to a Lady without proper respect. Gold sat still for a few tense seconds.

  ‘Hold out your hand child,’ Sarah commanded.

  Gold did as she was told–and placed her hand out in front of her palm upwards. Lady

  Saville dragged a finger across a horizontal crease in Gold’s palm. She traced its path with her fingernail.

  ‘That one is the life–line; the Cauldron. Yours is quite long and thick.’ She ran her finger across a vertical line that ended on Gold’s wrist. ‘That’s the Mount of the Sun–your fortune. Looks quite shallow, but you’ve got a long life line judging here. I’m sure it will have time to thicken and lengthen.’

  ‘You’re from the Cape of Strangers, aren’t you? It’s in your voice,’ Sarah stared at Gold. ‘M’ Lady.’

  ‘Call me Sarah. The Cape is where I was born, and where my parents made their fortune in land, before leaving for London. My legacy gave me freedom to travel, and opportunity gave me my title. I bought land and leased it like my parents before me. I was a businesswoman a long time before moving onto history.’

  ‘What do you learn from history?'

  ‘It is the study of the past. Your father told me you’re curious for a girl for twelve years–what do you make of this?’

  As the cabin rolled Sarah reached over and produced a book wrapped in a blue cloth with uneven pages. It smelled of smoke and caramel. Gold paused before she reached for it; the book’s spine creaked open when she did so.

  ‘You can read?’

  ‘Yes–but not fast as my father can.’

  Sarah smiled and waved a hand to the book; she bid Gold to read.

  ‘M–anna… easily dissolv–es in water, and a drop of the sol–ution is a very pretty object.’

  Gold smiled as she read the words. She knew most of them, but a few were notes in a joined script, with the words all wriggled. She tried to tilt the book upside down to see if the letters would invert themselves. Nothing happened. With a turn of the page she found vignettes of plants and signs, mesmerism, wands and runes. Her head was full of marvel.

  ‘Can I keep it?’

  ‘Of course, I gave it you as a gift. Let’s both have a fresh start together as friends. And now that we're friends, there is one thing I need from you in return.’

  Gold looked puzzled. ‘What would that be?’

  ‘Tell me what your father thinks of me?’

  ‘He likes you.'

  ‘Oh? That’s good. Do you like me? I would like to get to know you better.’

  Gold caught the disingenuous edge to her voice, like an actor who strained their lines. She rose, added a mock curtsy of her skirt, and left the conversation unfinished. With the book in hand Gold retreated to her bunk to absorb its contents in quiet. Sarah scolded herself; she shouldn’t have been that false with the child. She gathered from the conversation that John liked her, and Gold was protective of her father in turn. She sighed and tended to her children as they slept.

  ✽✽✽

  The Tail ventured out of the Darkwater at a casual pace. Against a viridian sky, the midday clouds turned pink to cream, and to a rotten yellow. Serpentine waves threw themselves against carrack as she lurched around the coast. The Second Mate with his gang loosened the ropes and let all sails tack full. The weather was behind them, and for once in a long time The Tail reached full speed. She carved a path parallel through the bay of East Stream and past a fleet of merchant and navy ships. Gold had left her book behind and strained herself over the gunwale to look at the famous city. Houses in East Stream were always green and dark blue. She saw a quiver of straight stone towers rise from its centre. A ship left the man–made harbour; seven bells rang out, some sailors next to her cheered.

  ‘What’s to celebrate?’ she asked.

  A Darklander loomed over her with foul breath and wiry beard. ‘Got a new ship they have–see her?’

  He pointed as the cruiser in question as it gained ahead. All on board stopped their work to admire the vessel. It sat thin in the water. The slim white prow sliced apart the waves with ease. Whatever class of tonnage it was, it turned as a rowing boat on a calm lake. It sprinted past them and both crews regarded each other. The crew of the Tail eyed the other ship with avarice. The proud East Stream sailors regarded the Tail with snobbish looks. Her father had left his quarters and waved to the other captain with a flag. The captain on the cruiser tipped his bicorn.

  ‘Hell of a ship that,’ her father jogged up to her. ‘The Heart of East Stream; one hell of a ship.' The wind and sun both dropped at once; the world covered in a dull film.

