A/N: Hello everyone! Here we have the first chapter of the long-awaited sequel to Master of Tides. (If you haven't yet read it, I recommend that you do, for little will make sense here if you don't.) When we last left our heroes, William and Julia remained on Barbados as the Temperance and the Arcadia sailed on in search of adventure, while Henry returned to England on a mission. About two years have passed since their last encounter, making it the summer of 1672.
Charleston, South Carolina was originally founded as Charles Town in 1670 on the Ashley River before being relocated ten years later. It wasn't formally incorporated until the American Revolution, instead being ruled by state officials and lords who had fallen into the good graces of the King. The settlers from Barbados encountered flooding, disease, conflict with Native American tribes, along with a slew of corruption and crime. It is here where the main storyline is set.
I apologize for the delay in this story! I'm still in college; research and coursework left me with little free time this semester. I hope everyone who read my stories previously joins me along for the ride. I've got a few oneshots waiting in the wings, including an addition to the Common Life AU series. Anyhow, this story contains the trinity: Jilliam, Gemily, MTB. Rated T for violence and action. This is an AU, and some characters will be a little OOC. There will be ten chapters, and fear not, for there will be a seafaring battle or two!
Next time: A plot recap of MOT, and the new Captain has a chance to explain herself.
Mistress of Discord
Chapter One
In the wee hours of the morning in the island community of Bridgetown, a foul plot was afoot. William suspected he was subconsciously aware of it in his slumber, as a roaring fire was prepared downstairs and a pot of water set to boil, raising the temperature in the sleeping loft a good ten degrees. Nevermind the fact that it was the middle of summer and he was perspiring already as he lay in his cot, shirt halfway unbuttoned and blanket kicked to one side; the sound of his housemate struggling to pull the heavy tub across the rough floorboards was enough to rouse him.
Opening one eye a fraction of an inch, he was treated to the sight of the doctor stooped over, tugging on the handles of the tub with all of her might. It never failed to surprise him just how physically strong Julia was-certainly she had plenty of time to develop her strength in her trade, touting corpses onto her morgue slab and lifting drunkards twice her weight-but it was the little girlish things she did when she thought no one was looking that particularly endeared her to him.
Presently, it was the way she hummed in satisfaction as she finally succeeded in pushing the tub over into her corner, pausing to tie a cascade of blonde curls at the nape of her neck with a bit of twine. Hiking her nightgown up to mid-thigh, she gingerly made her way down the steps, once again conscious of the fact that she lived with someone else. As William observed through slitted eyes, Julia touted pot after pot of scalding water up to the second level and added it to her bath. Once she was satisfied with the level to which the tub was filled, she stepped back and admired her handiwork, hands perched on her hips.
Without even turning around, she suddenly declared, "William Murdoch, I know you are awake."
He had been caught! Somewhat bashfully, he rolled over to avert his eyes. Surely she knew that his intentions hadn't been voyeuristic in nature, but all the same-
"Do try not to use all of the hot water this time," he answered, somewhat pleased to hear her chuckle in response. Over his shoulder, he heard one set of curtains that separated their sleeping quarters be drawn, followed by the shuffle of Julia shedding her gown and stepping into the water.
Over the course of the time they'd lived together, William and Julia had grown accustomed to each other's routines. Neither were particularly fond of sleep, for their work often kept them up late into the night and shook them from their beds early in the morning. As sure as the good people of Barbados insisted on committing sundry breaches of judgment, they had to be ready to spring to action at a moment's notice.
Their building sat at the crest of a gentle swell in the land some five minutes' walk from the docks, blending in with the other establishments with its clapboard roof and walls painted in the softest of canary yellows. That had been Julia's idea, along with the two signs mounted above the door by a neighborhood handyman: Bridgetown Constabulary, Sir William Murdoch presiding, and below, Ogden's General Surgery and Apothecary. A bell resting against the inside of the door would alert them to someone's presence; upon entering, their guests would be standing between two oaken desks that had been imported from England at considerable expense to the pair. A good deal of wall space was occupied with bookshelves and cabinets. On one side lay the city's public records and William's literature on criminal behavior, while every available space on the opposite end of the room was littered with Julia's medical texts, her tinctures and tools.
