"So…" Eleanor licked her lips, nodding and looking up. "What kind of support exactly are you appealing for? "
"I need your help."
"I get that part," she was eyeing the young lady standing in front of her with concern.
"I need to be off dry land, the faster the better."
"How do you think I shall…?"
"Miss Guthrie," the girl, coming clean, took a step forward. "His men are after me; his brother is there to give his eyeteeth to get me into his vice." Eleanor's nostrils flared. "And when they track me here, when they lock me down, I'm doomed. I go back to England, I'm tried, and I'm dead. I have no one left back there, I believe not that … that there shall be a man to take up the bloody mess of the proceeding. I reckon my misery is of no concern of yours, but…"
Guthrie stood up, lowering her head. The girl watched her come up to a window.
Eleanor contemplated the street for a long moment. With over ninety-nine problems of her own she was now faced with another one. Her ethical principles and decency had already been tested that day, but she knew straight away they were to run the gantlet once more when O'Malley guided the girl in her office.
"This is a pirate haven, I hope you've noticed…"
"I have. The better," her voice was clear and ringing. "I'm not setting my foot on a royal deck. That's why I'm here."
"They aren't hosts of heavens, do you fucking understand that?" Guthrie turned to the visitor. "They are pirates," she pointed her finger at the ships drifting in the distance. "This is a nation of thieves, robbers, cutthroats slaughtering people, gaffing, wenching and, until more recent times, shitting on the streets. Grinning all over their faces as they do so. They are not the gentlemen you are used to be surrounded by."
"The one and only gentleman I had the privilege to be around was my father," said the girl, her voice getting bitter and strung.
"You imagination can't even hold what those men are like…" the woman shook her head, chuckling inaudibly.
"Please, don't make light of my imagination… and my experience. I would rather be out at sea with a crew of desperados than stay and be a mouse trying to wiggle out of a lion's paws."
Eleanor frowned, slightly raising her eyebrows, her lips parted.
"I have no doubt you want and will try to reason me," the girl carried on, her head leaning towards her shoulder. Composed. "But rest assured, I'm not seeking to deceive you by saying this is my last resort. It is. I know I have no moral right to come here and ask you of anything, but with everything my father did for the Island and for you… Will you just help me escape the attaint and condemnation?" she breathed out shaking her head. "I'm dead whatever the outcome. But do hear me when I say that I'd rather die out there, because the only difference I can make now is whether the name of my father remains untarnished. Do I seem determined grimly enough to you?"
Miss Guthrie sighed.
She wasn't particularly keen on relieving anyone's distress. Moreover, there wasn't much she could do. Yet she could do something. At least try…
Eleanor looked up and nodded.
She made her way back to the window, turning her head to the girl.
"There's only one ship I might… recommend to you," she swallowed. "The only ship I entrust you to…. It's just possible the crew will take you aboard. For a short time." biting her lower lip, Eleanor fixed her gaze on the horizon. "The captain is a hard nut, I alerted you to that. I'll take best shot, but can't promise you anything."
The girl nodded shortly, her fingers plucking at the front of her skirts. She lowered her eyes as if to steady her hands. When she looked at Eleanor again, the self-command was back by far.
"Thank you."
"Let us go," Guthrie gently took the girl by the elbow.
The girl didn't know whether she would be the life of her or the death of her when she saw the Walrus lying on her side.
The sun seemed to be even more relentless there, on the beach, forcing the girl to squint. The wind was up, tangling her hair. The air, torrid, stiff and hot, smelled of salt water. But it was fresh and pure unlike the aroma of Nassau streets surprising one with affluence of tangs and peculiar malodours... And with every step on the soft sand the scent of almost addle fish dissolved and the image of the portly fishwife faded.
The girl knew was walking into something recklessly new.
She could see men from afar, bustling about the hull and running errands around the tents pitched over by.
Blood almost boiling, heart pounding.
"Miss Guthrie," an unshaven man slowly approached them, fiddling with something in his hands.
"I wish to speak to the captain," Eleanor said unflinchingly.
Logan eyed the women and nodded, raising his eyebrows. The pirate twirled on his heels. His jumpy gait sent sand splashing a little. The three of them delved into the labyrinth of tents.
The girl looked out and met a couple of glances herself. The men she was hopefully to sail with. They look like pirates, they smell like pirates. They are pirates.
