The Blue Diamond (The Razor's Edge Book 1)

by P. S. Bartlett

  “What goes on here?” Phineas asked, emerging from his quarters into the sunlight.

  “Mister Boston is joining your crew, and Mister…”

  “Hale, Captain. Tobias Hale.”

  “Mister Hale here will be coming back with me. It seems we have a situation between Mister Boston and a new crewman. Boston is an exceptional carpenter. And now he’s yours.”

  “Welcome aboard, Mister Boston. It appears you’re our new carpenter,” Phineas said. “Tobias, we’ll see you in Port Royal.”

  “And I suppose I have no say at all in any of this?” Tommy asked, still cross-armed and now straight-backed, his cheeks flushed with anger.

  “The easy answer to that question is “no”. You’re making this much more than it is. Besides, it’s for your own good.” Keara turned and nodded at Phineas, taking her leave, but not before Tommy’s stubborn and foolish nature overtook him, yet again.

  “My own good is right. Who needs that red-haired slut, anyway?” he mumbled, boring a hole in Keara’s back as she walked away, which caused her to pause.

  “I won’t ask you to repeat yourself, because I don’t have time to play at words with you, Mister Boston. I’m certain of what I heard. Please allow me to educate you, since you obviously wouldn’t know a slut if you fell in one,” Keara exclaimed, drawing a small group of sailors to their squabble.

  “I simply meant…”

  “We both know what you meant. Don’t we?” Keara asked with a smirk. “Gentlemen, you all know Madame Miranda Shepard, am I correct?” Keara shouted at the increasing crowd as they flocked like birds to bread crumbs. “You are all privy to Miranda’s charms, am I right?”

  The crewman erupted in a loud, albeit lighthearted, exchange of chuckles and bursts of hoots and whistles. Then, the extended palm of Keara’s hand stifled them like loyal dogs as she swept it past them. “I ask you all this; is there a man or boy among you who would, or shall I say could, even think of laying claim to her?” She received a pointed silence with dropped heads, save for the glances of a few who were bold enough to peek up from their lowered brows. Not a single audible sound crossed the air but that of the squawking seagulls.

  “Now, my fine gentlemen, is there anyone who’s had the pleasure of knowing the lovely Miranda Shepard who’d have the stones to even think of calling her a slut?” Keara asked. She planted her hands on her hips, passing by each man in the circle she now found herself in with Tommy, as he stood with his previously broad chest now seemingly emptied of air…and pride.

  “You?” she asked a young seaman, who swiped the cap from his head and clutched it tightly in his hands whilst lowering his eyes. “Nay, Cap’n. Madame Shepard is a woman of many charms, but…nay.”

  “Anyone?” she continued to interrogate them one by one until, finally, she’d grown tired of this exercise in futility, knowing full well there wasn’t a man aboard either vessel who’d stake a claim or utter a word of disrespect against Miranda. She also held their purse strings, and even if she’d had them all to play with at one time or another, they knew who the real sluts were in the game, and they were more than grateful for the role.

  “Really, Captain, is all of this necessary? I believe we have a mission to attend,” said Phineas at her side.

  “I’ll show you why this is necessary. You call yourself a Captain?” she hissed under her breath. She continued to address the men.

  “You all know Mister Boston here, I’m sure. Well, apparently, he needs some help understanding how we do things. It seems that Mister Boston believes it’s his right to lay claim on Miranda, and then, when spurned, malign her fine reputation by calling her out as a slut, simply because she no longer requests the pleasure of his company.”

  A low, rumbling growl grew amongst them, and their faces turned from embarrassed, and even amused, to ugly and angry. Tommy could feel the holes burning through his skin from their icy stares and was frozen, unable to move and incapable of speech but for a few garbled noises of deep concern for the preservation of his health and well-being.

  “I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry. You’re right. I was wrong to make such a statement against her, and I take it back,” Tommy finally squealed as if he were a child who’d been caught in some bad behavior, and was about to face the switch.

