A/N: Beckabeth fan: Thanks for the review! I love to see villains (and characters in general) as parents as well; it's a unique dynamic and gives lots of great opportunities to explore aspects of their personalities that might have been hidden otherwise. And thanks to everyone else who's reading as well - I hope you'll like what I have in store!
And here we go...
2. Pirates and Patrolmen
Twelve years passed.
Waves crashed against the lonely volcanic crater jutting out of the Caribbean Sea. Each hiss and surge brought water coursing through the cracks in the rock, running through its numerous hidden channels and turning into a large freshwater lake. At its center stood a towering structure assembled from stone and parts of ships, its torches extinguished, wooden docks deserted. Shipwreck City had been all but swept clean, and when it became clear to the invaders that there was nothing to find inside but empty taverns and armories, they left.
Some patrol ships from the East India Company lingered in the area for a few years, but when it became clear that the island's inhabitants would not return, they left as well. The Pirate Lords themselves had all fled into hiding, none of them informing the others where they had gone.
Other than a locked chest of weapons and a set of Singaporean warrior attire hidden in a closet, no visible trace remained of the Pirate King. Had anyone visited her in Port Royal, all they would see was a normal, proper family, albeit one with a few more guards than seemed necessary. Even if someone from the Company had come to interrogate her, they wouldn't have any reason to suspect that she had done anything since the voyage to Isla de Muerta over a decade ago. No one would have any reason to think that a lady in a nice dress with her hair up had clashed swords with marines, fought the Kraken, had gone to Davy Jones' locker and back.
The memory of those few troubled days during the Company's arrival in Port Royal had all but faded from the townspeople's minds. They had noticed a man in a black cloak galloping on a horse from the harbor, a crowd of wedding guests being ushered out of a church, and a large house, nearly equal to the governor's mansion in splendor and elegance, being furnished and tended to by troupes of servants filing in and out of its gates.
But then, like a fleeting rainstorm, the whispers over these events died down. Neither the search-through of the town by Company soldiers, nor the seemingly-random arrests, nor the horse galloping through the docks were repeated. Even the period of mass sentencings and hangings that had followed shortly after was willingly forgotten, covered up in public conversation like an embarrassing stain until time itself washed it away. The house at the foot of the large hill now stood empty and locked, its unknown inhabitant absent.
Still, the mark of his presence remained. The state of emergency he had declared all those years ago remained in effect, and all throughout, the town's official notice boards and institutions relayed its message: Piracy would not be tolerated.
: : : : : : : :
One spring morning, a midshipman by the name of Mullroy was standing on the dock of the HMS Lady Jane in the Port Royal harbor, accompanied by his friend, Midshipman Murtogg. Both of them sported their black-and-red Company uniforms, their muskets casually held at their sides.
It was a beautiful day – the sky was clear, the bay bright and glimmering, the numerous merchant ships and naval vessels tied up at the piers casting a web of colorful reflections on the water. A steady breeze blew through, bringing a stir to the palm leaves, though already Mullroy could feel the heat of the approaching summer and the urge to retreat into the shady overhang beneath the dock. The practice was technically frowned upon, but after nearly fifteen years of service in the same port, a newbie's nervousness faded.
They paced about the boardwalk for a while, empty except for them and a few barrels, the masts and topsails of the Lady Jane peeking up at them from the water level below. She was a fifth-rate frigate, one of the many EITC ships whose black-and-yellow hulls dominated the western half of the harbor. Their watch beside her had started at dawn, right as the nearby civilian docks had begun to liven up with activity, merchant crews unloading new arrivals while others prepared to leave. A few hours later some men from the Lady Jane had come to load some provisions, as they had been doing over the days in preparation for their upcoming voyage. Then towards midday, Mullroy and Murtogg had been switched out, which meant that they were free to do whatever they wanted, though they always ended up lingering around the harbor and the ship crews anyhow.
They went into a nearby coffeehouse for their midday meal, passing by groups of Company and Navy men going about their daily duties. From the window by their favorite table they could see their deserted pier as well as the bay beyond it. One departing ship was currently taking advantage of the wind, her crew executing elaborate maneuvers to ride it out of the mouth between the cliffsides. Mullroy watched the men in admiration as they ran to and fro adjusting sails, his gaze lingering on the ship as it swerved into open waters.
The other personnel passing by didn't give the worn-out sight much attention. They hustled about with their carts and ropes, concentrating near two other ships docked on either side of the Lady Jane. One was a large third-rate Navy ship, significantly better armed and built for sea battles. The other was also a ship-of-the-line, a bulky and well-armed Company cargo vessel. But between them the Lady Jane retained her dignity, her hull gleaming with its fresh coat of paint and her new sails neatly furled. She had a perfect balance of speed and firepower and helped defend the Company's most valuable convoys.
Sadly, however, Mullroy and Murtogg would no longer be joining her on her voyages. The Lady Jane's new captain had been making frantic revisions to the vessel's crew and for some reason had chosen to leave the two midshipmen ashore. Their previous captain, Lieutenant Groves, had taken them into his crew with good cheer, promising them both advancements in rank if they worked hard. But after a few years he was suddenly transferred somewhere else, and one Mr. Peterson had come in to replace him.
Granted, Mullroy hadn't minded who his captain was. Sailing on the Lady Jane would always be preferable to sailing aboard the Endeavour, the EITC's flagship. There he and Murtogg had been utterly anonymous; no one but the late Admiral Norrington had even referred to them by the right surnames. And anything was better than standing at attention against a rotting, moss-covered wall of a cursed ship, watching while one's superiors negotiated with a crew of slimy, wriggly fish-people. Barnacles and starfish growing on their skin, bodies contorted into crab arms and conch shell heads… It still made him shudder to think about it. So when the Endeavour had finally parted ways with the Flying Dutchman and they were given some freedom to decide where they wanted to be stationed next, Mullroy and Murtogg had both happily signed back on to the menial side of business: the guarding and the transporting. They had gone with Lieutenant Groves to the Lady Jane, and had resolved to stay aboard her even after Mr. Peterson had come.
Allegedly this new captain was trying to redeem himself after losing a large portion of cargo, which was why he was so preoccupied with making his new assignment a success. He had thoroughly interviewed the Lady Jane's crew to learn of their histories and had dismissed over twenty men, but had consoled them by writing good comments about them in his reassignment reports: 'Proven able seaman with impressive fortitude in crises.' 'Demonstrated impeccable navigational skills during the evasion of attacks.'
