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hereswith was up into the wee hours of Monday beta reading, for which I owe her, once again, profuse thanks. This chapter is a little longer, about 3200 words, to make up for last week's shorter one, I guess.
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three |
Chapter Four
It was with some trepidation that Joshamee Gibbs retraced his steps, hurrying back to where the Black Pearl was docked in the busy harbor at Bridgetown, Barbados. Home to many a wealthy plantation owner, as well as to a mighty naval presence, the town had put forth some effort in making the piratical ship and her people welcome. The Pearl was well-known here, having served England under a letter of marque for near ten years now, for Jack had turned privateer for Lady Harry’s sake on the occasion of their marriage.
Josh remembered how they’d all wondered about it at the time, that bid for respectability, but it had turned out to be a good decision for everyone concerned. Professionally speaking, Jack Sparrow had been in no way tamed, and James Norrington had always been a force to be reckoned with. Allied, the two had defended England’s interests with a nearly unstoppable zeal, and made themselves and their crews rich into the bargain. Josh had lost count of the prizes and treasure they’d captured – he was sure his banker could enlighten him, but it’d been some months now since they’d met and it was surprising how fast interest accrued – but the adventures they’d had in the taking of all that wealth were such a joy to tell they were almost worth more to him than the gold. It had been a fine day for Joshamee Gibbs when Jack Sparrow and Will Turner had come to find him napping with the friendly pigs of Tortuga.
This day, however, was not turning out to be fine, by anyone’s measure.
The town’s greeting had done little to ease Jack’s worry and ill humor, for after being delayed by a week due to that storm, they’d been becalmed a day out from Sweets Island and now were considerably behind schedule. When the wind petered out and the sea turned almost to glass, they’d tried the old remedies, whistling and plucking at backstays, but they’d done no good. Fishing over the side had soon grown tedious, too, so Jack had ordered out the sweeps. They’d manned them in shifts, and there wasn’t a hand on the ship that wasn’t well blistered by the time the wind finally picked up again some four days later, save Anne’s, the lass being too small to be anything but a hindrance in that work, and Suzanna’s – and hers were preserved only at the cost of some interesting argumentation between husband and wife. Suzanna was getting mighty strong-willed of late, though Michael Owens didn’t mind it much, from all the signs. He’d been heavy-eyed all week, but he’d worn a smile, too, and whether his pretty Suzanna pouted or drifted about in a dreamy abstraction, there was a fine color flying in her cheeks, and her hands remained noticeably intact.
Even Jack had been amused at his protégé’s marital perambulations, but he’d become more and more fretful at the delay in the Pearl’s progress until now, fully seventeen days after he’d bid adieu to his darling Harry, all he wanted was to touch and go at Bridgetown, getting rid of the Spanish prisoners as quick as maybe, hustling Madame Juju onto the Pearl, and heading out again at top speed.
But Madame Juju would not be hustled.
“You dare to demand that I take ship to attend one woman, a woman in excellent health on whom the stars of good fortune shine so that she is able to command any luxury, when so many need me here?”
Madame’s eyes had flashed in so fierce a way that Josh had stepped back a pace. “I wouldn’t say demand…”
“Would you not?” she snapped. “Would your captain not demand, if he had come here himself, instead of sending a hapless minion?”
“Hapless minion? Now hold on—“
“No! You hold on! Or you will be less a hapless minion than a wart-covered toad!”
Josh’s eyes had widened at that. He’d seen too much not to take the words of an obeah woman in a serious light. He shut his mouth.
“That’s better,” Madame Juju had said, slightly mollified. “You will return to Jack Sparrow. Tell him that if he wishes to make a request of me he will make it himself – and even then I make no promises. He may not be able to afford what I ask. Tell him I will see him this evening. If I am not called away.”
“And if you are?”
“Then he can wait.”
Lord, Josh thought, Jack’s not going to like that, and as he strode along he tried to figure a way to soften the message. He was still figuring when he arrived on the dock and noticed Will and Jack descending the gangplank, followed by a considerable number of the crew. Will looked somewhat amused, but rolled his eyes in warning.
