Chapter the First:
A Privateer’s Life Is Not For You ( or Not For My Son) Jack stood at the helm. The spread of canvas above him was a far more welcome sky than any broad expanse of blue. The wind at his back was the blood in his veins, the pitch and swell of the polished boards beneath his bare feet like the rocking of mother’s arms. He laughed for no reason. He was happy. He had everything he wanted out of life. In the cabin below his feet lay a woman worth dying for, and to him faithfully devoted. He had his ship and license to do what he did best: pirating... so long as he limited his prey to the enemies of England. That, at the moment, no longer included France, only Spain. Though Spanish ships, if you knew where to look for them, were ripe plums indeed.
He cast his eyes across the crew working the decks and the rigging. Of the seventy-eight men and women who served under him, only a few knew the secret he and his woman kept, even less had once been part of his original crew; before the hurricane, before Fenning had nearly spoiled his grand caravel. He had made modifications to the decks over the years, made more room, made her more comfortable, without changing the very things about her that made her a fearsome choice for a privateer or a pirate ship.
Not far from the capstan winch, his quartermaster, Tortuga, a native of Madagascar with pitch-black skin who stood nearly seven feet tall, had his eyes locked on the sheets above him. He held onto a rope that bore the weight of the entire topgallant sail. Under the current wind conditions it would have taken three of any other crewmen to hold that single line, yet he held it with ease. Jack followed his gaze, watched the young boy scampering along the yardarm above them with the surefootedness of a monkey. The child was following the quartermaster’s bellowed orders, rethreading sections of the sail which had snapped their ropes.
Jack smiled proudly. The boy was eager to learn, quick to understand what was needed and quicker to carry it out, and filled to bursting with a need to please. He reminded Jack all too well of another little boy no more than two years this one’s junior, who had died before this one was born. The memory sobered him, even though he had been proud of the young Hare til the end. After all, Hare had given his life trying to protect this boy’s mother.
Tortuga finally hauled the sail up fully and secured it, called up into the sheets. “Come on down, boy!” He was prepared to catch the twelve year old, but the boy had other plans. He seized a stray rope and slid down it’s length, avoiding the reaching hands of the quartermaster to land gracefully on the capstan. Both of them were laughing.
“Belay that, Seamus!” Jack called. “Ye know how yore mother feels about ye swingin’ from the spars!”
The child turned his head to the quarterdeck, squealed as Tortuga took the moment to snatch him up and toss him playfully over his shoulder. Jack grinned. The boy had his mother’s talent with the voice, could sing in dolphin or whale as it suited him. It had yet to be tested, but it was entirely possible it could reach the dangerous high pitches Sirene was capable of, the pitches that broke every glass object in a room. Not to mention a man’s ear.
Tortuga tossed the boy up to the quarterdeck and Jack was impressed with the acrobatic skill with which he vaulted over the railing and landed on his feet. Seamus crossed to the helm, tossed his father a saucy salute. “Aye aye, captain, sir!”
“How’s your mother doing?” he asked. He had not been down to the cabin since lunch.
“Still craving mangos, father,” he grinned.
Jack frowned. “We have mangos,” he said.
His son shook his blond curls. “She wants ‘em dried. Says they’re sweeter that way. Pierre swears there’s a place on Saint Kitts that candies ‘em.”
Jack shook his head. “Well you can tell your mother we aren’t sailing all the way to Saint Kitts just for candied mango.”
The boy laughed, his pale golden face bright in the sunshine, “I ain’t gonna tell ‘er, Captain.
You tell her!”
Jack reached out and tousled the boy’s hair. The curls were as soft as his mother’s straighter, silvery locks. “Coward,” he chuckled.
“No more’n you,” he grinned.
“’There be no shame a’tall in avoidin’ de wrat’ o’ a pregnant woman,” Tortuga said as he came up to the quarterdeck and dropped a heavy coil of rope in its place in the corner.
“Yeah, well,
your woman was a bloody nightmare pregnant,” Seamus frowned, shuddering.
Jack stepped back, allowed the boy to take the helm. “Anjali was downright dangerous.”
The man squared his shoulders, defending his woman. “She ha’ every right to be,” he said. “Consid’rin’ how long it took us.”
Jack nodded, paused as he watched the twelve year old trying to hold the helm. It was well known that the
Mercy had a mind of her own, and it seemed she was wanting to alter course. “Fourteen years since she miscarried that first,” Jack commented. “But ye have a strong, healthy son now, who ye’ll be seein’ in a week or two,” he said, setting a hand on the wheel to help steady the course. He grabbed a short loop of rope tied to the helm’s moorings, dropped it onto a spoke. “When she starts to resist ye too much, that’s what th’ tether’s for.”
The boy chuckled, watching the helm fighting the rope. “An’ when d’we give ‘er her head?”
“When she breaks de tethah,” Tortuga commented with a raised brow, turning to leave the quarterdeck.
Mr. Lucas’s voice called out from the crow’s nest. “Sail ho!”
Without being told, Seamus darted off as his father instinctively moved to the starboard rail, the direction the ship’s wheel had been pulling towards. Less than a minute later, Seamus returned with the spyglass and handed it to his father, stepping up onto the lower half of the rail to try and get a better look himself.
The boy gave a clicking whistle, which was answered shortly by a bottlenose dolphin that had been fishing in the
Mercy’s wake. It was rare that there wasn’t a pod of whales or dolphins sporting alongside the vessel.
His father did not look down. “Ask him to check out that ship over yon,” he said.
Obediently, Seamus clicked and squealed down at the dolphin in a way that caused more than one crewman to glance over. Most of them were used to it by now, but there were still a few new hands, some of whom were already muttering about the boy being unnatural. Tortuga took note of which these were. He had been building a list of men to trade out when they got a chance. The dolphin nodded and streaked off towards the billowing sails on the horizon.
They waited patiently, Jack’s good eye looking through the spyglass. The ship was still too far away to determine her colors, or even her shape. Jack rubbed the eye under his amber glass eyepatch. It had served him well over the years. While it had healed nicely, and the colored glass filtered out the painful bright of the sun, it still ached upon occasion.
Finally the dolphin returned. The three on the quarterdeck listened to the excited whistling voice, though only two understood it. Tortuga looked to his Captain. “What’d ‘e say, sah?”
Jack began to grin. “He says she’s a lone frigate limping out of a storm and listing heavily to leeward. …And th’ flag they’re stowin’ be Spanish.”
Tortuga frowned. “He knows what a frigate is? An’ what de Spanish flag be?”
Seamus laughed. “No, but he can describe it.” He looked up at his father with bright eyes. “We gonna chase her, dad?”
“An easy prey like that? We’d be a fool t‘ pass her up, son. Especially with our cruisin’ past Port Saint Charles on our way t’ berth. Convenient to pick up our bounty an’ offset any cargo we may ‘aquire’,” he coughed.
Seamus stiffled a giggle so that it came out more like a snort.