Mullroy's description read: 'Demonstrated loyalty.'
He had looked at Murtogg's report and it had said the same thing.
And so the two of them had found themselves transferred to harbor duty, where they watched their former crewmates run up and down the pier, already in the habit of ignoring them. A few weeks later the Lady Jane would leave, and they would be assigned to guard another ship. Then another.
Mullroy sighed, trying to push the thought from his mind by rubbing his eyes. He focused his attention back to the table of finished food, where Murtogg was sipping his coffee contentedly, also looking at the docks outside.
"I wonder why ours is always empty," Murtogg remarked.
"I suppose it's a good thing," Mullroy replied. "It means their business is running smoothly."
Murtogg frowned. "And that it could attract unwanted attention."
Mullroy didn't say anything, but he knew what his friend was talking about. He had been glimpsing them over the days too – the same two children roaming the length of the harbor together, a boy and a girl. They came in from the town every morning right as he and Murtogg went to start their shifts, that blue tricorne hat and the long dress flickering in and out of view behind the uniformed crews. Their keen faces had poked out from behind the palm trees near the buildings and appeared from the lower dock level as they traversed the sandy shores in the unguarded spaces between the ships.
It wasn't an odd occurrence per se, though each sighting gave Mullroy a slight worry that they would next turn up somewhere more restricted and sensitive. But he calmed himself with the thought that they would eventually find another playing grounds.
Until, when they had left the coffeehouse and started back in the direction of the ships, Murtogg suddenly froze in his tracks. Being the taller and sharper-eyed of the two, he usually spotted things first, and when Mullroy's gaze flickered to the spot his friend was looking at, he stopped as well.
To the left, behind a group of marching marines, came a flicker of blue and a long pink skirt. Moments later, sure as day, the figures of two young adolescents came into view walking side-by-side. They were coming from the direction of the merchant docks, and they were walking completely normally, casual and slow as if strolling through a garden. The boy's hat covered a head of long, straw-colored hair and matched the dark blue of his overcoat. The girl had a white knitted shawl tied around her waist, her dark brown hair pinned back neatly.
But it wasn't that simple. As they drew closer, Mullroy noticed that the boy was keeping his left elbow pressed to the side of his coat, as if hiding something behind it. And the girl's dress had some tears and dirt stains near the hem, as if its owner had been darting through underbrush, specifically the underbrush that Mullroy knew occurred in frequent patches behind the merchant docks, providing plenty of hiding space.
He watched them as they ventured farther into their harbor section, exchanging light conversation. At one point the boy turned around to point up at the neighboring naval ship, and right then Mullroy saw that there was indeed something hidden beneath his overcoat – the hilt of a sword. Mullroy's quick once-over registered no sheath and what appeared to be a wooden blade before the boy turned back around and his thin frame hid it from view.
Murtogg shifted his stance and swallowed. "I think we might have a situation."
The way he said the word made something flash in Mullroy's mind. Not quite a memory, but a familiar feeling. His eyes found Murtogg and narrowed pensively. "A situation?"
Murtogg gave a mute nod.
Mullroy looked back at the children. They had passed by them without a glance and continued down the road, observing the ships and crews from an as-yet-innocent distance. The boy had a long grass blade he had torn off from somewhere and was holding it like an aristocrat's pipe, biting on it occasionally. The girl followed him with her hands folded primly over the shawl, her gaze following the things the boy was pointing to.
The children went about a third of the way in before turning around. No one stopped them, none of the other captains or lieutenants having paid them any mind. Nor on their part did the children seem to have expected any kind of interference. They steadily made their way back towards the Lady Jane, at which point they turned their attention to the two midshipmen, gazes flickering to the long, empty section of boardwalk behind them.
Instantly, Mullroy backed up towards the pier, tightening his grip on his musket. Murtogg did the same, and together they formed a clumsy two-person fence. The children looked at them for a moment, then then the boy stepped forward, putting the tip of the grass blade into his mouth. A pair of slate gray eyes met Mullroy's.
"'Allo."
Mullroy did not respond, doing his best to make sure his face looked stern and discouraging. He wanted to go alert the guards on duty below, but he also knew it was too late for that. The boy continued to chew on the grass blade in the meantime, gaze sliding up in a fluid motion to the Lady Jane. He placed his hands on his sides as he examined her, looking rather like a horse breeder surveying a new specimen. Mullroy shifted his stance, feeling oddly protective.
But the boy said nothing, and after a moment he calmly lowered his head and stepped back. The girl stood where she was, doing a more abbreviated survey of the Lady Jane and giving the midshipmen a neutral once-over. Up close her face was strikingly similar to the boy's, clearly too much to be a coincidence.
At last, the children turned to leave, the girl striding off after the boy and adjusting her grip on her shawl. And right then Mullroy glimpsed the hilt of the wooden sword that she was hiding as well, the thin blade – if one could call it that – nestled within the folds of her skirt.
The children exited the dock and turned right, heading up the street into the town. At one point the boy stopped to do a little dance, hopping in place and lifting his feet, while the girl watched in annoyance. Then suddenly, something fell out from inside his coat. There was a flash of brass and a light clink as the object clattered to the ground, and the boy reached down to snatch it up, flustered. The girl rushed to his side and began to chide him, before the boy slipped the object away again and grudgingly resumed walking. But Mullroy had had time to study it, and realized he recognized it.
The children hurried towards the buildings at a quicker pace and were swallowed by the crowds. At this point Mullroy turned his head, heart thumping a bit faster, and saw Murtogg looking at him as well.
"Likely we do have a situation," Mullroy admitted.
"Rather, not us personally, but in the more general sense of 'someone'," Murtogg added.
Mullroy cast a glance to the nearby merchant ships. "But if somebody had a situation, they would have to have already recognized it was a situation and taken measures to address it."
Murtogg blinked a few times. "So they don't know it's a situation."
Mullroy nodded. "Yes."
There was a pause.
"But we know it's a situation," Murtogg said.
Mullroy thought this over and nodded again. "Yes."
"Would that make it our situation?"
The two guards exchanged another glance.
