The Noble Pirates (17 page)

He chuckled. “You an’ me both.”

As in Nassau, there was no shortage of pubs and taverns in Bridgetown. The one Davis led me to was called the “Black Dog Inn.” It was full of people, and I marveled that anything ever got done when people were drinking all day. Maybe it was the only way anything got done to begin with. A woman, who looked like she was wearing a 2011 “beer wench” Halloween costume, gasped and cried out when she saw Davis. She was very attractive: long auburn hair, wide blue eyes, porcelain skin, and a nice figure. She rushed over and threw her arms around his neck, careless of the scandalized onlookers.

“Howel! Howel Davies! Let me look at you!” She held him at arm’s length and clicked her tongue. “What ‘appened to you? You look like ‘ell!”

Davis grinned that beautiful smile of his. “‘Allo, Meg, me love,” he said tiredly. “Was put in the gaol for a little while, is all. Nothing to fret about.”

It was clear from her expression that she didn’t believe him, but she let it go. “You need a hot meal and some good rum. Sit down an’ I’ll fetch it for you.”

It seemed as though every woman in the place squealed and rushed to Davis the instant they saw him, fretting over him, touching him. Meg stood at his side the whole time, her arms wrapped possessively around one of his. It seemed like an eternity before they let him be and Meg went to get the food she’d promised.

We sat at a table and Davis rubbed his face with his hands. I still felt that urgent need to take care of him, but there was something else, now, too… Jealousy. I tried to focus on Davis and what he’d been through, clearing my mind of the voluptuous beauty who’d done something I’d been dying to do for weeks: wrap my arms around him.

I looked at Davis and asked softly, “Was it so horrible, in the hold?”

He looked at me briefly, then focused on his mangled wrists. “‘Twas worse,” he replied huskily. “Ned Taylor and Jack Blaine are cruel men, worse than even Skinner himself.” And that was it. I wouldn’t press him for the details – I didn’t want to know them. I saw it now, an expression that I’d never seen on his face before. He hadn’t been broken, but he’d been hardened. That sweet wistfulness I had loved so much about him was gone.

“‘Ere we go!” Meg set a platter piled high with food before each of us, along with enormous mugs filled to the brim with rum. She smiled, her hands on her hips. “Now you ‘ad better eat every last crumb,” she said playfully, winking at me, and, as I hoped she would bustle off and do whatever it was she did, she pulled up a chair and plopped down between us.

Great.

I was distracted suddenly by the smell of the food. My stomach growled loudly as I helped myself to the onion pie, roast beef, fish stew, and fried potatoes. Food had never, ever tasted so good. Davis dug in as well, starved as he was. Meg watched us, amused, and once in a while reminded Davis to slow down. “You don’t want it coming right back up, now, do you?” she’d say with a gentle smile, touching his arm. I’d pause only long enough to glare at the physical contact between them, then would return back to my meal.

When we finally let up our merciless attack on the food, sitting back in our chairs, sated, Meg asked, “So now, Davies, who be the lad?”

Davis sighed contentedly. He looked at me now, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. God, I had missed that look. “His name is Will.” He gave Meg an abbreviated version of what happened, and she stared at us, her eyes like saucers.

“Sweet Jesus! Well, those bastards Taylor and Blaine better not come ‘round ‘ere, I’ll say that much!” She turned her attention to me, her eyes scanning my face. I looked down, trying to hide under the brim of my hat. Women were so much more perceptive than men, and her studious gaze made me nervous.

“Well, gentlemen, can I interest you in a bath, a shave, and some beds to sleep in?” There was a saucy note to her voice, a flirty look in her big blue eyes. “Maybe some company to keep ‘em warm?”

I looked up, wondering if I was hearing correctly. Was she suggesting we…? Both Davis and Meg were looking at me. Meg asked, “How old are you, Will?”

“Sixteen,” I replied in barely a whisper.

She looked back at Davis and fluttered her eyelashes. “What do you say, Davies?”

Davis’ eyes never left my face. He grinned as well. “Aye, a good idea, Meg. What think you, Will?”

