“I don’t know, Vi. Why?”
“Think, lovie. It’s important,” hissed Dollie.
“What’s going on?”
The women mumbled under my hearing and replied, “There’s things afoot you need know of, Lola.” After a pause Dollie asked, “Can you filch something metal? A spike . . . knife . . . something of the sort?” I answered that I might. “Good. You know that prisoner, name of Charlie?”
“The old salt who killed some tar in a brawl?”
“That’s him.” They motioned for me to slide closer so I lowered my ear to the grid. “He’s been waiting to hear news of pirates abroad because he and his mate reckon that means we’re closing in on land. We’ve been plotting together for weeks and now the time’s at hand—we’re going to take over the ship!” I stifled the gasp pressing my throat. My skin turned cold and bumpy. I mumbled, “But . . . but . . .”
“Hush up!” Dollie commanded. “It’s a full moon two more nights from now. That’s when we’ll make our move, so you’ve to get the spike to Charlie tomorrow. Understand?” I nodded, woodenly.
“And, Lola,” Violet added, “don’t tell the boy.” I bubbled something unintelligible and stumbled away to the stern to calm myself down. Everyone was busy loading the supplies, so I slipped up to sit by the stern lantern and stared out at the trailing foam. What should I do?
Of course I wanted to help my mates down below because I was furious with how the men had maimed Maude and all that—but there was only a frail little girl hiding inside of me. I was terribly terribly frightened. What would they do if they caught me plotting? How would we fare if we failed? And if we managed to take the ship would enough men even know how to sail her? Where would we go where we could hide in safety? Might we be hunted the rest of our days? And what would happen to the crew—I didn’t want Bristol getting hurt. . . .
T
he terror ran round the inside of my skull until I thought my eyes would spark. But then a compelling force pulled me on my heels and made me wander the decks in search of something metallic. Of course, being a prison vessel the sailors were well-drilled in keeping things stowed safe against insurrection, but I thought one of the tars might be careless amidst all the hustle and transfer of goods. No such luck. I couldn’t find nothing suitable at all. That night I eagerly scanned the cabin in the hope of discovering some tool but then I remembered that even our food was cut by my master’s lone knife (which he always kept on his person) and I didn’t dare try to steal that—or his keys. After he’d taken his rough pleasure I lay by his snoring carcass staring widely at the rafters. I pined for Janky’s flair at lock picking and wished I’d paid more attention when he was showing me. There must be something! I ransacked my thoughts for some half-forgotten memory that lay close by and irritating. And when I finally remembered the small rusted shears now locked in the wooden chest I remained fully conscious the rest of the night, tossing and thinking and scheming.
Next morning, as we broke our fast with the new provisions, I drew in my courage and said, “Master, I think I’m well enough to dance again.” He responded with a bored expression and I worried he was tiring of me. So I lowered my eyelashes and said seductively, “It’s a private dance—proper special—just for you.”
A flicker of lust flashed the backs of his eyes and he responded, “Aye? Tell me a wee bit more then.”
“It’s forbidden . . . but I believe the gypsies call it the Dance of Veils.”
“Dance of Veils, eh?” he replied thoughtfully. “I’ve heard tales of the like. . . .”
I decided to push while I had his attention and added, “But I’ll need to fix a new outfit.”
He finished his drink, rubbed his nose with the nub of his missing fingers, and said, “Aye. I’ll open the chest afore I go.” Then he asked, “And music?”
“There’s a song I can sing for myself.”
Captain Mack scratched his thigh and shuffled in his coat for the key to the box. He turned the lock, collected his things, and winked as he left the cabin.