“Jack, what happened?” Gibbs asked.
“Tom, again,” Jack said, shortly. He pulled a slip of paper from the pocket of his coat and handed it to Gibbs.
Gibbs read it, and smiled. “Why, he’s just taken Anne to see that nice little lad of Captain Oakes’.” Tom and young Stephen Oakes had become friends in the two weeks the Pearl had lingered in Bridgetown, after Elizabeth Turner had been delivered of her babe, nine months ago now.
“Aye. Without asking leave. Again. And when Will went to the Oakes’ place to fetch him, so the Mannings wouldn’t be exposed to the sight of the filicide that seems bloody written in the stars, he wasn’t there. He and Anne never arrived.”
“Saints above! They’re missing again?”
“Since before you left to go see that harpy, by the evidence. Speaking of which, what did she say? When’s she coming?”
Gibbs cleared his throat. “Well, Jack, she called me a hapless minion and threatened to work a spell that’d turn me to a toad, but you can go see her tonight. It’s all arranged.”
Jack took in the gist of this and, to Josh’s relief, only looked ready to explode for about half a minute before he shook himself, briefly closed his eyes, opened them again, and said, “Right. Let’s go find the brats. It seems I’ve somewhere to be tonight.”
*
Tom and Anne had indeed left the ship very early, and they’d meant to go straight to Stephen Oakes’ house. It was about a half mile from the harbor, but Tom was sure he remembered the way, and he’d brought his knife along, just in case, the same knife with which he’d saved his father on Sweets Island. But it was market day in Bridgetown, the merchants were setting up their stalls in the cool, sunny morning, and it transpired that Anne had never in her life been allowed to wander through a market quite at her leisure. Tom hadn’t either, but he’d never seen it as the vital issue it seemed to be with his friend.
“Oh please, Tom, do let’s stay! I’m always with Mother or one of my sisters when I go, and they never want to look at the things I want to see.”
“Well, all right, we can stay a while, at least,” Tom said. “It would be better if we’d brought some money, though. I’m starved.”
“I have money,” said Anne, and she dug into the pocket of her dress and triumphantly pulled out three silver pennies, much to Tom’s delight.
“That’ll buy us breakfast!” he said, and with great glee they began to wander among the stalls where food was being sold. After some successful haggling, they purchased some fresh rolls, fragrant with subtle spices, two bananas, and a large mango, and went and sat on the grass in the shade of a nearby palm tree. Anne thought the rolls were the best she’d ever eaten, and Tom got to use his knife to skin the fruit. The bananas were easy enough to eat neatly, but even in slices the mango was so juicy that they were quite sticky by the time they’d finished.
“Let’s go wash, you’re all over crumbs,” said Tom and led the way to a clear stream that ran beside the green where the market was situated.
It was while they were washing – and splashing each other, too, for the air was already warm and the fresh water felt delightful – that the mishap occurred. Anne, hearing some raucous shouts and a frantic yelping, stopped splashing, stood alert for a moment, then cried, “Oh! Oh, Tom, they’re hurting it!” and took off up the bank of the stream. Tom followed close behind, and had an unworthy moment when he saw that it was a group of boys, older and bigger than himself. But they were tormenting a bedraggled little dog. It couldn’t get away, for they had tied a string around its neck, and when he heard one of the brutes say something about setting it afire he, too, put aside trepidation.
“Stop it! Stop it,” Anne shrieked, and ludicrously brave, she dashed in among them as they stood agape.
“What the deuce?” said the biggest boy, who held the dog’s string, and he pushed Anne down roughly when she tried to grab it.
She bounced up immediately, too angry to care for her own hurts, and yelled, “You let it go or I’ll tell my father and he’ll give you a short drop and a sudden stop!”
The boy laughed derisively. “Get out. Hanged for ridding the world of a filthy cur? And who’s your father, anyway? Bet you don’t even know, little trollop.”
