Halfway

James Delaney was well on his way to Ponta Delgada when his crew lose their ship in a storm, only 350 miles away. A story of being halfway on journeys, between worlds and at a meeting point.

Author's note: I loved taboo - I'm so intrigued by it all. So impressed with how Tom Hardy can always portray such deep and complex characters... I thought I'd have a play around with what might have happened next on their journey!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own characters which you will recognise! I'm not awesome at geography so just work with me... I've based the story just south of Ponta Delgada on the island of Porto Santo.

"I want this boat." The statement was made with finality. A low command. A foreign sound, and an intrusive one.

The top hat upon the speaker's head continued to cover his dark eyes, as he tossed a heavy velvet bag onto the captain's table before him. A flash of gold glimmered from beneath the loosened strings, reflecting the light filtered through the cabin windows. Light which contrasted starkly with the black coats draped around the three men who had just entered into the room. The only warning had been the quick and rhythmic stomp of heavy boots across the deck.

Beside the captain's chair, a stocky man cleared his throat, and it echoed around the otherwise quiet room. Angus Braithwaite eyed the bag apprehensively.

The normally large cabin became dwarfed by the three men that stood close to the doorway. The largest of the men stept forwards, with his arms by his side, a natural predatory stance morphing him into someone who demanded fear. His clenched fists were the only thing that gave any indication that he was not completely comfortable within the walls of The Nessa. The two men at his side could not be more opposite, one with scars and a compass tattooed on his bald scalp, the other well-dressed but with telltale burns to his neck and arm. This crew that had arrived on the shores of Porto Santo, within the week, brought about many questions and little answers.

Freya Helia, captain of The Nessa, did not move from her place behind the table, but rather watched the fingertips she had placed on the edges of the desk slowly lose their colour as her grip tightened. This man was exactly as she had expected. James Keziah Delaney. Arrogance rolled off him in waves, and it made her stomach clench. He did not acknowledge her, but rather had his body turned towards Angus, as if waiting for confirmation. Angus was normally a hardened man, a quartermaster with a belly that had seen too many ales and eyes that were in a constant glare of suspicion. He had heard the rumours, they all had. It was hard not to overhear the wildfire of newcomers that had reached the small island.

Angus' eyes flicked wearily between Freya and the men before him. He knew fair well of the violence that followed in the wake of this crew, and knew just as well the lack of men that were currently aboard the decks Freya's ship. If the rumours were true what was said about this man, he was not to be trifled with. Glancing at the clock above the doorway, he could make out the two hours that were still to pass before his men were due back from tending to the other ships. The storm that had been brewing across the ocean had reached their shore the night before, and had not been kind to those on the shoreline. Swallowing past the growing lump in his throat, he almost winced as the noise broke the lingering silence. His mistress still did not speak, and Angus felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise as Delaney rose his hand to wave gloved fingers in the direction of the gold. Such a simple gesture, but one that reflected the power behind his form.

'You should find that more than enough for this ship." The last word was spoken with a slightly lowered inflection, his intent clear of what he thought of the state of The Nessa. True, it had seen better days. And by god that gold in there was more than needed. The port had seen a particularly devastating season, as the storms and hurricanes had devastated the trade routes. Fear of the port was ever-growing and it was ever clear that there were more lucrative trade routes becoming available. However, the use of the islands as a base for ships on their was to Ponta Delgada was still as strong. Though not all visitors were as welcome.

The screech of a lantern on its hook forced a blink from the women behind the desk, and she pulled her gaze from her icy fingers, up to the portly man who was attempting to right the steel lantern he had stumbled into. He cleared his throat and mumbled what may have been an apology as he ran a roughened hand over his tattooed head. A crooked, bashful smile graced his lips and the dull shine of gold appeared as his teeth came into view.

"Maybe we ought to introduce ourselves to the lady?" He suggested, no apparent fear for the man standing in front of him. "Out of politeness and all?"

Delaney did not move, but his knuckles clenched further, which did not go unnoticed. He was not a patient man. It went without saying that he did not care for introductions, and considered any more discussion a waste of his time. The last man had stayed quiet, and clearly knew his master would not be offering any small talk. He stepped closer to the Captain's table towards Angus.

"My name is Dr George Cholmondeley, I am a lover of chemistry and of women," he almost drawled, his voice smooth. A slight rasp at the end of his sentence gave wind to smoke damage from whatever had left the explosive scars on the side of his neck. He bowed very slightly to Angus and lower to Freya, whose eyes were drawn to him slowly. Motioning to the still slightly stumbling man behind him he spoke with somewhat disapproval, "This is Atticus, a man of very little talent and a face that only a mother could love." This gained a scowl from said man, and a slight tilt of Freya's head at the man's attempt at humour. She could tell he was saving the most notorious introduction for last, though she did not know whether it was for dramatic effect or because he was putting it off for as long as possible. As the doctor's dark gaze moved from his counterpart to his master, Freya braced herself. She would not give him the chance to spin tales about this man. As he opened his mouth, she finally spoke.

