by Cooper, R.
“You ass!”L’Aranha turned upon René at the same instant, smacking his shoulder with the back of her hand. René’s slighter figure rocked as he steadied his feet, and James knew the man was close to falling to the floor, though he would never admit to it.
“He is not well,” James said, quietly he was sure, though the Lady Mirena blinked as she studied him as though he had been more forceful.
“What happened?” Her hiss did not even reach James’ ears until her face was inches from his own and her brows were lowered with menace. “Shut your mouth, Mirena,” René spoke lowly, but it brought Mirena away from James and back to his side, something undoubtedly profane in her own language bursting from her. Her thick fingers brushed aside the tangled waves of dark hair without hesitation and smoothed away a patch of dried blood and René did not move, or shout for her to leave him alone.
Now James did close his eyes, but felt a small measure of comfort in the warm child’s hand curled into his. “I will need to clean this.” The woman spoke softly, with no apologies for striking René moments ago, and James nearly laughed to himself to think of their likenesses. Fitting then that she should take René to her bed, as she had implied. “Your hair is filthy, René. It…sticks…and you must wash it,” she spoke again before James could, and James caught a glimpse of René’s eyes before the older man looked away.
Sugar syrup, James wanted to tell her, but held his words back, imagining instead René in a bath, naked and flushed from the steam, with this woman running her hands through the heavy, wet strands of his black hair. No doubt they would not linger long there, but move down to the rest of René’s body, and he would lie before the embrace like an eager lover. “Am I your prisoner on this ship, Lady?” James asked in the silence that followed her mutterings, in a far shorter tone than he ought to have used had he been addressing a real Lady.
“You must leave soon, if you care to go, English man. It is not a long swim back to the shore.” She half-turned to him and cracked a smile as though this was funny, but James glanced around them with more care.
“You mean to keep us here?” James squeezed the small hand in his own and glanced down at the top of Ben’s head before allowing his eyes to drift back up. He knew where they would end, and let out a small breath to find René at last looking at him as he had stared down at Ben, as directly as he had not since his moments of madness that morning.
“Leave, James.” René pronounced slowly, and the words burned, as they had not earlier, when there had been a lunatic gleam in the man’s gaze. Indeed, they seemed to demand why James already had not. James knew his face grew hot, could feel it, from a distance, in the same way he could feel the pinch of his shoes and the constraints of his clothing, but it was nothing to the tumult of feeling in his mind.
He swallowed, and did not move, and felt Ben’s hand leave his own. “This is my ship, Villon,” Mirena’s suddenly icy voice broke into his thoughts, and cut through the air between them like a dagger. “The pretty may stay if he wishes. I am sure others would enjoy him.” She paused just as James opened his mouth in stammering protest. “Is that the right word, René?” Without any answer from the still figure trapped by her hands, she pursed her lips and yanked back slightly as if hoping to elicit some sound of pain from him.
Instead, though it must have pained him greatly, René just tilted forward, pulling her grip even tighter until there would have been tears in James’ eyes. “And when we take my ship?” There was only the barest hesitation as he referred his treacherous crew, but his black eyes went to the opposite wall and stayed there, and James imagined that he dreamed of murder. His voice grew quiet, almost too quiet for James to hear him. “It will go to Tortue, to vanish.”
“Then the Englishman will fight with us or die.” L’Aranha shrugged and reached for a bottle on the desk, mumbling to herself when she found it empty. Stretching, she found another and sipped at its contents thoughtfully. Neither of them even glanced in or Ben’s direction as their lives was tossed about between them. “And Tortuga is a short distance in my ship.”
“He is no killer.” Contempt for his weakness was what made René raise his voice, scorn for James’ cowardice in not taking vengeance or wielding a sword when he had been given one. He was not even to be addressed by name it seemed, a courtesy even Lord Cavendish had granted him.
