Page 8

Catastrophe

I woke with the intense urge to piss. Too much rum and whiskey had filled my bladder and made my head ache and my stomach unsettled. And perhaps I was still drunk.

At some point, I must have fallen over because I was lying flat out on the deck. I pushed myself up and looked around. The captain and Donatello had fallen asleep together, with the quartermaster sprawled over the captain’s legs, and the captain lolling against the rail, where he’d been most of the night. One of them was snoring—likely my captain.

The other men on deck were spread about, sleeping wherever they’d landed. Groups of them were piled up like a litter of puppies, and others had found space for themselves. It had been a joyful, happy evening, and I hadn’t had many.

I sighed and stood, my head throbbing as the boat swayed beneath my feet. Or perhaps the deck was steady, and my addled brain made me think the ship was moving. The silence of the ocean at night stretched out from the bow and the moonlight made a pretty design on the surface. I turned and moved to the railing behind me, still entertaining visions of the festivities, so I waited until releasing a good stream of piss over the water to look up.

A great ship loomed on the horizon, heading in our direction. She was several leagues away by my estimate, but still too close. I almost choked on my tongue as I finished pissing and tucked myself into my breeches. I stumbled toward the captain.

“Captain Martin! Dinesh! Wake up, for fuck’s sake. A ship, there’s a ship, right here. Wake up! Wake up!”

“Hmm. Rooster…” he groaned. “For fuck’s sake, let me sleep. I’ll tup you later…”

“We’ll all be dead by then. There’s a ship! There’s a ship, and it’s gaining ground!” I raised my voice and let some of my terror come through.

His eyes went wide, and he scrambled up, peering over the railing.

“Fucking Christ,” he cursed. “Where did she come from?”

He kicked Donatello, who groaned and joined us at the rail, holding his head. When he saw the ship, he let go of his head and gripped the wooden balustrade.

“They don’t come in peace, Captain. Look,” Donatello said, his tone foreboding.

Fluttering on the mast of the approaching vessel was a black flag, with white insignia of an indefinable design. But that was enough to know they were bandits, pirates, or vagabonds with no allegiance to anyone but themselves, just like us.

“Who’s on watch?” Captain Martin asked, gazing around at the sleeping men.

“Beatty,” Donatello muttered. “He’s there.”

He pointed to a stout fellow sprawled fast asleep along the rail with an empty jug near him.

“Well, he’d better hope he’s killed in the skirmish we’re about to have, or the men will deal with him themselves,” the captain muttered ominously. He reached into his pocket and turned to me. “White, run and get my spyglass,” he said, pressing the key to his rooms in my hand.

“Yes, Captain,” I said, my heart in my chest and the taste of bile in my throat.

I ran.

I ran so fast I almost tumbled down the stairs to the lower deck. The key stuck in the lock of the door, and I cursed, wiggling it frantically. I took a deep breath and applied the key with more deliberation and less panic, and the latch clicked. I pushed the door open, ran in, grabbed the glass, and ran back to the deck.

“Here, Captain,” I said, passing the fine tool to Captain Martin, whilst Donatello roused the crew, wading in among them and kicking men with no ceremony.

“Get up! Get up, you buggers! Man the cannons! All crew to starboard!” he yelled.

Men staggered and scrambled, jumping up as they woke, no doubt with sore heads and limbs, but they rallied. They must have heard the urgency in the commands and realized this was a life or death situation.

The air filled with curses and cries as the men realized what was happening and saw the approaching ship themselves. I saw Beatty wake and leap up, his eyes wide and panic on his face. He met my gaze and I his, knowing the man’s days were numbered. Doubtless he knew his fatal mistake too. He should have been on watch, even with a celebration going on.

In fact, the entire night crew had indulged in the drink and the merrymaking, and woke now to a terrible situation of their own making. They and the day crew ran to their posts to see what could be done.

Captain Martin lifted his spyglass. The moonlight lit the sky and the surface of the water with a brilliance we could thank our chances for.

Donatello returned to the captain’s side.

“Can you make anything out?” he asked.

“No. It’s all dark, as if they’re asleep or adrift. But that’s not likely.”

“No. They’re biding time, most likely. Hoping we haven’t seen them.”

