Kage Baker: Or Else My Lady Keeps the Key

“And yet, you were a pirate before,” mused Sejanus. “How does a man go from piracy to serving in a lady’s chamber?”

John turned slowly, with the crowbar in his hand. “Well, ain’t you too clever by half?” he said quietly. “I reckon if I was to crack your crown and pitch you out that window-hole, there ain’t anybody’d know it wasn’t an accident but me and Tudeley here.”

“Too clever,” said Sejanus, nodding, though he did not move. “Yes, that’s me. And you aren’t as stupid as you look, either. I’ll hold my tongue.”

“But…” Mr. Tudeley’s face contorted as he tried to think through the relationship. “But…good God, sir, d’you mean the woman is a strumpet? You brought her aboard for immoral purposes ?”

Sejanus burst out laughing.

“You dunce, who in hell goes to sea for a fuck?” said John crossly. “We could have laid up in an alehouse if that was all we’d wanted. Look, mate, here’s the truth of it: me and her man was mates in Panama, and he died, and I come back to tell her.” Hastily he laid down a new level of untruth, like paint. “Her health ain’t the best, and she wanted to take the waters at Leauchaud. I was only squiring her out there on my old mate’s account, as a last favor like.”

“Mmm-hm.” Sejanus took up a crowbar and set about dismantling the window frame.

“You must excuse me,” said Mr. Tudeley. “I have moved so long amongst indecent people, I scarcely recognize an honest man when I see him anymore.”

“That’s all right,” said John, pulling the cabin’s wainscoting away.

“I have often thought it must be something in the air of this place,” said Mr. Tudeley, in a mournful voice. “I used to imagine the tropics would be like Paradise, when I was in London. Reading Raleigh’s book, you know, imagining green palms waving in the sunlight, and luscious fruits growing all year round, and quaint birds and monkeys. It seemed another Eden.

“I’d no idea I’d find such heat, such rogues and drunkards, such…sweat and stink and filth! Mr. Cox had been a reasonable and upright man in London; Squire Darrow had great reason to trust him with the plantation. Yet I watched him rot before mine eyes in this sweltering heat, doing no more but lying in his hammock all hours of the day and swilling rum. I spoke with him long and earnestly, pointing out his duty, and was told to go to perdition for my pains. Was that fair, sir, I ask you?”

“I don’t reckon life’s fair, mate,” said John.

“And yet, I know I was blamed,” said Mr. Tudeley. He put his spectacles back on and bent to pick up the wooden slats that John was scattering everywhere. “Mr. Cox drinking himself into an early grave, who was left to blame but me? Squire Darrow’s reproach was almost more than I could bear. Yet it is all of a piece with the course of my life.”

“Mm-hm,” said Sejanus.

“Do tell,” said John.

“Nothing but disappointments,” said Mr. Tudeley. “Disappointed at school, in my marriage, in my prospects, all hopes blighted. It’s enough to make a man rail at God.”

“Chah!” said Sejanus. “Why don’t you, then? If it makes you feel any better.”

Mr. Tudeley shuddered. “Bitter as the crust of my life has been, how much worse might it be was I to call down the wrath of the Almighty?”

“Now, see, you’re like my father,” said Sejanus.

“How dare you!”

“There he was, lying in chains in a pool of shite, rolling to and fro as the slave-ship rolled, and what did he say? ‘Oh, merciful Damballah, I don’t know what I did to make you angry with me, but I’m sorry!’ And then there he was, sold naked as a baby on the auction block, and dragged away to sweat on a tobacco plantation, and what did he say? ‘Oh, merciful Damballah, I know I must have earned your anger, but if you’ll show me what you want me to do, I’ll do it!’

“And then there he was, lamed when a wagon rolled over his leg, and sold away to old Reverend Walker of Boston, who made him fetch and carry anyway and married him to an ugly woman, and what did he say? ‘Oh, merciful Damballah, I just know you have a reason for all the sufferings you’ve inflicted on me, and maybe someday you’ll please to tell me what it is?’

“And you know what he always said to me? ‘Respect the loas, Bandele! They are great and powerful and they watch over us always!’ ”

“What’s a loa?” asked John.

“Well, what can you expect of your heathen gods?” said Mr. Tudeley with a sniff. “Our Lord God Almighty is the true divinity.”

“And so said Reverend Walker,” said Sejanus. “He gave me schooling, he said to me, ‘Little Sejanus, I cannot save thy father’s obdurate soul, but I shall save thine.’ He said, ‘The Lord Almighty in His infinite mercy has visited the burden of slavery upon thy sinful people, and thou must bear it patiently, for it is part of His divine plan.’ I said to myself, Oh, yes, that’ll make me love your Lord Almighty!

“But he preached at me every day, did the Reverend Walker, trying to save my black soul. He’d lean out the window and preach at me the whole time I’d be weeding in his garden. He preached at me every mile of the way I had to carry him to and from the church, after he got too old to sit a horse.

“I said to myself, these two old men are fools. Great and powerful Damballah couldn’t save his people. Great and loving-merciful God carrying on the spiteful way He does makes no sense either. So at last I resolved I wasn’t believing in any of them.

“And you know what happened then, just last year?”

“What?” inquired John, pausing to mop his sweating face.

“We had moved to Virginia,” said Sejanus, smiling at the memory. “They passed a law there. The news came the day after I became an atheist. ‘All slaves come into the country by ship will remain slaves. All slaves born into the country to be manumitted after thirty years’ service.’ And I was just thirty. ‘There it is,’ I said To Reverend Walker, ‘I was born here. I’m free!’

“He signed my manumission and he said, ‘Then God has blessed you, Sejanus. Kneel with me and pray!’ And my old father said “You see? The loas have set you free! Let’s make them an offering in thanks.’

“I said ‘Thank you, but I think I’ll just get my black arse out of here before the law changes.’ I took my manumission paper and I set off. Last I saw, those two old sad men stood there watching me walk away down the lane. All their holy-holies between them couldn’t set me free. Only a loophole in the law, and me having the wits to jump through it.”

“Oh, that’s just blasphemy,” said Mr. Tudeley.

“But I worked my way this far and here I am, free as a bird,” said Sejanus. “How free are you , God-fearing man?”

“How’d you like dumping Captain Sharp’s pisspot for him?” said John. Sejanus scowled at him.

“At least I got paid wages for it,” he said. “And I chose to be here. Nobody, man or god, will ever ride my back again.”

JOHN WAS DEAD-TIRED WHEN he went to bed that night. He retired to the cabin, for Captain Reynald had graciously allowed him to keep it, “in order that the fair lady might enjoy her privacy”. Sejanus had been granted a hammock where the rest of the crew slept, and got on famously with them, and everyone seemed to have forgotten that Mr. Tudeley had a cabin somewhere aft. Privacy for John there was none, of course; only Mrs. Waverly curled up in the narrow cot, frowning at him when he blundered in.

“Do put the candle out soon, won’t you?” she said, sharpish. “I had just fallen asleep.”