The Noble Pirates (39 page)

I felt another misogynic remark coming, and before he could finish his thought, I punched him in the face. Yes, that’s right. Punched – with closed fist – squarely in the jaw. I imagine it hurt him no more than the sting of a horsefly, but the look on his face, for just a split second, was priceless. I relished it, even as he grabbed my arm and yanked me to my tiptoes. He brought his face close to mine, our noses barely touching.

“I can’t get rid of you fast enough,” he thundered. “You’re lucky I don’t just throw you overboard and feed you to the sharks.”

“Do it, you pompous son of a bitch!” I growled back. “Don’t let a
woman
show you up!”

In retrospect, I really was playing with fire. Nothing was stopping him from dragging me out before his crew and making an example of me. But as we glared at each other nose-to-nose, both panting like wild dogs, it occurred to me that he wouldn’t do it. It also occurred to me that, whatever Bartholomew Roberts was, he was not gay. Nope.
Definitely
not gay.

He released me and pushed me away roughly. “Stay out of my business, woman,” he said, regaining his composure quickly. “If you want to live to see your family again, keep out of my way.”

I watched him walk coolly out of the cabin and thanked my lucky stars that I was, in fact, a woman. Had I been a man, surely I would have been killed several times over by now.

Captain Roberts and I exchanged few words from then on – until we reached the Caribbean, less than three weeks after leaving the West African coast. The
Royal Rover
was in unfriendly waters, in Woodes Rogers’ territory, and the ship lurked quietly between the scattered cays, anxious to continue its journey to Brazil.

The crew knew they were here on account of me, and Roberts reassured them that it would be a quick stop. A quick stop – to unload me. I suspect the men thought Roberts intended to kill me, but they couldn’t understand why such effort was going to it. Somehow, Roberts had convinced them that this was in their best interest, and if only out of respect for their captain, no one questioned it. Anchored in a hidden cove, the pirates of the
Royal Rover
watched tensely as Roberts, Sam and I boarded a boat. Time was of the essence – no one wanted to run into a Royal Navy frigate, least of all me. God knows I’d be blamed for the catastrophe. I’d have rather perished attempting to cross the time portal than at the hands of some angry pirates, or worse yet, dangling by my neck at the end of a rope.

No words were spoken between us as we cut through the waves toward Salt Cay. I barely blinked in the salty wind, abruptly aware that this was one of my last days in the eighteenth century, maybe even on this earth. 350 days from Time Zero. Today was day 349. This was it.

This is it.

I looked back at the
Royal Rover
on impulse, but the ship was already hidden by the reefs, tucked protectively in the curved arm of some nameless islet. Howel’s ship. Howel’s men. Howel’s world. I was about to leave it forever. If tears escaped my eyes, they were immediately lost in the wind, instantly dried to my cheeks along with the spray of the sea. I reassured myself that it mattered little – he was gone. All that was left of him was the stuff of legends. I squeezed my eyes shut and grit my teeth. May my memories of him never fade, so long as I live!

I turned suddenly, feeling his eyes on me. Not Roberts’ eyes, but Sam’s. They glided from me to the horizon easily, and for a moment I believed he hadn’t been watching me at all. He, like the other pirates, had avoided speaking to me more than was necessary. I was afraid I’d lost his friendship by betraying him and by getting his leader killed, but he showed no signs of resentment or anger, merely indifference. His scarred face was impossible to read, and I resigned myself to a friendless existence until my return to the twenty-first century.

While every fiber in my being yearned to go back to my time, however, something indefinable nagged me. Something… And now, as I sat in the boat, wondering if Sam had been watching me, that something became louder behind the noise of my thoughts.

I had no time to dwell on it. We hopped out of the boat and into the shallow waters around the cay, clambering over the jagged coral in our thin-soled shoes. Roberts instructed Sam to wait by the boat while he took me into the sparse foliage further inland.

