The Jezebel's Daughter

by Juliet MacLeod

  “Can you guarantee Graves will not set fire to my ship? Can you guarantee the safety of every one of my crew?” He shook his head and went to his footlocker, digging through it and coming up with a neckerchief. He twisted it into a thin rope and shoved it into my mouth, tying it tightly behind my head. “You'll sit there until we get back to Nassau and I can return you to Captain Graves.”

  O'Reilly kept me captive, shackled and gagged, for the entirety of the return trip. He allowed me food and water, but warned me not to speak to him or to any of the other sailors if I wanted the rations to continue. I cried myself to sleep every night, terrified of what Graves would do once I was back in Nassau.

  It was the worst week of my life; far worse than the first week in the Earthly Delights, far worse than the first week after Graves bought me. If I hadn't been under surveillance or bound hand and foot every second, I would have killed myself. The captain's pistols were always primed and left on his desk; failing that, there were knives and swords hanging from the walls of the captain's quarters. They would have done in a pinch.

  Two weeks after I left Nassau, I arrived much as I had arrived in the first place, captive and against my will. O'Reilly had brought me up to the fo'c's'le as we sailed into Nassau Harbor and a frozen finger of terror trailed down my back. The Jezebel was at anchor, and as we grew closer to shore, I could make out a small group of people waiting on a dock—Graves, Mr. MacIsaac, Ben, and even Tansy were standing on the boards, their eyes on our approaching ship.

  “Seems we have a welcoming party,” O'Reilly said. “Mr. McGillie, with me.” The captain removed my gag and I was lowered into a jolly-boat. O'Reilly and McGillie rowed us ashore. Tears were streaking down my face and though I was bound, I fought against McGillie's grip on my arm. I plead with them, promised them money, prestige, land, anything if they would take me with them to England, if they would save me from Graves. They ignored me, their faces hard, their eyes fixed on the shore.

  Ben met the boat and helped pull it ashore. He wouldn't look at me, didn't speak to me, as he lifted me out of the boat and carried me to Graves. He put me down in front of the captain and forced me to my knees. Graves ignored me, his attention on O'Reilly and McGillie. “Where'd you find her?” he asked, his voice tight and dangerous.

  “A crate in our cargo hold,” O'Reilly said. “No one knew she was there until we got caught by a storm a week out of harbor. We turned about immediately when McGillie here told me who she was, what she meant to you.”

  Graves nodded and tossed a wash-leather bag at O'Reilly. When the Neptune captain caught it, it clinked with the tell-tale sound of coins. “Thank you,” Graves said. “That should cover any losses she might have caused. The Neptune is safe.” O'Reilly and McGillie made grateful sounds and then got back into their boat, headed out once more to their ship.

  Graves slowly turned around and split a murderous look between Ben and Tansy, who was shaking in fear. “You two failed in the only job I gave you,” he said, cracking his knuckles and rolling his head on his neck.

  “Now, captain,” Mr. MacIsaac interrupted, moving to stand closer to Graves, his hand reaching for the captain's arm. Graves cut his eyes to MacIsaac, who held both hands up and stepped back. Not even the quartermaster, who stood head and shoulders above the captain, would try his rage.

  In a flash of black cloth and a sickening crunch, Graves's fist landed on Ben's face and splattered his nose across his cheek. Blood flew, darkening the sand and Tansy screamed, lunging for Graves, crying out in Kreyol, her hands formed into claws that were reaching for Graves's neck. He backhanded her, withdrew the pistol from his belt, cocked it and fired.

  Tansy collapsed to the sand, blood leaking from the wound in her head, turning the sand black. I screamed and ran to her, though my hands were still bound. The captain ignored me, ignored the explosion of chaos around him, and continued beating Ben viciously, kicking him, pounding his face into something unrecognizable. I fell to my knees next to Tansy, covering her with my body, screaming and crying, struggling against my bonds just to touch her once more, to save her life, to tell her how much she meant to me, to thank her for keeping me alive.

  Mr. MacIsaac at last intervened, pulling Graves away from Ben, who was huddled at the captain's feet, curled around himself, bleeding and groaning softly. The free man's face was a mess; his left eye swollen so badly it didn't even look like a human eye anymore. His nose was shapeless mass in the center of his face. Blood poured from dozens of wounds and I saw—in minute detail—three of his teeth laying in the sand not far from his face.

