The Shadow of Nisi Pote

by H C Storrer

  “What boy?” John asked.

  “Why, the one ’oo struck them colors. He were a cabin boy on the Fairy Gull.” Frenchy gulped loudly.

  “Well it is a foul business to surprise merchant sailors. A foul business indeed.” John retorted. “Still, as a pirate, did you feel for the wrong you had done?”

  “I ’adn’t regret it. You run out the nines and fire a volley, why even cutt’n a sailor cross his mi’ll aint so bad. It’s what ye does at the end of the fight. When it’s all over. When you gives men your word, that... that be the worst bit o’ it. You sees, the Cap’n he twern’t afeared of taken them men and gunning them from afar or gutt’n em close. He was afeared of them with loose tongues.”

  ***

  “Mr. Aker ’ere ’as a job. ’Is job is to make sure me crew is safe, an that we ’as sailors a plenty to fund our enterprise.” The Captain stepped over the shattered remains of the Fairy Gull, slippery blood rushing over the deck, shattered bodies littering the boards. He stood erect with his faded tricorn hat beneath his arm, steadying himself against the hilt of his saber. His blond hair stuck to his head in long streaks as the sea breeze brushed the end of his honey-colored beard. “I needs more crew members, but since we is a crew o’ free men, we aint look’n to impress ye swabs into labor. Na, I be ask’n for volunteers.” Pausing his speech, he scratched at a spot under his brown leather eyepatch

  The merchant’s representative was the first to step forward. “I would rather swing from the yardarm than be subject to a vile pirate such as yourself, how dare you, Sir.”

  The Captain, with a flair of indifference, looked at the others on deck. “Ye can follows ’im, there is no shame in it. We’ll cut ya free in them longboats wif plen’y o’ provisions. Or, if ye join me crew, you would ’ave a share of what we takes from the cargo of this ’ere ship an any o’ver ship we encounter.”

  A few sailors, ones who seemed of the roughest cut, slowly stood and one by one made their way to where the heavily armed guards stood watch.

  “What be yer names?” Mr. Akers asked.

  “Tom… Bill? Henry?” the ship’s representative implored. “Not you boys? Don’t you know what it means to take in with pirates? You’ll be hanged, the lot of you.”

  Tom and Bill stood resolute; Henry tucked his head in shame.

  “Is that all, then?” The Captain turned to the others. He looked directly at the cabin boy who couldn’t have been over twelve. “An what’s yer name, lad?”

  “Thomas, Sir, and I’s no pirate!” The boy stood resolute.

  “Well, you ’asn’t the fievin soul, that’s for sure.” Turning himself about, the Captain ordered, “Mr. Akers, take our new swabs to their du’ies. The rest o’ you honest men ought to lower them boats before we sets off the powder an blows this ship to St. Peter’s gate.”

  In a mad dash, the sailors of the Fairy Gull rushed to the long boats, hurriedly sending them over the side and trying as they might to gather a bit of food that hadn’t already been cleared out from the stores by the pirates. Quickly, they worked to lower a few of the wounded, the ship’s surgeon doing his best to calm them.

  ***

  The Priest looked up, grave. “You tell me there was more to this. I can see it in your eyes. There is more to this than you simply blowing up that vessel. What did you do?”

  Frenchy closed his eyes, placed his cup in his lap, and then hung his head. “The Cap’n, ’ee didn’t want them men runnin’ off an tellin’ the world what we’s done. Ya see, if there was no one to tell the tale of the Fairy Gull, then we weren’t pirates.”

  ***

  “Frenchy!” Mr. Aker made his way to the gunner’s deck. “Show these men ’ow to run out the guns.”

  “An what be we shoot’n for?” Frenchy asked.

  “Sparrows. The Cap’n is want’n you to be done wif them sparrows.” Mr. Aker turned on his heels and took the worn steps back up top.

  Frenchy’s face filled with melancholy.

  “How would we shoot sparrows... with shot?” Henry was the first to ask, gripping the beams overhead as the ship rocked in a small swell at speed.

  Before Frenchy could respond, the entire vessel shuddered in the water as an ear-splitting explosion some distance off rippled through the oak.