I rummaged through the material to the bottom of the container and quickly found the shears. Each piece of material was seared in my memory so I’d already designed the costume I would create and quickly set about cutting the pieces. Now I’d only ever seen this Dance of Veils once before, when Shona was giving a rival performance at a village fair and I managed to slip from Grandma Vadoma’s sight for a few brief moments. I slipped beneath the skin of the men’s tent to find out what all the ruckus and hooting was for, and there I saw a scantily clad beauty displaying her charms to a bunch of avid admirers. When the final veil dropped, the place exploded and I ain’t never seen so many coins thrown for just one dance. Then Grandma discovered my ankle protruding under the flap and I was dragged away home in disgrace. But I knew the tune she was singing because we children had often repeated the words, oblivious to their meaning. And I went over all the verses as I put together the outfit.
Now, as luck would have it another blustery storm hit the ship that same midmorning so the prisoners were hurriedly chained back down in the hold to wait out the tempest. As the gaiting cabin buckled and dipped I was appreciative not to be facing the carnage belowdecks, which (I’m ashamed to admit) somewhat challenged my loyalty. In the end I reasoned that if I poked the shears through the men’s hatch I’d have done my bit to help my mates, and so as soon as the wind returned to normal I carefully plucked my way across the slippery deck. The crew was busy with the sails and Bristol was occupied with navigation—keeping the pegs in place on the traverse board so we wouldn’t lose our position. I crossed the waist and intentionally stumbled so as to fall against the wooden grate. In an instant I’d wiggled the shears through a hole and heard them drop with a ping on some unfortunate below who spluttered a surprised curse back up at me. But by the time I returned to the cabin I was shaking—wondering if I’d just made the worst mistake upon ever.
When the winds drew back into the thick, stuffed clouds and trundled away behind us, the skies began to gradually lighten and thin. The sun remained hidden, but after the wetness had melted from the deck the captain decided the crew was too exhausted to exercise the cargo that day, so the prisoner’s rations were taken below and dished up down there. And to keep the weary sailors happy an additional keg of rum appeared at the start of the second dogwatch. Just before dusk Mack returned to the cabin to find me ready and anxious. I was worried he’d detect my nervousness so I covered by saying, “I . . . I ain’t never done nothing like this before, Master.” He nodded a curt understanding, then took off his damp clothes and lay naked across the bunk. Waiting. He ran his good hand across his thinning crown and laid his head back against the wrist in a careless, decadent pose.
I battled to still my quivering voice by humming the first verse before I began any movements, glad for the shimmering veils that disguised my shakes. I stood in the confined space and began the chorus.
She sang la la, I beseech thee—listen what I say,
The man who can guess each riddle may claim my virtue as pay.
Captain Mack’s pupils widened in their narrowing eye slits as his breathing turned raspy. I noted his stubby hand tapping time on his thigh as I sang the introduction,
The Sultan’s gift arrived bejeweled across from dusky lands,
She hid herself in swathes of silk and talked with two fair hands,
Her dance was light as swan-down,
Her voice like a bubbling brook,
She stole the king’s heart easily—one glance was all it took.
She sang la la, I beseech thee, listen what I say,
The man who can guess each riddle may claim my virtue as pay.
Now, if you ain’t never heard this song before, it unwraps the woman like a fancy gift. And the riddle’s dead easy to guess because each answer relates to the section of body revealed when that particular veil is dropped. For example, the first verse goes,
This part of me contains the nod obeying your command,
It also holds the tender lips that pucker to kiss your hand,
The canvass flushed with blushes,
At the merest sight of you,
Two gems for dazzling my new lord—set in heavenly blue.
She sang la la, I beseech thee, listen what I say,
The man who can guess each riddle may claim my virtue as pay.
I toyed with the first wrap, until the captain finally grinned he knew the answer and pointed to his own face. Then I carefully untied the headpiece and let the silk slide languidly to the floor, all the while swaying in tantalizing circuits. By the time I dropped the final veil I had obviously captivated my audience, and he spent the next spill of the hourglass feasting on his spoils. Eventually, however, Mack slipped a shirt over his head and pushed his face through the door to send Bristol for food. I put on my night robe. But while he dressed in sated contentment I couldn’t help wondering what was going on down in the hold.
