The crowd at the Faithful Bride was as boisterous as always, full of noise and distractions, the perfect setting for a clandestine meeting. No one paid heed to the two men huddled at the back table, their earnest conversation interrupted only by the periodic replenishment of drink by the barmaid.
"And you're certain of the dates?"
"Absolutely. The Mirage is scheduled to sail on the 30th."
"Friday. That gives us over a week. Plenty of time."
"I gather you spoke to the ladies and they were good with it?"
"Scarlett was her usual cautious self." Jack Sparrow sat back with a smirk, watching the flitting emotions on his friend's face.
Thomas sighed. "Scarlett."
"Been what? Two, three months since you've seen her?"
"Try six. Haven't been in Tortuga since I saw you last."
"Hmmm. Might want to watch yerself, mate. She's got a wicked right cross."
Thomas chuckled and rubbed his chin. "I'll keep that in mind. Does she know I'm here?"
Jack shook his head. "Thought it best not to mention it, until we weigh anchor. Don't need her changing her mind."
"Then I'd advise you to watch yourself as well," Thomas said, downing his drink in one gulp. "I best get back to the Griselle. We're set to sail at six bells on the night's tide. We'll rendezvous at Port Royal on Wednesday next."
The two men shook hands as they rose to go. Thomas turned and put a hand on Jack's shoulder. "Think she'll do it? After all this time she might… well, people change."
"She'll do it." Jack grinned. "No worries, mate. Scarlett will make you a beautiful bride."
"You want me to what?"
Scarlett stared in disbelief at the captain of the Black Pearl. If they weren't two days out of Tortuga without a speck of land in sight she'd have walked right off that ship, right then and there. The audacity, the cheek, the bloody nerve…!
"It's only temporary." Jack did a quick check around in case he had to beat a hasty retreat.
"You'll make a lovely bride, Letty," Giselle offered helpfully. "It's not like you don't like Captain Thomas. He's always been very kind, even saved my life."
"Then you marry him!" Scarlett turned on her head and stomped off to the great cabin where she and Giselle were staying on the voyage to Port Royal.
"What's gotten into her?" Jack groused. "It's a simple matter, really. It's not as if she doesn't like Thomas, she cries enough over him."
"Ah, but the great Capitaine, he does not know true amour, the affairs of the heart." Pierre minced across the deck. "The woman, she needs to be wooed, to feel the flutter of love in her heart."
"Bullocks."
"Perhaps if the good Capitaine Thomas were to bring her the sweet bouquet, make love to her with words, flatter her with the fine chocolates…"
"We're not talking love here; it's a bloody business transaction for gods' sake!" Jack threw his hands up in exasperation.
Giselle patted his arm. "I'll talk to her. You know how Scarlett is, stubborn as a mule. She really does like Thomas."
"Women," Jack huffed, watching the shapely Giselle hurry across the deck.
"Bad luck to have a woman on board," Gibbs offered.
"I am beginning to see the wisdom in that, Mr. Gibbs," Jack said, retreating to the helm. The ship pitched and groaned. He rubbed the wheel and murmured. "They won't be staying, luv. Just you and me, as always."
The melodious voice of Pierre wafted upward from the deck below.
"He won't be staying either," Jack added.
The Pearl fluttered her sails in response.
Captain Joshua Hughes stopped outside the Custom House in Port Royal and smiled widely, breathing deep the salty sea air. He tucked the export documents, all duly signed and stamped, inside his coat pocket and turned his steps towards the bustling docks. He'd cleared his last hurdle and was set to sail on the morning's tide. If all went well, he stood to make a tidy profit, a tidy profit indeed.
The sloop Mirage had set sail from Philadelphia two weeks prior, laden with a cargo of fish, flour and furs, which he'd sold in Barbados for hard cash – gold and silver. There he had obtained clearance papers for a load of English casks, but with no weights indicated. From there he had then passed on to the French colony of Martinique, where he'd purchased his return cargo of molasses and rum, for a much lower price than either Barbados or Jamaica could offer, filling the empty British casks that had been cleared in Barbados. A regular, albeit illegal route, but one that had become quite commonplace since the passage of the Molasses Act.
It wasn't just the evasion of the duties imposed by this Act on foreign sugar and molasses which made this voyage so profitable though. The real profit to be made, was on the other cargo stowed away – the hidden bales of Holland linens and French silks, the casks of French brandies and pipes of claret – prohibited goods that were in great demand in the Northern colonies.
Feeling smugly satisfied with the venture, and with hours to kill before setting sail, the ship master decided to quench his thirst in one of the many taverns lining the streets near the quay. Chuckling to himself, he chose the aptly titled Jolly Taxpayer. Yes, if all went well, he stood to make a tidy profit, indeed.
"There, 'e's in that tavern over there."
"You are sure?"
"Followed 'im all the ways from the Custom's 'ouse didn't I?"
Captain Thomas eyed the grungy lad dubiously before handing over several shillings. "If you're lying I'll have your…" his voice trailed off as the boy lit out for the docks, not waiting to hear the rest.
Sighing, Thomas turned and entered the tavern, ducking beneath the low doorway and peered around the low-ceilinged room filled with a miasma of oil lantern and tobacco smoke. How do I get myself into these things? Damn Jack Sparrow, that's how. Man could sell a glass of water to a drowning man. Mentally eliminating several nearby patrons, all too tattered and drunk to be a ship's master, Thomas settled on a man sitting alone at a table near the window, the feeble light filtering through layers of grime revealed a man of some stature and wealth, judging from his fashionable attire.
Procuring a bottle of rum and two tankards from the bar, Thomas made his way across the room and kicked the empty chair across from the man. "Mind if I join you, Captain Hughes?"
Hughes looked up in surprise. "Do I know you?"
Thomas laughed and sat down, pouring a generous amount of rum into both tankards. Pushing one towards the startled sea-captain he laughed. "Not yet, anyways. Name's Thomas. Heard you were setting sail for the Northern colonies. Philadelphia, to be exact."
Captain Hughes sized Thomas up with an experienced eye. "You're a sailor, I see. If you're looking for a berth you'll have to speak to my quartermaster."
"Not exactly. Looking for passage for me and my bride."
"Never take on passengers. Company rule. Sorry." Captain Hughes stood up abruptly.
"Oh that is most unfortunate. You see, my wife is most desperate to reach Philadelphia as soon as possible, to visit her ailing mother. Yours is the only ship departing this week." Thomas pulled out a leather pouch and poured the contents on the table. "I'm willing to pay. Quite well, in fact."
At the sight of the mound of gold, the other man sank back down in his chair.
"I might be willing to bend the rules slightly," he said slowly, licking his lips.
"Excellent!" Thomas raked the coins back into the pouch and tucked it into his pocket. "I will need passage for three, paid in full when we make port."
"Three?"
"My wife refuses to travel without her lady's maid." He stood up and stuck out his hand. "Then we have an accord?"
Captain Hughes stood as well and shook hands. "Agreed. We sail on the morning's tide. Blue sloop, Mirage. If you're late, we sail without you."
"Oh, trust me. We wouldn't miss this for the world."