Sailing by Carina's Star, page 16
“Quite all right,” the admiral responds. “We were just discussing the plan to send a spy to Nassau.”
“Have you selected someone?” Jerome asks.
“You, as it happens,” Admiral Adams answers, getting to the point already. “If you’ll accept, that is.”
Jerome fights back a satisfied smile. That’s not professional, but he is pleased. This is a moment, an important moment. He feels it.
This is going to change things.
“I was just telling Admiral Adams of all the many reasons I find you qualified,” Lord Travers says, taking a sip of his milky tea. “You’ve been an excellent sailor and soldier for all the years I’ve known you. I’m certain Michel agrees with me.”
The Hunter, the papers called him again a few weeks ago after he caught another pirate frigate, giving him top billing with Michel over Captain Bennet. He wants this assignment. Needs it. He doesn’t trust anyone else to do it right. The pirates are always ahead of them as far as intelligence goes, and no one cares about that like he does. No one.
He’s wanted to hunt pirates since the was twenty-one years old.
“What do you say, Jerome?” Admiral Adams asks. “We’ve consent from all the other men here.”
“I would be honored, sir.”
“Good man.” Admiral Adams reaches across the table, shaking Jerome’s hand. “It will only be for a few hours under cover of night. I’m not yet willing to risk leaving our ships so near to the shore of New Providence for long. You may have to anchor on the other side of the island and travel over the interior to avoid notice.” An uncomfortable pall comes over the room, everyone aware that for now, the pirates possess the advantage concerning the lost colony. There are hundreds of pirates in Nassau, and that isn’t counting others on the island who make their living off them, all outnumbering the tiny community of English citizens rumored to still live in the interior. “You’ll find out the lay of the land, see if there are weaknesses we can take advantage of for a future attack. Any word of their scheming would be useful. Whether or not the fort is working, the locations of the markets where they sell cargo ... anything like that.”
“There’s not a fear they would recognize me?” Jerome asks. He doesn’t want to ask, but he must.
“Luckily, while most of those villains know your name and reputation—especially as of late—they do not know your face. There aren’t wanted flyers of you up, after all.” Admiral Adams laughs at the notion, giving Jerome an approving look. “You’ve caught most of the ones you’ve encountered. I’d say be wary of any run-ins with that damned Robin Hood, though it’s been so long since he saw your face that he might not recognize you. He’s up to so much at sea he may not be there at all.”
“When will this assignment take place?” Jerome asks.
“In a few months’ time.” Admiral Adams glances down at his papers, writing something down. “There’s a great deal of preparation required. But I have faith that we’ll be able to recover at least some information.”
“Perhaps this will make the Admiralty understand the seriousness of the situation,” Lord Travers says, and Jerome catches Michel rolling his eyes. “Governors across the Indies are concerned that stories about the pirates’ exploits will encourage slave revolts. Well-traveled shipping lanes are being attacked. This effort needs to lead to getting Nassau back under our control. The scoundrels having a base of operations makes things easier for them, and it doesn’t help that those in London see fit to transport criminals to the colonies—the Irish and the Quakers and other riff-raff try to make their homes here. They’re the sorts of people who might turn toward piracy in the first place.”
“I would need approval from London to even think of an outright siege on Nassau, and a new governor, besides.” Annoyance flickers in Admiral Adams’ eyes. “Even if this doesn’t provide us with a way to attack Nassau yet, I am hopeful it will provide information about some of the most notorious groups’ movements and merchants they sell to. That pesky Hornigold attacking anyone who comes close to the coast of New Providence is a priority as well. Unlike the others, he seems to go after Spanish and French ships, but I have no doubt he’ll attack English vessels eventually.”
“Or his men won’t leave him with a choice,” Captain Bennet adds, speaking for the first time since Jerome came in. “We’ll be taking one of the sloops instead of the Chase. Faster, and less noticeable besides. Admiral Adams will select the best men from ours and Commodore Delacroix’s crews to take with us.”