Jack eyed his son. “I meant berth as in home port, not as in what yore mother be about t’ do there,” he growled, then chuckled himself.
A thought occurred to the boy. “Why are they stowing their flag?” he asked.
“Must be on their way to Margarita or Trinidad. Which means they have to pass through French and English waters by their heading. They’d rather be thought pirates and fled from than attacked as enemy. If they get into trouble, they’ll raise their rag. Tortuga, give the order. We’re about to give the
Mercy her head. Son, release the tether. Hard about! To arms!” he bellowed, snapping the glass shut.
Seamus ran to the wheel, pulling the loop of rope off and yanking his hands back just in time as the wheel spun violently. The ship heeled sharply, angling towards the distant vessel. Once the wheel settled, Seamus took hold again, made minor adjustments as he had been taught to make best use of the wind.
An hour later everything was in readiness. The guns were loaded and primed. Mr. Penn had made personal inspections of every one before tending to ol’ Betsy himself. He had only one assistant that he allowed to handle that cannon, a youngster by the name of Rabine. He was a handsome youth, in his early twenties, dark of hair and eye and courteous to a fault. He always treated that gun like a lady, and perhaps it was the only reason the fickle hunk of metal never gave him any trouble. Let any other men handle her, and she’d misfire if she fired at all. It was no wonder the crew was superstitious about their ship. At every turn she gave them a new reason.
Seamus had done his job as well, helping to stow stray gear, handing out muskets and spare pistols from the armory with Mr. Lambert, who was the first mate when Anjali was not aboard. However, when he returned to his father’s side at the helm with a cutlass at his hip and pistol in his belt Jack put his foot down.
“Ye might as well put that pea shooter an’ dinner knife back in the armory, son. Ye’ll be takin’ yore mother overboard.”
Seamus clenched his teeth, made every effort to remain civil. “I stand ready t’ fight, dad,” he protested. “Ye’ve made me more than capable.”
“Aye,” growled Jack, not looking down at the boy. He dreaded this argument every time they crossed paths with a prize. It had been growing steadily worse since the boy turned ten. He was secretly hoping that with the birth of his second child, he might manage to keep his first in port and out of harms way. Providing of course he could manage to keep his woman in the same place, for a little while at least. “That be why I’m trustin’ ye to look after yore mother. There’ll be sharks in the water soon enough, and in her condition she can’t fend them off as well.”
“Like I’m safer in the water with sharks than on deck against Spaniards,” he snorted.
Jack turned. “Aye, lad,” he snapped. “Ye are. Ye’ll not underestimate a shark. Sharks can’t hurt ye from half a deck away. A stray bull can’t drop a yardarm on yore head or shatter the deck sendin’ splinters inta’ yore belly!”
Seamus opened his mouth to snap something back, his tanned cheeks flaring. Jack cut him off, lowered his voice. “Son or not, I’m still yore Captain. And I’ll not have ye arguin’ with me in front o’ th’ crew.”
Seamus threw the cutlass to the deck and stormed off the quarterdeck.
Jack reined his rage in. He understood the boy’s frustration, but he did not care. His safety was far more important. “Mr. Kelly!” he roared. “Take the helm!”
Sirene curled up on her side, pulled Jack’s empty pillow to her and threw a leg across it. It helped to alleviate her discomfort. She found she actually missed the warm, vibrating bundle of fur that had helped her through her first pregnancy. But Flagstaff had died a year ago. Even though he had technically been Anjali’s beast, the cat had spent his time where he chose, and had a strange fondness for the pale mermaid. Above her she could hear a burst of activity and groaned. It could only mean one thing. She buried her head under the pillow and tried to ignore it.
Without preamble, Seamus burst into the cabin roaring, “Mother! He won’t let me stay on board! I’m as able wi’ a cutlass an’ shot as any o’ the crew, an’ I’m tired o’ bein’ thrown overboard whenever we take a prize!”
Sirene sighed, peering out at her son. In her belly, her second child seemed to be echoing its brother’s tantrum. “There’s a fight?” she groaned.
Jack appeared in the doorway his son had left open, closed it behind him and picked up the boots that stood ready beside it. As much as he wanted to tear into the boy about his behaviour, he made himself answer Sirene, gave himself time to cool down. “Lone Spaniard. We’ve got maybe a half hour ‘til we’re on her if
Mercy’s got any say.”
“And she will,” Sirene ground, attempting to roll out of bed.
Jack dropped his boots by the bed and moved to help her, had his hands pushed aside by Seamus who wouldn’t even look at him.
Jack let him help Sirene to sit up, then took him by the shoulders and turned him to face him. “Hark my words, son and hark them well. What ye just did up on deck, I can’t have… ever. Not on shipboard. I don’t want t’ have to put ye before the mast, boy,” he watched the child’s eyes widen, wondering if he would actually dare to do it. “But I will if ye force it. Had any crewman done what ye did, Tortuga’d have his back bared afore th’ man knew what was comin’. If I allow that from my own son…”
Sirene moved to set a hand on her son’s shoulder, to comfort him, to help press the point home, but Jack gave her a glance that stayed her hand. She knew how Jack hated to put anyone before the mast. He had once been forced to watch Sirene suffer a far worse lashing than any sailor in his experience had ever borne. The only time he had to enforce that particular penalty on a crewman, he had suffered nightmares for weeks afterward.
Jack knelt, bringing himself to eye level with the boy. His lilting sailor’s drawl faded. The properness of his accent lending greater weight to his words. “If I can’t control my own family, how can I be expected to control my crew? And if I lose control of the crew, you and your mother will be in grave danger.”
“Tortuga,” Seamus began, protesting.
Jack could see the unshed tears welling up in the boy’s eyes, wanted to embrace him and tell him that everything was safe and secure in the world, but he knew better. The only way to protect him was to let him know the truth, and then to stand between him and the world as long as he could. “Aye. If there is a mutiny, they’ll have to go through him. And Penn, and Lambert and Marklain… They will. They’ll gang up on him and take him down first. You want that life on your head, son? You want to be the one to explain to Anjali what happened to her husband?” The boy’s eyes widened in genuine fear. “I thought not.”
Seamus began to study his bare toes. Jack sat down on the edge of the bed. “I know you want to fight; and you’ll get your chance…” the boy’s head shot up. “When you’re old enough,” Jack added, was rewarded with a scowl. “Until then, when we’re on deck, I’m still your captain, and you have to obey orders, like them or not. …Or I’ll have ye on yore knees sandin’ th’ deck,” he added, trying to be stern and not smile. “Now hand me m’ boots, son,” he said tenderly.
Duly chastened, Seamus handed them to him, helped him pull them on. His mother just watched him through a veil of silvery hair. Seamus fetched his father’s Spanish sword from the wall, slid the long, Damascene blade into its sheath and buckling it on for him whilst his father loaded his spare pistols. When he was ready, Jack took his son’s hand and slipped a ring from his finger onto the boy’s thumb: a large golden pearl.