Anne might not know what that meant, but Tom did and he pulled her aside, giving her arm a warning squeeze. He said to the boy, coldly, “Take that back, you cow-hearted blackguard.”
“And why should I?” the boy jeered, and briefly turned to one of his friends, giving over the dog’s string. “Hold it while I give this babe a lesson he won’t forget.”
But when he turned back, Tom punched his face, as quick and hard as he could.
The boy howled and staggered back, his hands to his bleeding nose; his friends stopped long enough to assess damage, and the one holding the dog’s string dropped it; the dog took off like a shot, and so did Anne, chasing after it down the stream bank, back toward the market; and Tom, after standing amazed for a moment at his unexpectedly spectacular success, turned and ran, too, for his father had told him to always weigh the odds and act accordingly.
“Get ‘im!” came a bubbling roar from behind, and Tom sped up, grabbing Anne’s hand as he passed her. Reaching the edge of the market, the little dog at their heels, they burst into the commons and frantically looked for a place to hide.
“Come on!” Tom bent and grabbed up the dog, who was like to make them trip, and jerked Anne along after him. The three of them ducked between two stalls just before the mob of young heathens entered the square.
“Here, Tom Sparrow!” said a deep voice. It was a huge black man, the vendor in the stall to their right, which featured a fine array of things for kitchen or galley, everything from big pots and pans to bundles of dishcloths. The man gave Tom a wink and swept an inviting hand toward the space beneath his cloth-draped table.
There were some boxes and baskets crowded under the table, but there was enough room for two children and one disreputable-looking little dog to hide. And they did.
*
It was some time later when their savior rumbled, “You can come out now, Tom Sparrow. They’ve gone home to clean up. You draw that boy’s cork for him?” The black man grinned.
“Aye,” said Tom, giving Anne a hand. “Who are you, and how do you know me?”
“Name’s Ben. Came out to the Black Pearl and sold your daddy’s cook some spices and fine pots, last time you all were here. ”
“That’s Anatole, he’s with us this time, too. Are you going to visit him again?”
“I’m thinking I just might have to. How is it you and this sweet young thing step out alone? What’s your daddy going to say about that, eh?”
“We’re going to visit Stephen Oakes. I left a note for Da, he’ll be good with it.”
“That right?” Ben looked skeptical. “Wish I had a mirror on me. Neither of you look ready to go a-calling.”
Tom frowned, and he and Anne looked each other over. Ben was right.
Anne said, “Maybe we’d better go back to the Pearl and visit Stephen another day. We need to wash Mimi, too.”
”Mimi?”
“That’s her name.” Anne patted the little dog on its head. It looked up at her with adoring eyes, its pink tongue lolling.
“How do you know it’s a girl?”
“By her paws, of course.”
Tom frowned, but Ben chuckled and said, “Look here, maybe I close up shop early today, say in an hour, and see you two back to the Black Pearl, and pay a call on Anatole. Think you can stay out of trouble that long, eh?”
*
James Norrington was sitting in an armchair on the quarterdeck of the Black Pearl, enjoying the late November sun and the satisfaction of a task accomplished. The Spanish renegades that had been captured on Sweets Island were now out of the Pearl’s brig and delivered up to the authorities. Both these circumstances would make Jack happy. He used the Pearl’s brig of necessity, but James knew it made his friend extremely uncomfortable to do so, having been a prisoner there himself once upon a time. And turning men over for probable hanging went against the man’s grain for approximately the same reasons. Carrying a letter of marque was the closest Jack would ever come to sacrificing his freedom, and it was only his love of Harry that made that concession tolerable. James hoped Harry would live many long years, for he dreaded to think that Jack might ever again turn pirate, forcing James to exert himself in capturing one who had become dear to him, unless the Black Pearl left the Caribbean to hunt other waters. In either case, his friend would be lost to him.
But these morose thoughts had no place on so beautiful a day. James sipped his coffee and looked out along the busy quay, and presently a trio of distant figures caught his eye, a big black man and two smaller figures. And a dog.
Anne and Tom.
Frowning, he rose and went to stand at the top of the gangplank to receive them.
