Home From The Sea

by Keegan, Mel

  “They hate each other’s guts,” Jim observed, amused, scandalized.

  “They certainly do.” Toby went ahead of him, down the stairs. “And I, for one, am going to stand well back and let them fight it out for themselves. I know Nathaniel will make sure I get a small share – those are the rules. Nathaniel made them and he must be seen to enforce them, if he has any desire to hold onto command. You’ve seen the prize now, Jim. You know well enough, a small share will be grand, if it makes the bastards go away and leave us be, not just today but forever.”

  At the bottom of the stairs they stopped to watch the women and Artie Polgreen, who was snoring in his chair, a half-full mug of strong, dark tea balanced precariously on his belly. His wig had slipped sideways over his ear now. Jim nodded good morning to Esme, who had gossiped about him, and Polly and Lizzie, who had been hanging out laundry, and Marie, who had been emptying chamber pots. They all knew him; a couple of them smiled at him, though he perceived an aspect of pity in their faces. Esme studied him as if he were an insect and Jim dropped a low, sweeping bow before her, making her pout.

  Then he and Toby were out again, blinking in the strong sunlight and glad to waft the stench of Polgreen’s establishment out of their heads. Gulls were scavenging along the shoreline; a ketch was butting its way west, low in the water and hunting for any breeze in the light air. The longboat was already three feet above the high water line.

  “I apologize for the rest of the company,” Toby said ruefully as he and Jim climbed back into the boat to sit, waiting for Hobbs and Tuttle. “They’re unpleasant characters even when they’re sober and not hungover, and you’re not exactly seeing them at their best.”

  “There’s going to be trouble.” Jim parked his buttocks on the seat, laced his fingers and studied his palms. “We left Burke and Pledge flat out and stinking of rum. Would that be normal – would Eli and Willie expect it of them?”

  Toby seemed resigned. “Perhaps. I don’t honestly care, Jim. Let them fight it out like a pack of mongrel dogs squabbling over a bone. At the end of the day I’ll take what’s always been mine, and we’ll do very nicely.”

  “And if Nathaniel Burke doesn’t live to see the end of it?” Jim wondered shrewdly. Toby turned to face him now. Jim gestured back in the direction of The Cattlemarket. “Hobbs and Tuttle hate him. Given the chance, or the reason, they’d be glad to kill him.”

  A grimness settled on Toby’s face, an expression Jim had never seen there before. “Well now,” he said softly, “that would be a terrible thing, wouldn’t it? I’d cry myself to sleep for a week over it.”

  “Damnit, Toby,” Jim began and then stopped, swiped off his hat and rubbed his scalp, hard enough to almost bruise. His voice was a rasp as he looked back into Toby’s face. “Is this some kind of game you’re playing?”

  For a moment Toby did not answer, and then the fair head shook and he looked away, out to sea, where the ketch had changed tack. “A game? No. I just want to finish out today as a free man, and if I have a few coins in my pocket, so much the better.” He chanced a sidelong glance at Jim. “Eight years, I’ve thought on this, tried to reason a way around these men, but they are who they are, Jim, and what they are. And I’ll tell you this much. I’m not about to get between them and try making the peace. Any one of the four would be happy to put a pistol ball in me … and what’s it matter to you and me if they’re at each other’s throats like starving hounds?”

  What indeed, Jim thought hotly as they waited for Hobbs and Tuttle. His mind was on Burke and Pledge, stinking of rum, snoring like pigs on the taproom floor. And on the bin Toby had stowed up in the loft. He squeezed shut his eyes, forced his heart to be calm and his mind to be clear as they waited.

  Twenty minutes went by before The Cattlemarket’s door slammed open and Eli Hobbs came barreling out. He was sober now, and with a pint of coffee inside him he was spoiling for a fight. Tuttle was right behind him, looking ashen and drained, as if he had spent most of the time heaving up his belly – but he appeared no less belligerent than Hobbs as he stomped toward the longboat. Jim and Toby stepped over the side, and without being asked, Hobbs and Tuttle helped to shove the craft down toward the water.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Even on the shoreline around The Raven, the water was receding visibly. Jim saw sodden hummocks and woebegone bushes where that morning there had been only a lake. In another day it would be all mud, filth, debris and hard work. The old cellar under The Raven would be noxious already, with mildew and the blue mold which infested the walls at the first sign of dampness.