Sirene and Seamus both stared at the jewel. She looked down at his feet at the boots he rarely wore. If he went overboard in the fight, they would hamper his ability to change. By giving the pearl which facilitated that change to his son, he ran the risk of drowning should he be swept from the deck.
Jack seemed to be unconcerned. He slipped his arm around Sirene’s waist, pulled her close and breathed deep of the hair by her neck. “There’s a bottlenose out there somewhere. I want ye two t’ stay with ‘im. Keep a weather eye on the fight, but well clear of it. I don’t want to have a repeat of the night he was born,” he said, nodding to Seamus. He bent to her swollen belly. “Ye hear me in there?” he said to it. “No sneakin’ out early.”
The baby made a somersault, kicking her in the ribs as it pushed off. “All right then,” he said, satisfied with his ‘answer’. He swept Sirene into a deep, passionate kiss that threatened to leave him impaired for the coming battle, until Seamus politely cleared his throat. Jack glared over his shoulder at him.
“I’d offer to leave ye two be,” the boy began, completely unembarrassed. “But ye haven’t time,
captain,” he said pointedly.
Jack sighed. Sirene laughed, began pushing him off. “Point taken, lad,” he groaned. “Can ye make it out the window, luv?” he asked her.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not that fat yet.”
“Getting there,” he said, setting his hand on her belly one last time. He turned and hugged his son. “Take care of your mother…” he swallowed the pain that the statement brought to mind, ignored the images of the deck beneath his feet thick with blood and a ten year old boy dead in his arms. He let Seamus go. “Take yore shark knife. And if any o’ em harass you, tell ‘em easier prey lies elsewhere. They should head for the fight anyway.”
He looked back at Sirene. “You want me to drop you out the window?”
She pushed him towards the door as the ship’s bell began to ring. “Go!” she growled. She gave his tight tail end a swat as she ushered him up on deck and locked the door behind him. Alone in the room, she turned to her son. The boy was just tucking his shark knife into his sash. She hobbled towards the broad windows, sat down on the sill.
She allowed Seamus to undo the latch, throwing them open. She was tired. Her nap had not nearly been long enough, and now that the baby had some inkling that they would be in water soon, it was getting excited and more active. She felt sorry for Jack, who had not been able to relieve his tensions in their bed for over a month already. She felt worse for Seamus who took the brunt of it. Of course, it did not help that Seamus instigated the same fight nearly every other week whenever sails were sighted on the horizon.
Seamus helped his mother maneuver her legs out the window, stepped up and sat down beside her. He stared between his feet, watching the water foam and fold into the ship’s wake. It wasn’t that he did not enjoy swimming with his mother. The times he liked best were when the three of them would change and go down to some coral reef to explore and harvest the bounty of the sea for food or medicine or whatever use they could put them to. Playing with his parents underwater was a natural thing, and some of his fondest memories. It was the fact that his father ordered it to keep him from doing something else that annoyed him.
Ever since he could walk, his father had been teaching him to use a sword, to defend himself in battle both on land and under the sea. It was frustrating not being allowed to put those skills to use, to be sent away to hide in safety rather than stand on deck and share the risks with his father and the crew. Even his mother had fought on deck once.
His mother’s voice cut through his reverie. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, pushing his hair out of his eyes.
Sirene eyed him. “Are you sure you aren’t forgetting anything?” she asked pointedly.
Seamus checked himself over; wiggled his toes, held up his thumb. “No shoes. Got the pearl. I am ready, mother.”
She cleared her throat. “And below decks?”
He frowned, glanced down at the faded red and white striped pants he wore. “Ack.” He immediately began to undo the ties just below his knees, reached behind him to untie the front flap. He grinned at his mother. “Now I’m ready.”
The ship hove to again, just as they pushed off from the sill and arched head first, hand in hand into the water.
The change was near instant. Skin melted into scales as they slid beneath the waves. Gills opened immediately and lungs closed. Light filtered down from above, casting interesting patterns on the schools of fish swimming about, looking for any scraps that might have been cast from the passing ship. Sirene felt decidedly less cumbersome in the water, flexed her sleek silver and blue tail. Inside her belly, the baby seemed to dance with the movement of the water. Perhaps it was just more comfortable with the shape of her this way.
She let go of Seamus’s hand, turned to help him roll his pants up and tie it around his waist so the fabric floating behind him would not cause a lot of drag when swimming. She had to admit, the design Genevieve had come up with had been ingenious. Both the men in her life had taken to wearing nothing else. She had taken the idea from a pair of trousers they’d acquired from a Chinese corsair they had tangled with before Seamus was born and modified them for their special needs. They wrapped around the waist from behind, tied in front and at the hems. They had a flap that came up between the legs like a baby’s swaddling that tied in back. They looked almost like normal trews, but could be undone and opened quickly when a swift shift was necessary. It was easy to just roll them up and tie around the waist to keep them out of the way until modesty was needed again.
She admired her son as he darted about her in the water, keeping an eye out for sharks. He was beginning to cut quite a figure. He was starting to lose the dull, silvery grey scales of youth already. Sign enough that he was becoming a man. He would be colored differently than his father. Sirene had half expected the blue and white with the broad yellow band of a tuna, effectively blending her own silver and blue and the amberjack markings of his father. But it looked as if his back was going a peacock blue and green, though his belly seemed to be getting whiter. He had a fan of spines like a roosterfish that began at his lower back, pushing up the roll of his pants and made sitting like a human in his fins uncomfortable.
Through the water they heard the report of cannon. They listened, could identify every one of the Mercy’s guns by sound alone, knew them by name. All the guns bore women’s names: Ana Marie, Victoria, Lucinda, etc.; a trend begun with Ol’ Betsy, but only the starboard thirty-two had any personality. Ol’ Betsy was infamous, and had a tendency to ‘scream’ just before the report.
Seamus thought it a sad state of affairs that he could identify each gun underwater as easily as above it. Glancing back at his mother, he swam for the surface, bobbed in the waves to watch the
Mercy’s Ransom literally dancing circles around the larger frigate. The Spaniard was wounded, unable to get her guns to bear fast enough. When she hit, it was a grazing wound at best, while carefully aimed chain-shot from the caravel’s starboard battery took down the remains of the frigate’s storm battered mainmast.
Sirene watched him as he gazed hungrily at the battle. The two ships closed and boarding began. Seamus crossed his arms over his chest, sulking. “You know it’s because he wants to protect you, right?” she said.
He sighed, relaxing a little, uncrossing his arms and slowly treading water with them, playing with a few small fish who had come up to investigate the billowing cloth around him. “Yes, mother, I know. But it …it feels more like doesn’t trust my skill or my nerve, doesn’t want me to prove coward in the middle of a battle and embarrass him.”
She took a deep breath, wrapped her arms around him from behind, hugging him tight. He leaned back against her. She had to wonder how much longer he would allow this kind of contact. “Has anyone ever told you about Hare?”
