Now & Then: a Donovan Creed Novel

“’Cause you do.”

Ignoring him, I said, “And where does Beth fit into all this?”

“Beth is one of us.”

“Why hasn’t she had any luck?”

“Luck?”

“Well, it seems the whole town is prospering, but Beth’s husband died, she’s losing money, her B&B’s falling apart…”

“Libby doesn’t bring good luck, she attracts good people.”

I thought about that a minute.

“Like Dr. Carstairs?”

“Surely you’ve wondered how a rinky dink town like ours could land a nationally respected medical guy like Carstairs.”

“You don’t think his coming here had anything to do with the climate, the beaches, the friendly people, the desire to do something simple but meaningful?”

“You tell me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a six billion dollar caretaker and part-time cook. Your girlfriend’s a twenty-five million dollar waitress. You telling me you folks always had a desire to do something simple but meaningful before you visited our little town?”

“So you think Libby Vail summoned us?”

“Nope.”

“Then what?”

“She summoned you.”

“What, Beth couldn’t find her own cook and caretaker locally?”

Percy laughed. “He just don’t get it, does he?”

“Get what?” I said.

“Libby summoned you for Beth.”

“You mean—”

“You’re going to marry Beth.”

I laughed. “You’re insane!”

“Maybe.”

“I’m with Rachel.”

“Uh huh.”

“Beth and I haven’t exchanged fifty words together.”

“Not yet.”

“Well, if she’s got a thing for me, why hasn’t she said so?”

“Wouldn’t be proper, long as you’ve got a girlfriend.”

“This whole thing is crazy. I’m not even attracted to Beth in that way.”

“Libby won’t let you feel it till the time is right.”

“So you’re saying that the reason Beth’s good fortune lagged behind the town’s is that she was waiting on me to show up?”

“She probably didn’t know it was you at first, but when you agreed to take care of the B&B she probably figured it out.”

“So Libby’s not only got the power to ease people’s pain, she’s also a matchmaker?”

“Ain’t it the same thing?”

Chapter 27

THE SHERIFF CALLED Beth and told her I knew all about Libby. I couldn’t hear her part of the conversation, but his included “It’s not your fault,” and “No, it’s okay,” and “I don’t see that we have any other choice but to trust him,” and “If you don’t mind, I’d like you to take him,” and “right.”

When he hung up I asked him what that was all about.

“Beth is going to take you to see Libby, so you can see for yourself that everything’s okay.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“What about Rachel?”

“We’d prefer to keep a lid on this, as long as Libby’s willing to stay in town.”

“I’ve mentioned my theories to Rachel.”

“She believe you?”

“She thinks I’m nuts.”

“Well then, it’s your call, but if Rachel doesn’t need to know...”

I saw where this was going.

“You’re hoping I’ll see Libby, realize she’s here of her own free will, put the whole thing behind me and keep my mouth shut.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“And if I don’t?”

The Sheriff sighed. “We’re peaceful, small town people. We don’t make threats or kill people who get in our way. When Curly Bradford couldn’t get me to run you out of town, he did a stupid thing and called the only violent people he knew.”

“And you stepped in and saved their lives,” I said.

“Part of my job description,” he said.

“To protect and serve?”

We both smiled. I liked the Sheriff, liked Percy, too. But I wasn’t going to allow the town to hold a girl hostage. I’d been through this before. A few years back my best friend captured a girl and kept her locked up in his safe room for three years. He did it out of love, and the fear of losing her forever. But I couldn’t let that continue, either.

The Sheriff said, “Libby has the power to help people and wants to. And you have the power to take her away from us, get us in a heap of trouble with the FBI, and make our town a laughing stock. So yes, I’m hoping she’ll be able to convince you to help us.”

“Help you keep her secret?”

“Help us protect her.”

“And hide her?”

“That too.”

Percy drove us to The Seaside, where I found Rachel pacing the porch waiting for me. But when she saw me enter the driveway with the police she didn’t run over and hug me as I would have expected. Instead, she stared wide-eyed at the Sheriff and Percy until they were out of sight. Crazy as it sounds, I had the distinct feeling she thought we might have come to arrest her for something. Of course, with Rachel you never know what’s going on in her mind. She might have been thinking about Easter Eggs.

“I heard they arrested you!” she said. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to pick you up!”

“It’s okay.”

“What did they do to you? Why didn’t you call?”

“Come inside, I’ll tell you everything.”

The Sheriff had already called Beth, so she and I sat down with Rachel. We’d gotten about halfway through the explanation when The Seaside’s phone rang. Beth took the call and after a few seconds, passed it off to me. I listened for a minute, asked a few questions, listened some more, and then hung up.

Rachel said, “Who was that?”

“Dr. Carstairs. He called about D’Augie.”

Rachel jumped to her feet. It was interesting to watch how her eyes lit up. “How is he?”

“He’s dead.”

Rachel’s knees buckled. She made an attempt to grab the arm of the love seat, but missed. She hit the floor before I could get to her.

“I’ll get a wet cloth and smelling salts,” Beth said, moving out of the room quickly.

I got Rachel up on the couch and elevated her torso. The salts worked. Beth handed me the towel, and I dabbed at Rachel’s face. When she came to she began flailing. It took a minute, then she was better.

“Is it true?” she sobbed. “D’Augie’s dead?”

“I’m sorry. I know you liked him.”

“What happened?”

“They’re not sure. He may have had a reaction to the antibiotic they administered for the burns. They never got a proper medical history on him, so they had no way of knowing.”

“Oh, my God!” she wailed. “Poor D’Augie.” She was inconsolable. So much so that I began to wonder if her interest in him could have been more than casual. On the other hand, her initial reaction was bogus. I’d seen enough fainters in my life to know that Rachel was faking it. But why?

Under normal circumstances I would have stayed home to help her work through her grief. But I had a date with Beth that couldn’t wait, so I gave Rachel a double sedative and tucked her in for the night.

It crossed my mind that I could be walking into an ambush at the church. But it didn’t feel like one, because Beth would be with me, and surely the Sheriff knew how easily I could turn things around by putting a knife to her neck if I needed to get away. While I didn’t think it was an ambush, I didn’t know what I might encounter when I got there, so I took the time to hide some light weapons and tools in my warm up jacket and pants. I opened my little leather kit, the one where I stored various tools of my trade, such as syringes and opiates and poisons and…

And noticed a vial was missing.

I shook Rachel until she opened her eyes. “Wh-What?” she stammered, deep in a fog.

I held the kit in front of her face and made her focus on it. “Rachel, listen to me. There was a small vial in here that I told you never to touch. It’s one of the deadliest poisons in the world.” I shook her again. “Rachel!” I said, and slapped her across the face. Her eyes opened to about half-mast and a crooked smile formed on her lips. When she spoke her voice had a sing-song lilt to it.

“You said he was trying to kill you,” she said.

“What?”

“He loved the Red Drink,” she said.

“You poisoned D’Augie?”

She giggled, as if laughing in her sleep. “D’Augie said Red Drink was to die for!” She drifted off again.

I pinched her nostrils shut till she started to choke. I shouted her name, and she gagged and shook her head. “Leave me alone!” she said, while trying to slap me away.

“Who was he?”

“Huh?”

“Who was D’Augie?”

“Huh? Oh. I dunno.”

“Why did he want to kill me?”

“I dunnooo.”

“Did he tell you anything about himself?”

“Huh?”

I shook her again and repeated the question. She tried to swat me with her hand.

“I’m serious, Rachel. Tell me what he said.”

“Just that he was named after his father and his father’s best friend.”

“His father’s name was Augie?”

“No. Augustus.”

I felt as though someone had drilled a hole in my chest.

“Dunno what the D was for,” she murmured.

The room seemed to swirl around me. I tucked Rachel in again and let her sleep. I didn’t have to ask her anything else. I knew exactly who the kid was, though I’d never known of his existence before that moment. D’Augie was named after his father, Augustus, and his father’s best friend, Donovan Creed.

Donovan and Augustus: D’Augie.

Augustus Quinn had been my best friend for more than fifteen years. We’d killed together, worked together, and defended our country. He was a monster of a man, born with a rare disease that misshaped his head and facial features. About four years ago Augustus had fallen in love with a young con artist named Alison, whom I’d recruited to work for my agency at Homeland. Around that time I had a medical issue that put me in a coma for three years. When I recovered, I learned that Augustus had kidnapped Alison and was keeping her in a concrete cell in his warehouse in Philadelphia. It’s a long story, but in order to rescue Alison I had to kill my best friend.

Fuck.

Augustus never told me he had a son.

Life’s crazy sometimes, you know?

Wow.

Ah well, fuck it.

I mean, there’s nothing I can do about it now, right?

Nothing to do but close that chapter of my life and move on.

Chapter 28

THE LAND AROUND the little church was flat, the lot surrounded by pines. The church was two stories high, made entirely of flagstone, except for the corrugated red metal roofing, the wooden door, and the windows. There was a slate floor standing area in front of the church that was maybe twenty feet wide and twelve feet deep. To the right of the church were two flagstone columns that stood about fifteen feet high. The columns were connected at the top by a limestone cap. A few inches below the cap an old, cast-iron bell hung from a wooden beam. The rope for the bell clapper was long enough to reach the ground, but was tied off to a cleat so children couldn’t reach it.

We parked Beth’s car in the gravel area on the left side, and from that angle I could see a wooden balcony that extended from a small gable. Before exiting the car, Beth put her hand on my wrist, very gently. I looked down at it, and then raised my eyes to her face. She held my gaze a moment, then closed her eyes. I leaned over and lightly kissed her lips. She didn’t kiss me back.

I kissed her again, and this time she opened her eyes and returned the kiss. I started moving closer, eager for more, but she said, “It’s not our time yet.”

“Are you sure?” I said. “Because to me, it really feels like it’s our time.”

She smiled and lifted her hand from my wrist, and placed it to my face. I’d never felt so much energy from a person’s touch before, not even Kathleen Chapman, who I almost married.

“We’re meant to be, and it will happen, but it’s not our time yet.”

“Can I have just fifteen minutes of it now with you, across the street, on the beach?”

She did that adorable pouty thing she sometimes did with her mouth, then sighed and said, “I’m not ready yet, and you’re not ready. But when it’s our time, you won’t be disappointed. I promise.”

“A rain check then.”

“Let’s call it a heart check,” she said, placing her palm on my heart.

I looked past her, through her window, thinking of that gorgeous, deserted beach a scant two minutes away. “How about a quick ten minutes now, and when we’re both ready, we can deduct it from eternity?”

“You drive a hard bargain,” she said, “but no.”

“Well, you’ve certainly put me off my game.” I kissed her hand and we climbed out of the car. The second floor balcony above us looked to be about two feet deep, was covered, and appeared to be decorative. But once inside the church, I saw that it was attached to a small, hidden gable about six feet wide and eight feet deep. You reach that little room by descending into a trap door about four feet below the ante way and then crawling some twenty feet under the chapel until you reach a wooden ladder. That twenty foot crawl behind Beth was the toughest of my life. Being that close to her backside would have killed a lesser man. When we got to the ladder we climbed fifteen feet to a landing. Beyond the thick, locked, wooden door, stood the little gable room where I met Libby Vail.

Libby was thin, but appeared healthy. She was sitting on a window box, surrounded by stacks of old, moldy books and parchment.

“Hey Beth!” she said, brightly.

“Hi Libby. This is Donovan Creed.”

Libby and Beth exchanged a knowing smile that was so obvious it almost embarrassed me. Beth blushed and lowered her eyes and cleared a small space on the window box and sat there. It happened to be the only place one could sit in the cramped little area.

“Hello, Mr. Creed.”

I cocked my head to one side. “I notice you’re missing a fingernail on your right index digit.”

Libby laughed. “Do you always start conversations this way?”

“I do. Always.”

She turned to Beth. “See? I told you he’d be funny!” To me, she said, “Seriously, why do you ask?”

“I found it in the picnic basket Beth brought you one day. I figured you broke it when you scratched your initials on the bottom of the basket.”

Beth looked at her curiously. Libby thought a moment, then said, “Oh. I think that must have happened the night I was trying to channel Jack Hawley. I kept scratching my initials while saying my name.”

“Why?”

She looked at me sheepishly. “I was hoping to somehow cross the space-time continuum, like they talk about in the movies. Maybe get him to send me a clue of some sort. Crazy, I know, but wow, you’re really good. I mean, to find a fingernail and scratch marks and put all this together? I’m impressed.”

Impressed or not, I had to ask the question, in spite of Beth.

“Are you being held here against your will?”

Libby laughed, heartily. “No, of course not. If I were, I could just open the door to the balcony and call for help.”

I gestured at the tiny room, “Then what are you doing? Your parents and friends have been mourning you for nearly a year. The FBI came down…”

Libby held up a hand. “Please. Don’t make me feel guilty, I know all that. I’m just giving back. Some people join the Peace Corps, I hide in a church.”

“Except that your loved ones would know if you were in the Peace Corps.”

“I won’t be here much longer.”

“You stay in this cramped room all the time?”

“It’s more like a home base. I stay with different friends at different times. There’s a schedule, but yes, I sleep here sometimes, and this is where I conduct my research.”

“What are you researching?”

She gestured to the books and parchment paper. “The local churches and library have opened all their books to me. I’ve spent the past year filling in the details of my heritage. When I’m not reading, when the church is locked, I wander around the building. And when my friends come to visit, we go for walks. Beth and some of the day ladies drive me to parks or deserted parts of the beach. It’s easy not to be recognized if I’m wearing a wig and trying to blend in. Sometimes a group of us go fishing.” She pointed to a laptop. “Plus, I’ve got all the modern conveniences, iPod, iTouch, computer, TV…”

“I’ve heard some bullshit in my day,” I said, “but this takes the cake.”

She eyed me, curiously. “You don’t believe I’m here for historical reasons?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why’s that?”

I picked up one of the maps. “This is a terrain map.” I gestured to some sheets she’d tacked to the wall. “And those look a lot like geological surveys.”

“So?”

“So you might be researching your family history, but there’s more to it. Otherwise you wouldn’t need to keep your presence quiet.”

She said nothing.

Beth watched me with a tender light in her eyes that made me feel particularly good.

And then it hit me.

“You’re searching for treasure!”

She seemed about to protest, then saw my smug smile and gave up. She offered a smile of her own and said, “Wouldn’t you search for treasure if you were me? If you thought you could find it?”

“I would indeed.” I paused a moment. Then asked, “So, did you find it?”

She shook her head sadly. “Nope. All this effort, and not so much as a doubloon. We gave up months ago. We thought that by traveling around the island I might be able to sense Jack’s presence. But either I never got to the right place, or we were wrong.”

“We?”

“The original descendants and me.”

“No one kidnapped you?”

“Nope.”

“The eighty descendants have been hiding you, driving you around, trying to help you find pirate treasure?”

“At first.”

“No treasure?”

“Not a scrap.”

“Then why stick around?”

“Because the people around here have become my friends, and they need me. Every day different people, descendants of the original settlers, drove me around the island while I tried to pick up some sort of cosmic connection to Jack Hawley. The closest I ever came to getting a feeling was right here, in this old church.” She absently touched the necklace around her neck. “But Jack couldn’t have buried anything here. It was a highly visible location in his era, and the church wasn’t built until ten years after his death.”

“That’s interesting, but you haven’t answered my question.”

“Why am I still here if there’s no treasure?”

“That’s the one.”

Libby shrugged her shoulders and gave me a “you’re not going to believe me” sort of smile. She said, “You’re not going to believe me, but whenever I’d be somewhere more than an hour, people started showing up. They said being near me made them feel better. So I love the area, love the people, and they need me. I go to the hospital every night, and the nursing home, and walk through the halls. If someone is particularly ill I go in and sit with them a few minutes.”

I thought about how I tried to find her at the church that morning before dawn, and how I’d felt the power near the hospital, before it faded away.

“Can I ask where you were just before dawn this morning?”

“I went to the hospital to visit Jimbo Pimm’s grandfather.”

“Because?”

“He’s a cancer patient. He’d been at Savannah Memorial, but they sent him home to die last week. He took a turn for the worse in the middle of the night and Jimbo brought him to the hospital. While they worked on him, Jimbo came and asked if I might be able to help.”

“Did you?”

“Did I go? Yes, Jimbo drove me.”

“Did it help?”

“No. I mean, I can’t cure people, but he said I took away his pain. I hear that a lot, and do what I can, but it doesn’t last. I told him I’d sit with him again tonight, for an hour.”

I didn’t believe for a minute she had healing powers, but I couldn’t dispute the fact that something was going on. I’d seen what happened to the old people in the church yard. And there was no question that my mood elevated when I was around her. The room we were in was only five feet tall and I’d been stooping long enough to know my back should be stiff, and yet I felt not the slightest pain. I decided Libby must have something about her that altered people’s perception of pain when they were physically near her. I didn’t want to feel any pain later on, so I sat on the floor.

“Why can’t you go public?” I said. “If this gift is real, you could help millions of people.”

“I have empathy for everyone in pain. But if word got out about me, my life would be a mess. I mean, would you want half the world coming to your door and the other half trying to perform experiments on you?”

She had a point, but who doesn’t? As far as I was concerned, this thing was wrapped up. Normally I would have climbed back down the ladder by now and gone home. A shot of bourbon might have been in order. But here I sat. I knew why, I just didn’t want to admit it. See, I don’t believe in healers, and yet I knew the only reason I kept sitting there was because I felt so damned good sitting there. I had no aches or pains and my mind was soaring. I felt better than I had since I was a kid, running over the grass in my bare feet, a light breeze on my forehead, lots of friends…

“I bet you could get laid anytime you want,” I said, in my semi-dream state.

“Excuse me?”

Beth and Libby were staring at me.

“What I meant to say was how long do you intend to stay here?”

She looked at Beth and shrugged. “I promised I’d do a year. But I can’t very well pop out on the exact anniversary, can I? So I’ll probably hang out a few more months.”

