Chapter 8: John Silver; Dealings with Pirates and What Comes of It
The incident last described, the conversation between John and his father—although externally the same—really represented two separate purposes to either collocutor; and, as John strode quickly away from the Marshalea with his now prominent step, he brewed over the conversation like a nervous cat. The still yet naïve intellect of John Silver now bore down a new, sufficiently plain path, although, indeed, not the same path he first thought himself to tread. He decided with resolve to free Jonas of his sentence immediately, for it shocked him how weak and thin he had become by every visit, and the last conversation which had occurred gave John the impression his father had given up all hope of escape. He would accomplish freeing Jonas immediately, then, by obtaining a new occupancy—hopefully under one who could afford to pay him generously—with which to combine his success in his theft, and therefore earning far more money than when he practiced either disassociated.
John's growth away from his shy and sensitive reserve had only to facilitate this scheme. As mentioned erewhile, John Silver no longer occupied the same position in which we witnessed him in earlier appearances. Truly, his wits sharpened, and his sense of people deepened. John had become the Proteus of human interaction; he could pluck their inner thoughts like a musician tentatively plucks his instruments, and could detect their social tendencies as that identical musician can tune his melodic devices, and then play them with a voice and a demeanor which appealed to his audience until he received what he desired—money; which perhaps, coincidentally, the musician hopes to receive as well.
And if he could please people into giving him money with his eloquently laced tongue, he could certainly charm people into employing him. Thus, John ran down the wharf to the north hemisphere.
The northern hemisphere of the ports of John's planet stood away from the Market Place on the west, and, even stranger, away from even the rest of the hemispheres in the compass, as if it had long ago been separated from the others' kindred rose. Or, even more presumable, it had long ago seceded from the circle of their cardinal points to inhabit its own nonpareil sphere. The reader shall be persuaded to believe the latter of these two possibilities, for the north mothered the wealthy at its reclusive bosom, and—as it was the conviction of many during these times—the wealthy and the poor had a most strict, natural segregation.
The north hemisphere, despite this distinct disjunction between social classes, did indeed bear witness to the worsened dregs of the wealthy, or—and even more customarily—the abject nomads of the Etherium that habitually leaked into the nonconformist north from the docks; or, to name them as they have already been termed before: John's fiends of space.
By degrees, and not very slowly, did John—as his lifestyle altered during his father's imprisonment—find within him, as it is apt with any other being when a person stands out with any eminence in their opinion, a type of general regard ultimately grown up with reference to these pirates in John's mind. It is a credit to the innocence of a child who holds unhappiness undercurrent in his heart, that, if he feels a congruity with any race of people, his heart more readily loves than hates such identification.
It was perceived, too, that while John still did hold them in high veneration because of his empathy for them, and for the subconscious empathy he felt they had for him, he also marveled at them for their rich attire and intrepid mien. John could see their exquisite jewels of scarlet, azure, and emerald glittering in the fantastic embroidery of their costumes; the graceful and cunning curve of their swords that hung from their sides, as though the embodiment of their violence was kept at the convenient post of swinging within their arms' reach. Their hats—as black as the space they braved—were usually continually dusted with gold fabrics, or lined with thin golden chains that supported their great feathers. Indeed, these men were as rich as the people who lived in the north hemisphere, and were content to unabashedly flaunt it. They were, however, immoral in ways one cannot express, and the people of the northern hemisphere easily placed them in a lower class than theirs.
John, convinced that such rich, immoral creatures would not be frugal with the wages of their workers, slid into the crowds of the northern wealthy—a crowd of which was considerably less congested than the other hemispheres—and glided tentatively through toward the docks and the docked ships.
His impressed fright of these unsound fiends easily clenched him again, as it could easily overtake him when he was younger, and instead of consulting them, he paced up and down the docks high above on the spire of a small hill where he could see them—his hands deeply plunged into his pockets—and endeavored to summon up any strength to accost them for a job exporting their freight.
John's fright proved of strong endurance, having surmounted the extensiveness of the eight months' expansion lacking the exposure to these space gentlemen, for he could not summon anything more venturesome than this old fear. John, staunchly regardless, reminded himself wearily of his three goldspecies long since earned at the job of exporting for the sailors, and he piqued his natural greed, which writhed inside him like a caught serpent against his horror of these pirates.
Following a period of time passing, John, exasperated with his ambivalence, decided he was opposed to further extending his vacillation, and he (after a swift glance down the slope of where he stood over the planks) spirited silently down until he crept close to the crowd of colorful spacers—there were about five—where they stood idle and languidly amongst themselves, circled around a function of merriment obscure to John; although it can be suggested with confidence that the enterprise was the pastime of gambling.
