by V. E. Ulett
“We unship them before ascension,” Captain Thorpe said to Mr. Dashwood, “but when we are approaching port or with the Fleet, they are always down.”
Captain Thorpe and Mr. Dashwood then turned to examining a series of complex lines and blocks running outwards from what Captain Thorpe called “the yoke”. Miriam stood next to the Mechanism and, glancing at the beautiful object, found there was something odd about it that she couldn’t quite name. Captain Thorpe was becoming enthused, seeming to have half forgot her presence. When the yoke was pulled up on, he explained, through the action of those lines and blocks, transmitted to the stunsails “set just so”, the bow of the ship would rise. Miriam wondered whether she’d heard aright, and then it struck her what was different about the Mechanism.
The planets had changed positions from where they’d been before, when Miriam first approached it. This Mechanism was no ordinary ship’s instrument. She hoped she wasn’t caught gawping, because right then Captain Thorpe called to her.
“Ma’am, we are proceeding on deck.” He turned to Mr. Dashwood. “A crack ship uses a prodigious quantity of canvas, booms, and spars. Admiral Lord Exmouth will no doubt oblige us with as much as he can spare.”
In the open air on deck, Miriam gazed round on the ships of the fleet, beyond which rose the beautiful white walls of the City of Algiers, where here and there were seen burned out gaps like blackened teeth in an otherwise brilliant smile. The men set to a furious peering into the rigging, waving of arms, and discussion of wind direction and sailing qualities. Standing well back from them, Miriam studied her surroundings. It really was a small vessel, perhaps ninety feet in length, but by her three masts Miriam recognized her as a ship sloop. The seamen working on deck were less hideous than their brothers below, though there were eye patches, missing fingers, and no doubt toes by the way they limped. Miriam noticed again the lack of cannon, the guns lining the upper decks of the other ships nearby.
Captain Thorpe, returning with Mr. Dashwood to where Miriam stood near the mainmast, was saying, “We carry only swivels, bow and stern chasers, with special carriages so we can fix them amidships if needed. We strike them into the hold before getting underway in earnest. This being a short call for orders and, ah, passengers, I shall not bother swaying them up unless his lordship desires it.”
“Oh!” Mr. Dashwood cried. “Miss Miriam, don’t lean against that, I beg.”
Miriam’s sleeve was barely brushing the canvas covering over what she’d taken to be one or more of the ships’ boats.
Captain Thorpe stepped forward, with a glance at Mr. Dashwood as though he were the ninny of the world, and offered Miriam his arm. “This way, if you please, ma’am. We should not keep his lordship waiting.”
On the way back to the captain’s quarters, Captain Thorpe pointed out the first lieutenant’s cabin to Mr. Dashwood, with an encouraging word about shifting his fine rig for a working one. Since Captain Thorpe led the way he missed the glance exchanged by Miriam and Mr. Dashwood on parting, the near touch of hands that passed between them.
Inside the great cabin, Captain Thorpe and Miriam found that Lord Exmouth wasn’t waiting alone. Before the Admiral stood a dark, narrow man, who upon their entrance immediately turned and made them a bow, pressing his palms together before his face. Miriam returned the bow with a polite and instant curtsey, while Captain Thorpe glared over her head at Sir Edward Pellew.
“Miss Miriam, allow me to present Mr. Boar...that is to say...seaman Boarhead.”
The seaman dipped his head again to Miriam, this time facing her with a smile and a flash of black teeth.
Captain Thorpe was scowling mightily. Sir Edward hastened to fill the void of conversation. “Boarhead speaks a number of languages besides English, including Malay, the language of the Siamese, and several Far Eastern dialects, the Mandarin and Hindoo. And he can hand, reef, and steer.”
Sir Edward smiled as though he thought his choice of China scholar unexceptionable.
“I am sure we shall do very well together,” Miriam said.
“May I just have a word, Sir,” Captain Thorpe said.
The captain and admiral moved away, leaving Miriam in Boarhead’s company near the stern windows.
“May I trouble you again for your name?” Miriam said, in a low voice.
The dark man stood silent for several moments, then replied in an equally soft tone. “Jugma Bora, Miss, but it might be best to indulge the white man’s odd humors. They are powerful and vengeful creatures.”