“We are losing some of our men to the ruffians,” Admiral Adams continues, with no lack of scorn. “They’re falling prey to stories and false promises, and we need to change that, gentlemen. Starting with getting information from their little republic itself. This is crucial if we are to earn more money and support from the Crown. We must turn the tide.”
A note of bitterness rings in Admiral Adams’ voice. It’s no secret that he would prefer a posting outside of the islands, perhaps back in Europe, and success here would grant him that.
“I have asked my men to stop telling stories about pirates.” Michel sounds far-off as he joins the conversation. “Lest they have an ill-effect when we’re dealing with them so closely. Managing the narrative is more important than some people realize, especially with sailors’ penchant for spinning yarns.”
Admiral Adams raises his teacup. “Well said, Michel.”
They discuss logistics for a few minutes, and after Admiral Adams asks for a meeting with Jerome again in the morning he and the others file out, leaving Jerome alone with Lord Travers and Michel.
“Congratulations, Lieutenant Jerome.” Lord Travers shakes Jerome’s hand, and Jerome feels a pang of discomfort he’d rather not consider. “I’m sure you’ll blend in well on Nassau.”
Michel pauses with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth, frowning. Jerome doesn’t answer right away, the words hanging in the air.
What does Lord Travers mean by that?
He can’t know about ....
No. No, he would have said something before now.
Lord Travers’ gaze darts back and forth between Michel and Jerome. “Something the matter?”
“No, sir, apologies,” Jerome recovers before Michel, who still gazes at his father-in-law before finally taking the sip of his coffee. “I was lost in thought.”
“Well, you are surely the right man for the job.” Lord Travers stands up, adjusting his coat. “Perhaps your recent successes will mean a captaincy of your own soon.”
“Hopefully, my lord. It would be an honor.”
Lord Travers nods. “I’m sure you and Michel will make an even more formidable force when that occurs. That is”—he holds onto the words, looking over at Michel before releasing them like throwing knives—“if Michel continues obeying his superiors.”
Michel’s face freezes when Lord Travers pats the side of his arm, stiffening in his seat.
“Perhaps you will even find my grandson among the rogues in Nassau.” Lord Travers speaks in a strikingly casual tone as he steps toward the door. Jerome certainly hadn’t thought Lord Travers held any suspicions similar to his own. “He was so fond of talking to the riffraff down at the docks, and did enjoy those ridiculous pirate tales you let your boatswain give him, Michel.”
“Andrew,” Michel chides. “For heaven’s sake, I don’t think René has become a pirate, of all things.”
“Good lord, Michel, I’m only musing,” Lord Travers replies. “Though René would be stupid enough to stay so close. Finding him there would be better than the nothing you’ve managed to discover, especially given that you never had another child. I did put out the story he was kidnapped, after all. Him being in Nassau would lend itself to that.”
Michel’s knuckles pop white around his coffee cup, but he doesn’t start an argument.
“Well, gentlemen if you would excuse me, I have an appointment for tea with my daughter.” Lord Travers puts his hand on the doorknob, tipping his hat at them. “I’m sure I’ll see both of you before I return to Spanish Town.”
“I’m sure Astra will be thrilled,” Michel mutters when Lord Travers’ footsteps fade down the hallway. “Then she won’t have any interest in speaking to me this evening after he wears her out.”
“It’s not my place to question you, Michel.” Jerome’s careful not to comment on the remark about Astra. “But is there something else that occurred between you and Lord Travers recently that you haven’t told me?”
Michel sighs. “Nothing in particular. He’s just always after Astra or me about something or the other. I lost him his heir. The usual.”
Jerome swore he wouldn’t mention his suspicions about René and Frantz until he possessed more proof—his vague mention of René even encountering pirates didn’t go well before—but when grief twists Michel’s face, he can’t help himself.
“I think Lord Travers has a point about René.”
