The Shadow of Nisi Pote

by H C Storrer

  “That sounds like one of the old council laws.” Tink sank to the sand. “I thought they didn’t matter anymore.”

  “This isn’t about the council, Tink. Jack is a good man. I truly believe that. I think Pan is turning him wild and I fear what we have unleashed on his kind.”

  “You don’t blame Jack!” Tink shot to her feet, her aura turning blinding white with anger.

  “No. I think he is deceitful like most humans, but not a murderer. What happened to the council, well, I think it was inevitable. They stole too much power to themselves, all the while leaving Pan in that tomb. I think Pan took his revenge, and I don’t think even Jack could stop him.”

  Tristan popped to fairy size and landed next to her. “Moremore? Rata? What excuses will you make for them?” Tink was still angry, but Tristan could see the fight going out of her.

  “Moremore was a creature of violence and died in battle. It doesn’t really matter to me from whose hand that death came. As for Rata, I have no answer, but I intend to get one.” Suddenly, Tristan pulled her into an embrace.

  “This will consume you like a fire.” Her tears began to wet his tunic.

  “I’ll be back with the shadow soon, Belle. Then we…” He trailed off. He didn’t want to make a promise he wasn’t convinced he could keep.

  Tink struggled to hold him tight. She knew there was no use in further argument. Feeling renewed, she released him. “Don’t trust him, Tristan. Not until you have the shadow under your control.”

  Tristan gripped her by the arms and smiled with a nod. “If there is one thing I’ve learned, I should always take your advice.”

  Through tears, Tink laughed. Wiping back the stinging wet of her cheeks, Tristan could feel in his heart that emotion he admired most in man. Knowing if he spent more of Jack’s time on this moment he would never leave, he embraced Belle tightly, and then shot off to the sloop. As the gold dust enveloped the wood and canvas, the little vessel slowly rose from the bay. The boat steadily lifted from the clutches of the rippling water until it’s dripping hull floated high in the blue of the sky. With one last wave of his hand, he wished the island, but Tink most of all, a fond farewell. It was then the sails rolled out, became taut in the wind, and the airborne sloop rushed off into the distance.

  Chapter 43

  “I ain’t climbing down in that ’ole, Jack!” Gags was indignant at being ordered to lead a crew into the filthy bowels of the ship to clean it out—he was among a number of the boys who found shipboard life to be a struggle. Underway, they had found that ‘Captain Jack’ was more than a nickname.

  “What did you just say to me, sailor?” Jack stepped into Gags’ face. “You will address me as Lieutenant Peters! Do you understand or is even that too complicated for your little brain!”

  “No, lieutenant.” Gags shrank from the anger before him.

  Jack kept barking, “I gave you a direct order! Now get down into that bilge and clean it out or you will get a taste of the cat, that I can promise!”

  “Aye, aye!” the small crew of workers shouted in unison.

  “Hop to!” Jack yelled as he made his way topside, the deck bustling with activity as he came out of the hold. Whether they had been always working, or because they knew he was coming, Jack didn’t care.

  “Lieutenant? May I ’ave a word?” Jack stopped and closed his eyes in frustration. Bill had the most sailing experience, having risen to a rank of second in command on his previous berth, and Jack had been ordered by the Captain to make him the Bos’n. It had been a bitter pill to swallow. Jack found it ironic how seven years had changed the man, making him shifty and difficult to get a read on. The hardest part of it was the shadow’s seething hatred, an animous that fed from Jack’s own jealousy ever since that night with Anna. What friendship the two had once enjoyed seemed to wither with every passing moment.

  “Yes, Mr. Davies,” Jack sighed.

  “The Fox was in a bad way when we agreed to come aboard, an’ the boys ’ave spent countless hours gettin’ ’er seaworthy—”

  “To the point, Mr. Davies.” Jack stood with his hands behind his back.

  “Now I’m not trying to tell ya how to do yer job, sir.” Bill took a deep breath. “But perhaps ya could take it easier on the lads. They are here for you, after all.”

  “These boys have no idea what they are doing, Mr. Davies. If I don’t set the ship’s hierarchy now, how will I expect them to follow my orders when their lives depend on it?” Jack fired back, the muscles in his neck tense with restraint.