  ‘Captain on deck! Back to work! Back at it! Rain is coming lads, get those barrels refilled!’ The Quartermaster screamed. Cries of a rainstorm brewing just west of them rang out. Gold smiled. She welcomed rain.

  A day into their journey and the crew relaxed into a steady rhythm. Veteran sailors each took time to enthral the newer crew with supernatural tales. The older the sailor the more outlandish the tale, the younger the sailor, the more shaken they were. Gold woke to see one morning Sarah had helped with scrubbing the deck. She hadn’t gotten far with her bucket and holystone but did a thorough job which pleased the Boson to no end. Much to her chagrin Gold hadn’t seen much of her father, who had spent most of his time tending to passengers, especially Sarah. She dropped the issue after saw her father’s eyes sparkle as they did that morning before they set off. Sarah looked resplendent in a white dress with her hair wild. She would curl up to him at the helm as they surveyed the horizon. He was happy. I was the first he had been since Gold’s mother had left them. That was everything Gold could have wished for him. He was out on the open waves with a new interest in his life and a smile on his face. She noticed that Sarah didn’t have any ulterior motive. She was alone and wanted an experienced father to bring up her children. for either of them to fall in love was an added bonus to the relationship.

  Gold’s watch for the third day was in the nest with a weathered brass scope for company. The ship’s sway was more noticeable high up on the main mast. Her legs braced themselves more frequent. The responsibility wasn’t lost on her. The crew respected her serious attitude when it came to the more adult work. She memorised the seascape about her. An hour later she had surveyed her realm and half-sat, sipping on water from a skin. A shape put a stop to her breath. Just there, a black speck popped on the horizon. A dirty smudge she wished she could raise one sleeve and rub out like a blot of ink. She mumbled a warning but it caught short on the wind, not loud enough for the crew below. Frustrated, Gold screamed out.

  ‘Sail!’

  She leaned over the guard and looked at the response below. Men hurried around to the prow and gaped. Her father strode among them with his own looking-glass. He barked orders at the men on the rigs to slow; the five minutes passed as she guessed who the ship belonged to. As the vessel neared it struck colours: two black flags on the main mast, and one blue with white zigzags.

  ‘Black flags!’

  Her father donned his black bicorn along with the senior members of his crew. A sergeant and his men poured from below to stand attention on the arquebus. Two lines of riflemen in jackets gathered in rough formation
on starboard and port. With a rumble, she heard the gunners below ready their cannons. A whistle blew. Gold knew it was time to take her place below deck. She scrambled across a rope ladder and shook as she made her way down. Her hands slipped twice on the rope before reaching the bottom. Her father walked over, and whispered instructions in her ear as he knelt. Gold heard her heart thump loud enough to almost drown out his words. When he had finished, she nodded and left after she kissed him on the cheek for luck. In the hold all the infirm had gathered along with the children and Sarah. Gold hugged her and told everyone present that pirates had struck their colours. Amongst the gasps and cries Sarah bid Alex and Cyrus to secure the jollyboat. Should it the ship fall, it would be the only safe venture for her. Gold noticed Sarah commit one of her paper spells to memory.

  ‘Are you going to kill them?’

  ‘Kill? No, I don’t want to kill. Nobody should ever want to kill that readily child. It’s a special spell–you’ll see. Will you accompany me on the deck?’ she asked.

  Gold could hear the chaos from above as the senior sailors barked a string of panicked orders. The drums and shouts had stopped all at once–now they could only hear the clack of ropes against sails.

  ‘Can we change course?’ said Sarah.

  They turned slow eyes on her. Several shook their heads; whether through ignorance or arrogance Gold could not guess.

  ‘Surely we have the wind–we alter course? John–speak to me.’

  ‘You’ve forgotten your place Lady,’ he replied. ‘Besides–look aft.’

  Sarah turned with a snarl on her lips. Gold climbed with her as far aft as they could go. Two ships with the same black flags sat aft. They both waited; patient for the sky to clear and the sea to calm. Lines of worry spread along her face as Gold knew they could not outfight three ships in The Tail for long. Her first thoughts were of John and Sarah and her babies–her second of the crew and passengers. It was an odd sight when she saw Sarah twist her fingers; then she heard the words she had memorised for her spell. Plumes of mist raised out if the sea; they blotted the sun and encased the Tail in a cloud–blanket. In a gap over the water Gold could see three mute flashes of orange.