Miriam clasped her hands together and said nothing more. On one side of her was the heated discussion taking place in hushed tones between Captain Thorpe and Lord Exmouth, and on the other the dark seaman with blackened teeth.
“If that is your idea of a China scholar, Sir Edward, I must say I am shocked at it. That man is a Dyak, all he lacks is the sharpened teeth. You would throw this boar’s head at that young lady? Look at her.”
Miriam stood with hands folded in front of her, mildly regarding the canvas covered deck.
“Pipe down, Maximus, he is the lesser of the evils I had at my disposal. The man is something of a prodigy with languages, and a thorough-going seaman.”
“I don’t recall insisting on that particular point, that was more your notion than mine.” Captain Thorpe glared at Sir Edward. “I wonder at you Englishmen. Could you no find someone more gentleman-like to bring to Miss Miriam’s notice? To say nothing of this unspeakable plan of Lord Q’s to throw her into the way of—”
“You may stopper it right there. You and I are servants of the Crown—yes, you too sir, though you do not like to admit it—and as such we do as we are ordered. Government owes a debt of gratitude to the Dutch, and if it chooses to repay it in a way that may not be palatable to you and I, that is none of our concern.”
“None of my concern, as captain of Nonesuch?”
“May I remind you,” Sir Edward said, “and only the fact of our long association gives me the patience to do so, it is government funds his Majesty’s Hired Vessel Nonesuch.”
This was unanswerable, though both were aware a crack ship was a different animal.
“You may take satisfaction in the fact Miss Miriam shall be under your protection during the entirety of the voyage—may it not prove a long one.” Sir Edward’s voice took on a confidential tone. “She need never meet with Boarhead unless under your eye, if the idea offends you. Though I will caution you, as a friend, the same as I counseled young Dashwood. She is not one of us.”
“I don’t know what you can mean by that, Sir,” Captain Thorpe replied coldly. Choosing to swallow down his anger, he stepped forward. “What is your name, mon? None of this boar’s head nonsense.”
“Jugma Bora, sir.”
“Bora, you are dismissed. Report to first lieutenant Mr. Dashwood on deck. He and Mr. Dodd will assign you a division. You will be sent for, when you are wanted for...the language lessons.”
Seaman Bora knuckled his forehead to Captain Thorpe. “Aye, aye, sir.” The dark man made a deep bow to Miriam and Sir Edward, and left the cabin.
Captain Thorpe, Miriam, and Lord Exmouth were seated in the cabin. Lord Exmouth leaned toward Miriam.
“I must take leave of you, Miss Miriam,” his lordship said. “I hope all the arrangements are to your satisfaction. I will repeat our Dutch friend Van der Capellen’s wish to you of — Good God! What the devil, er, deuce is that?”
A tawny brown blur flew past his lordship’s legs, and then an animal sat neatly on Miriam’s lap regarding Lord Exmouth out of none too friendly deep amber colored eyes.
Captain Thorpe, who’d started back in his chair when the animal whisked by, said, “That, sir, begging your pardon, is a Thracian Hell-Cat. A gift of the Ottoman chief Megabazus. Nonesuch’s last mission was to the Ionian, you will be remembering.”
Miriam was stroking the Hell-Cat’s head. It settled so that it could look at her, opening and then closing its eyes to slits in adoring fashion.
“It doesn’t look so hellish to me, if I may say so.” Miriam regarded the furry little creature with growing affection.
“The truth is, Miss Miriam,” Captain Thorpe said, “this is the first I’ve seen of it since it was sent aboard. Where it hides itself I could not say, but there is nothing like the rat population aboard we’ve had in former times.”
Lord Exmouth sniffed. “Take your opportunity to put it ashore, that’s my advice. They are dangerous creatures, are they not?”
“Dangerous, rare, independent creatures,” Captain Thorpe said.
“Admirable qualities, in my view.” Miriam pinned the cat’s ears against its head with her caresses.
“What you can want with such an unnatural beast aboard an equally dangerous—”
“I could hardly refuse such a gift,” Captain Thorpe cut in upon Lord Exmouth, “for I was told a Hell-Cat is also an incredibly loyal creature. To the right person.”
Both men gazed at Miriam with the Hell-Cat curled on her lap.