Anne saw him and came running, pulling the dog along on a string. James wrinkled his nose at the dog’s appearance. And at his daughter’s.
“Papa! This is Mimi, Tom and I saved her life, they were going to burn her!”
“What? Who were they? Where have you and Tom been this morning?”
Anne began the explanation, and Tom joined in when he arrived, their escort bringing up the rear – or their savior, from the story James was told.
As it ended, Ben said, “I do hope the captain’ll go easy on the lad. He’s a right one.”
James shook his head. “He is, but this isn’t the first time he’s left his post without leave, nor even the second. I know what I should have to do in such a case, were I in command.”
Tom’s smile had faded and Ben shook his head. Anne looked suddenly frightened, and stepped close to Tom, taking his hand.
“I left, too, Papa,” she said in a small but resolute voice.
James arched a brow at his daughter. “So it seems. We’ll have to discuss that presently.”
“But can I keep Mimi?”
“Perhaps. We’ll ask the captain. But not just now, I think.” And James nodded at the distant quay, where Jack and several of the crew had just appeared, making their way back to the Black Pearl.
*
Jack didn’t wait on the midwife that evening. He’d spent the afternoon alone, walking, and the evening alone, too, in a small tavern on the outskirts of Bridgetown, and he’d had more rum than was good for either himself or Madame Harpy. Yet, though he’d manifested the usual physical effects, his mind was not eased, and that had been the whole point.
To be sure, he’d let Tom give him an explanation, after hauling the boy into the Great Cabin by his ear and slamming the doors against James’s sympathy and little Anne’s terrified sobs. But the outcome had been a given, and five minutes later, Anne Norrington wasn’t the only one sobbing.
Bloody hell.
Jack had been too lenient with his son in the past, and as captain of the Pearl that couldn’t go on. He hadn’t been lenient with him today, though he had, of course, taken into consideration that the boy wasn’t quite ten years old. But though Tom had taken his punishment with resolution and a minimum of fuss, it had near killed Jack to give it, even angry as he’d been.
There was nothing for it. He would have to send the boy away. Apprentice Tom to some other captain, if he wanted to learn to be a sailor.
Tom was a brave lad. It was Jack who was the coward.
*
Jack was cold sober by the time he got back to the Pearl, around midnight. There was a bare bones watch on deck, and he returned salutes without a word or a look and went straight to his cabin.
Tom wasn’t there.
Not that this was unusual. Tom often stayed below now, slinging his hammock with the crew, each of whom loved him as one of their own, not just as Jack’s son.
Jack went out, crossed the deck, and descended by the companionway to where his men were sleeping, fewer than usual tonight as some had elected to take advantage of the diversions Bridgetown had to offer lonely sailors.
But Tom hadn’t slung his hammock. He wasn’t here.
For a moment Jack felt a cold chill. What if Tom had jumped ship?
But Jack doused that twinge of panic. He wouldn’t, not Tom. And there was one more place he might be.
Carrying a small darklantern, Jack descended soundlessly into the depths of his ship, every inch of which he knew like the back of his own hand. And there, deep in the hold where his son had once hidden as a stowaway, where generations of the Pearl’s ships’ cats had made their home, Jack found Tom asleep, curled on his side on a bed of empty sacks.
There was a cat nesting by Tom’s head, and two near his feet, but they moved away when Jack crouched, studying his son’s face in the dim. He’d cleaned himself up, there was no dirt, no streaks of tears. But Jack fancied he saw something tragic in the set of his mouth and swallowed hard.
And Tom roused, opening his eyes. “Da!” he said, and started to roll over to sit up, then thought better of it with a decided wince.
Jack set the lantern on the boards and sat down himself, on the sacks where the one cat had been, and leaned back against the familiar black wood. And, as he’d done all his life, Tom came to him, came into his father’s arms and laid his head down, against Jack’s chest.
There were a few words, and perhaps a few more tears. But it was certain they stayed there, at the Pearl’s heart, resting, and eventually they both slept.