He was thoughtful a moment. “I remember one year we stopped in this cay in the Greater Antilles.
The Widow and The
Mercy both needed careening. We spent a week on shore taking care of things. I was exploring this wreck… the
Griffin’s Wake I think?” Sirene nodded and he continued. “I remember Bloody Mary and Captain L’Rouge weeping in their rum most of that week over someone named Hare. I had thought he was a lover they had both known until Mary said ‘our bonny wee Hare’. I assumed he was a child one of them had lost.”
Seamus did not need to watch his mother’s ‘lights’ to know she too felt the loss of this Hare deeply. He turned around to watch her as she explained. He kept half an eye on the dolphin fin that was beginning to circle them. The animal must have picked up on his mother’s change in mood as well and didn’t press them to come play.
“Before you were born, just after I met your father, we took an orphaned Irish boy named Seamus for a cabin boy. He was known as Hare, because he had rather large feet and was as fast as a jackrabbit. We were all very fond of him. Especially your father. He was like a son to him.”
“So what happened to him?”
“I had promised your father and the crew the treasure of the
Ana Maria Salvador. In bringing it up I was attacked by a dangerous and poisonous fish from the near-abyss. I was unconscious in a barrel of seawater in our cabin when we had to stop to help a fellow pirate, a ship called the
Ambition’s Price though you know her better as the
Lorelei.”
Seamus coughed. “But we’re privateers, mother, not pirates.”
There was a twinkle in her eye when she answered that. “Not back then we weren’t. Your father was a full-blown pirate in those days. It wasn’t until your grandfather married your grandmother and interfered that we got a letter of marques and a pardon.” Her tone grew grave again. “In that cay you liked so much is where the battle was fought between
The Widow,
The Mercy’s Ransom, and The
HMS Griffin’s Wake. The
Ambition fled the battle like a coward, but not before her captain snuck aboard the
Mercy under pretense of helping us win their fight. You see, her captain, a former crewman of ours named Towers, had made a bargain with Captain Price…”
Seamus made a face. “I remember him. Dad curses him often.”
“With good reason,” she commented with a pained expression of her own. “Price desired me. He bargained with Towers to acquire me at all costs. He and your father’s enemy, Fenning, had hatched a plan to lure the
Mercy in to help the
Ambition against the
Griffin which had never been any threat. Your father had left Seamus guarding me, told him to guard me with his life. …Those words have haunted your father ever since.”
“Towers killed him?” he surmised, cocked his head as he listened to something out in the water.
“He apparently took out two of them, but was killed by the third. Your father was cut to the bone over that death. When we had you… there was no other name for you. We named you to honor that ten year old scoundrel, and you have more than done so. You have his spirit, his penchant for nicking things,” she grinned with a splash. “He was an excellent pick-pocket. But you see, the better you are at swords and pistols, the more you want to be an active privateer, the more your father fears he’ll one day have to tip your board into the sea before your time.”
“But I…”
“Tail or no tail, son. He’s worried.”
“Then why did he teach me to fight?” he cried.
She would have thought that was obvious. “So you could defend yourself if you
had to. But he has no intention of putting you in that position until fate forces his hand.”
Suddenly the boy rolled his eyes, growling and dove. Sirene thought he was throwing a tantrum for about two seconds, when, refocusing her sight, she saw his bright, pale blue aura go nearly purple, his tail lashing and his body flailing in angry shark speech. She sank below the surface to see the dark shark body with its conspicuous white tips angling away from Seamus. The dolphin charged at it from the opposite side, prompting the fish to flee in a hurry towards the blood it could smell in the water. It flicked them a huffed exclamation, trying to appear unthreatened, but its light told a different story. Seamus back-pedaled towards his mother, knife still in his left hand, reached out and stroked the dolphin with his right as he clicked a thank you.
Curious, Sirene asked him. “Did you hear him or see him? Or did the bottlenose tell you?” She had not been aware of the creature herself, nor had she heard the dolphin whistle any warning.
“I saw it,” he said, looking around for more. “I saw something red in the water and knew it was trouble.”
Sirene smiled. “How long have you had the sight?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I think that’s the first time. Though I remember seeing things weirdly for about… three months? Nothing striking, just… I don’t know, sometimes I see this blue glow around dad. Sometimes it goes red. Tortuga…” he chuckled. “He’s just interesting to look at. I kinda figured I was just getting too much sun. I didn’t think it was anything.”
“It’s a very useful gift. Your father will be pleased. He doesn’t really have it.”
Seamus looked at his mother, one eyebrow cocked. He had gone from ‘who cares if he’s pleased’ to ‘oh reeeeally?’ in a split second. He gave her a devilish, lopsided grin and Sirene watched his colors flux.
She cupped her hand and skimmed the waves with it, throwing an arch of water at him. “Oh, you are
just like your father!” she laughed, swimming out of reach.
“Hey!” he exclaimed and dove after her.
The dolphin squealed with delight, darting in and thumping Seamus with his nose and tearing off with Sirene, eager to join the game.
Jack returned to the
Mercy from the decks of the captured Spanish ship, surveyed the damage to his own vessel. He was examining some minor damage to her starboard wing when he looked over the side and noticed the large hole beside Ol’ Betsy’s gunport. That did not bode well. He turned to the man examining the lower ring of the mainmast where a cannonball had chipped through the thick wood. “Mr. Lambert!” he bellowed. The man looked over. “Report!”
“Superficial, I think, sir. She’ll hold us ‘til port. Maybe even ‘til Aneka’kapo.”
Jack took a deep breath, blew it out. “I meant the ship… in general.”
“Oh, right, sir. Well,” he began, turning to look over the wreck of the deck. “We have a few new portholes,” he chuckled. “She missed a lot. All of it’s superficial really. Won’t even slow us down, ‘ceptin’ fer the time it’ll take to clear th’ decks. Crew-wise: last report we got twenty minor injuries, one dead, two lost limbs an’ one injury what may be cripplin’.”
Jack swallowed. He hated the listing of the dead. Judging by the hole under the starboard wing he greatly feared he knew who that would be. “Names, man. Though stow the minors fer th’ nonce.”
Lambert began toting them off on his fingers as if that was how he had memorized them. “Dead: Mr. Kristie. He went overboard in that last volley.”
Jack felt his gut loosen. He wouldn’t have to tell Sirene that Penn was dead. That was a good thing. She was very fond of that old man. An unexpected voice startled them.
“Mr. Kristie is resting below, Captain. The doctor is seeing to him now.”
Jack frowned at his son. The boy had changed into dry clothes at least, though the tawny gold locks clung to the side of his face remained as evidence of where he had been. He nodded at the boy. “Your mother?”
“Resting too, sir. Said to see her when yer done up top.”