  “According to the code, your apology doesn’t mean shit. Article number five is very specific in that it states having complete respect for your mates, under pain of punishment by either the cat or marooning, depending on the level of the offense as deemed by your captain. I’d be completely within my rights, as said captain, to have you suffer either. Unless, of course, I choose mercy and give you quarter. Since you’ve been with us such a short time, and although I rarely accept ignorance as innocence, I’ll spare you the punishment…upon the condition that you stand before these men and proclaim that you are, in fact, an ignorant pig who, from this day forth, will respect all of your mates, male or female, and that you, Mister Boston, are, in fact, an ass,” Keara shouted, as she sauntered around him whilst she spoke.

  Tommy’s jaw clenched and his hair began to stick against his brow with salty droplets of humiliation. His fingers flexed and then curled into fists so tight his hands turned white from the wrist forward, in stark contrast to his ruddy forearms. His chin almost touched his heaving chest, and he was steaming with anger, yet he knew it was better to play the fool than the dead man.

  Tommy slowly raised his eyes from the boards and swallowed hard, obviously searching for the self-esteem that was sucked out of him minutes before. “I offer my apology for my most egregious remark against the honor of Miss…of Madame Miranda Shepard.” His speech was soft and low, his eyes encircled in red bands as they peered toward the horizon.

  Keara leaned back against the starboard railing, removed her hat, and fanned herself with it, mocking him. “Seriously, Mister Boston, we don’t have all day. Just say it, and let’s all move on, shall we?”

  “I’m sorry! I’m a stupid fucking ass and an ignorant pig, and if I ever lay eyes on Miranda Shepard again, it will be far too soon.”

  “Aye!” the men shouted, as they again roared with laughter.

  “We’ll see you in Port Royal, Mister Boston. Good day.” Keara nodded and gathered her escorts. “Mister Hale? Rollo?” she called, turning her attention back to the longboat, and departing the Jade with her head held high, heading back across the calm water to the Cutlass to continue plotting Ivory’s rescue.

  “May I speak, Captain?” Rollo asked, leaning forward and back, pulling the oars smoothly through the water as his thick, cocoa forearms swelled and flexed with each stroke.

  “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

  “Article five…Mister Boston was due a harsh beating. Making such an accusation against Madame Miranda should have earned him ten lashes at the very least.”

  “And?”

  “You gave him quarter. I suppose I am only curious as to why you chose to make a fool of him instead.”

  “You would have preferred seeing a man flogged, Rollo?”

  “I do not gain pleasure in the pain of others…unless of course I am the one inflicting it for good reason—such as upon order from my captain.” He smiled.

  “A captain must occasionally show restraint,” Keara stated, as she leaned back and stared off across the water.

  “There are many types of pain, Captain. There is the pain of the cat o’nine tails across the back. As long as there are not too many lashes, a man will heal, but the man has proven himself a man, as well as paid his debt.”

  “I agree that what you say is true, as I’ve seen this more than enough times,” she said, turning her face back to meet his words head on. “But, there is punishment of the spirit,” she continued. “The wounds cannot be seen with the eye, but they are most often as deep and do not heal as quickly. When a man breaks the code, he is punished. What I deem that punishment to be is between me and the man.”

  Rollo smiled and nodded his head. Tobia
s looked up at Keara, and when she met his gaze, his eyes turned down and away. Their oars continued in unison until she was again aboard the Cutlass, and her thoughts had turned to nightfall.

  Chapter Twenty

  Ivory had made several attempts to close her eyes after her evening meal. However, even after half a pitcher of rum, the anxiety of waiting forced the blood through her heart and out to her limbs at such a frantic rate that she gave in and sat on her cot, with her knees pulled up to her chest to hold them still. Although it had been at least an hour since she’d heard the call of “Land, ho!”, she had no way of knowing the exact time. However, she had persuaded Richard to rouse her at precisely three a.m., citing she wanted to be awake very early to prepare herself for her impending trial.

