We anchored in the middle of the small bay and, leaving a few men aboard, rowed ashore. Once there, the six men outside our cabal ran off to foolishly spend what money they had, despite Striker’s admonitions that it would be best if they bought a keg and returned to the ship. The eleven members of our cabal chose to buy a hogshead of wine and roll it to the house.
I reminded myself that it was my, or rather our, house, but I did not feel it to be so. I felt I would always view it as Theodore’s, especially since I had not laid eyes on it since it came into our possession.
“So how many of you are dwelling at the house?” I asked them.
Striker stopped and turned to address Gaston and me with a guilty mien. “About… your house,” he sighed.
Pete snorted and clapped him roughly on the shoulder before awarding us a jaunty grin and saying, “WeGotDahgs.”
The others were laughing, though some appeared as sheepish as Striker: especially Dickey, who appeared mortified.
Striker added, “We did not secure a housekeeper.”
I grimaced as I began to understand. The fairly tidy members of our cabal – Liam, Otter, Cudro, the Bard, Julio and Davey – had all spent the autumn either at Negril or on the ship, with only brief visits to Port Royal. And Dickey and Belfry had acquired a shop and lived there. This meant that the house had been occupied by Striker and Pete, and any other man they thought might need a place to sleep. I was sure there had been a great deal of revelry. I was equally sure no one had cleaned.
Dickey spoke earnestly. “We did try to locate a housekeeper, but there were none to be had. It is said that some of the ships sailing this year should bring bondswomen, though.”
My imagination ran rampant. Gaston was a pillar of controlled anger at my side.
“Does it still stand?” I asked stoically.
There were nods all around.
“The holes in the walls not be that big,” Davey scoffed.
At my look, Pete snapped, “We’AdTaShootTheRats. NowWeGotDahgs. NowNoRats An’LessRoaches.”
“I am sure that has been a marked improvement,” I said.
“How many dogs?” Gaston asked quietly, with sincere interest and no rancor.
Pete brightened at this and held up four fingers. “An’TheBitchJust Birthed.”
“Puppies?” Gaston asked with a small smile.
“Aye, SixO’Em.” Pete beamed. “ComeOn. SheBeGoodWithMe.”
He led a now-eager Gaston toward the house.
I addressed Striker as we followed with the rest in tow. “You will, of course, compensate us for any cleaning and repair.”
“Aye, aye,” he sighed. “I am truly sorry, Will. We live like beasts when left alone and not on a ship.”
Two dogs greeted us at the door; or rather, they assessed our worthiness to enter. I had seen a number of the dogs the Brethren used to hunt cattle before, but never at close range. They had once been Spanish mastiffs, and they still maintained the size, massive head, and short coat of their ancestors; but they had been running feral about Hispaniola for nearly a century. The ones greeting us were male. One was black, and I judged him to weigh as much as a man, if not more. His brindle-brown companion was almost as imposing.
The house was indeed the disaster I had envisioned. The dining table had been moved into the front room and positioned in the center with stools and chairs all about, very much like a tavern. The dogs had been successful in disposing of the edible debris, but they could do little for bottles, steins, broken glass, candle tallow, and anything else drunken buccaneers discarded. There were a number of bullet holes all about the bottom of the walls. One enterprising rat had apparently climbed a bookcase, though, as there were holes here and there at the height of the shelves – until the matter had been ended at the top, where there was a good deal of dried blood. Everything smelled of urine: so much so that I was relieved not to see excrement.
“Most beasts know not to piss where they sleep,” I noted to Striker.
“The dogs do,” he said defensively.
“Only when the walls have been marked by men first, and they feel they must cover the stench.” I pointed at one stain near the ceiling that would have required a horse-sized dog to accomplish.
“We will see to it,” he sighed. “All of it.”
“We’ll be sleepin’ on the ship then,” Liam said.
“We’ll be sleeping at the shop tonight,” the Bard chuckled.
