The Pirate Fairy (17 page)

So he did. “Cargo ships traveling from Europe to the African coast, as an example, would trade manufactured goods and weapons for slaves. The traders would then sail to the Caribbean to sell the slaves. They would return to Europe with sugar, tobacco and cocoa. Some of the ships heading to Europe would carry raw materials such as different metals, stone and wood, in exchange for things like manufactured goods, preserved cod and rum. Some of these would then be taken to the Caribbean, where they were exchanged for sugar and molasses.”

“So it is a profitable business.”

“Yes. A hard business. Some ships struggle with storm damage and food shortage, but yes, it’s a profitable line of work.”

“And your ship, the La-Di-Da, made money?”

“Well, yes. Ships that traded in the Triangular Transatlantic Slave Trade were able to make money at each stop.”

“And being a pirate ship, you were able to make money this way, too?”

“Yes. We didn’t hoist the pirate flag when we pulled into port. Only on the high seas.”

Ebba nodded. “That’s why you were able to get away with piracy for so long.”

He thought for a moment. “Yes. We’d also switched routes. A lot of piracy had left the North Atlantic Ocean—”

“Why?”

“They are notoriously tough waters. Bad storms that sometimes last for days. We were all experienced seamen and took advantage of the dwindling pirate trade.”

“So even though you were making money, you still saw fit to attack other vessels and kill the people on board?”

Some of the courtroom watchers gasped. Denny flicked a gaze up to the hooded man who twitched in his seat.

“That’s what pirates do,” Denny said, “though I took pride in not killing men. I have personally killed less than ten.”

“But didn’t you have a crewmember you rescued from a ship that sank in Honduras who went mad and shot seventeen people at sea?”

Another collective gasp.

“That never happened under my command. That was before we staged our mutiny. Our captain was a cruel man, a drunk. He took on a rigger who said he needed work. I’d heard he was part of a gang that had stolen a sloop and had pirated all over the islands, but the captain wouldn’t listen to me. The first ship we encountered, Jackson Garfield—that was the rigger’s name—he grabbed some guns and started shooting. We were able to restrain him, and when we landed in Honduras, he was forced to leave the ship. We learned his gang had pirated another ship and had stolen a container of logs that had been destined for Boston.”

“So these were bad men.”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t kill any of them.”

Denny smiled. “No.”

“But you killed a very good man. An Italian explorer you and your pirate crew picked up in Seville.”

Denny hated her in that moment, more than he had ever hated another living being. He breathed deeply, ready to scream with the pain and unfairness of having to kill such a wonderful man. He fought tears and looked down at his hands. In that moment, he understood where she was going. This was one of his worst memories. It had destroyed him to take the life of Giovanni Ricci. It had been such an ordeal that he recalled every second of it and regretted the necessity to end his life to this very day.

“Yes,” he said, his voice coming out a whisper. He blinked back tears. He’d always suspected he’d never get over what had happened, but now he knew for sure.

“Please tell the court the circumstances of this killing.”

Denny sighed. “Our ship stopped in Seville and we discovered a few crewmembers from an Italian ship that had been damaged in a storm. The Rigoletta was in such poor condition, it required months of strenuous repair. The Italian explorer, Giovanni Ricci, who had led the expedition had sailed far off course and told me that his crew had sickened during their voyage. Some had died. He wanted to return to Bilbao, another town in Spain, where two of his remaining crewmembers had been taken in by monks who were caring for them. He was worried about them. I gladly took him and the three crewmen accompanying him. He was enamored of canned food, as many seamen are—”

“Why is that?” Ebba asked.

“One gets sick of rancid meat that is salted to preserve it. With canned food, you can enjoy things like N
ew York oysters, or French sardines canned right there in the beautiful port of Nantes. Nothing is more delicious than canned Italian fruit.” He grinned at the memory of his first bite of canned peaches. “Pennsylvania tomatoes are other foods we seamen adore.”