On to Chapter Five
hereswith was up into the wee hours of Monday beta reading, for which I owe her, once again, profuse thanks. This chapter is a little longer, about 3200 words, to make up for last week's shorter one, I guess. Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three |
Chapter Four
It was with some trepidation that Joshamee Gibbs retraced his steps, hurrying back to where the Black Pearl was docked in the busy harbor at Bridgetown, Barbados. Home to many a wealthy plantation owner, as well as to a mighty naval presence, the town had put forth some effort in making the piratical ship and her people welcome. The Pearl was well-known here, having served England under a letter of marque for near ten years now, for Jack had turned privateer for Lady Harry’s sake on the occasion of their marriage.
Josh remembered how they’d all wondered about it at the time, that bid for respectability, but it had turned out to be a good decision for everyone concerned. Professionally speaking, Jack Sparrow had been in no way tamed, and James Norrington had always been a force to be reckoned with. Allied, the two had defended England’s interests with a nearly unstoppable zeal, and made themselves and their crews rich into the bargain. Josh had lost count of the prizes and treasure they’d captured – he was sure his banker could enlighten him, but it’d been some months now since they’d met and it was surprising how fast interest accrued – but the adventures they’d had in the taking of all that wealth were such a joy to tell they were almost worth more to him than the gold. It had been a fine day for Joshamee Gibbs when Jack Sparrow and Will Turner had come to find him napping with the friendly pigs of Tortuga.
This day, however, was not turning out to be fine, by anyone’s measure.
The town’s greeting had done little to ease Jack’s worry and ill humor, for after being delayed by a week due to that storm, they’d been becalmed a day out from Sweets Island and now were considerably behind schedule. When the wind petered out and the sea turned almost to glass, they’d tried the old remedies, whistling and plucking at backstays, but they’d done no good. Fishing over the side had soon grown tedious, too, so Jack had ordered out the sweeps. They’d manned them in shifts, and there wasn’t a hand on the ship that wasn’t well blistered by the time the wind finally picked up again some four days later, save Anne’s, the lass being too small to be anything but a hindrance in that work, and Suzanna’s – and hers were preserved only at the cost of some interesting argumentation between husband and wife. Suzanna was getting mighty strong-willed of late, though Michael Owens didn’t mind it much, from all the signs. He’d been heavy-eyed all week, but he’d worn a smile, too, and whether his pretty Suzanna pouted or drifted about in a dreamy abstraction, there was a fine color flying in her cheeks, and her hands remained noticeably intact.
Even Jack had been amused at his protégé’s marital perambulations, but he’d become more and more fretful at the delay in the Pearl’s progress until now, fully seventeen days after he’d bid adieu to his darling Harry, all he wanted was to touch and go at Bridgetown, getting rid of the Spanish prisoners as quick as maybe, hustling Madame Juju onto the Pearl, and heading out again at top speed.
But Madame Juju would not be hustled.
“You dare to demand that I take ship to attend one woman, a woman in excellent health on whom the stars of good fortune shine so that she is able to command any luxury, when so many need me here?”
Madame’s eyes had flashed in so fierce a way that Josh had stepped back a pace. “I wouldn’t say demand…”
“Would you not?” she snapped. “Would your captain not demand, if he had come here himself, instead of sending a hapless minion?”
“Hapless minion? Now hold on—“
“No! You hold on! Or you will be less a hapless minion than a wart-covered toad!”
Josh’s eyes had widened at that. He’d seen too much not to take the words of an obeah woman in a serious light. He shut his mouth.
“That’s better,” Madame Juju had said, slightly mollified. “You will return to Jack Sparrow. Tell him that if he wishes to make a request of me he will make it himself – and even then I make no promises. He may not be able to afford what I ask. Tell him I will see him this evening. If I am not called away.”
“And if you are?”
“Then he can wait.”
Lord, Josh thought, Jack’s not going to like that, and as he strode along he tried to figure a way to soften the message. He was still figuring when he arrived on the dock and noticed Will and Jack descending the gangplank, followed by a considerable number of the crew. Will looked somewhat amused, but rolled his eyes in warning.
