1. Tavern Rock
There. I felt my exit coming up and eased the wheel toward the edge of the portal and out. Nice and smooth. The sun beat down late-afternoon light here, no longer the middle of the night as when we’d entered the portal. I took my first deep breath in what felt like months. The deed was done. Izzy and I were officially members of the historical society.
What are you going to tell her? A little wriggly voice had the nerve to speak to me.
Energy fizzed in my blood, and I scaled the main mast to get a view of the horizon. No ships or hints of sails as far as I could see. This wasn’t unusual because we were far from any of the main shipping lanes. A new journey was always exciting, and this one had the promise of being my best trip yet: I was with my best friend and sister; I had a well-thought-out and manageable plan; there was only a fifteen-percent chance Izzy would kill me. I was feeling good.
My thoughts immediately transitioned into traveling mode, and I automatically set a course to the teeny little island only I and a handful of other sailors (read: pirates) knew about. There I had a contact (read: ass-face misogynistic thieving rat bastard thief who screwed me over in our last deal, so I spoiled the cargo in his hold in revenge, but there were few trading options on the sea in these times and we had to deal with one another) waiting with cargo for me. This cargo was the final payment on a castle in Portugal where Izzy and I would spend the summer. The castle was perfect, she was going to love it.
My sister was a Renaissance Faire nut, and I thought there was no better way to have a last hurrah with her than to take her to the actual Renaissance for a summer of big gowns, rich food, and sisterly bonding before I took her home and back to her life. Problem was, women here couldn’t own property. My buddy Charlie had agreed to speak on my behalf for the castle in exchange for my buying and transporting this cargo to him. That rat bastard thief had Charlie’s cargo and was expecting me. I’d be in and out of there before Izzy woke up hungover and wondering why the air smelled so fresh and the sea levels felt strangely lower.
The little island wasn’t visible yet and probably wouldn’t be for a few hours, longer if the clouds moved in. I breathed in the fresh air and felt the freedom of this era like a soft towel wrapped around me.
Our second stop was Bermuda. It would be quick. Just a side trip to replenish our stores and stretch our legs. Bermuda was a convenient rest stop in the middle of the Atlantic and a good place to let Izzy dress in costume and practice being among people before heading to the continent. Then it was on to Portugal, where our honest-to-god castle waited for us on the southern coast of the country. How could you kill someone who bought you a castle? I mean, come on. I had at least a ten-percent chance of survival.
I climbed down the mast and checked the compass bearing. Right on track.
That little annoying voice in my head nagged, What are you going to tell Izzy?
Later. I’d figure that out later.
Down in the cargo hold I opened a secret panel to reveal my traveling clothes and arsenal. Izzy was still quiet behind her cabin door, and I surreptitiously closed my own door before changing. She hadn’t seen me undress since I’d been burnt at the stake, and I wasn’t ready to answer questions about the immense scarring I sported. Life as a time traveler came with consequences. I was much more careful about my bearing and appearance since that episode. There was not a stitch of plastic or synthetic material in sight. At home I’d been able to launder everything and now looked at each piece with satisfaction: fine creamy woolen tunic and soft leather leggings, long jerkin, and sturdy boots. My only concession to modern clothing was a binder I wore over my chest, a tightly-fitting compression tank top that could easily be misconstrued as era-correct clothing and not inflame suspicions. Ever since the stake I was meticulous about not inviting suspicion. You get burned at the stake once, and the lesson really sticks. Bras were always trouble.
I took the time to massage the toughened scar tissue and stretch before replacing my jeans with the leggings. Burn scars aside, I bore the marks of several fatal and near-fatal incidents. I made a note that that would need to be among the details I shared with Izzy about my life: I could take fatal hits and keep on rolling. The second facet of our trip this summer included coming clean to my sister about how I time-traveled.
Over the tunic I put on the jerkin and a double shoulder holster that I’d specially designed back home. It would hold my prize retrofitted 16th-century pistols. They had cost a fortune, but I wouldn’t have to stop and reload after every shot. I allotted four bullets to each gun for my meeting with that rat bastard thief. On arrival in the past, I practiced strict bullet rationing. I did not want to mess around with gunpowder horns and lead slugs if I was in a life-and-death situation.
What are you going to tell Izzy?
Shut up. She’s still asleep.