  Someone loosed my bindings and I hauled myself to my feet. I straightened, pulling myself to my full height, using those two or three inches on had on Graves fully, and looked down my nose at him. “You fucking spineless by-blow!” I shouted at him, using language I'd heard from the scores of sailors and whores amongst whom I'd lived for the past three months.

  Graves's eyes widened and then narrowed dangerously and I could see his hand curling around the pommel of his sword. The edges of my vision went dark and suddenly, it was like looking down a tunnel at the pirate. I felt light-headed and a cold, terrifying rage built up in my breast.

  My mouth opened to speak, though I had no control over what came out. “You will die, you heartless animal,” I intoned, monotone and emotionless. “Someone will run you through with your own sword and leave you bloody, gasping for breath. You will die alone on the deck of your own ship.” The words were not mine. They came from my mouth but I did not think them. They moved through me, filled me, and emptied out, like water poured into a glass and then upended.

  The wind picked up, sending my hair and skirts swirling around me in a cloud of fury. The edges of my vision bled back in and I watched as Graves went white to his hairline and his eyes widened, fear now swimming through their green depths. A low muttering started from the assembled crowd at my back, and I heard whispers of “envoûter,” and “bruja”. I nodded, encouraging the whispers and the names, my nostrils flaring, my whole body vibrating with incandescent, righteous rage. “I curse you, Gideon Graves,” I said, my voice low and vicious. I pointed at him and said, “I curse you with the knowledge of how you will die.”

  I left the beach then, stumbling through the streets of Nassau with a queer feeling, almost as though my head was not fully attached to my body, like I was floating above myself, looking down as I walked back to the House of Earthly Delights. Word of the chaos on the beach preceded my arrival and Madame and all the girls were clustered in the tavern and the courtyard, whispering and talking in low voices until they saw me. Then they stared in silence as I walked up the stairs to my room, every line of my body rigid in anger.

  My room was the same as I had left it two weeks ago. Apparently Graves and Madame were counting on me being found and recovered. I walked to the bed and collapsed; my legs would no longer bear my weight. I let go of my anger, of my rage, and grieved for Tansy, keening out my heartache, my shoulders wracked with sobs, my tears hot and bitter. I grieved for Ben, hoping that he would survive his savage beating. And I grieved for my freedom. I knew I would never have another chance at it. This room, this bloody island, was my home now, like it or not. The consequences of my escape attempt had been so awful that I would never again try to escape.

  The Jezebel sailed the next day. Ben went with her, tended to by Mr. MacIsaac, or so Madame told me. Graves had compensated her for the loss of Tansy. Her life was worth only twenty pounds. It made me sick to my stomach and I slapped Madame, the sound of the blow ringing out in my room, the stark red outline of my hand upon her cheek. There was no retribution; apparently Madame was too frightened of me now. Had I been in a better frame of mind, I would have used my new-found fame as a witch to my advantage. But the loss of Tansy clouded my mind and I let the opportunity pass by.

  Four weeks passed. I rarely left my bed. I saw no one but a nameless slave who brought my meals. I ate sparingly, didn't bathe, didn't change my clothing. I didn't want
anyone touching me now that Tansy was gone. My heart hurt when I thought about her smile, her gentle touch, the song she would always hum when she saw I was particularly upset. She had been a substitute mother and had helped me heal after losing my real mother. I missed them both so much that my bones ached.

  One morning, there was a pounding at my door. It flew open, revealing Ben and Mr. MacIsaac. They were both filthy, covered in what looked like blood and gunpowder. I sat up, blinking at them and wondering if I was dreaming.

  “He's dead,” Mr. MacIsaac said without preamble. “The rutting bastard is finally dead.”

  I gaped at them, my mouth working like a hooked fish. “Who?” I managed at last. “Who is dead?” I daren't hope...

  “Graves,” Ben said, coming forward to fall to his knees at the side of the bed. He reached for me, pulling me into his arms and holding me close. “Graves be dead, Loreley.”