Michel jolts in his chair, coffee spilling over the edge of his cup. “Pardon?” He shakes his head like he thinks he might have misheard. “I’m sorry, are you saying Andrew has a point about René being a pirate?”
“I—” Jerome halts, losing track of how he was going to say this. “A few years ago, when we were interviewing the captain of that Seymour ship that was attacked by the Misericorde, he mentioned that he was injured by a young fair-haired brat, as he put it. A sword cut to the arm. And they were rescuing slaves, including a few women. One of them could have been Chantal, which means Frantz could have been there too. The Carlisle boy as well, I imagine.”
“Nicholas,” Michel says, and it’s clear he has not even considered this. “That could have been anyone. Are you saying you’ve been thinking about this ever since then?”
“I understand.” Jerome ignores Michel’s question. “But a young man with that kind of skill with a sword? Who could injure a seasoned adult? Then we got that report about the East India ship that attacked the Misericorde off New York, and the young pirate who killed the first lieutenant on that crew. With a cutlass. They’re small clues I know, but they could mean something. It could mean René, Frantz, and Auden are on Danso’s crew. I think it’s worth pursuing. René and Frantz used to read all those stories, and I saw René looking at those flyers of Danso more than once. He liked to play the pirate in our games. I thought it a fanciful childhood thing. Perhaps it was more than that.”
“Nicholas,” Michel repeats, sharper this time. “You have excellent instincts. But this ... you are tying together two things you wish to be true. Now, I realize you wanted to take this assignment to find more clues about this theory. I am not telling you not to take it. You’re qualified, and I’m eager to know more about Nassau. But do not hope for this. That would be like a story. Not real life.”
The lecture, the slight hint of anger in Michel’s tone, makes shame well in Jerome’s throat. He might be nothing more than a chastened boy.
“Michel—”
“Whatever René has done,” Michel says, cutting Jerome off, “he would not do that to me. Besides, he and Frantz made it clear they wanted to be far away from me. They wouldn’t stay in the Indies. Piracy is reckless, because they would certainly know of our work. This is why you mentioned René running into pirates before. I see that now.”
There is something thoroughly like denial about these protests, the same ones Jerome heard previously, but more vehement now that there is possible proof. You don’t know your son, Jerome almost says, but keeps the thought to himself. He thinks again of the young pirate who spit on Michel, and how he looked just a touch like René. Maybe rather than making Michel give credence to the idea, it drove him from it.
“If we find them,” Jerome insists, “we can bring them back. We can make them see the error of their ways. They owe you everything. I owe it to you for letting them get away from me.”
Michel rises from his chair, squeezing Jerome’s shoulder in turn. Not for the first time, Jerome sees a reflection of the way Michel once looked at René. Michel’s grief has warped his mind, and Jerome must keep his head clear for both of them.
“Congratulations on the assignment, Nicholas.” Michel straightens his hat, smoothing back a few stray blond hairs, some now streaked with silver. “I must get back to my office, but come around for supper tonight, if you’ve got the time. We’ll celebrate what I’m sure will soon be the awarding of your own ship, all right?”
The invitation is a peace between them, and Jerome can’t bear Michel’s anger enough right now to do anything other than accept. Someday soon, if he can find more evidence, he will have to manage it.
Nassau. Nassau will give him what he needs.
“Yes, sir,” Jerome answers, an echo of his younger self.
The door falls only partly closed when Michel goes, a chink of light edging in. Ghostly echoes of childish laughter float eerily through the room, as if Michel left his memories behind him.
Damn those boys for doing this to Michel.
Damn them for doing this to me.
If he’s wrong, he’s wrong, but he doesn’t care if it takes years—he will find those boys. If the pieces connect them with Danso, he will accomplish two things at once. It is the least he can do after everything Michel Delacroix has done for him.
Chapter 14
Nassau, The Bahamas. September 1712.
Danso takes a sip of ale, the taste of ginger dancing across his tongue. Davis brews his own here, and damn if it isn’t the finest Danso’s ever had.
