by Vivienne Cox
And got no further, as the bottle collided firmly with his head. He slammed back into the wall, chair overturning, sliding as he tried to fix which way was up and if his head was still attached. The world stopped and he was sprawled on the floor. The innkeeper was grinning at him. Perplexed, Thomas looked up and opened his mouth to say something, but a booted foot lifted and kicked out. He saw it coming, but was out cold a second after light exploded behind his eyes.
* * *
Chapter 2
He was never going to drink again. No wonder his mother was so foul tempered in the mornings. If he’d known why, then perhaps it would have made all those breakfasts of threading his way through minefields of conversation slightly less tedious. Or more explicable. For, heaven knew, he was feeling a mite fractious himself.
Thomas started to turn over. And failed.
It took a long moment before anything like realisation came to him. He couldn’t move, thus he was incapable of moving. His mind flirted briefly with the notion of paralysis before he heard a door opening. Squinting into the light, he recognised the innkeeper.
And remembered. And knew in an instant that he was bound tight, at wrist and ankle, and that the man knew exactly who he was.
“Morning, Admiral.”
Ah, yes. Exactly.
Thomas tried to speak, but his mouth was apparently stuffed with something soft. He made a noise in his throat, and wondered if a request for water was translatable from grunts.
The lamp was lifted high over him and, peering painfully up he saw a second man. Armed with a knife, cutlass and pistol, his shaved head tattooed with swirls and sigils, he was most surely a pirate. But not the pirate he wanted, the one who might at least have seen his way to being, if not exactly merciful, then not completely murderous. This one was grinning at him in a most ferocious way, his thick beard bristling alarmingly. Thomas sighed to himself and wondered who would be the next Admiral of the Caribbean fleet, as it seemed unlikely he would be making it back to report for duty.
He wasn’t even sure he cared. Despite the quite certain understanding that his demise would be a far from pleasant one.
“Thomas.”
Ah, good, another one who knew his name. So much for subterfuge. And instead of a formal introduction, the pirate just stepped forward and kicked him hard in the ribs.
Pain stripped away even the slightest pretence of amusement. Twisting forward, Thomas fought for breath as the pirate grabbed his neck and pulled him upright.
“You bastard!” A slap punctuated the statement. Followed by another. “Remember Red O’Connell? Do you?”
Thomas felt himself being shaken in the massive fists and the world span as if dipping on an uneven keel. He swallowed dryly, bile rising in his stomach.
“Yeah, y’do. I knew it, I can see it in your eyes.”
Thomas blinked. Really? Oh well. Amazing to think pain and confusion could be misconstrued as guilt and recognition.
“And if’n you remember him then you surely recall how you killed him – you murdering son of a whore! How you stood there watching while he dangled from a noose you put around his neck, and the poor boy jigged his way slowly to death.”
Ah. A hanging. Not one he could really pinpoint, but there had been a few. More than a few.
Thomas gasped as he was slammed into the wall.
“Pedro, thanks for this, I’m in your debt.”
The innkeeper nodded. “Bring me a few casks of good rum and we’ll call it settled.”
A few casks? For a life! Thomas’s eyes widened in outrage and he pushed against the hand that held him tight to the wall.
“Aye, Admiral. You’re not worth a tinker’s curse here. Less than the muck under my boots. Fuck all in fact. Though to be sure, I wish you were in all your finery. It’d be much more fun to watch you walk the plank in your shiny uniform.” A wide grin showed black and rotted teeth, along with sewage breath worse than stale bilge water. “Pedro, I’ll be away on the morning tide. Don’t tell anyone ye seen me.” The pirate grabbed Thomas’s face. “You and me. On my ship. I think I’m going to enjoy the next few days…”
The two men laughed, and Thomas had a moment to think on that before a fist crashed into his belly, and almost immediately another slammed him back into the wall. It was enough. The world span, and he slipped helplessly back into darkness.