I managed to spit out, “I don’t have any money…”

Meg waved her hands. “‘Tis on the house!” she said.

Davis stretched, his arms over his head. “Nothing like the company of a comely lass to make you forget your troubles, eh, lad?”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I was in a pickle. Was this inn also a whorehouse? Nice.

Meg stood. “I’ll arrange things, then,” she said, and ran her fingers along Davis’ jaw. As she sauntered off, I tried to keep my food from coming back up. I wasn’t sure which poor girl was going to be given to me, but she was in for an unpleasant surprise. As for Howel Davis… I was fairly certain Meg would see to him herself.

Oh, no. Over my dead body.

I looked at Davis to find he was still watching me, something beyond simple mischief dancing in his eyes. He was
challenging
me. Was that how I would prove myself to him? By bedding a prostitute? I gazed back at him pleadingly, when suddenly a young woman, no older than seventeen, was practically sitting in my lap, pulling the hat from my head.

“Will, this is Bess,” Meg said by way of introduction. The girl had a pert nose and a splash of freckles on her cheeks, and she smiled at me, her arm around my neck. My food was definitely not going to stay down. I looked at Davis in desperation to find that Meg had made herself comfortable on his lap, nuzzling his ear. Davis himself, however, still looked at me, as if waiting for something.

Bess slipped her hand into the collar of my shirt, and that did it. “Stop!” I hissed, pushing her off of me abruptly. Both Meg and Bess looked at me in surprise, but Davis merely smiled wickedly.

“What ho, lad? Do you not find Bess acceptable?” he asked, his eyebrows raised in mock surprise.

He knows.

I glared at Davis. “You… What…” I sputtered, enraged.

Davis turned calmly to the startled women. “If you please, ladies, I’d like a word with
Will
here.”

The women moved away, looking over their shoulders at me in puzzlement. I straightened my shirt and returned Davis’ gaze, flustered. “How did you know?”

Davis took a drink from his mug casually. “An
Igbo
woman in the hold was raving about Sabrina, the Charmed Woman, who knew our fates. I thought… I suspected you were a woman, and when I heard this… I thought it may be you she meant.”

My God, there were voodoo sorceresses running rampant around 1718. The
Igbo
woman must have been how Blaine knew as well, then. I asked, “Your fates? Jack Blaine’s fate as well?”

“Yes. He was in the hold flaying the ever-loving Christ out of us with his whips when she blurted it.” He looked at me curiously. “Who are you?”

I closed my eyes. “You won’t believe me.”

“Mayhaps I’ll surprise you.”

I took a deep breath and stared at a mildew stain on the wall straight ahead. “Edward England found me in the sea near New Providence. I had been on a boat that hit a bad storm, and I fell overboard. The year was… 2011.” I slowly turned toward Davis, finding that he leaned forward, watching me intently.

“How now?” he said, his brow furrowed.

I shook my head. “You don’t believe me.”

“No, no,” he said. “Tell me again.” He grinned disarmingly. “Go slowly, now, me brains ain’t working proper yet.”

So I told him the whole story. We must have sat there for over an hour as I tried to explain to him what had happened. He interrupted often with questions and I could see that, like England, he was humoring me even if he didn’t completely believe what I was saying.

“So this book of your friend’s,” he said. “It reveals me fate?”

I knew it would come down to this. I nodded.

“And the fates of England and Taylor and Blaine? Can you tell me what kind of book this be?”

To hell with it, I thought. If I could keep Davis from dying, it would be worth it. Consequences be damned. “It was a book about pirates.” He digested this piece of information, turning the mug between his fingers. I knew I had to convince him that I was from the future, and how better to do it than predict something before it happened? I had prepared myself for this. I leaned forward, whispering. “You’ve heard of Stede Bonnet, the pirate?” Davis nodded. I continued, “It’s the month of October, right? Bonnet will be ambushed on November 8th. He will be found guilty of piracy on November 12. He will beg the governor of Charleston for his life, and his execution will be delayed seven times. Then on December 10th, he will hang at White Point.” Before Davis could speak, I added hurriedly, “And the infamous Blackbeard? He will be killed on November 22, in hand-to-hand combat. His head will be cut off and hung from the bow of his ship.”

