Portete
Chapter 28 - Petite Goave
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NOTE: This story contains some harsh language and mature themes that might be upsetting to some readers. They are pirates, after all. Ye have been warned.
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The Shenanigan slid into the bustling harbor of Petite Goave, heavy lines tossed to the dockhands and orders shouted in a mix of French, Creole, Spanish, and English. The crew of the yacht worked quickly and efficiently, and soon the gangway was down. Dinsmore busied himself with the harbormaster and the necessary bureaucracy while Aytack began barking commands to the crew. Below deck, Brendan Shaughnessy and Nicholas Flannigan began moving barrels and crates.
“The barrels stay on board ‘til we get word from the Captain, aye?” Shaughnessy hefted one to the side.
“Aye,” replied Flannigan with a grunt. “And the crates need to go to La Débarcadère down Rue du Maison.”
“Right. Fancy a pint after we drop ‘em off?”
“Sure! Think we can make it in one trip?”
“Absolutely!”
The two men heaved and hauled the heavy crates to the cargo net hanging down from the block and lines above. They paused, staring at the blood on the deck underneath.
“Ugly business, that,” murmured Flannigan.
“Aye. What d’ya figure they’ll do with the body?”
“Cap’n said they’re taking it to an old family estate to be buried. Word is his wife and kids are there, too.”
“Dead?”
“That’s the word. Pity, too. The wife was a real beauty.”
“You’re a scoundrel and a devil, Nicky Flannigan!”
“That I am, Brendan, ol’ boy. That I am.”
“Don’t let Mendoza hear you talk like that. You might be the next over a barrel.”
“I wouldn’t know Mendoza if he came to dinner and introduced himself, mate. I never have seen his face.”
“You were standing right there on deck when he killed Raymond, were you not?”
“Aye, but he wears that wide-brimmed hat… keeps his head down… and something seems unreal about him.”
“Unreal? Like… he’s a ghost?” Shaughnessy’s eyes widened. Flannigan snorted.
“What are you, an idiot? I mean, he’s in disguise! I don’t think the beard is real, but it is hard to say. And I never did see his eyes.”
They pushed the last crate into the netting and tugged on the thick rope.
“Take it up,” Flannigan called up through the hatch.
The two men walked to the stairs and climbed up to the deck. They squinted against the bright sun, Flannigan holding a cupped hand over his eyes.
“Wagon’s just about ready, Bren.”
“Then let’s go! The faster we get there, the sooner we’ll be drinking!”
The two men walked briskly down the gangway, grinning and laughing, and approached the wagon stacked with the crates for La Débarcadère. Next to them was another wagon. Their smiles faded when they saw the contents. Wrapped in canvas and tied tightly was what appeared to be a body. Blood had soaked through and created a large red-brown stain at the mid-section. The two men crossed themselves and hurriedly urged the horses forward.
“…and we will need seating at the table for ten.” Dinsmore looked over his ledger and sipped a glass of red wine. The library of Vicomte Gaston de Valmont was plush and warm, but not stuffy. Artwork adorned the walls, and the bookshelves were filled with nothing but classic French literature, bound in fine leather.
“Ten, Monsieur Dinsmore?” The old Frenchman raised an eyebrow and picked up the bottle of wine. “I do not recall you ever needing more than nine in the past, and that was with that horrible del Vigo woman.” He refilled his own glass and drained it in one gulp. He motioned to Dinsmore with the bottle.
Dinsmore looked up and grinned, taking the wine. “Yes, well, we need ten this time, Monsieur Valmont. Will that be a problem? I can always ask the Vicomte de Bragelonne…” Without looking away from the fidgeting man, he filled his glass, emptying the bottle.
“No, no,” urged the man, suddenly sweating profusely in his thick French dresscoat. “I assure you, my home will be perfect for you and Monsieur Mendoza and your guests. You have brought your staff again, no?”
“Of course. And supplies. Your house staff will be confined to the servants’ quarters until we are gone, except for kitchen staff. They may work under Akili’s supervision.”
Valmont nodded approvingly. “Ah, Akili! Amazing what that savage can do with food, no? When would you like to begin?”
“Immediately, Gaston. I will send word to my ship, and they will bring the necessities immediately, as well as the staff.”