  “Aye, Lieutenant, aye. It’s just—”

  “Out with it, man!” Jack was losing his patience.

  “Yer the Lieutenant, but yer also our friend, Jack. Them boys still look up to you.” Bill’s simple logic took the wind out of Jack’s sails, and he hated him all the more for it. Jack struggled to show deference, the shadow imbibing him with knowledge and experience enough to fill volumes. Yet he could feel the resentment of every man on board having to obey the boy-faced Lieutenant Jack. Sure, he had purchased his commission, but so did every other manjack with rank. Plastering a smile on his face Jack laid his hand on Bill’s shoulder. “Right you are, Bill, right you are.”

  “Besides, the Cap’n don’ seem well, an’ you needs loy’lty. Tis loy’lty that makes men productive, not fear. It always is. Just keep that in mind.”

  There was the rub of it all. The captain wasn’t well. Benning was not the same dynamic leader he had known aboard the Faversham. In fact, the more miles they sailed, the more resentful he became at having to accept the man’s orders.

  “Lieutenant Peters!” The devil snuck up behind him. It was the first time Jack had heard the Captain’s voice in nearly twenty-four hours. “Do we need to hit every swell in the sea head on?”

  “Doing our best, Captain, the sea is the sea.”

  Benning opened his mouth just as another whitecap broke over the figurehead of the ship, hurling foam and water clear to the wheel. With narrowed eyes, he glared at Jack, who found the whole situation quite humorous.

  “Right then, Captain. We’ll adjust for the swells,” Jack offered as a compromise.

  Stumbling from both the drink and the pitch of the sea, Benning headed back to his quarters mumbling.

  “Look out!”

  Jack jumped at the shout just before a body collided with him, knocking him to the deck, a large wooden pulley crushing the railing he had been standing against into splinters.

  “You al’right, Sir?” Talker huffed over him as they lay sprawled upon the deck.

  “Yes… quite alright… I would think.” Jack accepted Talker’s hand as he stood. “Thanks.” He knew the shadow would have taken care of the pulley, but he was grateful that Talker was so quick to act. It had saved him from explaining it away from the more superstitious sailors.

  “Seem’s like yer mind was far away, sir. Maybe on that pretty wife of yours?” Talker smiled, and then withered from Jack’s stare. “Right, let’s get this secured.” Talker grabbed the pulley and scuttled off.

  Image after image of a youthful Talker flashed by Jack’s vision as the shadow filtered through his memories. He could feel its curiosity as it landed on the last words he had said to the boy, ‘I don’t ever want to see your bloody face again!’ Sighing, Jack put the thoughts away. It was Gags who had insisted Talker would be useful. The memory of the small boy’s loyalty had overcome Jack’s disgust for Talker the turncoat. For the moment, Jack didn’t mind having the rat on board. Gags had been right, and now they both were a bit higher by Jack’s estimation.

  Chapter 44

  C aptain Benning was a coward. Jack could think of no other explanation. Less than a week out from Port Royal the cry of ‘sails on the horizon’ broke the still air. Jack ran to the port side, his heart racing. Bringing the glass to his eye, he could just make out the ship’s faint silhouette in the distance. “Rouse the captain, Mr. Talker.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir!”

  A kinship had forme
d between him and Talker since the day the former traitor had pushed Jack out of the path of the falling pulley. It was a novel feeling, having loathed the man since they were boys. Rough around the edges, and prickly as a porcupine, he had become Jack’s right-hand man, indispensable when he needed the difficult done.

  “What’s the meaning of all this!” Benning climbed the steps to the wheel. “Lieutenant Peters, why are these men lollygagging?”

  “Sails on the horizon, Captain,” Jack answered, handing the glass over.

  Captain Benning brought it up to his eye as Jack watched the color visibly drain from his face. “Preposterous. It’s nothing but a wisp of cloud!” He handed the glass back to Jack who was looking up into a cloudless sky. “I expect my Lieutenant to be more vigilant, Mr. Peters. We all knows what ‘appened to the boy who cried wolf, eh? We continue on to Port Royal.” Spinning back for his quarters and a bottle of spirits, he barked, “Mr. Davies! Surely these men should be doing something.”

