The Sighted
Chapter 2
On the Beach
٭
"We've searched the whole place, Cap'n. I dun see or hear nothin' out of the ordinary," Henry said to him, standing in the middle of a darkened beach.
They'd walked for little over an hour, weaving their way carefully through the thick underbrush, wary of snakes and spiders but keeping and ear out for anything out of place. The forest had been thick and dark, making Jack feel slightly trapped. He doubted any of the town or the Commodore's men would enter the place without getting lost, and the thought made him smirk. He had found a good cover.
As they had walked, the trees had suddenly given way to beach, and they stood upon a small patch of sand bordered by mangroves and backed by a small, steep hill overgrown with ferns and thick bushes and such. There was a wide view of the ocean surrounding, and the very tail end of the sun could be sinking over the horizon, leaving a sky painted red and pink in its wake. Already, above the stars were making their appearance. The area was calm, the water's waves riding gently upon the shore, the untouched sand blown and shaped into miniature waves. Only his men's boot prints marred the natural patterns.
Jack knew that if someone were to stumble upon this place, he or she would immediately know someone had been here. But he had his doubts that a lone redcoat (or a group for that matter) would simply and accidentally find themselves here. It seemed too secluded, and Jack new the Commodore liked to keep his men where the crime was: in the town and on the sea.
No unexpected callers would pay them a visit anytime soon.
Or so he had thought.
No sooner had he opened his mouth to reply to Henry, there was a faint sound of a dog barking in the distance.
The four men froze for a moment, deer caught in a clearing, staring dumbly at each other, before another deep bark shattered the beach's silence and spurred them into action.
Deftly, Henry removed a pistol from his belt, followed quickly by Luke. Peter looked to his Captain for instructions, waiting. All four men listened in a tense hush.
Again, a resounding bark broke the quiet of the beach, this time nearer. It hailed from atop the short hill backing the beach and growing closer.
As soon as this occurred to Jack, he motioned with his head to the bushes surrounding the clearing, not daring to voice an order lest he attract the animal's attention. It was a silent command offering no exceptions. The three men nodded and made a dash for the bushes, their Captain taking one last wary glance up the small incline before following them. He knew very well that canine's had excellent ears, and the least of what he needed was a dog mauling one of his crewmembers.
٭
Mabel was furious. The silly animal had raced off!
Royce was usually too well behaved to be pulling free from her and bounding off during her walks. Every once in a while, however, he would catch sight of an animal or smell a mouse and subsequently went completely berserk.
Mabel suspected that was what happened. Royce's leash had been yanked from her grasp and he's run off along the path, barking madly.
It was her most used route, and she walked in the late afternoon or early morning when the Caribbean heat was bearable.She knew every rock and tree along the way by heart. A worn path winded away from the manor and into the small field of grass beside the horse pastures. Steering clear of the bordering forests (She had gotten lost more than a few times), the path veered along the top of a small hill covered in fauna that gave way to a small beach below. When she'd been younger, her mother had taken her and her siblings down a set of stone steps her father had constructed and into the hidden place. They'd swim for hours, Mabel mostly wading up to her knees for fear of getting too deep. She was terrified of the ocean, terrified of being caught in a wave and being dragged out.
She liked the smell of the sea, however, and it became stronger as she trod the worn trail through the tall grass, away from the manor. She supposed Royce enjoyed the breeze of sea too, for he never complained. He just took off as if a wild boar was on his tail whenever he smelt something else of interest.
And clearly, he had.
Thankfully, being so large, the dog's gruff barks were easy to follow. She made her way quickly along the path, careful for rocks she might stumble over. Mabel had never enjoyed running about alone in the wilderness without Royce. And he seemed to be leading her on a wild goose chase.
Another series of loud, almost alarmed barks broke the stillness of the air around her.
Frowning, she heaved her skirts up and began to run in that direction, her skirts levelling down the tall field grass. This was getting out of hand!
"Royce!" she called, little more than her usual tone of voice. "Royce, you come back here this instant!"
She heard the crashing of the large dog through underbrush, and realized that he must have sped right over the hill and ran for the beach. Barely missing tumbling down the hill herself, Mabel quickly located the old stone staircase leading down to the beach. A large sandalwood tree grew to its right, and she found the rough bark of its trunk quickly.