I supposed I should check the rooms upstairs, though I thought it likely that even if they did not smell as the downstairs did, we would be better served on the Queen. Yet I dearly wanted some more days of privacy before we sailed. I found I was to be thwarted: the sleeping chambers were somewhat better than the downstairs – less garbage and no piss – but both held a good deal of gear.
“Pete and I have the one, some of the other men the other,” Striker said from the bottom of the stairs. “I will have to locate the other men. We’ll clean it out by tonight.”
“Nay,” I sighed. “Do not make haste about it. Gaston and I will sleep on the ship.”
With that, I decided to ignore further inspection of the house and looked about for my matelot. I found him in the back room. Theodore’s massive old desk was there. It had been shoved into the corner, such that the overhang of the top and the knee space beneath formed a den. Pete and Gaston were lying on the floor near the opening, their weapons discarded atop the wooden expanse. All sign they might be dangerous men had fled them, as they lay there wearing happy smiles whilst playing with round waddling puppies. Gaston waved me over, and I shed my belt and baldric to join them.
He proffered a lazily wiggling black loaf with barely opened eyes and said, “Smell.”
I hugged the little bundle to me, and drank in the milky smell of innocence.
The bitch was a huge golden brindle animal, nearly as big as the black male at the door. At my inclusion in the cuddling of her young, she emerged fully from the den to examine me. Though I had no plan to ever harm her pups, I hoped the one I held would not experience any duress beyond my control whilst in my care, as his mother’s head was larger than mine, with jaws that could surely encompass my face. I did not recoil from her sniffing, though, and thus she judged me acceptable.
Gaston grinned at me past the puppy lying on his chest, and I smiled back. He seemed at peace with the world in a way I had not witnessed before. I wondered if we could take puppies on the ship.
The tableau was broken by Liam. “How many there be? Six? Ya should pick tha biggest two an’ drown tha rest.”
Pete sat and glared, puppy held protectively in his lap. Beside him, the bitch growled, at Liam and not the Golden One. Gaston’s look would have scared the Devil.
“NoOneTouches’Em,” Pete rumbled.
Liam took a step back. “Aye. But… Iffn’ ya do nothin’, they’ll just breed like rabbits an’ the house, Hell, the whole town’ll be overrun with ‘em.”
I sighed. He was correct, and I was familiar with culling packs of hunting hounds; but I was never the one who needed to do it, and holding the bundle I now did I could not see how anyone could.
“Don’Care,” Pete spat.
“We will take them to Negril when we return,” Gaston said. “There are wild cattle there, though they are sparse. And it is easy enough to geld the males.”
“Aye,” Pete said with a pout.
“May as well take them with us now,” Cudro said calmly from the doorway. “To Cow Island. The four dogs are hunters.”
Gaston nodded. “The puppies can be moved, though their dam will like it little. I will not abandon them there, though.”
“It was not my suggestion,” Cudro added quickly. “We could establish a pack at Negril after.”
“I don’t want dogs on my ship,” the Bard said from the front room. “I know they’re cattle dogs, but they will shit like any other.”
Striker gave a rueful chuckle, “As if we have a podium to preach from.”
“Sp
eak for yourself,” the Bard snorted. “Fine, I see I’ll not win this, but someone best be cleaning up after them.”
“We will,” I assured him.
The Bard’s head poked around the corner and he eyed me with speculation. Upon spying the puppy I held, he snorted and rolled his eyes.
The others at last retreated to discuss who would go out and acquire victuals. Pete, Gaston, and I stayed. The sun was setting and the room was filling with shadows. The bitch decided all had experienced enough excitement for one day, and rolled two puppies back behind the desk before retrieving the ones we held by the scruffs of their necks. I scooted over and deposited mine at the entrance to her den before she felt the need to relieve me of it. She shouldered me aside with Gaston’s puppy in her mouth. I retreated to my matelot’s side, and the three of us listened to the puppies mewl as they realized they were about to be fed.