  “That be the end ‘o the Fairy Gull,” Tom said soberly.

  “That it be,” Frenchy agreed as the ship slowed and started to turn to port.

  From above deck, Mr. Aker’s voice called down below, “Make ready the guns, ye swabs, we ’as sparrows to ’unt.”

  Quickly, Frenchy hobbled forward with his stiff leg. “You there.” Pointing at Bill, then Henry, he said, “Take that tall lad there an load number three.”

  As ordered, the men rushed about, pouring a measure of powder down the muzzle just after the wash man cleared the bore. Running home the cannon ball and setting the fuse, the men stood at attention. “Gun’s at the ready, sir,” Bill barked.

  “Why we ’as our very own royal marines.” The Captain laughed at the last step as he came down. Walking spryly to the gunport, he gripped Henry by his shoulder, his finger aiming for one of the long boats drifting in the calm sea. “I spies me a sparrow, boy, could you ’it ’im at this distance?”

  Henry’s spine stiffened. “I… I—”

  “We wouldn’t shoot on our own!” Tom was indignant.

  “Yur own?” The Captain turned himself about.

  “ ‘Ee just means it’s ’ard—” Frenchy tried his best to stand between the men.

  The Captain would have none of it. Drawing a pistol from his belt, he put the barrel atop Frenchy’s shoulder and pulled the trigger. The flash from the flint was blinding, and Tom collapsed with a hole in his head before the smoke cleared. “That one ’ad a change o’ ’eart. I fink’s ’ee wanted to be wif ’is mates. Now ’ows ’bout you?” The Captain pointed the empty, smoking pistol at Henry.

  “I… I can ’it ’em.” The man swallowed. “Would you like the wa’er line or middle o’ the oars?”

  “Regular o’ marines.” The Captain smiled and then headed back up, stopping just at top of the steps. “Mr. Frenchy.”

  “Aye.”

  “Make sure we ’as no sparrows.”

  “Aye, aye, Cap’n”

  ***

  John raised his head, his lip trembling. “Did you do it?”

  “To me everlast’n shame.” Frenchy nodded. “An’ many more these past few years.”

  “You mentioned the cabin boy?” John asked.

  “ ’Enry, ‘ee weren’t a pirate through an through, may God rest ’is soul. ’Ee ’adn’t the ’eart to fire on ’is ol crew, it twas I what did it. Well, when we were at the last boat, that cabin boy was there, Thomas.” The old sea salt held back a tear, his voice quivering, “ ’Im an ’is mates. Unlike the o’vers ‘ee stood, Thomas didn’t beg. ’Ee stood, chin ’igh. Like a blo’y royal gent ’ee was.”

  “Why tell me all this? What good is it now?” The Priest was exhausted and troubled.

  “ ’Ee is a black-’earted, one-eyed soul, that Cap’n. An after the deaf of me good mate ’Enry, I ’adn’t the ’eart fur fieving anymore. I took this ’ere chart—” Frenchy began to hack and cough again as he produced a bundle of rolled scrolls from inside his shirt. When he had gained his voice, he handed it to the priest. “This ’ere chart tells you when the Jolly Roger is goin’ to be at them ports. The Cap’n, ’ees a man o’ ’abit. He does what works, never leaves a soul to tell the tale o’ ’is black deeds. No men, no women, no children.”

  “The Jolly Roger?” The Priest looked up from the chart.

  “Aye, the most wretched ship o’ them all.” Frenchy’s eyes were wet. “Named for the most evil, darkest, cold-’earted Cap’n o’ them all: Cap’n Nafan Rogers.”

  Jack’s blood instantly froze within his veins.

  “But now they’ll be coming to fetch me as Nathan Rogers, you two faced rat!”

  “Nah, they just finks you might
be Rogers.”

  A long-forgotten conversation between Nathan and William echoed loudly in Jack’s mind, bringing with it every foul deed that his family had suffered at Nathan’s hands. The wounds that he had nurtured for so long, the ones that had been smouldering slowly within him, re-kindled in blistering heat. Even more, he could see himself as that poor cabin boy, standing resolute as Nathan towered over him in triumph.

