PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: THE AFRICAN STAR
By ErinRua
CHAPTER 3
"Get him up!" roared Biltmore.
"Mister Stone, were my orders not explicit enough for you? You were to sort this lot and leave the sick ones! I want them back on board ship
immediately!"
"Yes, sir."
Two sailors bent to heave the fallen slave upright, but his knees buckled and failed him once more. Mister Stone's boot instantly lashed out and connected with a meaty thump.
"Get up, you! On yer feet!"
At Elizabeth's muffled cry Will caught her hand. Among the inscrutable dark faces waiting beyond black eyes glittered, and Will dared not imagine what thoughts moved behind them. Nor was the cruel tableau finished, for soon as that slave was shoved roughly into the wagon the sailors seized another who sat slumped nearby, and flung him in hard enough his bones thudded against the wooden wagon bed. They then grabbed a third - who stumbled in their grasp to reveal the sweetly rounded brown face of an emaciated teenaged girl.
"Oh, please STOP!"
"Elizabeth!"
But she twisted beyond her father's grasp and flew among the rough sailors like a dove among swine. In their shock they stumbled back in dismay.
"Stop!" she cried. "For pity's sake, there is no need!"
Heedless of the dirt she sank beside the stricken girl, who now slumped bent and boneless below the wagon's tailgate. Gently Elizabeth raised the girl's chin, her slim pale fingers stark against alien black skin.
"We'll fetch you a doctor," she said softly. "Don't be afraid."
Blank black eyes stared back at her without comprehension. Elizabeth's delicate features twisted with pity as she looked up.
"She needs a doctor. All these do."
"No, they do not."
Astonished, Elizabeth looked up at the tall, forbidding figure of Sir John Biltmore, who now loomed grimly over both women. When he spoke, Biltmore's tone could have cut steel.
"You will step away from my property, Miss Swann, and you will remove yourself from my affairs."
Elizabeth's mouth dropped open and she was on her feet in an instant, her slender figure rigid with indignation. "Sir, I will not tolerate cruelty to even the dumbest of brutes! I fail to understand how you could stand by and allow these -."
"Governor Swann!" Biltmore's frigid gaze swept through and past Elizabeth, dismissing her as if she were an ill-disciplined lap dog. "Will you kindly control your daughter?"
"Elizabeth …" Swann's face was troubled as he held out his hand. "Please, my dear."
"Father -." Her beseeching look swept from him to Will to Biltmore, who stood emotionless as a stone monolith. "Please … she's barely more than a child. She needs help. She needs a doctor."
Biltmore did not so much as acknowledge he heard her, his hard stare fixed on Governor Swann, waiting. Swann held his daughter's gaze, silently asking her compliance.
"I'll pay for it myself!" she blurted, and picked her skirts from the dirt as she swept to her father's side. "I'll pay for the doctor. Please, Father, I can't just leave her - look at her!"
Will and Governor Swann both looked, unable to shield the pity in their eyes for the wretched girl they beheld. Her thin cotton dress was so worn as to be nearly colorless and hung on her bones like scraps of bed sheet. As she sat crumpled in the dust she stared blankly into the infinity of her own misery, and while they watched a deep cough suddenly seized her, the racking paroxysms to follow threatening to shake her narrow frame apart.
Tears stood in Elizabeth's eyes as she whispered, "Father …"
Again Will looked to the rest of the slaves watching, and felt a chill when blank black eyes met his own. Will was first to look away.
"What benefit would be in it for me?" All eyes lifted to Biltmore's lordly tone, and the man tilted his chin. "If I should permit such … pointless charity, what gain would I find?"
Swann took his daughter's hand as she turned her face away in anguish. Will wished he dared go to her, yet he had no comfort to offer. Someone cleared his throat, and there the master shipwright stood, scowling mightily.
"Tomorrow midday," the shipwright said.
Biltmore raised a haughty eyebrow. "I beg your pardon."
"I might be able to take yer ship tomorrow midday."
"Ah. You might. I see."
"If you let me bring a doctor for that girl." Elizabeth wheeled with renewed fire in her brown eyes. "You will have your precious ship repaired, and that girl will get the help she needs."
