Raised By Wolves 2 - Matelots (33 page)

“I hope they are not looking for free rum,” I jested.

This brought a chortle from Striker. “Aye and nay. Some men with money still bought a number of barrels of that and wine and asked if they could bring it on for all. As we can use the barrels for beef when they’re empty, the Bard and I agreed to it.”

“Is there any food aboard?” I asked.

Even Gaston laughed at this.

“As usual, only what any man brought,” Striker said, and began to slowly ease his way out of the hammock.

As usual, my matelot had practiced excellent forethought, and we were well-stocked with boucan. In addition to Gaston’s medicine chest, we had brought aboard a small sea chest stocked with all manner of things including food and wine. I knew the rest of our cabal were likewise supplied. Of course, if some horror befell the ship and we did not reach a place with food inside a week, we would all be honor-bound to share what we had.

Once he was on the floor, Striker smacked the bottom of their hammock a few times, until Pete cursed at him. Then he accepted Gaston’s proffered bottle of water and drank a goodly amount before passing it to Cudro, who did likewise.

Meanwhile, I worked on easing my aching body to a sitting position. I had not felt last night’s lustful exertions as they occurred; however, this morning it seemed my muscles and bones chose to practice usury on me for my prior forfeiture of attention.

Gaston slipped to the door and peered out. He returned to me with grim features.

“I would rather climb out the gallery windows to reach the quarterdeck,” he said. “But you cannot. We will have to battle to the steps and up them.”

“Let us prepare to go in the others’ wake then,” I sighed.

He sorted our weapons, and passed me my baldric and brace of pistols. Then he donned his personal armor by painting the mask about his eyes.

I touched his hand when he finished and pointed at my face. With a smile, he daubed the substance around my un-bruised eye and grinned at the result.

“We don’t have to board our own damn ship,” Striker said with amusement.

“Speak for yourself,” I said. “Remember, there are rumors about us.”

Striker cursed quietly.

“Liam has been hard at work, though,” Cudro said with a chuckle.

“I am of two minds on that,” I said with amusement. “The first being that we have truly fine friends, the second, that only the Gods know what they now think.”

Pete dropped to the floor. “They Bloody Best Be Thinkin’Na’ Ta Make Us Angry.”

He pissed out the gallery window, and we followed suit. It afforded us our last view of Port Royal, as the town slipped away in our larboard quarter as we sailed east.

I felt relief that we had at last escaped civilization once again.

With Pete and Cudro in the lead, we made our way to the quarterdeck. Once there, Gaston maneuvered us into the fore larboard corner, where we found Dickey.

“Were you able to sleep on deck with so many?” I asked.

I looked about from the vantage point the quarterdeck provided. I could not see the planks of the deck for bleary-eyed and rum-cursed men. Where we stood was no better, and Gaston had placed himself between me and the rail so that I would not be jostled, and then wrapped his arms around me protectively from behind. I was touched, as always, by his concern, but despite my aches and bruises, I did not feel so very fragile that it was warranted. Then I stupidly realized that, judging from the tension in his arms, his gesture of support and security was more for his well-being than mine. I rubbed his arms reassuringly.

Unfortunately, our stance, or perhaps our mere existence whether we embraced or not, caught the wandering gaze of many of the barely-sober men squinting about in the morning light. They would look and then whisper to their companions, who would then look. I dearly wished to know what they said, but I did not wish to disengage from my matelot’s embrace to go and confront them. The Devil with the lot of them.

“Nay, no sleep at all,” Dickey was saying. “It was more from so many men being drunk than from so many men.” He rubbed his eyes. “And Francis is in quite the mood.”

I frowned at the name, and then remembered it was the Bard’s given one. I suppose his matelot could not be expected to call him the Bard.

I looked to where our Master of Sail stood in the middle of the fore quarterdeck rail, with his arms crossed, his shoulders hunched, and his eyes on the sails. He appeared to be brooding and not watching the wind as he rocked back and forth with the ship.

“Beyond today, how goes that?” I asked Dickey cheerfully.

