“We will need a surgeon,” Striker said.
“I do not wish to be a surgeon,” Gaston said.
“But if you have the skills, and so few do, how can you deny your fellow buccaneers?”
Gaston squatted in front of Striker and stared into his bleary eyes. “It is very easy. You just say no.”
Striker waved him off. “When the four of us get a ship. You get to be surgeon. Pete will be quartermaster.” He looked at me. “I don’t know what we’ll do with Will. He doesn’t know much about sailing. We need the Bard, God damn it.”
“Hold, hold,” I said. “What do you mean, when the four of us get a ship?”
He shrugged. “I have enough money to buy a ship and outfit her, but not by much. It would be better to spread the cost and risk between more people. That way everyone doesn’t end up in debt when she sinks or there are no prizes.”
“I see your point. How much do ships cost?”
“Four to five hundred pounds.”
I was surprised, as I had thought they cost more. In all, the idea appealed to me, but it was not my decision alone. I regarded Gaston.
He shrugged. “I have nothing against purchasing a ship.” He appeared thoughtful as he packed his surgeon’s kit away. “I have the funds; it is not something a man like me does. Yet with Striker as captain, we could attract enough men to sail.”
“Aye,” Striker said. “Men like me.”
“Why is that?” I teased.
He frowned, not out of umbrage, but due to being so intoxicated he considered the question bona fide.
I patted his head. “Nay, I jest.”
“I would ask why you seem to favor me,” Striker said.
I gave this due consideration, and decided a shorter response would be better, and it encompassed all that need be said, anyway. “You are a good man, in my book anyway.”
He nodded somberly. “I am honored.”
“As well you should be.”
This time he knew I jested; and he smiled and leaned his head back on the cistern.
“Will you be joining us inside?” I asked. “Or will you sleep out here?”
Striker poked Pete’s shoulder a few times. The man did not move.
“Out here.” Striker shrugged and pulled a pistol. He flopped sideways, so he lay partially on Pete with the pistol in hand. It did not appear comfortable, but he was snoring before we finished cleaning ourselves and extinguished the lamps to retire inside.
In the front room, Cudro and his cronies occupied a large part of the floor behind the desk. They were playing cards and trying dutifully to keep their comrade awake. Davey and Julio had another corner and were sprawled in their sleep. There was little room left, with the exception of the middle or the doorways. This appealed to neither of us. We eyed the back room speculatively, and Gaston moved the chairs from about the table and hefted one end of it. I regarded him curiously, and he indicated I should take the other end. I did so, and followed his lead to move the table to the wall. Then he climbed under it. I followed suit.
“Are you attempting to insure that they wake us for breakfast, or should I find a cloth and we can make a small house?” I asked. “Did you do that as a child?”
“You were allowed to make houses with the dining furniture?” he asked incredulously.
“In my room, but nowhere else.”
“I can scarce imagine that,” he sighed. “You can put out the lamp.”
I regarded the lamp and then turned to face him again. “There are things we should discuss.”
He shook his head. He appeared exhausted as he arranged weapons and our bags. “We should sleep. We will both be here in the morning. Now put the lantern out and lie with me.”
I realized there was little I could refuse him on. I did as he bade, and he pulled me to him, to rest with my head on his shoulder. As I have never been comfortable sleeping in that manner, with my arm under my person, I squirmed about until my back was to him but my head was nestled on his upper arm.
I lay there a while and considered the events of the past few hours, specifically between him and me, as the rest were not things I would lose sleep over. Where were we now, and what would I discuss with him on the morrow? Did I trust him not to wound me again? My resolution to protect myself was so much dust in the wind. As I gave it all great thought with an exhausted and beer-addled mind, I came to realize that I would rather risk injury than deny myself this. I was home; and I was, for the moment, content.
Sometime in the morning, at least I guessed it was morning as it was not dark but not fully light either, I woke to a gentle rapping on the table leg. Beside me, I could feel Gaston’s body tense. Clutching a pistol, I looked toward our feet and saw one of Cudro’s men regarding us with anxious exhaustion, or perhaps exhausted anxiety.
“Benjo’s eyes, they be all right now. He sleep?” the man asked.
With an incoherent groan of annoyance, Gaston rolled from under the table and followed the man into the other room. I crawled out and made my way into the yard to the latrine. Once finished, I emerged to find my matelot waiting.
“He will live,” he grumped and slammed the latrine door. As he relieved himself, I stood in the grey light and looked about. The fires had been started in most of the cookhouses near us, and servants could be seen working in the other yards.
Pete and Striker were still sprawled on the ground where we had left them, but Pete had apparently been startled by the door slamming; and his tousled and bloody head peered over the cistern. I waved. He belched and fingered his bandages curiously. I entered our cookhouse and woke Samuel, and retrieved a couple bottles of water. I handed one to Pete before meeting Gaston at the house’s back door.
Pete was exploring the wrapping and what might lie under it in earnest now.
“Do not touch it,” Gaston snapped. “I put five stitches in your head last night.”
Pete’s hand obediently left his head; and he sat still, looking all the world like a little boy who had been scolded.