I gestured toward the clutter that surrounded her. “Find anything interesting in those old church records?”

“Oh, yes indeed.”

“Such as?”

“Well, for one thing, there was a midwife who gave birth in 1711 to a little girl named Libby Vail.”

“Spelled the same way?”

“Uh huh.”

“Now there’s a coincidence! Who were the parents?”

“Henry and Johanna Ames.”

“Oh, too bad. I suppose Libby Vail must have been a popular name back in those days.”

She looked at me and smiled. “Right.”

“I mean, even today there’s probably, what, five thousand Libby Vails walking around?”

“Try four.”

“Four?”

She fidgeted with her necklace again and said, “I did an internet search. There are exactly four of us in the whole United States.”

The thin gold chain around Libby’s neck looked new. The pendant attached to it was an old circular piece of metal with what appeared to be ancient etching.

“Tell me about the necklace,” I said.

“I found it when digging in the crawlspace my first day here. I went right to it, was drawn to it the minute we turned the corner. It’s quite old, but there’s no connection to Jack Hawley. Unless he loved playing rugby!”

She removed the necklace and handed it to me. On one side someone had scratched the words, “I Love.” On the other: “Rugby.”

“How old is this?”

“It’s old, at least two hundred years. But it couldn’t date to Jack Hawley’s time. I know, because I researched the sport and no one called it Rugby before 1750.”

“Whatever happened to Hawley?”

“He was captured and hanged on March 25, 1711.”

“You’re positive?”

“One hundred percent.”

I thought about how I had faked my death a couple of times, and said, “How can you be so sure?”

“Two sailors joined Hawley’s crew when they were on shore leave in Charleston, South Carolina. They turned Jack in to the authorities after watching him command the ship for an entire month.”

“How do you know he didn’t bury his treasure in Charleston?”

“Because, according to the traitors, he never left the ship in Charleston. They captured him in St. Alban’s, trying to buy produce for a voyage to Jamaica.”

“Any witnesses at the trial?”

“His best friends, George and Marie Stout, were forced to testify. Under protest, they identified Jack and admitted he used to paddle up the Little River and dock at their place. Their kids said Jack spent a lot of time there.”

“And you searched that area?”

“Every square inch. I thought I had it made when I discovered an old well on the actual tract that belonged to the Stouts. But I got nothing in the way of a vibe.”

We sat silently for a few minutes. Then I said, “How do you plan to explain your disappearance?”

“When I’m ready to rejoin society I’ll have someone drive me halfway across the country and drop me off in the woods near a city. I’ll wander into town and say I’ve been kidnapped, blindfolded, and moved around so much I don’t know where I’ve been all this time. They’ll ask loads of questions, and I’ll get a few things mixed up, but if I didn’t, it wouldn’t make sense, right?”

“The deputy said you were kidnapped.”

“Figuratively, not literally. When the descendants came and talked to me I thought they were crazy, but I promised to think about it. That night, alone in my dorm room, I started whispering my name while thinking about Hawley. And something happened. I know this will sound crazy to you, but I felt him speak my name. Over the next few months it happened several times.”

“You’re right, it does sound crazy.”

“Told you.”

“Any history of insanity in your family?”

“None that I’ve found, and believe me, I’ve looked!”

“So it started as a treasure hunt, and now you’re helping people. If you want the big bucks, why not do a reality show on TV and make millions?”

“As I said, I don’t want my life to be a circus. Plus, I’m deep into my research, and things I’ve dismissed before are starting to make sense to me.”

“Like what?”

She seemed to glow, caught up in the moment. “I think I’m onto something even more valuable than money.”

“What’s that?”

“The secret of my heritage.”

“Meaning?”

“We’re all a product of our heritage, Mr. Creed.”

“And why is that so important?”

She smiled. “Well, I’m descended from a famous pirate.”

“Jack Hawley.”

“Yes, Gentleman Jack, as he liked to be called. And about three hundred years ago—”

It was my turn to hold up a hand. “I know the story.”

Libby’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, no you don’t.”

“I do.”

“Sorry, but you don’t.”

“Maybe not every detail,” I conceded, “but I think I’ve got a pretty good handle on it.”

“Trust me,” she said. “You have no idea.”

“I think I do,” I said, stubbornly.

She flashed a mischievous grin. “Do you?” she said. A little giggle escaped from her throat. “Do you?” she said, louder, and as she said it her giggle grew until it burst through the tiny room and echoed off the walls.

Part Two

THEN

Chapter 1

THE YEAR OF Our Lord, 1710…

The ship was huge.

With three masts, twenty-eight guns, and a crew of fifty-seven men, it carried a cargo of sugar cane, medicine, wild pigs, and Jamaican Rum. Though it pushed more than three hundred tons, it fairly flew through the water. And such water it was! Pure and clean with a light green hue, and when the bow slapped down, sending a light spray over the deck, it stung the eye and tasted warm and salty on the lips.

The ship was surrounded on all sides by sparkling emerald seas, far as the eye could see. Astern, a dozen porpoises frolicked in the wake, performing wild acrobatic jumps and gyrations to the amusement of the twenty-two hardened crewmen currently off duty. While sailors around the world considered it good luck to share their rations with the sleek sea creatures, it was a rare event to do so, since rations were typically meager and meant to last. But for this particular crew, these were bountiful times. With the ship’s hold freshly restocked the day before, the men could finally afford to toss the last of their weevil-infested biscuits overboard.

Amid-ships, a solitary man stood alone on the upper deck bridge. Lean and tall he was, with long black hair and piercing blue eyes that sparkled when he laughed or had a story to tell. But there were no stories to be told today, for he was determined to ride this strong Westerly wind as far as it would take them. He heard a fluttering sound, looked up at the sails, and frowned. Then he barked an order to the nervous helmsman.

The Quarter-Master, a stocky red-haired Welshman named Pim, tugged at his enormous fiery red muttonchops with both hands, as was his habit when annoyed. It was well known among the ship’s crew that the angrier Pim became, the harder he pulled. He’d been tugging his beard with growing frequency this quarter hour, and was in fact a mere tug away from physically assaulting his fellow crewmate. The Captain’s sharp word had probably saved the helmsman from a severe beating. Pim gave a nod of acknowledgment to the Captain before turning his attention to the tireless sailors who had been working the sails two hours nonstop, attempting to fill every inch of silk with wind. Up to now, they’d made great progress despite their semi-drunk helmsman’s poor showing.

But the man’s errant steering threatened to undermine morale.

The Captain glared at his tipsy crewmember, and cocked his head as if to convey a final warning. The Helmsman, sober enough to catch his meaning, immediately apologized to the Quarter-Master and sailors. It was a sincere apology and a wise decision on his part, considering the harsh penalties for drunkenness while under sail. In normal circumstances, when transporting cargo to port, a drunken helmsman would at the very least be treated to five lashes across the bare back with a rope dipped in tar. Had the infraction occurred under battle conditions, he would surely suffer death by keelhaul.

But neither Captain nor crew were in a mood to punish anyone today. As the steering adjustment took effect, both the Captain and Pim checked the sail before catching each others’ eye. The Captain winked, and Pim pumped his fist in the air and shouted to his sailors, “Keep ‘er sheets full, lads! As big and full as the jugs of St. Alban’s.”

Roberts, the sharp-eyed lookout, shouted down from the crow’s nest. “Aye, and which jugs would ye be referrin’ to, Mr. Pim? Them that’s filled with grog or them that’s filled with milk?”

The crew members laughed lustily. Those who glanced in the Captain’s direction noticed a smile on his handsome face, and to a man, their spirits soared. This crew had worked on many ships, for many masters, but none had worked for a man like this. A frown from him was enough to shake their confidence, but his smile was like gold in their pockets. This was a Captain who owned the hearts and minds of his crew, having earned his status the same way all pirate ship captains wielded absolute authority over their vessels: by unanimous vote of the crew. True, he had proven himself a legendary strategist, loyal friend, and fierce fighter. But there was something more, some indefinable, mysterious quality that was difficult to pin down. The men couldn’t explain it, but they felt more powerful in his presence. Less surly, more content. Crazy as it sounded when speaking of it to each other, they agreed that they could somehow feel his presence when he was within a mile’s distance. More importantly, from the moment he’d stepped on board, their fortunes increased. Winds were stronger, storms fewer, and waters more peaceful and calm than ever before. There had been fewer injuries and illness, and the wounds that did occur healed faster. Even the food seemed to taste better when the Captain was on board.

The Captain had joined them two years ago. Now, after several campaigns at sea, he and his ship, The Fortress, had become well-known throughout the Caribbean. No, more than that: they had achieved celebrity status.

The porpoises abruptly ended their show and darted ahead, providing escort for a league or so before finally peeling off in search of some alternate aquatic activity.

When The Fortress was under full sail, with a strong wind, she could cover a hundred miles in a day. But they wouldn’t require a full day to reach Shark’s Bay. At this speed, they’d have the Captain dropped off there by mid afternoon. As always, he’d change into commoner’s clothes, lower an open boat into the water, and row it over the shoals, up the Little River to the edge of St. Alban’s Settlement to scope out the lay of the land. The Fortress would head back out to sea three miles, make a wide loop, and then double back to St. Alban’s, to the deep water of North Port, off Sinner’s Row, where she would finally anchor in sixty feet of water a quarter mile out and wait for word from the Captain that it was safe to go ashore.

Roberts spied a flock of seabirds, and the atmosphere above and below decks crackled with anticipation.

They continued heading due west, toward Shark Bay. Though they sailed under the red, white and blue flag of the British East India Company, this was a pirate ship with a pirate crew.

It was Jack Hawley’s ship, Jack Hawley’s crew.

Chapter 2

THE STEADY BREEZE on St. Alban’s Beach could not penetrate the gnarled trees and dense thickets three hundred yards inland where Abby Winter shared a wooden shanty house with her mother and stepfather. It was early afternoon on a cloudless day and the July heat was stifling. Abby and her mother had emptied the chamber pots that morning, but hadn’t had time to properly clean them.

“Please don’t do this,” Abby said. “It’s humiliating!”

“It’s been decided, child, so let it be.”

They weren’t talking about chamber pots.

“It’s posted for tomorrow,” Abby said, “but posting doesn’t make it mandatory. You’re allowed to change your mind on matters such as these. People do it all the time without consequence.”

“I could change my mind, but I will not. As I say, it’s been decided.”

Abby’s mother, Hester, handed her one of the tarnished chamber pots. Abby accepted it and winced as the odor hit her nostrils. Her mother said, “Let’s get these done before he thinks we’re conjuring a demon.”

Abby gasped. Her eyes made a quick sweep of the trees that ringed their shanty. She briefly wondered if her mother had gone daft. It was bad enough she’d agreed to the public posting, and now she was making witchery comments! Abby scolded her mother with a severe whisper. “You cannot have said that!”

“Don’t be so skittish, child. There’s no one ‘round.”

“There’s always someone around,” Abby said. “The river crossing is just yonder. Pray, you must not speak of these things, even lightly.”

“I’ll say no more when you talk less of the posting.”

“But this must be discussed! He’s your husband, not your owner. He can’t just sell you in the town square!”

Hester started to say something, but changed her mind. She looked at the stained chamber pot in her hand and sighed. Ten years earlier she’d been known throughout the colony for her beauty. Now, more often than not, her hair was a tangled mass of mud-soaked curls. She rubbed her shoulder absently and winced. A horrific fungus had taken over her right shoulder and begun a steady progression across her upper back. On hot days like this, her afflicted skin cracked open, releasing a milky liquid that stuck to the fibers of her fustian smock. Hester had to continually lift the fabric from her skin or risk forming a scab that would have to be torn away later.

Abby noticed her discomfort. “Has your condition worsened?”

Hester frowned. “Faith, child, I’m common indeed to suffer before you. What a sorry complainer I’ve become.”

“You’ve become nothing of the sort, though I know not how you maintain your sanity. You’ve had a hard burden from the day we moved here.”

“Not so hard compared to others,” Heather said, making the sign of the cross on her chest. She looked around before whispering. “Know what I wish?”

“What?”

“That I could uncover my shoulder and back so the sun could heal it.”

“Surely you’d be seen and forced to bear the consequence.”

“Aye, child.”

The constant burning and itching was impossible to get used to, and had thus far eluded home remedy. Though her well-formed body continued to draw looks from the men of St. Alban’s, Hester’s face and neck had turned ash-gray from drinking a potion of colloidal silver forced upon her by her husband, and that, along with the heavy scar tissue framing her eyes, and her thrice broken nose, added years to her appearance.

Hester studied Abby’s face carefully before shaking her head. “Being sold to a new man is a way to better things for me.”

“But—”

“You’ve seen my life, you know how he is.”

“I do know,” Abby said, gently. “But you could divorce him.” She looked around to make sure he hadn’t come up on them. He hadn’t, but she whispered anyway. “You could divorce him and take me with you.”

Hester laughed. “And how many women have you seen in North Florida Colony with money enough to divorce a husband? As for taking you with me, I cannot, as you’re the purpose for the sale.”

There was a slight delay before the horror registered in Abby’s face. Hester softened her tone. “Abby,” she said. “Look at you. Even in these conditions, you are far the fairest maid in the colony. I do not wish you to think ill of me, abandoning you to such a harsh man.”

“Yet how can I not?”

“I have a plan.”

“What plan?”

“He will show you a softer side. Of this I’m certain. You won’t remember, but when he took us in, he was tolerant, even kind, at times. Of course I was young and pretty then. These days I vex him constantly, with my limp, my face, and frailty.”

“’Course I remember,” Abby said. “It was only a few years past. But he’s the one caused your limp! Your ‘face and frailty,’ as you put it, is a consequence of his constantly boxing your nose and eyes and cuffing your ears.”

Hester dabbed at the light sheen of sweat on her forehead. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“Truly? And what will I understand? How you let that swine of a man cuff you about and rut you day and night as if you were a crippled sow?”

Hester’s eyes blazed for a brief moment, and Abby hoped to receive a sharp rebuke or slap across the face. Any such response would show that her mother retained a measure of spirit. But the fire in Hester’s eyes quickly died, leaving behind only an apathetic stare. Instead of lashing out, she shrugged and said, “We suffer for our children, not ourselves.”

Abby frowned. “And what is that presumed to mean?”

Hester turned and started walking toward the creek. Abby followed, waiting for a response. She watched her mother scoop a handful of sand from the water’s edge and dump it in her chamber pot. Abby sighed, and did the same. They swirled the sand around the inside of the pots with their fingers, scrubbing and grinding it against the hardened fecal deposits. Then they rinsed the pots in the creek and inspected them.

Abby said, “Fine. Don’t tell me. But why can we not just leave this wretched man and his poor excuse for a house?”

“Leave? Has your brain been seized by vipers? Where would you have us go, child, Sinner’s Row?”

Abby knew her mother was right. There weren’t many pleasant options for women in North Florida Colony in 1710. She lowered her eyes and said, “I like not the way he looks at me.”

“He has looked at you that way for two full years, though you knew it not till now.”

The way Hester proclaimed it gave Abby pause. “Two years ago I was thirteen!”

“Aye, child,” Hester said. “Now ponder that fact a moment before speaking.”

Abby did. In the colonies, as in Europe, the minimum legal age for marriage had been twelve for girls, fourteen for boys, for as long as anyone could remember. Still, in Abby’s experience, it was outrageous to think of a forty-year-old man rutting a child. Then the weight of Hester’s words hit her and made Abby realize for the first time what had transpired in the man’s house. Her stomach lurched.

“You kept him from me these two years. That’s why you accepted these many beatings and ruts. You were protecting me.”

“Aye, child.”

They embraced and held each other for a long moment. When they separated, Hester said, “It was not your fault I chose a surly man.” Her free hand drifted absently to her face and touched the bumps at the bridge of her nose. “I did what I could to keep him off you these many months.”

“But now?”

Hester fixed her gaze on Abby’s eyes. “Now you’re fifteen, fully bloomed, and his desire to have you exceeds my ability to protest.”

Abby’s eyes widened. “So I’m to be your way out? You’re to have a new husband and I’m to be left here to rut the swine?”

“You’re young and strong and untouched. He’ll be nice to you for the duration.”

Abby was so busy trying to wrap her mind around her circumstance, she almost missed it.

“What duration?”

“Walk with me, child.”

They crossed the small clearing and stood close behind the privy, squinting their eyes against the foul odor. When she was absolutely certain her words would not be overheard, Hester whispered, “When Thomas Griffin buys me, I will set at once to acquire a vial of arsenic from his apothecary which I shall give to you. A few drops in your stepfather’s every meal will do the devil’s work within two months. And you will rise in station, inheriting his house and the proceeds of his business.”

“You cannot be serious. I’d have to marry him for this to be the legal result.”

“That may seem the worst part to you now, but on further reflection, you’ll find it a sound plan to help you become a young woman of property.”

Abby had no intention of reflecting thus. In fact, she had plans of her own, that she had never discussed with her mother. But something her mother had said didn’t sit right with her.

“Why do you think Thomas Griffin will purchase you?” she asked. Then she shook her head with disgust, thinking about her mother being sold off like the family cow.

Hester patted her hand. “Mr. Griffin has always been kind to me, and his daughter needs a mother.” She saw the skepticism in Abby’s eyes, and added, “And there’s more, child, though unseemly it would be to discuss the matter further.”

Abby’s eyes grew wide as saucers and she nearly voiced her outrage. But then she thought of the man she’d met at the river crossing six months ago, and what happened during his last visit.

His name was Henry, and he’d come to her like a gift from above, on horseback, carrying a leather satchel filled with useful things. Fully grown, ten years older than she, Henry was a man of property, and close kin to Mayor Shrewsbury, the wealthiest, most powerful man in the colony, save for the governor himself. He was well-traveled and conversational, with an exhaustive inventory of colorful stories featuring far off lands and remarkable people.