  “What? How?” I had to be dreaming. “Who is captain now?” I heard their words, I felt Ben's embrace, but it was like I was wrapped in cotton batting. I felt numb and remote, and was grasping at things that I could understand and process. Graves is dead...

  “He be,” Ben nodded to Mr. MacIsaac. “Crew elected him this morning.”

  The new captain squinted at me, studying me intently. “Do you understand what that means?” When I didn't react, MacIsaac knelt next to Ben. “You're free, Loreley. You can go home.”

  I disengaged myself from Ben's embrace and sat up straight, my spine rigid, barely breathing. Free... Could it be true? “How? How did it happen?” I asked, my eyes darting to Mr. MacIsaac's face.

  The men exchanged an opaque glance. “Just as you said,” Mr. MacIsaac whispered. “Alone, on the Jezebel, run through with his own sword.”

  X

  House of Earthly Delights, Nassau, New Providence Island

  January, 1716

  Mr. MacIsaac and Ben forced me to bathe, to dress in fresh clothing. They summoned one of the other girls—thank God, it was not Katie—to help with my toilette. When I was clean and fresh, we went down to the tavern and Ben ordered a meal for us, and as the night fell and the tavern filled with sailors, merchants, planters, and whores, Mr. MacIsaac told me the story of Gideon Graves's death.

  “We were two weeks out of Nassau,” he said, “chasing a Spanish galleon, the Nuestra Señora de las Estrellas, coming out of Veracruz. We had Charles Vane and his Ranger with us, and Graves had agreed to split the take between the two crews. The Estrellas was carrying more than the usual cargo of lumber or sugar; she had silver, gold or jewels, maybe pearls even. She also had an escort, the Begoña, a corvette armed with eighteen guns, probably thirty-two pounders.

  “When we heard about the Begoña, we—the crew and I—questioned the idea. The Estrellas had at least twelve guns of her own, plus the eighteen on board the corvette. Even with the Ranger and her twenty-four guns, it would be a battle.”

  “The Jezebel, she only carry swivel guns,” Ben explained, “nothing big enough to go up against long-range cannons on the Spanish ships.” I nodded in understanding. Swivel guns were for shredding sails and masts and for killing sailors. The pirates used them when they wanted to take a ship, as well as her cargo. The guns could not penetrate a ship's hull, so there was no chance of the ship foundering or taking on water.

  Mr. MacIsaac nodded at Ben's words and continued his story. “Graves and I went aboard the Ranger to discuss strategy with Vane and his quartermaster, a ridiculous fellow called 'Calico' Jack Rackham. He's got two wives on board the ship with him, Jack does,” he said with a disbelieving shake of his head and a smirk. “Vicious girls, Anne and Mary. Worse than any man I've ever known.”

  My brows rose in surprise. Women were only allowed aboard a pirate's ship if they were being held hostage. For women to serve with a crew meant they were indeed more vicious and blood-thirsty than any man. They would have had to prove themselves, probably more than once.

  “We settled on a plan,” Mr. MacIsaac said. “We anchored off the northern tip of the Yucatán, half-way between Veracruz and Havana, waiting for the ships to pass us. Since the Begoña was in front, we would maneuver out behind the Estrellas, where we would be safe with her bulk between us and the corvette.

  “We came up from the south on the Estrellas's stern and cut across her wake, presenting our broadsides. The Jezebel's guns shredded her sails, while the Ranger fired on her decks and took out her mizzen and main masts. As soon as we were visible, the Begoña came about to fight us off. The Estrellas was dead in the water, with no hope of outrunning us.

  “Once we had enough room to maneuver, the Ranger and the Jezebel split and came about for another run across the galleon's wake, still firing.” Mr. MacIsaac paused to drink from his flagon; this was the most I'd ever heard him speak at one time.

  Ben picked up the tale. “Now it come down to a game of cat and mouse between us and the corvette. We take minimal damage from the Estrellas's stern chasers but once the Begoña be clear of the galleon, we be in for a fight.”

  Mr. MacIsaac nodded and said, “The Ranger moved closer to the Estrellas, while the Jezebel went farther south, forcing the Begoña to go between us. It was a risky move for us and the Begoña's captain as well. She would be forced between us, and while her armaments were better than ours, she would be facing two of us, with our guns hammering away at both sides.

