Scarlett

by Christopher C Tubbs

  She took off her sword belt and dropped it on the bench followed by her pistols after she carefully blew out the priming powder.

  “Frightened I will shoot myself?” Ray asked when he heard her do it.

  “No, but you could knock one off the shelf and it could go off and shoot you,” she replied with a sigh.

  “Scarlett, please sit down and have a glass of wine with me,” he pleaded.

  She sat and let him pour two glasses. He used his finger to measure how full they were, and she was pleased he adapted that far even if it were grubby and the nail black.

  He waited until he heard the glass tap down after she took a drink.

  “Paul came down and explained some things to me,” he opened. She waited, giving him the space to carry on. “He told me everything that has happened since you arrived here, and I think I understand now.”

  Scarlett sighed.

  “It’s not been easy. First, I had to convince the men that a woman captain could be as good or better leader than a man. Now they look to me to keep them safe and make them rich.”

  Ray nodded.

  “I understand that now and I understand about the Jesuits, but I still have a problem with burning them.”

  “That’s because you are who you are. You always were the forgiving one, always prepared to see the best in people except when they crossed the family or Brotherhood.”

  Paul grimaced as he remembered the man they caught spying for the revenue when the Merlin was being built. The fact that he was undeniably guilty justified the mutilation he suffered in punishment but he hadn’t enjoyed it.

  “I just followed Dad’s lead,” he replied, looking guilty.

  “Yes, you would probably have given him a beating and let him go if you were on your own,” Scarlet snapped.

  Ray held up his hand.

  “Look, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have judged before I knew all the facts, but I had a vision of you in my mind and what I found didn’t fit. It confused me, and to be honest, frightened me. I am sorry if I hurt you.”

  “That is all well and good, but do you still feel the same way about Kefash and Unkata? Are you prepared to give them the benefit of the doubt?”

  “Ah now, and you can thank Absalom for this, I am. I’m looking forward to meeting them. He told me a lot about them after Paul finished and they don’t sound like savages at all.” Scarlett said nothing. She would see what happened tomorrow when they arrived in the bay.

  The fox dropped anchor mid-morning at the bay and before they got a boat in the water, Kefash and his family were on the beach. Absalom kept up a running commentary to Ray so he knew what was going on. Scarlett noticed they seemed agitated.

  The boat pulled up on the sand and the bow men jumped out to steady it so that Scarlett and the rest of the party could disembark safely. Untaka rushed up to them speaking quickly, obviously distressed about something and speaking too fast for Scarlett to understand her.

  “She says the French settlers have had a ship load of new people arrive, including some soldiers. They are pushing inland from their settlement and are heading towards where you hid the gold,” Absalom translated for Ray.

  “Dammit, couldn’t they have waited a day or two?” Scarlett swore. “How many of them?”

  “Two hands twice over. That’s twenty at least,” Absalom translated.

  “Get thirty men ashore with weapons now,” she ordered.

  Steven bellowed orders back to the ship and soon, another two boats were headed their way.

  “Ray, you and Absalom stay here with Unkata. The boat crew are armed and can protect you or get you back to the boat.”

  Ray groped for her arm and asked,

  “Will you fight them?”

  “If I have to,” Scarlett responded grimly, “there is too much at stake to let them get our treasure.”

  Kefash led them into the forest as soon as the armed force made the shore. He was at the head of a lot of heavily armed men and what they didn’t know was there was an equal amount of his warriors flanking them in the trees.

  He was impressed that Scarlett and her bodyguard moved quietly. Of course, the one they called Montoya was of the people, but the two big black men knew how to move silently and looked to be prodigious warriors. He particularly liked the broad headed short spears they carried as well as the usual European weapons.

  They were just about to enter the canyon where their treasure was hidden when Kefash caught the smell of unwashed bodies blowing down from ahead. He held up his hand and stopped. Montoya appeared beside him.