After we’d partaken of goat meat and rice I set about tidying the valuable cloth scattered around the room. Now, to this day I can’t never rightly remember what made him suspicious but all of a sudden the captain marched over to the chest and threw back the lid. He rummaged inside, and then tipped the box upside down so the needles and ribbon scattered like falling leaves and fell tangled against the materials. Then he meticulously began shaking each piece as I scurried to fold and tidy the discards after he’d finished. Finally, he stood up, banged down the lid, looked over the cabin surfaces and roared, “Where’s the shears?” I gulped. Then froze. Then gulped again. My tongue was dry and too scratchy to answer, but my body sprang to action and mimed a frantic search around the space. I looked under the blankets, groped round the floor, checked each container, and pretended to be clueless. Unfortunately my show lacked conviction and the next thing I knew he’d grabbed my wrists and bound them tightly with ribbon around the table leg. And when he blustered out of the room, puffing with fury, the ship exploded into chaos about him.
Now, I ain’t never been so despondent as in that long blank timelessness curled up in the straining dark, listening to the panic. I found out later what happened. The captain ordered a full crew turnout and organized a thorough search of the prison quarters. Line by line the men were dragged up the ladder through the hatch into the moonlight, where they were stripped naked and inspected by the doctor. Anyone foolish enough to speak was instantly flogged with the cat. Then they were chained to the ringbolts to watch the next line of men being processed. About halfway through emptying the hold, one of the seamen let out a yell, followed by a huge commotion. Several other sailors sprang down, only to discover the unfortunate tar grasping at a pair of shears that had been thrust through the side of his neck. Someone cried out for the doctor, but there was little he could do because the scissors had severed the victim’s splaying vein. Meanwhile, the two prisoners who’d freed themselves from their shackles were being mercilessly pummeled by a hoard of angry crewmen—and one of these unfortunates was Charlie. When the escapees were bludgeoned almost unconscious they were hauled up the ladder, stripped naked, and lashed either side of the foremast. The rest of the prisoners were brought up on deck, and even the women were chained up this time. I listened with mounting fear, trying to guess the turn of events. But even in my farthest imagination I couldn’t never have conjured up what happened next.
The cabin door flew open and the quartermaster’s burning mane lit up the gap. He cut my wrists from the table legs and mangled my arm up my back to propel me outside. Every soul on board was now gathered around the waist deck. Every pair of eyes there to witness my disgrace. I was marched to the top of the steps at the edge of the quarterdeck where Captain Mack stood waiting. He twisted my hair into a rope and viciously pulled my head in place, squashed tight against his chest. I saw the dead sailor laid out on top of the skiff, saw the shears—and realized in a long sticky moment of forever that I had stupidly been caught. This was the one thing they could trace back to me! Hot tears scaled my skin as snot began bubbling at the tip of my nose. And then I saw Charlie lashed to the mast and my involuntary wails echoed round the shadowy ship. Several of the women began crying too and all of us shuddered against the night air, awaiting some terrible retribution.
The gunner fired a pistol in the air and a gradual hush descended. Captain Mack yelled through the speaking trumpet, “Be done with your babble! Listen up.” All ears obeyed. He pointed to the crumpled men lashed to the masts and said, “These two scurvy bilge rats have been planning a wee insurrection aided, so it would seem, by this here lassie.” All faces turned in my direction. I hung my head, awaiting the blow that would set it rolling. “Witness your eyes how we deal with rebellion, so you won’t ever be tempted to such foolhardiness again.” He signaled for the quartermaster, who arrived with the most ferocious leather whip I’ve ever encountered and stood alongside Charlie, awaiting the order. “A hundred lashes!” the captain commanded. And everyone gaped in anticipation. One of the crew lit the scene with a lantern and only then did I notice the gashes on Charlie’s wrists where he’d struggled to free himself from the iron shackles. He was barely conscious, and after twenty-some strokes he seemed to slip away on a maelstrom of flying gore.