  “The Ranger took heavy damage, but we managed to sink the Begoña. We scooped some of her sailors out and put them down below in chains; Graves wanted offer them a spot with a crew once we reached Nassau, but we couldn't trust them to help against the galleon's crew in the meantime.

  “We closed on the Estrellas and boarded her from both sides. The fighting was intense and I lost track of Graves in the haze of gun powder and the screams of the wounded and dying. The boarding action was fast and intense and over quickly. The Spanish losses were heavy; two out of every three men were wounded or dead. We took losses, as did the Ranger's crew, though ours were much less.” Mr. MacIsaac and Ben both went silent, their eyes downcast as they stared into their flagons. They must have been remembering the battle—the sights and sounds, the smells must have been horrid, even if they were relatively used to it.

  “I rounded up the Spaniards to take them back to the brig on the Jezebel and that was when I found Graves.” Mr. MacIsaac paused and ran a hand down his face, his rough palm scraping against his unshaven cheeks. When he looked at me, his eyes were haunted. Ben looked away and drank deeply from his own flagon.

  “It was just as you said, Loreley.” Mr. MacIsaac's voice was nearly a whisper. “He was alone on the main deck, his own sword thrust through his guts. No one was around. Not a single soul.”

  I blinked in shock and sat back in my chair. I had the queer feeling of floating above everything again, and I could look down and watch the scene unfold, a passive observer rather than an active participant. I swallowed and closed my eyes, trying to come back into myself. When I opened my eyes again, both Ben and Mr. MacIsaac were staring at me intently.

  “Is it true?” Ben asked. “You be a witch? A bokor who serves the lwa with both hands?”

  The whispers from the sailors on the beach the morning I had cursed Graves came back to me and cold fingers of dread traced down my spine. Witch. Bruja. I shook my head and tried to answer, but found I couldn't, not if I wanted to be honest in my reply. The words that cursed Graves weren't mine. I hadn't thought them; they had formed in my mouth and had come out against my will. Was it God who spoke through me? Or was it the Devil?

  “I don't know,” I whispered and Ben tucked his thumb between his fore and middle fingers, a gesture I'd seen other slaves make, a gesture meant to ward off evil spirits.

  “It doesn't matter if she's a witch or practices vodou,” Mr. MacIsaac said. “Gideon Graves is dead. That's what is important.” He leaned forward and took my hand. “What will you do now, my lady?”

  My heart stopped and I found I couldn't breathe. I had a future
now. I was free. I could go anywhere, do anything I wanted. But there really was only one choice, no matter the reality of having the freedom to do differently. “I want to go home,” I said firmly. “To London.”

  They exchanged a look and Mr. MacIsaac turned to me. “That might be a problem, my lady,” he said.

  XI

  House of Earthly Delights, Nassau, New Providence Island

  January, 1716

  I frowned. “Why would that be a problem?” I asked.

  “The Jezebel needs repairs and modifications,” Ben explained, clearly happy to be back on a safer topic of conversation. “It be some time before we can. She should be careened while she out of the water, too.”

  “I can wait,” I said immediately.

  “Madame won't let you stay here,” Ben said. “She be expecting you to... entertain.”

  “Oh.” I sighed heavily and drank deeply. The ale was sour and reminded me why I preferred wine. “Well, couldn't I just take another ship? Surely there will be one along soon. I can just live on the beach or perhaps with the fishmonger's family. Susannah and I are friendly.”

  “How will you pay your passage?” Mr. MacIsaac asked.

  “Surely Madame will be willing to part with some of the money Graves gave her for my care and keeping. I can't have gone through the entire five hundred pounds already, can I?”

  Mr. MacIsaac merely arched a brow in response. My mood sank into despair. Madame would never give me any part of that money. “So I'm still trapped here, in this hellish place, at the mercy of Madame and whatever man comes along.” Tears formed and I blinked to clear them away, not wanting to cry in front of the men, especially not in light of what they had faced themselves just recently.

  “Not necessarily,” Mr. MacIsaac said. Ben fixed him with a skeptical look, to which he replied, “It could work.”

  “It won't work.” Ben shook his head. “We all be marooned... or killed.”