This brought a smile from the young man. “Well, I feel. It is…

different from all I have experienced.” He shrugged sheepishly. “And it is different than what I expected of such things, though not necessarily in a manner that is worse than those expectations. In some ways it exceeds my humble thoughts on the matter entirely.”

“But in others?” I asked with amusement. I was fighting hard not to break forth with mirth at his ruminations.

“Well…” Dickey said solemnly, “We talk a great deal about the future. He is quite concerned.”

I lost my battle and laughed, startling him, and thus was quickly forced to explain. “Nay, nay, I do not find amusement at your expense, rather in sympathy. So, you might have tried to envision the squeaking, but not the astounding amount of words that need be said.”

“Precisely,” he smiled.

“Well, if it is any consolation, the talking is not a thing men engage in often, at least not of that nature. I have never spoken of the matters I do with Gaston with any of my prior lovers. I simply left them when it became obvious things were no longer going to proceed as I wished. The talking is good. It is proof of commitment to the endeavor.”

“Thank you for putting it in such a manner,” Dickey said. “It is just… I thought love would simply… conquer all.”

“It can.” I grinned. “But only if you take the time to develop a plan for the battles it must face.”

“He is concerned that I will wish for children,” Dickey sighed. “He avers that he does not, and that I am too young to know my heart on the matter. He often feels I am too young to know my heart on the matter of many things.”

I sighed. “Dickey, I am very fond of that man, so do not take what I will say next as mean-spirited. I feel that he speaks of his cynicism and not your youth. Sometimes the years bring fear more than wisdom. And I will cite a variation of a passage from his book: If he were not so very smitten with you, he would not be so very concerned about losing you.”

He nodded soberly. “What can I do to assure him of the truth of my intentions?”

“Do not release him,” Gaston said. He had to strain to be heard over the breeze and constant murmur.

Dickey nodded again and smiled. “I understand.”

Striker had finally gathered his wits sufficiently to address the men. We made short work of the elections and articles, there being no elections save carpenter and cook; and we were not sailing for the purposes of roving, so the articles were reduced to a mere reciting and ratification of the rules of life aboard ship or shore, and not divisions of any booty. The ship’s surgeon would be the young man Striker had mentioned at Negril: Farley. He seemed a pleasant enough man: thin, with an open countenance and dark brown eyes and hair. But he did look young indeed. He listed an English college of medicine as his credentials for the job, and all seemed pleased with that – save my matelot, of course.

As I was named First Officer, and I had fairly legible handwriting, the job of recording the articles and witnessing signatures fell to me.

So despite the lack of argument and the relative brevity of the entire process, the sun was very high in the sky when Gaston and I were at last able to retreat to the relative sanctuary of the cabin. We were dismayed to find it full of men. There was even a man sprawled under our table. As I now knew without doubt, having seen them all sign, that there were one hundred and four men aboard, I suppose I should not be surprised that a good ten of them had settled into the cabin to seek shade. They had every right to be in the cabin; but, as we were owners of the vessel, I felt we were entitled to other rights even amongst the democracy of the Brethren.

“That is our space,” I said pleasantly.

“Well, have ya a seat,” the man said and made to sit up without turning to regard us. One of his friends shook his head quickly and pointed. The man under our table looked up, and beholding us, frowned. Then he began to move quickly until he was standing almost chest to chest with us in the small space. Gaston inserted his shoulder between this trespasser and my person.

Once upright, the man spoke diffidently; and if he had worn a hat I was sure it would have been clutched to his breast. “Beggin’ yur pardon, me Lord.”

“Nay,” I said firmly. “You may beg it for that last bit, as I am not a Lord here, but not for the use of our bed. We are all rather like too many sheep in a pen, wherein if one wishes to move, others must move into the space the first occupied to make room for the maneuver.”

This brought a number of chuckles from those perched on the hammocks.

Our trespasser was still standing before us, appearing quite trapped between the table and my matelot.

Gaston was very tense, and all eyes were upon him. I snaked an arm about his waist and rubbed his belly reassuringly.