Davis stopped playing with the mug and looked at me, a line of concentration between his eyebrows. He was filthy, beaten, and starved, and yet, as I looked at his face, I swear he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen.

“How of it, Davies?” Meg stood at the table, her arms crossed, eyes on me.

Davis smiled at her, pulling himself from his reverie. “Meg, if it’d be no trouble to you, we’ll take the bath, the shave, and the bed.” He winked. “We’ll hold off on the company for another time.”

It was clear that she was disappointed. And judging by the way she looked at me, she held me fully responsible for Davis’ change of heart. I couldn’t help it: I smiled victoriously at her. She said through her teeth, “Nay, no trouble at all.” In a final attempt to sway him, she ran a hand along the back of his neck as she walked away, but he had already forgotten about her, focusing once more on what I’d told him.

Quietly, he said, “I become a pirate, eh?” He mulled this over for a moment, then looked at me. “And what happens if, knowing this, I choose not to go on the account? I still have free will, don’t I?”

I shook my head. “You’re asking me if we can change the future? I have no idea. But I plan to try.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a lopsided smile. “Aye? And what do you plan to change?”

I swallowed. “Your fate.” I couldn’t look him in the eyes. “You will become a pirate and… less than a year later… you will be ambushed on Prince Island, off the West African coast. You will be shot and killed.”

When I finally looked at Davis, he was waving Meg over. She rushed to his side, her pretty face hopeful, and he said, “Meg, me love, can we bother you for some strong liquors? I’ll need quite a bit, if you please.” He then looked at me and grinned. “A man can’t hear ‘bout his death without being three sheets in the wind.” His tone was light-hearted, but I saw the sweat glisten on his neck, at the base of his throat.

We both drank – and drank, and drank. Until neither one of us could really stand without swaying, without leaning against something. Our conversation turned to lighter subjects: his childhood in Milford Haven, my childhood in Haiti; the sister he’d adored and lost to smallpox, the grandfather I’d considered a father; the girl he thought he’d marry when he was a boy, the husband and daughter I had left behind in 2011.

The last bit seemed to rouse a keen interest in him. “So you’re married, then? With a child?”

I fished the picture of Sophie from my breeches, pulling it free of the thread. I showed it to him. “This is my little girl.”

Davis shook his head, trying to clear it, as he examined the picture. “Damn me eyes,” he muttered. After a long while, he handed it back to me and said, “Begging your pardon, Sabrina, but I think I’ve had all I can handle this night.” He smiled, but it was clear that he’d shut down. I had thrown a bit too much at him at once. I couldn’t help it – I wanted him to know. I wanted him to prevent it – all of it.

Thrilled at hearing the sound of my name on his lips, I nodded mutely. We rose and stumbled up the stairs of the inn to our respective rooms. Before bidding him good night, I said, “Howel, I have one last question.”

Davis turned and looked at me, his eyes unable to focus. “Aye, if I can answer it,” he slurred.

“You said you knew I was a woman before… before the
Igbo
woman told you.” I made a fist, my fingernails digging into the flesh of my palms as I asked, “How… When did you realize…?”

Davis whistled playfully, leaning against the doorframe. “In the shrouds. When you nearly fell.” He grinned widely. “I thought either you were a lass, or I was a buggerer.”

All I remember after that exchange was that I floated into the room and blissfully sank into the most wonderful sleep I’d had in a long, long time.

Chapter Twenty-One

Bath. Oh, glorious bath. How I have missed you.

  I didn’t want to get out of the tub, it was so wonderful. As promised, Meg had provided us with tubs, clean water, and soap. I sank into the hot water with a sigh of delight. I scrubbed my skin raw and lathered up my hair no fewer than three times. I considered using a straight razor to shave my legs and armpits – which, I am unhappy to report, resembled those of a sixteen-year-old boy – but decided against it, since I still planned to masquerade as a boy.