Fire on Dark Water (36 page)

Read Fire on Dark Water Online

Authors: Wendy Perriman

The severed head bobbed from the mast of the pirate sloop like a grisly lantern. Every one was whispering,
Is it him?
Of course, as soon as I saw the profile I knew the truth. I nodded to Governor Spotswood, then quickly slipped off to wrestle my own dark conscience. Later, when the pardon was safe in my possession, I boarded a schooner bound for Providence. My mind kept replaying something I’d heard in the crowd—that, when asked if his wife had the whereabouts of his treasure, Blackbeard supposedly replied, “Nobody but himself and the devil knew where it was and the longest liver should take all.”
Well, I’d managed to outwit every one of those damned demons, and had plundered my own share of the infamous booty. So that was the end of that.
14
 
CHEST ON CHEST OF SPANISH GOLD
 
1718–1719
 
 
 
 
 
T
he voyage to Nassau was all plain sailing and, as I was traveling legally for once, I’d plenty of time to stare into the night-dark depths and take stock of my new situation. I felt proud having finally tugged fate with my own pull, and wished now to be able to plot my own course. Spotswood had finally upheld his end, granting me full pardon, safe passage, and enough time to carry out the careful preparations I’d dreamed up those long hours festering in prison. I was going to renegotiate Pierre’s kind offer to set up an apothecary at his shop, wishful that I might now become a proper respectable citizen, maybe even a surgeon or doctor to the less-discerning residents of Nassau. So I told John Redwood I’d been well-paid for my Judas service—to explain the appearance of sudden gold—and he helped me acquire the necessary tools.
First off, I invested in a large medicine pannier containing bottles of every shape and hue that boasted a fold-out shelf in the lid to secure the smaller vials. These I filled with cinchona tree bark, laudanum, mercury, oil of peppermint, extract of licorice, rosewater syrup, camphor, oil of turpentine, may apple, snakeroot, ginseng, witch hazel, olive oil, alum, chamomile, powdered rhubarb, and linseed oil. I bought a hardwood mortar and pestle, some brass hook-end balance scales and weights, and three dreaded mercury syringes. John managed to find an old naval surgeon’s kit with most of the instruments still functional so now I’d also got spatulas, knives, pincers, and tiny saws (even though I didn’t yet know how to use them). Most everything else I could find on Providence, that marvelous place I’d call home.
 
 
N
ow, you’ll likely find this strange coming from a gypsy, but I never put no faith in prophecy, dreams, and omens. I think Grandmother Vadoma was the last with any real gift and although Ma pretended to read palms she didn’t have no more skill at dukkering than I did. Of course, I’d heard tell that a cat dream spelled deceit, the hunting of wolves meant danger, magpies revealed that your lover wasn’t interested, and talking to the devil told of harm already done, yet the significance of a dead spouse’s floating head never once entered the discussion.
But Blackbeard was repeatedly stalking my sleep, his hollow eyes melting my back to the hammock as I writhed to wake in a froth of panting sweat. Night after night his dripping face appeared before me until I dreaded closing my lashes because I knew that he was waiting. One time his lips seemed to accuse me, mouthing in disbelief the single cry of
You?
And I flinched beneath the hostile spittle and tried to squirm to safety. My calm head chanted he couldn’t no longer hurt me but my wild heart swung like a rope in a gale that I feared would break through my ribs in absolute dread. So all day long I’d think about my departed husband—trying to recall what it was that had attracted—trying to remember the parts that were human. Back then I believed that I’d married two intertwined beings—Captain Edward Teach the charmer (charismatic, seductive, learned, and cultured, who knew the seas like a preacher his Bible)—and Blackbeard the pirate (cruel, brittle, rapacious, and evil, who understood fear like Satan his minions). What was the line that connected, divided? How did transformation occur? I carefully analyzed all past events and came to this sharp revelation.
Inside of Edward Teach lurked a powerful demon. For the most part it slept in his groin, but every now and then it would lift a scaly paw and poke his humors to baser action. It demanded whiskey and rum and wine and sherry and gin and brandy and ale. And with every gulp its body would bloat and its terrible force grow stronger. You could tell, in retrospect, when the monster took hold for the shaggy face would set in an icy state that no sense couldn’t never penetrate. The lips would thin to a steely grimace. The eyes would flare like two raw coals staring in untamed aggression. And as the unholy spirit swelled to the host’s empty brain—the only words heeded thereafter would be the venomous hiss from its itchy taunts. The demon moved Teach like a vacuous puppet, lusting for blood and souls, and when sated would gradually slink back to slumber. Then the buccaneer king would belch or vomit and gradually fade into weariness that overcame his eyelids like a blanket of thick, warm wool. This much I’d ascertained—but on turning my mind to the rest of the crew I wondered how many others were possessed of similar spirits?
 