: : : : : : : :
Allie Swann followed after her brother as they exited the dock area and neared the town. Their prolonged stroll around the ships might as well have lasted days; her heart was hammering, her head spinning, the strands of her patience nearly snapped from the constant stress of looking over her shoulder while trying to make it look inconspicuous. Thankfully she could summon up a calm face when a situation required it, but still it wouldn't make her numb to her anxiousness. Her gaze kept trailing back to Rob's left elbow, where he was still clamping his coat to his side, and she prayed with all her might that the boy wouldn't be so reckless as to let it go again.
The spyglass that was hidden there had cost them quite a lot – nearly three days' worth of watching the crew of an enormous merchant ship unloading their cargo, hustling with crates and barrels of various sizes and loading them onto carriages. The captain would speak with the carriage drivers, and the carriage drivers would open the crates to inspect their contents, which turned out to be various furniture pieces and mechanical instruments from Europe.
That morning, by sheer luck, one of the crewmen doing the unloading had tripped over a loose cobblestone and dropped his crate, sending a cascade of brass spyglasses spilling onto the ground. The first had bounced and shattered immediately; the rest skittered off in various directions. An argument had ensued, the carriage men and captain shouting at each other, before finally the crew cleaned up the mess and the carriage had driven off, leaving the crate of damaged wares to stand aside by the dock. It was then that Rob had dove out of their hiding place behind some palm trees, snatched a spyglass that had rolled unnoticed into the grass, and run off. The lens was unbroken, the body made of light brass with the manufacturer's emblem engraved near the rim. No one had seen them, but as such things went, that didn't mean they had come out clean. Yet.
Now, with the docks behind them and the buildings embracing them protectively on both sides, Allie turned all the way around, walking backwards on her toes to survey the surroundings. "Are you sure nobody's following us?" she asked Rob.
Rob kept a casual pace, choosing to keep looking ahead. "Yes, I'm sure. I told you, Allie – if we had run, we'd've been caught for certain. Running means you're either frightened or you're guilty. And back there I think the verdict would've been guilty." He cast her a glance and shrugged with a matter-of-fact smile.
Allie pursed her lips in response. She continued to follow him up the street, one hand holding the skirt of her dress to keep her sword hidden. "Still, we didn't have to linger by every ship like a pair of inspectors!"
"But none of them were here last month!" Rob protested. "It's a completely new command. And that second-to-last one, didn't you see her? A sixty-gun fifth-rate! She was beautiful! How many Company fifth-rates have we seen before? That's right, nearly none because the Company usually wants more cargo room at the expense of speed. All showy with their ships-of-the-line… At least the Navy's got variety. Which reminds me, next time I think we should try to get aboard one. Ask one of those guards for a tour."
Allie rolled her eyes. "Cap'n, with all due respect, I don't think we should start distracting ourselves now. Let's get the cargo to safety and wrap up this mission first."
Rob let out a sigh. "Ah, stow it already, ye yellow-bellied landman," he said, voice adopting an exaggerated, drawn-out accent. He squinted as he surveyed the people on the streets. "No one's followin' us. Besides, it's booty, not cargo."
"Fine, booty! And stop walking so quickly!" Allie hurried after him as he finally hopped off of the dirt roadway and strode onto the sidewalk.
Right then, the loud clap of horse's hooves issued from the street, and Allie turned her head just as a large open carriage sped past them. Her eyes darted to the people sitting inside and she recognized the ship captain and the driver, along with a few other men. She gave a little gasp, freezing in her tracks as she watched them drive down towards the docks.
Rob looked after them as well, blinking. "That be most likely them…" he stated in his pirate accent.
Allie nodded. "Aye. So it is."
The children exchanged a glance. Rob pursed his lips and began to back away. "Then we'd better…" He paused. His gaze went to the street again and a frown creased his forehead. "Hold on. Why are they stopping?"
"Eh?" Allie turned.
The carriage had stopped in the middle of the street, where she could make out the figures of two EITC guards waving their arms about and calling something to the drivers. One was tall and lanky, the other shorter and stockier. The carriage slowed to a halt and the two guards approached, entering a rapid exchange with the people sitting inside. The passengers' heads turned, and with the street running in a perfectly straight line, their gazes all landed on Allie and Rob.
A moment later, the two guards broke away from the carriage and hurried in their direction.
Allie stumbled back. "Oh no! It's those two!" She collided with Rob and gripped his elbow. "Orders, Cap'n?"
"Run!" Rob spun around on his toe, and within the blink of an eye, he was gone.
Allie reacted a split second later and broke into a run after him, hands gathering the skirts of her dress. The two guards chased after them in a frantic chorus of boots, though thankfully they did not appear to be very fast – when she stole a glance over her shoulder, she saw them at about the same distance as before, awkwardly dodging passersby and clutching their muskets.
"Enemy falling behind!" she called to Rob. "Let's make them lose us!"
"Market!" Rob replied.
He quickened his pace and Allie responded in stride, the both of them veering left at the end of the street. Soon the crowds grew more concentrated and stands with fruits and vegetables began to appear on either side of them. Allie's gaze flickered out of necessity to the ground as she hopped around baskets and fallen produce, darting up just in time to dodge people's elbows. At one point she stepped on the hem of her own skirt and nearly tripped, but managed to regain her balance and gather it up again. All the while she felt the heavy wooden sword bump annoyingly against her side, just barely held down by the belt beneath her shawl. She had suggested they use sticks, but no-o! Real swords! Rob had said. Everything had to be real for that bloody idiot. Even if it meant that she had to wait for him to buy blocks of wood then spend hours watching him whittle them to the proper shape, referring to instruction books to attempt to learn an ancient, delicate craft in the space of a few days. He wouldn't stop until he had gotten them exactly right and had carved a nice pretty design into each pommel. And heaven forbid she ever told him to hurry up – she'd get a five-minute lecture on how important it was to take things seriously and that if you did things higgledy-piggledy you weren't doing them at all.
Once they were a good ways into the market, Allie stole another glance back. The two guards had gone after them as planned, and despite their resolve the commotion was beginning to overwhelm them. She saw the tall one jump aside as a stray cat ran past and the short one accidentally get the tip of his bayonet caught in a sheet of linen hanging from a line.
Her heart gave an elated flutter. "It's working, Cap'n!" she called.
"Good!" came Rob's voice. "Keep her so, then adjust course to north!"
