by R. J. Blain
“So if they turn up, you don’t have to pay them back?”
“Oh, I’ll pay them back if they show, but I wouldn’t be accused of insurance fraud. That’s important. There’s a market for those who have their own items stolen so they can get the insurance money. I laid out my agreement with the insurer so if my items turn back up, I pay them back the insured amount. They have a set period of five years to recover my pieces. If they’re found after that, I owe them nothing, and they can’t file any claims against me.”
“That’s smart of you. How on Earth did you negotiate that?”
“I’m liable for other items in the collection, just not those pieces. They were priceless to me, and there is such a limited market for them. They can’t be replaced, and the insurer knows it. For them, it’s only twenty-three thousand dollars, and when they look at my policy as a whole, it wasn’t worth fighting me over it for those three pieces.”
“So you’re liable for paying them back if found, but they can’t press any charges against you?”
“Correct.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for them and spread word you had those pieces stolen; I have photographs from the museum opening I can spread around. Maybe I’ll get a hit for you. I’ll do what I can. Can you put me in touch with your insurance company should I locate the items?”
I went to my wallet, pulled out my insurance manager’s card, and handed it to Benny. “I don’t think you’ll have any luck, but stranger things have happened, I suppose.”
“I’m really sorry this happened. It must be hard losing so much at one time.”
I shrugged. “It’s not all bad. I get a new house out of it, and the insurance company is paying for the rebuild and everything inside. And since I was in the ER, have records of being abroad, and the police estimate the theft happened sometime while I was on the flight and within the hospital, the insurance company can’t even accuse me of insurance fraud. There was no way for me to plan the destruction of my home while in South Africa lost on a dive expedition, and Mr. Bensen confirmed my trip was an unexpected one. It’ll work out.”
“I’m still sorry.”
I waved him off. “Go home, Benny. You owe me cookies, and they better be good ones.”
He chuckled, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a plastic bag with a single chocolate chip cookie inside. “With hazelnuts, your favorite.”
I grabbed it before he could change his mind about giving me the cookie. “I knew there was a reason I liked you. Emergency cookies.”
He laughed, offered me a flippant salute, and headed for the door. “I’ll see you on Halloween, then? In costume?”
I looked over the plethora of material taking over my hotel room, sighed, and nodded. “Stop asking me for miracles, Benny.”
“Maybe if you’d stop making them happen, I wouldn’t keep asking for them.”
Thirteen
I thought you’d never ask.
My boss was more than happy to give me a week off before Halloween, and I suspected she felt guilty over my less-than-ideal trip to South Africa.
Humans. Why were they so ready to accept the blame for things outside of their control? I found the custom of apologizing for everything absurd, although I was guilty of it in order to better meld with modern society. I tried to save my apologies for when I actually meant them, which didn’t happen very often at all.
At least they accepted a weaker sorry in lieu of one carrying more weight and sincerity.
I appreciated the days away from the daily grind of scraping pennies together in search of an extra dollar. It gave me the time to convince the insurance company to just demolish the old wreckage and put something appropriate up in its place. I issued a few snappy warnings over how I better get my money’s worth out of my new home, and if they had the extra thousand in the budget, my counters better be granite and my tiles better be real ceramic instead of flimsy linoleum.
The rest of the time I spent sewing, and I wore Captain Maritza's key around my neck while I wrapped the golden chain of my captain’s key around my ankle, safely hidden from prying eyes. I kept her pocket watch tucked beneath my clothes, its chain clasped to my bra in case it slipped from its spot nestled between my breasts.
I took care with my shirts to ensure no one noticed its presence.
It didn’t take long to slap together the unauthentic costume, cut in the same style I’d worn at sea. Only those familiar with old sewing techniques would recognize it’d been made by a machine. I could probably get away with wearing it to Benny’s gala, although I’d used the cheaper materials for it.
The rest of the time I spent recreating a proper outfit, stitch by painful stitch. The hat took the most work, and I cursed the leather and myself for choosing durability and prestige over ease. I cheated on the boots; I couldn’t afford to spend the time cobbling my own pair, and I doubted I’d remember how to do it quite right, so I bought a pair made by an artisan who swore they were as close as they got to the real thing.
When they arrived in the mail, I had to give the man credit; they were close—close enough I couldn’t tell they weren’t the real thing.
I sent him a tip for doing such a nice job on them.
When Halloween finally rolled around, I looked the part of a pirate, and I walked to work, aware I lacked a flintlock and cutlass to round out my outfit. I’d gone over the top, adding in a few braids to my hair and decorating them with scraps of colored fabric and beads to add a little flair, as I had sometimes done when my captain wanted a more imposing image.
The workday went by in a blur, and Bensen and Benny showed up together at the office Halloween party to fetch me for the gala.
“This better be good enough for you,” I warned, narrowing my eyes at the two men. “Don’t even ask how much time it took to put this together. I will bludgeon you both to death with my chair.”
“Your other costume was fantastic, but this one is exquisite.” Benny circled me like a shark, a behavior I knew far better than most. I stiffened under his scrutiny, and he crouched beside me, giving the folded top of my black leather boots a tug. “Did you make these, too? They’re absolutely gorgeous.”