“We almost didn’t.” The captain’s gaze flashed to mine.

A great boom and a flash of bright light exploded over the waves.

“All hands to stations!” Donatello called. “We’re under attack!”

“Hard to port!” Mr Dunn yelled. “No time to clear the decks. Just do what you can to get the cannons in place!”

Our navigator had been well in the cups but now took command of the ship with a justified urgency. The first cannon shot missed us, but another was launched that skimmed the bow and splintered a rail.

“To the guns! Fire when ready!” Captain Martin shouted, backed up by Donatello.

The Arrow slowly turned and presented her broadside to the other vessel, as their cannons were reloaded. We could see much activity on her deck now as the rays of the morning sun peeked over the horizon and the stars began to dim.

My heart leapt in my chest, as the smell of sulphur and smoke filled my nostrils. My belly reeled with the effects of the drink from the night before and with a sudden fear for my life. This was a wholly new experience for me and I already didn’t like it. My instinct was to run below decks but I couldn’t possibly display such overt cowardice. Besides, I needed to know the captain was all right. I want to say that I jumped into readiness to help defend the Arrow . However, I had no skills or training, and no idea what to do, so I decided it best to stay out of the way.

I crouched behind a barrel and tried to keep an eye on the captain and Donatello. I barely believed the Arrow hadn’t disintegrated into a pile of splinters and flame because the fire kept coming. My ears rang with the sounds of shouting and cannon fire and gunshots, as our crew tried to defend us.

“Raise the white flag! Raise it now!” Captain Martin commanded, and I wondered at surrendering so quickly. Then again, I didn’t want the ship to go down, and our position did appear hopeless.

“Surrender? Are you certain?” Donatello asked him in a loud voice that would carry over the sounds of destruction and men’s shouts.

“We’re outgunned, and they have the advantage. We can negotiate, perhaps. If they stop their fire, we can ask to board and discuss a fair solution. We have goods to trade.”

Donatello nodded quickly and turned to the men. “Raise the white flag!” he shouted. “We’ll negotiate a truce!”

The men hurried to obey, and soon our flag of surrender went up, flapping in the wind as the Arrow rocked beneath her assault. I prayed silently that the attacking ship would acknowledge the signal and give us mercy. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to breathe, wondering if this would be my final sunrise.

And then the cannons stopped. The sound and smell of wood burning became noticeable and some of the men shouted to contain a fire. I opened my eyes to see the crew battling flames and to see that half of the aft rail had been blown away.

We waited with baited breath, but the attack was paused. The captain’s gaze met mine, where I crouched near the barrel, and he nodded with a reassuring smile.

“Donatello,” Captain Martin said, grabbing Donatello’s arm. “You and I. We’ll go in the skiff and bargain with them. Surely, we can come to an arrangement.”

“Aye, Captain. Do you recognize the insignia?” Donatello asked.

“No. They’re rebels like us. We must be prepared for anything.”

“Aye,” Donatello said gravely.

I scrambled out of my sheltered spot, wishing I had some skills in this area and not just a spectacular arse.

“I want to come with you,” I said, breathlessly. Where this courage came from is anyone’s guess, but for a tremendous need to be near to Captain Martin, no matter what.

He turned to me with regret in his gaze.

“No, lad. There ain’t no point.”

His words hurt me, but he smoothed my hair back from my forehead and kissed me there.

“Stay here, and wait for me. I’ll be back.”

“Are you certain?” I gasped.

He only smiled and gave me a salute. “Keep yourself safe, little rooster. Do that for me.”

I nodded. My heart was breaking. Even though our union was only a few weeks old, I felt like a part of me was being ripped away. I was numb as I watched the skiff lowered over the side with Captain Martin and Donatello aboard.

I half expected the cannon fire to resume, and then we’d all be lost. But the slap of the waves on the hull and the murmur of anxious voices near me was the only sound, apart from my frantic heart beating in my ears. My belly roiled with heat and I felt like retching.

Donatello took the oars and rowed toward the other ship. The crew of the Arrow , including myself, gathered at the rail to watch. Several had their muskets cocked, ready for anything. Although I did wonder how effective muskets would be over that range.