“I’ve always been fond of cats.” Miriam set the animal down on the deck and stood up to shake hands with Lord Exmouth.
Lord Exmouth saluted Miriam with a kiss on each cheek, reminded her of the Royal Navy’s commitment to her support, spoke once again of what he called ‘the exit strategy’, and wished her Godspeed.
Chapter Five
In the days after the British Fleet quit the Bay of Algiers, commerce and sea trade slowly recovered. A packet ship from France arrived. Along with the usual load of merchants, seamen, adventurers, and riff-raff, were disgorged two Persian gentlemen. One was a dark-eyed young man in the uniform of the Shah’s royal guard, the other an immaculately attired and handsome fellow with the air of a dancing master.
By way first of the palace, this pair came to the barracks where Captain Ansari was recovering of his wounds. Atif Mehmood ushered the two Persian gentlemen in to the captain’s chamber.
“Allow me to make myself known, Captain,” said the dandier of the pair. “I am Haris Reza, Esquire, of Tehran. My companion is Farrokh Albuyeh Kodio, Cadet in Shah Khaqan’s Royal Guard.”
Here Haris Reza paused and the gentlemen bowed and greeted one another in the way of their people.
“My uncle Saud Kodio, that is to say, cousin,” young Farrokh began, “was kind enough to see us briefly at the palace. We’ve come to Algiers seeking my sister, Captain, Miriam Albuyeh Kodio.”
“My affianced.” Haris Reza piped up. Seeing no reaction on the face of the military man, he continued, “My beautiful, my charming Miriam, I only wish to be the dirt upon her threshold, and she has—”
“Right,” Farrokh cut in, “she’s gone missing, sir, the long and the short of it. My cousin Kodio said he had heard of a young nursemaid using the name of Albuyeh, who came to the villa of the British diplomat about the time of the bombardment.”
Captain Ansari regarded the two coolly. The Captain’s face reflected nothing of his inward musings, as he compared the remarkable young woman who had slipped into their midst and betrayed them all to the young sprigs before him.
“With two such protectors as yourselves however could Miss Albuyeh have gone missing, is the question I’m asking myself, gentlemen.” Captain Ansari hadn’t come straight from the womb, the way these youngsters seemed to have done.
Both the young men flushed. Farrokh, with a rapid glance at his companion, hastened to say, “We travelled a long way, sir, from Iran to France. Hearing of her there, that she was engaged as governess to a high born family, recently departed for Algiers, we pursued her...that is, we’ve come here seeking her. Merely to bring her home to the bosom of her family.”
“A bosom, by all appearances, she’s rejected?” Captain Ansari glared down his hawkish nose at them.
“Not true,” Haris Reza declared, shaking a fine curl out of his eye. “If Miriam does not see the wisdom of her mother and her protectors’—as you name us—choices for her, I’m sure she will soon come to it. Once we have her back, she will become ‘a pious spouse fond of obedience and devotion.’”
The young upstart was not the only one who could quote the poets. Captain Ansari replied, “‘From a vixen wife protect us well, Save us, O God! from the pains of hell.’”
Taking umbrage, Haris Reza jumped to his feet. “It is obvious you know nothing of Miss Kodio, and would not help us if you did. ‘When my raw morsel was cooked and done, Hot from my mouth you took it, and it was gone.’”
Farrokh rose also, his good breeding evident in the way he shook his head in mingled horror and humiliation.
Captain Ansari remained seated. “Forgive me for not seeing you out.” The Captain waved a careless hand at his mid-section, where the bandaging was visible through his linen tunic. “Cadet Kodio, might I beg a word with you. One soldier to another.”
From his chair, Captain Ansari exchanged a cold bow with Haris Reza, who turned with a harrumph and left the chamber.
“It is all very well to quote the poets,” Captain Ansari said, as soon as Farrokh took his seat again, “but you and I are practical men. Are we not? And what man—or woman—of sense can want with that, that—”
“Prancer?” Farrokh suggested.
“Just so.”
“It is our mother, mine and Miriam’s, who wants Haris, to tell truth. There was a whiff of scandal you see, the merest puff and completely unfounded, linking Miriam and our step-father. Mother wants Haris close, and she calculates the best solution on all fronts is to marry him to Miriam.”