The tavern is raucous tonight. Packed. Near everyone, it seems, is home at the same time, save a crew or two. Some fiddlers have taken up near the center of the room, playing a merry, jaunty tune.
Peace settles in Danso’s chest: a rare thing. They returned only yesterday from a successful voyage, having sold the plunder they took from a nasty merchant captain to one of their contacts in Tortola, and the rest here in Nassau. Most of the crew are present, spread out across the tavern with other pirates, though his closest are near him at the bar. Abeni’s off to the side with Eli, their fingers intertwined. She’s taking things slow there, but Danso hears the affection in her laughter when Eli says something with his signature grin. Chantal and Frantz are closest to that pair, Frantz talking animatedly about something. Flora sits in between Chema and Auden, the latter’s stolen, too-large hat perched on her head. Elliot and Benoit play cards at the bar, almost knocking over their drinks each time they jump up in joy at winning a round. Marc and Gus sit a few stools down from them, Marc pointing and explaining some of the sketches in his notebook, the normally boisterous Gus listening intently. Marc’s beau Charlie who works here in the tavern stands behind them, his arms wrapped loosely around Marc’s waist. René and Jahni stand next to Danso, leaning with their backs against the bar. René sips his coffee as Jahni tells a story with joyful ease, though Danso can’t make out the contents of the tale over the noise. A few minutes pass, and yet more pirates and local Nassau merchants come in.
There are several other merchant shops nearby—including the bakery Eli’s mother and sisters opened—but this is the only proper tavern.
Maybe they should consider building another.
“It’s ridiculous in here tonight.”
René whispers in Danso’s ear, barely audible over the buzz of conversation. Jahni’s been swept to Flora’s side, called over to mediate a debate between Auden and Chema.
“So it is. In a good way, I think.” Danso swallows down the last of his ale, warm contentment flooding through him.
René laughs, taking another sip of his coffee and shifting his long hair over his shoulder. “I asked for just plain coffee, but wouldn’t you know Davis slipped some rum in here anyway. I suppose he felt bad he was out of the sweet Madeira I like. Maybe we should nick some next time we’re out.”
A slow smile slides across René’s face, revealing the young man of twenty-two years he’s become, grown from the boy he was when Danso met him. Confident. Content. Though not as confident as he should be for how talented he is. There’s something ... unfinished about him. René right now reminds Danso of who he was when he newly joined Ebele’s crew, unsure what might happen next, but finding himself in this life. René tries not to be noticed but he is noticeable, and Danso isn’t sure what to do about that.
“René?” Danso says. “May I ask you something?”
René takes a long swig of his coffee, earnest as he always is. “Of course.”
“Abeni and I have been saving money to purchase a second ship, in the future—”
“We wouldn’t just steal it?”
Danso chuckles. “We could, but we’d like to get exactly what we’re looking for. Word has it a few gents are looking to retire from the life in the next year or so and might sell their ship for a small sum.”
René nods. “Was that what you wanted to ask me? If I thought it was a good idea? Because I do.”
No, Danso wants to say. I wanted to ask if you had any aim toward the captaincy. But he’s not ready. He can’t, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if René says yes. Or if he says no. He thought he was ready, but he isn’t.
“Yes.” Danso clears his throat. “We’d need more crew members. It would be new for us. More to manage.”
“We could do more,” René answers. “Go after bigger ships. Go out separately, sometimes. It gives us options.” He looks out at the crowded tavern, biting his lip. “Do you—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head.
“Something wrong?”
“No.” René smiles again, but it’s not quite the same as before. “Nothing.”
Danso once thought he might not have it in him to love anyone other than Abeni, Flora, and Jahni. Not in that full, breathtaking way. There is so much in his day-to-day. He hadn’t thought there was room for anything more. Then those three boys showed up in this tavern and proved him wrong.
His own voice resounds in his head.
I’m not Michel Delacroix.
Abeni’s rings louder in answer.