The captain had handed me his spyglass, and now I raised the tool to my eye.

I locked onto the small skiff with the two important men aboard. It physically hurt to see Captain Martin so vulnerable, and I half expected the skiff to explode with cannon fire. The sun was peeking over the horizon, making a vivid and beautiful display over the sea, but I couldn’t rid myself of foreboding.

A rope ladder came over the side of the other vessel and dropped to the water, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Our captain was an intelligent man and skilled in dialogue. I only hoped he could secure an agreement so that we might leave with our ship and our lives.

“Damn fools. They aren’t going to negotiate,” Martinez muttered, sending a chill up my spine.

I lowered the glass to look at him.

Hillier, who was next in command under Donatello, stood nearby with his musket raised, his expression grim.

“But they’re welcoming them aboard,” I murmured in a voice that aimed to be hopeful.

“Mmm, that may be. But I’ve my doubts as to their intentions,” Martinez said.

I lifted the glass to my eye again, my belly swirling with renewed worry. If what Martinez said was true, the captain and Donatello were in a very vulnerable position.

The two men climbed aboard and soon vanished into a crowd of darkly dressed vagabonds. But surely they’d be all right. Surely they wouldn’t be killed outright. There were rules of engagement, after all, even for pirates. Or so I’d assumed.

I jerked in fear as a dark and dangerous-looking fellow filled the glass. He was bearded and scarred and missing one eye. He looked toward the Arrow with a sneer, and I imagined he could see me watching. I gasped and lowered the glass, but then I couldn’t make out anything.

I lifted the tool and peered through the eyepiece again.

The enemy pirate captain was speaking to his crew. He held up his arms and his men moved back, creating space around Captain Martin and Donatello. I prayed that one of them had a concealed weapon, although a small blade wouldn’t make much of a difference. If that crew was out for blood, they’d get what they craved. For the first time, I cast doubt on Captain Martin’s plan.

I watched through the spyglass, barely breathing, as Donatello and the captain spoke to the intimidating figure with some urgency. He nodded, then nodded again, and I could see that Captain Martin was encouraged. But then the villain shook his head and pointed back at our ship. His ragtag crew raised their fists in the air, and their cheer rang over the water.

“Fuck. Fuck,” I breathed.

Two of the men grabbed Donatello and hauled him up onto a box, holding him steady as his wrists were roped together.

“No, no, no,” I said.

“What’s happening?” Hillier asked.

“They’ve got Donatello,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

He grabbed the spyglass from me and lifted the instrument to his eye, just as a shot echoed between the two ships, and a man cried out in astonishment.

I watched from a distance as the pirate took out Donatello at close range.

“Donatello’s gone. They shot him,” Hillier muttered. He lowered the spyglass, his face ashen. “Fucking bastards.” He turned to the others and handed the tool to me. “Prepare to fire! They aren’t negotiating!”

“Wait! What about Captain Martin?” I yelled, lifting the spyglass to my eye.

I watched, my heart like a firebrand in my chest, as Captain Martin held up his hands and tried to reason with the other captain, the crumpled body of Donatello at his feet, blood oozing from the man’s destroyed face.

“He’s trying to reason with him! Hold on!” I said.

“Hold your fire!” Hillier said as the men prepared to do what they could. Captain Martin looked pale and desperate, but he was arguing and pointing at our ship. For a moment, his pale but familiar visage filled the spyglass, the face I’d touched and kissed so tenderly only half a day earlier.

Everything went dark.

My vision dimmed and my burning, furious heart put forth an incredible heat that took my breath and churned it like sparks of fire. The spyglass clattered to the deck as I grabbed the rail and glared at the distant ship.

I couldn’t see a thing but the flames and fire that danced in my vision. A maelstrom appeared directly over the offending vessel—swirling and swooping dark clouds, vicious winds that tore their sails, lightning that crashed and struck their rigging. The sudden destruction satisfied some deep and dark part of me as an appropriate revenge for what they’d done to Donatello and were about to do to my beloved captain.

I wasn’t cognizant of my actions, only possessed of a destructive force so strong that its violence and single-minded focus took me over. My hands and heart burned with the heat of my passion. A spark deep in my belly took hold and radiated outward to all of my limbs. Lightning crackled between my fingers.