They kept running, tracing a complicated beeline through the crowds, and made a right turn at the next street. Here the people were sparser and they sped up, using the open space to cover as much ground as possible. Rob was no longer hiding the spyglass but was clutching it securely in his hand. At last they stumbled to a stop at the end of the block, where at last the rising hills of the northern part of town came into view, and took a moment to catch their breaths.
Rob looked up at the hills and grinned. "Almost there. But we can't dally yet." He glanced over at the distant market street, where the guards did not reappear.
Allie was looking around as well, surveying the buildings and passersby around them, who as of yet did not seem to attach much significance to them. Then suddenly, her gaze caught a fleck of blue and gold from an opposite alleyway. It was a gathering of Navy men – two officers and six marines, all conferring close together. One of the officers had a face she recognized. He was surveying the street intently as well, and right then, as if destiny ordained, their gazes met.
A chill crept down Allie's spine. She gripped her brother's arm. "Rob. Enemy sail ho, due west."
Rob blinked and turned his head in the direction she was looking. When he saw the officers, he gave a reflexive little jump, eyes widening in panic. "I'll be damned! What are they doing here?!" He slipped the spyglass back into his coat, but it was too late. The officer had seen them. He whispered to the other officer and the red-coated marines began to stir from their places.
"Following us, most likely!" Allie responded.
"But how did they know what we did?"
"Maybe it's because he was the same person who was on guard in the naval docks for the past week?" Allie slapped her forehead, wincing as everything fell into place. "Blast it! They knew we were watching that ship! They were just waiting for us to do something!"
Rob lowered his head, gaze flickering to and fro across the ground while he contemplated. "Act calm," he said. "Act calm. I have a plan."
"What is it?"
"Just follow me." He tugged on her arm, and Allie slipped after him into a side alleyway.
They slunk in between the buildings, making abrupt turns with their heads ducked and eyes squinted. It was an illogical defensive reflex, much like an ostrich sticking its head into the sand, but in moments like this, Allie didn't care. At last the dirt road beneath their feet faded for the cobblestones of the middle of town, and Allie looked up to see that they had reached a familiar, narrow street of shops.
"We'll go to Doyle's," Rob explained in a whisper. "We give it to him, have him hold onto it, and come back for it a few days later."
"Are you sure he'll take it from us?" Allie said.
"Of course. We'll be convincing."
Allie was silent, hurrying after Rob until their destination came into view – a squat brick building standing somewhat separate from the others, surrounded by modest shrubbery. The sign Fine Antiques gleamed over the entrance doors. Rob looked around a few times to make sure there was no one watching them, then beckoned to her.
Allie followed him to the entrance, and right then her gaze alighted on a new sign that was affixed beside the left window: NO CHILDREN.
She bit her lip. "Oh no… He's angry with us."
Rob cast the sign a glance, but didn't seem moved by it and proceeded to open the doors. Allie reluctantly followed him through.
Inside, they were greeted by a spacious, silent kingdom of mahogany wood. Bookshelves and cabinets loomed over them from all sides, tiny treasures glimmering out from their bellies – exotic figurines, porcelain eggs, tea cups on matching plates. Farther in was a section of display tables that held larger items, such as globes and bottle ships, all made with intricate detail. Allie's favorite item was an enormous scale replica of the HMS Dauntless, the hundred-gun warship that had been the pride of Port Royal before it was destroyed by a hurricane in the previous decade. When she was eight she had asked Mr. Doyle if the model still technically counted as an antique, which he hadn't seemed too eager to answer. Then she had spun a globe too fast and accidentally detached it from its axis, making it fall to the floor and causing Mr. Doyle to grab fistfuls of his wig.
They waited in the front room for a while, but there was no stir from within. "Mr. Doyle?" Rob called.
There was no response. Allie strode farther in, glancing around, but Mr. Doyle wasn't up on a ladder anywhere or frisking through boxes. They ventured into the other rooms, but these were devoid of life as well.
A frown creased Allie's face. "Did he… leave somewhere?"
Rob stopped as he peered through the last doorway. "Well he couldn't have gone far. Otherwise he would've locked the place… Mrs. Doyle wouldn't let him hear the end of it if something got stolen."
"That's true," Allie agreed. Then, at an afterthought, she bit her lip. "Unless he just doesn't care anymore."
They kept walking about the tables, sweeping their gazes over the familiar inventory, until finally they reached the very back of the shop. Here the space was more cluttered and disorganized, and in the far corner there were several desks and shelves cleared for Mr. Doyle's personal equipment – round glass vessels with long thin necks, beakers, mortars, and scales.
Allie surveyed the mess with a wince. She approached one of the writing desks beside the window, which held several leafy plants and a stack of books, bearing titles like 'The Sceptical Chymist' and 'Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica'. "Mrs. Doyle must really be giving him trouble. Look at this, it looks like he's completely migrating over here."
Rob nodded. "Aye. Suppose he'll be fitting a furnace in next..."
"But surely she wouldn't kick him out of the house completely," Allie responded, more to herself. "If the shop's running smoothly, who's to say he can't experiment in his free time?"
Rob shrugged. "Well, from what I gathered last week, his wife was having enough of it. I suppose he'd rather move his lab here than see it get raided and pillaged." He smirked and chuckled to himself, likely at the mental image this called up.
Allie surveyed her memories of the conversation she and Rob had listened in on. That time it had been her turn to plan the mission, and they had snuck up to the shop in the late evening just as Mr. Doyle had been having a heart-to-heart chat with a client who had expressed benign surprise at the recent extension of his opening hours. If Mr. Doyle was willing to spend entire nights here instead of going home, then the situation had to be serious. Allie had been determined to find out more, but then, of course, her and Rob's little mishap had happened, and they hadn't dared to come back since.
Presently, her eyes went to an alcove in the far wall, which revealed a solitary door, slightly ajar. "Maybe he fell asleep in his office?" She approached the door and gave it a tentative knock. There was no response, so she pushed it open and let it swing out to reveal a small square office space, with a single window and a desk to the right. Mr. Doyle's chair was moved slightly aside and his coat and hat were gone from the hanger stand.
She glanced over to the other side of the room, where the worktable was, dominated by a large metal stand that held a number of glass beakers filled with green- and lavender-colored liquids. The surface around them was littered with quills and papers. At the top was a letter penned in the shopkeeper's fancy script, but it was unfinished, the parchment creased and stained with splotches of the green and lavender in several places. Allie carefully flipped it over to see the reverse side, where he had scrawled a London address along with a name: Martin Folkes, The Royal Society. Then she flipped it back to read the text.
