Black Sails: Surprise
by mirwalker
19. Infidelity
"I must see the Governor!"
The shout from the main door was accompanied by the sounds of a scuffle, multiple curses, and two blows—one against a body, and another against the floor.
Berringer stalked immediately from the gathering of officials around the large table, instantly embarrassed and angry at even the hint of disorder.
"Fucking boiled lobsters! He needs to know!" the voice shouted again through a cordon of stockinged legs.(1)
Eleanor's reaction to the familiar voice, beyond the man's mildly profane persistence, gave Rogers pause enough to inquire about the loud arrival. "What's that?" he called toward the entrance.
Berringer assured from the doorway, "Just some street urchin, who doesn't know his place, my lord."
"He must know!" the voice rasped again.
A quick nod from his local councilor confirmed she recognized the intruder, and felt he was worth humoring, at least briefly. So, "Bring him," the governor waved, setting down his papers. "Let's hear what is so important that I must know."
Lips pursed, the captain grudgingly nodded into the other room; and two soldiers promptly appeared escorting a chandler's apprentice and his bloody nose.
"My lord!" the young man shouted on seeing the Governor, bursting away from his surprised guards.
The renegade captain was in his way immediately, interrupting and shifting the on-rusher's momentum toward the floor. Reaching for his pistol, Berringer was halted only by the cry from the Governor's side, "Sebastian! Enough!"
Everyone turned to the loudest, if not sternest, exclamation by the city's former leading lady.
Though addressing the smaller man, her look at the captain suggested he too should calm his response
"My apologies, Ms Guthrie," Bastian pled earnestly as he pulled himself up, wiping but not quite staunching his nose with his sleeve. Ignoring the still tense soldier, he turned toward her without approaching further. "But time may be of the essence; and they wanted me to request an appointment for no sooner than Thursday."
"Governor Rogers is a very popular and busy man," she explained calmly, trying to buy everyone time to regain their composure. In addition to affirming her authority in the space as clearly as she dared. "You have something of importance to report?"
Glaring at the ruddy redcoat leader, Bastian took a deep breath, nodded to Guthrie, and then addressed Rogers, "I'm Sebastian Price, Governor, sir; apprentice to Mister Gillespie, the island's shipwright and chandler…"
"I've seen the sign, and have heard of your master," Rogers nodded almost indifferently, with a knowing look at some of the gathered business leaders. He obviously had been informed of the service provider's local esteem, beyond Gillespie's own awkward, numerous, and failed attempts to gain entry to this inner circle. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your insistent presence?"
"Mister Gillespie wants me to again extend to your Lordship a standing invitation to visit his humble establishment." Since you've ignored those offers to date, and his ego—and the business—would so benefit from being seen with you.
Rogers reached for papers on the table, clear that this information had not been worth the interruption.
Sensing his window quickly closing, Bastian leaned forward as Berringer tensed. "But more urgently, he felt it his duty to inform you that we had, amongst our stores, traded to us long ago, a small but solid cannon—old, but operational."
"And?" Good for you…
"And… as of this morning, sir, we no longer have it. I'm here to inform your Lordship… that the cannon… it's gone missing."
That returned the hush over the almost snickering room
"Missing?"
"Missing, mam; sir." For the first time since his insistent entrance, Bastian looked nervous. "My master and I are concerned that… that the pirates may have taken it."
"You mean you let them have it?" charged Berringer from beside him, with a dubious sneer.
The reporter was offended. "They stole it the night... Who else would want or take a cannon?"
"And you wanted us to know this because…?"
Sebastian now turned to the grizzled redhead with a look of utter confusion. "Because… they'll use it…"
"Against us?" Berringer mocked lack of concern.
Bastian looked to Guthrie and the Governor, curious if he'd been struck so hard that he was now imagining their seeming indifference and the soldier's clear resistance to the obvious threat. He noticed Eleanor give him a look, somewhere between understanding, curiosity, and encouragement. It reminded him to approach the situation from the outsider's point of view. "You think this is some kind of trick…," he realized aloud. "Why would I tell you they have it, if I wanted to help them use it?"
"Because you are one!" Berringer charged.
Instantly furious at the accusation, Price growled. "I am NOT a pirate; I've never been. I ain't in your pardon book for a reason." He backed and toned down notably with his next trailing correction. "Ask them; they wouldn't have me…"
Only Eleanor seemed to even to register the sad regret of the admission.
"So you're a failed pirate," Berringer reframed toward the ongoing critique.
The young man stood silent, freshly downtrodden, before taking a deep breath and calmly providing his own summary of the interaction. "My master bid me urgently report the cannon's theft to his Lordship; and I have done it."