  Without realizing it, Jack’s grip slackened on his wooden pail, sending the bucket skittering off the ceiling and over the edge with a cacophonous crash in front of the priest’s office door.

  Chapter 19

  “I will be gone most of the day,” the Good Father spoke as he wrapped his heavy coat about him. It was mid spring, but as usual, some days were cooler than others.

  “If I may speak boldly, where would you be going, Your Excellency?” Jack asked.

  The Priest stopped with a dour scowl over his white eyebrows. “You don’t need to concern yourself with my coming and goings, Jack. Nor do you need to hover outside my office eavesdropping.”

  Jack flinched at the not so subtle reminder. It had only been a few days since Frenchy’s tale, but clearly John was still sore about it.

  “Besides, I have told you many times before to call—”

  “I know, it just doesn’t seem right. You’re not like other men; you have a title,” Jack protested, “And I was cleaning, not eavesdropping.” Just then, the clip of horse’s hooves on the cobbles outside interrupted their standoff.

  “I have business in town and that is my coach.” The Priest rolled his eyes at Jacks contrite facade, grabbed his hat and a few papers then turned back once he reached the door. “Please just tend to your duties, and don’t burn the place down.”

  “Have a good day,” Jack offered as the priest relented with a warm smile, then let the heavy wood door shut hard behind him with an echoing thud. There was a slight jingle of a key in the lock, and then Jack was left to his own. “Moving through the chapel, Jack tended to his duties, first beating away the pigeons in the bell tower and cleaning out their nests, then working his way down into the bell house. He finished before early noon. Pausing for a crust of bread and a breath, Jack let his mind wander. His nightly excursions with his boys were always a laugh, but he found that more and more of his time was spent in Anna’s company, yet it was never enough. She was a rose of beauty, and her siren call was unavoidable.

  “Well I for one would love to see these charts.” The loud boisterous voice was the first thing that clapped across Jack’s senses.

  “I am terribly sorry; I thought for sure I had gathered them up with my things.” John’s voice ripped Jack to his feet. Through blurry eyes, he watched, confused as the Good Father lead a procession of five individuals into his office from the chapel. Only then realizing he had dozed, Jack rubbed his eyes and tried to reason why the priest had gathered such a large group of men when until this point he seemed to only council with other clergy and members of his congregation, such as Lord Cunningham.

  A battle of wills strained Jack’s ears towards the meeting even as his feet pushed him towards the chapel exit. The chastisement from his last foray into prying uninvited was still fresh when, as clear as a bell, the word pirate filtered from the office. Jack froze for a heartbeat before he slunk to the open door, staying out of sight, but close enough to hear. Peering one eye around the edge, he could only see one man from where he stood. The gentleman carried himself with importance, dressed in a royal blue coat and white breeches. The golden epaulets on his shoulders and stern, weathered eyes left no doubt that he was an officer of the Royal Navy. His image was a conundrum: youthful at first blush but filled with a lifetime of experience.

  “I have seen the charts myself.” Lord Cunningham, the exact opposite in appearance and form, spoke gleefully as he stepped anxiously around the room, trying to bend the ear of any who would listen. To solidify his case he began to name drop. “As I explained to Lord Pelham of the admiralty, I have no doubt as to the validity of our Good Father’s account.”

  “Nor I,” one of the other noble voices inside concurred.

  “It isn’t a matter of doubt,” the Captain replied. “It is a matter of necessity. I cannot very well go hunting shadows. If I am to find this rogue, I will need those charts. Otherwise, it would be a damned poor use of the Faversham to sail about the West Indies half-blind looking for a pirate no one has ever heard of. You have bent the ear of the admiralty, and now I am to be off on a chase, but I will need this chart if—”

  “Ahhh,” the Priest sighed with relief. In a grand shuffle of papers, he handed the charts out over his disheveled desk. “Here.”

  “Well then, let us have a look,” one of the men said. Quickly, all five of them gathered in a circle.

  Jack braved the doorway and stepped into the jamb. Every man but the priest stood with their backs to him. Taking notice of the intruder, John sighed with a slow shake of his head.

  “This looks like a Spanish chart,” one of the men noted.

  “And it would be, see the seal of the Spanish crown in the corner?”