  “There are Frenchmen ahead,” he told him and sniffed. Montoya sniffed. He could smell them too. He wondered if the settlers would ever realise that a Carib could smell them a long way down wind, which is why they kept walking into ambushes.

  Montoya whispered something to Scarlett, who pointed to the two black men and gestured ahead. They melted into the undergrowth, their dark bodies disappearing onto the shadows.

  Kefash made a sign to his men to wait, let’s see what they can do without our help, he thought.

  Minutes passed and with barely a rustle, the two men reappeared and reported to Scarlett.

  “There are a group in the canyon of over a hand in number and another group moving towards the village numbering three hands,” Scarlett said, “take four hands of my men with the men you have in the trees and go protect your people. Leave no survivors.”

  Kefash laughed to himself that he thought he could hide his men from Scarlett and gave a low warbling whistle. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the man called Steven and four hands of men were ready to follow him.

  He took the direct route to the village, and man called Eneka went with him to show where the French were moving in. He was angry. The French promised to leave his people alone, but it looked like they couldn’t be trusted.

  They were one hundred paces from the edge of the village when Eneka held up his hand to stop them. He crouch-walked forward slowly then stopped and beckoned to Kefash. The French were just ahead, sneaking up to the edge of the village with their guns ready.

  The women and children in the village were unaware that there was any danger and were going about their chores or playing as usual. Kefash gave a warbling whistle and signed to Steven to attack the French from behind.

  Steven grinned, got his men lined up in a skirmish line, and silently advanced until someone trod on a stick that snapped with an almighty crack.

  The French spun to face the sound and half a dozen sprouted what looked like quills but were the blow gun darts favoured by the Caribs for hunting. The darts were tipped in poison from a tree frog and were deadly.

  “At ‘em Fox’s!” Steven yelled and charged forward. A bullet passed by, hissing and whining as it went. Kefash drew his bow and fired at the man who was now frantically trying to reload. The arrow took him in the side of the neck and passed right through. He dropped his gun and clutched at it with a surprised look on his face, which turned to horror as Steven shoved his sword through his belly twisted it and wrenched it upwards. Guts spilled out of the wound but by then, Steven had moved on to the next man.

  It was over quickly. The French were outnumbered and when they tried to yield, they were cut down in cold blood. There were no survivors. Steven walked amongst the corpses, checking that they were dead. Scarlett didn’t want witnesses.

  Back at the canyon, Scarlett and her men moved quietly forward. Her main worry was that some of the French would escape through the other end, which she knew had a small opening where the stream came in. They got to the bend in the canyon before the wider area where the cave was located. She peeked around the corner and could see seven Frenchmen stood around the entrance to the cave. Two were using their muskets to lever the rock out of the way.

  It was now or never, she decided. Scarlett stepped forward, her men in a body behind her. She broke into a run sword and main gauche in hand. Montoya came up on her left, short swords in hand and Berko on her right s
hort spear in his right hand, an evil looking dagger in his left.

  One of the French must have heard something, the rattle of a pebble or a soft footstep and spun raising his musket. An arrow appeared in his throat, and he dropped to the ground, all his limbs loose as the broadhead cut through his spine.

  The rest of the French turned to face them, but it was too late. Scarlett cut one down with her sword and slashed across the face of another. Berko thrust his spear into another’s guts, then slashed his dagger across his throat. Montoya was a dervish, his short swords flashing, taking out another two before they could react. The bowman took out another and the rest fell to sword thrusts and stabs.

  Scarlett homed in on one who was better dressed than the rest holding a rapier. She smashed it to one side with her blade and bludgeoned him between the eyes with the hilt of her main gauche.

  They were piling the dead up at the village, none of the Caribs and only one of the sailors were hurt, when Scarlett arrived with the live Frenchman.

  “Do you know this man?” she asked Kefash, who looked closely at him before answering.

  “No,” he replied.

  “Steven, be so good as to translate.”