  The longboat grounded out on sand, thirty yards from the front door, and Jim jumped over into shin-deep water filled with brown, tangled weed. The whole beach would be aromatic until local farmers gathered the kelp to feed the fields. Since the sky was clear now, a regiment of women and children would be out by twilight, packing the kelp into big wicker baskets.

  All this was second nature to one who had lived on this shore for years. Jim might have mentioned it to Toby, for the sake of making conversation, but the look on Toby’s face was too dark, too preoccupied, as he watched Hobbs and Tuttle hop out of the boat and march away without a backward glance.

  They headed directly for the tavern’s front door, and Jim whistled softly as he watched them barge right inside. Edith Clitheroe should be well out of their way, with Bess and Boxer at her heels. Jim thrust both hands into his pockets, wriggled his toes in disgustingly wet boots, and lifted a brow at Toby.

  With a wicked, mirthless grin Toby beckoned him up to the tavern. They stood at the open door, watching, listening, as Eli Hobbs threw open a window for light and swung a series of savage kicks into Burke and Pledge, accompanied by a tirade in some form of English Jim could not understand. His accent was so barbarous, the vernacular so odd, all he could comprehend was the man’s fury.

  Two kicks, three, and Nathaniel Burke jerked awake. He sat up on the floor, cradling his head in both hands, groaning and wheezing. “Who the devil is that? Sweet Christ, Eli – kick me one more time, and I’s like to separate you from your breath!”

  “Och, so it lives after all,” Hobbs sneered. “It’s nae dead, though it smells like it oughtta be!” He kicked Joe Pledge again instead, hard enough to physically shove him. “Wake up, ye bloody dobber!”

  “I’s awake, I’s awake, goddamn yer,” Pledge howled, though he seemed more than half insensible, eyes shut, arms wrapped around his chest. “Jesus, Mary and friggin’ Joseph, where am I?”

  It was Willie Tuttle bellowing at him now. “You’re in The Raven, where you’ve been fer bloody days! You’re boozed right up to the flamin’ eyeballs, you brainless pair of shite-heads.”

  “Stow your noise, Willie,” Burke roared, “before I stow it for you.” He was on his knees now, forcing his way up out of the dense fug of a laudanum hangover which could only be vile. He peered blearily at the other two and ran his tongue over parched lips. “What day is this?”

  “It’s bloody Thursday,” Hobbs snarled. “The rain’s stopped – and I’ll just fuckin’ bet ye an’ Joe were headed away. Ye’da been gone, vanished, soon as the paths dried up enough fer ye tae git.”

  “Make sense, Eli, or shut your yap,” Burke was massaging his skull, trying to get the blood moving in a head Jim knew would be thick as mortar.

  “Sense? Aye, it’s all about Captain Burke,” Hobbs sneered. “Ye swindlin’ auld swine. Ye was supposed to git the prize an’ bring it right back tae the crew – else, send a message.”

  The mention of the prize seemed to startle Nathaniel Burke back to reality. “The prize,” he growled, glaring at Pledge now.

  Pledge seemed confused. Sitting on his folded knees, rubbing his temples, he blinked semi-lucidly at Burke. “We found it, did we? You musta found it after I passed out.” He hawked and spat. “Christ, me mouth tastes like a rabid rat crawled in an’ died – ’ow much did I drink?”

  Tuttle swung an open handed blow at the rum bottles, sending t
hem flying. They smashed against the wall as the Mancunian spat, “Too fuckin’ much. Which is the only reason you bastards is still here, ain’t it?”

  “Wait!” Burke bellowed. Then, quieter, “Just … wait, will you? Let me think.” He stood swaying, breathing deeply. “Make yourselves useful. Go’n get me a jar of water.”

  “I’ll nae take orders frae the likes of you,” Hobbs informed him nastily.

  “No?” Burke forced in another breath and turned to face him, startlingly sober by an effort of sheer willpower. “The prize … is here. Charlie isn’t. Charlie’s dead.”

  “Aye, so they told us,” Tuttle said acidly.

  “They?” Burke echoed.

  A pulse drummed in Jim’s temple. His voice was low as he said to Toby, “Here we go.” He chanced a sidelong glance at him. “You have any idea how to handle these … gentlemen?”

  “I do,” Toby whispered. “Stay well out of it, Jim. Don’t give them an excuse to drag you into their fracas.”