Further into the building sat the makeshift examination table and a growing collection of jars containing every part of the human body, cleaned and stored in brine. This was set apart from the fire pit and sitting area with a heavy curtain; on the occasion that she operated on a patient, William often found that he had to leave the building so as not to be overtaken by the noxious odors and terrible sounds coming from behind it.
Several times he was even conscripted to act as a surgical aide. Julia certainly wasn't the only doctor on the island, nor the most educated, but her prices were fair and the indentured servant population had taken a shining to her, particularly the women. William had personally assisted with over twenty births, each time growing less horrified and more awestruck by the beginning of life.
(That was another matter-the English servants on the sugarcane plantations didn't make a reliable salary, so they were often paid in odds and ends, pots of stew or stiff workman's breeches. He didn't bat an eye when once Julia returned from a housecall tugging a sow on a leash. Neither could bare to slaughter the creature, so she became more of a pet, receiving a name, Betty, and her own living quarters around the rear of the building. The pen was immediately adjacent to the shed that also functioned as a cell, and it was remarked by more than one recently sobered drunkard that the smell was almost punishment enough.)
He digressed. William felt fulfilled in his work. The islanders were a curious mixture of high society, their slaves and servants, passing sailors, ne'er-do-wells, and middle class merchants. He worked intimately with each group to better their community, and had gained quite the positive reputation for himself. Barbados became his own slice of paradise in the raucous developing sphere of the Caribbean, and though he'd initially been reluctant to go, he wouldn't have traded all the accolades in Yarmouth for his current role.
And yet it did not escape him that his world was small, increasingly consumed by the presence of the beguiling woman that shared his home. It was scandalous enough that an unmarried pair be living together, let alone that they were seen almost exclusively in each other's company when they ventured out in public. There was talk among the town folk as to the nature of their relationship, but they didn't ask and he didn't supply them with information. It had been almost two years since their ordeal in San Juan, and almost that long since either of them had heard from the crews of the Temperance and the Arcadia. But their interest in each other had yet to wane, and William had to acquiesce that the time was coming that decisions would have to be made as to how their unspoken courtship was going to proceed.
Finally when Julia exited the bath and went downstairs to prepare the morning meal, William performed his morning ablutions. The longer he lived this casual lifestyle, the looser his sense of sartorial decorum became. He no longer wore a tie or cravat, but left his shirt partially unbuttoned over a vest. His leather brogues were long since replaced by cloth loafers. But he took pride on remaining immaculately groomed, and suspected his housemate appreciated that.
Julia didn't attempt to be any more ambitious than sliced fruit and crackers for breakfast; indeed, somehow in the course of her unconventional childhood, the culinary arts had evaded her. The detective didn't mind, taking the opportunity to catch up on his reading as they ate. Twice a year a book merchant from London moored up the coast, and he already knew the both of them by name for their discerning tastes.
Several hours passed in which the two were engrossed in their work. On slow days such as this one, the morning and afternoon often passed in silent contemplation and study. At last there was a rather polite knock at the door. Julia answered it, greeting the young man on the threshold with a warm smile. The island lacked a formal postman as deliveries were few and far between, but there were always a few messengers loitering about the docks looking for a job and pocket change. She chatted with the boy a few moments, perhaps arranging an appointment for one of his family members, before shutting the door and returning to her desk.
"It's addressed from the law offices of James, James, Jarvis and James, Charles Town, Province of Carolina," she said, tracing her finger over the letterhead and seal.
Murdoch raised his eyebrows. The town in question had been founded by settlers from Barbados some months prior, before being joined by a coterie of eccentric lords granted land at behest of King Charles. He'd received a few inquiries about city records from colonists who knew him from previous interactions, and even briefly wondered if he'd be reassigned up north. But that had been all, and neither had strong ties up there. "To you or I?"