The stairs, however, were in poor shape. The stones were overgrown with plants, and the forest surrounding had crept up upon her. Branches and twigs snagged her sleeves and hair, scraping along her skin like needles. Wincing, she pulled the fabric of her dress higher, afraid she might trip. By now, she had no doubt that her dressed was torn in more than a few places.
"Royce!" she implored impatiently, a little louder this time, shoes tapping quickly down the stone steps. "Royce! Come here!"
A nearby branch snagged a curl from her elaborate-hair-no-more. She halted a moment to wrestle it free, and the effort didn't come without pain.
But Mabel began to worry somewhat when the sounds of him growling and barking angrily reached her ears. He had never sounded so hostile while chasing a bird or the likes, and she began to wonder what he had smelled that had gotten him so riled up. No doubt the silly dog was upon the beach by now, cornering his prey.
Or the prey is cornering him, a small part of her mind said cynically, and she redoubled her efforts.
"Royce! You silly mutt, come back here now!" she commanded loudly, impatiently. Tripping down the last step, she broke free of the underbrush.
Then, stumbling and nearly falling, hers shoes sank into the familiar texture of sand with a soft crunch. She'd made it to the beach; now all she needed to do was find that blasted dog. Said animal was growling softly several yards to her right.
Furious and panting, she scowled darkly before marching, with purpose, towards the animal.
"Royce!" she snapped hoarsely, throat sore from all the yelling she'd been doing.
Immediately, she heard him respond, the bells on his collar jingling merrily as he abandoned whatever had drawn him to the beach and crashed briefly through the bushes before padded happily towards her, tongue wagging. This only served to irritate the woman further. If he seemed so eager to get back to her now why hadn't he responded to her calling minutes before when she came crashing down the hill trying to find him? Yes, she loved the dog to bits and pieces, but sometimes he could be right pain!
"Goodness, dog, you're going to have my hair grey with age within a year!" Mabel scolded, sagging with exhaustion and flopping down into the sand. She heaved a sigh as Royce sat down beside her, but her heart was still thumping speedily. It wasn't every day she went romping about the countryside in search of Royce. He was usually so well behaved, too.
Instinctively, her fingers went to his soft fur coat, and she stroked him lightly while picking out bits and pieces of leaves and burs from the hair.
Before her, the sea was lapping gently up onto the shore, the sound smooth and regulated.
"Honestly!" she huffed, pursing her lips as Royce panted heavily at her side. She didn't have the heart to scold the silly animal.
٭
Jack squatted in the middle of his group of four in the tall bushes at the side of the clearing, watching with both horror and curiosity as first a large, feral looking dog burst through the undergrowth on the hill, snarling with its fur on end, and then a dishevelled looking woman. Her calls for the animal had reached his ears several minutes before she stumbled down onto the beach.
He'd watched as the dog had made a beeline for them, nose in the air, sniffing them out. Beside him, Henry had his pistol trained on the animal's head. It had been not four feet from their hiding place, sniffing and growling, when the woman's voice distracted it, calling its name.
Royce! You silly mutt, come back here now!
Somewhat stunned, Jack had stared as a woman, fair and decently dressed, had struggled free from the forest's claws, looking quite livid and seemingly intent on finding her dog.
And the dog had come when she called his name once more.
And they were left in an uncomfortable position while the foolish maid had sat down in the sand with nothing but the dog as company. A good gunman could take the animal down with one shot and then she would be left with nothing to protect her, and there she was seemingly without a care in the world! What kind of idiocy was this?
He remembered that his men were with him. They had been away from a good port for a good two weeks. Two weeks without women. And there was one, sitting all alone before them.
Almost as if sensing his Captain's thoughts, Henry shifted uncomfortably, his eyes fixed on the woman.
Whipping his head about, Jack stared at the man, tipping the front of his hat up with his thumb to stare silently at the man, a warning look in his eyes. He did this to all three, the message clear in his eyes.
They would wait this one out without making their presence known, and hopefully the stupid woman would realize what she was doing and run back home, with the dog of course.
He surveyed her appearance intently as she stroked the dog's fur, picking twigs and smoothing it out. She was a very petite woman, more than a head shorter than himself he guessed, and pretty as a flower. Her hair hung askew in tight curls, a golden brown, and her cheeks were rosy. Those weren't common features of the women he saw prancing about the taverns and markets. Her dress, too, gave her away, for it was finely made, although very simple. This was no ordinary peasant woman.