“Nay, I am not.” James addressed René, who seemed to regard him as just the sound of wind blowing for all the attention he paid to his heated words. The Lady Mirena just rolled her shoulders and splashed a few droplets of what she drank onto the back of René’s skull.
“Then I will find some other use for you,” she remarked indifferently, though flinching at the bitter stream of harsh language directed at her by René, not in Parisian, and from this James deduced that it must her native tongue. The liquor undoubtedly stung as it poured over the wound René had been dealt, and James imagined that it hurt a great deal.
René still did not direct even a passing glance in James’ way, and James realized that the man had already imagined him gone. Doubtless, months ago, he would have, afraid of a figure that had only an hour ago been too weak to stand on his own.
Nonetheless, James shivered to recall the following look of madness, and the bloody thoughts the man was even now entertaining. His head throbbed as he considered, narrowing his eyes to the sight of the woman bent over René’s slighter form, pulling back his hair to expose the pale neck.
“And the child?” he asked carefully at last, and Ben choked on some word that James did not understand. Again, the lady captain shrugged as though it hardly mattered. James paused anew to think on that, and finally took his eyes from René to study Ben.
Ben was regarding him as if he had been already for some time and James had not noticed. His green eyes were wide, watchful, and expectant all at once. Trusting in him, James realized, and questioned faintly as the fear took his stomach if Ben remembered their argument of that morning.
“There will be a battle,” James murmured, wondering at himself, amazed that he should be calm as he asked such things of a child. But Ben was no thrall of his, and had the will to stay or go. Nearly a man if James admitted the truth to himself, even if there was yet no hair on his face. “We will be beyond the law,” he added, to make the danger more clear. And they would have to trust in God to guide their way until they reached some safer shore. Neither shore of the New World had proved a welcoming harbour, and he could feel the desire to laugh at how their only welcome now was with a ship full of cutthroats.
Pawns indeed. A harsh barking laugh burst from him despite his closed lips, and he could feel the pressure of eyes on him as he contained his mirth and focused back on Ben, not daring to look toward the tight displeasure radiating from René.
“I’ll go where you go, Master James,” Ben answered with a simple duck of his head, and James exhaled heavily, the sound louder than any of the other restless sounds of movement in the small room.
Behind them both, the door was torn open and a tall figure stooped to get in, ignoring all of those already inside as he marched to the desk and rifled through the papers on top. He nodded once, vaguely, atL’Aranha, and then continued to search until he found whatever it was he was looking for. Knowing that, any other day, he might have felt some amazement at this display, James just watched. Then the stranger took a long swig from Mirena’s bottle, belched, and slipped back out the door. NeitherL’Aranha nor René commented, ignoring him in much the same way they had disregarded James and Ben, and James could feel himself nodding shakily.
“Then we will take our leave…” Uncertainly, James paused and then inclined his head respectfully, “…Madame.”
Apparently amused, the lady chuckled softly and then waved a free hand toward the door. “Go…Fitzroy. I may seek you later.” “Aye, Lady.” Uncertain of how to address this new master, James chose politeness, knowing that despite her threatening manner of before, she was even now caring for René Villon’s woun
ds. It seemed to please her; another odd smile curved her lips and made James drop his shoulders and flick his eyes to the René’s bent head.
But he did not stop and wait and invite more cold scorn, stumbling backwards out into the bright light, losing Ben’s hand as he fell back and nearly landed on his arse. Blinking, he straightened and turned, looking about at the faces of those watching them emerge. A few leers, some curiosity, he had expected no less, and felt the weight of all of their assumptions. Yet they were bearable, nearly light, in comparison to other burdens.
“René…” he heard the woman beginning in a low, determined voice, and the force of the glare at his back made James move, feeling René’s eyes on him the way he had always been able to.
Lifting his head, James stepped forward, clearing his throat as he did and letting his face fall into a frown. Hearing Ben fall into step behind him, he walked forward to keep himself from collapsing to the deck, and tried to find the rolling gait of a sailor that he had once been so proud of.