"I know who you are."

A small, almost sad smile grew on the doctor's face. Of course she did. This kind of crew did not go to places without eliciting whispers. The question was, how much of these whispers were of truth, and would they create enough of a rumble to lead this ship to fall into their lap. The sun that flickered through the windows of the ship danced across the women's face, creating an eerie effect on her pale skin. One of small squares in the window was broken, and the dust that gathered in the light floated silently in the slight breeze let through the cracks. The dark hair gathered at Freya's neck came loose slightly as she turned in her chair to better look at Cholmondeley.

"Then you will know that our ship was destroyed beyond repair in the most recent storm," he stated, moving past Delaney to rest an arm on her table. Freya felt the muscles in her throat tighten as he moved closer.

"News travels quickly on such a small island," Freya said quietly, not taking her eyes of the man, as his eyes flickered briefly to Delaney, before settling back to her. Cholmondeley's smile became forced as he considered Delaney's silence. It was more often than not a sign of barely restrained anger that constantly seemed to run through the man since they had left England. He moved on quickly, urging the conversation to the point.

"That it does. It has already come to our attention that the ships on this island answer to the Helia Anchoring company," Cholmondeley moved to run his fingertips over the velvet bag containing the gold. "With The Nessa being the most competent and ready for our... needs."

Freya leant back on her chair slightly and folded her arms. She could feel her fingers tingling as the blood flowed through them once more. "And what needs might that be?"

A loud bang startled Cholmondeley as James Delaney stepped forward, grabbing hold of the banister in the middle of the cabin roughly with a gloved fist. This women was already making him angry. The familiar fire of it twisted around him and focused his gaze.

"That is none of your concern." His voice was rougher than before, and his head tipped back enough for Freya to see the shadows over his dark eyes as they stared her down. The scar over his left eye was crinkled as he glared across the room at her. He spoke to Angus, without turning from her. "You would be wise to take the money."

Angus stepped forward slightly and placed a hand on Freya's shoulder in a silent bid of support. She knew he thought it wise as well. "Lass, you may want to-"

"Excuse me gentleman, I would speak to Mr. Delaney alone," Freya cut her quartermaster and long time friend off before he had the chance to share his opinions. She felt his fingers grip her shoulder tighter and drew in a long breath. Delaney's eyes narrowed, though he said nothing. He could see that he trusted her as much as she trusted him. Freya had no interest in his trust, only the sight of him behind locked bars.

"Freya," Angus whispered almost harshly and she held a hand up to stop him.

"That's not a request." Angus was unused to her cold demeanour, but would not question her authority as captain. As much as a captain as she could be. She heard him swallow loudly and release her shoulder slowly. Delaney inclined his head slightly to his men, indicating that they should leave. They too appeared at a loss, and it was only with a barked order from Delaney did they move to leave. Angus followed with a weary look over his shoulder. Freya could only nod at him as he closed the cabin door, the fear, anger, disgust had blocked her throat. She had hoped she would never come across this man, but fate had other plans.

Delaney took off his hat and placed it on the edge of the table, revealing dirty, dark hair shaped into wet spikes. The shadows disappeared from his eyes and she could see into the dark blue depths that almost appeared black. She had seen these eyes before, though not through her own. He ran a hand over his face and through his beard, glancing around the run-down cabin before turning his gaze back on her.

"Name your price," he said gruffly, impatient. Steeling herself to his icy glare, she sat up straighter, not liking how small he made her feel. Swallowing past that damn lump in her throat, she reminded herself that she was the captain of the ship. She owned the company. Even if it was through inheritance, it was hers to do with what she wished.

"Let me make myself clear from the beginning, Mr Delaney," she spoke, heart skipping as her voice trembled slightly. He watched her every move, muscles in his jaw tightening with each passing second. Reminding herself of who exactly this person before her was, she pressed on. "I would rather sink every single one of my ships to the bottom of the ocean, before I would sell one to you."

Silence encompassed the room very briefly, while Delaney's eyes flashed with something akin to surprise and settled into rage. His shoulders rolled back and he stood even firmer. Freya watched him, feeding off his rage and feeling her own rise.

"You do not," his voice was steady and low, "Want to cross me, Helia."

She was not surprised that he knew who she was, it was not hard to find out. What did rattle her slightly was his straightforward threat to her. Not that she would let him see. The muscles in her throat were so tight that she was surprised that she could speak.

"I have no interest in your threats, Mr Delaney." She watched his eyes darken impossibly further. "You are on my island, with my ships, and I do not associate with men like you."

A hiss escaped his teeth as he placed his hands on the front of the desk, the leather in the gloves protesting as he clenched his hands. Leaning forward he growled, "You know nothing of men like me."