“No. I bought these, and don’t ask how much they cost. You might faint.”
“I’ll reimburse you for their cost. How much?”
“A thousand, plus I tipped him for doing such a good job on them on such short notice.”
“I’ll cut you a check. I didn’t even think about the boots, and I should have—I bought everything else! Is this the one you sewed on the machine?”
I shook my head. “Hand sewn, every last detail. It’s not authentic if it isn’t done by hand—pirates didn’t have sewing machines.” I made a thoughtful noise. “Of course, I suspect few pirates could actually sew at all and likely stole their clothes or bought it with their booty. Clothing production among pirates isn’t exactly studied. Ah, the joy of educated guesses when making a period-accurate costume.”
“Well, you look stunning, Cathy. You have far surpassed my expectations. Did you order the hat, too?”
“Made it. Squeezed out just enough time around everything else.”
“If I wanted a costume like yours, how much would you charge me for the work?”
I huffed, turned my nose up, and planted my hands on my hips. “What sort of self-respecting pirate makes clothes for navy bilge scum?”
“Ouch. That hurts me, Cathy,” my friend complained, clutching his chest. “But I’m not even dressed as a navy captain—yet. I might be dressing up as a pirate, too, for all you know! I’ll be changing at the museum. Are you ready to go?”
I grabbed my coin purse, which was lined with chainmail and contained all of my important cards and my cell phone, and tied it to my belt. “All ready.”
“No purse?”
I patted my pouch. “You wanted accurate, so you’re getting accurate. I definitely didn’t have time to make a satchel of any sort.”
“Dare I ask how much time you
would have needed for the other accessories? I’m really impressed, Cathy. I never knew you were so into reenactment and had such a good eye for period-accurate details. Had I known, I would have hired you to help with my museum. Did you bring the necklace with you?”
“Of course I did.” I lifted it from beneath my white silk blouse, careful to avoid tangling it in the frills. “Safe and sound. It stays with me at all times. I learn from my mistakes.”
“You can hardly be faulted for someone robbing your home while you were away on business.”
I shrugged. “If we’re going to reach this gala on time, we better hit the road. It’s a long drive, and if Bensen’s driving, the average turtle will beat us there.”
“Think you can do better?” the old man groused, pulling out his keys and dangling them in front of me.
I snatched them out of his hand. “I thought you’d never ask.”
I probably should have cared a little more about what sort of sports car had four doors and a backseat, but the instant I got behind the wheel, the urge to put it through its paces took hold. Benny kept making funny noises behind me, which only served to goad me into taking the corners a little tighter to test the vehicle’s grip and handling in addition to its speed.
“There’s something to be said about modern cars, isn’t there, Cathy?” Bensen teased.
“You’re just jealous you can’t have my Rolls-Royce.”
“Who taught you to be so mean?”
“Born that way.” Glancing in the rearview mirror, I smirked. “You know, Benny, I’m disappointed in you. I thought you’d be the type to like a wild ride in a sporty car.”
“I have an intact sense of self-preservation, unlike the old man in the front.”
I chuckled. “I just wouldn’t want you to be late for your own gala. While it rarely occurs, I can be a generous and considerate soul.”
Twin snorts answered me, and Bensen shot a glare in my direction. “I feel like I should call for an inspection of hell. It’s surely frozen over.”
“I got dressed up today, didn’t I? If that’s not generous and considerate, I don’t know what is. I didn’t even complain very much, either.”
Benny kneed my seat. “You conned me out of one of my museum pieces.”
“I didn’t con you. I asked nicely in exchange for a favor. It’s really pretty, and I enjoy wearing it. I could have been mean and asked for that captain’s sword to replace mine—or that flintlock. Or the watch, or some of those jewels, or…”
“I’ll concede. Since you mention those items, you were very considerate of my wallet.”
“The pendant is unusual, but it’s not a showcase item, not like one of those. You really did put together a fantastic exhibit, Benny. I’m really impressed you managed to get such a large collection. To think you brought an entire pirate ship up from the bottom of the sea. How long did it take you?”
“The better part of five years of continual work, restoring and preserving each piece as it was salvaged. A lot of pieces were at risk of deteriorating, but we found a way to encase them in resin to preserve and protect the wood. We got lucky—the first few ships we attempted to bring up fell apart before we could preserve them. The Terrier was our only success. I’m hoping we’ll be able to find the location of her sister ship.”
I thought back on the museum’s opening, and I couldn’t remember if he had mentioned the Calico or not. “There’s a sister ship?”
“An old sea tale claims the Terrier was built at the same time as another ship. The limited records I’ve recovered claim the ship’s name was the Calico, and it was owned by a rival pirate captain, although very little is known about the captain and the rivalry they had with the Black Scourge.”
I frowned, slowing the car enough I could glance at Bensen before regarding Benny in the rearview mirror. “They? The Terrier’s captain was unusual because she was a woman, was she not?”
“The records seem to imply the Shark Tamer was actually a woman, too. There hasn’t been any substantial proof of this.”