  “Why are you attacking these people when there is an agreement that they will be left alone?”

  He didn’t answer just spat at Kefash.

  “Very nice,” Scarlett noted, then asked, “when did you arrive on the island?”

  Still no answer.

  “Look,” she said reasonably, “you can answer or I can let the Caribs start carving lumps of meat off you for their dinner. They are hungry and it’s getting late.”

  That struck a chord. He had obviously heard that the locals were cannibals, which they weren’t, and the thought of being eaten alive loosened his tongue.

  “We arrived a week ago and found that the settlers made an agreement with the heathens rather than just exterminating them,” he spat. “Where are my men?”

  “Why do you want to exterminate them?” Scarlett asked, ignoring his question.

  “This island is ours by right of conquest. It is for the glory of France and God only and we do not share it with heathens.”

  Scarlett heard enough. She nodded to Berko as she turned away and there was a wet, metallic sound as his spearhead penetrated the man from back to front.

  “You will need to move your village,” Scarlett told Kefash, “it’s not safe here anymore. The French know where it is.”

  She thought for a while then turned to Steven.

  “We need to make it look like they were attacked by the Spanish. Move all the bodies that don’t have darts sticking in them to the canyon.”

  “What do you want to do with the ones with darts in?” Steven asked puzzled.

  “We will dump them at sea,” Scarlett replied, still thinking, “arrange the bodies as if they’ve been in a fight and get a couple of the men to go back to the fox and bring some of the Spanish weapons and a couple of hats.”

  “Kefash, can your men clean this area and hide any marks of the battle?” she asked.

  Kefash nodded and spoke to a few of his men that stood nearby. They looked disappointed and when he returned, Kefash said,

  “They want to take some heads as trophies or at least the ears.”

  Scarlett thought about letting them have the ears of the darted men but thought it better that no evidence survived at all.

  “No, if we are to convince the French that their men ran into a larger Spanish force then we don’t need anything left that could give the game away.”

  Scarlett worried that the broken plants around the battle area would be a giveaway, but Kefash reassured her that regrowth would soon hide it.

  At the beach and all along the trail to the canyon, she had the men leave what looked like the tracks of a large force moving in and out. At the canyon, they left a few broken weapons and a hat that was so typically Spanish that no one could mistake it for anything else. They also left unmistakable signs that something heavy had been dragged from the cave and left a few Spanish pieces of eight on the floor.

  Scarlett looked at the scene from all angles until she was satisfied then ordered everyone back to the boats.

  Scarlett knelt down beside Absalom.

  “We are going to return to England. Do you want to stay here or come with us?”

  “Will you return here?” he asked.

  “Most certainly after the hurricane season is over,” she replied.

  “Then I will stay with you. I have much to teach Ray on how to cope with his blindness. The People have better ways than you do.”

  Scarlett was curious.

  “How so?”

  “You treat blindness as a loss of the eyes that disables. The People treat blindness in a different way. When someone loses their sight, their other senses are made stronger. He needs to learn how to use them to make up for the loss of his eyes.

  “Then you are welcome,” she smiled.

  Chapter 17: Spirit guides and totems

  Treasure loaded, French corpses dumped in deep water, wind and current with them, they set out to rendezvous with the Queen and head for England. It was early June and so far, the weather was fair, which kept the crew in good spirits.

  “How long ‘till we get to Jamaica?” Ray asked Scarlett from his seat in the shade of an awning that was strung to keep him out of the sun. His fair skin was already starting to peel from the last time he let it get burnt.

  “Quicker than we got here,” she replied, “the current is with us and the wind is on our quarter so it’s an easy run.”

  “What if,” he started to ask.

  “Sshh, don’t mention that. It’s bad luck,” Scarlett cut him off, knowing he was going to ask what if there were a hurricane.

  “It is early on the season yet, so we should be alright,” she reassured him.