Sir,
It gives me great pleasure to finally write to you concerning the results of the experiment I had mentioned in my last correspondence. Given the fact that plants are highly phlogisticated, in fact possessing the highest combustibility among the commonly-encountered substances, I considered it worth investigating whether the quantity of phlogiston within plant-based dyes may be reduced, namely through a
The rest was blank.
Rob approached with a frown. "What's he got there?"
"He was writing to the Royal Society," Allie remarked. She put the letter down and took a closer look at the test tubes. Many of them had objects submerged into the liquid – one with long feathers, another with squares of paper, a third with tiny wooden cubes. "And it seems he's still doing that experiment with the dyes."
"So we didn't ruin it completely?" Rob said.
Allie shrugged. "Not sure." She swiveled around, inadvertently bumping the table with her sword and causing the test tubes to rattle. She clamped her hands over her mouth.
"Watch it!" Rob said.
Allie steadied the sword and flashed him a death glare. "You watch it! You and your stupid swords!"
"You're not a pirate if you don't have swords!" Rob retorted.
"Real pirates use real swords, not wooden ones!"
"Well if you want to get seized by the naval guards, then be my guest, get us some!"
Allie clenched her hands into fists. "We were on the verge of getting seized already, all thanks to your beloved attention to detail! Ships and guards and dances, perhaps we ought to get drunk in a tavern next!"
"Stow it!" Rob shouted at last. "I got us away from them! You ought to be thanking me!"
Allie scowled at him, wanting to retort but also too fed up to argue further. She walked away from the table in a huff. In the meantime, Rob weighed the spyglass in his hand. "Maybe we should just hide it here somewhere and go…"
But all of a sudden, the front door slammed closed, and a beat of rushed footsteps entered the shop. The voice of Mr. Doyle rose up in angered mumbles.
"… who in the seven hells he thinks I am… I am a philosopher and a curator, not his God-damned servant!" There was a thunk as he lowered something down onto one of the tables in the back room.
Seconds later, the office door flew open and Mr. Doyle barged in. He was a man of around thirty years, in a wiry gray wig and drab overcoat, breathing heavily from a long walk. He was so preoccupied that he didn't notice Allie and Rob for a good few seconds, who had backed away against the worktable. The man hung up his coat and hat and turned around, and when his eyes landed on them he gave a jump.
Allie clasped her hands behind her back at once and turned to the side, hiding her sword. Rob flashed a smile and lifted his hand in a wave. "Hello, Mr. Doyle!"
Seconds later, Allie and Rob were both grabbed by the arms and shoved out of the office.
"Apparently the two of you can't read!" Mr. Doyle shouted, rounding on them. "Get out! Now!"
Allie staggered back, lifting her arms for balance. "Mr. Doyle, it was an accident! We didn't know how important those mixtures were to you, we swear it!"
"Is it really worth inconveniencing scores of innocent townspeople on a daily basis just to get rid of us?" Rob added.
Doyle stomped towards them and gave them both another push. His face had flushed a livid red and his jaw was trembling. "You…" He continued to advance on them, and they shrunk back through the room with each step. "Do you have… the slightest… inkling of an idea… what your little 'accident' cost me?!"
"We didn't mean to!" Rob cut in.
"I was a hair's breadth away from uncovering a vital property of the substance responsible for combustion!" Doyle shouted. "Before Young Rear Admiral Knows-It-All and Little Miss Grabs-Everything-She-Bloody-Sees decided to barge in one fine sunny morning and rehearse for the apocalypse!" He drew them back against another table, hands clenching into fists. "And now because of you, my chances of being recognized by the Royal Society have turned to ash! My chance to become a scholar, gone! My prospects of being invited to London – gone! I now have nothing to show the Fellows after all our correspondence, and as a result I will be a laughingstock both in Europe and here, in this sweltering hell, where I will be stuck till the end of my days fetching customers' returns like a blasted house servant!"
Allie's gaze darted to the desk clock Mr. Doyle had been carrying, then back at the shopkeeper. "Well why don't you allow us to help you, then, sir? Rob and I could easily lend a hand, with whatever you tell us!"
Rob's eyes lit up with excitement. "Yes, yes! Mr. Doyle, sir, it would be perfect! Just think – we could keep stock of your inventory and sales on the business side of things, and we could also help with your experiments and tend to your equipment! We'll be your apprentices!"
"No thank you, I have already seen the kind of help your hands are good for!"
Rob's smile faltered for a look of indignation. "Well then you shouldn't have been leaving out your test tube stand right in the middle of the shop where all your customers could run into it!"
"My customers walk!" Doyle retorted. "They don't chase each other around, they don't fall to the floor, and they don't grab and handle my wares like wild apes!"
"I hadn't grabbed for the test tubes, sir, I slipped!" Allie cried. "You had just polished your floor, it's never happened to me before, surely you remember!"
"Oh yes, I remember everything perfectly! I remember one dented telescope, two cracked globes, two shattered teacups from the royal household that can never be replaced, and countless hours interrupting my business and accosting my clients! I've had enough of you two devil spawn!"
Allie's mouth gaped. "Devil spawn?!"
"Shall I send for the militia?" Doyle said. "Or shall you leave by yourselves?"
By now she and Rob were teetering in the doorway to the front room, hanging on to the doorframe for dear life. At last Rob let go, straightening, and adopted an earnest, conciliatory expression. "Wait, Mr. Doyle, sir. Please. We acknowledge our faults. We robbed you of a considerable amount of money and time and you have every right to be angered with us. Allow us to please compensate you, at least for a portion of it. How about we'll give you this brand new spyglass, free of charge? I'm sure it'll sell for ten shillings at the very least, perhaps even more if you pretend it's an antiq–"
"Get out!"
Rob scurried back. "I'll just leave it here, then, Mr. Doyle, all right?" He lowered the spyglass onto a bookshelf, then whirled around and bolted out the door. Allie hurried in his wake, but Mr. Doyle snatched up the spyglass and chased after them. He burst out onto the street.
"Help!" he called. "Burglars! Ruffians!"
"Bloody liar!" Allie screamed, but Rob grabbed her arm and pulled her into a run.