T
he Nassau I now found had changed. Most of the buccaneers who’d accepted the king’s pardon were still maintaining the pretense, at least in public, while those who’d flagrantly thumbed the offer had left for calmer waters. Then news arrived that Edward Teach was vanquished and that Stede Bonnet had just faced a cowardly execution in Charles Towne. I’m not sure which death shook the ears more—the chopping down of the invincible Blackbeard—or the slaughter of the well-connected gentleman pirate. For if the Royal Navy could bravely outmatch the outsider, and brutally punish the insider, what chance was left for the regular swashbuckler? The whole town was bathed in a subdued disquiet I ain’t never seen the likes of before.
I hailed one of the unemployed tars at the dockside to cart my trunks to Pierre’s dress shop, and on opening the door the first sight to greet my eager eyes was the back of James Bonny’s head bent over a table with chisel and hammer. I paid the carrier and quickly dismissed him the moment I recognized that mop of sandy hair. “Jim!” I squealed.
The young man turned at the call, and when he saw it was me a delighted grin cracked his face. He turned to hug me crying, “Hey up, Lola! By the stars . . . where’d you spring from?”
And that’s how Anne discovered my return—wrapped in the warm embrace of her recently reconciled husband. She stood in the doorway and snarled, “Put that trollop down, Jim. You don’t know where she’s been. . . .”
I blushed and mumbled, “Hello, Annie.” Then I disengaged myself from the welcoming arms and asked, “Where’s Pierre?” I realized at that point that Jim and Anne must be here together again so I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stay and set up shop alongside.
Anne sniggered at the plainness of my clothes but the smile died somewhat when she spotted the well-stocked tools of my trade. “Do you intend staying?” she inquired. I nodded. “Then you’ll find Pierre at his whorehouse.” She smirked mischievously and added, “I’m sure you can remember the way.”
“Leave your stuff here with me, lass,” Jim offered. “I promise to keep it safe.” And as everything was securely padlocked I smiled my gratitude and set off to see what other tacky surprises lay in wait.
Mary Gee was quite beside herself when she recognized me in the tavern. “You coming back to work, Lola?” she asked hopefully.
I gave her a quick squeeze and said vaguely, “I’m looking for Pierre. Have you seen him?”
Mary pointed to my old room upstairs and whispered, “He’s entertaining a special mate. Be down before long, though, love. Come have a drink on me.” She poured us each a tankard of ale and filled me in on events complaining that, “When Rogers arrived at the start of the year there must have been nigh on two thousand pirates in town . . . and now look at it!”
“So tell me about this new gov’nor,” I interrupted.
Mary replied, “He looks like a leathery dog in a fancy brown wig.” She thought for a brief while and elaborated, “Got a crooked nose and a dimpled chin . . . and I’m told was wounded in the Pacific, which is why he walks with a limp.”
Now, apparently news of the governor’s arrival preceded him so the outlaws had already determined who would accept the pardon and who would fail to comply. Charles Vane gave Rogers an audacious welcome in the harbor, setting alight a blazing prize that tried to ram the official’s ship. Then the pirate fired a volley of defiance before escaping to sea under banner of King Death. Rogers was, however, greeted cordially by the rest of the island, who gave him an unexpectedly loyal parade. The governor immediately set up a council of nonpirates to organize proceedings and entrusted them with the commission of
Piracy Expelled, Commerce Restored
. So first, they decided to rebuild the decaying fortifications—but as initial volunteers were sparse—and rumor came of a Spanish invasion—martial law soon forced every able muscle. Meanwhile, Benjamin Hornigold had turned pirate hunter and was dispatched to capture his old shipmates, with a special interest on the head of the saucy Captain Vane. Not a few weeks hence he’d rounded up some other motley outlaws ripe for hanging, and a sober air now clung to the strangely quiet streets. I listened to Mary’s chatter and was secretly glad that order had arrived, for now I could set up a real apothecary and be protected by the law. It seemed like we’d all been awarded a rare second chance.
Pierre came downstairs as I sat devouring a ploughman’s pasty. His high-pitched throat called out, “
Chérie!
You have managed to escape the monster!” I grinned and nodded. I wiped my nose on the back of my hand and said, “Aye—and more besides. . . .”
He put his powdered arm across my shoulder, glided onto the next chair, signaled for a glass of wine and then declared, “I want to know
everything
!” So I gave my friends a potted account of my adventures, ending in my decision to run a legitimate business.
After I’d finished speaking there was a lengthy gap before Mary broke the tension. She said, “You might have a problem, love. . . .”
I felt a waft of concern and asked, “How so?”
She looked across at Pierre and he explained gently, “The governor has brought with him the barber-surgeon and the apothecary. The doctor trained at the London Guild and is also a surgeon of the mouth.” I went cold and felt suddenly redundant.
“What about midwives . . . babies?” I stuttered, grasping at straws.
Mary answered, “Most still go to Nanny, the local ju-ju woman.”
My thoughts started swimming madly round my skull. I didn’t want to work back at the inn but my options were shrinking even as we spoke. Finally, Pierre said thoughtfully, “We will set you up
secretly
at the back of the shop. . . .”
“But who’d be my customers?” I huffed.
“Those wishing to avoid awkward questions,” Mary said.
“And pirates who care not for pardons . . .” Pierre added. “After all, are you not the wife of the most famous rogue? They will trust you.” I reddened with shame and bit my bottom lip as if carefully considering the proposition.
“What about Annie and Jim?” I inquired. It looked like they were both firmly ensconced at the shop.
I learned that even before Chidley Bayard moved on to his next mistress Anne had returned feisty as ever, and she’d spent long enough with high society to bring back several popular patterns and novel ideas. With her endorsement, Pierre’s reputation had grown throughout the Bahamas and gentlewomen came from far-off plantations to be fitted for special events. Some came out of curiosity (or spite) just to meet the young woman who’d stabbed Maria Vargas in combat, and knocked out Kate Lawes’s hoity front teeth, but most made the trek for the chance to outshine others because Pierre never repeated the exact same dress twice. Meanwhile, Jim had returned from a profitable cruise that supposedly hauled up chest upon chest of Spanish gold—and although he was one of a huge band of rogues his share was enough to buy back Anne’s temporary affection. So he did odd jobs at the shop and inn, and had whittled a niche carving peg legs and wooden arms for mates who’d been disabled. They were renting their former room, and if we could all get along amicably Pierre said he’d give back my old lodging but I’d have to pay full going rates. I shot my patron a beaming grin and rising from the chair said, “Thanks. It’s good to be back.”

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