“Jack, what happened?” Gibbs asked.
“Tom, again,” Jack said, shortly. He pulled a slip of paper from the pocket of his coat and handed it to Gibbs.
Gibbs read it, and smiled. “Why, he’s just taken Anne to see that nice little lad of Captain Oakes’.” Tom and young Stephen Oakes had become friends in the two weeks the Pearl had lingered in Bridgetown, after Elizabeth Turner had been delivered of her babe, nine months ago now.
“Aye. Without asking leave. Again. And when Will went to the Oakes’ place to fetch him, so the Mannings wouldn’t be exposed to the sight of the filicide that seems bloody written in the stars, he wasn’t there. He and Anne never arrived.”
“Saints above! They’re missing again?”
“Since before you left to go see that harpy, by the evidence. Speaking of which, what did she say? When’s she coming?”
Gibbs cleared his throat. “Well, Jack, she called me a hapless minion and threatened to work a spell that’d turn me to a toad, but you can go see her tonight. It’s all arranged.”
Jack took in the gist of this and, to Josh’s relief, only looked ready to explode for about half a minute before he shook himself, briefly closed his eyes, opened them again, and said, “Right. Let’s go find the brats. It seems I’ve somewhere to be tonight.”
*
Tom and Anne had indeed left the ship very early, and they’d meant to go straight to Stephen Oakes’ house. It was about a half mile from the harbor, but Tom was sure he remembered the way, and he’d brought his knife along, just in case, the same knife with which he’d saved his father on Sweets Island. But it was market day in Bridgetown, the merchants were setting up their stalls in the cool, sunny morning, and it transpired that Anne had never in her life been allowed to wander through a market quite at her leisure. Tom hadn’t either, but he’d never seen it as the vital issue it seemed to be with his friend.
“Oh please, Tom, do let’s stay! I’m always with Mother or one of my sisters when I go, and they never want to look at the things I want to see.”
“Well, all right, we can stay a while, at least,” Tom said. “It would be better if we’d brought some money, though. I’m starved.”
“I have money,” said Anne, and she dug into the pocket of her dress and triumphantly pulled out three silver pennies, much to Tom’s delight.
“That’ll buy us breakfast!” he said, and with great glee they began to wander among the stalls where food was being sold. After some successful haggling, they purchased some fresh rolls, fragrant with subtle spices, two bananas, and a large mango, and went and sat on the grass in the shade of a nearby palm tree. Anne thought the rolls were the best she’d ever eaten, and Tom got to use his knife to skin the fruit. The bananas were easy enough to eat neatly, but even in slices the mango was so juicy that they were quite sticky by the time they’d finished.
“Let’s go wash, you’re all over crumbs,” said Tom and led the way to a clear stream that ran beside the green where the market was situated.
It was while they were washing – and splashing each other, too, for the air was already warm and the fresh water felt delightful – that the mishap occurred. Anne, hearing some raucous shouts and a frantic yelping, stopped splashing, stood alert for a moment, then cried, “Oh! Oh, Tom, they’re hurting it!” and took off up the bank of the stream. Tom followed close behind, and had an unworthy moment when he saw that it was a group of boys, older and bigger than himself. But they were tormenting a bedraggled little dog. It couldn’t get away, for they had tied a string around its neck, and when he heard one of the brutes say something about setting it afire he, too, put aside trepidation.
“Stop it! Stop it,” Anne shrieked, and ludicrously brave, she dashed in among them as they stood agape.
“What the deuce?” said the biggest boy, who held the dog’s string, and he pushed Anne down roughly when she tried to grab it.
She bounced up immediately, too angry to care for her own hurts, and yelled, “You let it go or I’ll tell my father and he’ll give you a short drop and a sudden stop!”
The boy laughed derisively. “Get out. Hanged for ridding the world of a filthy cur? And who’s your father, anyway? Bet you don’t even know, little trollop.”
