Wake of the Bloody Angel

Chapter Twelve

Everyone stayed on deck murmuring about the play, not wanting to break the mood. The actor who played Tew came from behind the curtain minus his black wig and accepted congratulations and swigs of rum. Someone threw a bucket of water on the knife-throwing drunk and he sat up sputtering, fighting the ropes that lashed him to the mast.

Linda Shoji appeared, still wiping the white paint from her face. Instead of the applause Tew got, though, the men stepped back and stared as if she were really the ghost she’d pretended to be. She stopped, stared, and chuckled.

“There was a ladder hanging over the side,” she said. “It wasn’t that hard to grab. Ya bunch of babies.”

After a moment’s pause, they applauded. She grinned, shook her head, and accepted a mug of rum from one of them.

Jane took my arm and pulled me aside. “I just had a thought,” she said softly.

“And you need me to rub your temples until the pain goes away?”

“Now who’s being the smart-ass? Just listen. Only one person survived the sinking of the Bloody Angel, right? Wendell Marteen, the first mate.”

“That’s the assumption.”

“But what if it wasn’t Marteen? What if it was someone who just used his name?”

It took a moment for me to process this. “You think Marteen is really Tew?”

“I think it’s possible. I mean, he was a pirate for exactly one attack, so it’s not like a lot of people would recognize him. All the stories about him grew up after he supposedly died. Hell, if I’m right, maybe he started all the stories himself, creating his own myth.” She paused. “And if he deliberately sank the ship, then he had a motive for pretending to be someone else.”

“Why would he do that? It was loaded with treasure.”

“Was it?” I couldn’t see her face, but nevertheless I knew she was smiling. “How do we know? If he sank an empty ship in water too deep to recover it, he could say anything had been on board.”

“But didn’t the whole crew die, too?”

Again, I could feel her sarcastic half smile even though I couldn’t see it. “He was a pirate, Eddie. He might have regretted it, but it wouldn’t stop him. Ever hear of Captain Beardsley, the Grim Teacher? They called him that because he could always show people a new way to die. Anyway, his crew had gotten so big, the shares were tiny, so one night he deliberately ran his ship aground where he had a launch waiting. He escaped; his crew either drowned or were captured.”

I nodded. Then a problem hit me. “If he did hide his treasure somewhere else before he sank the Bloody Angel, then why has he come back to being a pirate now?”

“Who knows? Maybe he spent all his money. Maybe he got bored. Maybe he got married and his goddamn wife won’t stop gambling and whoring. We’ll ask him when we see him.” She lightly punched my shoulder. “So? What do you think?”

“I think I’m going to bed. It’s late, and I’m tired. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” I punched her back, turned, and headed for the main hatch.

“If I’m right, I still get the treasure, right?” she whispercalled after me.

“All yours, Jane,” I assured her as I descended into the hold.

In the dark outside my cabin, I noticed something in the corner. I squinted until I could make out the curled-up shape of the cabin boy. “Dorsal?”

“Aye,” the boy said, and got to his feet.

“What are you doing there?”

He put a finger to his lips. “I’m keeping an eye on Cap’n Clift,” he whispered. “He’s in his cabin drinking.”

I whispered as well. “I just saw him on deck. He didn’t look drunk.”

“He’s got no head for it. One drink and he’s off.”

“Why do you have to keep an eye on him?”

Dorsal nodded toward my cabin door. I opened it and he preceded me inside. When the door was closed again, he said, “I have to watch him so he doesn’t come out and hurt himself or someone else. He’s okay when he’s inside, but he tries to pick fights if he goes on deck. Mr. Seaton usually stops him, but I figure if I can keep him inside, it’s better for everyone.”

“What does he pick fights about?”

Dorsal chewed his lip, then said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Is Captain Jane really the queen of the whores?”

I was glad I wasn’t drinking at that moment, because I would’ve spit the length of my cabin. “I beg your pardon?”

“Captain Clift talks about her a lot, especially when he’s drinking and he thinks no one is around. He says she’s queen of the whores. I knew she was a captain, but not a queen. So do the whores in port have to bow to her and stuff?”

I tried to think of a good response to this. As I did, I heard the door to Jane’s cabin open and shut; guess she’d made an early night of it as well. Finally I said, “Dorsal, I don’t think you should take anything the captain says when he drinks too seriously.”

“Oh, it’s not just when he drinks. It’s when he’s mad about things, too. He tends to blame her for everything, even the weather.”

“He’s probably just making a joke.”

The boy shrugged.

“And I’m sure he wouldn’t want you telling total strangers about it. He’s the captain, he has to command respect.”

“That’s what Mr. Seaton says, too. That’s why I’m standing watch.”

He took this task so seriously, I could only smile. “Well, you’re doing a good job. If you need any help, let me know.” He saluted. “Yes, sir. Keep this between us, then?” “Definitely.”

I opened the door for him and he went back into the hall. I sat down, took off my boots, and stretched out on the bunk. I tried to relax into the ship’s motion, but I had too many thoughts bouncing around in my head. Jane’s new theory just added to the confusion.

Either Tew was a sailor turned pirate due to Angelina’s influence, or he was a pirate determined to score big to impress Angelina, or he was a pirate who’d dallied with Angelina but was mainly concerned with his own career and riches. He was either dead at the bottom of the sea, or… not, I guess. If he’d escaped as Wendell Marteen after murdering everyone on his ship, he was now back on the water but keeping a mighty low profile. Did he know they’d written plays about him?