An unexpected and unpleasant smile grew upon Sir John's strong-boned face. "There, I knew we could come to an understanding. And it won't cost me a ruddy farthing extra. Master Baylor, I will be expecting your pilot tomorrow at noon. Good day, all. Governor."
With that Sir John Biltmore strode away, leaving his men to push and bully the rest of the slaves towards the stockade. Master Baylor made a sound half-sigh and half-growl, and shook his head.
"That is a man used to puttin' 'is boot on others' necks. I'll get 'is bleedin' ship fixed, but only so we can see 'is backside that much sooner. G'day, Guv'nor, Miss Swann."
Which left Governor Swann to eye his daughter with an expression of great misgiving. "Elizabeth … are you sure this is wise?"
"When are kindness and compassion not wise, Father?" The sweetly-sculpted line of her jaw was set in the stubborn mien both her father and Will knew too well. "If they are not, they are at least the right thing. I fail to understand why Sir John objected so."
Swann's expression saddened as he sought gingerly for diplomacy in the face of brutal truth. "Because, my dear, a slave ship's insurance does not cover those who die of illness." Her eyes widened in growing comprehension as he gently went on. "They view it as … financially imprudent to put money into an investment they feel is already lost. In short, a dying slave is of no value and hence any expense in their behalf would be wasted."
Many a time Will had admired the sudden fire that could lift Elizabeth's lovely chin, like a swan facing the croaking of mere foolish toads, but now it rung his heart painfully to see.
"Men hang each other for stealing a horse. They will fight each other for mistreating a hound. Yet they will turn their backs on the suffering of those poor ailing Africans simply because it is financially imprudent." With a toss of her head she ordered, "Will, help me get this poor girl up. We'll make her a pallet of blankets in one of the storerooms here and then I'll go bring Doctor Hastings. Come, don't just stand there."
Misgiving and pride warred equally in Will's smile as he stepped to his lady's side.
***
The afternoon sun slanted in long, dusty beams through the high windows of the storeroom, gently gilding the soft lines of Elizabeth's face. Under Will's attentive eye she sat on an upturned crate, watching the thin black girl on the floor very slowly eat a bowl of soup. Fragile fingers hued in mahogany and pink lifted a pewter spoon, then as carefully returned to the bowl, each motion seeming to take infinite effort and concentration. Outside the rumble of wheels and the bark of harsh voices told that unloading of the Royal Venture's living cargo continued.
Will found his awareness split by a mix of pity and caution, for he reckoned his duty was to watch the watchers, lurking in the form of two of Biltmore's armed crewmen who stood smirking just outside the door. However, not once did the slave girl speak or look up. Tall, rawboned Doctor Hastings meanwhile repacked his bag atop a stack of crates, his thin face solemn.
"I fear it is in the hands of the Almighty," he said. "Her lungs are badly congested. She is malnourished, debilitated. I don't doubt that her … other functions are equally impaired by her weakened condition." He paused to shake his head gently. "I can do nothing, Miss Swann. She is very simply dying of neglect."
Elizabeth's white teeth briefly worried her lower lip, as she continued to observe the girl's painful efforts. "I know you would help if you could. Thank you for coming, Doctor Hastings. I'm sorry to have wasted your time."
As the doctor closed his bag Elizabeth stood, fumbling for a small silk purse.
"No, Miss Swann." He halted her with a faint, sad smile. "Nothing I have done here merits payment."
With a touch to his plain black tricorn hat, Doctor Hastings turned and walked outside. As quick as his shadow emptied from the doorway, another took his place.
"Time's up, miss," growled a hard voice, and Will looked up to see First Mate Thomas Fry's scowling face. "You've wasted your shillin', now there's nothin' here for you."
"But -." Elizabeth's eyes grew wide and stricken. "Please let her rest here. It will cost you nothing - just let her rest. Please."
"Well." Fry's square face bent into a leering grin. "Fancy that. 'Please' from a real lady. Twice, no less."
A single step placed Will between the man and Elizabeth, his fists clenched. "You will not speak so to Miss Swann. Go back to your business, we will leave here presently."