Freya let a small smile left the corners of her lips and she pushed her chair back from the table to stand. She was tall, and her height stabilised her against his tall frame. She wiped her sweaty palms on the skirts of her dress and stepped back. She would not let him intimidate her.

"Men like you..." she repeated, beginning to walk away from him towards the other side of the cabin. Picking up papers from a side table she continued angrily, "Men who swear allegiance to their country. Men who people trust upon. Men who lie and steal and cheat-"

She was cut off when a strong hand gripped her upper arm and spun her around harshly.

"Be very careful, girl,"His voice was still that smooth rasp, and Freya almost admired his control. "You are right. I am a dangerous man. And my patience has run out."

Pulling away from his burning grip she tossed the papers that she held in her hands at his feet. They scattered across his dark, dirty boots and he slowly pulled his stony eyes from hers, to glance in their direction.

Cornwallis sinks, skeleton crew drown.

The heading on the yellowed paper was still bold and ever striking. The faded picture of a large ship upon the water at the dock, was a haunting one. Nothing needed to be said, this was evidence enough to state that she knew of exactly what kind of man James Delaney was. She had held onto that picture for as long as she could remember, and had stared at the picture more than she would care to admit since this new crew had arrived on her shores. The name James Keziah Delaney was one that she had burned into her mind, like red hot steel. One that she would never forget and had never hoped to come across. There was only a small crew on that ship. A small, dishonest, sinful crew. And they should have all been swallowed by the sea for what they had done.

"Not many people know. But I know of your journey," Freya whispered, her breath coming fast and quick as memories assaulted her. The jeers from the sidewalks, the stones thrown at her family, the burning of her childhood home. "There was another on the ship. Jebidiah Helia."

Freya could barely bring herself to look at the man before her, but she needed to see that he understood. That he knew. He had not removed his eyes from the paper below him, but his eyes flickered slightly as he took in the picture. The muscle that ticked in his jaw and his closing fists indicated that he did indeed know of whom she spoke.

"My father died alongside the rest of your crew," she spoke so quietly, but she knew he heard. "When that ship sank, so did my family's reputation."

People knew that they had lost a lot of money on the illegal slave trade, and a lot of future business with Helia Anchor. With it came hate, anger and resentment. It brought her mother and sister's death. And it brought a deep-set black ring of utmost rage that forever squeezed around Freya. Blinking back tears that watered her vision, she drew in a shaky breath. "So no, Mr Delaney. I will not sell a single ship to a murdering slave trader."

Finally the man's eyes lifted to hers and although she had some small hope that she would see remorse, guilt or pain on his face that was dashed when his eyes met hers. James Delaney's face was frozen into a stone mask and Freya quickly realised that no emotion was much more terrifying than any real feelings. She took an instinctive step back towards the door and he quickly matched her step. As she began to back away from him with more haste, he grabbed the bag full of coins without breaking her gaze and took swift strides towards her. She had barely yanked the door of the cabin open when she was pushed roughly against the railing outside. She felt her back press up against a solid, vicious figure and her stomach get pushed hard into the railing. She could see the dark, swirling water below her through blurry tears and went to call out when a roughened, gloved hand came around her throat, resting two fingers over her lips and two under her jaw to silence her. Freya knew he would feel her fear, feel her shaking body. She closed her eyes as she felt his bearded cheek brush against her ear as he whispered to her harshly, almost silently.

"I have done much worse than journey on a sinking slave ship," the final sound was sharp in her ear as he announciated each word carefully. "And I will continue to do. Much. Worse."

A tear slipped down her cheek as the hand around her face tightened and he slipped the other around her waist tightly. She could feel the heavy bag of coins against her hip and felt herself nearly choke on her fear. She hated how scared he made her, hated the rumours that surfaced in her mind of his flesh eating, his torture, his malice. Her mind had always been one for imagination, and it was often her downfall.

Turning her around, she was so close to him that she could see the stormy colours in his iris'. He would have been beautiful she realised, had it not been for his ugly sins. Pulling her hand up roughly he placed the bag of coins in her hand and nodded once.

"You have two hours to leave this ship," his voice shook slightly, though with what she did not know. "You will arrange the papers to be sent to me."

It was on the tip of her tongue to agree, to give in to the warm body pressed against hers. His head tilted slightly as he raked his eyes over her face and it was only when his gaze released her did was she shaken from her fear. This man had been responsible for the death of her father, was responsible for the death of hundreds of slaves, slaves that haunted her dreams. She would not bow. Turning her hand ever so slightly over the banister, she let the coins drop into the water, one by one. A golden cascade was swallowed by the sea, and with it she felt herself relax. Let him do his worst.

"Go and collect your blood money," she said smoothly, her voice now resolute. "I hope the weight of it drowns you like you drowned those men."

Ruh Roh!