Astonishingly, Henry had managed to show up three of the five times both her mother and step-father happened to be gone. She now knew where her mother had been on those occasions, but how fortuitous for her that Henry always seemed to show up at the most opportune times.

She knew he was the man she’d marry, had known it from first sight. Not because he was tall and handsome, or rich and worldly, but because she could feel his presence from a great distance, even before he emerged from the woods. And not just the first time, but every time! If she could always feel his presence a quarter hour before he arrived, how could this not be transcendent love? The powerful feeling he projected put her soul at ease, calmed her fears, and spoke to her heart.

Henry was coming.

She couldn’t feel him yet, but he’d told her the day. He might miss the target by up to a week, for all plans were subject to weather, and he’d be traveling tricky terrain. But this time when he came to visit, she’d seal the deal. They’d ride off to town, get married, and she’d be free of this wretched life once and for all.

Abby was not ashamed that she’d given herself to Henry during his third visit two months ago. Though he was twenty-seven years old, Henry was unmarried and available. She’d made him swear an oath to that effect before their first kiss. Though she hadn’t expected to be taken so hastily her first time, much less from behind, Abby was pleased to know he shared her feelings of attraction. As for the event itself, she had known only the basics of what to expect, for her mother had spoken few words on the subject of fornication, and most of them only moments ago. But her Henry was obviously versed in the subject, so she put her trust in his expertise, and was at peace with her conscience.

Henry was coming for her. And soon.

Hester pushed a wisp of blond hair from Abby’s face and secured it behind her ear. The two women embraced again briefly, gave one last look around the clearing behind the slat-board shanty, and went inside the shack to start the dinner pot.

Inside, the heat was unbearable, and Abby’s eyes took it all in: the dirt floor, the worm-wood walls, the leaky roof, the rotten door. As she looked she was overcome with guilt over her mother’s sacrifice. Hester had fended the man off as long as she could, and was willing to be humiliated and sold at public auction to give her daughter a chance at a decent life.

But while Abby loved the idea of killing Philip Winter, she had no intention of marrying and rutting the man in order to acquire his earthly possessions.

Chapter 3

CAPTAIN JACK HAWLEY held the spyglass to his eye and checked the shoreline surrounding Shark’s Bay. He handed the glass back to his Quarter-Master, Pim, and took a moment to study the current. He knew what to expect, having made the Little River trip a dozen times before. It was a challenging bit of work, requiring hours of muscle-aching effort, but he was up to it. The idea of separating himself from the crew when they came to port was an extra precaution Jack had instituted upon being elected Captain. More than one band of pirates had been ambushed and hung by soldiers working on orders from colonial governors, and Jack’s subterfuge allowed him to infiltrate the settlement without creating undue suspicion, in order to ensure his crew would be able to land safely.

It probably wasn’t necessary. Of all their shore stops, St. Alban’s was the least dangerous. For one thing, there was no standing militia. For another, Jack’s men were enthusiastically welcomed for the valuable supplies they generously shared with the town. On this particular weekend, while the crew planned to occupy themselves with drinking, gambling and whoring, Jack was looking forward to spending some quality time with the young girl he’d recently met.

The crew gathered around him on the open deck. No one spoke, though they were itching to hoist sail.

“I’ll take Rugby,” Jack said.

Pim shuffled his feet, ill at ease. “Rugby the cat, Sir?”

“You know any other Rugbys on board?”

Pim sighed. “It’s a glad thing to wish for, but no, there be but one Rugby, as the devil himself can attest.”

“Then that’s the one I’ll take.”

Pim took a deep breath and looked the crew over to see if he could enlist some help. But most would rather jump off the side than go near the hairless, evil-looking cat.

“Mr. Pim,” Jack said.

“Aye, Cap’n?”

“Are you still the roughest, toughest man aboard The Fortress?”

“To my knowledge I still be.”

“And yet you’re frightened at the prospect of getting a little pussy?”

The men sniggered.

“It ain’t pussy in general that scares, me Cap’n, and my beloved Darla be proof of that fact. But this vile monstrosity and me don’t get along so well.”

“Then you’ll be pleased to know this is her last voyage.”

Then men punched each other’s arms and spoke enthusiastically.

“Aye, Cap’n, that’s good news indeed!” Pim said, smiling. He turned and made his way across the deck to the Captain’s quarters.

The symbiotic relationship between the town and pirates began years earlier when Milton Shrewsbury, Mayor of St. Albans, made a deal with the privateer captains: if they agreed to police their crew and confine their shore activities to an area two miles from the town proper, he would construct a Free Zone at the North Port to include a general store, ale house, gambling house, rooming house, and a house of prostitution. While in the Free Zone, the pirates could do as they wished, subject to Captain’s law. The town of St. Alban’s benefitted from the pirates’ trade, of course, but also from the valuable gifts and sorely needed supplies the pirates freely donated.

“Come here, you fargin’ banshee!” Pim shouted from within Jack’s cubicle. The entire crew chuckled as Pim continued cursing Rugby. “Show yourself, you motherless cur! You evil vomitous bitch! Get out here, or I’ll turn your hairless arse into a crossbones, you poisoned pig’s pizzle!”

A pirate caught outside the Free Zone was subject to immediate imprisonment, a mandatory six-month sentence. If, in addition to being caught the pirate had committed a crime, the Mayor could order him hung. By the same token, any St. Alban’s woman found in the Free Zone, a.k.a. Sinner’s Row, could not claim rape, should she be set upon by a drunken pirate or scallywag, subject to the preset rules of the ship’s Captain.

“Bull’s blood!” shouted Martin, the boatswain, from the foredeck.

Jack looked in his direction. “Torn sail?”

“Aye,” said Martin. “The jib.”

“Satan’s eye!” one of the men cursed. A torn jib sail could easily take an hour to repair.

“Set to it, then,” Jack said, calmly.

Jack Hawley didn’t look like the other pirates, even when dressed in full battle regalia. He was youthful in appearance, with fair skin and a smooth, unpoxed face that he kept clean-shaven. He had a full set of white teeth, and a well-muscled body.

“I’ll head out now, and you can hoist anchor when she’s repaired.” Jack said.

Though an ambush was unlikely, Jack was cunning enough to want to keep his identity a secret. Indeed, last time in port, Mayor Shrewsbury had gone to the main pier of North Port with an entourage of businessmen to welcome the ship and asked for Hawley by name, and twenty men stepped forward claiming to be he.

Pim approached, having finally caught the cat-like animal. Rugby was unhappily bundled in a white silk scarf that featured French writing on all four borders. Pim pointed the surly beast’s face away from him and held her tightly with both hands, as far away from his body as possible.

“The crew’ll be breathin’ a sigh of relief once you get this cursed creature off the ship,” Pim said.

Captain Jack looked at the slender hairless cat and smiled. “I’m amazed the crew let her live this long.”

“Only be due to your fondness for it, I’d wager.”

Upon hearing Jack’s voice, Rugby struggled to break free of Pim’s giant hands. The savage hissing that escaped her mouth sounded more serpent than cat. Pim’s eyes registered fright.

“May I set her down, Captain?”

Jack nodded, and Pim released his grip. Rugby, still tangled in the scarf, failed to make the proper adjustments for attitude and distance, and hit the floor hard. She shook the scarf off her body and offered a shrieking hiss that caused the Quarter-Master to shudder and grip the stock of his loaded pistol.

“She’s unique, Pim.”

“If I may say so, Cap’n, she’s a monstrosity of nature who ain’t right in the head. Some on board are convinced she’s the devil’s tit.”

“And you, Mr. Pim?”

“I won’t be goin’ that far with my conjecturin’, Cap’n, but I’m one a them that’s gonna feel a hell of a lot safer when this malignant beast is mousin’ on the mainland.”

Jack laughed. “You should charge our musicians with composing a tune by that name.”

Pim grinned. “Mousin’ on the Mainland?”

“Aye. And you can pen the words.”

“I’ll do ‘er,” he said. Then added, “Provided you’ll be pardonin’ the language that might be defamin’ Rugby’s character.”

“You’re still upset over the beard incident.”

Pim’s eyes narrowed as he eyed the cat. Rugby caught the look and arched her back. “Hell of a way to be woke up, Cap’n. A man tries to catch a few winks and wakes to this hairless devil’s spawn givin’ ‘im the evil eye, rippin’ ‘is chops, rakin’ her claws over ‘is face…”

“I can still hear your screams in my head.”

“Aye, and I ain’t the only one. That hairless bat ain’t popular among them that’s been woke similar in the crew.”

Jack clucked softly, and Rugby turned to face him. She rubbed her body against his leg and purred. Jack dropped to one knee and scratched her ears. When he stopped, the ugly gray creature hopped effortlessly onto his shoulder. Jack stood and walked to the small dory and climbed in.

“You got your kit?” Pim said.

Jack reached under the front bench and removed the large leather satchel. He checked the contents, nodded, and strapped it over his shoulder. Pim signaled his team to lower the dory into the bay. The water foamed around the small wooden boat, causing Rugby to dig her claws into Jack’s shoulder. Jack carefully extricated the cat and placed her on the floor of the boat. Rugby remained there until the first whitecap sloshed over the side, drenching her paws. Wanting no more of that, she jumped onto the front bench and pressed her body flat against it, locked her paws on either side, and held on for dear life.

Jack removed the hoist, secured his oars in the oarlocks, and began rowing toward shore. Over the next twenty minutes he worked the oars expertly, knifing the dory through the Bay, while accepting minimal water from the heavy chop. Finally he steered his little boat into the still, sulfurous water of the Little River. He lifted an oar high above his head and waved it to let the crew know he was safe. Then he continued upriver.

The first bend was no more than fifty yards from the bay, but the high dunes and scrub brush effectively blocked the wind and made for stale air and stifling rowing conditions. Within minutes Jack was at his canteen, wiping his brow.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Jack said to his hairless companion.

Rugby didn’t answer. She wasn’t interested in conversation. Something had drawn her to the side of the boat, and she leaned out and over it, transfixed by something just below the water line.

“I wouldn’t put my face that close to the water,” Jack warned. “If that’s a snapping turtle you’re tracking, it’s apt to take your head off.”

Rugby arched her back and hissed loudly, causing Jack to follow her gaze. He leaned over the side and shielded his eyes against the sun’s glare on the water.

“What do you see down there that you haven’t seen a hundred times, girl?”

In this part of the river the water was brackish, with light green patches of algae hugging the shorelines. Whatever it was that had riled the cat was still troubling her, but Jack couldn’t make it out.

Until he could.

“God’s blood!” he exclaimed, jumping back in shock. There, just below the stagnant surface, he’d seen the hideous, human-like face of a yellow eel. Five feet long if an inch, and covered with dark brown spots that looked like eye balls. Jack had never seen an eel in these waters before, let alone the eyeball markings. This one had obviously slithered out of one of the numerous limestone caves that lay beneath the waters of the Little River. A terrifying sight; and Jack shuddered to contemplate what manner of soulless, unknown species might be too large to escape the dark caves below his boat.

For the better part of an hour, into late afternoon, he navigated the river, relying on his sharp vision and keen intuition to evade the submerged tree limbs and sandbars that discouraged less skilled travelers from duplicating the journey. He and Rugby passed snakes, turtles, raccoons, skunks, cranes, and lily pads teeming with great, bellowing bullfrogs, and giant spiders mending their webs. Other than the occasional puff of hot breeze, the air was rank and stagnant, and filled with the odor of rotten eggs. Rugby winced and sneezed.

Jack laughed. “I know, smells like hell fire, don’t it, girl? But it’s just the sulphur pits that line these coves. We’ll move past them soon.”

He kept to the center of the river to avoid the thick, green pond scum that had all but taken over the river at this point, and the ravenous mosquitoes that hugged the verdant shore.

Rugby’s ears pricked as they neared the final bend that led to their destination. Jack knew what his companion had heard. A moment later, he heard it too.

Children’s voices.

Though he knew whose children they were, he stopped rowing, and kept his oars in the water to hold the boat in check. He listened a moment, studying the cadence of the voices. They sounded enthusiastic.

“Rugby, make nice, for they’ve assembled a landing party to greet us.”

The cat looked at him and Jack said, “I don’t know how they knew I was coming. But they always know. It’s probably Rose, the witchy one. She senses things.”

Chapter 4

THE LANDING PARTY, Jack knew, would number six: George and Marie Stout, their three young children, and Johanna, the young girl who lived and worked with the Stouts. Jack let out his signature whistle before rounding the final bend, and the voices immediately stopped, their minds processing the sound. Then, almost instantly, they began cheering. Jack had taught Johanna and the Stouts this particular whistle as a means of identifying themselves from a distance. He had taught them a danger whistle as well.

The group had gathered at the Stout’s dock, thirty yards west of George and Marie’s outpost. For years the dock had been the primary means of accessing the outpost by the river families that settled on the banks north of this location. But the previous year’s hurricane had deposited so many trees that the river north had become virtually impassable. These days, those who visited the outpost were forced to walk or ride the rough trail on horseback. Though the post was isolated, people willingly made the trip to obtain the one thing George had that they couldn’t get elsewhere.

Medicine.

Medicine, the most prized and valuable commodity in the colonies, had been the foundation for Jack and George’s close friendship. Other than gold, Jack’s principal reason for attacking ships was to acquire medicine, which he sold and traded for goods and services. He had two paying customers in St. Alban’s: the Mayor’s physician and Thomas Griffin, who owned the local apothecary. He also traded medicine with George Stout in return for information regarding the town’s current attitude toward pirates, the unlimited use of George’s horses, and care for Johanna, whom Jack had rescued from an abusive family two months earlier.

When the greeters saw Jack making the final turn, they cheered. But when they saw Rugby, George and Marie crossed themselves and spit over their shoulders. Even the children, accustomed to all manner of woodland creatures, crossed and spat, and hesitated to approach the boat.

Johanna was the lone exception. She sported a smile that seemed to occupy her entire face. When she bent down to accept the bow of the boat, she and Rugby eyed each other closely. Jack said, “This is Rugby. She’s yours, if you want her.”

Johanna squealed with joy, which caused Rugby to arch her back and hiss. One of the Stout boys yelped at the sound, and Marie recoiled in horror. But undaunted, Johanna put her hand out, and waited for Rugby to respond. Eventually the cat bent her head against Johanna’s hand without launching an attack.

“She likes you,” Jack said.

Looking pleased, Johanna steadied the boat and Jack climbed out. Giving the cat a wide berth, the Stouts gathered around Jack. Marie hugged him vigorously, and George clapped him on the back.

“Good to see you, Henry,” he said, for that’s the name Captain Jack used among the locals.

“Aye, and you and your family as well,” Jack said. He looked at Johanna and nodded. “And you, miss. How are you?”

Johanna had picked Rugby up and cuddled her. Upon being addressed by Jack, she blushed and curtsied slightly. “The Stout family has taken excellent care of me, sir, and Mrs. Stout has been learning me to cook and clean.”

“Such are good skills to have,” Jack said, approvingly. He and Johanna looked at each other a moment, as if unsure what more to say. By contrast, the children were full of questions, most of which involved the cat.

Seven-year-old Samuel said, “Why do you call him Rugby?”

“She’s named after her former owner, Colonel Rugby, of Glenshire.”

“And what became of the Colonel?” the ultra-precocious, ten-year-old Rose asked. “Was it ghastly?”

“Rose, hush!” her mother scolded. “If Henry wants us to know what became of Colonel Rugby, it’s for him to say, and not for us to ask.”

Rose pointed a finger at the cat. “No matter,” she said. “I suspect we’ll all be dead by morning.” Of all the Stout children, Rose was the least inclined toward optimism.

“Mind your tongue, child, or I’ll cuff your ears!” Marie said, though Rose looked as though she might welcome such a cuffing. She was, in all respects, an unusual child, and her siblings weren’t the only ones who regarded her as such. George and Marie learned early on to distance Rose from other families, after hearing visitors question whether she might be a witch.

Rose was not one of the Stout’s birth children. According to George, he and Marie had found her four years earlier, wandering the woods, speaking in tongues. They took her in as they would any stray. From her first days with the Stouts, Rose had shown a particular fondness for heights and could routinely be found high in the branches of trees. According to Samuel, Rose could talk to spiders, rats and snakes. Jack, though far less superstitious than most, always gave Rose a wide berth.

Jack watched Samuel tie his boat to the pier before speaking. “Colonel Rugby was set upon by either the French or pirates. I came upon their smoldering ship quite by accident, while fishing.”

He and George exchanged a look as Jack continued his story. “When I boarded, I found not a single person or thing on it, apart from this strange cat-like creature. I did manage to salvage a portion of the Captain’s journal and read mention of Colonel Rugby’s strange, furless cat. Not knowing the cat’s original name, I named her for her former owner, and she seems to have accepted it without protest.”

To Johanna he said, “Of course, she’s yours now, miss, and you may change her name as suits you.”

Rose said, “We could call her Calamity!”

“Calamity the Cat?” Samuel said. “That’s obscene!”

“She’s nakey!” said four-year-old Steffan.

George Stout said, “She does appear to be naked, compared to other cats I’ve seen.”

Marie scolded her husband. “George, the children are present!”

George nodded and said, “Odd looking animal, nonetheless.” He paused a moment. If he knew of any news Jack should worry about, he’d have told it by now. Instead, he clapped his hands and said, “Let’s head to the house, Henry. I’ve a bottle of rotgut that’s still got some kick left in it.”

After carefully depositing Rugby on the dock, Johanna sidled up to Jack. It was clear from her body language and attentiveness that she found Jack not only attractive, but also desirable. While he understood it was the way of young women to want to marry and raise children, he loved his carefree life and preferred not to settle down in the near future. Had he met Johanna earlier, who knows what might have transpired? After all, she was sweet and charming, could hunt, fish, cook and sew, could skin animals and take care of children, was eager to work, was strong, and pleasing to the eye in all respects. In short, she possessed all the qualities that would make any man happy. But Jack resolved not to take advantage of Johanna, or lead her on, since he had another young lady in his sights, a girl named Abby Winter, whose mother had a gray face. Jack planned to ride to the river crossing to meet Abby early the next morning, and, if it pleased her, he intended to give her a good fucking.