Jack nodded, though he noticed the boy was looking at him oddly, as if he were trying to see through him. He had seen Sirene look at others that way, wondered if he could see anything. “Carry on then, Master Wyndlam. See Mr. Marklan, I think he may have a use for ye.” He turned back to Lambert. “Go on, man.”
“Oh, um… Talbot lost his left hand, an’ Mayfield his leg. Both of which,” he added, lowering his voice, “are on Tortuga’s list, sir,” he added with a raised eyebrow, trying to convey a secret meaning.
Jack nodded, “Put them on stand by or light duty as they can handle it ‘til we reach Port St. Charles.
“Miss Polly’s busted up her ribs, got pinned an’ crunched on the capstan.”
“She may resent it, but set her to patchwork,” he said, glancing up into the sails. “We’ll need every needle in hand to mend that lot.”
Lambert nodded. “Marklain’s running up what spare sail we got, but we’ll need the lanteen patched a’fore we kin use her.”
“We haven’t a spare?” Jack scowled.
Lambert shook his head. “Haven’t got round to mendin’ it,” he admitted. “Too much else screamin’ fer tendin’. Should I ask Miss Sirene t’ help with th’ sewin’?” he added casually.
Jack glared, but did not bristle. “You may ask, but do not press. She’s been tirin’ faster of late. What about the cripplin’ injury. Who and what?”
“Mr. Penn, sir. Last report he may have lost th’ use of an eye and an ear, sir. Doc. Lawrence said time will tell. Either way, he might have made mention of a desire t’ retire on Aaneka’kapo with yer leave, sir.”
Jack was aware of the sidelong way Lambert watched him, uncertain of his temper these days. He realized that between Seamus’s constant badgering about entering battle and Sirene’s pregnancy, which had been wholly unexpected after twelve years, he had been a little short fused latterly. He forced himself to relax. “I’ll speak to him of the matter. Meanwhile, assign a carpenter t’ tend t’ that broken wing when one can be spared. I’ll speak with Tortuga about hazard pay fer th’ wounded. Oh, an’ make ready th’ Spaniard fer towin’ t’ port. She’ll not be getting’ anywhere on her own breath. Not now. So feel free t’ scavenge the necessaries from her.” With that, Jack turned back to the bow and began sorting through the chunks of wood looking for the fragments of
Mercy’s wing.
Jack slipped into the dim cabin. It was just after dark and they had finally gotten underway again, laboriously towing the wounded frigate behind them. The only light in the room was coming from the woman sleeping on the bed, a pale golden glow. He crept over to the bed, pulled back the curtain and gazed down at her. He still found her irresistible, even after twelve years. He laid down beside her, slipping his arms around her narrow waist to her rounding belly, pressed a kiss to the naked arch of her shoulder.
He chuckled as she stirred, moaning and snuggling back against him. “Have a nice swim, luv?” he asked softly.
“Tiring. Keeping up with that boy of yours,” she sighed. “He ran off a full grown white-tip by himself.”
“He’s getting tough,” he admitted, began nibbling at her ear. “So what’s this one going to be?” he asked, letting his hands wander to the underside of her belly. “Another pirate’s son to vex me about fighting in sea battles?”
She frowned, thinking about it. “I’m not really sure. Though… that probably means it’s a girl, I think.”
His hands began to wander lower, stroking her thighs through the fine Egyptian linen sheets. “Oh, goodie,” he purred, began kissing her neck again. “Something with a frilly little caudal that I can dress up in all this fine Spanish lace I just appropriated.”
She reached back with her legs, twining them around his. “Belay that, Mr. Wyndlam. Just because the Doctor said it was too great a risk at this stage for meddling, does not mean I have lost the desire for it.”
He began to stroke the outside of her thigh, nuzzling her neck with his cheek almost cat-like. “Mr. Wyndlam, eh? Not Captain. Or scoundrel, or… pirate?” She grabbed his hand, lifting it off her leg. He slipped her grasp and began to lazily trace his way along the inside of her arm. “When are you going to allow me to make you Mrs. Wyndlam?”
“I thought we didn’t need it,” she smiled.
He shrugged, kissing her shoulder, tickling her with his downy, barely there mustache. “A boy… a boy can go through life a bastard, especially a sailor, but… for a girl… if she’s to have any kind of life above the waves… it might be a kindness,” he began, brushing his fingers from her arm across the expanse of her engorged chest.
She growled. “If you don’t cease and desist immediately, captain, I shall chain you to the bed and have my way with you,” she warned.
He chuckled. “Waddle away, duckling. I guarantee I’ll get to them afore ye.”
She had just reached back to pop him when a knock sounded at the door. “Aye?” she called, her fist trapped in Jack’s grasp.
She heard her son’s voice. “Dinner!”
Jack laughed as he let her go and got off the bed and dropped the curtain closed so she could slip into some clothing. He opened the door for his son, who prompted carried in a laden tray and deposited it upon the table, began setting out the food. Jack closed the door and went to a cabinet, pulling out three cups and a bottle of wine from his own stores.
Sirene finally climbed out of the bed wearing a loose shift and eased herself into her chair. “Crew been fed?” she asked her son.
“Aye, mum. We’re the last,” he replied.
“Then sit,” she said, began to fill his plate. When it came to filling her own plate, she hesitated, staring at the goat’s meat and fish offerings on the serving platter.
Jack set the cups down and began to fill them, frowned at her. “What are you craving now?” he sighed.
She made a face, hating this part of the pregnancy. “Actually… a cone snail,” she apologized.
Seamus frowned, poking around on the serving platter with his fork. “Aren’t you always telling me not to play with those cause they’re deadly?”
“Yes, but if caught properly and devenomed… they can be quite tasty.”
Jack popped the back of his hand. “Tend t’ yer own plate, boy. No digging through food others have to eat.”
“I’m looking for something Pierre said to give to mom,” he retorted, went back to peeking under shingles of the goat meat. “Ah, here,” he said, adding something to her plate.
She smiled. “Squid? Where did he get a squid?”
Seamus shrugged, grinning broadly and swinging his legs under his chair. “Caught it in the fishing net yesterday.”
“I’ll have to go down and thank him later. So, Captain, report.”
As Jack filled her in on the battle’s aftermath, they settled into an almost normal family dinner conversation, until they heard a squeaking and a scrabbling noise from the far side of the cabin. Jack glanced over, spied a rat creeping along the baseboard from behind the cabinet, sniffing in the direction of the food on the table. “Bold as a brass monkey,” he exclaimed.
Sirene clenched her teeth. “That cheeky blighter has been harassing me lately. I woke up the other morning and found him on the foot of the bed! I’m at the end of my rope. That’s it, Jack. When we get to Port St. Charles, you are buying me a new cat.”
“Well, technically the last one wasn’t yours,” he said, keeping his eye on the beast as it started to creep closer to the table. He prepared to throw his mug at it, draining it first.
“Anjali’s or mine. Mr. Flagstaff is dead and we are sorely in need of a ratter,” she growled.