  She knew by the setting sun it was already at least nine, and still no sight or word from Maddox in regards to her destiny. Fortunately, she had taken her fate into her own hands, thanks to the thoughtfulness of Zara. Now facing the reality that she’d been foolish to think otherwise at all, her despair was falling away into her now regrown spirit and fading emotions. Ivory’s ability to live in the moment was a blessing, and it allowed her to see exactly where she was at all times, in sharp detail. There wasn’t a hint of denial that she longed for Maddox and wanted him like no other man alive, but as the truth of their affair focused before her, she sliced at it again and again until it was shredded into strips, symbolizing the act of distancing herself from any attachment to the man. Her renewed self-confidence did not, however, impede her from jumping like a frightened cat when a firm knock came at her door. “Who’s there?”

  A moment later, the door creaked open and Richard slid inside. At last, he’d brought her paper, ink, and a quill. He’d also brought her some as yet unspoiled fruit and fresh water—only water this time. “Evenin’, Cap’n. I brought ye what ye asked fer the other day…finally.”

  “I see that, Richard. Thank you. Was this…your doing? Or someone else’s?”

  “Cap’n Carbonale approved the request, Cap’n Shepard, sayin’ ye may have something you’d like ta’ say ta’ yer mates…yer crew and cousins and such.”

  “Aye, my last words. How kind of him to think of me,” Ivory muttered, as she backed up and sat hard on the cot. “What, no seal?”

  “Cap’n Carbonale said ta’ bring it ta’ him, and he’d seal it himself.” Richard lowered his head and folded his hands in front on him.

  “Why so melancholy? Come here, Richard,” Ivory said, reaching out her hand for him. He stepped towards her and tried to inconspicuously swipe a tear away with his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I know someone is waiting. I’m fully aware that wasn’t your knock. Speak quietly.”

  “I told ye I don’t think this is right,” he whispered.

  “Richard, I’m not a trusting woman—I haven’t been since I was about your age. But, I don’t want you to worry about me. Please, if you trust no one else, trust me. You may pout as much as you like when you leave this room, but know in your heart that I will live to see the sun come up on Sunday.”

  Ivory sat and held his scrawny arms just below his shoulders as she spoke, and then she embraced him. “Take me with ye,” he whispered through her hair.

  “I can’t. You know it’s too dangerous.”

  “I can help ye! When we make port tonight, I’ll go ashore and find us a boat. When I come ta’ wake ye, I’ll lead ye to it, and we can escape!”

  “Richard, it’s a long way back to Port Royal in a small boat, and I already have my own plans.”

  “I’m strong and…and we can take turns rowing if I can’t find one with a sail,” he insisted, and his voice grew louder.

  “Hush, now. I won’t have you getting yourself killed for me. You stay put, and let me do what I do best.” Richard twisted his lips to the side and, with a quizzical brow, quietly asked, “What exactly is it that ye do best, Cap’n? It seems ye do just about everythin’ well.”

  Ivory chuckled and said, “Go on, now. Wake me at three, and then…don’t look back.”

  Richard reluctantly nodded, shuffled to the door, and gave his usual signal of three knocks to leave the room. Ivory took a long drink of water and devoured the fruit, knowing she’d need every bit of strength she could swallow. Again, she curled into a ball, wrapping her arms around her knees and cupping her elbows. The night sky was a shade of blue so dark it was but a shadow away from the color of wet coal. She sat up and rested her hands on the window sill and poked her head out to find only a sliver of the moon, and the stars so thick and bright they cast a twinkling blanket over the calm, dark water below.

  “I have to get some sleep,” she mumbled to herself, and she finally lay back on the cot to close her eyes…and wait.

  * * * *

  Master Green made his rounds on deck, as always, at midnight and fell in with the crew as they at last weighed anchor in Nassau. Once the ship was securely docked, he released most of the men into the night and turned his attention to his captain. Upon arriving at Maddox’s quarters, he found the door ajar and Maddox seated in his red velvet chair, with one leg tossed over an arm rest—disheveled and drinking. He held a glass in his right hand, and in his left, Ivory’s pearl handled razor. He rubbed his thumb up and down over the worn grip.

  “Maddox, I thought I would see you on deck as we docked.”

