Kage Baker: Or Else My Lady Keeps the Key

John, seeing the firefight commence in earnest, ducked down and went below. He wasn’t a coward, but he had a good head for odds and nothing much worth stealing, and he didn’t feel like dying that day. He made his way to his cabin in the dark, and there loaded the pistol he’d brought with him, largely by touch.

“Mr. James?” Mrs. Waverly’s voice came from the other side of the bulkhead. She sounded tense, but not as though she was crying. “What ought we to do, Mr. James?”

“Stay out of the way,” said John.

“Are we in danger, Mr. James?”

“Might be,” said John. “Depends on how angry the captain makes ’em. I’ve got a pistol, and I won’t let ’em hurt you.”

Mrs. Waverly said nothing for a moment, in which time they heard the musket fire die down and the sounds of scuffling overhead, followed by the ringing of blades. “You are very good, sir,” said Mrs. Waverly at last.

“What was that?” Mr. Tudeley’s weak voice floated from his cabin. “What’s toward? Is that fighting? Good God!”

“Pirates,” said John, stepping out of his cabin. He leaned against Mrs. Waverly’s door, watching the dark passageway steadily.

“Oh Jesus Christ!” groaned Mr. Tudeley, and there was a crash suggesting he had fallen to his knees. “Oh, dear Lord deliver us! Lord, Lord, what have I ever done to deserve Thy wrath?”

“Take heart,” said John. “The captain might beat ’em away.”

It didn’t sound as though that was much of a possibility now, however. John heard a lot more thumping overhead, and Captain Sharp yelling furiously. “Cowards! You damned cowards! Shoot him! Sejanus! My pistols—”

Then there was a terrific crash and a last thump. The noise of the swords stopped. John heard Mr. Tudeley weeping, and men muttering, and quick footsteps to and fro overheard. He heard someone coming down the companionway. At the far end of the passage, shadows blocked the light as men milled around, poking into the bales and boxes there.

John took a deep breath, and a firm grip on his pistol. He had no idea what he’d do with his one shot. He wondered whether Mrs. Waverly was the sort of woman who’d rather die than be raped. If she turned out to prefer death, he could blow her brains out, he supposed; otherwise the pistol would be pretty useless.

Footsteps were coming along the passage. Someone was carrying a lamp. John watched the yellow flare approaching, and saw gradually the glint of light on peering eyes and teeth. A dirty bearded face. A man wearing only rawhide breeches, holding a cutlass low and his lamp high.

John let his breath out.

“Sam Anslow, ain’t it?”

“Who’s that?” The man halted, lifted his lamp higher.

“It’s me, shipmate!” John put all the cordiality he could muster into his voice, and stepped forward. “John James. I was at Panama with you. Sailed under Bradley.”

“God damn,” said Anslow, and grinned. “I remember you! You was on burial detail at Chagres Castle.”

John felt drunk with relief. “So I was. Just lately come home with the Admiral. You weren’t in the fleet?”

“Not I,” said Anslow. “I reckoned I’d take my chances in Tortuga. A man has to earn his bread.”

“That’s true,” said John.

“How much did you make out of it?”

“Fifty pounds.”

“That was my share, too. Lousy business, weren’t it?”

“Fortunes of war, and all.”

“So,” said Anslow. There was an awkward pause. “Here you are.”

“Aye,” said John. He had what seemed a brilliant flash of inspiration. “I went home and straightaway married. The wife and I was on our honeymoon.”

“Oh! Congratulations,” said Anslow, hanging the lamp on a nail and offering his bloody hand to shake John’s. “So you weren’t working this cruise?”

“For a lubber like Captain Sharp? Not likely!” John chuckled, as convincingly as he could. “Now, I hope there ain’t going to be unpleasantness between us and your lads, shipmate, eh? What with me being a new bridegroom and all. I got my bride’s feelings to think of.”

“Oh, right,” said Anslow, and glanced uneasily over his shoulder. “That’s for Captain Reynald to say, of course. But it’ll be all right. I’ll vouch for you.” For the first time he seemed to notice the cabin behind John. “The missus in there?”

“Aye.”

“Congratulations on your wedding, ma’am,” said Anslow in a raised voice.

“I thank you, sir,” said Mrs. Waverly, through the bulkhead.

“You’re kindly welcome,” said Anslow. He looked sheepish. “Well. Business is business.”

“So it is,” said John. “Shall I go help you shift cargo?”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“It ain’t my property,” said John, shrugging.

WHEN THEY WENT ON deck at last, with Mrs. Waverly clinging tightly to John’s arm, the cleaning-up had begun; which was to say, dead men from both sides were being pitched overboard, and the blood was being swilled off the decks with buckets of seawater. The survivors of the crew of the Fyrey Pentacost were lined up along the rail, being jeered at by the survivors of Captain Reynald’s crew. Captain Sharp was slumped against the mast, clutching a lace-edged handkerchief to his eye. Captain Reynald, a lean Frenchman, was surveying his new quarterdeck and looking pleased with himself.

“Captain sir?” Anslow touched his forelock and led John and Mrs. Waverly forward. “This is my mate John, what I mentioned, and his bride.”

“Madame!” Captain Reynald gaze fixed on Mrs. Waverly. “Enchanted!” He took her hand and kissed it. “Please have no fears for your safety. We are a gallant band of adventurers, and respect the honor of a woman. Mr. Anslow informs me your husband is a comrade of his.”

“How very kind,” said Mrs. Waverly, with a bright artificial smile.

“And you are welcome to our crew, sir,” said Captai Reynald to John, looking him up and down. “We are short-handed.”

“Er,” said John. “Well—”

“Hear me!” Captain Reynald turned to the prisoners. “I offer each man among you the same choice! You may go over the side with your captain, or you may take the oath to join our company and live free. Will you join us, for liberty and treasure? What of you?” He pointed his cutlass at Mr. Tudeley, who had been hauled up from his cabin sobbing and now stood swaying and white-faced, from sickness and terror both.

“Oh, Jesus, sir! I wish to live!” cried Mr. Tudeley.

“Trés bien! Welcome, friend. And you?” Captain Reynald swung the tip of his cutlass to Sejanus, who was next in line.

“I cheerfully accept your offer,” said Sejanus. About this point it sank in on Mr. Tudeley that he had just joined a pirate crew, and his mouth opened for a cry of horror. Somehow, though, all that emerged was a sort of croak.

Captain Reynald moved briskly down the line, and one after another of the Fyrey Pentacost ’s crew joined up, except for the ship’s cook and Mr. Harris, who had been beaten unconscious and couldn’t voice a preference. He was dumped unceremoniously into the bottom of one of the boats, and lowered over the side; the ship’s cook was shoved down to join him and so, after a certain amount of furious invective and threats of the rope’s end, was Captain Sharp. They were set adrift, as the Fyrey Pentacost put on sail and tacked about.

All this while John had been revolving in his mind what he ought to do, and was just clearing his throat and preparing to approach Captain Reynald when Mrs. Waverly’s fingers pinched off the circulation in his arm.

“Husband, may I just speak a word in your ear?”