“So what happened?” Ebba drew him away from his reverie. Unfortunately.

“Signore Ricci was trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. He didn’t want special meals cooked for him, though I became aware very quickly that he was quite ill. His crewmembers seemed to be starving and fell upon the food we gave them. Signore Ricci refused to be a burden. He had a few remaining cans of food and ate one. Have you ever seen lead poisoning?”

“No,” Ebba said. “I have not.”

“I have,” the twin seers said in unison, raising their hands.

Every head in the courtroom turned in their direction.

“’Tis a cruel death,” they said as one.

Denny became choked up and struggled to continue. “This poor man had no idea that he was making himself sick. When he opened one of the cans, my cook realized it smelled bad. The food was gray in color, but Signore Ricci insisted on eating it. He had no clue that the contents were poisoned with lead because of cheap manufacturing. He became extremely ill on board. He fell into delirium. We could not get him to Bilbao fast enough.”

The twin seers held their hands to their mouths, as though they could see the awful images swimming in Denny’s mind.

“He became unable to walk or breathe. He was given to violent episodes of vomiting and it was heartbreaking to watch. His bones and every muscle in his body caused him agony. His skin turned a very strange color. He was ashen, as though he’d been lit by fire from within.”

“Exactly,” the seers said once again in unison. They nodded.

Denny felt a stab of gratitude for their acknowledgment. He
had
made the right decision.

“Signore Ricci’s crewmembers had suspected the food was contaminated and had refused to eat it for weeks. They had been starving. Poor Signore Ricci poisoned himself badly and it was clear he was suffering and would not survive the sea journey. Please understand I did not want to kill him. He begged me to do it.”

Denny dropped his head and recalled the awful moment when he’d complied. “It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do and I am not a sentimental man. He was a good, kind man who could no longer tolerate the pain. He vomited black bile and could barely speak at the end. It took every bit of remaining strength for him to beg me, to convince me to end his agony.” He was silent for a long time, remembering.

“How did you do it?” Ebba asked, her tone hushed.

“I shot him. We wrapped him in cloth and gave him to the monks when we reached dry land in Bilbao. His body had the stench of lead poisoning. I’ve never experienced it before. It is a metallic smell. The monks instructed us to wash ourselves thoroughly when we arrived. None of Signore Ricci’s other crewmembers survived, except for the two we had on board. The ones he’d left in Bilbao had also passed. I learned from the two men that had traveled with us on my ship that Signore Ricci had fed his crew well until sickness hit them. He often went hungry to make sure they ate. He had assumed that rancid meat was the cause of their illness, ignoring his crewmen’s suggestions that it was the canned goods. His death was not something I took lightly.”

“Thank you,” Ebba said. “Was there ever an occasion where you killed a good man in different circumstances?”

“In an act of self-protection, yes. Twice. Other times, I killed pirates and slave traders. I don’t regret those. They were not good men.”

“What about Carter Henning?”

Denny stared at her in surprise.
How does she know about him?
“He was a pirate.”

“You didn’t know it at the time, did you?”

Denny grew restless. Ebba had been on the ship at that time and knew exactly what had happened.

“He was a bad man,” he said, staring her right in the eyes.

“You took over his sloop, didn’t you?”

“I knew him before that.” He could tell that shocked her. “I’d met him a few years ago on another sloop, briefly. I didn’t trust him then. He tried to sell me torn fabric, keeping the damaged portions rolled up, but I checked them and refused to complete the purchase.”

Ebba was so thrown it seemed that she paused to turn pages in her notebook. Denny couldn’t figure out her strategy. One moment she seemed to be on his side, the next she appeared to be trying to hang him. He glanced up, and the man in the caped hood raised a hand. His thumb pointed up. That was when Denny realized Ebba was trying to lull Denny into a false sense of confidence. She was building up to something big. She thought she had something on him that she couldn’t. Denny was the first to admit he had secrets, but nothing he thought would be of value to a court. He hoped.