Johanna leaned into Jack and rubbed the side of her face against his chest. He gave her a light, uncomfortable hug for her trouble, and they began walking toward the Outpost.

Samuel worked up his courage and leaned over to pet the cat. “Does she bite?” “She does,” Jack said. “Fiercely.”

Samuel paused with his hand a foot from the cat. “You think she’ll bite me?”

“I’m certain of it.”

“Even if I’m really nice and gentle?”

“Even if. She’s quite independent, having survived a ship fire and starvation. Not many can claim that. After I rescued her she coughed up bits of rope and pitch, to show me what she’d eaten to survive.”

“Devils eat pitch,” said Rose. “They thrive in fiery places, too.”

George said, “Rose, you’re beginning to alarm us. Henry wouldn’t bring a demon into our midst, would you Henry?”

“She’s a sweet cat,” Jack said. “A biter? Absolutely. But not a demon.”

“There you have it,” said Marie. “Now let’s hear no more talk of devils and demons.”

As they headed down the dock toward the outpost, Jack said, “How’d you know I was coming?”

They all looked at each other in a funny way, but no one spoke on it.

Chapter 5

The cat—or whatever it was—adapted to its new surroundings quickly, and it dawned on Jack that perhaps cats had a natural preference for solid ground, and maybe this had contributed to Rugby’s churlish behavior on board The Fortress. She moved gracefully around the yard surrounding the outpost, or “Stoutpost,” as Jack liked to call it.

“What’s become of your dogs?” he said.

“Lost one to a gator, we think. Sold the other one,” George said.

“That works to Rugby’s advantage.”

“Till we get the next one, anyway. They wander in here regular, half mad from hunger.”

Jack smiled at Johanna.

“Rugby’ll be fine. She can hold her own.”

Johanna returned the smile.

George and Marie’s tiny house and store were the southernmost dwellings on St. Alban’s peninsula, a land mass of roughly thirty-six square miles, bordered, in part, by the Little River.

The men sipped their whisky at the table and watched Marie and Johanna tend the dinner pot. Rose had wandered off somewhere, and Samuel and Steffan were sharpening dinner knives.

“How’s she fitting in?” Jack said.

“Johanna? She’s a blessing.”

“Any problems with her father?”

“Haven’t seen him nor the wife since you threatened to kill them if they ever came back.”

“That’s good. I meant it. There’s no excuse for a man to beat his children.”

Jack stared at Johanna, thinking about the type of woman she’d grow up to be. She was too young for Jack, at least in his mind, but in a few years she’d be an ideal wife, devoted and grateful to him, and would probably be a wonderful mother to a brood of children as well.

George had noticed him staring at Johanna. He said, “I’ve only got the one bedroom.”

Jack nodded. “That’ll do.”

George arched an eyebrow but said nothing.

Johanna, whose hearing was excellent, smiled at the comment, but didn’t trust herself to peek at Jack. She was a thin, fair-skinned girl who’d come a long way from the waif he’d met two months earlier. Johanna had filled out some, thank the good Lord, and her face had gained color. She was a fine specimen, Jack thought, with her fair, unblemished skin, large green eyes and wavy saddle brown hair made lighter by the scorching sun. The work dress she wore every day was gray and made of stout, twilled cotton that seemed too course for her delicate features. She had an easy smile and calm disposition, which was hard to fathom, given her past history of physical abuse by her parents. He’d been many places, seen many things, but not so many domestic scenes or settings. It was nice to see this healthy family working together to get food on the table.

In Jack’s experience, American born men and women were more pleasing to the eye and healthier than their European counterparts. Jack had twice been to London and seen the horrible living conditions. Everything about the city had the foulest stench. The people were permanently filthy, as no one took baths, including the wealthy. Poor families stitched their children into burlap clothes to be worn day and night through the entire winter. The houses, pinched together side-by-side in endless lines, cramped up against the edge of streets and roads, and men urinated freely onto the streets from second-floor windows. Avoiding the random soakings required careful planning. One couldn’t just move to the center of the streets, for that’s where the latrines had been dug. Women pitched the contents of their chamber pots into the streets daily, without offering the slightest pretense of embarrassment. The refuse and human excrement would be scattered across the dirt or cobblestones awaiting the next rain to wash it into the latrine. Therefore, at any given time, the streets were cesspools so filled with urine and horse manure that no one bothered to avoid stepping in it. Worse, it soaked and clung to the hems of the long dresses and coats worn by women, to be slathered throughout their homes and the commercial establishments they frequented.

If the living conditions were bad, the faces were worse.

Ninety percent of the population had suffered from smallpox or chickenpox at one time or other, and their faces and bodies were riddled with deep-pocketed scars. Rashes, funguses and open sores could be found on nearly every face, at any time. By age twelve, most had rotting teeth. Those who managed to live past the age of thirty did so without their teeth. Infection and oozing pus adorned the vast majority of necks, backs and buttocks; and boils and carbuncles were constant sources of annoyance and pain.

Of course, the major cities in America were filthy, but towns such as St. Alban’s, while nasty in certain areas, benefited from the lack of dense population. Though George and Marie’s faces were pockmarked and their teeth bad, they still managed to look ten years younger than their European counterparts. And thanks to the rural living conditions, healthy food, and medicine supplied by their good friend Jack, Johanna and the Stout children appeared healthy and clear-skinned enough to be a different species altogether.

“See any pirates when you were fishing?” Samuel said.

“Not this trip.”

“We like pirates, don’t we, Father?” Rose said.

George and Marie exchanged a glance. They knew Jack was a pirate, but it wouldn’t be safe for their children to know.

Jack said, “I think all colonists are fond of pirates, or privateers, as they’re currently called. Reason being, English taxes are so high these days, the colonists lose money on every crop. They have to traffic with pirates to survive.”

“Do you know any pirates, Henry?” Rose said.

Jack could feel all eyes on his face. “It’s possible, since there are pirates everywhere these days.”

“How come?” Samuel persisted.

“With England at war with Spain, they want pirates to sink Spanish ships. So they passed a law that lets pirates keep 100% of their plunder from enemy ships.”

“England likes pirates?” Samuel asked.

Jack laughed. “England tolerates them for now. But when the war is over, that will change.”

“What will happen then?”

“The governors will go back to hanging them.”

Chapter 6

The outpost was connected to the main house by a heavy wooden door with iron banding. The main room contained a couple dozen shirts and pants, assorted ropes, netting, hammers, saws, nails and other hardware, much of which had been previously used. The medicine and knives weren’t kept in this building, but in locked trunks in George’s bedroom. Behind the service counter, another door led to a small bedroom that George and Marie rented to customers by the night. Those who slept here were usually too sick to travel, so it was more of a treatment room than a hotel.

After supper, while the men talked at the main table, Marie and Johanna put some linens and a blanket on the guest bed and set out a clean chamber pot. Rose fetched some well water for the basin, and Johanna placed a towel and hand mirror beside it.

“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.”

Chapter 7

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.

“Take her place?”

“I can serve you till you’ve had your fill, then, if you want, I’ll go with you upstairs like Darla used to.”

Pim tried to comprehend the magnitude of his loss. Darla, the only woman on earth who cared what happened to him. He briefly tried to contemplate a life without Darla in it. But the woman standing in front of him had said something he didn’t quite catch. He tried to focus.

“I’m sorry,” Pim said. “You’re what?”

“A good whore, sir.”

“Oh.”

“Mr. Fine picked me personal, ‘cause I get no complaints. And if it suits you, I’ll stay all night in your bed, just like Darla did.”

Pim stared at nothing awhile longer before finally letting out a huge, mournful sigh. Then he said, “What’s your name?”

“Grace, sir.”

“Did you know Darla?”

“Know her?”

“I mean, were you friends?”

She looked confused by the question.

“We don’t get much opportunity to have friends here, sir. And there’s some competition for the half sovereigns and up. But Darla, well, she was pleasant, never stole nothing I know about.”

Pim nodded slowly.

“Grace?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Yellow rum.”

“Okay.”

“And lots of it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Chapter 8

Two hours of drinking had done nothing to diminish Pim’s sorrow. He waved off Grace’s offer to sit with him while he drank, and Charlie Fine stopped by the table to offer his condolences. But in the end Pim put his hands over his eyes, bent his head to the table and cried like a baby. When Martin and Roberts entered the bar and saw their enormous friend sobbing fit to bust they fled the premises as if frightened by fairies. Charlie Fine told Grace to get Pim upstairs before he chased off the rest of the customers.

Grace reluctantly approached the red-haired giant and patted his back. She pushed one side of her blouse down her shoulder and revealed a breast of adequate size and smoothness, which she rubbed against the side of Pim’s impossibly hairy face. He lifted his head and she moved her breast to his lips.

“Come upstairs with me now, sir,” she said, softly.

Pim’s lower lip quivered. He seemed about to burst into tears again, but at the last minute he pushed his chair back and got to his feet. Grace quickly tucked her bosom back into her blouse and took Pim’s hand and led him up the steps.

The room upstairs had belonged to Darla when Pim was in town, and everything about it reminded him of her. Though Grace shucked her clothes off in record time, and despite the fact that most men would consider her body vastly superior to Darla’s, Pim was having none of it.

“If you’ll allow me, I’ll undress you now, sir.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Please, sir.”

“Why do you give a shit?”

“He’ll beat me if you leave here unsatisfied.”

Pim frowned and shook his head. It was a bad life. Bad for Grace, and bad for Darla before her. He wondered if Charlie Fine had beaten Darla. If he knew for sure he’d kill Charlie with his bare hands. But he didn’t want to know. It didn’t matter now anyway. He stuffed his big paw into his pocket and felt around till he found a sovereign and a five guinea. He handed them to the naked woman in front of him and watched her eyes widen.

“The sovereign’s for Charlie Fine. You keep the five guinea.”

“Are you sure, sir?”

He pressed her fingers over the gold coin and kissed them.

“Maybe next time,” he said.

Grace’s eyes welled with tears. She stood on tiptoes to reach his cheek. Kissed him and said, “You were special to her. I think she may have loved you.”

Pim smiled for the first time since hearing the news of Darla’s death. It was a sad smile just the same.

“I’ll never forget her,” he said.

Now, standing on the dirt road in front of the Blue Lagoon, Pim tried to decide what he wanted to do. Had it been a matter of what to do for the night, he would have climbed into one of the dories, slept it off and caught a ride back to the ship come morning. But this was a question of what to do with the rest of his life, and for that he needed a sign.

On the pier, in the distance, two of his men were cursing blue blazes and trying to fight a drunken duel using the crudest of implements. The one-armed man wielding the three-legged stool seemed to have an advantage over the one-legged guy with the chicken, but it was hard to imagine them doing much damage to each other. The stool was too heavy for the one guy to swing, and the live chicken was giving the other one fits. Pim had to admire their determination, but wondered what it said about the quality of life he was living.

If only God would send him a sign.

He walked a few minutes, then stopped and looked around. The night air was hot and thick with mosquitoes and fat, buzzing June bugs. Bats and barn swallows darted about with wild abandon, coming from all angles to feast on the bug buffet.

Pim wondered if perhaps the sign was something to be heard instead of seen. He turned his body slowly, making a complete circle, listening intently. But all he heard were peals of drunken laughter, assorted curses and squawks from the ongoing pier battle, and the occasional shriek of whores feigning orgasm.

Any kind of sign would suffice.

He waited a moment longer and then started walking aimlessly down the road.

Toward St. Alban’s.

And just like that, the course of history was about to change.

Chapter 9

Captain Jack Hawley bade George Stout goodnight and knocked at the door to the room where Johanna sat waiting. Moments earlier he’d been shocked to see George’s ghoulish daughter, Rose, hanging by her heels from a rope in the center of the store.

He rushed toward her.

“Are you all right? Who did this to you?” he said.

As he drew near, she opened her eyes and made a terrifying face at him.

Jack said, “Fine. Get yourself down.”

Rose laughed and pulled herself up the rope, all the way to the beam. Jack marveled at her dexterity. Once atop the beam, she began untying her ankles. Jack turned away and started walking toward the bedroom where Johanna was waiting.

Rose shouted “Catch me!”

Jack turned and was horrified to see Rose plummeting toward the floor. He dove under her and caught her just before impact.

She got to her feet, clapped the dust off her hands and said, “Why, thank you Henry!” and headed off to bed.

Jack gathered himself to a standing position and let out a deep breath. Though not a religious man, he made the sign of the cross on his chest. When Johanna opened the door, he said, “If you like Rugby’s looks, you’d best keep her away from Rose. She’s apt to cast a spell to cover Rugby’s body with feathers.”

Johanna giggled. She took Jack’s hand, kissed it and pressed it to her bosom vigorously, in a way that revealed the entire contents of her nightshirt to his touch. Jack jerked his hand away as if he’d touched a hot stone. His face contorted into a horrified expression.

“Please don’t be angry,” she said. “I know I’m small, but that will change ere long.”

“But…But you’re—” Jack sputtered, unable to form a sentence.

Johanna smiled. “I’m ready, Henry. It’s our time. I’m not experienced, but you’ll teach me.”

“I’ll do nothing of the sort,” he said with a huff.

He led her to the bed and sat her down. She, on the verge of tears, said “Why not?”

“You’re…for God’s sake, you’re…you’re only twelve years old!”

Johanna stuck her chin out in defiance.

“And so what if I am? My mother was twelve when she married, and her mother, too. And Marie as well. And all of them pregnant before turning thirteen!”

“It’s obscene.”

“It’s life, Henry.”

“It’s wrong.”

“How old was your mother when she had you?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t know,” he lied.

“Truly?”

Jack frowned. “It’s not something I wish to think about in any case.”

Johanna started crying. Softly at first, and then it began to build.

“You don’t love me,” she sobbed.

“I barely know you!”

“It always starts with barely knowing,” she said, trying to catch her breath between sobs. “Then it grows. Ask anyone.”

“You’re a child,” he said, instantly regretting the remark when he saw the heartbreak in her eyes. A few seconds passed before she exploded into a frenzy of tears, and when it happened, Jack felt awful. But he was a practical man, and what he said couldn’t be taken back, so he kissed her forehead and turned away. He walked to the foot of the bed and eased himself to the floor where soon he fell asleep, even as she cried her eyes out a few feet away on the bed.

Four hours later Jack began tossing and turning. He spoke in his sleep of a thin, blond girl from long ago or far away who kept saying her name. Johanna wanted to wake him out of his dream, in case it was a nightmare, but she couldn’t afford to make him angry again, not if she intended to get her family started.

And she did so intend.

But getting her family started, as everyone knew, began with the process of rutting.

On the subject of rutting, Johanna knew she had a lot to learn. That men wanted to rut was not a question. But perhaps not all men were like her father, who rutted at night in a violent, angry way after consuming serious quantities of liquor. Maybe her Henry was the type of man who preferred to rut in the morning.

Johanna yawned. She was exhausted from the long day’s work, fatigued from crying half the night over Henry’s rejection, and these were too many issues for her to ponder. Tomorrow would be another day, a better day, and maybe Henry would wake up refreshed and ready to rut. Johanna closed her eyes and settled into her pillow. She could wait until tomorrow to ask about his dream. Tomorrow morning, after rutting, she’d ask Henry who Libby Vail was.

At that very moment, four miles away in downtown St. Alban’s, Pim finally got his sign.

It had taken him well over an hour to stumble the two miles of dark road from Sinner’s Row to town, and once there he spied a lodging house a couple of blocks away. As he headed there to get a room he saw a crudely written bulletin nailed to a post. Pim wasn’t an accomplished reader, but he’d learned enough of his letters to make out the gist of the announcement: the next morning at noon someone’s wife was going to be auctioned off in the town square.

Auctioned off? Someone’s wife?

Pim looked up and thanked God for sending such a bold sign. He meant to have a look at this woman, and if she pleased him, buy her.

Chapter 10

The next morning Jack was up and out the door before Johanna or any in the family had stirred. He saddled a horse and led it out of the pen. Then he heard a sound that made him look up and stop dead in his tracks: Rose was standing on the roof of the store, her hands stretched upward. He looked around the perimeter of the building but could see no ladder, barrel or box. The height was ten feet, maybe more.

“How’d you get up there?” he said.

“I flew.”

“Then fly down. If you jump, I won’t be here to catch you this time.”

Jack climbed on his horse and barely cleared the yard before her laughter started. He dug his heels into the horse’s ribs and bolted through the brush. So fierce was her laughter he could hear it half a mile away. Or maybe it was the earlier laughter still ringing in his ears.

“I’m glad she’s not the one in love with me!” he said to his horse.

The river crossing was a mile and a half from George and Marie’s, but the path to it was muddy and overgrown with thickets and scrub pines.

When Abby saw him she smiled.

Jack’s face and neck had been sliced by foliage. His shoulders and sides ached from the pounding and thwacking of tree branches. He climbed off his horse feeling like he’d been in a bar fight, but a fight that he’d won.

With Abby Winter the prize.

“Each time I’ve come, you’ve been here waiting,” he said.

“I always know when you’re nearby,” Abby said. “I can feel it.”

They kissed. And kissed again and again, short, happy bursts that often missed the mark and made them laugh.

“Did you also know I was here?” she said.

“I hoped you would be, but had you not, I would have whistled.”

“My father sleeps soundly, though my mother might have heard.”

“It’s best to keep our doings quiet,” Jack said.

Abby put a finger to his lips. “No longer,” she said.

“Excuse me?”

“Much has happened since last we met. And I have great good news!”

“You do?”

“Yes. I’m apt to burst from waiting to share it!”