Anne might not know what that meant, but Tom did and he pulled her aside, giving her arm a warning squeeze. He said to the boy, coldly, “Take that back, you cow-hearted blackguard.”
“And why should I?” the boy jeered, and briefly turned to one of his friends, giving over the dog’s string. “Hold it while I give this babe a lesson he won’t forget.”
But when he turned back, Tom punched his face, as quick and hard as he could.
The boy howled and staggered back, his hands to his bleeding nose; his friends stopped long enough to assess damage, and the one holding the dog’s string dropped it; the dog took off like a shot, and so did Anne, chasing after it down the stream bank, back toward the market; and Tom, after standing amazed for a moment at his unexpectedly spectacular success, turned and ran, too, for his father had told him to always weigh the odds and act accordingly.
“Get ‘im!” came a bubbling roar from behind, and Tom sped up, grabbing Anne’s hand as he passed her. Reaching the edge of the market, the little dog at their heels, they burst into the commons and frantically looked for a place to hide.
“Come on!” Tom bent and grabbed up the dog, who was like to make them trip, and jerked Anne along after him. The three of them ducked between two stalls just before the mob of young heathens entered the square.
“Here, Tom Sparrow!” said a deep voice. It was a huge black man, the vendor in the stall to their right, which featured a fine array of things for kitchen or galley, everything from big pots and pans to bundles of dishcloths. The man gave Tom a wink and swept an inviting hand toward the space beneath his cloth-draped table.
There were some boxes and baskets crowded under the table, but there was enough room for two children and one disreputable-looking little dog to hide. And they did.
*
It was some time later when their savior rumbled, “You can come out now, Tom Sparrow. They’ve gone home to clean up. You draw that boy’s cork for him?” The black man grinned.
“Aye,” said Tom, giving Anne a hand. “Who are you, and how do you know me?”
“Name’s Ben. Came out to the Black Pearl and sold your daddy’s cook some spices and fine pots, last time you all were here. ”
“That’s Anatole, he’s with us this time, too. Are you going to visit him again?”
“I’m thinking I just might have to. How is it you and this sweet young thing step out alone? What’s your daddy going to say about that, eh?”
“We’re going to visit Stephen Oakes. I left a note for Da, he’ll be good with it.”
“That right?” Ben looked skeptical. “Wish I had a mirror on me. Neither of you look ready to go a-calling.”
Tom frowned, and he and Anne looked each other over. Ben was right.
Anne said, “Maybe we’d better go back to the Pearl and visit Stephen another day. We need to wash Mimi, too.”
”Mimi?”
“That’s her name.” Anne patted the little dog on its head. It looked up at her with adoring eyes, its pink tongue lolling.
“How do you know it’s a girl?”
“By her paws, of course.”
Tom frowned, but Ben chuckled and said, “Look here, maybe I close up shop early today, say in an hour, and see you two back to the Black Pearl, and pay a call on Anatole. Think you can stay out of trouble that long, eh?”
*
James Norrington was sitting in an armchair on the quarterdeck of the Black Pearl, enjoying the late November sun and the satisfaction of a task accomplished. The Spanish renegades that had been captured on Sweets Island were now out of the Pearl’s brig and delivered up to the authorities. Both these circumstances would make Jack happy. He used the Pearl’s brig of necessity, but James knew it made his friend extremely uncomfortable to do so, having been a prisoner there himself once upon a time. And turning men over for probable hanging went against the man’s grain for approximately the same reasons. Carrying a letter of marque was the closest Jack would ever come to sacrificing his freedom, and it was only his love of Harry that made that concession tolerable. James hoped Harry would live many long years, for he dreaded to think that Jack might ever again turn pirate, forcing James to exert himself in capturing one who had become dear to him, unless the Black Pearl left the Caribbean to hunt other waters. In either case, his friend would be lost to him.
But these morose thoughts had no place on so beautiful a day. James sipped his coffee and looked out along the busy quay, and presently a trio of distant figures caught his eye, a big black man and two smaller figures. And a dog.
Anne and Tom.
Frowning, he rose and went to stand at the top of the gangplank to receive them.