Exclamations and curses came from the men around me. I stood there, hands two heated brands as they clutched the rail, the storm before us a reflection of my desire to smite them all, but for an image of Captain Martin’s cherished face, and a memory of the way he’d held me in his bed the previous afternoon.

I was enraged past the point of reason that those bastards had probably killed him by now.

The storm was the only thing I could see with my eyes and the only thing I could hear. Then strange words came out of my mouth in a language I barely remembered. I understood them, even as I didn’t know how or why I was saying them.

“Bring me the fire and the flame,

O’er the ocean, in my name.

Give me the lightning and the storm,

From the heavens, let it be borne.

Smite those who threaten what’s mine.

They’ll not have anyone this time.

Let the sea and the flame rejoice.

Let the ocean and sky make the choice.”

I gripped the railing as the storm raged and howled, blackness and blue fire making a terrifying image. Then, as quickly as the gale had come up, it died down. The clouds became sparse and grey and through them could be seen the enemy ship. Aflame, and barely a vessel anymore, the smell of burning timber and steaming sulphur drifted on the breeze.

I blinked, coming back to myself with a horrible dread and shame that almost felled me. But I had to see. I had to see what I had wrought.

I lifted my hands from the rail and turned. Men backed away and crossed themselves or made other superstitious gestures. My palms ached and stung as I grabbed the fallen spyglass and lifted it to my eye.

I’d made the wrong choice, though my actions hadn’t been a choice at all. Unfathomable power had overtaken me. A familiar phenomenon that hadn’t occurred for a very long time, one that I’d thought had been laid to rest with my dear mother on that horrible day.

I couldn’t see the other ship for the flames. Captain Martin was as lost as everyone else. No men were in the act of throwing themselves over the side because they were all dead.

It was a funeral pyre.

I tried to come to terms with the deathly vision, knowing I’d never see Captain Martin again and wondering how I’d survive.

“He’s there!” Hillier yelled. “The captain! By all that’s holy, look there!”

I gazed at Hillier, wondering why he was torturing me with impossibilities. Then I looked to where he pointed and saw a form bobbing in the water. But surely he was dead—a corpse tossed on the waves.

Then I heard a splash, and spotted three of the men swimming toward him.

“Lower the rope ladder! Do it now!”

A frail hope inside me broke.

They thought he was alive but that was an impossibility! I had put him in that maelstrom of death. I had murdered everyone aboard. I had torn that ship apart as if it were a child’s plaything.

I had most likely killed him as well.

I looked at Hillier. He met my gaze with trepidation and alarm, which only made me feel worse. So I ran.

*

I hid in the hold, crouched against the slick wall, where my hammock still hung by the porthole, not ready to talk to anyone or offer any kind of explanation for what had occurred. I barely knew what had happened myself, and a similar thing had only occurred once before. This time, the release of my magic hadn’t worked against me and left me with a vicious scar or killed me outright, although I wished it had.

But, perhaps I was wrong about that because my palms wouldn’t stop stinging. I examined them in the light from a nearby oil lantern. They were indeed red and blistered. I hadn’t been spared at all.

“Fuck,” I said, as the pain worsened. As if seeing my injury made the destruction real. How had the railing not burst into flames? I didn’t know if my recollection of events was accurate at all.

I gazed about myself, trying to focus and shake this inner turmoil. I didn’t even know how much time had passed since the incident on deck.

I heard footsteps, and Martinéz came down into the hold as if he was looking for someone. But surely he wasn’t trying to find me?

“Martinéz,” I said, but my voice was gone. I cleared my throat and tried again, with more volume. “ Martinéz .”

His head swung toward me, and his eyes went wide when he saw me. He took a step back, and for a moment, I thought he might flee. He stood his ground.

“The captain,” I stammered, my face crumpling into misery. “Did he…live?”

His eyes softened and his posture relaxed.

“Aye,” Martinéz said, and I almost sobbed with relief. “Except for having watched his best mate killed before his eyes, and an entire ship burnt to timbers beneath him,” he said, a statement of fact, and not an accusation. His voice was gentle.

I nodded and whispered, “Thank you.”