“You may want to drink some water,” I suggested quietly, before following Gaston inside. Once there I teased, “With that demeanor, you will never be able to maintain wealthy patients.”
He glared at me over his shoulder before crawling beneath the table. I joined him.
He shook his head, and a small smile finally graced his lips. “Can you envision it, me calling upon the rich to cure gout?”
“As you are dressed and armed now, and even with the Carribe face paint,” I chuckled. “I can see it all as clearly as if I stood in some great drawing room and listened to the matron of the house squeal and the servants rush about for the salts.”
We laughed quietly, until he sobered and sighed. “I think I shall never return to the Old World. I do not know what I would do there. As we have discussed before, I cannot conceive of living within the confines of civilization.”
“Which is that in name only. I understand.” This brought to mind Morgan’s words, and I frowned. “I cannot conceive of returning, either, at the moment; but there is that matter of the title and all hanging over my head, and my life rarely follows the course I think to set for it.”
We regarded one another. In his eyes I beheld my own consternation at the realization that there was the potential for our futures to be quite incompatible.
“Alonso asked me to join him in Panama,” I said. Gaston frowned, and I held up my hand to bid him to hear me out. “I refused, obviously, since I am here and not there. I knew that if I were to accompany him, we would not have lived as we had in Florence, and he would marry and have children, and I would be this curiosity in his life. I want you to know that I would never expect that of you. Even if you were willing to do such a thing, I cannot see being married to some woman for the sole purpose of producing heirs, while you have a room down the hall. And that,” I paused as the ramifications of what I was about to say became clear to me. “If it is a choice between my inheritance and you, I choose you.”
&nbs
p; He hugged his knees and smiled sadly. “I am truly honored, but you are a fool. I will not hold you to it. Think of all the sheep you could herd, Will? And we cannot know what the future will bring.”
His words reminded me of the epiphany I had experienced with Rucker. I did indeed have sheep to herd; yet I could not now bear to think of doing it alone. “Do you judge me insincere?”
“Non, not at all. But who will we be in ten years? We could be dead. Your father could disinherit you. All manner of things could occur. You may experience a change of heart for very excellent reasons.”
I was forced to admit to that possibility. I nodded with heaviness in my spirit.
“I would do the same for you if it were an option,” he said quietly.
I smiled. I wished to embrace him but I was unsure as to where we stood on such things. “May I hold you?”
He considered this, but did not readily agree. I forced myself not to make much of it.
“I understand. It is not necessary,” I said softly, and began to crawl from under the table. He pounced upon me, bowling me over so that we both struck the far table leg.
By his design, he ended up astride my waist, grinning down at me with his hands on either side of my head. I had not fought him at all.
“It is,” he said.
Never one to shy away from a fight, my manhood found this all terribly interesting and began to think about waking.
I slid my hands tentatively up his arms. “May I?”
He frowned with consternation. “Are you truly so terrified of me?”
“Oui,” I said, perhaps too quickly. This seemed to trouble him even more. “I am not afraid of you so much as I am afraid of… causing…”
He cut me off with a nod, and I was thankful, as I did not know how best to phrase it. I did not want this to end. I did not want him to withdraw. And I did not want to receive another knife prick in my side.
“I have decided that it would be best if I were more aggressive,” he said seriously.
“All right, then,” I said with equal sobriety, even though I was deeply amused. “Do with me as you will.” I could not help a teasing grin on the last.
He sighed and smiled. “I realize that is rather like a blind man leading a horse.”
I laughed, and he joined me in it, until he sank to my chest and let me embrace him. His hands found the straw stubble of my scalp, and he explored the texture with gentle fingers. I felt very peaceful, and we dozed until we heard footsteps.
I roused myself enough to turn my head and spy Theodore at the base of the stairs, regarding us and the room with confused and bleary eyes.
His voice was hoarse. “I have come to the conclusion that there are things I do not need to know, as the questioning of them would tire an already-weary mind.”
“A little too much to drink last night, Theodore?” I teased.
He groaned. “You buccaneers may be familiar with hard drinking, but I am not.”
“Nay, I feel we, or rather they, are not either, unless in port. There was no alcohol on the North Wind and verily we went weeks without, with the exception of the time we were able to purchase a keg from another vessel. As you can well imagine, that did not stay amongst us long. As for myself, this last five months, since before I left England even, I have consumed less alcohol than during any similar period in the last ten years. I have spent most days appallingly sober.”
“All of Port Royal’s residents think we buccaneers do nothing but drink and fuck because that is all they see,” Gaston said, from where he still rested upon my chest.
“I did not mean all the time, because I have dealt with enough sober buccaneers to know better,” Theodore said, and roused himself to go and sit in one of the chairs in the middle of the room. “But when you do drink, you drink to excess.”
“True,” Gaston said.
“Why is my table in the corner?” Theodore asked.
“I thought you were not going to ask that,” I remarked.
He sighed. “I am compelled.”
Gaston slowly raised himself off me and to his knees. “I do not wish to be stepped upon while sleeping.”
Theodore looked around the empty room in a slow but somewhat comical manner. “Did you think that imminent?”