She'd allowed reservations about the measure of atrociousness of sea robbers steal in her head long before ever reaching the island, but now meeting the people who made their bread plundering ships in person bolstered her beliefs. Maybe it was the fact they thieved for a living that blazed the trail for the underlying trend, but they all seemed … human. Were they as disreputable as Londoners chose to perceive them? Remains to be learnt. Yet, how the mere sight of them managed to infuse her with reprehension towards the posh tea-devourers whose conscience made cowards of them all…?
The girl was surprised at the lack of common sense she managed to preserve.
A cat? She hemmed, arching an eyebrow. Brilliant.
She indeed was taking interest in the new ambient more than dreading it.
"Captain, visitors," said Logan bowing a little and taking a step back.
"The guns are yours," Guthrie reported. The girl turned her head only to realise they had reached the destination. Flint squinted at her, but then his eyes were back on Eleanor. "They are being prepared to be off-loaded as we speak."
"Take a seat," his voice low and strong.
James poured some rum into two mugs.
"I'm also here to seek a favour from you..."
"I may guess it is the girl," he didn't grant her with another look, but gestured his hand in her general direction.
"It is."
"I have a feeling I won't like any of it," Flint propped his elbows against the tabletop, moving his logs and maps aside. He shook his head once.
Jesus. Was the interest vanishing, being replaced by the formerly absent fear? Of being left out in the cold.
"Captain..." a mellow, deep voice shrouded the girl as panic crawled to her throat.
She turned her head to cast a glance upon a man now standing a step behind her, but the glance didn't linger – she couldn't afford losing sight of the captain's every last motion.
Billy was breathing hard; his bare chest glistening with sweat was rising and falling sharply. James didn't look up at him either.
"I need you to take her on board," Eleanor kept her expression blank.
"No," was the answer. The same moment Flint glanced up at the quartermaster, "Billy?"
Bones, who finally unglued his eyes from the girl, was about to open his mouth to express his concerns regarding…
"Hear her out," the marketeer protested, moving forward on her chair.
"Why should I?"
Left out of the dialogue, Bones sealed his lips. A girl on board? Fuck no.
"You owe me, Flint. How long do you think it will take to load the guns back on the Andromache?"
The captain was quite taken aback - did she really just resort to intimidation? For the girl?
"I don't think it will take long," uttered James staring the woman straight in the eyes, imperturbable and rather irritated. "But asking to take a woman on board is arrant madness."
"I believe I'm a woman as well."
"But thank God the thought of setting your foot on my deck has never crossed your mind."
"You say you wouldn't have let me?" Eleanor's lip curved.
"Not amidst what we are dealing with right now," he beckoned to the ship, raising a brow. Billy lifted his eyes to squint at the Walrus.
"If she dies, she dies – it's that easy. I am not asking you to save her life, I'm merely asking to get her off land now," her shoulder jerked up. The girl didn't even squirm.
"The crew are to do whatever they will?" Flint put a mask of horror onto Guthrie's relaxed face – an expression designed to inspire prose into the zany request.
Bones frowned, looking down. The girl's dark hair was ruffled up by the wind; her chest fell.
"Captain Flint!" exclaimed the woman.
Furrowing the brow, the girl narrowed her eyes. So that's what you are.
"Here we are," James grinned, breathing out. "You aren't asking to get her off land; you are asking to patronise her on board. Taking into account certain circumstances, this is not what I'm willing to engage with."
"Well, taking into account certain circumstances, she's in jeopardy on shore, so…"
"And who is after her?"
"Pleased to bring to notice, you have a mutual enemy," Eleanor sucked on the inside of her cheek.
"May I inquire about the name?" the captain made a long neck, shaking his head.
"England."
Flint darted a glance at the girl. Finally. She looked calm and earnest. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes were set on him as she silently waited for her chance to speak. Nothing seemed to escape from her notice.
"Every fucking soul on this soil is an enemy of England, so what's so special about…?"
"Hear her out," said Eleanor, leaning back. "And decide."
Flint shifted on his seat and nodded shortly.
Bones felt a pair of eyes piercing him. He raised his eyebrows, failing to grasp what Guthrie meant by looking so askance at him.
"Billy is the quartermaster now… he holds some decision making power," Flint tilted his head.
