Usual disclaimers... darn it!
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Joshua's grip on her arm was vice-like. Catherine could feel her arm bruising beneath his fingers. She was taken from the house to a long, low outbuilding where another black slave sat with a young slave woman on his lap who was visibly pregnant. Catherine eyed him cautiously – clearly these two were the power here. On seeing Joshua approach he pushed the woman from his lap.
"Master Waltham has a new one for you," he smiled. "Watch her," he warned. "She has an attitude and is likely to try to hurt herself..."
The man, Benjamin, rose and approached her, judging her as many would judge cattle or a horse. He forced her mouth open, inspecting her teeth before feeling her muscles. He looked carefully at her tattoo. "Looks like a runner too," he grunted. "Have her shackled at night and send her to the house – they always have too much heavy work..."
He reached across to where the woman had who had been on his lap sat quietly, trying desperately not to come to their attention. Grabbing her arm he hauled her before Catherine. "This is Alice," he laughed, squeezing her cheeks tightly. "She's a good little girl who'll bear Mister Waltham lots of healthy little workers..." He hit her hard across her face, causing her to fall to the ground but she did not cry out – clearly to petrified to make a noise. Catherine watched, appalled, wishing she had her sword... a knife... anything! "You get punished, she gets punished... understand? You hurt yourself, I hurt her!" He stepped close to Catherine, his face in hers. "I said do you understand?"
"I do," Catherine said quietly, shocked at the violence that they had enacted upon one of their own.
"You will address me as Mister Benjamin," he shouted, "and this is Mister Joshua! You will show us respect or else!" He glanced down at Alice. "Show her where to get some clothes and then take her to the kitchens."
"Yes Mister Benjamin," she said quietly, clambering quickly to her feet. "This way..."
###
Patrick Waltham cursed his friendship with Stephen Waike as he cantered along the road to Charles Town. But they had been friends since they had studied together in London and he would not let him down now... but neither would he trust his mission to another, or even to paper, fearing the attention of the authorities. Tying his spirited horse outside of a tavern, he took a deep breath and strode inside.
Although the light was smoky and dim, he easily spotted his target. A slim, weasel-like man was drinking with a number of colleagues in one of the booths opposite the door. He walked forward confidently, pushing a number of drunks out of his way. "Franks," he nodded, smiling as the man shoved his drunken companions from their seats.
"Well, Mister Waltham!" he smiled, his rotten gappy tooth smile making Patrick nearly gag. "Sit yourself down... what can I do for you?"
Patrick Waltham waved the barmaid away. Who knew what you could catch from the tankards at this tavern. "I want a ship permanently delayed,' he said softly. "Whatever happens, whatever you do, it must not reach England and there must be no survivors."
"Risky..." He leaned back, milking the scene, enjoying having the powerful plantation owner asking him for favours. "Who?"
"Englishman, just docked a day or so ago," he replied. "Captain goes by the name of Ferneham – I do not know his ship."
"I know the ship... and he is Irish, not English," Captain Thomas Franks said smugly.
"I don't care who or what he is – I want that ship sunk!" Patrick hissed.
"Fair enough," the rough looking man shrugged, delighting in having riled the plantation owner. "How much?" Greed shone in his eyes.
Patrick Waltham sighed heavily. He would get the money back from Stephen Waike, he knew that, but it did not make the paying of it any easier. He reached within his jacket, pulling out a bag of money which he slid across the grimy table. "This for now," he offered, "and the same again on completion..." He watched as the bag was opened, it's contents judged.
"Double on completion," he demanded.
"No!" Patrick argued.
"Double! It will be risky for my men to fly a red so close to shore!" He grinned. "And I'm sure you wouldn't want this coming to the attention of the authorities now, would you?"
Patrick nodded reluctantly. "Double it is," he agreed, eagerly rising now that his business was completed. "Come to the plantation when it is done." Without looking back, he strode quickly from the tavern, relieved to find his horse still there... although two urchins looked like they would be limping for some time. He chuckled to himself – sometimes it was worth controlling such a spirited animal.
###
Captain Matthew Ferneham looked in alarm at the large pirate ship that bore down on them from out of the fog bank. "Captain!" his look out cried, spotting the danger only a few seconds after him.
"I see it, I see it," he replied, swinging the wheel away from the other ship as it's cannons fired, the splash from the near-miss spraying the quarterdeck. He knew that his ship was no match for the pirates, with only two cannons and four small swivel guns. Their only chance was to flee. "Loose every sail we've got!" he ordered, but almost before the words were out of his mouth their main mast toppled, taken cleanly with a chain shot.
He turned to his men, the words of the pirate woman echoing in his head... if he thought you knew the truth, he'd kill you. "Looks like you were more right than you knew," he muttered to himself before staring at his frightened men below. It was a fight they would not win. "Arm yourselves!" he ordered. "Let's take as many of the bastards with us as we can!"
###
Captain Franks watched in delight as their prey blew asunder. His men had taken from the ship all that they wished and then set light to the powder magazine. No survivors, no evidence... nice and clean like Mister Waltham wanted.