“TharBeTimes IWishIBeADahg,” Pete said quietly. He appeared as melancholy as he sounded. “ButThenIThink ItBeGood Ta’AveGunsAn’ Knives.”
“Aye,” I breathed. “Sometimes one needs a great many teeth.”
“Don’KnowWhy IWeren’tDrowned. Weren’tWanted.”
I heard Gaston’s long slow breath. I remembered his onetime comment that due to the poorness of his breeding, in that both of his parents were in some way mad, he should have been drowned at birth.
“I would imagine you were the pick of the litter,” I said gently to Pete. “The strongest win out and survive. I, on the other hand, was merely the only male, and that was my sole value.”
“YeComeFromALong LineADahgsWith BigTeethTho.”
I chuckled. “Aye. Wolves really. Bred and raised as one.”
“But you are not a wolf,” Gaston said. “You are a centaur, and we have a great many weapons with which to kill wolves and protect sheep and puppies.” He stood. “I wish to walk.”
“Do you wish for company?” I asked.
“Oui,” he said softly.
“WhatBeASinTar?”
“A mythical creature, half man and half horse,” I told Pete while standing to follow my matelot.
“HorseOnThaBottom?”
“Aye,” I chuckled as I tried to envision the opposite.
“IBeAWolf.”
“Aye, you are. You are more a wolf than any with a pedigree a league long.”
Pete snorted with amusement, and we left him alone listening to the feeding puppies. We slipped out the back and up the side alley to the street. When I fell into step beside him, I found Gaston’s face composed into an emotionless mask and his eyes distant.
“How are we?” I asked.
“I am in control.”
“I see that.”
He sighed. “Liam distressed me. And the state of the house. And all of this.” He indicated the busy avenue we walked.
“I know.” I took his hand. “And you are doing well. I merely wish to know if we should withdraw and allow the Horse to recover.”
He did not reply and we continued to walk.
“I want a den,” he finally muttered as we reached New Street. “And a mother to watch over me.” His tone was one of curious contemplation, as if he found both interest and amusement in his observation.
I grinned. “I just had the most disturbing vision of that bitch carrying you about by your head.”
He smiled and sighed. “I do not have an urge to suckle.”
I threw my arm across his shoulders. “My love, I understand, truly. I would give you all you missed in your childhood if I could.”
“I know. I will be well pleased tonight with a private place and you to hold me.”
“Then let us find one.”
The house would not do, neither would the ship if privacy were our aim. I had seen little to welcome me on the outside of any of the inns, and I felt the insides would be worse. I only knew of one man in town with a house who might welcome us.
“Let us see if Theodore has a guest room for the night.”
Gaston was not overly pleased at this suggestion, but he acquiesced relatively quickly, and we turned up New Street. I soon spotted Theodore’s shingle, well lit by a lantern, as we approached the intersection with High Street. The house was truly twice the size of his last one, at least in the vertical dimension. This dwelling was no more than ten feet wider than the last, but it was a solid three stories with a gabled fourth. Warm and inviting light spilled from the lower windows into the twilight.
We knocked, and a dignified Negress answered. I was not sure if she spoke English, but I gave our names and she nodded cordially and let us into a small foyer before withdrawing to announce us.
Theodore was embracing us mere seconds later. He ushered us into his office, which was separated from the entrance hall by a set of double doors. Rachel, or rather Mistress Theodore, peered at us from a second doorway leading into a back room. Seeing who we were, she nodded politely and left.
“I am so very pleased to see both of you,” Theodore said, as we sat about his new desk, a massive teak piece that dwarfed his former dining table.
“We just arrived this evening,” I said.
“Alone?”
“Nay, with our shipmates. They are at the house.”
He grimaced. “I have seen the house.”
“Striker promises to compensate us for the damages,” I said.