The girl didn't turn to Bones all the same. She kept scrutinising the captain.
"I could wait," said Bones, though he didn't really have time for it. "Wish me to leave?"
"I do," Eleanor was fast to respond, and Billy rolled his shoulders before receding.
"I won't take long," he didn't quite understand whether the girl was addressing him or the captain for, as she finally spoke out, she faced Bones, looking apologetically. Her accent was strong and round. A lock of hair fell on her forehead, right above the eyebrows, inviting attention to a thin little wrinkle, but she didn't reach to rid of the obstacle. Billy dropped a nod.
He left slightly annoyed, and the feeling was both inexplicable and reasonably clear. He sat down on a chest, having distanced himself good thirty yards from the party. His forehead itched because of the cloth tied round his head and the sweat collected underneath, so he pulled the covering off. The girl stood straight, locking her fingers under her stomach. She commenced with her story, Billy supposed.
The sun was in his face and he had to shield his eyes with his palm to allow himself to stare at the curious creature a little more. Her pale green dress was modest but rather neat. Though the hem of it was dirty and, he didn't fail to notice, torn in a couple of places. Bones hadn't seen a dress like that for hell of a long time… The girl didn't gesture. Her face almost impassive, weary.
He looked at her, gazed at her next to devouringly.
That was something new. Yeah, it was quite natural for men to go round pleading something on the lines of "Don't ye mind me 'oppin' on board o' yer ship", but a woman…?
Billy looked at her, and then he turned to watch his crew. No. Fuck no.
It puzzled him how all his gyri were downright clamouring against her coming near the ship, but the curiosity was cracking the shell.
It puzzled him how Flint was listening to her. He grew attentive, he studied her. His fingers were pressed against his mouth as he frowned gravely. He barely let a dozen of words escape his lips. What kind of fuck she must be telling him to get him so … bewitched?
Billy didn't know how long for she was talking. He leaned back, putting his hand down on his knee. The cloth he was squeezing in his fingers was drenched in sweat. Is it hot in a corset?
Bones took a look at the Walrus, checking if the careening was slotting into place. Maybe it wasn't that unlikely that they would elude a calamity. As if seeking recognition, Billy skimmed the camp with his eyes, trying to spot De Groot. He found out quickly it was safe to say he wasn't the only one perplexed by the girl's … arrival. One of the crew took a bite of his pig, looking at her and smiling wide.
Fuck no.
With a shake of his head, he cast his eyes on her again only to catch sight of Flint watching him. James gave a nod. The quartermaster rose to his feet, adjusting his belts. When he came up to the table with his head hung, the girl still hadn't finished.
"I realise I'm asking you of an impossibility, and it's not the right time," her tone was cold. Dead serious, she didn't seek to pierce the listeners with any emotions. "I am acutely aware you crew is a pirate crew and... You know it, I would rather have my body eaten by sea creatures than fall in hands of the men who want to drive me to the grave alive."
Bones blinked a couple of times, looking to the sides a tiny bit astounded.
Miss Guthrie was staring down at her lap.
"You have your say, Billy," Flint put his hand on his chin.
The girl lifted her head to look at Bones. He was afraid she'd give him the infamous imploring look women were so marvellous at. But she didn't. She looked him in the face with a calm expression, awaiting his judgement.
"What is it all about?" he asked Flint, trying to ignore her blank gaze. Have a say about what exactly?
The girl seemed to share the confusion.
"We have a lady in distress, aching to escape the land and weirdly fine with dying alongside your brothers," recapped the captain.
"We can't take her," Billy shrugged simply. "The Urca…" that had to be said discreetly. "… is a risky enterprise. The chances we'll have her… um, you, miss, dead are… high."
"The chances of it happening appear to fall into the category of indifference," James chuckled bitterly and addressed the girl. "And what would you do on board?"
"I'd be puking over the boards and causing you trouble," a good command of dry humour at its finest.
"Very well," Flint laughed. Billy didn't. "Resourceful. Exactly what we need."
"No skirts on board," said Bones.
The girl cast a look upon him and nodded hopelessly, but sagely. Composing her lips she lowered her eyes to Eleanor…
"What I mean is… go fetch yourself a pair of trousers."
Guthrie exhaled.