  “And you?” Jim would have held him back, but Toby accorded him a blue-eyed wink.

  “You forget,” he said in a bare undertone, “I sailed with these gentlemen.”

  So he knew exactly who they were, and what – and what they needed to hear, Jim thought as he watched Toby step just inside the tavern’s door, making himself visible.

  “Them. The parson and ’is gammy-legged wee mate,” Hobbs was saying. He gestured at Toby. “They come to The Cattlemarket this mornin’.”

  “Oh, they did?” Burke’s face clenched. He cocked his head at Toby. “That was uncommon decent of you, lad. Now, why would you do that?”

  Now Jim held his breath, for he had no idea what Toby would say. He kept still, half a step outside the door, and wondered how long it would be before Burke and Pledge realized they were unarmed. Their pistols were in Toby’s pockets and Jim’s own.

  Toby laughed with the balladsinger’s skill. The laugh sounded easy, though Jim know it was sham, forced. “Nathaniel! You don’t remember, do you? Ha! You don’t recall a damn’ thing!”

  “I recall this much,” Burke growled warningly, “if you don’t speak straight in the next five seconds, I’ll turn you over that bench and give you a taste of my belt that’ll flay the hide right off your arse.”

  With the ease of old, old practice Toby ducked his head and dropped his voice. “I’m sorry, Nathaniel. I just have a lot to celebrate. I thought you’d be glad –”

  “If ’e bloody knew what ye was talkin’ about,” Hobbs barked, “mebbe ’e would be!”

  “The – the prize,” Toby stammered, talking a calculated step back, away from them. “You don’t remember, Nathaniel? Fair enough. We searched this house, top to bottom, while the rain fell … you don’t recall how we tore the place to shreds?”

  Burke’s eyes narrowed. “Upstairs. Aye, I do. I also remember there was nothing to be found.”

  “Yes.” Toby gestured at the smashed rum bottles. “You and Joe were in a fine fury. You sat down to eat … the local ale is a lot stronger than you were expecting. With two tankards inside you, you were shouting for the rum. Master Fairley broke out the best in the house, and – well, you drank a good deal.”

  “Drank yourselves legless, bastards that ye be,” Hobbs muttered.

  “And passed out,” Toby finished with an expressive shrug. “That was when Master Fairley insisted on knowing what was going on in his house, and I … I told him. What else was I supposed to do? The time for secrets was long past, so I told him everything and he lent me his own hands, worked alongside me to find the prize.”

  “Is that right, Master Fairley?” Burke angled a hot, dark glance toward Jim. “Now, why would you do such a good deed, lad, for men you despise?”

  “Fae a share!” Hobbs roared. “I told ye, Willie, the gammy lad’s rowed hisself aboard fae a share – an’ it’ll nae be comin’ outta my purse!”

  “All he wants,” Toby said quietly, “is for the four of you to get out of his house and never show your faces here again.”

  “So, let the man speak for hisself.” Burke cocked his head at Jim. “Well, Master Jim Fairley?”

  Jim pushed away from the door jamb. “See this pantomime from my position, Captain. There’ll be no peace in my house till you’ve got what you came for and taken it away with you … and even now I own the foolish notion to keep my skin whole and my head on my shoulders. Of course I helped Toby find this damned prize of yours!”

  “They found it,” Pledge whispered thickly. “Nathaniel –”

  “I heard.” Burke hooked both thumbs in his belt. “And, having found it, you took yourselves on an errand to the bawdy house and dragged this pair of bastards out of there.”

  “Of course we did.” Toby kept his voice low and his head half bowed. “You’ll forgive me, Nathaniel, if I don’t quite trust you. I’d a sneaking idea you’d do as Eli and Willie assumed. You’d get hold of the prize and vanish, as soon as the floodwaters went down. Then Eli and Willie would be here in a day or three. They’d never believe a word I said about the divvy-up. We’re supposed to play by rules, the old rules you made, Nathaniel, but it takes an iron hand at the tiller … your own … to force the likes of Eli and Willie to play fair.”