  “Alright, ya dogs! Ye ’eard the cap’n. Turn to yer work before I lay into the lot of ya!”

  Jack stood, twisting the spyglass in his hands, seething. The shadow fed off him, begging to be let loose. It had been too long since it had had any excitement.

  “Your orders, Sir?” Talker spoke from behind him.

  “You heard the captain.”

  Talker took a step closer and lowered his voice, saying, “Yes, but what are your orders? Sir.”

  Jack brought a finger to his lips, a plan forming in his mind. As often as it did, the shadow spoke to his head, ‘Finally, let’s have a game!’

  ***

  “For the last time, no one goes near those waters anymore! The Faversham was the first of many to be sunk in that area; I don’t want the Fox to be next.” Captain Benning sat with a bottle of rum on his knee as he rocked back in his chair with an air of finality, the table before him strewn about with charts.

  They had been in Port Royal for over a month, and despite Jack’s urging, Benning was more than content in staying. This meeting was the latest in a series, each one more heated than the last.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Mr. Peters. We will move no further than a yard from this pier until we have concrete evidence of Rogers’s whereabouts. There is just no point in wasting ’is Majesty’s resources sailing around the Caribbean chasing our tails! Do we understand?”

  “Yes, Captain,” Jack admitted defeat, sitting back as well. He glanced with frustration at the one man he looked upon as a possible ally, a Sergeant Pierce. He was a six-foot-tall Royal Marine, smartly dressed in red with a fine powdered wig and brass buttons all around. It had taken some convincing, and a forged letter, to get the man aboard the Fox, and Jack itched all over to think his marines might never fire a shot.

  Sampson, was quiet as always, walked around the captain’s quarters offering drinks; Sergeant Pierce refused. The marine reached across the table, retrieved a stack of papers, and began to flip through them. “These are all the vessels Nathan Rogers is suspected of capturing or sinking?” He looked at the captain with deep brown eyes, his rounded jaw set. Sergeant Pierce could not have been more than twenty-five years old, however he carried himself and drilled his men as if he had seen more conflict than any general in the service of the crown.

  “Yes.” Benning stared at the bottle his hand, swirling its contents. He didn’t care much for Pierce and was none too careful in hiding it.

  “I see. Do you mind if I take these to familiarize myself with them, Captain?” He stared steel eyed at Benning, unwilling to blink.

  “Do as you wish,” Benning huffed, perturbed. “You are all excused.”

  Jack was the first at attention, his blue uniform neatly creased. “Sir.”

  “Yes, yes.” The captain waved the men’s salutes away, taking a deep draught from his bottle.

  “He’s a coward!” Jack whispered hoarsely when they made their way onto the deck. “He seems more than content with wasting his Majesty’s resources on rum.”

  “Careful, Lieutenant. Don’t let your anger get the better of you. The captain has set his requirements for our departure.” Pierce held up the stack of reports. “We just have to simply hold him to them. How good are you at geometry?”

  “Not great. I’m better at counting coin.” Jack smiled.

  “I see. Well, it will take me a few days, but with these reports I might be able to narrow the search to a rough idea of where Rogers is most likely to be, based off of where he has been.”

  Jack gave him a smile. “Clever. Let me know what you find, and we will bring it to the captain together.”

  “Aye, aye. Good evening, Lieutenant.”

  “Sergeant.” Jack gave the marine a nod at his salute and then gripped him by the shoulder. “It’s good to have a man in the fight.”

  Pierce accepted the compliment with a smile and then headed below, leaving Jack alone on deck, most of the crew having been given liberty. He shook his head; they probably had more rum than blood in them.

  “Mr. Peters.” Talker sidled up to him out of the dark. “I never catch you by surprise, do I, Sir?”

  “No, Talker, and I am afraid you never will.” Since the pulley incident, Jack kept ever vigilant using the shadow as an extra sense. “Do you have it?”

  “Aye, Sir.” Talker handed Jack a small envelope.

  Jack opened the pouch carefully, keeping the powder at a distance. “It looks like sugar. Will it work?”

  Talker paused as one of the remaining crew on night watch passed by with a salute.