“May I speak to the
nwanyi
for a moment, Captain?” Sam asked before we could venture away from him.

Roberts nodded, folding his arms and waiting. He was not going anywhere. Sam seemed unperturbed by this, and looked upon me kindly. “
Nwanyi
, I know you are leaving us, and I wanted to give you something for your journey home.” He handed me a worn leather pouch in the shape of a square. It was sewn shut and hung from two knotted strings, like a necklace. As I took it from him, I heard the clinking of several small objects within the pouch.

“What’s inside?” I asked, looking for an opening to the pouch.

“It is a talisman,” Sam replied. “Sealed within are magical tokens and words to protect you. It is their existence, not your ability to see them, that makes them so powerful.”

I traced the tokens beneath the soft leather with my thumb, feeling myself choke up. It was one of the nicer things anyone had done for me. I felt the guilt for tricking him wash over me, and I met his eyes anxiously. “Thank you. I… I’m so sorry…”

Sam interrupted me firmly. “Wear it.” As I tied the talisman around my neck, Sam turned to Roberts and nodded, then stepped away.

“Come then,” Roberts said to me, clearly eager to be done with this whole business. I stumbled behind him, dragging my feet through the thick underbrush and trying to keep up with his brisk pace. Roberts stopped in a particularly dense area and began clearing away the shrubs. I watched as he pushed aside a large rock, then, on hands and knees, began to dig. After a moment, he looked back at me, lifting an eyebrow quizzically. “Some help would be appreciated,” he said dryly.

I got down on my knees and grabbed at the earth and sand with my fingernails. “What are we looking for?” I asked, unable to keep the annoyance out of my voice.

Roberts flashed me a lopsided grin. “Buried treasure.”

Buried treasure indeed. Roberts’ Navy SEAL gear began to emerge from the sandy earth, piece by piece. I found myself feeling frenzied before all of this cutting-edge 2022 survival equipment: utility rope, first aid kit, small flashlight, compass, blanket, matches (dear God, matches!), pocket knife… I looked at the man beside me in dazed wonder. He’d had all of this invaluable equipment here, all of this time. And yet, he had lived and struggled like one of this era, simply to see if he could.

Roberts met my gaze, his eyes as unreadable as ever. “Now,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow with a sweep of his wrist, “we build you a raft.” He smiled humorlessly. “And then I am nearly done with you.”

He worked quickly and efficiently, using the few tools at his disposal. Roberts rolled up the sleeves of his worn cotton shirt and tied back his hair with a dirty kerchief. While the fancy damask and jewels were absent for the occasion, that silver dragon charm remained around his neck. I wondered idly about it, about its significance to him, as I watched him work. He used a small machete to smooth out dried pieces wood, bamboo, and palm fronds. He lashed them together securely with the utility rope while I fidgeted nervously, biting my fingernails.

“I won’t last fifteen minutes on that thing,” I finally said, aware that he was nearly done.

Roberts dusted himself off and replied, “You only need it to get you into the portal. After that, not even a yacht could help you. That’s what the life preserver is for.”

I stared blankly at the small raft, my eyes glazing over. “I’m scared,” I said softly. “I’ve been in the eighteenth century for a year. I have no idea what’s on the other side, if I even belong there anymore. Do I belong in
any
era anymore?” He didn’t stop working, and I said quickly, my tone insolent, “Yes, I’m a woman and I’m scared. Men get scared too. The difference is that women aren’t too proud to admit it.”

Roberts straightened and smiled at me. “I’m never scared.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s not courage, by the way. Courage is overcoming your fear. What you are is completely, utterly deranged.”

To my surprise, Roberts laughed. And for once, it wasn’t that sardonic chuckle he’d given me before – it was a real laugh, complete with snort. I stared at him, my eyes wide, and said, “Oh my God. Are you laughing? The man may have a soul after all!”