They ran away from the shop together, headed back up the street and making another turn to return to their previous course. The tall clock tower of the main square rose up into view, chiming eleven hours. Allie glanced over her shoulder, where Mr. Doyle was running after them.
"Blast it! He's following us! And he's got the spyglass!"
"Not for long!" Rob grasped the hilt of his sword. "Draw!"
Allie's heart hammered, a wave of both thrill and fear rising up inside her. But she did as he commanded, slowing to a stop beside him, and in a single motion she turned around and drew the sword from her belt.
Mr. Doyle's eyes widened in shock and he skid to a stop. The wooden swords were pale and toy-like, but admittedly Rob had done a good job – the blades were straight and well-balanced, and though they likely wouldn't withstand a hard blow, holding hers by the hilt rekindled – for a moment – the immense gravity and awareness she had felt holding the real thing.
Rob stepped forward, brandishing his sword at the shopkeeper. "Give it here! Now!"
"Why you little –!" Mr. Doyle gave a few nervous stomps, holding his ground, but as Allie and Rob advanced, fear seemed to win over rage and he turned to flee.
"Stop him!" Rob called.
Allie ran forward and overtook Mr. Doyle, swinging out her sword to block his way. The shopkeeper flinched back and darted off in the other direction, where Rob was waiting.
"Hand it over, or we'll take it!" Rob said.
Doyle snarled at him and flicked the spyglass into the air. Rob jumped back to catch it, after several frantic slips and tosses finally managing to retain his hold on it. Doyle made to run back in the direction of the shop, but right then two figures dressed in red and black appeared from behind a corner and collided with him. The trio tumbled to the ground in a heap of hats and muskets, Mr. Doyle giving a cry and the two Company guards shouting in unison: "The children! The children!"
Allie gasped, rapidly sheathing her sword and raced after Rob.
They reached the end of the street and burst into the main square, Port Royal's teeming center point. Businesses and official buildings stood in a densely-packed circle, carriages and pedestrians moving along the roundabout street and the numerous alleyways that radiated out from it like the sun's rays. A bit of rain had passed through earlier that day, leaving the stone roofs darkened and the dirt street covered in soggy patches.
Allie and Rob dove in, ignoring angered shouts from drivers as they cut straight across the thoroughfare. The two Company guards and Mr. Doyle emerged in hot pursuit seconds later, but Allie no longer paid them any mind – her eyes were fixed on a narrow alley all the way on the other side of the square, which would swerve to the right and take them up the hills to safety.
Rob ran for the clock tower, which stood amid a large flower garden on an island of pavement to the right. Allie hobbled after him, dodging muddy potholes, feeling her flat shoes rub painfully against her heels. At last she reached the paved island and managed to pick up her pace, aiming to catch up with Rob. But when she reached the street on the other side, her foot came down on the hem of her dress again and she went careening forward.
"Aah!"
Allie fell with a shriek, landing with a splash on her hands and knees and realized she had landed right in the middle of a pothole. The mud sloshed over the entire front of her dress, soaking through her shawl and spraying up to her elbows. She blinked half-blindly through her hair, glimpsing Rob as he fled towards the alleyway. She scrambled to get up, but the blade of her sword had stuck itself like a stake into the mud, and the skirt of her dress had taken on what seemed like a ten-ton weight. She flailed about, heart hammering in panic. "Rob! ROB! Help me!"
Rob looked back. "Keep to the Code!" he called.
"HANG THE CODE, I CAN'T MOVE!" Allie screamed. "HELP ME NOW, YOU TRAITOROUS COCKROACH, OR I WILL BRING YOU A WORLD OF PAIN!"
She heard Rob's groan. "Fine!" Moments later he was at her side, pulling her up by the wrists. Little by little, the pothole surrendered its grasp and Allie was back on her feet. She turned to see the two Company guards, who were weaving their way through the crowds with more resolve now, a bewildered Mr. Doyle rushing after them.
Rob pulled her after him, and they ran into the alleyway, now holding hands. But all of a sudden a flash of red and white cut them off.
"Hold it right there!"
Allie screamed as she came face-to-face with a marine. Several more poured in, making to encircle them, and they fled back to the square. Rob pulled her on towards the clock tower again, but without warning they were met by a sudden smack from a living wall as the two Company guards collided with them. Arms caged them in, and Allie felt the shorter guard's large hand grasp her wrist while the taller one held onto Rob.
"We have a few questions to ask you two!" the shorter one said.
Allie struggled in vain against their grip. "No! Please, sir, we're innocent, let us go!"
"The spyglass!" said the taller one. "Where is it?"
"Sir, it wasn't us, we don't know anything!" Rob said.
The marines approached, led by the officer who had sighted them near the market. They encircled the trio in a fence of red coats, pointing their muskets. The children's struggles instantly ceased and they peered down at the sharp bayonets with fearful eyes.
The officer stepped through towards them, hands folded behind his back. He nodded to the Company guards. "Thank you, men." His eyes locked on Allie and Rob. "I believe that's enough plundering for a week, don't you think?"
"Please, sir, we didn't do anything," Rob repeated.
"What are your names?" the officer asked.
"Robert and Alice Wilson, sir," Allie said.
"Where do you live?"
Allie and Rob were silent. "We're orphans," Rob bit out at last.
The officer ran a skeptical gaze over their clothing. "Really?" He turned, looking askance, just as two marines came up escorting a frazzled Mr. Doyle, who was brushing dirt off his waistcoat with angry motions.
"Do you perhaps know these children, sir?" asked the officer. "They claim to be orphans."
Mr. Doyle looked at them, and Allie bored her gaze into his, transmitting as much pleading and urgency through it as she could muster. Mr. Doyle scowled and scoffed. "No they're not. They're Robert and Alice Swann. The Governor's grandchildren."
A leaden weight plunged through Allie's chest like a sinking cannonball. She exhaled, as all her exhaustion and dismay washed over her in a wave, and let her head droop.
: : : : : : : :
They were marched up the hill towards the house in a slow tempo, the two EITC guards holding them by the arms and the marines surrounding them in a semicircle. It had been the most humiliating five minutes Allie had ever endured. Her cheeks burned, her hands were clammy, and it felt like she could still feel the people on the main square collecting in groups to stare at them. On top of that, the image of Mr. Doyle's face swirled around in her mind, bringing flares of hurt and rage.