* * *
Chapter 3
The baker Lawrence Thompson hated wearing black. It did nothing for the heat. And it meant that someone was dead. It was a colour no one could love. He fanned himself, and glancing sideways.
Looking around at the great and the good of Port Merrian, he wondered if any more people could have crammed into the church. It seemed unlikely. Everyone was here, all in mourning of some kind. Not that many had known the deceased. Not that he had let many people know him. And those whom he had, some of them hadn’t been interested enough to care.
Guilt made him flush slightly, and he stood with the congregation as everyone started to leave the church. It was over. No burial of course, for what was there to bury? No body. No corpse. Just some clothes and the remains of his personal effects. Hardly much for a life.
Half-blind with tears, Lawrence Thompson buried her head in his sleeved and mourned a man he had raised but never really had known.
He and his wife walked home in the heat of the day. The house was blessedly cool and He tore off his hat as his wife, Elmira stripped off her coat.
“My dear, there’s fresh lemonade on the mantle”
“Thank you, Mira, that’s a kind thought.”
“Come, husband, lemonade.”
“No, my dears, that’s rum.”
Lawrence and Elmira as one turned, gasping in surprise as a man stepped out from the half-closed doors to the drawing room.
“Alexander Cruise!”
“None other. How was the funeral?”
Mr. Thompson shifted awkwardly. “Awful.”
Alexander bowed with a flourish and smiled at him. “Not sure why they had a funeral when they don’t know if’n he’s really dead.”
“They’re sure.” Elmira felt the tears starting again. She sniffed them back. “It’s been over a month since he was due back. His duty meant so much, if he was alive…” She shrugged, helplessly.
“If there’s no body they shouldn’t bury him. Ain’t right, no it isn’t.”
“I know.” She lifted her arm and Mr. Thompson came close, holding her.
Alexander toyed with a coin a lock of his hair. “I hear tell he was lookin’ for me, is’t true?”
“Aye.” Mr. Thompson nodded. “Though we warned him, pretty much begged him, not to go into Port Wiley.”
“Not without a pack of Marines and a few canon anyhow.” Elmira added acerbically.
Lawrence sighed. “But he went anyway. In disguise – though it clearly wasn’t good enough.”
Alexander’s eyebrows lifted high into the cotton wound about his head. “And he thought he might capture me on his ownsome?”
Elmira peeked up at Lawrence, and she bit carefully at her lip. “Alexander, I don’t think he was going to capture you.”
“Last I heard he wanted me doing a jig at the end of a rope!”
“He changed.” Elmira straightened, waiting for Alexander’s laughter. But it didn’t come. Instead he looked thoughtful, and started picking at a particularly grimy nail.
“I reckon you changed him.” Laurence’s voice, the certainty in it, made the other two look at him. “After what you both went through, I’m not sure duty was enough anymore.”
“And that got him killed in some God-forsaken alley.” Elmira shivered.
Alexander did laugh then. ‘What? You’re telling me ‘e got a taste for adventure? Him?” He mimed a uniform and a military bearing. “All his prim and properness letting himself get messy?”
“Not exactly. I don’t know.” Elmira sighed. “But he was looking for you, and he didn’t take his uniform, his pistols or anythin
g but his sword. It was rash and foolhardy and so unlike him I… we… really had no thought he would actually do it. He should have been in England on leave, not doing… whatever he was doing.”
“So.” Alexander bit the same nail, chewing hard. Then, in a swirl of coat-tails he was at the door, dancing almost, gold teeth flashing as he turned the handle and let in sunlight. “I’ll go see. Maybe he’s lost in pleasure and simply don’t want to be found, think on that – Admiral Thomas and his Adventures Among the Scallywags and Whores of Old Port Wiley. I bet some of the women could teach him a thing or two.” He grinned at Lawrence, winked, and then caught Elmira’s frown.
He winced. “Sorry m’dear, got carried away.”
“Alexander, they looked everywhere!”
