A Pirate's Ruse

by Camille Oster

  Again she nodded and hopped up on the back of the donkey. "I'll be as fast as I can."

  "Be careful. Don't take any risks. And watch out for the others. Some of them will be coming in with the dark."

  Clara nodded and set off, bouncing awkwardly with the trotting steps of the donkey. Her spine would suffer for this ride, but speed was imperative. At least the donkey seemed enthusiastic about exploring a new island, and the road was recently constructed.

  Lights were the first sign that she had reached the township. It had taken close to an hour riding there and the donkey was beginning to tire. "You can rest soon," she said and patted the beast on its neck. "And if I can find you some carrots in there, I will bring you some."

  Tying the donkey to a tree at the edge of town, Clara turned toward the township and took a deep breath, hoping to clear the tension from her shoulders. She couldn't believe she was about to sneak into a naval fort and steal something. It was the most absurd thing she'd ever considered doing—except maybe stepping on Tuber's ship at the Liverpool docks.

  Another deep breath and she set off, walking into town, trying to look like she belonged there. If she was caught, they would hang her. Why was she doing this? Because everyone had told her that she couldn't, that she didn't belong and she was too useless to do something like this. Anger speared through her at all the unfair accusation she'd received most of her life—a burden, too dense to read, too poor to deserve anything, and too weak to win.

  She shrunk her shoulders down as a group of mariners walked past in their red coats. Luckily they ignored her and marched past. Clara slinked along the walls until she realized she actually looked incredibly suspicious skulking around like that. Checking herself, she walked out into the middle of the street and kept her head down, walking in the direction of the main fort, which unfortunately lay on the other side of town.

  The buildings she passed were stone and some wood, much sturdier construction than the haphazard buildings in Tortuga Bay, but that was perhaps a reflection on the design and construction by professional architects and masons.

  Clara walked past a tavern that was just as noisy as the one in which she'd met her father, but from her glimpse inside as she walked past, the tavern was filled with mariners rather than pirates. She would assume that would make them a little more behaved, but judging by the noise, perhaps not. She also walked past what was probably a school and a large church.

  This was actually an interesting town. When this challenge was said and done for her, maybe she could consider coming here. A place like this would need women to serve or to wash. It wouldn't be glamorous, with long, tedious work, but what better choice did she have?

  Her nerves grew exponentially as she approached the fort. Her throat grew thick and her hands clammy as she looked around, trying to spot any dangers. She saw the gate she needed to enter, which looked unattended. Perhaps they were between shifts.

  Walking toward the gate, she tried not to look like a pirate there to steal things.

  "You there," a voice said out of the darkness. Clara yelped, her heart jumping into her throat. For a second, she wondered if she would pass out from fright. "What are you doing here?"

  "I'm … mhh. I'm needing to … to retrieve some books from the library," she stammered, parroting the line Lieutenant Havencourt had told her to say if she were challenged. Apparently it wasn't unusual for the officers to send serving girls to run their errands.

  The guard stepped forward, eyeing her, and Clara blinked profusely, trying to keep calm. She tried to smile. "It's late," he said.

  "I couldn't come earlier."

  Looking her up and down, he lifted his chin slightly, indicating that she could proceed. Clara smiled and turned away, walking into the main courtyard in the direction of the library. Luckily the dark hid her as she changed direction and headed toward the supply room.

  As expected, it was locked and Clara walked around the back where a window accessed the stores, prying it open with the iron bar she had hidden under her skirt. It appeared no one else had been here yet, which was an interesting tid-bit of information. It could be said that she was leading this race. Hah! So there.

  The window gave and Clara clambered inside the dark room, trying to be as quiet as possible. She had nothing to illuminate the space, but there was enough moonlight to see the main path between the boxes and shelves. What should she take? Weapons would impress, but they were cumbersome and impossible to explain if she was caught with them. But it also had to be something that proved she'd been in the supply store.

  Clara looked around, trying to think of something that was light and not awkward to carry back riding on a donkey. She turned again, facing the shelves. She could see linen … which would be embroidered with the naval seal to prove their ownership. Perfect, she thought with a smile, grabbing a few of them, enough to easily carry under her arm.

  Bundling her skirts up, she jumped out the window and walked back into the courtyard, the linen crammed under her arm. Her heart beat wildly as she walked back to the gatehouse, and she held her breath as the guard noticed her, but dismissed her without further consideration. She steeled her back and walked past, breathing a sigh of relief as she walked around the corner.

  She started running down the street, then around a corner, where she collided with a force pressing on her chest, banging her into a wall.

  "What do we have here?"

  Her panic surged. Questions pierced through her mind. Had she been caught? What would happen to her? Could she explain her way out of this?

  A body crowded her and she looked up into a smirk she’d seen before. "My, Miss Nears. Have you been up to no good?"

  It was Christian Rossi. "Get out of my way," she demanded.

  His fingers kept her pressed against the wall. "Tsk tsk. Naughty girl."

  "Let go of me."

  He pressed harder on her breastbone when she tried to push him away. "And what have we here? Linen?" He smiled, making him look both mischievous and angelic—how that was even possible, she didn't know.