Suddenly, without looking up from his plate, Seamus picked up his dinner knife by the tip and threw it, pinning the rat to the deck through its body. The rat squealed and squirmed as it tried to unimpale itself. Seamus continued to shovel food into his mouth.
Jack and Sirene just stared at him open mouthed. “Where did you learn to throw like that?” Jack finally managed.
“You,” came his sullen answer.
“I still want a cat,” Sirene retorted, reaching for the mangoes on the main plate.
Later that night, when Seamus had slipped off to his hammock in the cabin next door, which he shared with Tortuga and Mr. Lambert, Sirene took up her son’s torch. “Jack. You can’t keep him out of combat forever,” she began softly, stroking the sun browned arm wrapped around her from behind.
“I can damned well try,” he growled. But he did not tell her to drop the subject. He realized he could not avoid it forever. “I would have thought you would have been more against it than I am.”
“Do I want to see my son on deck in a battle, target for any stray cannon or pistol ball? No. Do I want to see
you out there? No. But it is something I’ve come to accept. Hell, I’ve even stood out there beside you when I could, when I was needed. But like today, I understand the need for me in the water. Mr. Kristie would have lost more than his leg if we had not come along with the dolphins to drive off the sharks. One of the Spaniards was still alive too, or he was when I rolled him into the cargo net. And before you ask, no, noone saw either of us expect Tortuga and Marklain who pulled us up. By that time I was just too tired to climb the chiplog.”
“I still worry. I couldn’t go through that again.” He buried his face in her mane of hair by the joining of shoulder and neck. “Maybe we named him poorly.”
She reached back and ran her fingers through his hair. “We named him rightly,” she assured him. “We just have to accept the fact that he’s your son. He worships the waves you tread, wants to be you. I know you find that hard to believe, given your relationship to your own father, but…”
“Oh, but I
do believe. I understand that desire intimately,” he moaned. “And yet I still cannot bring myself to allow it just yet. The thought of him in combat brings to mind images I’d just as soon banish. Images I am glad you do not have to bear. He was such a brave, fearless,… impudent little soul….”
“He was a pirate,” she smiled, remembering Hare fondly. “And he was not in combat when he died. Combat came to him. You have prepared Seamus far better than Hare ever was. You saw that today. I’m just saying that the day is approached faster than you want, but you are going to have to face it. Let him be involved in a minor skirmish. Let him help you take an easy prey. Maybe a taste of the fury of battle will put him off it for a spell.”
“An’ maybe the stink of burnt powder in his nose’ll give him a taste fer it I’d rather not encourage,” he retorted, rolling onto his back.
She turned to curl up against him as best she could fit, her leg across his body told her that the problem he had been developing had been successfully deflated, though that had not been her purpose. Still, it was better for both of them. “Still, I tell you it will be sooner than you like.”
“Anytime before never is too soon for me.”
Chapter the Second:
A Gift of Scales Lorelei met them on the docks at Port St. Charles. As Sirene stepped off the gangplank on Jack’s arm, she immediately embraced her. She even gave Jack a kiss on each cheek before snagging the unsuspecting lad behind them and lifting him in her arms in a sweeping embrace.
The boy laughed, embarrassed. “Gramma, not in front of the crew!”
She put him down at once, regarded him carefully. “Hmmm, getting darker, I see. Not so white as last I saw him. Getting a little crimson on the edges, too. So what have you been fighting about?” she asked pointedly of Jack.
He was slightly taken aback by the accuracy of the accusation, but he tightened his jaw, trying to resist the power of her voice. The Gift helped a little. “Fighting.”
She began to lead them off down the dock, the skirts of her pale blue gown swishing into the darker blue dress that Sirene had donned. “Tell me all about it.”
“Nothing to tell,” Seamus grunted.
She glanced back at him as she avoided a group of soldiers moving onto the dock. “That the problem?”
Jack paused, got the senior officer’s attention. “Lieutenant?”
“Duffy, Sir. Lieutenant Duffy. What may I do for you, Captain?” he asked.
Even after nearly thirteen years of being addressed by soldiers with respect, he still found it odd. Sometimes, he even noticed a trace of contempt in their voices, as if they resented his station or profession. “If you would, have a troop sent down to the
Mercy’s Ransom, and
La Isla De La Glori I have a number of Spanish prisoners to be sent to the fort.”
The man saluted. “It was anticipated, Captain. That is our current assignment, sir.”
“Carry on then.” Jack trotted to catch up, gliding in between his woman and her mother, and slipping his arms around both waists. “Who squealed?”
Lorelei fanned herself. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she simpered, then laughed, though she still did not answer him. She watched the boy running ahead of them, playing with some street dog who danced at his command. “He is our hope, you know,” she sighed. “Not our only hope, but one of them. Precious few males of the species left these days. I sincerely hope that he is not disinclined to playing the philanderer you used to be. I’ll have to introduce him around below when he comes of age.”
Jack pulled Lorelei closer, murmured to her in a manner that was neither friendly or exactly hostile. “You’ll not be using my son as some prized bull to be passed around,” he warned.
She popped him with her fan. “Not against his will anyway.”
Jack chuckled darkly. “No, you’ll just use the Voice on him.”
Lorelei snapped her fan shut, hmphed at him. “I’ll have you know I haven’t been able to use the Voice on that child since he was six.”
“So, mother, still playing the noble wife?” Sirene interrupted. She wanted to end the subject.
“Obviously. Though I’m not sure how much longer I can, another decade at most, and that only with heavy make-up. Alas, he ages and I do not. Unless he gets promoted off this rock, it seems I may have to leave him, or at the very least go into seclusion, and I can’t very well be of help to him there.”
They chatted about more mundane subjects on the way up to the Governor’s mansion. Once inside, Lorelei gestured down a hall to the Governor’s small office. “He’s in there, working. You two, come with me. I have something for my grandson.”
Jack regarding the pale, willowy woman warily, but obediently headed into the office. Governor Lord Hamilton was sitting behind his desk, his wig on a stand near by and his head in his hands. He glanced up, startled as the door opened, relaxed immediately as the well dressed captain walked in. “Jack! Come in, come in!” he exclaimed, tossing his quill aside and getting up.
“Henry,” Jack smiled, accepting the governor’s pro-offered hand. “Been a few months.”
“I know. Sit, sit,” he said, gesturing to a couch and a set of chairs on the far side of the office. As Jack made himself comfortable, he fetched a pair of glasses from a cabinet and carried a decanter of a dark amber liquid over, poured them both a healthy draught. “So what brings you back to port?”
Jack accepted the glass, sipped the well-aged scotch. “Business, really. That and I came to steal your wife.”
Henry grinned, saluted him with his glass. “Coming from any other man, Jack, I would take that as a threat. So when is she due?”
“Within the month.”
“Congratulations. Again. Hoping for another boy?”
He shook his head. “Actually, I want a girl. Less fighting about fighting,” he frowned.