John approached close to one of them, but the amalgamation of scents of foreign spices, putrid ships, alcohol, and the rust-mustard odor of coins in the palm of a hand impacted John's senses and caused him to recoil to a safer distance—this, or the simultaneous event in which the men cried aloud, either with joy or disrelish, which occurred as John neared them. The pirates, still all the while, remained unconscious of his presence.
Regaining himself, John, now with his courage doubled to tenfold portion from this sudden excitement, neared the group again, cautious of their outbursts.
He drew himself up to the same man—a creature most slovenly in appearance, or, as much slovenly as we can say from a hind view; with a tousled, black crown of hair that fell in lengths about the neck, save the very monarchial center, which remained; or, rather, had become an imperially bare pink, resembling a comfortable egg in a nest—and John noted with intrigue that he was, however, the impressive owner of a fine red coat. This was of superior appeal that prevailed over the other inferior attributes.
John's fingers itched, as any thief's that lived merely on the pilferage of pockets would. He could feel the gold and silver he would pull from this bald man's coat; and he could imagine how he would be able to wear an oily, tri-cornered hat adorned with red and green jewels, and, in the sortilege and magic of his childish imagination, he foresaw himself also draped in his little blue cloak with the velvet facings in accordance with his new headpiece. What a trove of glowing affluences he fancied himself finding; millions of miles of such prosperity by simply opening the pocket and peering inside!
John thrust his hand forth, after a moment's pause; and then, suppressing his urgency, withdrew and extended it again, slower, following a nervous glance at the man, who, concurrently, beat his fist upon a wooden barrel once in irritation with the gamble.
The little Ursid inhaled slightly as his fingers moved along the lining of the pocket. He traced it tentatively, for he could not allow the man to notice the movement. Biting now on his lower lip, John slid his hand inside until his fingers stretched into the opening. His fingers sank, until at last their tips reached the bottom.
There was never a more unoccupied pocket.
John's hand quickly retreated, and he quailed back a step or two; slightly bewildered at the idea of emptiness in the pocket he had moments ago held such faith in. He watched the man's ponderous shoulder blades with now wearied security, and moved from his right to his left, and found a new pocket on the other side. This would have been an auspicious outcome had John exposed what he had believed he would in the preliminary pocket, but—as it is difficult for children to lose their heart easily—he stole again to his left side, and slid his fingers in this pocket.
Indeed, John did brush against a cold, circular object that rested at the bottom of this pocket, but, given the man's exercise of gambling, John would have had more of a chance for this object to be a button. John could scarcely reveal the entity, however, and decide whether it truly was what he sought, for just as his fingers lighted upon the object, a voice from across the man resounded with accusation.
"'Ere! Barak, ye got a scoundrel at yer pocket, man!"
John recoiled as the bald man turned in dumb shock and saw him. The child drew himself up with fear in the shadow cast by this great man's physique, and then, before he could move, John vaulted vigorously to one side, but was sent sprawling to the planks by another man. John looked up and saw five of them bending over him. One had drawn his sword, which shone white when it caught the light of the sun. John scrambled off the arm he had fallen against, pushed himself up, saw an opening between two of the spacers, and flew for his escape. John's throat tightened against itself, however, and he was swung back into the circle of pirates with the collar of his shirt, and then, roughly, it was exchanged for a brutal confinement of the arm.
John was then thrust in front of the bald man in the red coat, who demanded, "What did ye think ye were doin', ye lil' devil-urchin? Answer quick, boy, or I'll have yer yella' hide on the end o' va switch afore long!"
John swooned with fright. "A harmless action, I assure you! Let go, I pray you, you great nightmares, and I might offer a pleasant and compliant companion if you let me search your pockets further!"
Good heavens! Had John Silver actually spoken? For one fluttering moment he believed that these words had passed his lips. But they were uttered only within his imagination, and he realized with heavy relief that the insulting phrase had been unarticulated. Shortly afterwards, however, he realized that his lack of vocalization rendered a pursuing silence, and John suddenly—with great nausea—envisioned his skinned body on the end of a stick. John quickly began to instigate a reply that would purge him.
"Sir, I beg your pardon," John asserted, pulling slightly against the other man's hand, but was not yet freed, "I only meant to get your attention. You see, I simply wanted to ask about a job exporting your crates, and I thought that, from what I could see, you were busy; and I thought that perhaps I might tug at your coat tail, for I am not yet tall enough to reach your shoulder, much less tap it. I'm sorry for the confusion, sir, truly."