I closed my eyes. All these possibilities made my head hurt, and the interminable waiting on the Red Cow didn’t help.

Someone knocked softly at my door.

I sighed, sat up, and opened it, expecting either Dorsal or Jane. Instead Dylan Clift stood there, or rather leaned there, using the frame for support. He was shirtless, shoeless, and without his ever-present bandanna. His hair was noticeably thin on top, and stood out from his skull like wispy weeds. Dorsal hadn’t exaggerated his intolerance for liquor: in the brief time since the play ended, Captain Clift had gotten hammered.

“Can I talk to you?” he rasped in a drunk’s idea of a whisper. His breath reeked of rum, and his words ran together. Behind him, Dorsal-back at his post in the corner-looked imploringly at me.

“Sure,” I said. “You’re the captain.” He stumbled in and closed the door. I lit the lamp so we wouldn’t be sitting in the dark.

He did that drunk thing where they get way too close before speaking. “I have to whisper,” he said, and pointed at the wall between Jane’s cabin and mine. “I don’t want her to hear.”

I tried to breathe through my mouth. “Yeah.”

“She’s a whore, you know that?”

“I respectfully disagree.”

“Well, you don’t know her like I do, do you? You see her now, all professional and serious.”

“I don’t know about serious.”

He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “I’ve seen her kill men for looking at her cross-eyed. I’ve seen her kill women for doing it. Ask her sometime about the handmaiden. Just ask. That’s the Jane Argo I know.”

“Why are you telling me?”

“To save you!” he cried, and grabbed me by the shoulders. “So you don’t turn into me. So you don’t waste your life waiting for a whore who’ll take everything and then walk away laughing!” He released me and sat heavily on my bunk. “I stood back to back, shoulder to shoulder with that woman. Our blood mingled on the deck at our feet. That should count for something. But would she give me anything? Hell, no. I mean, it’s one thing if she preferred women; that’s understandable. But no, she was stuck on some guy who was such a loser that she ran away to sea to get away from him! And then she went back to him!”

By now he was shouting, and unless Jane had poured wax in her ears, she had to hear. I said, “She gave her word. She takes that seriously.”

“That’s not what counts! It’s who you give it to!”

I wondered if Clift realized he was quoting the play. “She doesn’t see it that way.”

“Then you’re a fucking fool,” he slurred, and stood to leave. Then, his hand on the door, he began to sob. They were big man-sized sobs, the bellow of a wounded animal. No one who heard them would ever doubt how he felt about Jane, and I could only marvel at the composure that allowed him to be near her all the time without letting on more than he did. Unfortunately, he was now loud enough that nearby sea lions might think he was making a pass at them. I had to do something to salvage his dignity, and mine.

I kicked his legs out from under him.

He slammed face-first against the wall, then hit the floor hard. I knelt beside him and said, “Wow, are you okay? You got your feet tangled up there. Maybe you better sit down.”

“Maybe I better sit down,” he said.

“Good idea,” I agreed. He sat on the bunk, and then with no encouragement lay on his side, rolled onto his stomach, and passed out. In moments, he was snoring.

I looked down at him. Between his bare, sweaty shoulders was the final indignity: a tattooed representation of Jane Argo, scantily clad and bearing a sword in one hand and a jug in the other. She literally rode his back all the time.

I eased away from the bunk and opened the door. Dorsal stood there. He said, “Is Captain Clift all right?”

“He’ll have a headache tomorrow, but he’ll be okay. I’m going to go find somewhere on deck to sleep.”

“I’ll watch the captain for you, if you want.”

“Okay.”

I started to give him a coin, but he said, “No, thanks. I get a share of every prize, just like the captain.”

I nodded, mimicking his sincerity. He went in, and I closed the door behind him. I took a moment to compose myself, then knocked on Jane’s door. There was no response, but I heard her moving around. I quietly snarled, “Jane Argo, open this goddamned door right now or I’ll throw you overboard.”

She opened it a crack. “Don’t insult the alligator until you’ve crossed the river, Eddie.”

“Bite me. I assume you heard all that?”

“His voice does carry. That’s one reason he’s a good captain.”

“Did you know he felt that way about you?”

She opened the door some more and looked around to see if anyone was in the passageway. Then she gestured for me to enter. I did and she closed the door.

“Yes, I knew it.” She’d changed into a shift for sleeping that was so sheer, it might’ve given Clift a heart attack. “I thought by now he would’ve gotten over it. Who the hell carries a torch for five years?”

I thought of Janet and Cathy, the torches that still burned me after far longer than five years. “Some things you don’t get over.”

She sat heavily on her bunk. “Fuck you, LaCrosse. His crush is not my goddamn fault. Now, is there anything else you’d like to criticize? Because I’m tired.”

“What about the handmaiden?”

She looked up sharply. “Did he tell you about that?”

“He said to ask you about it.”

“Yeah, well, you can just ask the door as it smacks your ass on the way out.” She crossed her arms and turned deliberately away.

“All right, but I need both you and the captain focused on the job that I’m paying you for.”

“You know damn well I’m focused.”

“And Clift?”

“He only drinks when there’s no danger. Trust me, when we catch up with Marteen, he’ll be on top of his game. I taught him, after all.”

I could think of nothing to say to that, so I left and went on deck. The men on watch nodded at me, then resumed whatever they were doing. I’d lost my novelty, apparently. I looked aft at the ship’s wake, glowing as it stirred up luminescent creatures floating on the waves. I missed Liz so much, the scar over my heart ached.