SPARKS FLY UP
"From a little spark may burst a flame." – Dante Alighieri
"Elizabeth, do you remember what I told you before we were married?"
Elizabeth looks up at me from across the table, her brows drawn together in thought.
"About what?" she asks finally.
"About a voyage I would have to go on . . ."
"Oh yes, you said it wouldn't take long. Just a couple of weeks, wasn't it?"
"Exactly," I say, pleased that we have managed to speak to one another for more than a minute, "I'll be away for about two weeks or so if everything goes according to plan. It's routine, but you never know."
"Mhmm."
Elizabeth nods vacantly and looks back down at the plate in front of her. She seems almost surprised to see a fork and a knife in her hand. There is a moment of hesitation before we begin eating again. The spark of conversation fizzles between us just as quickly as it was struck, and then goes out. The next morning I leave early, and Elizabeth does not come with me to the docks. In fact, I do not even bother to wake her to say good-bye. Somehow I do not think she will mind. Rachel is the only woman waiting out on the docks, and she gives me a warm kiss on the cheek in greeting.
"Where's Elizabeth?" she asks, genuinely concerned.
"She was feeling under the weather," I lie, and Rachel nods in understanding.
"It's the baby, isn't it?" she asks matter-of-factly, but before I can reply she continues, "Well, never mind then. You go on, and have a safe voyage. Bring my husband back in one piece, and I'll be sure to visit Elizabeth. I'm sure she'll be glad of the company while you are gone."
"Thank you, Rachel," I say, though I do not have the heart to tell her that I do not think Elizabeth will care if anyone visits or not.
"Of course, James," she says, before kissing me once more and shooing me off toward the gangway.
As soon as I am on board I seek out the helmsman on duty at the other end of the ship.
"After we've taken our routine stop in Baracoa I would like us to take a one night layover in Tortuga. That's an order."
The helmsman gives me a bemused look but shrugs his shoulders.
"Aye, sir, I understand, but Tortuga . . ."
"Just follow your orders, sailor."
That shuts him up quickly, and I leave the deck in search of Andrew so that I can let him in on my plan to take down William Turner. I find him one deck below overseeing the movement and placement of cargo.
"Andrew, I've just authorised a one night stop in Tortuga."
Andrew looks up from a trailing parchment in his hand, startled. "Tortuga? Why?"
I look around furtively to make sure we are alone before replying, "I'm looking for William Turner."
"What? Why?"
"I don't rightly know. I don't really have a plan right now," I concede.
"Why do you even need a plan at all?" Andrew asks agitatedly, "What do you hope to gain from arresting him?"
"I didn't say I was going to arrest him," I say, bristling slightly from his accusation.
Andrew takes a deep breath and draws his brows together in thought. "All right, I'm sorry. I don't agree with it, but I can't stop you."
"Thank you, Andrew. I need you in this."
He nods, but immediately goes back to looking over the cargo without saying another word. His disapproval is palpable, and I know that this will not be our last discussion on the matter. There are days, nay weeks, before we stop in Tortuga, and Andrew will certainly take advantage of the time to persuade me of the futility of my mission.
We are not three days out of port when, one evening, there is a knock on the door to my quarters. I look up from a map of the Baracoa harbour and a list of legal traders we expect to make contact with, but before I can make some sort of inquiry or open the door Andrew steps inside. He glances at me and flashes a sheepish smile before turning to shut the door behind him.
"I hope I'm not intruding on any official business, James," he says, noticing the maps and stacks of parchment as he nears the table.
I shake my head, offer him an empty chair, and begin rolling up the map.
"Do you want a drink?" I ask, stashing the parchment away and pulling out a bottle of brandy. "I haven't got anything good, but this will have to do if you want it."
Andrew holds up a hand to decline the offer and shakes his head. He seems to be preoccupied with his thoughts, so I let him brood a moment while I pour a drink for myself, stopper the bottle, and then sit down across the table from him.
"Cat got your tongue?" I ask after a burning first swallow of the amber liquid swirling around in my glass.
Andrew looks slightly uncomfortable as he opens his mouth slowly. "James . . . I do not think searching for William Turner is such a good idea."
I down the rest of the brandy at the mere mention of Mr. Turner's name and relish its heat as it goes down. I resist the urge to pour myself more. William Turner is no excuse to become a drunken sop no matter what the circumstances.
"Andrew, you know I value your opinion," I say carefully, "but I cannot understand your misgivings."