“The Shark Tamer?” I blurted, astonished the nickname had survived the centuries. To cover my thoughtless mistake, I added, “You’re making these names up to make this museum seem more interesting, aren’t you?”
“Not at all. The records we found listed the Calico’s captain as one Louise or Louisa, the Shark Tamer. Unfortunately, the writing is smudged, and the difference between an e and an a is a gender. It could be Louis, too, with flourish on the s. The records we found indicated that the two captains were once allies, possibly lovers, which supports the Shark Tamer being a man. But, I find the story of two rival pirate queens far more interesting. Don’t you?”
“I find it unlikely at best. The wise women hid their genders, and when there were pirate queens, as you call them, they were the only woman in the crew. Everything I’ve read indicated that sailors were highly superstitious.”
“You’re likely correct. The Calico’s first mate was confirmed to be a woman.”
A chill swept through me, and in order to hide my apprehension, I played along. “Oh?”
“There were two records of her. The first called her the Tamer’s princess, the Cat Princess, likely referencing the ship’s name.”
“No name?” I prayed to the uncaring gods my name had been lost to time, because there was no way I could explain away such a strong coincidence.
Benny grumbled something, which I suspected was a curse or a string of them. “Unfortunately not. She was listed as C-C in the records both times. The other documents with her name were too ruined to make out. We’re not even certain of the Calico’s port of origin, although we suspect she came from either Italy or Spain.”
“And you know nothing of the ship and its crew beyond that?”
“I’ve isolated her final resting place to one of two possible locations. One is off the Cape of Good Hope, and the other is deep in the heart of the Indian Ocean. It seems she ran afoul of the British navy. We found limited records from the British supporting the sinking of the Calico, but they didn’t list the captain’s name, origin port, or anything other than the fact she was a frigate matching the general description of the Terrier. The records implied the Terrier was the original target of the fleet, but they had found the Calico instead.”
I couldn’t—didn’t want to—believe what Benny told me, and the possibility I’d had it wrong all along stabbed through me, a dagger to the heart, and each of his words twisted the blade a little deeper. “What sort of records?”
“Navy captain logs. I don’t have the originals; those are in a history museum in the United Kingdom, but I was given an opportunity to go through the records and found the listing. Until I can verify the existence of the Calico beyond the two references I currently have—or get the captain’s full name—I am not making any announcements regarding the ship. I’ll be organizing some dive teams to check shipwrecks off the Cape of Good Hope to begin my search. I’ve already charted out the locations of the identified shipwrecks, so it’s a matter of confirming the identities of other ships. Fortunately, the Calico likely has a distinctive figurehead like the Terrier, if the rumor of them being twin ships is true.”
“What will you do if you find her?”
“There’s room for a second frigate in the museum. I’ll stage them together in conflict, representing the downfall of the Calico and the eventual perishing of the Terrier and her crew. Alas, until I find proof of the second ship’s existence, it’s just a story and nothing more.”
“That’s quite the story,” I muttered, shaking my head and forcing my attention on my driving. “Implausible at best.”
“Never say never, Cathy. This is part of why the Golden Age of Piracy intrigues me so much. Sometimes the strangest stories prove to be the truth.”
Fourteen
I’m going to have to keep you on a short leash.
Thanks to my decision to view speed limits as a general guideline and recommendation rather than a rule, we reach
ed the museum an hour before the start of the gala. I handed the keys to Bensen’s car to the valet. A security guard checked Benny’s identification before letting us into the museum early.
The general lack of Halloween decorations intrigued me. Since my last visit, Benny had added some new pieces to the entry room, including several anchors belonging to famous pirate ships and five new figureheads, one of which was fashioned of gold. The mermaid coiled around a pointed battering ram, something I found curious. “That’s odd.”
“I wish I knew its story. It was salvaged from an unnamed ship in the Arabian Sea, and I haven’t been able to find any ships on record with a figurehead matching its description. The ship was in really bad shape, but the figurehead and ram were intact.”
The Calico also had a golden mermaid figurehead, a beautiful woman with outstretched arms waiting to embrace any sailors fortunate—or unfortunate—enough to cross her path.
“Type of ship?”
Benny shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. It had been reduced to a few timbers scattered across the ocean floor. From the best I can figure, it came from a smaller ship, something riding low to the water, so it could ram larger ships and punch through their hulls. She probably broke apart during a ramming attempt.”
Circling the mermaid, I inspected her. If she’d ever hit anything, I saw no evidence of it in the smooth gold polished to a high shine. The ram, like the Terrier, was encased in resin to preserve it. “Did you have to repair the mermaid?”
“Minor repairs. Part of her tail was damaged, but all it needed was hammered and smoothed back into position. The ram was broken, but we fitted it back together and secured it before preserving it. Those are all original pieces.”
“Wouldn’t she have been a lot more damaged if she had rammed a ship? Gold’s a softer metal. It would be ruined if it hit another ship at ramming speed, wouldn’t it?” I reached out, but before I could touch the figurehead, Benny caught hold of my wrist.