Henry laughed. “Gods I remember having that argument with my own father. The boy’s what? Fourteen?”
“Twelve.”
The governor gestured with his glass. “You’re lucky then. I started pressing my father to let me join the navy at ten. Almost ran away to do it, too.” They drank quietly for a few minutes, neither of them in any hurry to deal with the business of the day. “You know, it’s odd. But it almost seems you haven’t aged a day since we met?” he laughed, “But then again, neither has Lorelei.” He grew somber and sighed. “In a few years I may be forced to ‘watch my wife die of some sudden illness’ then retire my post in grief and return to England with a ‘new, younger wife.’”
Jack raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the arm of the couch, sipping his scotch. “Lorelei discussed that possibility with you?”
He nodded ruefully. “I can’t complain though. I’ve had a good run here. Done some good things. Couldn’t last forever, not given the… nature of the species?” he said pointedly. Jack just chuckled. “So tell me, are you ever going to make an honest woman of that step-daughter of mine?”
It was Jack’s turn to sigh and contemplate the contents of his glass. It was an old argument. “When she wants it.” He leaned forward on his knees. “It’s not me that’s keeping us from ‘the altar’. It’s her. She doesn’t need it. And I am unwilling to force the issue.”
Henry nodded. “I can understand. It’s not something they do. But the boy… the boy will be my only heir. …Well, for another month at least, but if he ever wants to become the fourth Duke of Hamilton…”
“That’s not land-locked, is it?”
Henry shook his head. “Nay, it’s in Glasgow. We have a home on the shore. Now, if the babe be a girl…” he began, spreading his hands.
Jack nodded, draining his glass. “I know. I’ve tried that argument already. I can’t force the issue. But,” he began, setting his glass on a side table and taking off his glass eyepatch. He pulled a packet out of his coat and handed it over. “Business, I fear. The manifests
La Isla De La Glor. Now sitting in your harbor… barely,” he chuckled.
Henry accepted the manifests, began to sift through them. “Did you really have to do that much damage?” he winced. “You know we can always refit them.”
Jack leaned back, refilled his glass. “Oh, I had a storm do most of that work for me. We got lucky.”
Lorelei took them into a private sun room on the second floor, one with a broad veranda which boasted the best view of the harbour and the ocean below. They could see their ship at the dock beside the bedraggled frigate being off-loaded of its goods. Lorelei had a full tea service waiting for them. Seamus went straight for the tray of sweets only to exclaim in surprise. “Hey, these aren’t scones!”
Lorelei laughed. “No. They’re ‘cones’. And I think they are more for your mother. Try the sugared anemone.”
“These red things?” he frowned, taking one and seating himself.
“Manners, Seamus,” his mother chastened, even though she was laughing behind her hand.
“I’s on’y gramma,” he groused with his mouth full.
“We still need to practice. The right manner for the right occasion. When you are dining with the crew or in a low tavern, you can slur your words, drop your ‘h’s’, and snatch food from common plates as it pleases you. But when the environment even appears to be civilized, you must behave accordingly.”
Her mother swept past her, tousled the boy’s hair. “She’s right you know. You never know who else may be watching. Now, why don’t you try that oyster in the center while I pour the tea?”
He made a face, chewed and swallowed quickly before answering. “No thanks, Gramma. I don’t really like mussels.”
Lorelei looked at her daughter, shocked. “What?”
Sirene smiled sadly. “It’s true. He got a bad one once and it made him sick. He can’t touch them or anything made with them without getting nauseous. Speaking of which…” she groaned, pressing her hand just under her breast.
Her mother placed a cup of tea in her hand. “Then drink. This’ll fix that right up. I’ll have Mae pack some for me. You’re going to need it. Seamus, why don’t you open it anyway?”
He glanced from mother to grandmother and sighed, decided to be polite. He pulled his knife out and took the pear shaped shell from the plate, forcing it open. “I’ll open it. But I ain’t gonna eat it,” he muttered.
Lorelei laughed as his eyes widened at the contents. “I should hope not. I went through a great deal of trouble to acquire that,” she said, setting his tea on the table beside his elbow and seating herself with her own cup.
Seamus held up the plain silver band set with a lustrous blue pearl. He tilted it in the light, watching it change from purple to black to blue. He got up, sat on the floor at his mother’s knee, showed it to her. “My own pearl?” he asked, not daring to believe it.
“Yes,” Lorelei answered. “It is high past time you had it, too. No more sharing. No more risking your father’s neck to keep you safe.”
Sirene examined the pearl ring, put it on her son’s forefinger. “I’m proud of you, son.”
He rest his chin on her leg, holding the ring up in front of him at arm’s length. “It’s so warm. It feels like it’s singing to me,” he breathed. “Yours nor dad’s ever did that.”
“That is because it is yours, harvested and set for you. It won’t sing for anyone else, though it will allow those of the scale who need it to change in a pinch,” his grandmother told him.
A thought occurred to him. “Won’t I outgrow it? The band?”
Both women laughed. “Doesn’t miss much, does he?”
Sirene shook her head. “No, he doesn’t.”
“If it happens, you take it to a jeweler and have it resized.”
“Oh. I guess that’s all right.”
“He has the sight,” Sirene said. “We discovered that during the battle. And he’s got quite a way with sharks.”
Lorelei smiled over the rim of her cup. “You’ve never spent a lot of time with the male of our species. They all do. Something they give off, a scent thing I believe. Predatory instincts. You’ll discover quite a bit over the next few years. I understand that he and his father have already started thrashing their fins at each other?”
Sirene sighed, setting her cup down. Seamus handed her a cone biscuit which she nibbled thoughtfully. “They’re fine together until the subject of his entering combat comes up. He’s getting old enough to resent the order to go overboard. He knows what he’s about on deck, with blade and pistol but… Neither I nor his father are willing to allow it yet. I’m not comfortable with the thought of it, but,… I understand his need to prove himself to his father.”
Lorelei shook her head. “Just surprised it took this long. Must be the dilution. Full scale would have swam off three years ago.”
Sirene glanced up over her cup. “The father or the son?”
“One or the other,” she sighed. “Then again, having shorter lives, they grow up much faster. If you measured him against any boy his age… or three years his senior… he’d outmatch them all at any activity you set them to. Maturity of manner included.”
Sirene stroked Seamus’s curls, straightening them out with her fingers. The boy was content to lay there with his head on her lap, admiring the jewel on his hand. He laid his ear against the swell of her dress, listening to the racing hoof-beat sound that was his sibling. He frowned. He could have sworn he hear it singing.
They spent one night at the mansion. Tortuga came up to bring the reports, was invited to stay for dinner, much to the scandal of the staff. Pleased to annoy, Tortuga accepted, though his manners were quite civil at table. They spoke of the war with Spain and the cooling of recently repaired relations with France; they spoke of the tides of the oceans and of men, politics and changing social mores. After dinner the men kissed their women, doted on the boy, then retired to the study for brandy, where they finished whatever business they had regarding the dispensation of the wealth of the ship’s cargo. Henry made sure the
Mercy got a fair deal, leaving Tortuga to divvy up the ship’s fourty percent share. Twenty percent went to Lord Hamilton, who set more than half of that aside for the improvement of the port itself. The remainder went to the crown.