You never could be. But it will hurt them if you start holding them back under the guise of protection.
“Have you selected someone?” Jerome asks.
“You, as it happens,” Admiral Adams answers, getting to the point already. “If you’ll accept, that is.”
Jerome fights back a satisfied smile. That’s not professional, but he is pleased. This is a moment, an important moment. He feels it.
This is going to change things.
“I was just telling Admiral Adams of all the many reasons I find you qualified,” Lord Travers says, taking a sip of his milky tea. “You’ve been an excellent sailor and soldier for all the years I’ve known you. I’m certain Michel agrees with me.”
The Hunter, the papers called him again a few weeks ago after he caught another pirate frigate, giving him top billing with Michel over Captain Bennet. He wants this assignment. Needs it. He doesn’t trust anyone else to do it right. The pirates are always ahead of them as far as intelligence goes, and no one cares about that like he does. No one.
He’s wanted to hunt pirates since the was twenty-one years old.
“What do you say, Jerome?” Admiral Adams asks. “We’ve consent from all the other men here.”
“I would be honored, sir.”
“Good man.” Admiral Adams reaches across the table, shaking Jerome’s hand. “It will only be for a few hours under cover of night. I’m not yet willing to risk leaving our ships so near to the shore of New Providence for long. You may have to anchor on the other side of the island and travel over the interior to avoid notice.” An uncomfortable pall comes over the room, everyone aware that for now, the pirates possess the advantage concerning the lost colony. There are hundreds of pirates in Nassau, and that isn’t counting others on the island who make their living off them, all outnumbering the tiny community of English citizens rumored to still live in the interior. “You’ll find out the lay of the land, see if there are weaknesses we can take advantage of for a future attack. Any word of their scheming would be useful. Whether or not the fort is working, the locations of the markets where they sell cargo ... anything like that.”
“There’s not a fear they would recognize me?” Jerome asks. He doesn’t want to ask, but he must.
“Luckily, while most of those villains know your name and reputation—especially as of late—they do not know your face. There aren’t wanted flyers of you up, after all.” Admiral Adams laughs at the notion, giving Jerome an approving look. “You’ve caught most of the ones you’ve encountered. I’d say be wary of any run-ins with that damned Robin Hood, though it’s been so long since he saw your face that he might not recognize you. He’s up to so much at sea he may not be there at all.”
“When will this assignment take place?” Jerome asks.
“In a few months’ time.” Admiral Adams glances down at his papers, writing something down. “There’s a great deal of preparation required. But I have faith that we’ll be able to recover at least some information.”
“Perhaps this will make the Admiralty understand the seriousness of the situation,” Lord Travers says, and Jerome catches Michel rolling his eyes. “Governors across the Indies are concerned that stories about the pirates’ exploits will encourage slave revolts. Well-traveled shipping lanes are being attacked. This effort needs to lead to getting Nassau back under our control. The scoundrels having a base of operations makes things easier for them, and it doesn’t help that those in London see fit to transport criminals to the colonies—the Irish and the Quakers and other riff-raff try to make their homes here. They’re the sorts of people who might turn toward piracy in the first place.”
“I would need approval from London to even think of an outright siege on Nassau, and a new governor, besides.” Annoyance flickers in Admiral Adams’ eyes. “Even if this doesn’t provide us with a way to attack Nassau yet, I am hopeful it will provide information about some of the most notorious groups’ movements and merchants they sell to. That pesky Hornigold attacking anyone who comes close to the coast of New Providence is a priority as well. Unlike the others, he seems to go after Spanish and French ships, but I have no doubt he’ll attack English vessels eventually.”
“Or his men won’t leave him with a choice,” Captain Bennet adds, speaking for the first time since Jerome came in. “We’ll be taking one of the sloops instead of the Chase. Faster, and less noticeable besides. Admiral Adams will select the best men from ours and Commodore Delacroix’s crews to take with us.”