  “But this one, here...” Another of the gentry pulled a chart from nearer the bottom of the pile. “This is the markings of a French vessel, probably a merchant ship.”

  “That would lend credence that we are in fact looking at a pirate,” the Captain noted as his head followed the distraction of the good priest’s hands shooing the intruder away. Jack made to move but was locked under the Captain’s flinty gaze. “And who might this be?”

  “Just a boy who is too curious for his own good,” John tried to dismiss. “Now run along.”

  “Wait.” One of the gentlemen turned about. “We must maintain secrecy. Can we trust him?”

  “Yes, I agree with the counselor,” a second man added.

  The Priest tried once again to argue, “Jack is just a boy that cleans the chapel—”

  “He is more than a boy, looks like he is nearly a man.” The Captain stood erect, and then with the voice of authority, he asked, “What is your name?”

  “Jack.”

  “Just Jack? That is quite odd,” another man chortled.

  “He is a boy I helped off the—”

  “I wish to sail after the pirate Nathan Rogers.” Jack blurted out.

  “No.” John protested, his tone forcing Jack to look at him. The room went still as Jack and John’s silent exchange battled for supremacy.

  “I agree with Father John,” Lord Cunningham interjected, breaking the stalemate. “This is no place for amateurs.”

  “Do you have sailing experience?” The Captain inquired; not one to lose out on any possible talent.

  “No,” Jack replied softly as he ducked his head. “But that man has done more—”

  “Enough, Jack!” John cut him short. Jack quieted, glaring at the old priest.

  “Well then,” the Captain sighed, his focus already returning to the charts before him, “I agree with the others. This is no voyage for amateurs.”

  “Jack has other duties to tend to,” the Priest said, and pressed him once more to leave. “You will please shut the door.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Jack mumbled, still fuming but dejected. He pulled the door shut until the latch secured with a click. With his hands clenched into balls of anger he marched away from the muffled voices out into the chapel. When he reached his chamber, the fury rushed out through his fist as he flung it against his solid oak door. Frustrated, he yanked a rag from his pocket and wrapped up his hand as blood dripped down his knuckles from the newly split skin. Collapsing on his cot, he wiped the sting of bitter tears with the back of his hand. He needed a plan. The floodgates of revenge were open and there was no way to close them.

  ***

  “I didn’t understand at first.” John stood at his door, his eyes on the small sack at the edge of the bed. Jack sat with his head in a book, a weak candle nearby almost burnt to the end of the wax. “You believe this Nathan Rogers to be th
e same rogue who stole your mother’s fortune?”

  “No.” Jack chewed the side of his cheek. “I know this is the same man. I was there the night he murdered the only man in Penzance to call him by that name. The same thief who put out his eye.”

  “Nathan Rogers is a very common name—”

  “It is the same person! He is the one who beat me senseless. You heard that sailor. He is a cruel, vile man! I need to stop him!” Jack was on his feet, exasperated. Lamely, he tried to backtrack, “What I mean is I should be there to help.”

  “Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,” John quoted scripture.

  “Not unless I get there first, Father,” Jack said under his breath as he retrieved the book that had fallen to the floor, then placed it gently on the bed. Slinging his sack over his shoulder, he stepped to John with an outstretched hand, feeling like he was aging four years in the moment. “I cannot thank you enough for the goodness you have shown me, but I have made my choice.”

  John grabbed his hand and pulled him into an embrace, whispering into his ear, “Any great journey starts with a single step. Do not stumble out of the path God wishes for you.” The Priest’s voice cracked. “Do not let your blind hatred of this man keep you from the destiny your goodness can bring.” With a stern hand upon Jack’s neck, he gave him one last embrace, then fled from the room without looking back as the flickering candle flame burned out, leaving Jack in darkness.

  ***

  Jack’s shirt was damp, but he didn’t mind Anna’s proximity as he held her in his arms.

  “Why can’t you let ’im be?” Anna sobbed into his chest. “He’s gone. Let the navy have ’im.”

  Jack knew she would be upset that he was leaving but confronted with the tears he was at a loss for words. “I… I—”

  “Don’t you see?” Anna’s big eyes sparkled in the moonlight. “There’s others who can do this, why’s it gotta be you?”