"It just doesn't feel right," Andrew continues, avoiding my eyes as he looks around the cabin, "You are not a vengeful person, James. I know that much, and I hope you do too. I cannot see what you hope to gain by risking everything - career and marriage - by looking for this man. It's an impossible situation."
"He slept with my wife," I growl.
"You mean, she slept with him."
"Don't drag Elizabeth into this," I snap.
Andrew blinks at me, meeting my gaze for the first time since our conversation began. "She is a part of this, James," he says firmly, "You cannot deny that she fancies William Turner; that perhaps she loves him. She's stubborn, and she made the decision to break her vow to you. Now you want to act out of vengeance. James, that's what she wants! Don't stoop to her level. You have to make her see that you are the better man."
I grit my teeth knowing that Andrew is right as usual but am unwilling to admit it or go down without a fight. "Just a month ago you wanted me to break off the engagement, and now you support it. What am I supposed to think?"
"I don't know, James. I'm your friend, and you know I would follow you to the ends of the earth and back. Don't ask me what I was thinking a month ago. I just knew that my friend had been slighted, and I spoke brashly. But you have made your bed and now you must lay in it. You will not make anything better between you and Elizabeth by exacting revenge.
I turn his words over in my head and find them to be true, though again, I will not admit it to him.
"What if I don't get revenge on him?" I ask carefully, "What if I just harmlessly ask after him? Word would get around eventually that I am looking for him, and he would stay away."
Andrew looks momentarily astounded by my change of heart. "So, you're saying you will not confront Turner?"
"Right," I lie.
Andrew gives me a look that seems to pierce directly down into my soul, and I wonder if he can see the lie in my eyes. After a second he smiles, a look of relief in his expression, and he gets up from the table.
"Good night, James," he says, making his way toward the door, "I am glad you've come around."
The door shuts with a slight tremor, and I am left alone with a bottle of brandy to down and my own lie hanging in the air above me like some oppressive cloud.
At the end of our stay in Baracoa we turn tail toward Tortuga and tie up at the dock by nightfall. Though Andrew urges me to stay aboard once more and reconsider the plan altogether, I cannot will myself to do so and risk Mr. Turner slipping through my grasp again. The majority of the ships in port are pirate ships with their jolly rogers blowing in a nightly breeze, but I notice that as soon as our Navy ship's presence is made known the jolly rogers disappear and are replaced by trade flags or none at all. I am not looking for pirates, however, and so I do not bother with them. The first ship I go to is dark and unmanned, so I continue on to the next where a rough looking sailor sits at the helm.
"Evening sailor," I call up to him.
"Evening guvna," he calls back.
"I'm searching for a man by the name of William Turner. Do you know him or have you seen him?"
"Never heard of him, Commodore."
Nodding, I continue onward, knowing that I could not be so lucky as to get him on the first try. After walking all the way down the docks until the Dauntless is out of sight I finally admit defeat. Frustrated and feeling slightly embarrassed for not having a real plan, I enter the nearest pub and push through the raucous crowd until I reach a seat at the bar. I order up a pint of ale and survey the cacophony around me. The smell of alcohol and smoke is almost overwhelming, but I cannot bear to go back to the ship empty handed.
Suddenly, a young woman, her hair a light blonde and her eyes ringed in black, trails a hand over my shoulder and sits down in the seat next to me. She licks her crimson lips and orders up a drink for herself but does not touch it when the bartender sets it down in front of her. Instead she leans toward me so I can get a good look down the front of her bodice and says in a sultry, low-pitched voice, "What's the matter, Captain? Bad day?"
"It's Commodore actually, and no," I mutter over the top of my pint while attempting to ignore her advances.
"Well then Commodore, what are you doin' all the way out in a God-forsaken place like this?"
She blinks at me innocently with those wide blue eyes of hers, and I am suddenly, disconcertingly, struck by how young she looks.
"It's a long story," I mumble, still shocked and bewildered.
She leans forward again, and this time I have to keep my eyes trained on my drink as she whispers in my ear, "I've got all night, love."
Authoress' Note: I apologize for another long wait. I hope I still have some readers out there. *waves feebly* I think I've worked out the issue I was having with the story, although there's no way of telling until I actually get a few more chapters down the road. Anyway, I had a nice holiday in Hawaii, and now I feel ready to tackle this challenge again. Thanks for sticking with me, and I promise I won't keep you hanging on this cliff for too long. :) (Also, I apologize if this chapter feels rushed in any way.)