The girl stared at Billy in disbelief. She couldn't comprehend it at first. Then she blinked. And frowned. And nodded, absent look falling upon his frame. Her mouth relaxed.
Oh, brother, are you bloody awake to what you are doing?
But before Bones could go far with giving himself account of his own actions, Flint spoke out again.
"Billy, get Gates," Bones bit his lip, uneasily drawing his eyes at the captain. "Tell him he is to welcome that girl as if she was his daughter. She is from now on. Hear me?"
"Yeah. I do," he said hesitantly. "But before… there's something…"
"Right," the captain pursed his lips and looked at the girl. "Wait there, will you?" he gestured to the chest.
She stepped back without dissent and Billy moved forward past her, getting closer to the captain.
The discussion comprised five lines at halves at most and then Bones beckoned, casting the last look upon the girl, and hurried away.
"Why Gates?" Eleanor took a pull from her mug.
Is she another secret Flint is to take aboard?
Billy was striding across the camp.
Is she another thread of his murky…?
His chest itched thanks to all the sand and dirt sticking to it, so he tried to shake it off snappishly.
It didn't seem to him his consent had been much needed as of taking the decision – it had already been taken in the girl's favour, and the captain's lofty talking of Billy's authority savoured of pure prate, so Bones allowed himself to say…
"Flint's taking a girl aboard," Gates felt his heart jump as the man, materializing out of nowhere, whispered the words into his ear.
"The fuck?" Hal grimaced, lowering his hands from the ropes he'd been uncoiling. Billy shrugged. "A girl? On board? Now?"
"Moreover, he wants you to pretend she is you daughter," seeing Gates bogging, Bones put his hands on his hips. "Go figure it out yourself, I don't follow him anymore."
"Calm down, Billy."
Bones narrowed his eyes and looked into the distance. He did regret it already.
"She's either something Flint needs and the crew don't, or they'll tear her to ribbons…"
"Don't be too quick to judge, son," Hal closed his eyes for a second, seeking composure. "Who is she? What's the name?"
"I didn't happen to catch it," that's remarkable, isn't it?
"Alright," the old man looked Billy in the eyes. "Let's see."
"We see and what? Will you restrain him if…?"
"Billy, I said, get a fucking hold of yourself. And put you shirt on, don't scandalize her," Gates laughed huskily.
The wind was coming from the west. Something clattered next to her and she turned her head. The bearded pirate who had met them some time before appeared to feel free to scrutinize her. She eyed him head-to-toe in response. The tarp of the tents flapped.
The air in London was almost always unheated, and now her chest was sore from breathing the incandescence of the Bahamas. The boning of her corset sunk into her skin and she shifted, breathing out. Flint and Eleanor still conversed, but she could hear nothing.
"Hey," a big shadow fell upon her. When she tilted her chin to look at him, Billy bowed his head. "Come. Meet Gates."
The girl stood up hesitantly, the top of her head reaching his shoulder. They both had their eyes fixed upon Gates' figure spanking towards them. He slowed down, feigning disbelief on his face. Billy sucked his teeth. What a performance.
"What's your name?" she heard the older man whisper, reaching out to her.
"Galloway Faulkner," a whisper back.
Suddenly, Gates' acting got tenfold better. His jaw dropped and he darted forward to get the girl into a bear hug.
Bones watched the scene with his eyebrows knitted. Hal squeezed the girl even harder and shut his eyes, his face grew distorted with pain.
"God be with you, child," he felt her hands on his back. "Hope you understand what you are getting yourself into."
She did. And she let him know, resting her head upon his shoulder.
Well, at least now Bones could be certain Gates would bring light into the whole bloody mess.
The wind blew harder, hiding her face in her hair. Something went creaking and hawing.
"Oh, shit," Billy let out a sigh.
She heard him start off, and Gates pulled back, watching the young man.
The trees the Walrus was tied to went bending. Ropes tightened.
"Get away!"
She was almost swept by the crew rushing to the ship.
"Down!"
It all mixed. The palms, uprooting, threatened to fly off. The wind bellowed.
"Quick!"
Without even realising it, she was moving. She could see Flint and Bones standing not far from the ship.
All the structures the wind ran through sang and moaned. The careening crew were fleeing, crying out warnings.
And then a scream pierced her ears.
Galloway screwed her head round.
Billy dashed forward to the hull, but Flint stopped him.