He wondered if she was a maid. A maid working at one of Port Royal's upper society's mansions, perhaps? Her dress didn't seem like that of a maid's. And what was she doing down here at such a time at night?
On his other side, Peter had become restless, his foot numb, and he shifted slightly in the bush.
And, as luck would have it, a twig snapped beneath his boot. Although it wasn't loud, the sound shattered the hush in the clearing as well as any gunshot.
The dog by the woman's side jumped up from the sand, eyes and ears darting about rapidly, hair on end. A low growl once again emanated from deep within his throat.
Mabel, quite startled herself, but only because Royce seemed to be, stumbled up to her feet. Grains of sand fell from her dress as she stepped towards Royce. Was there someone in the clearing? She couldn't tell of course, but Royce seemed to be fairly sure there was. Or something along those lines. He'd never sounded so menacing when spotting the hutias, the small rodents that seemed to infest the island. But there were other things roaming the woods. Goosebumps suddenly rose on her skin.
There was complete silence for a moment, broken only by Royce's low, periodic growls. She was tempted to shush him so she could hear for herself.
Instead, "Who is there?" she demanded, voice wavering slightly. Her shoes sank deeper into the sand.
In the line of thick bushes, Peter turned to his Captain, both offering an apologetic look and one of question.
What were they to do now?
Raising a finger to his lips, Jack slowly stood, his pistol held comfortingly in his other hand. The movement caused a rustling in the bushes, one both Mabel and Royce caught, but the dog more so.
The short, coarse hairs coating the animal's skin perked up angrily while his long muzzle curled into a snarl, eyes menacing.
Mabel was rooted to the spot, wondering if her companion could protect her from whatever had shown up so suddenly. She could feel her pulse beating quicker than normal, her heart thumping loudly in the confines of her chest.
"Show yourself!" she demanded with her voice ringing loud through the clearing, not betraying a hint of the fear she felt building in her veins.
There was no noise but Royce's growling for a moment. A crunch of underbrush, maybe, or a figment of her fleeting imagination. The soft wind gently caressing the leaves on the trees, and the muted sound of surf. Silence. Then, quite suddenly, Royce's growl deepened to a near snarl, the noise rumbling deep inside his chest. And then Mabel received an answer to her command. Someone stepped out loudly from the bushes.
"Restrain you animal, lady. I mean you no harm," the stranger spoke, very and quite clearly a man's. He sounded English, with a slight hint of an Irish lilt to his words. And, overlapping it all was a distinctive slur, for lack of a better word.
This was no nobleman she had found, or, had found her.
Royce was alarmed. Mabel, however, knew he would not attack a human without a strict command from herself. That had been one of her mother's requirements (she'd never taken a great liking to the animal) when she had stumbled upon the stray dog years ago. Strict training and discipline. Although it was rarely put to good use.
She ignored the man's request and stood stiffly. "Who are you and what is your business this time of night on a deserted beach?" she asked coolly, intent on taking control of the situation. No one need know she was the one at a major disadvantage in this situation.
The stranger's response was swift. "I could ask you very much the same thing, lady."
She hadn't expected him to be so sure of himself. No doubt, men who crept about like him were up to no good.
Mabel was silent. Royce was anther matter entirely. He was slowly inching forward to the dark stranger who had intruded upon him and his owner, teeth bared and snarling. It was warning, and someone was going to be hurt if something wasn't done. And Jack didn't very much like the size of the teeth on the animal.
With a quick tilt of his head, he motioned for the other three men to join him, while at the same moment removing his pistol from behind his back and cocking it, pointing it directly at the dog's head.
"Milady, it'd be wise for you to obey," he spoke, eyes fixed on the woman not ten yards from him. The darkness of dusk cast her face in near shadow now, and by how still she stood, he could have mistaken her for a finely carved statue.
Behind him, Luke, Henry and Peter had their weapons revealed and ready. But as if unfazed by the sight of four raggedy, armed men, she stood vacantly, unspeaking. Unless she was scared stiff, of course, which would be no good at all.
Jack heaved a sigh and made an irritated noise as his men stared at him curiously. Grudgingly, he lowered weapon and tucked it into his belt and sash once more.