The officer walked ahead of them at a calm pace, hands folded behind his back. Soon, the gates of the Swann residence came into view, and a slim figure of a soldier rushed towards them from the inside. Walter. Allie bit her lip, feeling a sudden swell of guilt, and fought to push it down.
Walter remained still as the party approached, his expression mildly confused. Then he spotted her and Rob at the center and his eyes widened in shock. "What on Earth…?"
The officer approached. "Good day, sir. We are here to return one Robert Swann and one Alice Swann to their point of departure. And if you could please alert the governor."
Walter's gaze flickered to the officer, then back to Allie and Rob. He gave a nod. "Certainly."
He opened up the gates and let them through to the house. The marines and officer marched on without emotion, though the two Company guards escorting Allie and Rob cast several glances at Walter's uniform, which was identical to theirs.
"… the Company!…" one of them whispered.
"… here too?…"
Walter ascended the steps to the double doors and rapped on them with one of the brass knockers. Moments later, their butler answered.
"If you could call the governor," Walter said. "The children are home..."
The elderly man retained a cool expression as usual, though he glanced at Allie and Rob with a telling lift of the eyebrows before withdrawing inside. A moment later came Weatherby himself, in his customary long gray wig, looking tired.
The officer saluted. "Good day, Governor. I am Lieutenant Leslie of the Royal Navy. My men and I spotted these children horseplaying by the docks. Most recently they stole a brass spyglass from the Seagull and discarded it as we pursued them. One Mr. Doyle identified them as your… grandchildren, sir."
The officer's apprehensive pause hung in the air almost like a question. Weatherby gave a sigh and acknowledged it with a lethargic nod. "Thank you, Lieutenant. They've been missing since morning." He beckoned. "Please, come inside."
The two EITC guards hesitated, but went on to lead the dirt-covered Rob and the still-dripping Allie into the house, leaving trails of mud on the stone tiled floor.
Weatherby paced off to the side, and the lieutenant followed him with a renewed resolve. "Governor Swann, I recommend that these children be prohibited from visiting the docks in the future. Apart from the spyglass, they were noted to have stolen numerous other objects from merchant crates this past week. While the items were small and of little value, sir, it is definitely not a practice to be encouraged."
Weatherby nodded briskly. Another silence stretched, and Allie was getting the feeling that he simply wanted to dismiss everyone from his presence and retreat into his study. But right then, a door slammed upstairs and a new voice issued down from the staircase. "Father? What's happened? What's going on?"
Allie looked up, feeling a rush of anxiousness and fatigue. It was her mother. She was wearing a pearl white house dress, strands of her long hair hanging down her shoulders. Evidently she had been in the process of putting it up. But as soon as her gaze found Allie's dress, her expression became etched with horror and she rushed down the stairs. "Allie! Rob!" Elizabeth touched Allie's shoulders, then Rob's, her gaze shifting frantically between them. "What happened to you? Where were you?"
"We were out playing, Mum," Rob said. "We didn't know it would take so long."
Elizabeth slammed her eyes closed and gave a little moan. She pressed both hands to her forehead.
At this point, Weatherby turned around to face them. "Quite frankly, I'm tired of this. If you play like pirates, you will be hanged like pirates. Is that what you want?"
Allie lowered her head. "No."
"I'm assuming you still have the items you stole."
Rob nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Where?"
"In the small wooden box in our study."
Weatherby went upstairs and came down moments later with a dark wooden box. "This one here?"
"Yes, sir," said Rob.
Weatherby opened the box to reveal a small pile of trinkets – a pocket watch, a mouth organ, several beads, and coins. He handed it to Rob, along with a drawstring pouch, and Rob dutifully scooped all the items inside and handed it to the lieutenant.
The lieutenant gave a little bow to Weatherby. "Thank you, Governor."
Weatherby nodded. "And thank you as well. I will see to it that the children are disciplined."
The lieutenant saluted. "Sir." With that, he called to the marines and they all filed out of the house. The two Company soldiers lingered for a moment longer, then they saluted to Weatherby as well and left after them.
Once the butler had closed the door, Rob cast Allie a spiteful glance. "Told you we should have kept to the Code," he muttered.
"So I could let them catch me?" Allie hissed back.
"Yes! Then you could have lied!"
Allie grumbled.
Weatherby looked down to the box in Rob's hands. "I do hope that was all you stole."
"It was," said Rob in earnest.
"But you also stole a spyglass," Weatherby said. He turned to Elizabeth. "Did you hear? The officer said they also stole a spyglass, from the merchant Seagull, right when it had been in the middle of unloading its shipment!"
Elizabeth's mouth thinned to a line and she put her hands on her hips. She looked away at the floor and began to rapidly tap her foot.
Allie rushed to explain. "But the crewmen dropped the crate and nearly all of them broke! They wouldn't have sold them anyway!"
"It doesn't matter!" Weatherby said. "That is a decision for the merchants and buyers to make, not you two!" But his kindling rage exhausted itself moments later and he shook his head. "Not to mention the fact that you've just humiliated me before my own men. Who knows who that lieutenant could mention this to? Then word will get out that the governor has two grandchildren who disregard nearly every rule he expects his town to follow… But never mind me, why indeed would someone want to think about me?" Weatherby shook his head again, continuing to pace around aimlessly, and midway his gaze found Allie and Rob again, trailing down to the swords still strapped to their waists. He squinted slightly. "What are those?"
Allie glanced off to the side. "Swords…"
"Where did you get them?"
"We made them," Rob mumbled.
Weatherby's forehead creased deeper. This time he did not even bother to ask; he took a breath and merely beckoned with his hand. "Give them here. Now."
After a pause, Allie and Rob both unsheathed the swords and handed them to Weatherby. Rob flipped his around politely, delicately grasping the blade and proffering the hilt. But this gallant gesture of propriety was lost on their grandfather, who simply grabbed both swords by the middle of the blades and stacked them in his arms. "Right. We will speak about this later. For now, stay where you are. I'll get the baths ready." He went up the stairs.
Elizabeth stood still as he left, gazing down at the same floor tile, and once Weatherby was gone, she straightened and looked squarely at Rob. Her mouth thinned into a flat line as she held out her hand. "Give it to me."
Mutely, Rob removed the spyglass from within his coat and handed it to her. Elizabeth examined it, turning it over in her hands and giving nods of mock appraisal, then looked back at them.