Captain Ansari could not keep disapproval from his face, both at Farrokh revealing so much to a stranger and, oddly, at thought of that spirited young woman—betrayer though she might be—tied to such a Prancer.
“A mother’s wishes should be honored,” Captain Ansari conceded, while thinking there was no wickedness like that of women.
Outside the barracks Haris Reza caught up to Farrokh, took his arm, and smiled into his face.
“Why are you so smug?” Farrokh felt sore, as though he’d been weighed, measured, and found wanting.
“Because, Brother,” Haris said, with irritating triumph, “I found out where our little bird has flown.”
Chapter Six
Miriam was more comfortable in her new quarters, and with her companions, by the time Nonesuch sailed into the true Atlantic. The awkwardness of her first evening alone with Captain Thorpe still troubled Miriam, when she thought back on it.
“Since you have had the great goodness to allow me use of your given name,” Captain Thorpe said. “Would you consent to call me Maximus?”
“I would not.” Miriam answered at once. Too late she saw hurt, or even loathing, flit across the Captain’s features and disappear. “But I shall reserve the right to do so, if I may, at some future time.”
She’d risen and curtsied to him then, her heart pounding, and to Miriam’s infinite relief Captain Thorpe bowed and smiled. In fact, now they’d been together a score of days, Miriam found Captain Maximus Thorpe a far milder creature than his strange—not to say devilish—appearance might suggest. And it was another queer beast, the Hell-Cat, that allowed Miriam and Captain Thorpe to take the first steps away from being complete strangers.
“What name shall you give it, the Hell-Cat?” Captain Thorpe asked her.
“It is not for me to decide, it was gifted to you,” Miriam said. At the same time she put a protective hand on the Hell-Cat, always on her lap whenever she was seated.
Captain Thorpe chuckled. “Oh no, ma’am. Which of us is the beloved is obvious. It may have been given me, but who it chooses to belong to is another matter.”
Miriam could not help but be pleased. Besides providing a small common ground between her and her host, she loved a cat as a companion. Having it sleep beside her, watching its carefree capers, promised comfort of a kind Miriam needed in this strange environment. For her time living aboard ship it would be a welcome companion; she had no intention of taking the striking creature with her once the voyag
e ended.
“That is really very kind in you,” she said to Captain Thorpe. “But how shall I name it without knowing if it is female or male?”
“There I can assist you a trifle, by passing along what old Megabazus told me. A Hell-Cat really is an it, Miss Miriam, neither he nor she. Though perhaps it would be better to say, they are both he and she. When two Hell-Cats meet, a precious rare thing, they decide which is to...that is to say—” Captain Thorpe blushed and looked away from her.
“Fascinating, though perhaps not unheard of in natural philosophy. I shall just have to think of a name that will do for either.” Miriam considered a moment. “I think I have it!”
“Oh aye?” Captain Thorpe cast her a relieved and grateful glance.
“Thrax,” Miriam said. “After the ultimate Thracian, which could equally have been man or woman.”
Captain Thorpe’s mouth was a little agape, and Miriam felt a certain glow of satisfaction. He now knew he was dealing with an educated woman. One thing she could thank Francis Blackwell for was the instruction in Greek and Latin, and mythology she’d had alongside Farrokh. Francis Blackwell had been called progressive and eccentric for allowing a girl the same course of study as a boy.
“Capital, Miss Miriam, well done!” roared Captain Thorpe. In his enthusiasm he leaned toward her, as though he would pat her shoulder.
Thrax seemed to swell and darken in color, whipping round to face Captain Thorpe. For the first time, as it crouched on her lap, Miriam felt its weight and uncoiling power. Captain Thorpe hastily withdrew his hand. Thrax nestled into Miriam’s lap again, curling its tail tight against its nose while keeping one eye open and trained on the Captain.
Captain Thorpe let out an uncomfortable laugh. “Well, well, what did I tell you? A Hell-Cat is a loyal creature, one who knows where your best interests lie.”
Odd Captain Thorpe certainly was, but Miriam had recovered of her first repugnance to his appearance. From the glimpses she’s had of his private life thus far, Miriam was beginning to suspect there were unplumbed depths to Captain Maximus Thorpe. He was no stranger than the rest of his disfigured crew, nor than the ship herself, where odd was concerned.