He turned to his men and signalled for them to lower their own weapons before turning swiftly back to the woman, who stood stiffly as if waiting for the world to end.
Tipping his hat up with finger, Jack peered closely at the woman. "You're dog won't be much use against four armed men, lady, or haven't you noticed we're all carrying guns?" he asked patronizingly with a smirk flitting across his face.
She didn't spare him a glance. "Royce," she spoke simply, and the large dog instantly knew the tone of voice. It was the come-hither-before-you're-sleeping-outside-tonight voice. Obeying the command, the large dog sniffed at Jack before turning and padding back towards his owner, adding a slight tail wag in for good measure.
The woman took a tight hold on Royce's collar as he pressed against her skirts, his thick tail thumping tirelessly upon her legs. She wrapped his leash tightly around her hand once more.
Jack knew a sign of submission when he saw one, and smiled a triumphant smile. He noticed Peter was regarding him with befuddlement, but ignored his men a moment longer to address the woman before him.
"Thanks very much, lady. Now, if you'd be so kind, we'll be on our merry way," he stated dramatically before pausing. "And, for both our well-beings, I'd rather like to keep this meeting a secret between the five—" he glanced at the watchful dog "—six of us. Savvy?"
Mabel felt herself bristle at his careless tone, and purposefully loosened her grip on Royce's leash. The dog began growling once more, deep in his throat.
"My Mistress could have half of Fort Charles down here within the hour, sir. Don't threaten me," she said clearly, deliberately withholding her identity. She'd heard of young ladies, rich ladies, and noble ladies being kidnapped by outlaws for ransoms and pleasures, and had no wish to end up like them. Fortunately, she knew a maid wouldn't fetch a handsome sum of money.
Jack knew that too, and narrowed his dark eyes at the woman. "As I said, it'd be in both of our interests if you not speak a word of this encounter. I have four pistols for you to contend with if you think otherwise, lass."
Guns! Mabel had nearly forgotten about those altogether! She was silent for a moment before answering in an even tone. "Very well. Leave this beach now if you wish not to be seen. I shall assume you're not looking for an encounter with the Commodore, sir."
Resisting the urge to clap his palms together in a burlesque bow of thanks, Jack turned to the three bemused men behind him. "Weapons away, men," he said curtly, before spinning about to face the woman once more. "My thanks again. You might think it wise, however, not to return here for quite some time," he said. "If you'll kindly excuse us, we'll be on our way."
Mabel stood stiff, listening to the slight rustling of bushes, a murmur or two, footsteps in wet sand, and then silence. Indeed, they were on their way. She, thankfully, was left alone once more.
But she knew she was hardly out of trouble when she noticed the warm sun of dusk was no longer upon her skin, and the muted chirping of crickets sounded in choruses about her.
The sun had set.
٭
Jack led the three men in a swift walk back through the darkened woods. There was all but silence among them until Henry caught his arm in a firm hold, forcing the Captain around to face three pairs of questioning eyes.
"What in the devil's name was that, Jack?" Henry spoke, eyes narrowed suspiciously in the fading light.
Peeved, Jack snapped back a response. "It's Captain. And that, mates, was an entirely inconveniencing encounter that I would have very well liked to have avoided!" At this point, his dark eyes had settled on the gangly form of Peter.
Luke shook his head silently. "What he means is why'd we just let the lass prance off like that?"
"Well, we couldn't very well have killed her! We've already got one of the locals who know we're here, we don't need the whole bloody port, too!" he snorted irritably.
Peter frowned. "A ransom?"
"Would only serve to make our troubles worse," Jack supplied. "I suspect she was just a wayward maid, nothing more."
"In that case, she's probably already snitched us on her mistress! Descriptions and everything! I suspect the Commodore will know just who she'd speak of when she mentions those beads in yer hair, or the gold teeth, or the 'undreds of other little things about ye!" Henry scowled at his Captain.
Jack met the three men's piercing stares coolly. "I don't believe she will," he replied.
"Why's that?" Henry arched an eyebrow cockily.
"That, men, is a very simple answer indeed." Jack told them swiftly, and then paused for a moment before smirking smugly. "She may have heard us, yes, but she didn't see us. The lady was blind."
And with that, the Captain was off once more, swiftly clearing a path through the vegetation in an over-exaggerated way that could be accomplished only by a man whose brains had been addled by the sun and the sea.