“One never can tell with drunken buccaneers about,” my matelot said with a smile.
“Ah, I see your point,” Theodore said. “Speaking of drunken buccaneers being about, after we break the fast, we should go and have a look at the house the Jews are letting.”
“Ah,” I said. “Aye, I have heard mention that there are Jews in Port Royal.” I tried to remember who had told me. Belfry, perhaps.
“Aye, they came here from Brazil, and then there was another group from London, and another from somewhere else, I forget where. There are at most a mere fifty of them, but they seem content to stay. One of them died recently, and he possessed a large house on the next street over. From my understanding of it, his family is wisely loathe to sell it before all the land on the cay is granted. They wish to make some money on it while it is empty, though. I feel you could let it for a time, until you decide where you wish to live, or if you wish to stay here at all. They do not have a true house built on the plantation yet.”
“I could not imagine residing there, even if they did,” I said. “A lot and house in town would have its uses, but of course if we are soon able to purchase a ship, I suppose it will not matter, as we will have a place to sleep there.”
“You’re going to buy a ship?” Theodore asked.
“Not alone, as I lack the money to do so, but the enterprise has presented itself; a likely candidate has of yet not.” I pulled myself upright and assisted Gaston in returning the table to its rightful position, as Samuel was standing in the doorway with a kettle and looking rather vexed. “What became of Ella?” I asked.
“I moved her on to another who felt he had more use for her than I,” Theodore said with a tired sigh. “I do not regret it.” He regarded Gaston and me with renewed speculation, as we sat in chairs at the table and helped ourselves to the hot chocolate. “Marsdale, may I ask a question of a personal nature as your solicitor and agent?”
“It is simply Will now, amongst the Brethren. And you may ask anything.”
“Will, then. Are you two matelots?”
“Oh!” I chuckled. I remembered that we had not been, or at least not named it such, when last we saw Theodore. “Aye.”
“And so if something were to befall you?”
“He is my heir, aye.”
Gaston appeared thoughtful as he rubbed his temple and sipped chocolate. I raised a questioning brow. He shook his head and sighed. “I realize I must make similar arrangements, though the majority of my assets are on Île de la Tortue. Still, I have some money here.”
Theodore seemed to be in deep reverie as he studied his cup. As I still harbored fear of condemnation from amongst those not of the Brethren regarding such matters, I began to feel he had concerns regarding our relationship. Then he surprised me; and I learned once again that I should not judge another based on my own anticipations.
“I need a wife,” Theodore said sadly. “Not so much for copulation, though assuredly that would be of interest, but for solace and companionship; and God knows I need someone to keep the house and myself.”
“Can you not send for one?” I asked. “Surely you know families in England who could suggest a suitable woman.”
He shook his head. “Aye, I do. But I must confess a certain romantic inclination in such regards, and I have little interest in wedding a woman I have not laid eyes upon or conversed with.”
“Theodore, I find that perfectly understandable,” I assured him; and then I smiled as I thought of the last matchmaking venture I had witnessed. He eyed me as if I might have found humor in him. “Nay, um...” I stood and peered over him into the front room, where I could see Davey and Julio still deeply in the thralls of slumber. “Let me tell you how Davey got his matelot.
” I indicated the couple, and Theodore nodded with interest. Gaston was smiling now, and we quickly related the tale. Theodore was greatly amused. “If you wish, we could charge Pete with the task.”
“Nay, thank you, nay,” Theodore said quickly, with a laugh.
“Probably for the best, as I doubt he has acquaintance with any women in town, much less anywhere else.”
Samuel entered with two heaping platters of pork chops, bacon, and eggs, and was immediately followed by Pete and Striker. He set the food upon the table and regarded us, or rather the spaces in front of us, quizzically. With a heavy sigh, he went to fetch plates and flatware from the sideboard. I wondered how long they had been without Ella.
Then a graver matter occurred to me. “Can any of us cook in a reasonable fashion, beyond the obvious fish upon a stick or making boucan? We’re talking of letting a house; and I fear that without the constant supervision of an individual versed in the arts of cooking and cleaning, we will shortly be living in a den with bones heaped upon the walls, because we forgot there are no sharks about to clean up after us when we fling things.”
The others were amused, with the exception of Pete, who seemed to possess both an aching head and a serious regard for the topic.
“Dahgs,” he said.
Striker patted him gently on the shoulder. “They cannot cook or be sent to the market or refill lanterns with oil.”
“I will place inquiries,” Theodore said, and then frowned. “How many of you will be dwelling there?”
“At least six, I would imagine,” I said. “Possibly more, as the need arises; but they would be billeted as they are now.” I smiled.
“That is lovely,” he sighed. “I would suggest purchasing at least two hearty slaves of a congenial nature, if they can be found.”
“WhoCanCook,” Pete added around a mouthful of pork chop.
“You may be forced to take what you can get, and I would place priority on the congenial nature,” Theodore replied grimly.
Pete frowned and looked to his matelot for explanation.
“He thinks we may be difficult to live with,” Striker said with a chuckle.
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