John Locke - Now and then

"Do you have any questions about what might happen tonight?" Marie said.

Johanna blushed.

"I know you've probably seen it done, but this will be different."

Johanna looked down at her hands in her lap.

Marie said, "Well then, I'll just let nature take its course. Tomorrow, if you want, we can talk about what happened.

"Okay."

Marie walked to the doorway, turned, and smiled. Johanna said, "Don't worry, Mrs. Stout. Everything will be all right."

Marie looked at the young girl sitting on the bed, her work dress caked with grime from the day's cleaning. Johanna's hair was a tangled mess, and soot smudges from the fire wood covered her hands and right forearm. There were random smudges on her forehead where she'd wiped her brow. Her legs and ankles were bruised and cut from the brambles and saw grass, and there were chigger bites on her cheek and neck.

It was a pitiful sight to behold.

Marie sighed. "Here, child, let me work on you a bit."

She dipped the towel in the water basin and scrubbed Johanna's face, neck, and arms, then rinsed it off.

She stepped back to survey her work, frowned and shook her head.

"Take your shoes off."

Marie scrubbed the girl's feet, rinsed the towel again and handed it to her, saying, "I'll leave the room a moment while you clean the rest of you."

Marie closed the door behind her and went to one of the cabinets in the store. George and Marie didn't stock luxury items like dresses, but they did have a couple of night shirts. Marie chose one, shook it out, and put it to her nose. It smelled slightly of mildew, but was a vast improvement over Johanna's shift. She waited a couple minutes and knocked on the door. When Marie entered the bedroom holding the night shirt, Johanna jumped to her feet and hugged her tightly.

"I love you, Marie," she said.

Marie smiled and patted her back. "Well, it's the least I can do."

After Marie left, Johanna changed clothes and sat on the side of the bed to wait for Henry. A moment passed and she heard the slightest movement under the bed. She jumped to her feet. Her eyes darted around the room searching for any type of weapon she could use to kill a snake or rat, but found nothing. Fine, she'd use her shoe if she had to. Johanna grabbed a shoe, set her jaw, knelt beside the bed, lifted the low-hanging edge of the quilt and carefully looked beneath it.

She gasped and drew back.

It wasn't a snake or rat.

It was Rose.

Johanna grabbed her by the foot and pulled her out.

"You monstrous child!" she said. "What were you doing under there?"

"Why, waiting for you and Henry to fornicate, of course."

The Fortress had been anchored a hundred yards off shore for nearly two hours and the men were getting surly. Those who owned spyglasses had climbed high up the netting to focus them-not on the south side of St. Alban's, where smoke would be visible had the Captain uncovered a plot to capture them-but on the docks of Sinner's Row, where the whores were hooting and hollering and showing off their wares. The spotters were whipping the crew into a frenzy with their running commentary.

Pim frowned. The Captain specifically said to wait four hours for a signal. On the other hand, The Fortress had torn a sail back in Shark's Bay and that had set them back nearly an hour while they waited for Martin to repair it. So technically they had waited nearly three hours since lowering the Captain's dory.

"C'mon, Pim," Roberts said. "If there was a fire, I'd have seen it by now! Give the order, and let's go ashore!"

Pim had full authority to act in the Captain's absence. Like the Captain, a pirate ship's Quarter-Master was an elected position, worth an extra share of the booty. Pim's job was to represent the interests of the crew, settle their differences, and maintain order. He also distributed food and medicine, and divided up the booty. Pim was as eager to go ashore as any man on board, since he intended this to be his final shore leave, should Darla agree to give up whoring, settle down and marry him. He had reason to believe she might. They'd grown close over the years, and he regretted not asking her two months ago like he'd planned. He called to Roberts in the crow's nest. "Give 'er one last, careful sweep with the scope. If she's clean, we'll put the first boat ashore and watch what happens. If that goes well, we'll move in another fifty, aim her sideways to the port to show her guns, and go ashore, 'cept for the skeleton crew."

One long minute later a cheer rang out among the crew when Roberts confirmed the absence of smoke. An hour after that, Pim and the last landing party were standing on the pier at Sinner's Row. By then, all the prostitutes were occupied, so Pim and the others split up into smaller groups of gamblers, drinkers and shoppers. Pim made his way to the Blue Lagoon, entered, and took his usual seat in the far corner. He looked around the place with anxious eyes.

Pirates weren't allowed to drink before battles or while under sail. Nor were they allowed to drink to excess at any time while on the vessel, and Pim was no exception. But on shore, he was an accomplished drinker with a particular fondness for Puerto Rican rum and a thick-waisted whore named Darla. After four years of shore excursions it was common knowledge that Darla and Pim were a couple when he was in town. Though pirates in general were a hard lot, only the drunkest of the tough would think to challenge Pim on this or any other issue, since Pim was known to have a long memory and it fell to him to discipline the crew at sea. An affront on shore could mean the difference between being lashed or keelhauled at sea, and, though neither was pleasant, on a ship as large as The Fortress, keelhauling was often a death sentence.

The way it worked, the victim was tied to two ropes that were looped beneath the ship. One was tied to his wrists, the other around his ankles. Then he was thrown overboard, and dragged under the keel and up the other side of the ship. Since the keel was encrusted with sharp barnacles, sheets of his skin would be scraped off in salt water, which is even more painful than it sounds. Some who lived were subjected to a second trip, if their infraction warranted it.

The Blue Lagoon was owned and operated by a large, nervous man known as One-Eyed Charlie Fine, who got his name after betting one of his eyes on a ten-high straight in a poker game with a pirate named Ginhouse Jim. Jim had a full house, sixes over one-eyed jacks.

Charlie owned a piece of the unnamed whorehouse next door to the Blue Lagoon. As the primary beneficiary of Pim's inebriated generosity, Charlie had learned long ago that it made good business sense to pull Darla from the lineup when The Fortress was in town, to waitress Mr. Pim till closing. As this had become a time-honored tradition, Pim was surprised to see a different waitress standing before him.

"Darla's gone," she said.

"Gone? What d'you mean, gone? Gone where?"

"She died. Want a drink?"

Pim blinked a couple of times and shook his head as if to help her words make sense.

"You mean to tell me Darla's dead?"

"Dead as a brick, yes sir."

Pim tilted his head, as if the world were somehow askew, and this would help him see it better. He cleared his throat and swallowed. It didn't make sense. Two months ago she'd been radiant, full of life. He forced his voice to work.

"What happened?"

"Cramp Colic."

So out of the blue her appendix had burst and killed her and he'd had no chance to say goodbye. Pim had always assumed that one day he'd give up piracy and make an honest woman of her. And now…

"Sir?"

He looked at her.

"I know Darla's gone, but I can take her place."

Pim's mind seemed to be floating away. He could barely make out her words.