Bring It Close (9 page)

Eighteen

When had it all gone bad? The apple turned sour, the meat rancid? Charles St Croix, sitting beside the River of Eternity with only the stars to hear his troubled thoughts, set his chin on his indrawn knees.

War was always a bloody and brutal business, but there was profit in it, the gain of a prize and its reward for a privateer – piracy made legal. But they had not been privateers, nor pirates. They had become legal merchantmen, he and Carlos Mereno. Well, legal in part. They purchased goods at a low rate and then smuggled their cargo into those places where to declare it would accrue taxes in excess of any profit.

The tobacco and cotton they took to England, the brandy, lace, tea, went back to the Colonies. English, French, Dutch or Spanish, it made no difference which. The rate of pay was the deciding factor.

Until Carlos fell in love.

St Croix tossed a round, smooth white pebble into the blackness of the water, watched as it plopped from sight and the ripples spread slowly, so very slowly, outward.

The danger that went with the Chase had always kept the blood-rush heated to a fever pitch of excitement, and smuggling had proven to be as adventurous. They were rich, all of them, for as a privateer St Croix had been lucky; he had a nose for the scent of gold, and as a smuggler his luck had not left him. Smuggling had brought more wealth, its own dangers, and her: a Spanish beauty.

They had all loved her…No, that was not the truth. This was a place where the concealed truth was weighed against the told lies and deceits. In truth, they had lusted for her. Only Carlos had loved her. And she had loved only him.

St Croix covered his face with his hands and in despair wept bitter tears of grief.

When Carlos Mereno had fallen in love with the twin sister of a Spanish Don, jealousy had wormed its way into their minds, and their breeches.

*

The shot alerted him. Its sound distant, far, far away in another place, another world. Nothing to do with him.

But then, through the breach between the two worlds, came the laugh. That cold, familiar laugh that had nothing of amusement or gaiety to it. St Croix stood, walked to the edge of the black waters of the River. He peered at his pale image and at the pinprick reflections of light that were the many, many stars. He could not see into the water for it was so black. As black as the night. As black as that accursed soul’s heart.

He knelt, leaned out as far as he could and slowly immersed his arm into the ice-black water.

“When you are ready,” the Witch Woman, Tiola, had said. “When you are ready you will be able to reach from this place into that. And the wrong will, perhaps, begin to be put aright. I will come to help you when I can, but recognising the truth may give you some of the strength you need to help yourself.”

A star fell. A single bright star that streaked down through the black skies, its tail ablaze. It fell into the River, shattering the still surface, and carried onward, down and down to tear, with its passing, a rift through the boundary of Eternity.

And eager, his spirit went with it.

Nineteen

Jesamiah lay on his back in the long grass, staring up at the starlit sky. Blood was pooling beneath him. He knew he ought to get up, seek assistance, but the stars were so bright against the blackness. He saw one fall, a streaked trail of gleaming silver.

Wish upon a star
, he thought, then,
has it fallen to mark a birth or a death
? He laughed; coughed. My death? Has it come to keep me company while I die, or come to fetch me because I am already dead?

~
Get up. You cannot die there. Not like this. I will not permit it
. ~

“Ain’t much you can soddin’ do about it, is there, mate?” Jesamiah murmured to himself.

A man’s vaguely familiar face swam into his vision. It was blurred, distorted, as if it were a reflection in a river that was wreathed in a smoking mist. Again the man spoke, but his lips did not move. The voice was in Jesamiah’s head. Insistent. Commanding.

~
Get up
! ~

“Oh, bugger it!” Jesamiah rolled to his knees, stayed there a while, his forehead resting on the ground as the world receded. He passed out again. When he opened his eyes the dawn was rimming the horizon, sending rays of golden light into the purpling sky. The man’s blurred face was still there, and the voice still spoke in his head.

~
Get up. Get up. Do as I say, boy
. ~

“Stop bloody nagging. I’m trying.”