A voice hailed him, and James turned, his vague surprise fading when he beheld Gabriel nodding at him. A little smile acknowledged that James was out of danger, and would live, and then the man was slipping away once more, settling his arm around the shoulders of another man and frowning in earnest conversation as others went about tightening ropes and preparing to sail.
So he had one friend on this alien vessel, if he did not include Ben, and about that James was still unclear. But Ben would meet others and become bosom friends with them quickly despite his age, and find some use for himself aboard ship.
“Are you happy, Ben?” James asked quietly, meeting another man’s curious gaze as he stopped at the entrance to below the deck. So many new faces he had seen in the past months, but few that had stayed with him.
“What?” Ben stomped loudly to a halt in front of him and tossed his head. His scowl said clearly that he did not understand what James had asked, and James was not even sure why he had asked it when it did not matter to anyone in the world outside himself whether or not one boy was content. Nonetheless, he stared down at Ben and spoke again.
“Will this ship do, Ben? Or shall I find us another? We are thieves now, mayhap I shall take another one, if it pleases you?” He was too harsh, too accusing, and he knew he had yelled the last few words from the way Ben stepped back and his small mouth fell open in obvious shock. “I…” James tried to speak now and the words were gone, for he had no explanation to give the boy.
“Master James?” With the obvious deference that one gave a lord or a captain of a vessel, Ben questioned him, caution in the angle of his head though his voice rang rich with hurt. “I am sorry.” James shook his head to clear it, then swallowed, his throat dusty and sore as though he had been screaming for hours. “I need…” That he did not know, or perhaps he did and simply denied it. “Grant me some time alone, Ben.”
Ben frowned, not pleased, but aside from putting out one hand he did nothing as James walked into the darkness below deck and found his way about the strange ship. Where he went hardly mattered, it seemed to be the same as any other ship. The same tiny rooms filled with the same people, none of them where he wanted to be or belonged.
Doubtless the same options would greet him when they overtook le Diable Noir, if he and Ben survived the bloodletting. He knew it would be horrible, Villon’s eyes had promised that, and James was surprised to find that he little pity for those guilty of the mutiny though he did not wish them dead. They must be punished, but this vengeance would be an ugly thing, worse perhaps than the fate of Captain Carter.
James shuddered, but it was weak, his body feeling the lack of sleep now, the constant, tense excitement of the day sapping his strength all at once now that he had no eyes upon him. Finding a small room filled with a few barrels and little else, James slipped inside of it and fell against the side, sliding to the floor. He let his eyes close and propped his arms upon his bent knees, lowering his head until his chin was nearly on his chest. Then he slowly exhaled.
His body ached in places that had not ached in months, but he ignored it, pushing aside as well the rapid pulse of his heart. “Go to Mirena’s cabin.” The harshly voiced order did not even lift his chin from his chest, though in another age, James could easily imagine himself rising to his feet for the walk back to the small room. Not hurriedly, but his stumbling feet would have followed the command without question even as his body and mind struggled to hold them back. That the rough whisper did nothing to him now made him crack his lips apart and wet their dryness with his tongue.
He must have been sleeping. How strange. But he did not let his mind dwell on it for long. Already the wisps of dreams were leaving him; slicing through the clouds like a thinrapier.
“No.” A simple word indeed, and like a great bird flying from his chest, allowing him to breathe for a moment before it returned. But he laughed silently, shaking like a crying woman for some time without making a sound, knowing well the look of surprise his single word would produce on the face of the man who had followed him here.
No, that was wrong, for it was he who had done the following, to end up back on a ship with Jamaica behind him and unknown dangers before him. James cast his aching eyes over the filthy walls of the cramped section of the hold where he sat crouched, where he had beensent, and did not turn to look at the man filling the doorway.