"My Lord," Berringer scoffed, "It would be my sincere pleasure to remove…"
Beside him, and despite the renewed and intentionally uncomfortable, Bastian slowly held up his free arm, dangling a shining chain and bauble.
Focused on the desired dispatch from his master, Berringer didn't notice until he followed the looks from the tall chair. It took barely a turn of his head to recognize the keepsake, deduce the means of its unexpected display, and react with an entirely new level of violence. "Thief! How DARE you?!"
The apprentice offered no resistance as the locket was snatched back, and had not time to respond before the larger man was atop him on the hard floor, knife being drawn over him.
"Captain! Wait!" the lone female voice commanded with its own new level of ferocity.
More shocked than obedient, Berringer looked up.
Quickly calming her own frantic fear, Guthrie turned to the Governor who looked, at best, mildly amused by the interplay around him. "My Lord," she addressed him, clearly meaning his man to hear and learn as well. "As your advisor on the wild ways of Nassau, I must point out that Captain Berringer risks a grave misunderstanding of Mister Price's intentions. Of how the street here can operate..."
"He is a pirate and a thief; what more proof do we need?" Berringer nearly pled.
But the intercessor would not yield. "What our young friend has actually done… is demonstrate what he is capable of, what skills he offers… and more critically, his intention not to use them against us. Perhaps instead for us?" She tilted her head, hoping the Governor would understand and thus pass this public test of his connection to the community.
His face unreadable, Rogers looked among the players several times—the vengeful captain, the pale boy, and the expectant councilor. Without having to confirm, he knew all other eyes, and pending judgements, in the room lay on him. With a casual flick of his finger, he decided and decreed, "Take him..."
While perhaps not satisfied by more immediate, visceral retribution, Berringer seemed to take some sadistic solace that the criminal would not be getting away. With a sharp kick to prisoner's side, he stood and nodded the nearest soldiers over to drag away the fated villain.
Winded and perhaps surprised, Bastian protested, "Get your hands off me! Governor! Miss Guthrie?!"
Despite the flurry of seize and scuffle before her, Eleanor steeled her reaction, masking her fear for Bastian and her surprise at potentially being ignored, and stared at the personification of cool British authority.
"…To my study," Rogers added, bringing everything to a halt again. "We have some other business to finish first…"
"I said 'stay in the chair'!" the clearly irritated soldier ordered, again, with a menacing step forward.
His prisoner sank slowly back into the spindled seat, with a loud sigh and his own irritated look. "Don't you have anything better to do than watch me 'stay in the chair'?"
The guard bit his lip, glancing to the closed door, deciding how honest he could be in word or more tactile demonstration of his frustration at that very task.
Thankfully, that door from the hallway opened, and in sailed the serious, if still nonchalant, royal representative.
When the prisoner failed to show due respect, the soldier stepped over and pulled him roughly to his feet.
Taking his own seat beyond the desk, Rogers adjusted his coat, steepled his fingers, and looked up to scene before him, yet again failing to acknowledge or react to his guest's disciplining.
Eleanor had come to a stop beside the scene, giving him a look neither his guest nor guard could see.
With the slightest of nods, Rogers dismissed the redcoat, leaving Bastian to be released to sit by a quick hand on his shoulder as Guthrie continued to join the Governor.
For a moment, Rogers looked at the now less petulant visitor. Just before it became too awkward, he summarized their situation. "Mister Price, however touched I am by your display of larcenous… goodwill, I remain faced with a dilemma: Miss Guthrie continues to advocate your utility, while Captain Berringer wants your hands."
No mention of the gift of the artillery news, Bastian noted. But he knew better to jump too eagerly at the seemingly obvious better choice; so instead he simply looked pained by the threat.
"So, I've had to inquire more broadly about your work and worth. Amongst the information I've received about your operation, is that you are the more capable craftsman in your establishment."
The youth didn't argue.
"And despite your protestation at being labeled a pirate, word on the street is also that you have quite the… close connection to some of the pirates. Do you deny that?"
"Everyone in Nassau has some association with the privateers, sir; couldn't help but to... Captain Hornigold. All your merchant council. Even Miss Guthrie, with respect."
Neither looked pleased with that final reminder especially.
"And like most, sir, I suffered for it. If your sources didn't, I can recount the more memorable of many beatings, the hanging threats, my dog drownt in piss on my birthday…" He looked to the local expert for a concurring nod, and rested his case with, "At a point, when they was king here, I understood it was better to be endeared than endangered. Couldn't escape their eye, so I caught it instead; made nice. Didn't undo what they did to me and mine—nothing could; but it was a great deal less painful…"
"And Billy Bones?" Eleanor asked plainly.