Roberts composed himself and mumbled, “The things that come out of your mouth…” His brow furrowed, and his expression returned to one of pensiveness. “You’ll likely have to remain on the raft for several hours, waiting for the portal to open. As you know, P54 opens under certain weather conditions – in the form of a thunderstorm – and remains open for a very short amount of time. Maybe an hour, at most.” He paused, then gestured to me. “Help me carry this to the beach.”

Although I held one end of the raft, I wasn’t carrying it at all – Roberts bore the weight of everything easily. When we reached the seafront, Roberts pointed to a tower of rocks that was clearly manmade. He said, “You will see the clouds begin to gather. They’ll come at you fast, so you need to be ready to go as soon as you see them. Using the compass, you will want to head due east, 400 meters from the stack of rocks. Be sure to continually orient yourself to the shoreline in case the currents take you off your course.”

I nodded. “What do I do if – when – I’m knocked off the raft?”

Roberts smiled. “Try not to drown.”

I shut my eyes. “Great. Thanks.”

When everything seemed ready, Roberts put his hands on his hips and took a deep breath. “Well, it looks like I’m done here…”

Don’t leave me, for the love of God! I wanted to shout. But I swallowed the words and looked around frantically. “Wait…”

“Sabrina,” Roberts said softly. “Control your fear. It was either meant to be, or it wasn’t.”

I felt the tears forming, despite my best efforts. I nodded. “You’re right.”

“Then,” Roberts said, looking uncomfortable and ready to leave, his eyes scanning the horizon, “I’ll be off. Take care of yourself.” Without another word, my black pirate turned and trudged back up the rocky beach, his strong legs carrying him with purpose.

That’s it. I was alone now. I looked at the raft, at the bundle of supplies I’d be carrying with me. I sat down on the ground beside it and drew my knees to my chest. Sam’s talisman pressed against my thighs comfortingly. My eyes focused on the sky and the delicate clouds that floated within it. I was exhausted now, having spent all of my nervous energy over the course of the day. The breeze had died down, and the mugginess made me drowsy. My eyelids drooped.

It didn’t look like there would be a storm anytime soon…

I’m not sure how much time passed before a rumble awoke me with a start. A single ominous patch of clouds was approaching, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Shit, shit, shit! Am I late? How long is it going to take me to row 400 meters? Wait, how far is 400 meters? What the hell? Am I just supposed to know this crap off the top of my head?

As I struggled to get my little raft into the open sea, the winds began to pick up. I clutched the compass in my fist, the notched bevel pressing into my fingers. As I struggled against the undertow, I looked back at the landmark Roberts had made. From a distance, it looked like a… Ha! A phallic symbol. How appropriate.

The rain began coming down, slowly at first, then hard. 400 meters. Due east. I could barely hold on long enough to peer through the rain at the compass. I couldn’t see the phallus anymore. What had Roberts been thinking? Christ, what had
I
been thinking? I wasn’t going to be able to do this.

The compass flew from my hand and disappeared in the darkened waves as I dug my fingers into the sides of the raft. The sky above was that other-worldly sky I remembered, the clouds reaching down to the earth, obscuring my view of anything but their own supernatural incandescence.

It was then that the raft flipped over, and I watched, with surprising resignation, as the rough, tightly-bound beams came down on me.

This was it.

Chapter Forty-One

 
What has Roberts done?

What was that smell? No, it wasn’t a smell… It was a lack of smell. How strange. The air was so… sterile.

“What has Roberts done?”

“Stop asking that. It hardly matters now. The important question is, ‘Who is she?’”

The voices were American. That was a good sign. I opened my eyes and several anxious faces came into focus, all hovering around me. Two men in uniform. A woman in a lab coat. The walls a blinding white, the bed a ridiculous soft. I looked at the closer of the two men, a bald man in his forties with bushy eyebrows and an impatient expression on his face. I whispered, “Is it 2022?”

The man bent toward me, his eyes wide. “Yes. Yes it is. What year did you come from?”

The other man approached excitedly. “Where is Roberts?”