  Alone again, Talker continued, “It will do the job alright. If an when you can get past that oaf Sampson and mix it in ‘is sugar bowl, well . . . ‘ee’ll be on deaf’s door, sick as a bat, an willin’ to lose ‘is guts.”

  “Just sick? It won’t kill him?” Jack pressed. “The plan is for him to relinquish command.”

  “Nah… though it twern’t entirely a bad idea.” Talker smiled. “Just sick as a whale on a beach. ‘Ee’ll give ya the boat. Won’t be able to stand for the shakes.”

  Jack gave a nod. “Okay. I’ll take care of it. You best get to the pub to keep an eye on the boys, we might be getting underway soon.”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  “And, Talker,” Jack called him back.

  “Sir?”

  “Don’t drink too much. If anyone found out what we’re doing, well, let’s just say I don’t want the last place I walk to be off the end of a plank.”

  “Traitors and mutineers is ‘anged, Cap’n.” Talker dipped his hat and made his way off the gangway, his whistle fading off toward the pub.

  ***

  “Can you not see it, Captain?” Jack stood with Sergeant Pierce, motioning to the chart in front of Benning. “It’s no longer about chasing a ghost, Sir! Pierce and I have both double-checked the calculations. Rogers should be somewhere between here, here, and here.” He pointed to the tip of an island, dragged his finger west to another island, then came to a stop at a small atoll. He looked up at the captain to see if he recognized the spot of the sinking of the Faversham, then quickly moved his finger back at the starting point. Benning had turned ashen, his throat bobbing as he repeatedly gulped.

  “That’s still a good… amount of… sea, Lieutenant,” the captain said, stalling.

  “It is, Sir, but it’s the narrowest stretch of ocean that anyone has been able to come up with yet,” Sergeant Pierce defended his work.

  “Pierce is right, Sir, and I know Lord Trelawny is excited for us to blast these pirates out of his waters for good.” Both Benning and Pierce’s heads shot towards him at the mere mention of the governor.

  “Very well then,” the Captain rubbed his hand across his jaw, as he looked at the chart once more, “very well.” He seemed to resolve as he stood up. “Lieutenant Peters, make sure we have plenty of powder and shot for the cannons and prepare our men to weigh anchor. Sergeant Pierce make sure your men are drilled and ready to fight. It seems we are going hunting. You hav
e your orders. You are dismissed.”

  “You and I both know that the only person more afraid of disturbing these pirates than the captain is the governor.” Pierce grabbed Jack’s arm and spoke urgently as soon as they were out of earshot. “It’s dangerous to put words into a governor’s mouth.”

  Jack looked skyward. “You’re right of course, but you saw him. He was still going to put us off our mission. I just gave him the gentle prod he needed to push him over the edge. Besides, I never put any words into anyone’s mouth. I only alluded to it.”

  Pierce squeezed Jack’s arm and released him as he smiled. “You could sell art to a blind man.” Then he got serious. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Jack twisted the ring around his thumb as he watched Pierce walk away, a wicked grin pulling up the corner of his mouth.

  Chapter 45

  “R elease the lines! Hoist the mizzen!” Bill shouted the order and the deck buzzed with activity. He relished the efficient crew, each sailor about his work swiftly as the long boats tugged the Fox into open water. “We’re clear, Sir.”

  “Very good, point us out to sea and get us under full sails,” Jack answered back. “We have some catching up to do.”

  “Aye, Sir! You ’eard the Lieutanant! Twenty degrees to the starboard.” Gags was at the wheel and responded immediately.

  “Aye, aye! Twenty degrees starboard!” Gags began to turn the wheel, and the bow of the Fox responded.

  “Get those boats in and secure, right the riggin’!” Bill shouted to the rest of the crew. “Get those sails open! Every blasted one of them!” A chorus of ‘aye, aye!’ echoed across the water as the men scrambled up the netting and began to unfurl the white canvas. “Five degrees to port, let’s catch that wind.” Gags made the adjustment and suddenly the Fox lurched forward, the sails snapping as they filled with the gust. Bill aimed a condemning finger at the flapping canvas. “Trim those sails, dogs! We knows better than to waste it!” Confident, Bill turned back to Jack. “We’re under full sail, Lieutenant. Will the captain be joining us on deck?”