“Then do so, please.”

Abby took a deep breath. As she let it out her eyes danced. “We’re getting married!”

Jack stood there, his smile frozen on his face.

“Who is?”

She looked at him like he had two heads. “Why, you and I, of course!”

Jack felt as though he’d been chucked in the head with a yardarm.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

“Did you speak of marriage? You’ve caught me by surprise.”

Abby smiled. “It’s the perfect time. Nay, sir, it’s the only time.”

Jack cocked his head quizzically. “But how can this be the only time?”

“My mother’s being sold today.”

“She’s…what?”

Abby sighed. “Being sold. Today.”

“Sold? You don’t mean sold. What’s the word you’re seeking?”

“The only word I’m seeking is the one I used. She’s to be sold in the town square at noon today, and that’s a fine fact.”

“Do you mean to say you can actually sell your wife to another man in these Florida colonies?”

“Well of course you can! Where have you been?”

“And you don’t need her permission?”

“Well of course you need her permission! How can you not know these things? Are you not related to Mayor Shrewsbury?”

Jack paused. “In a round about manner of speaking, yes.”

“Well the connection wasn’t so ‘round about’ the last time we met, was it?”

“The connection to Mayor Shrewsbury is a bit fuzzy, but there is one. In general.”

“Then you should know about these things. How can you not?”

“These ideas regarding the selling of wives never came up.”

“Perhaps they did and you forgot.”

Jack doubted that.

“So,” he said. “How much will she fetch?”

“What?” She slapped his face. “Why? Do you mean to marry me, plow me like a field and sell me to some degenerate scallywag?”

“Why, no!”

“Well then, we need to move this thing along. I’ve been waiting day and night for your return, with no means of contacting you to tell you my news.”

“About your mother being sold?”

“No, you nit! About this!” She pulled her night shirt high enough to accommodate his hand, and helped him feel her belly. Before he could recoil in horror, she lifted his hand higher, and pressed it to her swollen breasts. What was it about these St. Alban’s women? Last night Johanna, now Abby. To Jack it seemed to be raining titties! He’d never felt so many breasts in such a short period of time. Of course, while Abby Winter’s breasts were only three years older than Johanna’s, there was clearly a difference to the touch, and it was this difference that stirred something in Jack.

Which is how she got the swelling in the first place.

Abby looked radiant, and Jack’s heat was all consuming. “Can we…”

She looked around. “Not here. Walk with me a bit.”

“But I…”

“Walk with me. It’s not far.”

Jack forced his thoughts elsewhere as they walked toward the brush on the far side of the crossing.

“What about your father?” he said, searching for a way to extricate himself from the possibility of marriage. “Surely we’d need his blessing?”

“He’s not my father, he’s my step-father and he means to marry me the moment he’s sold my Mum. Then I’ll be slaving for this pig of a man even as he ruts and beats me half to death.”

“He can’t be that bad.”

“He can and he is. Wait—why would you say that? Do you mean to abandon me to my step-father after troubling yourself to bend me over last time and seed me with child?”

“The way you’re putting that…”

“Yes?”

“I mean, it weren’t no trouble to do it, it was a pleasure!”

“Well, how nice! I’m so glad to hear how much pleasure you took in deflowering me. And now that you’ve had your pleasure, where does this put us, sir?”

Jack didn’t know, but he figured she’d correct him if he said the wrong thing.

“We should definitely be together, I suppose.”

“Well there’s a start,” Abby said. Then, “Do you mean to say you’ve never given this a thought prior to now?”

“I guess it never came up in my thoughts.”

“The selling of wives never came up. Marrying the girl you impregnated never came up. I’ll suggest in your world the only thing that comes up is your prick, sir.”

Jack didn’t know what to say. Up to now, his experience with women had been confined to whores and platonic friendships. Well, there had been a brief fling with a female pirate a few years back, but that encounter served to hurt his dignity more than it offered insight into the workings of a proper woman’s mind. Jack didn’t remember much of what happened that night in Tortola with the female pirate, except that she’d been rough enough to blush a whore. Now, years later, people still told the tale of Jack Hawley and Dorothy Spider’s sexual congress. There was even a popular song composed to commemorate the occasion, which is why to this day Jack refused to dock in Tortola.

“Henry?”

Dorothy had been a savage pirate and fierce bar brawler whose face bore the marks of many battles. While not pirating, she lived in Tortola with a famously fat female tattoo artist named Helen, who lovingly covered Dorothy’s battle scars with tattoos. By the time she finished, Dorothy’s face looked so much like a spider web that Helen decided to continue etching, to complete the theme. It was right around that time that Dorothy Spider caught Jack in her web during a misguided moment of high heat and heavy drink on his part, and the rest, as they say, is legend.

“Henry,” Abby persisted. “Whatever is on your mind? Do you not see me lying on the ground with my legs bent? Is this not why we came to the bushes? So you could spread a little more seed while considering whether or not to abandon me? Perhaps you can thrust hard enough to give me twin bastards to rear on my own. Oh, please do! It will be fun to have this lovely memory in my head in the years to come when my stepfather violates my body and pounds my eyes with his fists.”

This visit wasn’t turning out quite the way Jack had envisioned during the ride over. The beautiful, shy and charming Abby Winter had somehow turned into what Pim and his mates would at best call a saucy wench. But he had to admit, the view she currently afforded him was an outstanding one, and if Abby meant to give him a ride while angry, maybe she’d give him even better rides in the future if he could find a way to keep her happy.

And so it was with these thoughts that he smiled and dug in and tried not to think of Dorothy Spider.

Chapter 11

PIM WOKE TO the chatter in the street. He looked around and realized he’d failed to make it to the lodging house and had instead passed out in the street, where he’d thrown up at least once, and rolled around numerous times in raw sewage. He knew not what time it was, but the auction hadn’t started yet, and he was eager to get a front row seat. Checking his pockets and money pouch to make sure he hadn’t been robbed, he mentally calculated the worth of a used wife and decided he had money to spare.

But wait—had he imagined it?

He got to his feet and went to the post where he’d seen the sign. In the light of day he had no problem reading the bulletin:

NOTICE OF A WIFE TO BE SOLD AT NOON

ST. ALBAN’S TOWN SQUARE

SATURDAY, JULY 19, 1710

IN ACCORDANCE WITH ENGLISH LAW THAT PROVIDETH

A MAN MAY SELL HIS WIFE IF HE DO SO IN OPEN MARKET

AND SHE GIVETH HER PERMISSION BY WEARING A HALTER

ROUND HER NECK;

THIS MAN, PHILIP WINTER SHALL SELL HIS WIFE HESTER

IN SUCH A MANNER ON SATURDAY THE 19^th of JULY, 1710.

BUYER MUST AGREE TO ACCEPT HESTER WINTER AS SHE BE,

WITH ALL HER FAULTS.

Pim wanted to make himself more presentable by jumping in the river or ocean, whichever was closer, but after inquiring the time from a horrified passerby, he was afraid he’d miss the auction. He went to the nearest house and knocked on the door and offered to pay a half-crown for a basin of water.

“That’s a fair price for the basin,” the woman allowed, “but where would I get another? You’ll have to try someone else.”

“I’d be buyin’ only the water in the basin, Mum.”

“What? Are you daft? Be gone, or I’ll call my husband.”

Pim produced the coin.

“I’ve only got used water,” she said.

“How used?”

“Two days worth. But it’s a full basin. You want it?”

“Aye, and a rag to scrub with.”

The lady of the house eyed Pim closely, scrunched her nose and said, “Is that vomit in your beard?”

“Aye, Mum.”

“Well in that case you may keep the rag. I wouldn’t want to touch it after you’ve used it.”

“You’re too kind.”

“I’d rather bring a horse turd into my home.”

“Yes, Mum. Thank you.”

Pim did what he could with the basin of used water, though it smelled worse to him than he did. When he got to the town square he sat on a rock and waited for Captain Jack, whom he sensed was drawing near. Ten minutes later Jack Hawley was standing over him, chewing him out.

“Are you insane? If they see you here they’ll lock you up!”

“I’m not a pirate no more, Cap’n.”

“What?”

“My sweet Darla’s dead, and I’m gonna buy this wife what’s bein’ sold today.”

This was shaping up to be Jack’s most interesting shore leave ever. He tried to picture Abby Winter’s mother marrying the wild and wooly pirate, Mr. Pim. An unintended smile crossed his face.

“What’s so funny?” Pim growled.

“Easy, man. I’m sorry for your loss. I never met Darla, but I know she was special to you. I meant no offense by the smile. It’s just the thought of you settling down. Pim: a landlubber!”

Pim nodded. Then said, “You know this woman what’s to be sold today?”

“I don’t, though I suspect she’ll be happy to marry a kind-hearted soul such as yourself.”

“Thank you, Jack. I’m not picky. I’m sure she’ll do.”

Jack looked him over. “You’re sober?”

“Mostly. I think.”

“Good. Looks like you had a rough night pining for Darla.”

“Aye. And I drank some, too.”

“And coughed some back, by the look of it.”

“Aye.”

“You need some money?”

“Why, thank you Cap’n, but no, I did no whorin’ so I’m flush.”

“Well, do me a favor and act like you know me not.”

A hurt expression creased Pim’s face.

Jack said, “I’m not ashamed to be in your company, but if some townie recognizes you, they’ll lock us both up and I won’t be able to rescue you.”

Pim nodded. “Aye, you always was a smart one, Cap’n.”

“And Mr. Pim?”

“Aye?”

“I’m proud to have served with you.”

Pim’s eyes moistened. “It’s been an honor, Jack.”

“Good luck man.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Chapter 12

Wife selling always followed the same public ritual. The wife—in this case, the gray-faced but comely Hester Winter, was led into town by her husband Philip with her hands bound and a halter around her neck. In most cases, wife selling was a spur of the moment decision, and the husband had to make a big noise to draw a crowd. But the enterprising Philip had thought to post notice of his upcoming sale, and so the town square was packed with leering men, derisive women, and ill-mannered children, most of whom shouted profanities and vulgar insults at Hester.

As Philip got his wife onto the auction block, he displayed a wide, shit-eating grin and bade the crowd to gather near, since he was preparing to take bids. Hester’s eyes searched the crowd, hoping to spot Thomas Griffin, but there were too many people. From behind her, a crude boy of about nine jumped onto the block and lifted the back of her skirt with one hand and held his nose with the other as his friends hooted and jeered. Philip laughed and swatted at the boy in a playful manner, which did nothing to dissuade him from raising Hester’s dress again, and higher. Soon, half a dozen brats were taking turns spanking her rump Finally Philip called an end to the abuse.

“Who’ll offer me a crown?”

“Does her privates work?” one man shouted.

Hester squeezed her eyes shut and reminded herself a better life was moments away.

“Her privates?” Philip said. “They work right well, mate, if your equipment be long enough to reach the prize.” He gave an exaggerated stage wink and received some scattered chortling in return.

“Does she cook?” said another.

“She ain’t the worst I’ve et,” Philip said.

“How much discount are you offering for that face?” the fishmonger’s wife yelled out.

“Already factored in the bidding, Missus. Why, are you interested in marryin’ her yourself?” Philip made a lewd gesture and the crowd laughed.

Hester was thankful Philip had made Abby stay home. Thomas Griffin had obviously changed his mind, and now that she thought about it, why wouldn’t he? He was a respectable businessman with a shop on the far side of the square. If he purchased her he’d be a laughing stock. Hester hadn’t considered that possibility the three times she let him take her behind the counter. Ah well, men lied. What could she do about it now but accept her fate.

“I’ll give the crown,” someone said.

Hester opened her eyes and found the bidder, a young man, twenty at most, with curly brown hair and a lopsided grin that showed some gnarled brown teeth. Half his face was puckered from a fire, and he was missing an ear on that side. But he had broad shoulders and looked strong, and seemed kind.

Hester smiled at him.

“See that, son? She likes you!”

Someone else offered a sovereign, someone Hester couldn’t see from her vantage point. She thought how strange it would be if she wound up married to someone she’d never even seen before.

“How ‘bout it son?” Philip said to the curly haired boy. “Can you beat a sovereign?”

Hester looked at him hopefully. He might not be much to look at, she thought, but she had facial problems of her own, and no right to complain. This boy wasn’t a Thomas Griffin in appearance or property, but he seemed a step above her husband.

The boy looked at Hester with sorrow in his eyes. He mouthed the words, “I’m sorry,” and she nodded.

“Don’t that just break your heart folks?” Philip said. “Is there no one here who’ll lend this poor boy a few paltry coins to help him find his true love?”

“Can we work it out in trade?” said a crippled man with a scar on his scalp that was so large and had healed so poorly, it looked like he’d grown a colony of little pink mushrooms on his head.

Hester shuddered.

“Don’t think she likes you, Grady,” Philip said.

The crowd was calm for a moment. Grady’s head had that effect on people.

“How’s her titties?” said a large man with a serious facial tick and a hole where his left eye should have been.

“Well if it ain’t One-Eyed Charlie Fine!” Philip said. “What’re you doin’ in town when all them privateers be in port up yonder?”

“You’ll know soon enough why I’m here and not there,” Charlie Fine said. “But if this iron-headed bitch has titties to make up for that god awful face, she might be worth a piece of eight.”

The crowd murmured with amazement. Pieces of eight were Spanish silver coins of near perfect purity. A piece of eight represented a month of work for a common man of the time.

Philip Winter was stunned by the price. “You figure to put her to work at the whore house?”

“I do, if an eight’ll buy her and her tits be fair.”

Philip Winter licked his lips and looked at his wife. Hester shook her head no. Philip, proving he knew how to work a crowd, said, “Who else here wants to see her tits?”

The crowd went wild and Philip approached his wife.

Before he got there, a shot rang out. Everyone froze for a split-second, then ducked for cover. The man who’d shot his pistol into the dirt looked like a crazed drunk. His fiery red hair was matted with manure and he had enormous red muttonchops that were caked with dried vomit. When he spoke, his voice was gravely but firm.

Charlie Fine’s face went white. He approached Pim and whispered, “What the hell’re you doin’ here?”

“Back off, Charlie,” Pim said. “I ain’t in the business no more, so I’m free to be here.” To the auctioneer, Pim said, “I’ll give you a solid gold Spanish doubloon.”

The crowd jumped to their feet as one, oohing and aahing. Hester searched Pim’s face for guile and his eyes for sanity.

Philip Winter said, “That’s very funny, Mister…what’s your name?”

“My surname’s Pim, and that’s how I’m called. I’ll buy this beautiful woman and treat her like the lady I know she be.”

“Well now, no offense intended, Pim, but you appear to be a common drunk, with no resources, other than a pocket pistol you had no legal right to discharge. Someone haul him out of here.”

Pim held a doubloon high over his head and walked to the edge of the auction block. He held it where Philip could get a good look at the coin. The doubloon was a staggering sum of money, worth sixteen pieces of eight, or sixteen months’ wages for a working man.

“Sold!” Philip said, grabbing the doubloon. “I’d stay and have a drink to celebrate your purchase, but I’ve pressing business back at my house.” He walked behind Hester and pushed her fanny so hard she fairly flew off the platform and into Pim’s arms.

Somewhere above the crowd a girl screamed “No!”

Chapter 13

Jack and Abby Winter had ridden into town on his horse so she could watch her mother be sold. While Jack spoke to Pim, Abby made her way to the lodging house. Now they watched the humiliating spectacle while standing at an open window on the second floor there. When Pim bought Hester, Abby screamed again. Jack tried to calm her down before someone decided to summon the authorities.

“She’s been bought by a homeless drunk!” Abby wailed. “Now what will become of my Mum?”

“She’ll be fine,” Jack said.

“What? Fine? Can you possibly be this stupid? Just look at him down there, trying to talk to her. She must be terrified. See how she turns her face away from his rancid breath.”

Jack was far more concerned about why Charlie Fine was in town. As Abby watched her mother, Jack’s eyes tracked Charlie walking through the crowd, saw him grab the arm of Mayor Shrewsbury’s aide, Barton Pike. When Jack saw Charlie pointing at Pim, he started running.

“Where are you going? Come back!” Abby yelled.

“Don’t move! I’ll be right back,” Jack called over his shoulder.

He hit the stairs running, and made it to the courtyard in seconds. As he passed Pim, he pretended to wave at someone in the square, but said, “Pim, Hester, go to the lodging house. Second Floor. Run!”

Pim grabbed Hester by the arm and said, “Sorry, darlin’, but trouble’s afoot. Run!” They ran across the courtyard with Hester still in the halter with her hands tied. As the gawkers in the crowd watched them run, Jack doubled around the town square and came up behind Charlie and Barton Pike. He followed them as they went around the corner and approached the alley Jack knew would take them to the back entrance of Commander Dowling’s quarters.

Jack followed the men into the alley and called their names. By the time they turned, he was upon them. He plunged a knife into Pike’s rib and raked it sideways. Pike went down quietly, and when he hit the street, he was there to stay. One-Eyed Charlie Fine, by nature a nervous man, began shaking with fear. He fell to his knees and begged for mercy. Jack pulled him behind an empty water barrel.

“I’ll have some information from you,” Jack said, “and quickly.”

“Anything!”

“What are you doing in town? Wait—don’t lie to me.”

Charlie had been about to do just that. Now it didn’t seem sensible.

“The garrison up at Amelia has snuck down and surrounded the pirates.”

“How could pirates get surrounded?”

“They’re drunk and drugged.”

“By the whores?”

Charlie nodded. “The pirates, once gathered, will be held.”

“Where?”

“Top floor of my pub, the Blue Lagoon.”

“Can’t they jump out the window?”

“Window’s too small. Even if they could get out, it’s pretty high. And anyway, they’re guardin’ the back.”

“By how many men?”

“I don’t know.”

“To what purpose are they being held there?”

“They’re going to be hung in my tavern one by one.”

“On the first floor?”

Charlie nodded again.