On his knees Jesamiah managed to get his torso upright. He clamped his hand over the hole in his shoulder, felt the blood oozing stickily through his fingers. Closed his eyes. Knew he should try to stand. Couldn’t be bothered.

The sky was turning a pale blue, the sun rose, sedately, golden and beautiful.

“Captain? Jesus Christ…Captain, Sir!” Young Jasper.

“Cap’n! Cap’n?” Joseph Meadows. Skylark.

“All right. I’m getting’ up. Don’t start nagging again.”

“Who did this to you?” Sandy Banks.

“That fokken bastard, Blackbeard.” Never before had Jesamiah been so relieved to see his men.

Skylark was on his knees examining the wound as best he could. Judging by the hole and amount of blood at the back and front, the bullet had gone straight through.

Jasper drew his pistol from his belt, angrily waved it towards the creek. He idolised Jesamiah who had rescued him from near starvation and the miserable life of a street urchin. He had been twelve years old and had attempted to pick Jesamiah’s pocket. His victim’s hand clamping around his bony wrist along with the accompanying growl of: “You don’t want t’be doing that lad,” had changed Jasper’s life.

“I’ll kill him. I’ll bloody kill him! How dare he shoot my Captain!”

Grasping Jasper’s arm, Jesamiah hauled himself to his feet. “You’ll do no such thing, young man. I forbid it.”

“But –”

“I forbid it, y’hear?”

Joe Meadows nodded at the fifteen-year-old. “Put it away, lad, there’s no one to shoot.” He slipped his arm around Jesamiah’s waist, helped him along the path. “When you weren’t back at the boat we thought we’d best come looking for you. We’ll be off by dawn you said, last night.” He glanced up at the sky, the sun bursting from behind a cotton-fluff wisp of cloud. “Dawn’s been an’ gone; sun’s well up.”

“Even though I told you to stay put?”

Sandy chuckled as he told Jasper to jump down into the boat and steady her while they got the Captain aboard. “Never was one to obey orders, Sir.”

Grunting with the discomfort, Jesamiah half eased, half fell onto the bench beside the tiller. “I want one of you to stay here. Keep a discreet eye on Miss Tiola.” Grimacing, he felt for the coin pouch in his pocket.

“I’ll stay,” Skylark offered. “Don’t think no one round here knows I’m with your crew.”

Jesamiah tossed him the pouch. “And if you see the man who helped me, thank him.”

The pouch chinked satisfyingly as Skylark caught it. “What man?” he asked, frowning and peering up and down the river path.

Sandy and Jasper were already out in the middle of the creek, the rush of the current taking them swiftly, the oars dipping, leaving a trail of ripples and showers of sun-sparkling water.

He cupped a hand against his mouth, intending to call out, “We didn’t see nobody,” but changed his mind. The boat was already a way off and the morning was calm and quiet, why disturb it for something the Captain had imagined?

Twenty

Bath Town had two streets. One, long and straight, formed the main thoroughfare; the other wandered to the harbour and crossed the slatted wooden bridge spanning the creek. A busy little town that was rapidly expanding – already it held almost two hundred residents dwelling in private houses, taverns, and a variety of shops and businesses. The town also boasted a shipyard and the Colony’s first public library. Farms and plantations dominated the surrounding land growing corn, cotton and tobacco. Now that the trouble with the natives had finally been sorted the place was rapidly prospering. The war with the red-skinned Americans had been brief and bloody, but the white man’s superior weaponry, in conjunction with his imported diseases, had soon beaten the Tuscarora Indians from the coast, sending them into the forests to the west.

The walk into town from Archbell Point was pleasant, for the sun was shining and the road was dry, although the ruts from recent rainstorms had hardened solid. Tiola had persuaded Elizabeth-Anne to take some exercise, for the mother-to-be had been sitting about and her ankles were swelling.