  “You know your position, sir. You certainly don’t require my hand to lead you, and you never have,” Maddox answered and tucked the razor in his belt.

  “What are you doing? You are obviously troubled,” Green spoke as he poured himself a glass and took the seat opposite Maddox.

  “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m simply having a drink,” Maddox replied, raising his glass.

  “Maddox, this is all folly… and what is all of this drinking? I’ve resisted being completely honest with you out of respect, but…”

  “But now you’ve come on the eve of my evil deed to insist I stop this nonsense and release Ivory, correct?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Why would I do that?” Maddox asked, pulling his numb leg back over the arm rest with his left hand, along with a grimace and a grunt. Green stayed silent but conveyed his reply with his troubled expression, which dissolved into disbelief.

  “In the years we’ve been together, I have earned your trust, yes?”

  Maddox nodded, but his huffs and sighs made it obvious he was losing his patience with Green. He rubbed the blood back into his leg and tried to stand, which, after the first bottle of rum, was no easy task on its own. “Yes, yes, yes. Alphonse, take the night off will you? The ship is secure, and we’ve had no sign of those irritating cousins of hers. If word has reached them of our plan, it will be too late before they reach Nassau, anyway.”

  “In case this fact has escaped you, Mister O’Shea did not board ship when we set sail from Kingston.”

  “O’Shea…O’Shea…are you referring to Sandy?”

  “John O’Shea. Amongst the men, he is called by the name Sandy.”

  “And your point is, sir?” Maddox asked, as he uncorked his second bottle and began to pour.

  “When I saw him last, he was in the company of the red-haired woman—the very well-endowed one. He was quite taken with her.”

  “What red-haired woman? Spit it out, man!” Maddox ordered, and walked back to his seat.

  “Miranda Shepard, cousin of Madame Ivory—the same red-haired woman who sat at your table.”

  Maddox sat down hard and splashed rum from his glass over his hand, causing him to instantly pass it to his other as he shook the liquid onto the floor. “Damn it to hell!” he shouted and then with a hard, firm stare added, “You believe he exposed our plans, then?”

  “I most certainly do. With so many men aboard, and his duties normally carried out below decks for the better part of his time, his absence was easily overlooked. I was certain only this evening, when I checked the log and his name was missing.”

  Maddox again rose to his feet.
“That bilge-sucking little bastard.”

  “I would be willing to wager my shares that he somehow managed to inform Ivory’s crew, and although behind us, I do not for one second doubt their loyalty and intent.”

  “Put a man in the nest. I want an eye on the horizon throughout the night, and at any sign of them, I’m to be informed. Until then, make sure Ivory is secure and get the crew back on board immediately.”

  “Maddox, do you believe that Ivory’s crew would try to attack us in port? To what end? Even her advisors and her quartermaster would surely never take such a risk, knowing their captain is aboard this ship. They would not endanger her life. My assumption is that they will wait until she is brought ashore.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Maddox paced about the room.

  “I will post someone, but there are so many ships coming and going in the dark, it will be nearly impossible to determine which one is the Cutlass. There is barely a moon tonight. I have held back enough men to secure the ship. Get some sleep, and at any sign of them, we will be at the ready.”

  “Sleep? What is that, Alphonse? Since this plot began, I’ve barely slept two hours in total, and those were out of complete exhaustion,” Maddox moaned.

  “They say a guilty conscience finds no rest,” Green said, as he stood to leave.

  “If that were the case, I’d have been awake for the last ten years. However, my conscience is as clear as it has always been.” Maddox turned away from Green. He walked to the window and stared out at the lights of the city.

  “Are you attempting to convince me you are doing the right thing—or yourself?”

  “Right or wrong, it must be done,” Maddox barked.

  “Then, perhaps, there is something else from which your mind cannot hide.”

  “I’m not hiding anything, nor am I attempting to convince anyone. My word is my bond. Yes, Ivory and I shared a bed. It means nothing… and you know nothing.”

  “I know that it has been many years for you, Maddox,” Green said, watching his friend wind up into a full rant as he paced the room.