“We are losing some of our men to the ruffians,” Admiral Adams continues, with no lack of scorn. “They’re falling prey to stories and false promises, and we need to change that, gentlemen. Starting with getting information from their little republic itself. This is crucial if we are to earn more money and support from the Crown. We must turn the tide.”
A note of bitterness rings in Admiral Adams’ voice. It’s no secret that he would prefer a posting outside of the islands, perhaps back in Europe, and success here would grant him that.
“I have asked my men to stop telling stories about pirates.” Michel sounds far-off as he joins the conversation. “Lest they have an ill-effect when we’re dealing with them so closely. Managing the narrative is more important than some people realize, especially with sailors’ penchant for spinning yarns.”
Admiral Adams raises his teacup. “Well said, Michel.”
They discuss logistics for a few minutes, and after Admiral Adams asks for a meeting with Jerome again in the morning he and the others file out, leaving Jerome alone with Lord Travers and Michel.
“Congratulations, Lieutenant Jerome.” Lord Travers shakes Jerome’s hand, and Jerome feels a pang of discomfort he’d rather not consider. “I’m sure you’ll blend in well on Nassau.”
Michel pauses with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth, frowning. Jerome doesn’t answer right away, the words hanging in the air.
What does Lord Travers mean by that?
He can’t know about ....
No. No, he would have said something before now.
Lord Travers’ gaze darts back and forth between Michel and Jerome. “Something the matter?”
“No, sir, apologies,” Jerome recovers before Michel, who still gazes at his father-in-law before finally taking the sip of his coffee. “I was lost in thought.”
“Well, you are surely the right man for the job.” Lord Travers stands up, adjusting his coat. “Perhaps your recent successes will mean a captaincy of your own soon.”
“Hopefully, my lord. It would be an honor.”
Lord Travers nods. “I’m sure you and Michel will make an even more formidable force when that occurs. That is”—he holds onto the words, looking over at Michel before releasing them like throwing knives—“if Michel continues obeying his superiors.”
Michel’s face freezes when Lord Travers pats the side of his arm, stiffening in his seat.
“Perhaps you will even find my grandson among the rogues in Nassau.” Lord Travers speaks in a strikingly casual tone as he steps toward the door. Jerome certainly hadn’t thought Lord Travers held any suspicions similar to his own. “He was so fond of talking to the riffraff down at the docks, and did enjoy those ridiculous pirate tales you let your boatswain give him, Michel.”
“Andrew,” Michel chides. “For heaven’s sake, I don’t think René has become a pirate, of all things.”
“Good lord, Michel, I’m only musing,” Lord Travers replies. “Though René would be stupid enough to stay so close. Finding him there would be better than the nothing you’ve managed to discover, especially given that you never had another child. I did put out the story he was kidnapped, after all. Him being in Nassau would lend itself to that.”
Michel’s knuckles pop white around his coffee cup, but he doesn’t start an argument.
“Well, gentlemen if you would excuse me, I have an appointment for tea with my daughter.” Lord Travers puts his hand on the doorknob, tipping his hat at them. “I’m sure I’ll see both of you before I return to Spanish Town.”
“I’m sure Astra will be thrilled,” Michel mutters when Lord Travers’ footsteps fade down the hallway. “Then she won’t have any interest in speaking to me this evening after he wears her out.”
“It’s not my place to question you, Michel.” Jerome’s careful not to comment on the remark about Astra. “But is there something else that occurred between you and Lord Travers recently that you haven’t told me?”
Michel sighs. “Nothing in particular. He’s just always after Astra or me about something or the other. I lost him his heir. The usual.”
Jerome swore he wouldn’t mention his suspicions about René and Frantz until he possessed more proof—his vague mention of René even encountering pirates didn’t go well before—but when grief twists Michel’s face, he can’t help himself.
“I think Lord Travers has a point about René.”
Michel jolts in his chair, coffee spilling over the edge of his cup. “Pardon?” He shakes his head like he thinks he might have misheard. “I’m sorry, are you saying Andrew has a point about René being a pirate?”