Tortuga gave Jack the list of crewmen he would be leaving behind, along with a list of those they should pick back up when they set out. Some men just had not worked out. He returned to the ship with the coin to pay the crew before eight bells of the first watch, sleeping on the money until it was time to play paymaster.
Morning saw the men paid and seen off the ship, some less than happy about the matter. Some were content to find other work, others to wait until the
Mercy returned to port. These were made to understand that the ship would be taking no prizes in the interim, that she was merely going to a small island to await the birth of the captain’s child. These men were content to live on their money or find jobs as porters for a few months.
The governor brought Sirene and Lorelei and the captain to the docks in his own carriage, said his farewells in the quartermaster’s cabin, which had been set up for Lorelei’s use. She and the governor took their time in their parting and when the man finally disembarked, Sirene thought she saw a tear in his eye. She did not mention it to her mother as they both stood on deck to watch the city fall behind them.
The moment they were out of sight of land, Lorelei asked the question. “How much of this crew know?”
Sirene looked around, checking out which of the crew had remained. “Well, mother… of the twenty here… all of them. These are our most trusted. Penn, Marklain, Lambert and Lucas you know. Polly’s new, but we like her.” She lowered her voice. “We know a few things about her she’d rather not be spread so we’re on even keel with her. Rabine’s been in Penn’s service about two years now.” She gave an exasperated sigh, rounding on her mother. “Oh, Mother! Tortuga would not bring anyone he did not trust with the secret. He’s already sworn them in… oh, I take that back,” she said as Tortuga stood on the quarterdeck and blew a ship’s whistle calling all hands to the deck. “He’s going to do it now.”
The women leaned back against the ship’s recently repaired wing to watch. Though Sirene’s eyes were more focused on the man at the helm. He looked every bit the pirate god she remembered from the first time she had seen him at the helm. Lorelei’s eyes were on the sailors gathered on deck.
Tortuga’s voice carried easily. “T’ose o’ you what have taken this voyage b’fore may return t’ yore assigned duties.” Only six of the eight actually went anywhere. The other two moved out of the group and leaned against the rail to watch. “Or stand as witness,” he amended. “De rest o’ you…. Ya ha’e been chosen t’ hold a sacred trust. You an’ you alone out o’ da whole crew were deemed trust-wort’y enough to visit da
Mercy’s home port. I cannot stress enough to you dat dis is ar
haven, ar
sanctuary. Dis be de on’y place in de world where we can relax and truly be ourselves. If ye earn it, dere might eban be a place dere for you to retire, should ya live long enough. Once ye ha’e signed
dese articles,” he said, holding up a well worn page with a list of names. “Ye are bound by dem not just fer yore term on dis ship but for all time! Any man or woman what give up de bearin’s ta Aneka’kapo or ot’erwise lead de enemy dere will pay fer it wit’ der life. An’ if ye think bein’ on de still dry makes ye safe… ask ol’ Penn about Towers; about Fenning. About any o’ de ot’ers what weran’ true to de Lady.”
There was murmuring among the gathered crew. Polly marched up to the quarterdeck without hesitation, accepted the quill from Seamus and scrawled her mark. Tortuga’s voice was low, but heard by everyone. “An’ dat goes fer anyt’ing you see dere.”
She nodded and climbed past him on the stairs to accept the helm from the captain.
Soon everyone else had followed her example. As they walked back to stations or berths, someone was heard to remark, “What would he have done if we had refused?”
“Thrown ye overboard,” quipped Seamus with a perfectly straight-face as he returned the scroll and the quill and ink back to the cabin.
“Satisfied, Mother?” Sirene asked. She turned, noticed that she was sitting on a coil of rope and pulling off her stockings. “Mother! You could change in the cabin.”
Lorelei looked up at her daughter. “You’ve been up top too long.” She looked over at Jack as he crossed amidships to their position. “Is my grandson on duty or is he free?”
“He’s free,” he said solemnly. “Going for a swim?” he asked casually.
“I think it about time he got to play with his new toy, don’t you agree?”
Jack pulled Sirene into his arms. “I couldn’t agree more. In fact, since we have to tack most of the day, now would be the opportune moment for a family outing. Seamus!” he roared as the boy returned to the deck. “Front and center, lad!” He winked at Sirene before he turned to the boy.
“I should change,” Sirene sighed, though she did not move.
Seamus trotted up to the group, saluted his father with all due sarcasm. “Aye, captain?”
“Yer grandmother tells me ye have a new trinket.”
His fingers curled over the ring instinctively, but he cocked his head, trying to come to terms with his manner and his light. Something wasn’t syncing. “Aye, sir.”
“Then I think it’s time we found out what it’s good fer,” he grinned.
Seamus’s eyes lit up. “Now, sir?” he grinned.
“Now, boy.”
Seamus quickly pulled the ties at his shins loose. He had already shed his shoes and stockings when they had come on board. Sirene sighed and began to kick off her own shoes.
On the quarterdeck, Miss Polly was keeping an eye on the forward sails when she watched her captain pick up his young son and pitch him into the sea. Her jaw fell open, her breath caught in her throat. She was about to turn the wheel to go back for him, when a hand descended on her shoulder. “Relax, lass,” Ol’ Penn grinned. “Ye’ll get used t’ the sight right soon enough.”
“But… he just…”
Before she could get out what it was she was trying to say, the governor’s wife climbed onto the forward rail, whisked off her skirts and dove in herself. Polly could have sworn she saw something else entirely as the woman vanished overboard.
Penn just chuckled. “If any o’ that lot go overboard, yer on’y duty is t’ inform th’ captain. An’ that ye do without a panic. Like as not he already knows. Though ye kin never be too careful. If’n the captain’s the one what dove in… then ye tell the quartermaster or the mistress.”
“Ah,… aye, Mr. Penn.”
Penn read her words in her manner, only half heard them in his good ear over the snapping of the wind in the sails. “Prepare th’ larboard tack, lass.”
Jack knelt in front of Sirene, helped her out of her stockings and underskirts. He knew how much she hated having to wear the formal dresses in port. Thankfully, this particular dress was sea-worthy, had been tested below many times. Jack shed his own coat, along with his shoes and stockings. He called to the nearest deckhand to remove the clothes and place them in the main cabin. He untied the knees of his breeches, loosened the back ties, and gathered Sirene in his arms. It was a bit of work climbing to the rail with her in arm, but he managed it, stepped off smoothely. Shifting under the water’s surface, they swam off to catch up to Lorelei and Seamus, already having fun chasing fish in and out of the Caribbean current.
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Fabulous story. I'm going to go read more from your gallery now... 
Dragon