“Where will you stay until repairs… and cleaning, can be accomplished?”
“I am glad you asked.” I grinned. “I hate to trouble you, but might you have a guest room we may avail ourselves of for the night?”
He laughed. “I wondered why you came to me so soon. Of course. You are very welcome, and I will not hear of your staying elsewhere until your house can be made suitable.”
“Thank you. It will not be for long. We plan to sail before the Twelveday.”
“So soon?” he asked with some small alarm. “I heard Morgan planned to sail late in January at the earliest, after the cane harvest.”
“We wish to provision first,” I said. “Do you have need of me?”
He sighed, but Mistress Theodore and the Negress entered before he could speak. They bore trays of wine, cheese, biscuits, and fruit. We stood. My stomach growled at the smell of food.
Theodore chuckled. “You can join us for dinner as well.”
“Thank you. Mistress Theodore, you look well,” I told her in all sincerity.
She looked truly healthy, though a touch heavy: as pregnant women are often wont to do even before their bellies truly show. Beyond her being with child, I thought perhaps some of her radiance was due to the lovely yellow of her dress. Before, I had only seen her in the plain and demure couture of the Jews, who rival the Protestants in drabness in the name of morality or some such rubbish.
“Thank you, Lord Marsdale.” Her eyes flicked over Gaston and me. “And you two look as you usually do, but it is good to know you are well.”
“I have asked them to be our guests until their house can be made suitable,” Theodore said.
She awarded him the look that ladies give their husbands to say there will be later discussion about his judgment. Then she turned to the Negress. “Hannah, we will need a bath set in the guest room.”
The woman frowned curiously.
“Lord Marsdale is fond of bathing,” Mistress Theodore explained with a shrug.
The Negress nodded and regarded us with compressed lips and disapproving eyes, before leaving the room with decorous steps. I thought it likely she and Mistress Theodore got on quite well.
“Do you still have Sam?” I asked them in her wake.
“Who do you think will haul the water upstairs?” Mistress Theodore asked. She quickly added, “And you can’t have him to clean your house.”
“That was not the intent of my inquiry,” I said pleasantly.
“I would suggest acquiring a housekeeper,” she said. “Those two cannot be left alone, not and live like men.”
I did not need to ask which two she meant. “We have not
ed that.”
She smiled. “And find one that cooks pies. Pete’s over here every other day.”
“You have befriended him,” I said.
“I suppose some would consider that a blessing.” She shook her head with a sigh. “And I do, truly, but he’s a big child and he’s not mine,” she said in a softer tone.
“I understand. We will be at sea soon. And either before or after, we will do all that we are able to procure a housekeeper who can cook.”
She nodded curtly, apparently pleased she need chide me no more on the matter, and turned to her husband. “So they will join us for dinner as well?”
“Please,” he smiled.
She smiled at her husband in a truly pleasant manner. She paused in the door as she left, and awarded me a serious look. “My bed linens are new. I would appreciate them not being soiled unduly.”
I nodded with ill-disguised horror. Memories of concealing my adolescent nighttime dissipation from the upstairs maids returned to me and I wondered if we should sleep on the floor. Gaston appeared as appalled as I, and I gathered he was remembering his own childhood fear of servants.
We sat, and Theodore poured wine and awarded us an apologetic shrug. “She is a forthright woman.”
Gaston wore a mask of incredulity.
I chuckled. “Aye, but she is honest, and you are pleased to be married to her.”
Theodore looked to the doorway where she had exited and smiled warmly. “Aye. She can be very… companionable.” He seemed a little embarrassed at this admission and sipped his wine quickly.
“I am pleased you are happy,” I said. “As you are the one married to her, which is all that matters.”
“Aye.” He gave another nervous glance to the back doorway and then whispered. “Do not let her know I told you about the child, please. She feels the need to be very private about the matter.”
Gaston appeared concerned. “Does she have a good midwife? Most physicians are useless in this matter.”
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