“The fresh air will do us both good,” Tiola had stated, “and I would so enjoy doing some shopping.”

In the end, Nicholas had suggested a compromise that had won his wife round. “What if we walk in, and I arrange for the carriage to meet us and bring us home?”

Perdita decided to join them and it was, therefore, a merry party that eventually strolled into Main Street; the second shop, a milliner’s, drawing the attention of the three ladies.

“Oh look at those bonnets!” Perdita pressed her nose against the distorted square panes of the glass window. “Look, Tiola, is the pink one not handsome?”

“It is indeed,” Tiola, answered looking at the one next to it, a fancy array of straw and bows and ribbons. Blue ribbons, Jesamiah blue ribbons. How he would smile if she were to wear it. She rarely had the chance to shop, and she had not bought a new bonnet since, well, she could not remember when.

“The one with the yellow roses is prettier,” declared Elizabeth-Anne.

Perdita patted her hair. “But I look dreadful in yellow, it makes my skin look sallow. I am going to buy the pink. It will go pleasingly with my new gown.”

“To impress your sweetheart?” Nicholas jested good-natured. Perdita blushed.

“Oh Nicholas,” his wife admonished, “how you do tease the girl. You know she has no such person.”

Tiola retained her silence, but by the hastily hidden look of askance on Perdita’s face she surmised there was indeed a lover, and no one knew of him. Tiola smiled to herself; she too had a lover of whom no one here knew. It may be fun to share a similar secret.

“Yes she has!” Nicholas rejoined, “The tailor’s son, they are always smiling at each other.”

“Oh you men do talk such nonsense.” Elizabeth-Anne sniffed haughtily and drew her husband away. “He is naught but a pumpkin. He is trade, not of our class. How could he possibly be Perdita’s sweetheart?”

Class; the wealthy who owned the land and did not need to work, and the poor who worked for them and owned nothing except their pride. Tiola wondered how the family would react if she were to divulge the nature of her lover. A pirate. But then, last night at dinner they had all appeared to be impressed by Edward Teach, talking of him as if he were some sort of hero. Indeed, he brought wealth to Bath Town by means of supplying goods for the merchants, which they bought cheap and sold at a profit. An even higher profit going to Teach who acquired the cargo for nothing more than the inconvenience of a Chase, although no one seemed aware of that fact, or at least, was not prepared to admit to it. His presence also brought people; visitors who came to see for themselves the larger-than-life infamous rogue who had, so he claimed, been reformed of his ways and was now a respectable citizen of North Carolina. Visitors spent money in the stores and taverns. Therefore, visitors were welcome, and so, it seemed, was Edward Teach.

Tiola threaded her arm through Perdita’s, gave it a squeeze. “I would like the blue bonnet,” she announced with conviction, “but I would value your opinion as to whether it will suit me?”

With a laugh, Nicholas steered his wife to the popular coffee shop across the street. “Do not buy the whole store,” he teased over his shoulder, “you can only wear one bonnet at a time!”

The blue suited Tiola perfectly and the pink was flattering against Perdita’s fair ringlets, matching the rose-blush of her cheeks.

“Let me purchase it for you,” Tiola offered as a whim, “then none can say you were being extravagant. Was Mr Page right? Is it to impress a young man?”

Perdita’s eyes brightened, a smile lighting her entire face. “Yes.” She hesitated, blushed, “Miss Tiola? Can I trust you?”

Tiola nodded and Perdita experienced an overwhelming sense that indeed, she could trust this young woman. A shy, quiet girl, Perdita was the same age as Tiola, and eagerly embraced the joy of life that glowed within her, delighting in what promised to be a mutual friendship.

“His name is Jonathan Gabriel,” she confided. “His father is the gentleman’s tailor along the street. Step-papa says between them they make clothes that surpass those worn by the King himself, yet he would never permit me to walk out with Jonathan. I would never have the courage to suggest it. My step-papa would rather see me dead than shame him so outrageously.” She put the bonnet on, tied the bow beneath her chin and added, “But oh, Tiola, I do so adore him. He is the kindest, gentlest, most endearing man I have ever met.”