With luck—or, as many would argue: With the merciful interference Providence would allow a liar and a pickpocket—the man in the great red coat, Barak, was indeed of relatively tall stature, and his shoulders rose to an immense height which, without much calculation, was obviously too high for John to reach.
The atmosphere did truly relax; however the sword still gleamed its conflagrant white and John's arm still remained ensnared within the fist of a pirate. Finding the ability within himself to study them, John observed their silken material and clothing; the jewels of other foreign planets cradled on thick rings around their fingers, and the swords yet in their holsters. Their odors of the ships and creatures and alcohol of countless different, mysterious lands floated with a grim pleasure around his nostrils, and, glancing at his arm, he realized with a ghastly fascination that the hand which held him so fast was want of two filthy, dark-brown digits.
Barak began to chuckle as he, too, it seemed, studied his young attacker. "Oh, tuggin' at me coat tails, eh? A likely story, t' be sure, as much as any. By thunder, but ye is a small shrimp! Smaller n' any boy I ever seed; but a good fibber, as any man o' us c'n tell. How d' ye go by, boy?"
"I'm John," the little Ursid answered, but suddenly wondered at his honesty, recalling his cleverness when he introduced himself as William Hamilton among the sailors. How could he present his true name to these dirty savages of space who drew swords upon him, and not to the sailors who treated him so kindly?
"Well, John, ye c'n ne'er lie t' a man o' fortune, for he'll know when ye do, an' ye may lay to it. We're all a bunch o' liars"—and this brought about a round of laughter from the brutes who stood before him, which was so horridly enjoyed by all, John found himself bashfully smiling at them because of it—"so there ain't nary a hair o' trust left in us, which might be a good thin', too, when we run into all the pick pocketing natives we come 'cross on our voyages."
This last statement furrowed John's brow, and accumulated his fright once more. He pulled again against the three-fingered hand that held him, and, still restrained, insisted, "But I have not lied to you, sir! I did truly wish to ask you about a job!"
"Boy, our line o' trade ain't got no exportations. We don't loiter among planets' docks fer trade; we come on'y to stock up on our rum when we go dry, and when we dry up on ammunition, too!"
John's heart, finally—despite the preserving hope of such a child—sank deep within the black depths of his breast, for yet another obstacle rose up in front of his resolve for wealth and glory which he could not prevent or repair, and, for now, the persistence of John's hopes escaped him.
"You have no exportation goods?" John repeated oddly, as though he had been told he, himself, did not exist.
"Nothin' o' that sort, boy, but per'aps I can employ ye with some other sort o' job?"
This willingness to supply an occupation struck John as suspicious. "What sort of job would that be sir, if I may ask you?"
Barak said nothing, but glanced around at his companions with raised eyebrows. After he thusly engaged himself, Barak returned to John's eyes and suggested, with a presentation of his yellow teeth, "I'm impressed with the fact yer brave 'nough t' steal from a man o' fortune. On'y men o' fortune steal from men o' fortune, t' be sure"—and another peal of laughter threaded through the circle; however, John suddenly was doubtful that some of them could understand much English—"so yer almost like one o' us. Men o' fortune such as ourselves ain't exclusive one iota; why don't ye occupy yerself with doin' us little… favors?"
John's arm began to numb. He had not been aware that the restraint caused him pain, but suddenly his mind put it there, and he pulled hard against the hand and, to his unprovoked astonishment, his trapped limb fell free. He caught hold of it and massaged it, preoccupied suddenly with the odd meditation of how it had been his right arm that had been so inescapably trapped. Then, after this consideration, he rejoined Barak with, "And what such favors will I be doing for you, and how much should I be paid for them?"
Barak laughed. "Anything we ask fer, boy! Errands n' such; an' ye may lay to it. Men o' fortune come with little time to waste, and t' have an errand boy would be beneficial!"
"So I shall be your odd-job man? I should then readily decline your offer—I've been an odd-job man before, and I needn't tell you how much I despised the job."
Barak seemed to ignore this querulous whiff of temper, as John's more reserved part of him would have it so. Instead, Barak leaned in very confidentially—which John found flattering to his innermost loneliness—and continued with, "how 'bout we start at ten goldspecies a day, eh?"
Ten goldspecies! All hope suddenly flourished once again inside John Silver, and his heart rose rapidly to his throat, sensing his father standing next to him in the sun already.
Needless to say, John accepted the job without further hesitation.