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Joshua's grip on her arm was vice-like. Catherine could feel her arm bruising beneath his fingers. She was taken from the house to a long, low outbuilding where another black slave sat with a young slave woman on his lap who was visibly pregnant. Catherine eyed him cautiously – clearly these two were the power here. On seeing Joshua approach he pushed the woman from his lap.
"Master Waltham has a new one for you," he smiled. "Watch her," he warned. "She has an attitude and is likely to try to hurt herself..."
The man, Benjamin, rose and approached her, judging her as many would judge cattle or a horse. He forced her mouth open, inspecting her teeth before feeling her muscles. He looked carefully at her tattoo. "Looks like a runner too," he grunted. "Have her shackled at night and send her to the house – they always have too much heavy work..."
He reached across to where the woman had who had been on his lap sat quietly, trying desperately not to come to their attention. Grabbing her arm he hauled her before Catherine. "This is Alice," he laughed, squeezing her cheeks tightly. "She's a good little girl who'll bear Mister Waltham lots of healthy little workers..." He hit her hard across her face, causing her to fall to the ground but she did not cry out – clearly to petrified to make a noise. Catherine watched, appalled, wishing she had her sword... a knife... anything! "You get punished, she gets punished... understand? You hurt yourself, I hurt her!" He stepped close to Catherine, his face in hers. "I said do you understand?"
"I do," Catherine said quietly, shocked at the violence that they had enacted upon one of their own.
"You will address me as Mister Benjamin," he shouted, "and this is Mister Joshua! You will show us respect or else!" He glanced down at Alice. "Show her where to get some clothes and then take her to the kitchens."
"Yes Mister Benjamin," she said quietly, clambering quickly to her feet. "This way..."
###
Patrick Waltham cursed his friendship with Stephen Waike as he cantered along the road to Charles Town. But they had been friends since they had studied together in London and he would not let him down now... but neither would he trust his mission to another, or even to paper, fearing the attention of the authorities. Tying his spirited horse outside of a tavern, he took a deep breath and strode inside.
Although the light was smoky and dim, he easily spotted his target. A slim, weasel-like man was drinking with a number of colleagues in one of the booths opposite the door. He walked forward confidently, pushing a number of drunks out of his way. "Franks," he nodded, smiling as the man shoved his drunken companions from their seats.
"Well, Mister Waltham!" he smiled, his rotten gappy tooth smile making Patrick nearly gag. "Sit yourself down... what can I do for you?"
Patrick Waltham waved the barmaid away. Who knew what you could catch from the tankards at this tavern. "I want a ship permanently delayed,' he said softly. "Whatever happens, whatever you do, it must not reach England and there must be no survivors."
"Risky..." He leaned back, milking the scene, enjoying having the powerful plantation owner asking him for favours. "Who?"
"Englishman, just docked a day or so ago," he replied. "Captain goes by the name of Ferneham – I do not know his ship."
"I know the ship... and he is Irish, not English," Captain Thomas Franks said smugly.
"I don't care who or what he is – I want that ship sunk!" Patrick hissed.
"Fair enough," the rough looking man shrugged, delighting in having riled the plantation owner. "How much?" Greed shone in his eyes.
Patrick Waltham sighed heavily. He would get the money back from Stephen Waike, he knew that, but it did not make the paying of it any easier. He reached within his jacket, pulling out a bag of money which he slid across the grimy table. "This for now," he offered, "and the same again on completion..." He watched as the bag was opened, it's contents judged.
"Double on completion," he demanded.
"No!" Patrick argued.
"Double! It will be risky for my men to fly a red so close to shore!" He grinned. "And I'm sure you wouldn't want this coming to the attention of the authorities now, would you?"
Patrick nodded reluctantly. "Double it is," he agreed, eagerly rising now that his business was completed. "Come to the plantation when it is done." Without looking back, he strode quickly from the tavern, relieved to find his horse still there... although two urchins looked like they would be limping for some time. He chuckled to himself – sometimes it was worth controlling such a spirited animal.
###
Captain Matthew Ferneham looked in alarm at the large pirate ship that bore down on them from out of the fog bank. "Captain!" his look out cried, spotting the danger only a few seconds after him.
"I see it, I see it," he replied, swinging the wheel away from the other ship as it's cannons fired, the splash from the near-miss spraying the quarterdeck. He knew that his ship was no match for the pirates, with only two cannons and four small swivel guns. Their only chance was to flee. "Loose every sail we've got!" he ordered, but almost before the words were out of his mouth their main mast toppled, taken cleanly with a chain shot.
He turned to his men, the words of the pirate woman echoing in his head... if he thought you knew the truth, he'd kill you. "Looks like you were more right than you knew," he muttered to himself before staring at his frightened men below. It was a fight they would not win. "Arm yourselves!" he ordered. "Let's take as many of the bastards with us as we can!"
###
Captain Franks watched in delight as their prey blew asunder. His men had taken from the ship all that they wished and then set light to the powder magazine. No survivors, no evidence... nice and clean like Mister Waltham wanted.
###