She made a contemplative sound in the back of her throat. "Doesn't say." Julia's eyes strayed to the window, the lazy sunshine of the late afternoon casting shadows over her face. She reached for the letter opener, only to sit back and tuck the letter into the breast pocket of her shirt. "What say you to performing our constitutional?"
William and Julia made a point to trace the perimeter of the city at least once per day, ever vigilant for the slightest sound of trouble and to keep their relationship with the public strong. There were more than fifty businesses and countless residences in walkable distance of the constabulary; each of them knew of their local constable and were often keen to stray from his bad side. When they turned onto a less populated street, she would often tuck her hand into the crook of his elbow and they would proceed thusly, enjoying the fine weather and each other's company. And so it had been, every day for almost two years.
Neither mentioned the letter as they strolled along the main thoroughfare adjacent to the docks. Town was situated on the southwest quadrant of the island, prime location for the leeward ocean breezes to keep the air cool. Farther east and north lay the great expanses of sugarcane fields, where William hesitated to venture for recollection of previous experiences.
A shattered wine glass. The broken body of a child. A warm gun and a folded map…
"Do you ever think about moving back to England, William?" His companion shook him out of his reverie, nodding and waving at every acquaintance they passed.
He considered this, then he became cognizant of the sand cutting into his shoes and palms waving overhead, the warm sun and the familiar sensation of a lovely woman by his side. "Of course not," he replied, and meant it.
All of a sudden the celebration that had been taking place within a nearby tavern burst onto the street, as the body of a man was expelled out of the shuttered windows and onto the ground. As they watched, he drunkenly stumbled to his feet, only to be knocked backward by a heavy goblet hitting him square in the chest. The door slammed open and two people staggered out, a man and woman engaged in fisticuffs. The profile of the woman looked strangely familiar.
As this particular establishment was known for hosting the most notorious of seafaring criminals, William and Julia high tailed it up the dune in the direction of the brawl. Before they could reach her, the woman disappeared back into the building, calling for unseen companions to join her.
William reached for his weapon, a pistol that he kept tucked into the band of his trousers. At first he'd been reluctant to carry it, but Julia had insisted on purchasing a matching pair, as a minority of the population insisted on behaving as if Barbados were the same lawless homestead that had been settled some forty years prior.
"Bridgetown Constabulary! Hands in the air!" William cried, bursting through the door shortly followed by Julia. Several revelers took notice of their weapons and immediately set aside whatever implements they'd been using to spar, utensils, walking canes, and cups falling from their hands. Seeing as more than one of them were probably wanted on other islands for various infractions, they found it wise to avoid coming into the crosshairs of the law. Farther into the room, a dark haired woman kicked her opponent squarely in the gut, before pushing him up against the bar and delivering several more punishing blows.
A rough-looking sailor near the wall hoisted one of the heavy copper plates and was about to bring it over the head of a less suspecting target, when a dagger flew out of an unseen hand and pinned his shirt sleeve to the wall.
The helpless barkeep gestured wildly towards William, then to the dozen or so that continued to fight regardless of his verbal warning. Without giving it a second thought, Julia wrapped her fingers underneath the edge of a nearby table and flipped it, the sound deafening as it echoed against the walls. The table narrowly missed crushing one of the women, who reached for her weapon and drew herself up to full height just as the doctor reached for her own.
That was how Julia found herself holding her former cabin girl, Annie Cranston, at wide-eyed gunpoint.
It was as if whatever spell had come over the revelers shattered in that instant. The woman who had been holding her opponent against the bar stepped back, revealing none other than Nina Bloom, one of her old navigators. One by one, the remainder of the fighters raised their hands in surrender.
William began to walk among their ranks, checking to make sure that there were no violent suspects still hidden in the shadows. Julia reached out and forced the shocked girl to lower her gun. Catching a glimpse of the figure who had thrown the knife, she declared, "Why, Emily, it appears as if you have gotten yourself into a bit of trouble."