“I do not believe we have met,” I told the trespasser cheerily and extended my other hand. “I am Will, this is my matelot, Gaston.”

“We know who ya be,” the man said.

He would not look directly at Gaston, seeming to prefer to keep his gaze on me.

“I can only imagine what you have heard,” I sighed. “What is your name? If it pleases you to give it.”

“Ingram, my… si…”

“Will,” I prompted.

“Will,” he said.

“He be new to the Ways o’ the Coast,” a man sitting on Cudro’s hammock said. “Came from the navy.”

“Ah,” I said with a nod. “You will overcome that in time.”

This brought forth more amusement from our audience.

Every muscle on Gaston’s body was taut. I could not see precisely what he gazed upon, but it appeared to be the windows and not any man present. I needed to get him safely tucked away.

“Now, my good Ingram, if you will perhaps step there.” I indicated a place, and another man moved to make the necessary space. “And then I will step there, and so on, until you are where we stand, and we are under the table. Then perhaps you could tell us of your escape from the navy.”

And so we moved as required, and I soon had Gaston safely in the corner beneath the table. He would not meet my gaze, though, and his overall demeanor was distant and hued with danger. With dismay, I realized we would not be practicing our morning regimen anytime soon, at least not until we reached Cow Island.

The orange rays of the setting sun were glaring through the gallery windows when at last we obtained enough relative privacy in a room full of men for me to turn my back on the rest, without appearing rude, and ask Gaston, “How are we?” in whispered French.

“I will endure,” he sighed.

“Could they leave us on Cow Island?”

“I will not give them cause,” he said sadly.

“Non, non, by our own volition. I cannot see sailing about for months under these conditions. I shall go mad.”

He shook his head. “It will not be as it was when we sought the fleets. In raiding, we sail to a place and then we disembark. One must only endure reaching the destination.”

He met my concerned gaze again and sighed, though it did little to relieve the tension across his shoulders.

“I will endure, Will, truly.”

I nodded. “As always, let me know what I must do to aid you.”

He smiled weakly. “Continue befriending them, as you are so adroit at doing; and continue holding me, as you so inexplicably seem wont to do.”I grinned. “I am heartened that you can still make jest.”

He shook his head. “The time will soon come when I cannot. It is like an approaching storm. It will not pass until it has spent itself in some fashion. I have been considering it these last hours. In the past I have simply… withdrawn. I have hidden within myself and not spoken or reacted to them except to urge that they leave me alone. It is a course of action that saved me, and the lives of those around me, on many a voyage. But now I see where it was folly, as that, in addition to my bouts, is what has left me with my current reputation and few friends beyond those you have made for us.”

I acknowledged the truth of his words with a sad smile. “You have me now. I will be your bulwark.”

He nodded. “But still, the damage has been done, and no amount of clever lies or cheerful salve will heal it. And perhaps it should not. I should be viewed as a dangerous man.”

I could not gainsay him. I thought on all he had said.

“So, the Horse must have time to run on Cow Island. I am sure we can obtain that,” I said at last.

“Run wild, Will. It will not be enough to exercise it. It will run with no thought as to its direction.”

I frowned. “So you feel a bout of madness is pending and cannot be avoided? It is like a storm we must weather?”

He nodded. “It has been a season of storms since Île de la Tortue. It was fantasy to think they could be controlled as we planned. I am sorry, Will: I have misled you. I wished to rove so that I might rage against an enemy I could kill without censure. My words about it being safer for me to spend myself on the enemy were only a partial truth. I relish it.”

“If I had not wished to rove?” I asked.

He sighed. “I would have stayed with you: at great peril to us both.

Instead, I have chosen to bring greater peril upon us with this course.”

I did not feel surprise, or even that I had been misled; however, this revelation did cast a new light on matters. It was rather like a vase with a pretty pattern upon it: turned one way, a man saw leaves; another, he saw branches; but it was still the same vase.

“Well, damn you,” I said with a smile and kissed his cheek.

He recoiled, his eyes wide with wonder. “You are mad.”

“Precisely. We have been viewing this from the wrong angle. I am the madman; you are actually quite sane.”