“When?”

“It’s already started. The rounding up part anyway.”

“What about the pirate ship?”

“They’re sending The Viceroy to attack her.”

“When?”

“At dawn.”

As far as last words go, Charlie could have done worse. Jack made his way to the lodging house and found Abby and her mother whispering to each other. Both seemed dazed and distraught. Pim had gotten the halter off Hester and was working at the binding on her wrists.

Abby said, “Where did you go?”

Catching Pim’s eye, Jack said, “I saw a man I know, and he meant to harm me and Mr. Pim, and some of our friends.”

“Who’s Mr. Pim?”

Pim smiled and gave a half bow.

Abby backed up a step and shuddered. She looked at Jack.

“You actually know this…this person?”

“I do. And he’s a close friend of mine.”

“A friend? How can this be possible?”

Hester abruptly stopped crying and looked at Jack.

“Who are you?” she said. To Abby she said, “And how do you know him?”

“He’s the father of my child,” Abby said.

“He’s what?” Hester’s eyes dropped to Abby’s chest a long moment, then she slapped Jack full force across the cheek. Then she turned and slapped Abby nearly as hard.

When Pim said, “Jack’s a good man,” Hester slapped him as well.

Then Abby said, “Who the hell is Jack?”

Pim looked at Jack and shrugged his shoulders as if apologizing for blowing his cover.

“Look,” Jack said. “There’ll be plenty of time for explanations later on. Right now all you need to know is our lives are in danger, as are the lives of our friends. Hester, Mr. Pim is a bit raggedy now, but he cleans up right proper and he’s wealthy and will make you a fine husband.”

She looked at Pim and said, “I’m sorry I slapped you. It’s been a vexing day.”

“And getting worse by the moment,” Jack said. He took Pim far enough aside that the women couldn’t hear, and hurriedly repeated what Charlie had said. “I won’t ask you to give up your land legs, but our mates are ambushed and need our help. Are you with me?”

“Aye, a course I am.”

“Good. Now listen. I’ve only got the one horse, so I’ve got to warn the ship. You’ll have to walk to Sinner’s Row and scout things out.”

“What about the ladies? Leave ’em here?”

Jack looked at the women a moment, and sighed. “They’ll slow us down, but you better take them.”

“We could get ’em a room here.”

Jack shook his head. “If her father comes, it won’t go well for her and the baby.”

“You truly be the one got her with child?”

“Let’s just move along with our planning.”

Pim smiled. “How much should I tell them?”

“Tell them everything.”

“Hester might not want me if she knows my past.”

Jack took a moment to survey his friend’s appearance. “You think you could sink lower in her eyes?”

Pim shrugged.

Jack said, “Tell them what you like. But make sure they’re safe.”

“You got a plan?”

Jack nodded. “I’m working on it.”

Pim nodded and said, “Okay then. I guess we’ll go together and listen for your whistle.”

Jack walked over to Abby and cupped her chin in his hand. They kissed quickly, and when he broke away he looked her in the eyes. “I must warn my friends,” he said.

“I’m coming with you.”

“You can’t. I’ll have to ride hard. Also, I expect to pass your step-father on the road, searching for you. So look sharp and stay with Mr. Pim.”

Abby’s face went white. “If Philip finds me he’ll kill me.”

“Mr. Pim won’t allow it.”

“You don’t know Philip.”

“And he don’t know Pim. Okay, I’m off.”

Chapter 14

Jack galloped out of town and had gone about a mile when he ran into Philip Winter. Philip angled his horse across the path and held his musket across his chest, bidding Jack to stop.

“Who might you be?”

“Henry Ames. And you?”

“Philip Winter.”

“You the man sold his wife an hour ago?”

“The same. Now I’m looking for my daughter.”

“You planning to sell her too?”

Philip Winter sized Henry up. “Who knows you around here, Mr. Ames?”

“You do, for one.”

Philip aimed his musket at Jack’s face and pulled back the action.

“I’ll have your horse, Henry, and you on the ground, face down until I decide what to do with you.”

“I don’t think so.”

Jack jerked hard on his reign while kicking his horse’s ribs. His horse slammed into Winter and Jack ducked below the gunshot. By then, Jack had his flintlock out and cocked in one hand, and Winter’s reigns in the other.

“I don’t know why you’d wish to shoot a fellow traveler, or steal his horse, but it concerns me enough to ask you to dismount.”

Winter reluctantly stepped down from his horse.

“What do you intend, sir?”

Jack wasn’t sure. His first instinct was to kill Winter. But what would he do with the body? He didn’t have time to deal with this right now.

“I’ll take your horse with me,” Jack said. “You’ll find it at the river crossing, tied to a tree.”

“I have urgent business. My daughter is missing.”

“You’ll have to delay the search. I’m sorry.”

Winters nodded. “If I see you again, I’ll kill you.”

“In that case, I hope not to see you again. But since I’m bound for Georgia, I doubt our paths will cross.”

“You’re heading the wrong way for Georgia, sir.”

“I’m making a detour. I’m a scout for The Viceroy, and have pirates to kill along the way.”

“Wait! Why didn’t you say this earlier? I’m part of the plot.”

“What part is yours?”

“Why, creating the diversion so all the locals would be in town during the roundup.”

Jack nodded. “But you intended all along to sell your wife, did you not?”

“Yes, of course. But the timing added some silver to my pocket.”

“Mayor Shrewsbury?”

“The same. So, can I have my horse back?”

“One thing about being a scout. We don’t trust anyone. You’ll find your horse tethered to a tree by the clearing. You know the place?”

“Ought to, I live not a hundred yards from the spot.”

“Very well. In the meantime, if I come across a young lady I’ll assume she’s your daughter. What shall I tell her?”

“Tell her to get her ass home.”

“Done, sir. Good luck to you.”

“And you, sir.”

Chapter 15

As Jack approached George and Marie’s home, he stopped his horse and whistled loudly. Within seconds he received a welcome whistle in return. The family gathered round. Johanna wore an angry expression on her face even as she cradled Rugby in her arms. The boys were chattering away about something, and George and Marie seemed puzzled. Jack looked at Rose.

“Can you really fly?”

All eyes had turned to Rose. She curled her lips into a humorless smile and said, “Is it the end of days, Henry?”

The way she said it sent a chill down Jack’s spine.

Marie grabbed the boys by their shirts and dragged them to the house, kicking and screaming.

“Henry,” said George. “She’s our daughter. We’ve brought you in and trusted you. What are your intentions?”

Jack said, “You know nothing of the ambush at Sinner’s Row?”

“What ambush?”

“You’ve heard no word of The Viceroy attacking The Fortress?”

“Of course not. Where have you gotten your information?”

“From the lips of a dying man.”

Johanna, less angry now, said, “Henry, what is this about?”

“My men are being hung one by one at Sinner’s Row. My ship is about to be attacked.”

“Your men? Your ship?” Johanna said.

George looked at the two girls.

“Henry’s a privateer,” he said.

Rose’s face grew animated. “I knew it! And no ordinary pirate, are you Henry? I’ll tell you who he is, Johanna. He’s Jack Hawley!”

George’s face went white. “Could that possibly be true?”

Johanna had a different reaction. She seemed to be putting something together in her head. After a moment she said, “Gentleman Jack Hawley? Well that makes sense, now, doesn’t it!”

Rose said, “Do you wish to ravish us, Jack Hawley?”

“Of course not!” Jack said. “Why would someone your age even think to say such a thing?”

“I’m an old soul, Henry. I’m sure George has told you that.”

Indeed, George, who’d been known to exaggerate, had told Jack that Rose didn’t appear to age like their other children. She looked the same four years ago when he found her as she did today.

“What are your intentions, Henry?” George said. “I mean, Mr. Hawley.”

“George, we go way back. I like to think we’re friends. I can see you might not have heard the news since the soldiers came from the north. But you’re either with us or against us, and I’ll respect which it is. But you need to cast your lot now, for time is running out on my men.”

“I’m with you Henry,” Johanna said.

“My family stands at your service,” George said.

“And you, miss,” Jack said to Rose. “Tell me truly. Can you fly?”

Chapter 16

Jack started a smoke fire while George gathered all his weapons into saddlebags and tied them to four horses. Johanna put Rugby in a basket and tied it to her saddle.

Jack said, “Where’s Rose?”

They looked around the yard. And when their eyes returned to the place they’d started, Rose was standing there, a scant four feet away.

“God’s blood!” Jack swore.

Rose had rubbed gunpowder all over her face and rimmed her eyes with bright red paint. She stared straight ahead, as if in a trance.

“Jack?” George whispered tentatively.

“What?”

“We don’t have any red paint here.”

Jack turned to George. “Surely at some time you did.”

“Never. No paint of any color. Where would I come by paint?”

“Where indeed,” Johanna said. She snapped her fingers and Rose came out of her trance-like state. From inside the basket, Rugby hissed savagely.

Jack said, “How did you know to do that?”

“Trial and error,” Johanna said, and Jack felt another chill go down his spine.

He led his party of George, Johanna and Rose back up the trail, past the crossing, beyond the town, and out to Sinner’s Row.

About a hundred yards from the path that led to the small pier, Jack noticed two brightly colored soldier hats tied to trees six feet off the ground on either side of the road. He halted his horse, and the others fell in behind.

“What’s that mean?” George said.

“It means they’re dead,” Rose said.

Jack nodded. “Mr. Pim must have found them guarding the trail. From the big pier, it looks like they’re still here, standing guard.”

“There’ll be other guards I’m sure,” George said.

“If there are, we’ll probably come upon their hats as well.”

“How much danger are we in, Henry?” Johanna asked.

“It’s okay to call me Jack, miss. That’s my given name. I’m sorry for the lie.”

“Jack,” she said, softly. “I like that.”

“How much involvement do you expect from Rose?” George said. “I can’t let you put her in harm’s way.”

“I won’t use her till it’s safe.”

“And when it’s safe, what shall you have her do?”

Rose said, “Why, scare the life out of someone, right Jack?”

Jack nodded absently, trying to decide if his plan had any chance of success. The entire rescue depended on a creepy little girl who might very possibly be crazy. Or delusional, if such was different. He didn’t know if Rose was a witch or not, but he knew she had a terrifying laugh. If nothing else about her was supernatural, the laugh alone would likely suffice.

Jack looked around. It was getting on to dusk, but they were still two hours from dark. He chanced a light whistle and heard nothing in return. They climbed off their horses and led them into the woods until they got to a place where the foliage was thick enough to provide cover. They sat and waited.

An hour later, they heard a light return whistle. Jack and the others got to their feet, and Jack responded. Moments later, Abby raced into Jack’s camp and threw her arms around him. Johanna arched an eyebrow, but waited politely to be introduced. When Abby started kissing Jack repeatedly, Johanna decided to take matters into her own hands. She started moving toward them, but stopped short as Hester entered the camp.

When Johanna saw Hester’s face, she gasped, crossed herself, and spit. George did the same. Rugby arched her back, hissed, and jumped into Rose’s arms.

Rose pointed at Hester and shouted, “Behold! The Devil’s Mistress!”

Pim and Hester were even more startled by Rose.

“By the bones of Christ,” Pim said. “Hell’s cat has found its mother.”

Abby was surprised that Henry wasn’t kissing her back. She was even more surprised to find a thin young girl pulling her by the hair.

“Ow! Ow! Let go, you bitch!”

Johanna pulled her off of Jack before letting go of her hair. Abby tried to slap Johanna, but the younger girl evaded it. Abby looked at Jack. “Who is this vile bitch?”

“This is Johanna,” Jack said, warily.

“And who are you to pull my hair like a common street urchin?” Abby said to Johanna.

Johanna said, “I’m Jack’s wife.”

Chapter 17

Two months earlier Jack had paddled up the Little River and ate dinner with the Stout family when a man called to them from outside the house. George opened the door and saw a man and woman, and behind them, a young girl tied to the horse rail.

“State your business,” George said, as Jack passed him a musket. Jack pulled two flintlocks from his coat and held them crossed over his chest.

“My wife and I are trying to find the source of this feeling. If this is some herb you sell, we’re here to trade for it.”

George looked at Jack.

“Describe the feeling,” George said, though he knew exactly what the man meant.

“I can’t. It’s just a feeling that’s taken the pain from my gouty foot and my wife’s back. It led me here. I’m Richard Bradford,” the man said, “and this is my wife, Patience, and our daughter, Johanna.”

“Why is she tied up?” George said.

“So she won’t run off. She ain’t right in the head, is what she is. We aim to get her married, though, if the price be right. Are you married, sir?”

George shook his head. After determining the Bradfords weren’t likely to kill anyone, he introduced them to his family and Henry.

“Are you married, Henry?” Richard said.

“No. And don’t intend to be.”

Jack looked at Johanna across the yard. “She looks no more than nine.”

“She is in fact twelve years old, as will be sworn by her Mum and me. Why not come over and see for yourself what a delightful prize she’d be to a man who knows how to coax with a firm hand?”

“If you bring a lamp I’ll lift her dress for you, sir,” Patience said, “should you require a peek.”

Jack had never hit a woman before, and never wanted to till now. But he kept his temper in check and said, “How much?”

“Twelve pounds sterling, sir, and worth every penny,” Richard said.

“One for each year,” Patience added.

Twelve pounds of silver was an exorbitant, ridiculous price for a dowry, which proved to Jack they thought him a fool. Jack said, “Go back inside. I’ll speak to the child and give you my answer afterward.”

Richard and Patience exchanged a glance, and Patience moved closer to Jack and whispered, “No offense, sir, but do you have the money with you? Because if so, we’d like to conclude the transaction before you put your hands on her. You might, no offense, lower her value by the degree of inspection you’re planning to undertake.”

While she spoke to Jack, Richard whispered something in the girl’s ear. He left her with a stern glare, walked over to Jack and said, “I’ve told her not to scream should you decide to touch her. However, in the name of fairness, should you choose to sample her wares in a more deliberate manner, remuneration to the parents would be in order, due to her current state of innocence and the effect of wear and tear upon her future value.”

Jack said, “I can assure you that I shall not be sampling this child’s wares anytime soon, though I wish to speak to her a few moments.

“But you are interested?” Patience said.

“I am.” Jack pressed a crown in each of their greedy hands and waited until they went inside. He picked up a lantern and crossed the yard to the horse post and untied the lead line around her neck and said, “If I untie your hands and promise not to touch you otherwise, will you walk with me a few steps and talk?”

Johanna nodded her head uncertainly.

Jack untied her and led her to the bench next to the watering tough. As they walked, he noticed her limping. They sat, and Jack asked some basic background questions and got yes or no answers in return. But when he asked, “How are you being treated by your father at home?” she said, “I cannot answer these questions without receiving severe punishment.”

“I’ll tell no one.”

“There is something about you that makes me believe you,” she said. “Something that calms me and makes me want to tell you what you seek to know. But he will certainly wish to know of what we spoke here, and he will beat the truth out of me.”

Johanna turned her back to him and dropped the top of her shift so he could see her scars from being lashed.

“These marks are still wet with blood,” Jack said.

“How else would they have got me to come?”

“I promise they will not beat you again.”

“You’d have to marry me to keep that promise.”

Jack sighed. “I would be inclined to do so if for no other reason than to save you from your father’s brutality. But I can’t keep a wife. I travel and it’s often dangerous places I go.”

“You could marry me and keep me under any type of shelter that has a roof and walls and I’ll improve the place and be there when you return from your travels. I’m not experienced in wifely ways, but I can chuck rocks well enough to kill small animals to skin and cook in a pot. I can clean and sew and will do as I’m told, though I will be grateful not to be beaten or cuffed about should I vex you unintentionally.”

For one who seemed so shy at first she was proving to be a chatty little thing.

“You’re tall enough,” Jack said, “but you seem quite young. Are you even close to the age of consent?”

“I am twelve, sir, by almost nine months. There is proof from a midwife, as mine was a difficult birth.”

“Are these two in fact your parents?”

“They are.”

Now that Jack had her talking, the words spilled out of her. She told him that her father was a mean drunk who beat her older sister to death and made it appear to be an accident. “He’s nearly killed me twice,” she added, “though not recently, as I have to gain strength again before trying to run away.”

“And yet you keep trying.”

“I do, sir.”

“What’s his drink of choice?” Jack asked, and Johanna gave him a funny look.

“Kill Devil,” she said.

“Aye, that would do it,” Jack said. Kill Devil was rum laced with gunpowder. It had been Blackbeard’s favorite drink. “So your father drinks regular and beats you?”

“Regular enough.”

“What about neighbors? Is there no one nearby to offer help?”

“We live deep in the woods where there’s no one near to hear me scream. By day he keeps me tied to a lead line which is convenient because he can use it to beat me with, should I move too slow in my chores. He threatens to hobble me if I run away again, and would have by now, except that he couldn’t get a fair price for me. Of course I am as horrid as I can be around them, thinking he might wish me gone enough to lower the price.”

“I’ve met wood children before,” Jack said. “How is it you learned such a fine manner of speech?”

“They weren’t always like this. Before the poverty and drink seized him they were decent people. Mother was educated in London, taught my sister and me to read and write, taught my sister Lisbeth mostly, but Lisbeth taught me much. It was she who started the running away.”

“What did he whisper to you just now?”

She looked around. Jack said, “It’s all right. You can tell me.”

“He told me if you turn me down, he’s going to ruin me for all men.”

Jack held up the lantern and saw the bruises running up and down her arms and legs. She had choke marks on her neck, and her cheekbones were in various stages of healing. A blood bruise covered half her right eye, and her lip was fat from a recent slap or punch. A line of dried blood started at the corner of her mouth and made a stain down her chin. She looked around again and whispered, “Though he quoted you twelve, he’d be happy with half that. Should you be interested in saving me, that is.”

“You seem a lovely sort. A decent man wouldn’t quibble over the price.”

“Are you a decent man, sir?”

“I like to think so.”