Refraining from saying that at her tender age she could not have met many to compare, Tiola thought of her own circumstances. Love was love and there was no denying when the spirit recognised a kindred soul. Who would have thought that after all her years of existence, all her many incarnations, she would fall for a rogue like Jesamiah?

Stepping from the store, proudly wearing their new bonnets having given orders for the discarded ones to be packaged and returned to Archbell Point, the two young ladies strolled together, arm in arm.

“We will walk to the jetty first,” Perdita announced, “then take the lane between the
Horse and Groom
and the
Sailor’s Fiddle
. We will be well seen along that route.”

“And what makes you think I wish to be seen?” Tiola chided, as they set off in the planned direction.

“With a new bonnet? Why would you not?”

“Mayhap I have no regard to being appraised by the many young men who, assuredly, will be supping ale in the gardens of the aforesaid
Horse and Groom
and
Sailor’s Fiddle
. Not to mention those swarming along the jetty loading or unloading cargo into or out of boats, or doing all the other one-hundred-and-one things that sailors are in demand to do.”

Horrified, Perdita stopped walking, her expression woeful. “Oh. Do you think so? Do you think there will be many young men?”

Tiola re-tied the bow beneath her chin and patted a ringlet of her hair, then again slipped her arm through Perdita’s, and giggled. “I do hope so! Why else did we purchase such beautiful bonnets?”

They passed a draper’s, a chandler’s store that smelt of hemp, canvas, tar and tobacco, and an apothecary, Tiola noting that she would visit it soon to replenish some of her dwindling medicinal necessities.

There were several vessels moored beside the jetty, none of them as large as
Sea Witch
, or as fine kept. These were coastal traders and fishing boats. A fair-haired man was seated on a stool absorbed in painting the view across the creek. Although not wishing to approach close and disturb him, Tiola studied his painting with interest. His brushwork was good and he had captured the sunlight playing on the water with an exceptional skill.

He must have felt her scrutiny for he turned, smiled, and raised his hat. Perdita giggled. Tiola bobbed him a curtsey.

Walking slowly, stopping now and then to peep into shop windows, twice to acknowledge a greeting to people Perdita knew, they eventually reached the furthest end of Main Street. The last store,
J. Gabriel and Son
,
Gentleman’s Tailor
was situated opposite a row of moderate-sized houses and a stand of autumn-tinted trees. Tiola had noted how Perdita’s step had lengthened and her breathing and excitement had increased, for her cheeks glowed pink with anticipation. So, was this, the tailor’s, the reason for the new bonnet?

Within moments of seeing them the son came bounding through the door, as breathless and flushed as Perdita. Young hearts, young love.

Tiola’s heart ached for them as they bowed and curtsied a formal greeting, each of them so wanting to touch but unable to do so because there were people in the street, and to do so would be the quickest way to ensure they never had the chance to meet again.

What hope was there for them? Would Perdita be willing to forgo the wealth and luxury of her accustomed lifestyle in order to live above a tailor’s shop? To cook, clean, sew, bring up the children without the aid of servants? It was a hard choice for a young woman to make, although it was unlikely she would be permitted even the opportunity to decide. He was of the wrong social class, their attachment would be forcibly destroyed were it to develop into anything more than shy smiles and covert glances.

Two men emerged from the dark interior of the shop, one, tall with a black, bushed beard, the other clean-shaven, shorter and about ten years younger. Tiola knew him, Tobias Knight, the Governor’s right-hand man, Secretary to the Colony. He had been at dinner last evening, her table companion. An officious bore full of his own self-importance; but then, many men in the Colonies held the same opinion of themselves.