“I—” Jerome halts, losing track of how he was going to say this. “A few years ago, when we were interviewing the captain of that Seymour ship that was attacked by the Misericorde, he mentioned that he was injured by a young fair-haired brat, as he put it. A sword cut to the arm. And they were rescuing slaves, including a few women. One of them could have been Chantal, which means Frantz could have been there too. The Carlisle boy as well, I imagine.”
“Nicholas,” Michel says, and it’s clear he has not even considered this. “That could have been anyone. Are you saying you’ve been thinking about this ever since then?”
“I understand.” Jerome ignores Michel’s question. “But a young man with that kind of skill with a sword? Who could injure a seasoned adult? Then we got that report about the East India ship that attacked the Misericorde off New York, and the young pirate who killed the first lieutenant on that crew. With a cutlass. They’re small clues I know, but they could mean something. It could mean René, Frantz, and Auden are on Danso’s crew. I think it’s worth pursuing. René and Frantz used to read all those stories, and I saw René looking at those flyers of Danso more than once. He liked to play the pirate in our games. I thought it a fanciful childhood thing. Perhaps it was more than that.”
“Nicholas,” Michel repeats, sharper this time. “You have excellent instincts. But this ... you are tying together two things you wish to be true. Now, I realize you wanted to take this assignment to find more clues about this theory. I am not telling you not to take it. You’re qualified, and I’m eager to know more about Nassau. But do not hope for this. That would be like a story. Not real life.”
The lecture, the slight hint of anger in Michel’s tone, makes shame well in Jerome’s throat. He might be nothing more than a chastened boy.
“Michel—”
“Whatever René has done,” Michel says, cutting Jerome off, “he would not do that to me. Besides, he and Frantz made it clear they wanted to be far away from me. They wouldn’t stay in the Indies. Piracy is reckless, because they would certainly know of our work. This is why you mentioned René running into pirates before. I see that now.”
There is something thoroughly like denial about these protests, the same ones Jerome heard previously, but more vehement now that there is possible proof. You don’t know your son, Jerome almost says, but keeps the thought to himself. He thinks again of the young pirate who spit on Michel, and how he looked just a touch like René. Maybe rather than making Michel give credence to the idea, it drove him from it.
“If we find them,” Jerome insists, “we can bring them back. We can make them see the error of their ways. They owe you everything. I owe it to you for letting them get away from me.”
Michel rises from his chair, squeezing Jerome’s shoulder in turn. Not for the first time, Jerome sees a reflection of the way Michel once looked at René. Michel’s grief has warped his mind, and Jerome must keep his head clear for both of them.
“Congratulations on the assignment, Nicholas.” Michel straightens his hat, smoothing back a few stray blond hairs, some now streaked with silver. “I must get back to my office, but come around for supper tonight, if you’ve got the time. We’ll celebrate what I’m sure will soon be the awarding of your own ship, all right?”
The invitation is a peace between them, and Jerome can’t bear Michel’s anger enough right now to do anything other than accept. Someday soon, if he can find more evidence, he will have to manage it.
Nassau. Nassau will give him what he needs.
“Yes, sir,” Jerome answers, an echo of his younger self.
The door falls only partly closed when Michel goes, a chink of light edging in. Ghostly echoes of childish laughter float eerily through the room, as if Michel left his memories behind him.
Damn those boys for doing this to Michel.
Damn them for doing this to me.
If he’s wrong, he’s wrong, but he doesn’t care if it takes years—he will find those boys. If the pieces connect them with Danso, he will accomplish two things at once. It is the least he can do after everything Michel Delacroix has done for him.
Chapter 14
Nassau, The Bahamas. September 1712.
Danso takes a sip of ale, the taste of ginger dancing across his tongue. Davis brews his own here, and damn if it isn’t the finest Danso’s ever had.