“I’d like to have children someday.”

Jack nodded. He took her to mean she feared being ruined by her father, should Jack turn her down.

“He’ll eventually kill me,” she said. Her body began shaking, and he realized she was crying. “Please, sir,” she said. “I can butcher your kill and cut it down and salt it. I’m handy in the woods. I know some healing herbs and I’m good at finding tubers. If you save me I’ll never give you reason to regret it.”

Maybe it was the welts and bruises, or the unfairness of it all, or maybe just the rotgut from dinner buzzing his brain. But Jack had asked to hear her tale of woe, and now he couldn’t bear to hear another word. He took her by the hand and together they walked across the yard to George’s front door, and when they opened it, Jack amazed himself by announcing he would marry Johanna Bradford that very night. He opened his kit and paid Richard and Patience Bradford twelve pounds sterling for their daughter’s hand in marriage.

The only requirement for a legally valid marriage in 1710 was the completion of a marriage contract called a ‘spousal,’ and the exchange of vows. The entire process could be completed in minutes, with no witnesses required. For this reason, most young lovers were able to marry in secret. But Jack and Johanna had a number of witnesses. George prepared the contract, Jack and Johanna exchanged words, drinks were passed around, and then Johanna went with Marie to help put the child Steffan to bed.

Jack had half a mind to kill Johanna’s parents where they stood, but in deference to his bride he hustled them out of the house and told them to leave and never come back. With that chore out of the way, Jack sat down and worked out a payment for George and Marie to house Johanna and teach her to be a proper “helpmate,” meaning a woman who knew how to keep a house and educate children.

“She can sleep in the guest room unless we have a visitor,” George said.

Jack paid George two months in advance and said, “Her father claims she’s wrong in the head, but I think he’s the one that’s crazy. But if she proves too much for you, I’ll work out a different arrangement when I return.”

The two men shook hands to seal the agreement, and Jack took some time to explain the arrangement to Johanna. Then he kissed her on the forehead, took a blanket and a bottle of rum out to the boat, climbed in and slept. The next morning he woke early, saddled one of George’s horses, and went to the river crossing, hoping to see (but not intending to impregnate) his girlfriend, Abby Winter.

Chapter 18

Now, in the woods, Pim waited patiently while Jack confirmed Johanna’s claim. Abby called him a bastard, and Johanna lunged at her again.

Jack stepped between them and said, “Hush, you two. What’s done is done and I’ll do right by both of you.”

“I don’t see that possibility,” Abby said, “since you’re already married to this hellion, and I’m carrying your child.”

“You’ve given her your seed?” Johanna said, incredulously. “How could you do this to me? I’m your wife. That seed is rightfully mine.”

“I’d give it back if I could, you pasty-faced brat!” Abby said.

“Abby, that’s enough! Johanna, it happened before I ever met you!”

“Oh,” Johanna said.

“And again this very morning, if we’re keeping a tally,” Abby said.

Johanna glared at the older, prettier, pregnant girl a moment, then turned away and started running. Jack raced after her and found her lying on the ground, sobbing. Jack sat beside her and said, “This is not the best of circumstances, but we’ll get through it. Right now we’ve some men to save, and I’ll ask you to be civil for the time being. Too much noise at the wrong time could get us all killed.”

Johanna looked him in the eyes. “You coupled with her this very morning? How could you, Jack?”

“I’m sorry I’ve hurt you. That’s all I can say.”

When they got back to the camp, Rose was grinning at him.

“Don’t say a word,” Jack warned.

Surprisingly, Hester had not spoken throughout the ordeal. She’d been treated far worse by men than what she’d seen between Jack and her daughter, and seemed content to stay out of it. When the camp had quieted down to an uneasy truce, Pim gave Jack his scouting report.

“There’s eight soldiers guardin’ the Blue Dog,” he said, “and I don’t know how many inside. Maybe ten, maybe twice that. Some’re whorin’, some’re waitin’ for the hangin’. Like you said, the men are all upstairs, so there must be guards on the steps as well. There were two guardin’ the road on this side and two on the other, but they’re arguin’ for their souls with St. Peter at present. You formed a plan yet?”

“Has The Fortress moved?”

“Aye, she’s backed out to deeper water, so she must’ve seen your signal. But she’ll be a sittin’ duck out there against The Viceroy, without man enough to work the guns.”

“And the shore boats? Have the soldiers burned them?”

“Nay, they be right where they was.”

“They must think they got all the pirates bottled up in one place.”

“Aye, and most of ’em drunk or drugged half way to Hades.”

“In your experience, Pim, how superstitious are our mates?”

“This lot what’s holed up in the Blue Dog? Worst I’ve seen.”

“I agree. And what of soldiers in general, what do they fear most?”

Pim rubbed his beard. “I couldn’t say for certain. But witches and faeries would scare any man, ’specially if they was comin’ for their souls, I guess.” He paused a minute and then said, “Why, you thinkin’ of scarin’ ‘em somehow?”

Jack smiled.

“Then what’re we waitin’ for?” Pim said.

“Dark.”

Chapter 19

They had eight muskets between them, and a number of pistols and knives. Of the women, only Hester had fired a weapon before, and her experience was limited to pistols. They’d be going up against at least eight soldiers, two of whom stood behind the back of the building. There were at least twenty more inside, maybe more.

A sudden shriek pierced the night air, from inside the Blue Dog. Then, several more followed. A gun fired, and things went quiet. Five minutes later, wild cheering erupted.

“What d’you think, Cap’n?” Pim said.

Jack set his jaw. “I think they’ve hung the first one.”

Jack explained the plan twice, then arranged the participants and had them act it out. He offered several possible variations, and reviewed how they should react. By the time he felt comfortable with the details, it was dark. By then, if Jack was right about the screams and cheering, three more of his crew had been hung.

Since the Blue Dog was on a corner lot, there was nothing to prevent the soldiers from guarding the side, or going around the building to chat or drink with the guards in back. So Pim worked his way through the woods until he had a clear view of the far side. George and Rose worked their way to the edge of the woods on the near side, and got as close as they could to the Blue Dog while avoiding detection. At that point, Jack and Hester left the safety of the woods, followed by Abby and Johanna, trying to look like a regular colonial family that had wandered into the wrong area.

There were fifty yards of open space between the center of the woods and the back of the Blue Dog. The soldiers had set two sets of lamps on each corner behind the saloon, figuring to track any movement that blocked the light. But they’d grown lax in their duty, figuring all the pirates were caught and secured on the second floor, and the hanging had begun more than an hour ago and continued without interruption. So when Jack and his new “family” approached the soldiers and Hester cried out, “Sirs!” the guards were so startled they nearly shot each other.

Had Jack realized how carelessly they were guarding the back, he would have simply walked up and killed them. But that opportunity had passed, and now the soldiers were aiming muskets at them. The two girls peeked out from behind.

“Who are you?” one said, “And what are you doing out here without a lamp?”

The soldier’s breath was heavy with liquor.

“We came down the beach some time ago, headed for St. Alban’s,” Jack said. My wife had a pain in her chest and we went to the woods to seek an herb. Then we got lost and stayed that way until we seen your lights. Can you say if there be a doctor nearby?”

The other soldier walked to the corner, picked up one of the lamps, and brought it back. He held it up to Hester’s face and cursed, almost dropping it.

“What the hell is wrong with your woman?”

“As I say, she’s sufferin’.”

“You said her chest was paining her. Maybe we should take a look.”

Jack said, “Go ahead and show them, dear. Maybe they can help.”

“Aye, we’ve seen lots of titties. We know how they’d look should somethin’ be wrong with ‘em.”

As Hester began working the buttons the soldiers drew in for a closer look. But as she opened the top of her dress, Rugby shrieked and jumped out with claws flying. Neither soldier had time to react, as Jack’s knife made short work of them. A moment later, George and Rose ran up to him, panting. Jack and George stripped and changed into the guard’s uniforms, then helped Hester, Johanna and Abby drag the bodies back to the woods. Rugby followed them with something hanging from his mouth. Turned out she’d ripped one of the guard’s ears off and was saving it to eat later.

Rose hid herself under Jack’s coat and scrunched up against the back of the building where the light was dim.

With their jobs done, Hester, Johanna and Abby sought shelter in the woods. Pim’s whistle told Jack that he had them covered, should anyone approach from the far side of the building.

Based on what Pim had said, Jack had reason to believe his men could sense that he was nearby. This would give them courage, should they regain their faculties. What Jack didn’t understand was Pim’s comment that, with Jack beneath the window, the men would quickly start sobering up and lose their grogginess from the drugs.

Just then, another burst of cheering emanated from the building, which meant they were down five men. Moments later, two drunken soldiers made their way around the far corner and picked up the remaining lamp. They were in their long johns and one was wearing his soldier’s cap backwards. Jack hollered, “Here, let me give you a hand.” He moved quickly to them, and listened as they told him about the quality of the hookers and beer inside. He interrupted their stories with his knife. George ran over and helped drag the new bodies out of view.

Four down, and two of them guards. Leaving six guards out front, and maybe two dozen soldiers inside. Plus however many were entertaining whores in the building next door.

By Jack’s calculation there were probably more pirates in the Blue Dog than soldiers. Good. As he was about to begin the tricky part of his plan, he heard Pim’s danger whistle.

“Rose,” he whispered. “Stay down.”

A soldier had made his way down the side of the building to check on the other guards. As he turned the corner, George, on his knees, swung the butt of his musket as hard as he could into the soldier’s knee caps. The soldier let out a scream that died in his throat when George cut his neck. Two of the other guards at the front corner heard their comrade’s scream and ran to the back of the building to investigate. George was hovering over the body, pretending to give it aid. As the soldiers approached, George turned toward them, revealing two drawn pistols, which he used to shoot them. Then he tossed the pistols to Jack for reloading, and shouted for help.

The three remaining guards raced around the building. As they approached, George shouted, “One pirate, running. He’s kilt these two, but he’s out of ammunition!” George pointed to the sand dunes. Two of them made for the sand dune, the third started running to warn the soldiers inside.

It wasn’t necessary, since they’d all heard the gunfire. A half-dozen soldiers joined the guard out front, heard the report of an unarmed lone pirate running through the sand dunes, and rejoined the soldiers inside who were conducting the hangings. By then, Pim had shot the two on the sand dune, and George and Jack lured the remaining guard out of view and stabbed him quietly, then propped the body against the wall to make it appear he was passed out.

George stood guard out front while Jack entered the whorehouse. Moments later Jack returned and reported there were no soldiers inside. He waited for Pim’s whistle. When it came, Jack went to the back of the building and told Rose it was time. She climbed out from under Jack’s coat and stood below the second floor window, whose base was about sixteen feet off the ground. She lifted her arms over her head. At that moment, Jack would have given anything to see what she was going to do and how she planned to do it. But George needed help, so he reluctantly turned the corner and ran to the front of the building to provide it.

Then the sound started.

Chapter 20

Because it was dark, and the remaining two lamps inadequate to offer Pim or the women a clear view of what transpired next, and because for the rest of their lives no one believed the pirates’ version, since admittedly they were drunk or drugged at the time, and because there was only one sober person who knows exactly what happened, and since she was the one who did it—history never recorded what happened that night behind the Blue Lagoon.

But according to the captured pirates, she flew.

Rose flew.

Or at least, she lifted herself off the ground.

As she raised herself higher and higher into the warm night air behind the Blue Lagoon, she began speaking words that Jack had never heard in any of his travels. Indeed, she seemed to be speaking two or three different languages at the same time, and her voice was huge and shrill and powerful, and louder than any storm. As the sounds from her voice grew louder and louder still, the pirates covered their ears and fell to their knees and prayed for mercy. By then the sound had become a high-pitched wail, a shrieking, ear-splitting cyclone of a sound that shattered the second floor window.

Jack’s superstitious men took one look at the demon-possessed child hovering twenty feet off the ground and became horror struck. It seemed to be the coming of the dead. They cried and moaned and gnashed their teeth and crossed themselves and pushed their fingers deep into their ears. Such was the chaos that every soldier on the first floor scrambled up the stairs to see what was happening. At that precise moment, while the hallway and stairs were filled with soldiers, Jack charged through the front door with George and the two began shooting. Then, according to the drunken survivors, Rose opened her eyes and they glowed reptilian yellow, with a vertical black line in the center. She switched to English and spewed forth such vile oaths and imprecations that Jack’s thirty-five hardened pirates crashed through the door and charged into the soldiers with wild abandon, like deer running from a raging fire.

Finding themselves caught off guard, trampled by the fleeing pirates, the soldiers were unable to fire their weapons for lack of space to point them. With upwards of forty men on the staircase, screaming and pushing to escape, it finally crashed to the floor. By then, Pim had joined his friends and together they emptied their weapons into the enemy. When the pirates realized Jack and Pim were killing soldiers, they warmed to the task and killed their share.

A half hour later, the pirates were settled in the landing boats, waiting for their captain. To a man, they refused to look in Rose’s direction, though Jack himself had vouched for her. Had they looked at Rose, they’d have seen Rugby perched on her shoulder, looking very calm.

Jack shook Pim’s hand, clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Good luck to you, and your wife-to-be. I’ll miss you.”

Pim said, “And you as well. Godspeed!”

Jack hugged Johanna, thanked George, kept his distance from Rose, and waved to Hester. Then he and Abby Winter climbed into one of the boats and they all headed out to sea. After twenty minutes of rowing, Jack instructed them to sing pirate songs so the skeleton crew would know to come fetch them.

Within moments of boarding, Abby started in.

“What manner of conditions are these?” she said. “You men live like pigs! I’ve never smelled anything like it! Have you no pride?”

She approached Cook, who was busy working at his enormous pot. Scattered around him on the deck floor were dead pigeons, turtles, fish, palm hearts, pickled eggs, onions, cabbage, wine, and some ingredients she had never seen before, nor cared to see again.

“What is that dreadful stench?” she said.

“Salamagundi, miss,” said Cook.

“What’s that?”

“Dinner.”

“Why, it smells like the bowels of a goat. Like the very breath of death!”

“Well, the smell’s the best part.”

“God help us all.”

Cook looked at Jack. “Shall I toss her overboard for you?” he said.

“She’s new. I’ll get her belowdecks, get her settled in,” Jack said.

Abby attempted to follow Jack down the steps into the hold, but began retching. She grabbed her mouth and reversed course and puked on the deck, five feet from Cook’s pot.

“Is that your contribution to the pot, miss?” Cook said.

“Oh, you wretched, wretched beasts!” she cried.

Halfway down the steps, Jack sighed. This was why they normally didn’t allow women on board ship. He climbed back up the stairs and joined her. “You feel better now?”

“What’s going on here?” Abby said. “You can’t tell me you live like this!”

“I can and we do.”

“But you can’t! I mean, you don’t actually sleep at the bottom of those steps!”

“Aye, miss, we do. As you will, and gladly, when a big enough storm’s afoot.”

“What has happened down there to make such a vile odor?”

“Happened?”

“I mean, it’s an unnatural smell.”

“That’s what you said about the soup.”

“Nay, I was wrong. Whatever happened belowdecks is far worse than the soup. I’d rather be reamed by Philip Winter’s pink pizzle than step foot down there again.”

“Truly?”

“I mean, explain it to me, Jack. Surely there’s a better solution to be had.”

“Well, it’s hot and humid, and the ship is old, and made of wood. That smell you’re referring to is a mixture.”

“A mixture of what?”

“It’s no secret to any seafaring man. It’s bilge water that’s gone bad over the course of time, mixed with the smell of unbathed bodies, rotten fish and meat, and livestock excrement.”

“What do you mean, livestock?”

“Well, of course we keep pigs and chickens and goats and other animals alive down there.”

“Alive?”

“Sometimes we’re at sea for months. You can salt your meat, but it goes rotten after a few weeks, so we keep the livestock to be butchered when needed.”

“And you and your men sleep among the pigs, do you?”

“Oh, no miss. They’re on the orlop, the lowest level. We sleep just above them. But their waste goes through the boards and down into the bottom to mix with the bilge water, so it don’t often smell so sweet. As to the livestock, believe me, after a couple weeks at sea, when the biscuits are hard and full of black-headed weevil maggots, you’ll be thankful for fresh meat.”

“Where do you keep your water?”

“In them barrels over there.”

Abby crossed the deck and lifted one of the lids and smelled.

“Ugh! Rancid! Disgusting!” she said.

“Well, it’s fresh now,” Jack said. “But it don’t take long for it to go stale on you.” Growing philosophical, he added, “and that’s a taste we never get used to.”

“You don’t.”

“No.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because it keeps gettin’ worse.”

Abby shook her head at the magnitude of it. “There’s bound to be rats running throughout the bottom deck.”

“Aye, miss, and everywhere else as well. And roaches and water snakes and thousand leggers and all sorts of night time crawly things.”

“Can’t you fumigate the ship?”

“Well, we do.”

“You do.”

“Yes, miss.”

“And how is that accomplished? I’m asking because whatever you’re doing, it’s not working.”

“Well, we pour burning pitch down there from time to time and make them that’s being punished mop it around. But that ain’t a permanent solution, and the chickens don’t like it.”

“They don’t? How do you know, do you speak chicken?”

“No miss, but their eggs come out black for a long time after. I think they peck at the pitch, but I can’t say for sure.”

Abby frowned. What’s going to happen now?”

“We’ll have some dinner and prepare for tomorrow’s battle.”

“Battle? With The Viceroy? Can’t we just leave harbor now and outrun them?”

“A course we could, but where’s the fun in that?”

“Fun?”

Chapter 21

Frightened lizards skittered across the deck as Captain Jack pushed open the cabin door and summoned his men to the main deck to review his battle strategy. It was an hour before dawn, and his crewmen, fortified by the rum they’d consumed the previous night, were itching for battle. The blanket of heavy fog that had hung about ten feet above the water most of the night was starting to dissipate, and those who looked directly above the ship were able to see stars littering the blue-black sky.