  He cast a bleak glance at Hobbs and Tuttle. “Those two would’ve stolen from me any share you’d given me, before they headed after you – hunting, and doing it on largesse that should have been mine.” He dared to lift his chin now, and his voice. “The last half-share is mine, Nathaniel. You put your mark on me, and I was loyal. I gave you good service for a long time. You whistled, and I went to you, gave you what you wanted, anything you asked for – I gave it freely, without protest or complaint, because I wore your mark and you kept the other bastards off me.” He pinned Burke with a glare. “I still wear your mark. You haven’t given me any ticket of manumission – not yet. According to the old rules we all lived by, I still belong to you. The best chance I have for a future is for you to do right by me. Keep the scum off me a while longer, give me my small share and my freedom, because I did right by you.”

  Silence fell on the taproom for several seconds before Pledge said in his thick London voice, “Well, I’ll be buggered. The lad’s done yer proud, Nathaniel. Yer musta trained ’im good, or been a damn’ sight more coddlin’ with ’im than I’da been.”

  “Well, now.” Burke seemed not to hear a word Pledge had said. He looked Toby up and down appraisingly. “So this is what you want of me. You want me to take care of Eli and Willie for you, so you don’t have to sully your fair hands.”

  “He … what?” Hobbs demanded.

  “He could’ve killed the pair of us, Eli,” Burke said in a mock-pleasant tone. He gestured at the floor, where he and Pledge had slept for so long. “He could have gutted us like pigs and dumped us in the bay in the dead of night, and no one the wiser. But don’t you never forget he was a priest. In some corner of his heart, young Toby still believes the Bible bilge water just enough for him to turn up his dainty nose at the red work. He won’t kill a man. Never would, never did. You forgotten?”

  “Aye, thass right.” Hobbs peered rudely at Toby. “Ye coulda been done wi’ the pair of ’em, Trelane, if only ye’d ’ad the balls fae it.”

  Toby’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Call it weak, craven, if you want. Nathaniel’s right. I won’t kill a man. I won’t have the stain of murder on my soul, not even for a fortune – not when all I have to do is call myself Nathaniel Burke’s marked property, still, and hold him to the rules he made himself.”

  “An’ you reckon he’s gunna stand by ’em?” Tuttle chuckled acidly.

  “I do.” Toby frowned levelly at Burke. “They were your rules, Captain. We all lived by them. I survived by them. Those rules are the only reason any one of is here today. Play out the last hand, and it’s over. We walk away, alive and free. All of us.”

  For some time The Raven was so silent, Jim could hear the sound of pigeons in the thatch above the door. Burk
e’s eyes flayed Toby to the bone and then passed on to fillet Hobbs and Tuttle like trout. At last he said slowly, ruminatingly,

  “You’s a queer un, Master Trelane. You always were. And you’s right. I’ll play out the hand. I’ll let it be known, you’re a free man. If you cross me path in a year or five, I might even buy you a jar of ale.” His brow lowered. “Now, I’ll thank you to give me what’s mine.”

  The words were like a spark to gunpowder. “Yours?” Hobbs roared. “Ye’ll nae take ownership o’ the treasure we all bought wi’ our blood!” He was scrambling for a pistol as he spoke, and in the same moment Burke discovered himself unarmed.

  Almost faster than Jim could follow what he was doing, Toby whipped the pistol out of his left pocket and tossed it onto the table at Burke’s right hand. Burke dove for it, twisting to present a hard target, and while Jim was still blinking, Burke and Hobbs were suddenly eye to eye, two weapons drawn, two hammers cocked, a split second away from blood.

  “Jim.” Toby’s voice was quiet, taut. With a nod, he beckoned Jim away from the scene. They were halfway to the stairs when he said to Burke, “The prize is hidden, Nathaniel, for safety. We’ll fetch it.”

  Burke never took his eyes from Hobbs. “Joe, go with them. Make sure they bring it all.”

  “Aye.” Pledge was patting his pockets, discovering his pistols gone. “I ain’t got no cannons.”

  Careful, surprisingly dextrous, Burke drew a long knife from a sheath at the small of his back, where Toby had missed it when he trussed them. This, he tossed into Pledge’s waiting hands. “Tell Master Fairley, Toby,” Burke insisted. “Describe Joe’s skill with a thing like that. Tell him, at close quarters our Joe’s more dangerous with a knife than he is with a pistol in each hand. And then tell your dear Master Fairley to give Joe back his weapons. You bastards disarmed us both, after we passed out – well and good. I’d’ve done the same. But you think Willie Tuttle’s unarmed? Now it’d be your turn to hold by them same rules you’re so bloody fond of quoting at me!”