The tavern is raucous tonight. Packed. Near everyone, it seems, is home at the same time, save a crew or two. Some fiddlers have taken up near the center of the room, playing a merry, jaunty tune.
Peace settles in Danso’s chest: a rare thing. They returned only yesterday from a successful voyage, having sold the plunder they took from a nasty merchant captain to one of their contacts in Tortola, and the rest here in Nassau. Most of the crew are present, spread out across the tavern with other pirates, though his closest are near him at the bar. Abeni’s off to the side with Eli, their fingers intertwined. She’s taking things slow there, but Danso hears the affection in her laughter when Eli says something with his signature grin. Chantal and Frantz are closest to that pair, Frantz talking animatedly about something. Flora sits in between Chema and Auden, the latter’s stolen, too-large hat perched on her head. Elliot and Benoit play cards at the bar, almost knocking over their drinks each time they jump up in joy at winning a round. Marc and Gus sit a few stools down from them, Marc pointing and explaining some of the sketches in his notebook, the normally boisterous Gus listening intently. Marc’s beau Charlie who works here in the tavern stands behind them, his arms wrapped loosely around Marc’s waist. René and Jahni stand next to Danso, leaning with their backs against the bar. René sips his coffee as Jahni tells a story with joyful ease, though Danso can’t make out the contents of the tale over the noise. A few minutes pass, and yet more pirates and local Nassau merchants come in.
There are several other merchant shops nearby—including the bakery Eli’s mother and sisters opened—but this is the only proper tavern.
Maybe they should consider building another.
“It’s ridiculous in here tonight.”
René whispers in Danso’s ear, barely audible over the buzz of conversation. Jahni’s been swept to Flora’s side, called over to mediate a debate between Auden and Chema.
“So it is. In a good way, I think.” Danso swallows down the last of his ale, warm contentment flooding through him.
René laughs, taking another sip of his coffee and shifting his long hair over his shoulder. “I asked for just plain coffee, but wouldn’t you know Davis slipped some rum in here anyway. I suppose he felt bad he was out of the sweet Madeira I like. Maybe we should nick some next time we’re out.”
A slow smile slides across René’s face, revealing the young man of twenty-two years he’s become, grown from the boy he was when Danso met him. Confident. Content. Though not as confident as he should be for how talented he is. There’s something ... unfinished about him. René right now reminds Danso of who he was when he newly joined Ebele’s crew, unsure what might happen next, but finding himself in this life. René tries not to be noticed but he is noticeable, and Danso isn’t sure what to do about that.
“René?” Danso says. “May I ask you something?”
René takes a long swig of his coffee, earnest as he always is. “Of course.”
“Abeni and I have been saving money to purchase a second ship, in the future—”
“We wouldn’t just steal it?”
Danso chuckles. “We could, but we’d like to get exactly what we’re looking for. Word has it a few gents are looking to retire from the life in the next year or so and might sell their ship for a small sum.”
René nods. “Was that what you wanted to ask me? If I thought it was a good idea? Because I do.”
No, Danso wants to say. I wanted to ask if you had any aim toward the captaincy. But he’s not ready. He can’t, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if René says yes. Or if he says no. He thought he was ready, but he isn’t.
“Yes.” Danso clears his throat. “We’d need more crew members. It would be new for us. More to manage.”
“We could do more,” René answers. “Go after bigger ships. Go out separately, sometimes. It gives us options.” He looks out at the crowded tavern, biting his lip. “Do you—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head.
“Something wrong?”
“No.” René smiles again, but it’s not quite the same as before. “Nothing.”
Danso once thought he might not have it in him to love anyone other than Abeni, Flora, and Jahni. Not in that full, breathtaking way. There is so much in his day-to-day. He hadn’t thought there was room for anything more. Then those three boys showed up in this tavern and proved him wrong.
His own voice resounds in his head.
I’m not Michel Delacroix.
Abeni’s rings louder in answer.
You never could be. But it will hurt them if you start holding them back under the guise of protection.