“Darlin’, if you think the Navy, the military, or even the governor’s tea-boy can have searched everywhere in Port Wiley, you don’t know the world as well as you think y’do. I’ll just have a little look-see. Maybe I can bring you back a nice body.”
Elizabeth paled. “No, Alexander…”
“Well, his sword then. Better to know. Better to know, and besides…”
“What?”
“The body might be breathin’.”
Elizabeth caught her breath sharply. “Cruise, what do you know?”
“Nothing!” Innocence painted his face. He smiled, thin lipped, his eyes distant. “But a fat and juicy little rumour came my way about a sale. And I think I might just pay this one a visit.”
“Cruise! What sale? What are you talking about?”
But he was gone, tripping down the gravel drive as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Once, just before he reached the end of the drive, he turned, bowed and waved. With the addition of a small hornpipe he waved again, and slipped out of view.
The Thompsons watched him. After a while Lawrence kissed Elmira on the head. “We can’t do anything. How about some of that lemonade?”
Elmira nodded, half anxious to solve the mystery of James’ disappearance. But the rest of her was strangely content. She let Lawrence hold her.
* * *
Chapter 4
Santo Domingo, in Captain Alexander Cruise’s most humble opinion, was a hole of a town that made Port Wiley seem the height of sophistication and piratical gentility. In Port Wiley you lived on your wits, you caroused, you whored, you gambled and parlayed, but if anyone was going to scrag you, they did it to your face. He’d never worried about a knife in his back in Port Wiley; Santo Domingo was another matter entirely.
Leaving the Siren at anchor with all the crew watchful and wary, he’d stepped ashore and headed for the nearest rum shop. As the choice was on the high side of twenty different establishments just along the quayside, he’d simply headed where his boots led him, straight into a dive called Rusty Pete’s . Well, the sign over the door had probably once had a ‘ T ’ at the beginning, but it had been scraped away by someone wielding something sharp with great vigour.
Alexander made sure to count his change. The rum was good though.
Tasty.
He ordered a second.
Tucked away in a nice dark corner he watched the room. Waiting. In fact he was quite impressed by his own skills in waiting – something he’d found very little use for in his life. Unless he was behind bars of course. Or being patient while some person or persons decided on his appointment with a goodly length of hemp. Otherwise he tended to ask questions first and regret it all later. But today he was being good.
He smiled to himself, thinking, stroking gently at one of the fine plaits that twisted from his chin. He was being good because he wanted something. And he wasn’t even sure why, but after many years of not really demanding any reason from himself for any whim, he didn’t really care.
He just wanted to find Thomas.
And not only for the baker.
James Thomas, Admiral, was a thorn in his side, the devil incarnate and damn nuisance. He was also… interesting. And above all else in God’s creation, Alexander liked the interesting. It would be such a waste if the man were dead. All those possibilities of cat and mouse and mouse and cat chasing across the briny. He’d been sure there were months, if not years, of entertainment to be had.
And someone had stolen him. Because Alexander was sure the Admiral was still alive. And he was almost certain where.
Alexander took a long and deep drink of his rum, finishing it off. He stood in a swirl of coat tails and sashayed up to the next table, where a group of disreputable scallywags had just sat down.
“Good evenin’, Bill, Angus.” He smiled at the men he knew, and at the ones he didn’t, one arm signalling for rum as the other spidered merrily across the shoulders of Angus Anderson.
“Alexander!”
He grinned as they all nodded, greeting him back, and while Angus stood up and clapped him hard on the shoulders. “Good to see you, man!”
“And you. Drink?” A chorus of approval lightened their faces as a barmaid walked up carrying more over-brimming tankards.
They all toasted his health. Then they toasted the Siren . Then the Brotherhood. By the time they got to the code, Alexander had cornered Angus and was sitting a little bit away from the others.
“Angus.” Alexander smiled. He gave the boy a hefty dose of Cruise charm and watched him melt. “I was wondering… have you heard aught of a certain sale being conducted round abouts here?”