  She didn’t tell him that the far Eastern horizon had a line of black along it and they were making all speed to get somewhere they could shelter if it turned out to be a bad one.

  The Tropical Storm to the East of them was slowly building in power. It was not a hurricane nor would it get to be, but it was still a very energetic system. The air pressure at the centre was steadily dropping, and the winds were increasing to the point that a ship with any more than a handkerchief set would face having its masts torn out.

  Daniel Brown, the sailing master of the Fox, eyed the approaching storm with concern. It was catching them up far too quickly for his liking, and he looked at the chart for somewhere to hide. He knew that most storms this time of year tended to travel West or slight North of West, so it made sense to try and get out of its way by sailing Southwest towards the Leeward Islands.

  He approached Scarlett,

  “Captain, we should turn Southwest and get out of that monster’s path,” he suggested.

  “You think it will over run us?” she asked, looking at its approach.

  “It certainly will if we stay on this heading for much longer,” Daniel replied with a worried look.

  “Alright, head us down there. We will have to take the long way home.”

  The helm was put over, the trade wind came on their stern. Unfortunately, it put the waves on their quarter, and the ship developed a corkscrew like motion that was a real sickness maker even for the most experienced hands.

  The wind increased and soon they had nothing more than double reefed topsails flying, still making close to ten knots.

  “I thought you said we wouldn’t see a hurricane,” Ray moaned from his cot.

  “This isn’t,” Scarlett replied, grabbing a deck beam above her head as the ship gave a particularly nasty lurch. She was trying to get into some wet weather gear to go up on deck.

  “Well, if it ain’t a hurricane, what the hell is it?” Ray asked then burped up a dry retch as he had already emptied his stomach.

  “This is the edge of a typical storm. We aren’t even close to the middle of it thanks to Daniel.”

 
“Where are we going again?” he asked, trying to keep his mind off the way his stomach felt.

  “We are aiming for Bonaire or Curacao, which are owned by the Dutch. Their East India company runs them.”

  “Do they have pretty girls there?” he asked.

  “We will find you a Dutch girl with blond hair, big blue eyes, and big tits,” she teased him.

  The only reply she got was a groan as another spasm hit him. On deck, it was better. At least there wasn’t the smell of puke and the apparent wind over the deck was such that she could stand unaided.

  She noticed that the wind was less than when she was

  up before and that the waves were a smidgen lower, not much, but any improvement was better than nothing. The smell of storm wrack was also less noticeable. A motion caught her eye in the rigging, a bird had flown to the ship, exhausted by fighting the storm and was struggling to get a grip on the mizzen main spar.

  For some reason, Scarlett couldn’t take her eyes off it and felt compelled to help it. Despite the danger, she started up the cork screwing rat lines. Jim White, who was at the wheel, shouted at her to come down, but his voice was blown away on the wind and he could only watch helplessly as she climbed upwards.

  Scarlett was no stranger to the rigging, she skylarked in it when she was a child and kept fit on ship by climbing it for the exercise, but this was different. The ship’s motion alternately pushed her into the lines and then tried to rip her off them, but she hung on and kept climbing.

  As she got closer, she could see the bird was some kind of eagle. It was young but had a wickedly sharp curved beak and fierce yellow eyes. It was panting, its beak agape, tongue visible, obviously frightened. She reached out slowly with her left hand, talking to it in a low murmur. It watched her, its eyes fixed on hers. They filled her vision. She felt the scaliness of its legs, then without warning, its talons were gripping her hand.

  Somehow, and when asked later she couldn’t say how, she made it back to the deck one handed and the first person she saw was Montoya. He watched the entire thing from beginning to end and as soon as her feet hit the deck, he started to sing and dance, circling her, bowing then arching backwards before shuffling forward. After he circled her anticlockwise twice, he took some powder from his pouch and cast it to the wind. His song rose and fell and at its climax, he stepped in front of Scarlett and drew two lines on her cheeks with the powder and one down the centre of her chin.