"Randall," she heard someone whisper behind her.
The buzzing in the ears got almost unbearable.
The man kept screaming and it was driving her desperate. Half of the crew stood still. So did she.
"We got to cut her loose. We have no time."
Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Bones draw out his cutlass.
"This is taking too long," said Eleanor, shuffling about.
A man shifted nearby. Galloway slowly turned her head. His long black hair was shielding the face. He was looking down on a butchers knife in his hand. They lifted their eyes simultaneously and peered at each other.
That's the way it goes.
The man ran towards the ship. And the screams got louder.
The ship fell over with all the ropes cut. All the cutlasses down.
The silence that followed deafened her.
It was stunning.
Galloway forgot to blink and her dry eyes hurt, but she kept looking.
The men grasped their heads.
Some of them stepped forward.
Billy opened his mouth slightly.
Captain Flint emerged from the hull, and the peculiar cook, without the cat now, was lacking a leg.
She breathed and shut her eyes.
Turning her back to the ship she headed for the town. Back to the fishwives and the odd smells.
She needed trousers.
Foul winds marked her every inception, but never so in a literal sense.
"Because I'm afraid of him," Billy's eyes fortified his words. "And now he drags a girl with us."
"Listen, Billy," Gates put his hand on Bones' shoulder. "He wouldn't do it if it wasn't an emergency…"
"You know her?" Bones squinted at the sun, recovering his temper gradually.
"I knew her father."
Gates went silent. He closed his eyes and, sighing, resumed.
"She has nothing to do with Flint… and his needs, as you chose to put it. Gal is… in more strife than a pregnant nun," Hal chuckled. "And this," he gestured to the ship. "Won't relieve her, but it's the only choice she has. She is a good person, son. Don't be bothered, I'll watch out for her, lest she goes belly up. Speak of the devil!" He smiled wide gazing into the distance.
Bones looked over his shoulder. She was slowly walking along the camp, avoiding the tents. Seeing Gates wave at her, she frowned, but changed her direction.
"No more clobber?" Hal smiled at her as she approached them. She had her dress in her hands - long fingers, nails short and clean. Now Billy could see the simple pattern of embroidery on thegreen fabric. His mother used to needle shoulder yokes of his shirts…
The corners of Gal's lips turned up. She shook her head. The dark hair was put up, but a stray lock was tickling her round cheek.
"Left everything behind, aye?" Hal closed one eye, looking up at her.
"Discarded."
"Yeah, right…" he let out a heavy sigh. "Don't know where to put it?" Galloway shook her head again, pursing her lips. "Let me… I'll see to it…" Gates took the clothes, smiling at her. Billy's eyes wandered to the sea. "Just a moment…"
"Is it alright?"
Gal was silent for a couple of minutes, so when she spoke, Bones flinched.
"Beg you a pardon?"
"The trousers."
He glanced at her. And the glance lingered.
A man's shirt tucked into a pair of brown breeches that went up to her waist. A cloth, appearing to be a headscarf, tied around her hips. A thin pale scar running along the anterior forearm. Her placid, thoughtful expression and wan dark eyes.
"Yes. It's… fine. Will do."
Gal gulped.
"Wish to take a seat?" he was about to rise from the barrel he sat upon, but she refused.
"No… I'm fine."
When Gates came back, Bones realised the girl was still near – she'd plopped down on the sand and crossed her legs – and Hal cooed over her softly, saying she'd better put something under her arse as the sand was getting cold. She thanked him and said it wasn't necessary.
Billy kept his eyes to the horizon. The remorse sat heavy on him. Morley had indeed been putting him in a predicament and now… Jesus.
Timidness was something Bones had left on the Old Continent, but he never took anything for granted, especially the camaraderie of the crew. And having his loyalty queried over the fact he couldn't muster a nerve to stick up to the captain… Shit.
Billy shook his head and the body bag lurked into his view. His jaw flexed.
"Hello," her voice seemed more distant than before. He twisted his head to see her sitting indeed further away that she had been.
She's just being cautious. I couldn't have scared her. Have I?
He knew he hadn't scared her, but he had sneered upon hearing her ask Gates if she could help with anything. He didn't mean to be rude; he didn't even know why he did that. There was a minute confidence she might understand he wasn't snotty, but just fucking fagged…
Why would he give a damn about what she makes of him anyway?