The other man was, by his tanned, leathery skin and his rolling gait, a seaman. Tiola had never met him, never seen him, but knew exactly who this was. Edward Teach. Blackbeard himself.

Noticing Perdita talking to Jonathan Gabriel he guffawed loudly, the sound booming and bouncing down the street. “Why if ’n it bain’t tha pretty Mistress Perdita! Good day t’thee, Ma’am!” He swept off his hat and bowed, Knight at his side following suit, although his attention lingered on Perdita a fraction longer than manners did perhaps dictate.

Etiquette demanded a response; Perdita was already politely curtseying and Tiola bobbed a demure greeting. Teach was studying her with interest.

“Ho, so we has a newcomer in our midst?” He strode towards them, a fiercesome sight. Fifty years of age, weatherworn and rugged, more than six feet in height, broad shoulders, stout of girth; built like an ox. His hair was tied in a queue, and the great bush of his beard, for which he was named, was neat and combed, but hung from his chin to garland his chest as if it were a grand chain of authority. Everything about him was immense, his body, his stance, his opinion, manner and voice. Tiola, a healer, also noticed the sores and scabs, the decayed teeth and receding gums. He was not a well man, but the symptoms could be caused by any number of diseases. Most notably among sailors, scurvy or syphilis.

Knight introduced Tiola as Mistress Oldstagh, and again Teach swept a gallant bow. But there, all etiquette ended. He reached out to pinch Tiola’s cheek between his tar-blackened fingers, as if she were a child. His touch was brief, but a force of energy surged into her as if a bolt of lightning had seared through her skin. She felt as if the sun and all warmth, all love, care and compassion had instantly been erased from the world. A saturating darkness was surrounding her, seeping into her flesh, bones and mind; black, icy tendrils were twining around her body, her arms, her legs, her throat, as if they were choking weeds gone wildly rampant. The malevolence of the Dark Power!

Instinctively, she threw up a circle of protecting Light around herself. Immediately, the enveloping Darkness retreated with a shrieked howl of rage that no human could have heard. She stepped away from Teach, putting space between them, her gaze holding his, not blinking, not wavering from his returned snake-like stare. And realised that by using her Craft she had made a grave mistake.

The Dark had him! Its sinister presence surrounded, bound and permeated Edward Teach as if it were a shroud wrapped around a mouldering corpse. She was aware of a rustle of deprived annoyance as the Malevolents, the spirits serving the Dark, quested to locate what creature had scalded them with the sensation of the Light; from where, and how it had been raised.

There were only two things that the Dark feared; the strength of the Circle of Light and the power of those who wielded it, the Old Ones of Wisdom, the White Witches of Craft. Feared them enough to destroy them when the rare opportunities to do so arose.

Tiola hurled aside her encircling shield and erased all scent and identity of what she was. Let fear widen her eyes and sweat dampen her skin, for she dare not draw attention to the fact that she was not human. There was only one thing those of the Light feared. The potential strength of the Dark.

With no protection she was vulnerable, but she had a job to do here in Bath Town, a baby to bring to healthy life and a birthing was no place for the greed, hatred and narrow-minded evils of the Dark Powers to linger searching for prey.

Teach spread his hands, smiled, his mouth showing toothless gaps. “Thee bain’t afeared o’ me, be thee, wummun? I have a gurt respec’ fer those who be acquainted with Guv’nor Eden’s house’old. As long’n they doos respec’ me in return.” His accent bore traces of the West Country, though it was heavily tinted with a sailor’s slang.

He was unaware of the ethereal clash of entities of the Dark and the Light, as every human was, unless the respective Powers elected to show themselves. But how clever of the parasitic Malevolents to choose this man to manipulate to their will! Madness oozed from him as boldly as his bad breath. For how long had he been possessed? How much of his soul was congealed and saturated by greed and lust? The Dark had entered him, and was devouring him like a cancer. That one touch had told Tiola there was very little of the man, the human soul and the rational mind, left intact.