  He considered her for a moment and Clara grew aware of how large he was. Nothing that isn't firm about him, the words of Madame Guerier's girl returned to her. Clara swallowed.

  His hand moved up her neck, drawing her forcefully forward into a kiss. Clara didn't understand what was happening until it broke. "Thanks," he said with his smug grin. As he stepped back, Clara saw that he had her linen.

  "That's mine."

  "You're welcome to try to take it back. You going to wrestle with me?"

  She blinked, trying to understand what had just happened. He'd kissed her and then stolen her linen, and there was no way she could stop him. Rushing forward, she tried to grab back the linen, but he held it away, blocking her access with his body. She was flush against him, that mischievous grin at her eye line.

  "It's mine. I took out of the supply store."

  "It's mine now."

  "That's not fair."

  "You seem to misunderstand a fundamental characteristic of piracy. You really aren't cut out for this, little girl."

  Clara tried to push on his chest, but he wouldn't budge. A noise drew her attention and she heard the clanking sound of a group of mariners walking around the corner. Before she knew what was happening, she hit the wall again and Christian's lips were on her mouth with bruising force. She tried to struggle, but it only gave him further access into her mouth. His lips were both soft and firm at the same time, and his tongue invaded her mouth, firm and warm as he pressed himself to her.

  "Find a room," one of the mariners barked as they walked past.

  She couldn't breathe and unwelcome sensations assaulted her. He was kissing her. She couldn't believe it. Slowly he withdrew, still holding her head in his hand and his thumb pressed down on her lips. "Hush now," he said, his voice deep and gravelly. "Don't want to get us into trouble now, do we?"

  His eyes were black in the darkness and she couldn't do anything but stare into them
as the mariners kept walking past. The taste of him in her mouth registered—sweet and musky, and foreign. Tobacco and rum. Her first kiss and it had been an arrogant and degenerate pirate.

  Clara struggled, but he held her in place, pressing his body to hers. Looking away, he saw the last of the mariners walk around the corner and stepped back from her, leaving a cool rush with the absence of his body. He grinned again and then turned, jogging away into the darkness.

  Pressing her lips together, she watched him go. He’d robbed her. Wiping the taste of him off her swollen lips, she frowned. She had nothing to show now, which meant she had to concede the challenge or go back. She had to go back—risk someone catching her all over again. Was it possible to hate Christian Rossi more than she did at that moment?

  Chapter 11:

  * * *

  Clara rode the donkey back down the road in the dark, a box under her arm, burning with embarrassment. She was utterly disappointed with herself. He had stolen from her, and kissed her, and she hadn't done a damned thing about it, as if he could just do whatever he wanted and she was powerless to object.

  There were a number of things she could have done. Bit him to start with. Stabbed him with a knife. Kneed him where it'd hurt, or plain made a fuss, attracting attention that would have had him running for the hills, ideally with mariners chasing him. None of those things she'd done. She'd just stood there and let him kiss her.

  A renewed flood of embarrassment washed over her. And he'd stolen from her, placed her in further jeopardy by making her go back into the fort, with additional risk that her initial break-in had been discovered.

  Well, something had belatedly been discovered, because an alarm was called out as she was leaving town, with plenty of yelling. She suspected one of the other pirates had been indiscreet. She hadn't dared turned back to look, just kept riding with her box of buttons. It was a bit more awkward to carry, but a box of brass insignia buttons were without a doubt taken from nowhere but the stores.

  Clara wondered if she could somehow disqualify Christian—complain of his cheating, but these were pirates. His actions would probably be appreciated. How could she have been so stupid not to see that they were unlikely to comply with the rules? They were pirates, for heaven's sake—making gains without deserving it was their raison d'etre. Cheating would only be seen as good practice.

  "Clara," a male voice called to her, making her startle. Lieutenant Havencourt stepped out of the dark jungle, which was good because she would have kept going, too upset and annoyed to pay attention to where she was. And really, one stretch of the jungle in the dark, looked like any other. "Did you get something?"

  "Yes," she said, considering telling him about the trouble she'd had with a certain pirate, but was too embarrassed to admit it. "Mr. Rossi has a good hour's head start."

  "We won't catch up, but it doesn't matter—we just need to be in the top half of parties returning. Come, we must hurry."

  Clara urged the donkey into the jungle, but it was having a hard time navigating in the dark. "Wait," she called.

  "Get off it and run."

  "What about the donkey?" It wasn't going to move much faster with her pulling it.

  "Leave it."

  "We can't just leave it."

  "We have to. We're hardly going to convince it to swim out to the ship, are we?"

  "But … "

  "It's better off here anyway."

  "It will be lost."

  "It will find the township or the village. Likely it would be of better use to someone here than roaming through Tortuga. Someone will value its labor here and take good care of it. Release it."

  Clara still held onto the reins. She had never considered that she had to leave it behind. "I didn't mean for it to be left. We can have it swimming behind us on the dinghy."

  "At this point, it comes down to winning or losing. It will take too long. If you want to have a chance to win this, we can't take the time."