That Rogers didn't react to that name suggested they both knew at least some of Bastian's… associations.
The young man's patient directness seemed to melt away with his gaze and volume. "He… He made it clear… he don't want me around." He wiped quickly at his drying nose.
"Mister Price, word on the street—"
But his guest rallied suddenly. "The street says lots of things, Governor… Wonders if God disapproved of Port Royal so much as to swallow it with the sea, but ain't done so to Nassau, then maybe we wasn't so bad before you.(2) And if this new English king is just gonna beat and bully us, then—" He seemed to think better of his thinking aloud.
Rogers' eyebrow had arched, whether in amusement or irritation wasn't clear. "Pray tell, apprentice, what else does the street say?"
"Mostly useless garbage and gossip, sir, like always. …But there are questions."
"Questions?"
Price looked at him, and then around, as if confirming his audience. With a breath, though, he then led with the word guaranteed to catch every scrap of attention in the space. "Of… infidelity."
Rogers' eyes narrowed instantly.
Guthrie blushed despite herself.
Not letting the mere potential of the accusation linger, Price continued, "I've heared worries about a governor who promises the return of trust and honor, but suddenly withdraws his offer of amnesty when Jack Rackham appears, and secretly tries Charles Vane in the middle of the night. There's questions about whom else will find themselves shorted when next his mind changes."
With another unconscious dab at the blood in his nose, he continued. "Some nod knowingly at king's men who claim to enforce the rule of law, but disobey their orders to depart; who mutiny against their lawful lord in favor of a new master." He looked quickly from the governor to Eleanor and back again, perhaps considering whether to name one final example of potentially broken vows. "The street has… doubts about new Nassau's fidelity."
For a moment, no one blinked, or breathed, or moved, lest the fragile silence give way to more sharing.
Finally, slowly, carefully, Rogers sat back in his seat, finally showing some interest in the guest, some genuine utility for engaging with him. "It would seem 'the street' has a lot to say. So, if I am to bring these pirates to justice... If I am to restore some semblance of order in Nassau, and save it before God deems it beyond salvation, then it would most certainly help to have a more regular, clear sense of what is happening on those streets, of what the people are thinking, asking, worrying over." He looked Price directly in the eyes, waiting for the suggestion to be understood, for confirmation that the young man was following.
That youth looked a little confused. "You got your Council for that. Miss Max and her girls." Sniffling, he glanced at his childhood friend as if puzzled by the turn in the conversation.
Rogers continued, "Of course, I am honored to have most of the commerce leaders as partners in this effort. And the… ladies at the inn may be in useful positions as well." He stood, glancing out the window, and slowly making his way around the desk. "But I believe that any additional vantage point on the scene would be that much more helpful. That I may have been remiss in failing to befriend another, less obvious but still well-connected leader…" He stopped beside the chair, and held out his kerchief.
Price blinked up at him.
Rogers squatted beside him, coming to eye level while proffering the linen even closer. "And you, Mister Price, have come here today…, to represent your master, and offer your insights, your skills, your desire to help…"
"Mister Gillespie—"
"I am not asking Mister Gillespie."
Price swallowed, nodded, and cautiously accepted the kind gesture.
Rogers stood immediately, completing his negotiation, "But I will need your assurance that your association has turned from the pirates, to the lawful future of New Providence. That you are indeed, and will remain, a friend."
Price dabbed at his nose, sitting up straighter and facing the pair standing at either end of the desk. "I've been shat on my whole life by those men. The hell I'll let them steal from me, or set me up to take the fall for their black plans. And this town ain't done me much better. So, if you promise it can be different, that it will be different, like Miss Guthrie was dreaming of 'afore she left…" He stood, folded the stained cloth, and stuck both hands out—one returning the help, the other to offer his own.
From the windows above, Rogers and Guthrie watched him scamper from the house and its soldiers, slowing only when well clear of their reach.
"He'll be a good ally," she assured.
The Governor nodded less assuredly, bearing in mind what else the street, Eleanor, and his own instincts told him. "We need to be sure. As I've never seen this 'Billy Bones,' I need you to select my soldier with the most… favorable face. I want our new friend to have every encouragement to stay …associated with us."
They could not see the raffish smile on Bastian's face as he walked away, relishing not the fine cloth gift itself, but the deeper and more useful connection it signified.
NOTES
1. A less than complimentary term for British shoulders, dating back to the mid-1600s.
2. Previously home to Caribbean pirates, a large part of Port Royal, Jamaica, was destroyed and nearly half its population killed by an earthquake and tsunami on 7 June 1692.