At first he didn't see whom she addressed, but then he noticed Betsy sniffing the girl's ankle. The cat pressed her wet nose to Gal's skin and then just bit into her. Billy couldn't help but smile as the girl dimpled up.
"You, silly fellow," she reached out to stroke Betsy and the beast gave her hand a butt.
"It is a girl," Billy raised his voice so that she could hear him.
She looked at him. No apprehension. Yes, it was rude.
"Does she have a name?" the cat kept gnawing playfully at the girl's fingers.
"Betsy."
"She's odd," Gal lifted her hand to demonstrate that Betsy would jump a little to get hold of her piece of 'bone'.
"It's Randall's," Billy shrugged.
"Randall?" her eyebrows darkened. "Is he the one…?"
"Yes."
"I am sorry."
"Morley was his best mate," Bones beckoned to the corpse. And the conscience hit him again.
"Was it the wind?" the girl didn't seem to pay attention to Betsy climbing onto one of her knees. "Was it too rude?"
"Yes," Bones looked down. "And also, I guess those two morons over there tied the ropes to a wrong palm, and the pull wasn't right…"
Betsy snuffled the girl and Gal scratched her behind the ear.
"You are the quartermaster, right?"
"Yeah, I am to blame," the words came out harsh.
"That's not... what I meant," she lowered her voice and her head, looking back at the cat.
Fuck you, Billy. He thought. Hal wouldn't appreciate it.
"Here she is!" the sound of Gates' rejoice made them turn their heads. "Randall is asking for her," the old man laughed.
"Here, take your dog," Gal took the cat under the fore paws. "Oh, she has such a funny stomach," the girl beamed looking up at Gates and stretching her hand full of fur to him.
Hal gave a throaty genuine laugh before looking sternly at Bones.
"Billy, come with me."
As the quartermaster stood up, Gated shoved the cat into his chest – the animal in its turn protracted its claws right into his flesh and Billy swore under his breath.
"I repeat once again, she has nothing to do with our calamities, let alone she isn't the origin, so please…"
"I am not stupid," Bones tried his best to detach the bloody claws from his shirt as they went deeper into the camp. It didn't even occur to him to hold anything against her. "Will you explain…?"
"I will. Son, I'm only asking you… treat her as a brother. She has no better place to be at but here, and you fucking know how good it is. She is in for no joy, but if we manage to put even a little smile on that face – I'd be utterly glad…"
"Do I look like a bleeding jester?"
"You do not," Hal said calmly, raising his eyebrows. "See after her till I come back, will you?"
"I have things to see to," with Betsy finally in Gates' hands, Billy crossed his arms.
"Had you shit to do, you wouldn't be sitting there stock-still," seeing the young man frown deeper, Hal patted him on the shoulder. "It is not your fault. Go, take a rest. We are off to sort out a great deal of mess…"
Billy's jaw jumped, but he depressed his eyes and tilted his head.
On his way back, Bones took his and Gates' blankets from their tent.
He could see her rinsing her bitten hand in the seawater.
Gates was right. Scaring her away meant her fleeing, losing her last chance, as everybody kept reminding him it was, and dying somewhere else; and maybe for that Billy would never give himself the absolution. She just came for help and having received the minuscule aid, stayed put and never bothered anyone. She even offered her own assistance…
And that thousand yard stare of hers was starting to dissuade him she was just a mad lass with queer fads. Something about her seemed genuinely distraught.
"You can go inside," he told her. "If you want."
"No, um, thank you," she forced a polite smile. "I'll be fine."
I knew it.
"Take it," he waved the blanked in his outstretched hand. "The sand is getting cold, Gates didn't lie."
She reached for the fabric, and Billy gently handed it to her. Gal folded it before she sat down upon it. Billy, though, spread his one on the sand and lay on his back.
"He told you to do that."
"Pardon me?"
"Gates."
Billy hesitated to answer.
"He doesn't think it was you fault. And I bet he is a man whose word can be given credence to."
Bones chuckled at her.
"Am I?"
He had to undergo a scrutinizing examination of her eyes before she uttered, "I'd wager".
"And the captain?"
"Um-hum."
"So you know straight away who deserves trust and who doesn't?" he closed his eyes, putting his hands under his head.
"I wish I did."