Emily Grace, the current captain of the good ship Temperance, nonchalantly lifted herself from the bar stool and strolled over to the wall, removing her dagger with one solid yank. The drifter fell to his knees, cowering before the woman who could just have easily taken his life.
Looking around, Julia could make out the faces of no less than ten of her former crew members, looking somewhat bashful to have been reunited in such a way. Finally Emily responded, tucking the knife into the holster around her waist.
"Far be it for me to refuse the crew a bit of fun."
She was unshakably confident as always. In spite of the situation, Julia smiled before trying to hide it by coughing into her sleeve. "Go on. Speak up. Someone explain what is going on here."
"I believe this man can tell you," Captain Grace seized a handful of the hair of the man who kneeled before her, lifting him up from the floor. "He attempted to touch one of our girls indecently."
William looked down at the man, who appeared to be intoxicated beyond his own comprehension. But if this accusation were true, he couldn't find a spot of pity for him. "Which one of you received his advances?"
Annie spoke up, a little too quickly. "It was I."
"Very well. Who witnessed this?"
All of the women and a handful of the men muttered their assent. The lawman moved towards the culprit, asking, "Have you insulted this woman's honor?"
He made a few noncommittal noises, only to have Emily drop him to the ground and pin him up once again, this time by a knee pressed dangerously close to his groin.
"I believe you heard the question, sir," she ground out, bearing down with more pressure until the drunkard finally admitted his guilt.
While William did admire the young woman's tenacity, he still knew that due process of the law was necessary. He began to move among the people congregated in the tavern, taking their statements in an effort to piece together what had happened in the scant few moments before their arrival.
"I suppose it is without merit to ask you how this transpired," Julia said to her protegee, who had managed to sit back down at the bar with some difficulty. Emily had always been sharp-tongued, even impulsive; however, this behavior was a tad concerning. Clearly more than a few things had changed since their last encounter.
She treated her to a wry smile. "You know as well as I: the same thing that happened on every shore leave we took together as shipmates. These scum of the earth simply cannot control themselves." Making eye contact with one of the men across the room who was watching them, she halfway reached for her holster and delighted to see him avert his eyes instantly.
"Say, where is George?" The last time she had laid eyes on the young man, he had been bidding them adieu from the prow of the Temperance as they sailed out of port. Since then, their correspondence had been woefully thin. She hoped that some tragedy had not befallen him.
Emily sighed with tremendous weariness and leaned back, absentmindedly running her palms over her stomach. "Back on the ship. I promised him we would not run afoul of any more of our enemies. Alas…"
Listening to her friend trail off, Julia could no longer ignore her primary concern for her crew's sudden appearance. "Emily, whyever did you not let me know you were in town?"
The captain appeared confused. "I sent that letter ahead. Did you not receive it?"
At once she remembered the envelope tucked into her shirt pocket. Julia withdrew it just in time for her companion to return to the bar, looking over her shoulder, eyes wide with concern. Unfolding the parchment, her eyes raced over the sentences carefully formed with a quill:
TO SIR WILLIAM MURDOCH, COMMANDANT OF THE BRIDGETOWN CONSTABULARY, BARBADOS.
FOND GREETINGS FROM CHARLES TOWN, MY LAW FIRM AND ALL THE SOULS THAT RESIDE HERE. YOUR REPUTATION PRECEDES YOU SIR. I AM WRITING TO REQUISITION THE RECORDS OF ONE TERRENCE MEYERS, RECENTLY BROUGHT TO HIS MAKER THROUGH A MOST GRUESOME MISADVENTURE. CULPRIT BEHIND BARS, NO NEED FOR CONCERN. HAVE TAKEN RESPONSIBILITY FOR CASE. PLEASE SEND DOCUMENTS ALONG PRESENTLY.
SIGNED SIR SAMUEL JARVIS, ESQUIRE.
"It is critical that you come back with us at once, as there is no time to spare. Our friend Henry Higgins stands to be executed for the murder."
(to be continued)