“Ah, was puzzling as to what brought you here, Alexander.” Angus wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “We all know you’ve had a spot o’ bother of late.”
“Aye, the last year has been a trifle strange.”
“So the stories tell. And mainly because of a certain Navy bastard?”
“You have it. The Navy man the good folk of Merrian just buried – for all they were lacking a body to weigh down the casket.”
“The one and same.” Angus grinned, showing the black stumps of his teeth. “Alexander, what took ye so long? He’s been waiting for you.”
“Who’d be waiting for me Angus? And why exactly?”
“Black O’Connell and the pretty Admiral.” Angus considered for a moment. “Though he might not be so pretty now, of course.”
“Ah…” Alexander drank deep. “And where exactly would O’Connell be holed up with his prize?”
“He’s borrowed a grand house at the edge of town. Very fine it is.”
“And ‘tis true there might be an auction happening?”
Angus nodded. “But apart from you no one seems interested in buying. Maybe they think there won’t be much left to buy. So, an auction, or a hanging. Word is O’Connell’s not fussed, as long as he can watch the Navy man dance to his tune.”
“Is the Admiral obliging?”
“Not so as I heard. In fact I believe the only reason Black O’Connell wants to sell the bastard is that he can’t break him, and simply killing ‘im is just too kind. You know O’Connell, he gets bored easy.”
“Angus, now tell me, why does he have such a personal interest in this particular Admiral?”
“You don’t know? Alexander, where’ve you been?” Angus wiped his mouth and leant closer. “You must remember Red O’Connell?”
He waited for Alexander’s nod. “Well, the bloody British hanged him – with that Admiral the one who caught him.”
“I guess that could make a man tetchy.”
“Too right. O’Connell may have hated his brother, but family’s family, aye?”
“In truth, I’m surprised the Admiral’s still alive.”
“I should think the man himself is too.”
“Aye.” Alexander stood up, swaying gently. “Now, tell me, where’s this mansion?”
Chapter 5
It was at the top of a steep hill. Alexander wiped the sweat from his brow and softly cursed Admirals, his conscience and his curiosity – almost in that order. Oh, and the heat. It was well and good blithely sailing under a cloudless sky, the sun bright as an orange overhead and a sea breeze stinging your face,
but the self-same sky and sun without the breeze? No wonder all landlubbers had problems with their bowels. And their tempers, though to be certain oft the two were linked.
Alexander hammered on the door again, and almost hammered straight onto a filthy nose, which apparently had had its own share of hammering in the past. He flickered his fingers at it. “Nice nose, mate.”
“Er, ta.”
“Is the master of the house accepting callers?”
“Eh?”
Alexander sighed. “Is Black Connor O’Connell in there? I need to have what you might call a little talk with him.”
“An’ who want’s ‘im?” The man was fingering long strands of greasy greying hair away from his face, trying to peer down his own nose, going cross-eyed in an attempt to view it.
“Captain Alexander Cruise, at his service.” Alexander bowed. He liked bowing. He should have been on the stage really. ‘cept, now he got to do all that stuff for real, even to the wearing of gold crowns, pearls and jewels. He smiled happily. Ah, the plunder from the Isla de Muerta was pretty. Next time he tried it on, he must find a nice big mirror so he could see exactly how pretty it was.
“Yeah, he’s expecting you.”
“Good. Lead on, then.”
“Don’t expect him to be happy though.” The pirate turned, his boots crunching on broken glass. “’e’s in ‘ere.”
Led across a wide vestibule, Alexander peered around. Nice house. Still a house though.
“Cap’n?” The man knocked on a door, and slowly peered around it. There was obviously some signal from inside for he opened the door wider. “Thought you might like to know, Alexander Cruise’s ‘ere.”
“Pasty, just open the fuckin’ door and bring ‘im in!”
The bellow could have stripped barnacles. Pasty hurriedly backed out and ushered Alexander quickly inside, bringing him into a vast room, where a big man sat in an ornately carved wooded chair. “Alexander Cruise, Cap’n.”