Captain Jack had his men fill two shore boats with pitch, and lower them into the water on the leeward side of the ship. He summoned his four best swimmers and instructed them to jump in the water and hold on to the sterns, two to a boat. Then he lowered two lit lanterns to the men, and had them carefully place the lanterns in the front and center of each boat.

The men kicked their legs and pushed the boats a hundred yards northeast and southeast of The Fortress. When they’d got into position, they held onto the sterns to wait for The Viceroy. These were brave men, since the waters off St. Alban’s were popular breeding grounds for sand sharks. Jack knew The Viceroy would attack at dawn, and almost certainly from the east, for two reasons: first, because that would put a giant ball of sun in the pirate’s eyes, and second, they’d be coming fast, with the wind at their backs, presenting a vertical target for Jack’s guns, which would make it almost impossible to score a direct hit. The good news was The Viceroy couldn’t attack from that attitude. She’d have to turn broadside to point her guns at The Fortress, and therein lay Jack’s window of advantage.

Jack walked to the prow to check on Abby. She’d made good on her refusal to step foot below decks, so Jack had gotten some men to overturn a shore boat for her to climb under, which gave her a less offensive shelter to sleep in. He would have loved to couple and cuddle with her in there last night, but doing so would have been a violation of his own rule against sexual relations aboard ship.

“Did you sleep well, miss?”

“No.”

“Well, it should have been comfortable, with them sails folded up for you like a feather bed.”

“I kept hearing frightening noises all night and feared I’d be bit by something horrid and die.”

She started to cry.

“And now there’s to be a battle and you’re likely to be killed and if me and our baby happen to survive, what would become of us? If your men win the battle, I’ll probably be ravished to death. If they lose, I’ll likely be hung, or returned to my step-father.”

“Aye, even the most comfortable bed means little with thoughts such as these to nag you. But I have a solution for your fears.”

“What’s that?”

“If I live, none of your worries will happen.”

“Then do so!”

Jack gave her hand a squeeze and went below decks to check on the guns. Ship cannons ranged from 500 to over 1,500 pounds, and required between four and eight men to handle them. Jack preferred 800 pound cannons, since they could be managed by four well-trained men. He didn’t have enough men to man all his cannons, but he would only be using one side of the ship today, since he was so close to shore.

“One rope should hold them,” Jack said.

His cannon crew agreed that the waters were calm enough to use one rope per gun. On stormy seas they used two, though it slowed down the process of pulling the cannons away from the gun ports, reloading them, and pushing them back in place to fire. But two ropes prevented one of the biggest dangers a cannon crew faced in battle: severing the rope that held the cannons in place. When that happened in a pitching sea, an 800 pound cannon rolling around at high speeds could mow down an entire crew.

Jack watched as the sea monkeys did their jobs, sea monkeys being the young boys who were assigned the worst jobs on ship, such as pumping out the bilge with a bellows. On battle days, they’d have to scamper down to the lower decks and retrieve cannon balls, which on Jack’s boat were light at eighteen pounds. Of course today they were using chain shot, which consisted of two cannon balls connected by a chain. When fired, these worked like a mace, cutting down masts to render the enemy ship helpless. But two balls and a chain in each cannon more than doubled the crew’s workload.

Jack wished his men good luck and thanked them for their duty. Then he went back up top and got his four musicians together and ordered them to scatter sand over the deck to soak up the blood that was expected to flow. Nothing worse than fighting a battle on a slick deck with the boat pitching at funny angles due to wind, steering, and incoming cannon fire. Once that had been accomplished, he had them stack ammunition in various areas of the deck. Finally, they soaked dozens of blankets in water in preparation for putting out fires.

“Look sharp!” Jack called to the helmsman, for once the battle started, the enemy would try to shoot the helmsman first, in order to nullify the steering.

“Sail ho!” cried Roberts from the crow’s nest.

Just as Jack predicted, The Viceroy was moving fast under full sail, heading directly toward them from the east. Roberts gave the signal to the swimmers, and they knocked their lamps over and lit the pitch. The sailors on The Viceroy would see the smoke, but it wouldn’t dissuade them from attacking, since they were under the impression they were attacking a boat manned by a skeleton crew.

As she approached, Jack had his men stand quiet. Roberts gave the signal and the swimmers began kicking their legs, propelling the flaming boats toward each other. By the time The Viceroy’s captain realized the burning boats were part of a plan, it was too late. He ordered the boat to come about sooner than the crew expected, and they got caught with their sails fluttering. That gave Jack’s men not only a broad target to shoot at, but also a slow-moving one. Four cannons fired on Jack’s command, and the other four crews watched to see the result. One chain shot hit the bottom of the ship, the other three fell short. As the four crews began reloading, the other four adjusted the height and fired.

Three direct hits, but no mast damage. The Viceroy had made the adjustment, and stood parallel to The Fortress, separated by some fifty yards of ocean. As she made ready to fire her cannons she was struck once, then a second time by Jack’s burning shore boats. The swimmers had built up enough speed that upon impact, the shore boats knocked yards of flaming pitch onto the fore and aft hulls: a death blow to a wooden ship like The Viceroy.

By then two of Jack’s cannon crew had reloaded. They fired. One of them found their target, the main mast. When the mast was cut, everyone on The Viceroy felt the impact, and it delayed their cannon crews a few seconds.

Which was all Jack needed.

Two more crews were reloaded, and Jack ordered them to fire, which they did, aiming at The Viceroy’s gun ports. The impact was sufficient to delay their shot again, and now, with no main mast, burning from both ends, she was a sitting duck. Jack’s first four crews began reloading while the second four cannon crews fired and destroyed four more gun ports.

Jack ordered two shore boats lowered to pick up his swimmers. While that was going on, The Viceroy finally managed to get off three cannon shots, but two missed and the third caused only minor damage. Jack had his crew come about and they circled the wounded ship until they were at a right angle to it. From there, Jack’s guns could shoot but The Viceroy’s could not. Jack waited until all eight guns were ready, then he gave the signal, and all eight sent chain shot directly into the bow. The Viceroy lurched downward. In one last act of determination, her crew attempted to hurl grenades, but The Fortress was out of range. Realizing the battle was lost, The Viceroy’s captain ran up the white flag, but by then she was in flames to the point that Jack’s men could do nothing but watch her burn. Enemy sailors screamed and jumped into the water, hoping to swim their way to shore, but Jack doubted any would make it.

Martin, who in Pim’s absence had been promoted to Quarter-Master, said, “Want me to lower some boats? We can follow and shoot them as they swim.”

Jack said, “No, let them be.”

“But what if they make it to shore?”

“In my mind, any sailor who can swim that far in these conditions deserves to live.”

Chapter 22

Jack trained his spyglass on the town of St. Alban’s. Having heard the cannon fire a scant half mile from shore, hundreds of residents had gathered to witness the naval battle. Now they began dispersing, fearing the worst. Jack ordered his men to bring the ship into port at downtown St. Alban’s. Once there, a boat was lowered, and ten men rowed to the main pier under a flag of truce. Forty men, Mayor Shrewsbury, and half as many women and children came out to the pier to see what might happen next.

The men in the boat tied her off and stepped onto the pier. Nine held pistols in each hand. The tenth came to the front and began to speak.

“My surname is Martin, and I’m Quarter-Master of The Fortress. We’re here under flag of truce to explain why we feel wronged by your city, and how we intend to respond. Our men were enjoying shore leave at Sinner’s Row as we’ve done many times these past four years. This time, with the direct knowledge and cooperation of your Mayor (Martin pointed to Mayor Shrewsbury), a number of our crew were drugged, and without warning or explanation, captured and held against their will at the Blue Lagoon, where soldiers from the garrison at Amelia Island began summarily executing them.

We defeated the soldiers, only to be attacked moments ago by The Viceroy, sailing under the colors of Florida Colony, with the full knowledge and cooperation of Mayor Shrewsbury. For these reasons, Jack Hawley, Captain of The Fortress, has ordered the town of St. Alban’s decimated.”

The townspeople gasped and began murmuring to each other.

“I’ve come to tell you that if you have any weapons, you’re to lower them to the ground.”

“What do you mean, ‘decimated?’” the Mayor said, in as haughty a voice as he could muster.

Martin pointed to The Fortress. “As you can see, our ship has anchored broadside, exposing her guns.”

He pulled the white flag out of its holder in the stern, waved it high over his head, then replaced it.

“I just signaled Captain Hawley, which means you have exactly one hour to evacuate the downtown area before it begins raining cannonballs. Captain Jack is already lowering shore boats filled with angry pirates bent on revenge. They’ll wait a hundred yards from shore until the firing stops. At that point, should you stay, God help you all.”

Mayor Shrewsbury cleared his throat and said, “Now listen here, you can’t just destroy the whole town. These are innocent citizens and I’m an appointed official, acting under direct orders from the governor. It would be treason not to do as I’m told, just as you would not go against orders from your Captain, Jack Hawley.”

Martin said, “You’ve got about fifty-eight minutes. If I were you, I’d start moving things along.”

The Mayor said, “Surely there is a way to come to an understanding with Captain Hawley. I’m sure we could gather up a substantial amount of money, food and medicine we could pay you in return for sparing our town.”

Martin said, “You’re suggesting the town pay a ransom?”

“A ransom, yes. That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.” Mayor Shrewsbury said, worriedly. “We’ve lost your trust, but we’re willing to sacrifice, if need be, to regain it. How say you that?”

“It’s not for me to say, but I expect Captain Hawley would decline, since he intends to destroy the town and take the spoils anyway.”

Mayor Shrewsbury said, “If there’s no understanding to be had, perhaps we should take matters into our own hands. We have enough manpower here on the pier to kill the whole boatload of you.”

With that, he raised his hand and forty men aimed their weapons at the ten pirates. To be precise, thirty-eight men aimed their weapons at the pirates. The other two were George Stout and Mr. Pim, and they were armed to the teeth. As the women and children moved off the pier at a high rate of speed, George and Pim began working their way behind the mob.

Martin said, “We’ve come under the flag of truce. Are we not gentlemen?”

“Not when you intend to destroy our town, sir. And if we’re to die anyway, I’d like to hear one reason why we shouldn’t kill ten pirates now, while the killing’s good.”

The men from the town cocked their muskets. Pim and George had a pistol in each hand and several more loaded and tucked into their coats. They wouldn’t be able to kill them all, but they’d probably get eight or nine before having to use their knives.

“I’ll give you a good reason,” Martin said. “If you put up any resistance, Jack Hawley will not only destroy the town, he and his men will hunt you down, nail you to trees, and make you watch as they rape your wives, daughters and livestock. Then they’ll kidnap your sons and turn them into sea monkeys.”

One citizen said, “Rape our livestock?”

“The nicer livestock, yes.”

One by one, the men lowered their weapons to the ground and stepped aside as the pirates kicked them into the water.

“Wise decision,” Martin said. “And you now have approximately fifty-three minutes to evacuate the town.

The men began running off the pier, but stopped when they saw a young girl walking toward them carrying a kit in one hand and a white flag in the other.

Martin shouted, “What have we here?”

The men parted as the girl walked toward the pirates. They filed in behind her to hear what she had to say.

“Who are you, miss?” Martin said.

“Abby Winter, sir.”

“State your business.”

“I’ve come to offer myself to Captain Jack Hawley, if he’ll spare the town in return.”

Martin laughed. “One girl worth the whole town? Surely you jest.”

“Not just a girl,” she said, “but a girl of pure heart and noble spirit.”

“If Captain Jack wants such a girl he will surely take her against her will. What say ye to that?”

“Is your Captain not called Gentleman Jack Hawley? It is said he respects valor and—”

Martin held up his hand. “Speak not a moment.”

The pirates huddled up and talked among themselves a few minutes. Then Martin again pulled the white flag from the boat and waved it high over his head, replaced it, and approached the girl. “Get in the boat, miss, and I’ll let you plead your case to Jack Hawley.” To the others he said, “If the ship hoists anchor and sets sail, Hawley accepts. If the ship fires her guns, he don’t.”

Martin and the girl climbed into the front of the boat and sat, and the pirates took their places and began rowing. After they’d gone about ten yards from the dock, Martin turned and shouted, “Hear me now! This Abby Winter is a brave girl! Pure of heart and noble spirit, yet not one of ye thought to ask what might happen to her aboard our ship! You are cowards all! Shame on you! Shame, and a curse on your wretched town!”

The pirates stopped rowing. The boat rocked with each quiet swell of waves. Several moments passed. The men on the pier hung their heads.

Demonstrating remarkable balance, Martin stood to his full height in the boat and repeated, “Shame on you! A one hundred…nay, a three hundred year curse on your town begins today!”

Epilogue

Philip Winter: From the time she stepped on the landing boat, to the time The Fortress set sail and left the harbor, and for years afterward, Philip Winter told anyone who would listen that the girl who claimed to be Abby Winter was not she. He also claimed that the pirate Martin was actually a scout for the governor of Florida. Of course, who would take the word of a man who sold his own wife?

Martin: It wasn’t Martin who cursed the town that day, it was Jack Hawley pretending to be Martin. And the girl who claimed to be Abby Winter was actually Johanna Bradford. Jack had her claim to be Abby for one reason only: to punish Philip Winter. Because Philip would likely spend many months searching for his stepdaughter, and would die without ever knowing what became of her.

Mary Bucket: Most midwives kept diaries in which they recorded basic information regarding the births they performed. Few of these journals survived to present day, but one that did revealed that on February 16, 1711, at around three in the afternoon, a midwife named Mary Bucket helped deliver a baby girl named Libby Vail to Henry and Johanna Ames at the home of George and Marie Stout, two miles south of St. Alban’s, Florida. She was assisted by her daughter, Grace, Marie and Rose Stout, and Hester Pim.

When Mary Bucket died, her journal was bequeathed to her church, along with her other worldly possessions. But Mary’s journal wasn’t completely accurate. She’d been persuaded by the child’s father and grandmother to record something that all present knew to be inaccurate. Under normal circumstances, Mary wouldn’t have considered lying about something so important, which is why she initially refused. But then her daughter explained that it was Mr. Pim who had changed her life seven months earlier while on shore leave one night at the Blue Lagoon, Mr. Pim being the man who gave her a five guinea coin, and the belief that not all men were created evil. It had been Mr. Pim who gave Grace the confidence to put whoring behind her and start a new life.

What did Mary Bucket lie about?

In 1711, the chances of a woman dying in childbirth were roughly one in eight, and even with Jack standing at her side, Abby Winter didn’t beat the odds. By substituting Johanna’s name for Abby’s, Little Libby Vail could be raised by Henry and his wife, Johanna Ames, and no one would ever tie her to the woman who saved the town by giving herself to a pirate.

Pim and Hester: Pim and Hester married and settled down in St. Alban’s and raised a family. One of their descendants, Jimbo Pim, still lives there and owns a hardware store that he runs with his childhood friend, Earl Stout.

The Ames Family: Jack, Johanna and Libby left The Fortress north of Charleston, South Carolina, while the crew was on shore leave. Before he left, the crew voted to make their Quarter-Master, Martin, the new captain. Since Jack had given up his name to become Henry Ames, Martin asked permission to use the name Jack Hawley, since it was more intimidating than his own name, Dean Martin. Unfortunately, during that same shore leave, two Charleston sailors joined the crew of The Fortress. The new Jack Hawley made the mistake of docking at St. Alban’s to purchase produce for their upcoming Jamaican voyage, and when the crew disembarked, the sailors identified him to the authorities in St. Alban’s and collected a sizeable reward. While the rest of the crew managed to escape, the new Jack Hawley was captured, tried, convicted and hung for piracy and for causing the murder of thirty soldiers from Amelia Island.

Jack Hawley: Jack bought a small sailing boat and took Johanna and little Libby with him up the coast to New York, where they sold the boat and traveled inland, finally settling near what eventually became known as Bay City, Michigan. He and Johanna built a beautiful house and store, a nicer version of George and Marie’s Outpost. Three years after their nuptials, Jack finally consummated the marriage. A year later, Johanna gave birth to their first of three children, a little girl they named Abby. But after a few years of domesticity, Jack found he couldn’t completely give up his pirate ways, so he bought a fishing boat and equipped it with two small cannons, and for one month each year he’d head to Port Christy and put together a crew of four men. Over the next twelve years he terrorized the Great Lakes, plundering whiskey and venison instead of medicine and gold.

Libby Vail Ames: Libby grew up and married a trapper named Ellis Fink. They had a son they named Jack, and a daughter, Hester. Little Jack was said to have a way about him that settled those in pain. In turn, his great granddaughter became a faith healer in Buffalo. As the generations progressed, the story of Jack Hawley continued to be told. But with each telling, the details became fuzzier. Over the next fourteen generations a half-dozen children were born with the ability to bring peace to the afflicted. There were assorted Libby Vails throughout that time, but never more than a couple in the world at any time. However, by the year 2010 there were actually seven people alive named Libby Vail, four of whom lived in the United States, and all of whom were direct descendants of Jack Hawley.

Rugby: Rugby lived a ripe old age and rarely left Rose’s side. Those who got close enough to see the creature never ceased to marvel at its appearance. Some claimed they’d never seen a cat with feathers before. When Rugby finally passed in 1722, Rose buried her in the crawl space beneath the new church on 8th street, with a necklace around her neck, the one her childhood friend, Johanna, had carved “I Love Rugby” on and given to Rose, along with the cat, just before pretending to save the town of St. Alban’s.

Rose Stout: Some say Rose never existed, others claim she never died. The “never died” folk say she’s aged a bit over the last 300 years, but honestly, who hasn’t? On certain nights along the Atlantic coast, especially during the month of July, when the wind shifts slightly to the east and sea storms begin moving ashore, and a chill hits the air for a split second before all hell breaks loose, and the wind makes the most God-awful shrieking and howling noise, well…

It might not be the wind.

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