“Très bien, Monsieur. Pardon, but where will your staff be sleeping? I fear I do not have room for your guests and your staff.”
“No worries, Gaston. I have made arrangements for them elsewhere, and for transportation to and from your estate.”
“Merveilleux,” replied Valmont. “It is splendid to see you again, Monsieur. I trust all is well?”
“Of course, Gaston. Things are always well whenever we have the opportunity to visit Petite Goave. Say, you are a true Frenchman, are you not?”
“But of course, Monsieur!” Valmont puffed up his chest and straightened his coat. “Only the purest Marseille blood flows in these veins!”
“I thought as much. And the French bottle the finest wine in the world, am I correct?”
“No others come close.”
“So I would assume then that as a French gentleman of high birth and refined taste, you have nothing but the finest vintages in your cellars?”
“I pride myself on having one of the finest collections in the Caribbean.”
“Which is one of the reasons Mister Mendoza values your friendship, Gaston. Men of quality must look out for one another, no?”
“Of course.” Valmont looked uneasy.
“So I am sure it will be no bother if I personally select the wine for the gathering from your cellars.”
With a defeated sigh, the Frenchman shook his head. “Of course not, Monsieur. What is mine is yours.”
“Most excellent. Shall we then? I want to be sure to peruse your entire collection, my good man!”
The beach near the docks of Tortuga was mostly deserted, save for the mostly naked couple swinging in a hammock between two palm trees. Roger Maddix drank deeply from his bottle of rum. The huge fronds shaded him from the hot Caribbean sun, and the tropical breeze caressed him gently, as did Martha, the sultry young woman lying next to him. With a slurred, but strong voice, he sang to her:
Heel ya ho boys, let her go boys
Bring her head ‘round, into th’ weather
Heel ya ho boys, let her go boys
Sailin’ homeward to Mingalay
Martha nuzzled his bare chest and took a drink from his bottle. “That’s a nice one, Roger… sing me more of that one.”
“Aye lass… It’s one of my favorites as well.” He took another long drink and sang again.
What care we how wild th’ menches
What care we for wind or weather
Heel ya ho boys, every inch is
Sailin’ closer to Mingalay
Wives and sweethearts on the pierhead
Lookin’ seaward from th’ heather
Let her go boys, and we’ll anchor
‘Ere the sun sets on Mingalay
When the wind is wild with howlin’
And the waves rise ever higher
Anxious eyes turn ever seaward
To see us home, boys, to Mingalay.
“Well, that’s right nice there, brother.” Ford was approaching from the beach, dripping wet and shirtless. Hanging on his arm was Temperance Ewing, another courtesan from The Sultry Mermaid. The young, lithe girl was also soaked and wearing only her undergarments. Maddix tossed the nearly empty bottle to Ford, who deftly caught it and drained it.
“How’s the water, children?” asked Martha.
“Gorgeous, love,” replied Ford, producing a new bottle from a pile of clothing near the closest tree. “Nothing like the waters of Tortuga, eh? Is my brother torturing you with his droning on and on again?” Ford laughed and playfully kicked the red-haired pirate’s leg.
“Naw,” purred Martha. “I love his songs. Full of passion and longing, they are.” The young woman moved to straddle Maddix and kissed him hard.
“Well, he’s full of something, alright,” laughed Ford.
“What’s that?” asked Temperance, pointing at the horizon. The others turned to look.
“I don’t see anything, love,” said Maddix, but he lifted Martha and stood from the hammock. “Did you bring a glass with you, Alex?”
“’Fraid not, Rog. Didnae think to need one.”
“It’s a ship,” said Martha. “White sails.” They all looked at her. “What? Can’t a girl have keen eyes?”
Sure enough, after a few minutes, they could all make out the unmistakable shape of a three-masted brigantine moving towards the harbor.
“Now I wonder who that is?” wondered Ford aloud.
“Could be anyone, brother. It is a free port.”
“Aye, but she’s a brig. Don’t see many of those in Tortuga these days.”
“True enough,” agreed Maddix. “Shall we have a look ‘round?” His eyes narrowed, and a mischievous grin crept onto his face.
“I think it would be only right.” Ford’s smile was equally roguish.