He waited in silence while she consulted her notes. He kept a clear head. He had to be careful of his thoughts. Especially with this sharp jury.

“I think we’ve heard enough for tonight,” the judge ordered. “We’ll finish for the evening and daybreak isn’t far away. Some of our participants have dawn curfews thanks to their particular curses.” He banged his gavel. “Court will reconvene at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

Chapter Nine

Merritt watched everything and wished he could join Denny. He wished he could take him and drag him to the nearest ship away from here.

Soon, he promised himself. The crowd got up en masse and surged toward the doors. Fairy guards escorted Denny to the cells. Merritt remained in his seat. It took him a long time to leave the courtroom. He knew Denny had seen him, and for one moment, Merritt worried that everybody present had been able to see the sparks flying between them. Merritt gripped the low marble wall of the balcony and closed his eyes. All that Denny had been through was worse than Merritt had imagined.

When at last he left the court, he knew it was time to get rid of the cloak. He slipped out of the building and, making sure nobody followed him, he made his way to the small, ancient church opposite the modern and massive court house. Centuries ago, Merritt and Fortunata’s parents had fled their own island kingdom in England and traveled here, establishing a new and happy kingdom. They’d embraced and welcomed all in the magical world, eventually being betrayed and murdered by people they’d trusted.

Everything had changed when they’d allowed outsiders—Western sea traders and ships containing sick men aboard that no magic could cure. His thoughts flew to Denny and the Italian explorer he’d been forced to kill.

Merritt and Fortunata had grown up without their parents, trusting only each other. Fortunata had such a wonderful, glorious side to her, but constant loss and romantic failure had clouded her judgment. She had never been a happy girl, in spite of having everything. Having so much power and weaving chaotic spells didn’t seem to bring her joy, or peace of mind. In fact, she had become dangerously delusional. It had begun on the ship when they’d been abducted. She hadn’t been able to protect herself. Or Merritt. Instead of being grateful that Merritt had found love, she’d tried her hardest to disparage and discredit Denny, even though he’d saved them.

Inside the church, Merritt lifted off the hood and removed the cloak. The memories and bad feelings his sister and cousin had woven into it would find peace in this beautiful place. He was the only one in his family who came here. A soft whinny told him that Cillian had arrived. Merritt opened the backdoor, and the horse, standing on the small grassy knoll they’d called the ha-ha as children, came down the slope and trotted inside.

Merritt laughed. The priest would have a fit if he saw the horse in his church, but Merritt let Cillian sniff and paw his way around the apse. Seeming antsy, Cillian moved to the ambulatory on either side of the apse, then he spun around and, tail swishing, made his way past the pews normally reserved for the choir to the transept, almost in the middle of the building. When he stopped and clomped a hoof in a certain section, Merritt knew this was the spot.

“Back to the palace, Cillian,” he said. “Go, my friend. Find Avery. I will see you very soon.”

Cillian shook his great head. He didn’t want to leave him.

Merritt stroked the horse’s mane and flank. “We’ve been together so long, I promise, this isn’t goodbye.”

Cillian’s bright, warm eyes bore into his.

“I will be home soon,” Merritt whispered, wrapping his arms around the great stallion’s neck.

At last, Cillian left, Merritt glad that he would return to Avery, who would rub him down and feed him well. As long as he’d known Cillian, this was the only time Merritt was aware of him ever dying. Thank God he’d returned. Good had triumphed over evil.

Merritt waited until the sky grew dark. He knew the priest who served here would be with the jurors discussing the case. The judge’s sudden command to cut the proceedings short worried Merritt. He had to move fast. Once he was certain he was alone, he dug into the hardened earth blocks in the ground with a ceremonial dagger from the altar table. Beneath the stone lay his parents’ ashes in sealed caskets. Merritt had never actually seen them before and became emotional when he found them covered in dust, but intact.