Anne saw him and came running, pulling the dog along on a string. James wrinkled his nose at the dog’s appearance. And at his daughter’s.
“Papa! This is Mimi, Tom and I saved her life, they were going to burn her!”
“What? Who were they? Where have you and Tom been this morning?”
Anne began the explanation, and Tom joined in when he arrived, their escort bringing up the rear – or their savior, from the story James was told.
As it ended, Ben said, “I do hope the captain’ll go easy on the lad. He’s a right one.”
James shook his head. “He is, but this isn’t the first time he’s left his post without leave, nor even the second. I know what I should have to do in such a case, were I in command.”
Tom’s smile had faded and Ben shook his head. Anne looked suddenly frightened, and stepped close to Tom, taking his hand.
“I left, too, Papa,” she said in a small but resolute voice.
James arched a brow at his daughter. “So it seems. We’ll have to discuss that presently.”
“But can I keep Mimi?”
“Perhaps. We’ll ask the captain. But not just now, I think.” And James nodded at the distant quay, where Jack and several of the crew had just appeared, making their way back to the Black Pearl.
*
Jack didn’t wait on the midwife that evening. He’d spent the afternoon alone, walking, and the evening alone, too, in a small tavern on the outskirts of Bridgetown, and he’d had more rum than was good for either himself or Madame Harpy. Yet, though he’d manifested the usual physical effects, his mind was not eased, and that had been the whole point.
To be sure, he’d let Tom give him an explanation, after hauling the boy into the Great Cabin by his ear and slamming the doors against James’s sympathy and little Anne’s terrified sobs. But the outcome had been a given, and five minutes later, Anne Norrington wasn’t the only one sobbing.
Bloody hell.
Jack had been too lenient with his son in the past, and as captain of the Pearl that couldn’t go on. He hadn’t been lenient with him today, though he had, of course, taken into consideration that the boy wasn’t quite ten years old. But though Tom had taken his punishment with resolution and a minimum of fuss, it had near killed Jack to give it, even angry as he’d been.
There was nothing for it. He would have to send the boy away. Apprentice Tom to some other captain, if he wanted to learn to be a sailor.
Tom was a brave lad. It was Jack who was the coward.
*
Jack was cold sober by the time he got back to the Pearl, around midnight. There was a bare bones watch on deck, and he returned salutes without a word or a look and went straight to his cabin.
Tom wasn’t there.
Not that this was unusual. Tom often stayed below now, slinging his hammock with the crew, each of whom loved him as one of their own, not just as Jack’s son.
Jack went out, crossed the deck, and descended by the companionway to where his men were sleeping, fewer than usual tonight as some had elected to take advantage of the diversions Bridgetown had to offer lonely sailors.
But Tom hadn’t slung his hammock. He wasn’t here.
For a moment Jack felt a cold chill. What if Tom had jumped ship?
But Jack doused that twinge of panic. He wouldn’t, not Tom. And there was one more place he might be.
Carrying a small darklantern, Jack descended soundlessly into the depths of his ship, every inch of which he knew like the back of his own hand. And there, deep in the hold where his son had once hidden as a stowaway, where generations of the Pearl’s ships’ cats had made their home, Jack found Tom asleep, curled on his side on a bed of empty sacks.
There was a cat nesting by Tom’s head, and two near his feet, but they moved away when Jack crouched, studying his son’s face in the dim. He’d cleaned himself up, there was no dirt, no streaks of tears. But Jack fancied he saw something tragic in the set of his mouth and swallowed hard.
And Tom roused, opening his eyes. “Da!” he said, and started to roll over to sit up, then thought better of it with a decided wince.
Jack set the lantern on the boards and sat down himself, on the sacks where the one cat had been, and leaned back against the familiar black wood. And, as he’d done all his life, Tom came to him, came into his father’s arms and laid his head down, against Jack’s chest.
There were a few words, and perhaps a few more tears. But it was certain they stayed there, at the Pearl’s heart, resting, and eventually they both slept.
On to Chapter Five