He kept looking at me. He appeared to consider whether to say anything more.

“Are you all right, White?” he asked finally.

I didn’t know quite what to tell him. Except that I wasn’t all right at all. In so many ways.

“My hands,” I whispered. I showed him.

“Christ Almighty,” he said and crossed himself before taking a step closer. “You need tending. Let me get Faraday.”

Faraday was a retired navy doctor who had come aboard the Arrow at one of her visits to Tortuga. Captain Martin had bribed him with a bag of coin to join his crew as he’d needed a surgeon.

“You don’t have to,” I said. “I know everyone’s scared of me.”

Martinéz gazed at me for a long moment. “We ain’t scared, exactly,” he said. “Only confused and a bit cautious. You can’t blame us for that. You don’t know what that looked like from where we were. I still don’t understand what happened.”

“If it makes you feel better, neither do I.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better at all.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“Are you a witch, Simon? Is that what you are?”

The word rang in my ears with all of its power and prejudice. I didn’t want to believe that word applied to me. I averted my gaze and didn’t answer.

Martinez sighed. “Anyway, I’m getting Faraday.”

I didn’t bother to reply. I went back to staring at the wall and wondering what I was going to do. Surely they’d send me off the Arrow at the next port. Nobody’d want me now.

Martinez left, and soon Faraday came, accompanied not by Martinez but with Hillier. The surgeon pulled a wood crate over and took a seat.

“Hello, White.”

I glanced at him. Faraday was an average-sized man, with a snub nose that gave him a juvenile look, although he must have been in his mid-thirties. He had blue eyes and soft hands, and he’d treated me for lice, when I’d first come aboard, with more than average sympathy.

“Let me see those hands then.”

I showed him.

“Well now. That looks painful.”

The hurt was considerable, but I deserved to suffer for what I’d done.

“I’ve brought some linen cloths to wrap your hands. Best to keep the dirt out and leave the wound open to the air,” he said. He reached for me. “May I?”

I nodded.

He took my wrists and examined them, turning them over to check the backs, peering through his thick glasses.

“Any other burns on you?”

“Don’t think so.”

Faraday wrapped my hands loosely with the clean linen. He tied the strips in knots on the backs of my hands.

“There. That will keep them protected. You should have some willow bark tea for the pain,” he said with a kind smile.

I was staring at my cloth-covered hands when I heard Captain Martin’s voice. “He can have that in my cabin.”

I looked up, slowly, as if preparing to see a ghost or a sworn enemy.

He stood there, watching me. He was all of a piece, and I let my gaze drag down his body to be sure.

“Of course, Captain,” Faraday said, standing and giving me a nod. “Look after yourself, White.”

“White will be under my care,” Captain Martin said.

Faraday smiled, gave him a nod, and left us.

I don’t deserve this. I almost caused your death.

I looked away and curled in on myself.

“Simon.”

I didn’t respond.

“Rooster,” he said, in softer tones.

But that only made me more miserable.

He sighed. “Look at me.”

“No.”

Silence.

“You dare disobey a direct order from your captain, White?”

I couldn’t ignore his commanding tone. I looked up at him.

His expression relaxed into pity. “What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong?

How could he ask that? Everything was wrong. Where had he been for the last few hours?

I blinked, trying to summon the words.

“I…I…”

I felt like an object was stuck in my throat.

I wanted to say that I’d almost caused his death; I’d produced the storm that had destroyed that vessel. Instead, my face collapsed, and I started to cry.

The captain spoke. “You saved me, Simon White. Somehow. I don’t understand what happened any more than you do. But you spared my life and no one else’s.”

I shook my head. His survival had been a fortunate bit of luck. I didn’t have that kind of control. Maybe I never would.

He bent down so we were at eye level. “Get up, Rooster, and come with me.”

I shook my head again.

The captain sighed. “Rooster.”

I kept crying, and now I’d started to shake.

“I’ll carry you if I have to,” he warned.

“No…just leave me here,” I managed between gasps and sniffles.

“Nonsense,” he said.

He scooped me into his arms, in spite of my pitiful protests. He carried me to his rooms, past curious and cautious stares from the crew. I hid my face against his shoulder and soaked the fabric with my tears.