  Havencourt waited for her to decide. She hadn't intended on leaving the beast here, but it wasn't worth losing the challenge over. "Fine," she conceded, feeling miserable. Maybe there was some way she could come back and get it when it wasn't crucial to be as quick as possible.

  "It really is better off here," Havencourt said. "Come, we must run."

  Clara followed as he ran through the dense jungle toward the beach. They emerged not far from where some of the crew were waiting with the dinghy and they silently got in, rowing out to the ship. She felt terrible about abandoning the donkey. It seemed so cruel. The donkey had been instrumental to their mission and they just left it behind, discarded.

  When at the ship's side, they rushed up the rope ladder and up on deck. Havencourt took the helm and ordered them to sail. Clara watched as he gave direction, trying to think through the actions and results of the day.

  They left Jamaica without incident and Clara finally breathed a sigh of relief. "There was commotion in Port Royal as I left," she said.

  "Someone probably made their presence known."

  An uncomfortable feeling ran through her. It could be that someone was caught, to be charged and hanged. It seemed an awful risk for a box of buttons. Not just a box of buttons, a stolen box of buttons. That's what pirates did: they stole. For that aim, she’d sacrificed a donkey, but she had stolen as well. How could this possibly be right? "It's wrong to steal," she said out loud when she hadn't intended to.

  Havencourt sighed beside her. "Don't feel too concerned. You're stealing from the wealthy, who more than likely did something borderline unconscionable to make their wealth. Even if it wasn't strictly unethical, greed has been a large portion, using other people's labor to achieve their wealth without compensating properly." He had obviously thought a great deal about this.

  "And stealing from the Crown?"

  "The Crown is nothing but a collection of the wealthy, setting the laws to suit themselves."

  "These are your people," she reminded him. Havencourt was obviously part of the landed class.

  "I know," he said with a smile, and she could see the bitterness even in the dark. "Don't feel bad about stealing from them. They certainly don't when they steal from you, then expect you to pay with your life to protect their incomes when threatened by other wealthy people. There is no fairness in the world. At least the pirates are honest about what they are. They don't dress up their activities in pretty words, trying to convince you that God and righteousness is on their side. Saying that, the gentry barely bother with even that here in the Caribbean. The hypocrisy gets unbearable."

  Clara wanted to ask what he'd done to get exiled, but it wasn't her right to intrude on his privacy. His bitterness was beyond doubt, but Clara didn't quite know what to believe. If seen in the light the lieutenant painted it, piracy seemed like the most logical thing in the world—take from the people who held too much for themselves, but she wasn't sure it was that simple either. The sisters at the convent would never be swayed by that argument. According to them, one should be happy with what God provides and judge those who gave themselves to greed.

  God had provided her with a father—perhaps not one she would choose, but a father nonetheless, and this competition was inexorably linked with that. Still, she didn't know what she was supposed to do. It had been a challenging day though. She had stolen, raced, abandoned an innocent creature, been kissed by a pirate, and been utterly disappointed with herself for doing nothing about the liberties he felt free to take. And the worst was that he had beaten her in the challenge because of it.

  *

  Clara and Havencourt ran into the tavern, receiving a cheer as they appeared up on the raised platform. She didn't know the crews well enough to say how many were there. "What are we?" she asked Havencourt, who was also surveying the scene.

  "Third," he said. "We are third."

  Clara looked around, spotting Christian Rossi sitting at a table. He was watching her and touched his finger to his forehead in a salute, as if thanking her for g
etting him there. She felt like stamping her feet at the unfairness. He had trampled all over her to get ahead, and now he was amused about it. She really wanted to run a knife into his gut, she thought with a smile. Maybe there was a little pirate in her after all.

  Silence descended and Clara didn't understand why, until she looked behind her and saw her father. He exuded a power and chill that made everyone calm. His hard eyes looked around and fixed on her. "So," he said. "You survived the first challenge, then."

  "I did," she said, holding her chin up.

  "Havencourt," he said with an acknowledging nod. He gave a little half smile, then kept walking, taking the stairs down to the main tavern area.

  "Doesn't sound too pleased, does he?" she said.

  "Not sure he expected it."

  Another party rushed into the room, breathing heavily. "What are we?" a man asked.

  "Fourth," the lieutenant answered.

  "Fourth," the man repeated. "What does that mean as there were seven to start with? Are we in or out?"

  "I think it means you are in, as I recall."

  The man groaned loudly, placing his palms to his eyes in relief.

  "You sure that's a good thing?" Havencourt asked, but the man didn't get a chance to answer as Guildford put his arms out.

  "Bring me your booty," he yelled to the gathered assembly. Waving his hand, a table cleared for him and he sat down.

  "Take your box down," the lieutenant urged Clara.

  Pursing her lips, she went for the stairs, descending into the crowd. Christian was already at the table, handing over his ill-gotten linen. Guildford checked the embroidered insignia and waved it away. A most self-gratified smile spread across Christian's face and he puckered his lips together in a kiss when he saw her, raising an eyebrow in mocking.

  Clara wanted to smash his face in. She again considered complaining about how he'd cheated, but knew she would be ridiculed for it. This was not a place where they played by the rules. Instead, she banged down her box of buttons, probably with more force than she intended.