She could deliver an entire scolding like this, without a single word being exchanged. Her gaze had a mystical power of reading Allie's thoughts, and what more in such a way that it was never missed on Allie. But of course, as the laws of nature dictated, the connection did not work both ways. So Allie was stuck biting her lip, watching her mother for any sign of fluctuations and hoping that the brewing outburst wouldn't be a powerful one. But with all the recently-transpired taken into account, along with the fact that she and Rob had gone to bed washed and tidy and were now covered in dirt and mud, Allie didn't think there was a strong likelihood.
Elizabeth kept a measured expression as she eyed them, only the corner of her mouth turning down. She began to tap her foot again.
"We're sorry, Mum!" Allie blurted out at last.
Elizabeth gave a sigh and turned away on her heel. "If you want to be pirates…" she strode over to a table and placed the spyglass down, "… at least make an effort to be intelligent ones. The docks are not a place for fun and games, especially when those games involve you waving around wooden swords and pillaging merchant crates." She came back to them, hands on her hips. "Those Navy men guard us and keep us safe. If Port Royal were ever to be attacked, they would rush to defend us without the slightest hesitation. They would throw themselves into the line of fire and give their lives for ours. So I think we owe it to them to respect their daily duties and not force them to go out of their way to hunt for us."
Rob lowered his head. "Yes, Mum…"
"And those merchant crews," Elizabeth continued. "They spend months at sea, traveling thousands of miles, risking life and limb to deliver shipments to people they'll probably never even meet. They delivered your books, your clothes, much of the food you eat, and the materials that helped build this house. Now imagine if someone decided to steal those things from you one day, just because they thought it would be fun. Would you like that?"
Allie shook her head. "No."
After a brief pause, Rob lifted his gaze. "But we would have put that spyglass to good use. Whereas the merchants would have just thrown it away and called it a loss of capital. We did it for a good purpose. That's what matters, isn't it?"
Elizabeth pressed her lips together. "No, what matters is choosing a noble purpose along with the proper means towards achieving that purpose. But from what I've gathered, your goal wasn't so much the spyglass as it was merely the thrill of stealing something and getting away with it." She lifted her eyebrows at them. "Am I wrong?"
Allie and Rob were silent for a long time before Rob gave an almost inaudible murmur. "No…"
"Precisely," Elizabeth crossed her arms.
At last Allie could no longer resist and the question tore its way out of her. "But isn't that's what pirates do, Mum?"
The confusion of Allie's tone rang in the air. In response, Elizabeth's expression became a mix of vexation and thoughtfulness. She lowered her head and began to pace back and forth. "Pirates…" she said at last, "come in different breeds. They choose their kind of life for different reasons. Much like all men choose their occupations for different reasons. The reasons you gave me for your actions today do not justify those actions. In fact, there is very little that would justify you two plundering the harbor, especially when you do it at the expense of your safety and of your grandfather's position as a respectable figure in this town." She stopped and looked them both in the eye. "Do not let this happen again."
"We won't, Mum…"
Elizabeth nodded. "Good." Moments later, her gaze flickered towards the stairs, where Estrella and Maria were hurrying down with towels. "Now go get cleaned up," she said. "Your teachers will be here soon." She took the spyglass from the table and left.
Face grim, Allie turned to Rob and gave a salute. "We pillaged, we plundered, we hid and got found. We bothered poor chemists and fell to the ground. Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate's life for me."
Rob crinkled his nose and scowled. "Stow it."
Allie turned away from him and crossed her arms, and moments later the maids whisked them upstairs.
: : : : : : : :
Murtogg and Mullroy followed a few paces behind the Navy men as the house guard escorted them all towards the gate. Once they reached it, the house guard opened it, and the lieutenant gave a final salute before departing with his marines. All the while, Mullroy continued to feel the remnants of that strange nervousness that had settled in after they had captured the children. It was making his heart quicken and his hands shake, a mix of both panic and thrill. He couldn't remember the last time he had had to chase someone like that.
He and Murtogg hung back for a moment as the Navy men left down the hill, then turned back and looked at the guard. The guard tilted his head in response and leaned against the fence. He had dark brown hair and a smooth face; he couldn't have been much older than they were. Yet there was a certain gravity about him and a sharpness in his gaze.
For a while the trio stood in place, looking at each other's identical uniforms.
"Company?" Murtogg spoke up at last.
The guard nodded. "Walter," he said. "Surname's not important."
Murtogg nodded, smiling in reflex. "Mine's Murtogg." He gave a comic shrug. "Name's not important."
Mullroy felt this stir a strange, forlorn feeling somewhere inside him, and Murtogg's smile faded a moment later as well.
The guard named Walter continued to eye them, one hand casually resting on the engraved buckle of his cross-belt. "You both sail?"
"We used to," Mullroy responded. "Now we're on harbor duty."
An understanding smile traced up the man's face. "I'm on guard duty."
"Seems peaceful," Mullroy remarked.
Walter shrugged a shoulder. "Sailing was never really my cup of tea."
Now Murtogg frowned. "Then why did you join the Company?"
"There's plenty to do on land," Walter replied. "That's where the real work happens, after all. You deal with people directly. You experience the effects of the Company's trade directly."
Mullroy pondered this in silence.
At that point the guard grasped a bar of the open gate. "I have to see you out. It's the rules."
"All right, then," Mullroy said.
They went along as Walter led them outside the property, after which he swung the gate closed behind them and twisted a key in the large iron lock. Murtogg turned to Mullroy, giving a quick glance back at the house. "Come to think of it, I didn't even know the governor had grandchildren," he murmured.
"Well, his daughter married the blacksmith, didn't she?" Mullroy replied.
Murtogg blinked a few times, thinking this over. "Then where's the blacksmith?"
Mullroy was silent. He realized he didn't have an answer to the question. At that point he noticed that Walter was still standing there, looking at them through the bars. Mullroy gave a small smile. "Sorry. Didn't mean to intrude."
Walter sighed slightly, gaze drifting off to the side. He gave a nod. "Pleasure meeting you both… Chins up, I'm sure you'll be able to sail again in due time. Important thing is to persevere." He looked back at Mullroy and lifted his eyebrows matter-of-factly. "And try to chatter less."
With that, he turned and went back into the house.