"We will leave here presently," Fry mocked, and one of the sailors grinned at the door. "Certainly, your lordship, seein' as you're such a fancy gentleman and all."
Will's eyes narrowed, but the two men stepped back and outside with derisive sneers and chuckles. Still watching them warily, Will reached a hand to Elizabeth.
"Come, we can do no more here."
When she did not respond, he turned to look at her. His heart wrenched to see the grief marring her sweet features, though she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth in an attempt to stifle her emotion.
"Elizabeth … you tried."
She shook her head but allowed him to take her slender fingers in his own strong hand. "I'm sorry," she whispered, though the slave girl sat with no response at all. "I'm sorry."
Then they stepped outside into bright sunlight - and the world blew up. A cask of rum, a keg of gunpowder, Will never knew what the detonation was but suddenly the yard roared with sound and motion. He seized Elizabeth, heedless of her gasp, and swung her against the building, shielding her with his own body as the stockade exploded in a howling torrent of dark, half-naked bodies. Shouts rang out as several shots boomed raggedly and the crewmen of the Royal Venture charged to meet figures black as gleaming coal. Glass shattered somewhere and more shots boomed, a man's scream cutting horribly short. Plaster burst from the bricks by Will's head and he grabbed Elizabeth's hand even as he leaped into motion.
"Run!"
And the elegant daughter of a colonial governor, who had once seen battle on a pirate ship, simply picked up her skirts and sprinted. Dust, shouts and screams filled the air, more shots boomed and a black woman pitched headlong into their path and collapsed.
"STOP THEM!" bellowed First Mate Fry. "SHOOT THE BUGGERS!"
Dark forms leaped and lunged and bare feet raced, punctuated by the shouts and shots of Biltmore's men. Will yanked Elizabeth sideways as a sailor spun and dropped, his head gone all to blood. The main gate seemed leagues away, the yard choked with gunfire and surging dark bodies and thuds and screams of conflict. He veered back towards the buildings, hoping to stay out of the melee.
Sudden movement flashed and he swung Elizabeth aside - then his head burst into stars and he heard her shriek as he fell. He hit hard and rolled, blearily scrambling to get up, fearing that if he stayed down he might never rise again. Staggering as if drunk he nonetheless gained his feet - and stared at a wild-eyed black face and a club gripped in a hard black fist.
"He's not one of them!" he heard Elizabeth cry. "Don't!"
They were surrounded by men, half a dozen mahogany-hued bodies whose bare muscles swelled with horrifyingly raw power, some wielding clubs or bricks in their hands. They were savage as hyenas and wild as lions, and utterly, completely alien to anything Will knew. He found and clenched Elizabeth's hand, trying to push her behind him but there was no behind, those fierce black faces were all around. Desperately he wished for a sword, but a blacksmith simply did not carry a sword about the streets of Port Royal, and now he was about to die in a slave uprising for want of one.
But a deep voice suddenly spoke, one of the slaves pronouncing something in the queer, tumbling syllables of his native tongue. He raised a hand to point to the terrified couple - to Elizabeth - and the circle of threat simply broke and ran. The black man spoke once more, this time making eye contact with her, before he too turned and fled away.
"What - what -?" Elizabeth gasped.
"He must have seen you help that girl. Come!"
They wheeled to run, and across the yard stood Sir John Biltmore and as their eyes met, his expression was pure rage. Then he turned and the last thing they saw was Biltmore firing a pistol point-blank into a fleeing slave's face. As the two broke into the street they heard more shots boom behind them. Down the road a company of Royal Marines came running towards them at the double-quick, and only then did Will halt, pulling Elizabeth into his arms and against his pounding heart. He felt her trembling with each gasping breath and tightened his embrace as a fierce wave of possession swept him. Meanwhile, however, he found himself staring at one consuming question.
How in heaven's name were they going to explain what just happened?
***
TBC …
A/N: I hereby extend my deepest thanks to all who have left reviews or emailed with your encouragement, comments and critiques. Your support is much appreciated and your candor helps me keep striving to be a better writer. (And yes, I do make revisions when a glitch or type-o is pointed out!) ~ Erin :-)