“It is not good here, James.” René decided to speak again, in a lower voice as if attempting to seem a rational man. A few words only would not banish this day from James’ mind, and he did not acknowledge René by so much as a glance. It was foolishness to keep his eyes from a madman, but had not the events of the day proved them both lunatics? He licked his lips once more as René continued to talk, rare speech from René Villon with a rarer quietness was not something to be missed. “Come to the cabin, James.”
The ancient invitation to René’s cabin had held no low note of softness; there had been just Marechal and strange leers that only now brought him to blushes to realize their meaning. “No, René.” He doubted very much that René realized his order had descended to a request, certain it was only an affect of the blow to the head the other man had taken that it had happened at all. It changed many men, it was said, left them nothing more than hollowed out figures with babbling speech, or turned others into frenzied patients of Bethlehem. Though he was not screaming with lunacy, James could still recall the hard push of his cold body against his lap, the outrageous claim of ownership as icy hands had gripped him. Whenever he had let his mind and body remember their first joining, he had not thought to be grateful for the probe of fingers and the warm feel of a man’s hand between his legs, offering him pleasure that he had not realized could be so easily denied.
René’s gait might have steadied in the hours since they had set out from Port Royal, and he might seem as poor as the poorest of Mirena’s crew in his borrowed clothing, but he could have been the same man who had begged James to accompany him while still wrapped around his body in Sir Marvell’s house, as though the acts of today had never occurred. Watching James now that he had recovered, perhaps even stepping inside from the doorway, hiding his black humour and seeking to cozen him as though he were a gullible maid.
“Do not speak to me, Villon.” James realized his shoulders were curved tightly over his body but would not ease the ache in his back or arse, as the hard wood grew harder with his stillness. But he would not have his thoughts aired and brushed aside now, when he had been claimed and touched like nothing but a whore, and then told to leave and called a fool, onlyL’Aranha seeming to see him at all once aboard this ship. Now he was trapped here, feeling the tightness of the walls closing in on him and the rolling of the sea.
“You…blame me for your being here.” So sudden and so close that James was tricked into looking up, blinking to see some colour had returned to René’s white skin. So much of it open to his sight now that he studied it, aware that he had never been allowed such liberties befor
e. Hints of bruises still sickened him and he could not hide it, and knew René saw it for his slender brows drew together, and one hand reached for his chest, to where his chain had been before it had been taken from him. His hand fell limply to his side a moment later, and then René tossed his head, his hair falling behind him. “I told you to leave.”
“I know it well,” James narrowed his eyes as he said it, uncaring of the anger in his voice or the fact that he had spoken so quickly as to almost silence René. “And I did not heed you.” That fact no longer startled him, though confusion still made his mind spin. He had challenged and his challenge had gone unanswered or unnoticed, for he yet breathed. But he had not liked Jamaica, or his employer, and neither had Ben. Maybe this had only been the escape offered for the moment, he told himself, painfully, maybe he would have taken another if he had been offered it.
René’s eyes widened, and James thought that this challenge at least had not gone unmarked, but René did not reach for the knife tucked into the side of his belt that the lady had no doubt given him, or leap onto him as he had done that morning.
“You wish to be at sea?” The other man was astonished, and James coughed a laugh, but René was not finished, approaching him slowly with whispered steps. “Why?” “I find it freeing,” James lied and was ashamed that over this his lips and tongue did not stumble. His legs cramped and pained him and he shifted them at last, moving so that his arms no longer rested atop his knees and his legs were nearly flat upon the ground for one moment before he bent them again. Then he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, cursing softly. “Far away from the laws of King and Church, is that not where you would be?”
“You should not be here.” The hard voice broke through his dark thoughts, making shapes move behind his eyes, memories, or Villon moving nearer to him, and he quivered at the knot in his belly at the thought. René was forever telling him where he did not belong, and James stiffened, recognizing the truth of his awkwardness that even Villon should see it. He belonged nowhere, had no country now, at least none that would claim him should they know him.