“Bloody pirates,” laughed Martha, rolling herself out of the hammock. “Well, come on then, Temp. Let the boys have their fun. We should be getting back anyway. Especially if there’s new blood in town.” Temperance giggled impishly and kissed Ford, then the two women scuttled off towards the town.
Ford tossed his shirt over his shoulder and picked up his belt, strapping it around his waist and cinching the cutlass at his side tight. Maddix followed suit, and the two pirates walked leisurely along the beach towards the harbor.
“That Temperance a new one?” asked the Welshman.
“Aye,” replied Ford, sipping the newly opened bottle. “She’s a fair lass, eh?”
“Indeed. Think she’ll stick around?”
“You never know, do you? Seen the captain lately?”
“Not for a day or so. Been holed up with Miss Suzanne, I’d wager.”
Maddix nodded. “Think they’ll ever marry?”
“What, MacRorie and Murphee?” Ford scoffed. “Don’t be mad!”
“Why not? They obviously fancy each other. Well, more than most folks, anyway.”
“Not a chance, brother. Captain’s not the marrying kind, and Murphee’s not about to let a man tell her what she can and can’t do. No, they may spend the rest of their god forsaken lives together, but they’ll never be married, mark my words.” He raised his bottle for emphasis. Maddix shrugged.
“’Right then… just wondering.”
The two pirates approached the docks and could see the new arrival dropping anchor in the harbor. A long boat was being lowered, crewed by only two men, with one passenger.
“Odd, that,” murmured Maddix.
“Odd indeed,” replied Ford. “Shall we see what he’s on about?”
“Aye.”
They jogged to the pier, arriving just as the newcomer climbed up.
“Welcome to Tortuga,” crowed Maddix, bowing deeply.
The man raised an eyebrow. “I thank you.” He was well-dressed in a powder-blue jacket and white trousers, and carried a leather satchel over his arm. He wore a well-worn scabbard at his waist. “Perhaps you could assist me.”
Ford smiled widely. “Of course, friend. Why, we would love to offer any assistance you may require.”
“For a small fee, of course,” chimed in Maddix.
“A fee?”
“Three shillings ought to do it,” said the red-haired pirate. “Don’t you think, brother?”
“Aye, that ought to about do it,”
“Now see here…” The man was clearly annoyed.
“Brother,” said Ford somberly. “I don’t think he intends on paying for our oh-so-valuable services!”
Maddix feigned dismay. “I do believe you are correct!” He whirled on the man. “Sir! This is most unacceptable! After everything we have done for you!”
“After the toil! The sweat! The blood!” cried Ford.
“Blood?! What blood?!” Confused and now worried, the man clutched his satchel tightly. Suddenly, he had two blades leveled at his neck.
“Yours,” said Maddix in a dangerous voice. He was smiling now. “What you got in the bag, friend?”
He was frightened, but he stood up straight and stared at the two pirates. “Nothing of value to you, you rascals. Now get out of my way. I have important business to attend to with Madam Suzanne.”
“Do you now?” Ford began to circle him to the right. “I think just about every man what comes to Tortuga wants to have ‘important business’ with the Madam, don’t you think, Roger?”
“Oh, definitely, Alex. At least, any man who is a man.” The two pirates chuckled.
“Wait a minute.” The man narrowed his eyes at them. “Roger? Alex? Roger Maddix and Alexander Ford?”
Now it was the pirates’ turn to be confused.
“Who’s asking?” said Ford warily.
“You both sail with Captain MacRorie, right? On the Relentless?”
The brothers looked at one another and then back at the man, nodding wordlessly.
“Well, isn’t that fortuitous!” He laughed and removed his tri-corner hat. “I have business with your captain, as well! My name is Randall van Dolay.” He offered his hand, smiling broadly. He was a big man with a friendly, round face, and with his hat removed, a mop of unkempt black hair blew in the wind. Ford hesitantly took the offered hand, still puzzled and looking at his brother.
“Mister van Dolay,” said Maddix. “I believe you should be able to get everything you need at the Sultry Mermaid. It is our guess that the captain is there now, as is Madam Suzanne.” The pirate sheathed his blade, giving van Dolay a sheepish grin and a shrug.
“Perfect, then. Can I buy you lads a drink, then?”
The brothers exchanged glances and grinned widely, then flanked the newcomer and locked arms with him.
“Randall, we would be honored. Welcome to Tortuga!”