I pulled on a sturdy pair of stomping boots with steel toes, and around my head went a long batik scarf to keep sweat out of my eyes. Then I stuck my wide-brimmed leather fedora over the whole affair. I fussed a little with the cuffs and smoothed the jerkin. Palpable relief flooded through me as I looked down at my attire. For the first time in months I felt like myself.
What are you going to tell Izzy?
I looked down at myself again. She didn’t know me like this…
Later. There’s still time.
I climbed the steps back to the top deck and scanned the horizon with the spyglass. There was a smudge a ways out that was the start of Tavern Rock Island.
What are you going to tell Izzy?
Hush.
Tavern Rock Island was exactly that: a loose collection of rocks just above sea level with a few docks and a tavern. It was run by whoever managed to keep it going or killed the previous managers. At this moment, it was that rat bastard thief. Before that rat bastard thief, it had been me. Food, drink, and beds could be bought by barter or by gold. Its most appealing feature was the fact that no European power had yet to plant a flag on it.
I sailed awhile in silence and watched a storm far off my port skirt us by several leagues. Next to the wheel was a weatherproof box where I kept my notebooks and latest sewing projects; it was my habit to keep my hands busy at sea. My needles I kept pinned in my hat with extra thread wrapped around the brim for easy access. I picked up a piece of embroidery and added some detail around a flowery bit I was stitching into this bodice. Recently I’d considered taking up knitting and crochet but hadn’t yet committed to either hobby.
We were riding a charmed swell straight towards the island, and before long I could pick out features of the place through the spyglass. For instance, there were several ships docked there today. A good sign I could squeeze in a little extra trading.
What are you going to tell Izzy?
Well? What are you going to tell Izzy?
Shut up.
Nothing too big was tied off along those old docks. The largest ship only had two masts, and that was most likely that rat bastard thief’s ship. My ship, the Try Your Luck, would be the largest bark. I raised the glass again and tried to spot any insignia, but it was all still too far off and of little consequence. All the merchants worth a damn were killed off a few years ago in a big sweep by the British. The new crop of captains and sailors were cocky and trying too hard to fill shoes they had no idea how to lace.
What are you going to tell Izzy?
Well?
I had nothing.
Zilch.
Zero.
Goose egg.
At a loss for words, I opted to cook some breakfast, just a simple meal of pancakes, leftover bacon, and, of course, a pot of strong coffee. Izzy was the chef, not me, but maybe she’d eat it just to be polite. I took a plate up for myself and sat at the helm watching the island creep ever nearer as I ate. I looked again and again through the glass, trying to pick out any markings on the boats to see if I recognized anyone. Nothing. Again, that wasn’t surprising. There were just so many new crews on the seas these days. Too many.
I trimmed the sails and adjusted our heading. We were about near enough to begin watching for signs of reefs. I picked up the glass again, wishing even one of the ships looked recognizable. It bothered me that I was anxious for a friendly face. This wasn’t a social call, this was business. I put the glass down, and when it rolled away, I didn’t go get it. There’d be nothing new to see.
It would still be another two hours before we docked. I stretched out and watched the waves then sat back and focused on the embroidery. How hard could knitting be? Next time I was home I’d pick up yarn and some books on the subject.
The familiar clothing and familiar scenery lulled me into familiar patterns. I was too used to being alone on my ship, and my thoughts were on the seabed, the meeting ahead of me, and what I might be able to knit if I got my skills up to snuff. A scarf to start, probably. Crochet was another option too, one hook instead of two needles.
The charmed swell kept us straight on course towards the island, and before long I could pick out features of the place without the glass.
What are you going to tell her?
Let her wake up first.
Well? What are you going to tell her?
She’s going to sleep through this. There’s time to think.
“Which bar is this?” Izzy’s voice startled me so badly I dropped my plate of pancakes, syrup side down. Shit. I’d have to scrub that later.
My sister was at the stairs, my discarded spyglass at her eye. Damn her young and efficient liver! She was supposed to sleep all day. I wasn’t ready. Izzy stood there in a string bikini and gauzy coverup, Jackie O glasses, thick curls blowing in the wind. This vision of modern promiscuity put the spyglass back up to her eye for a better look at Tavern Rock. In her other hand was the fake itinerary I’d made her.
Shit. “Right! So, funny story—” I began.
“What kind of place is it?” Izzy lowered the spyglass and blinked at me. “What the hell are you wearing?” It was hard to tell her reaction to my traveling regalia underneath the big sunglasses.
You’ve got to tell her something.
“It’s called Tavern Rock. Because it’s a tavern…on a rock.” You are a moron. “It’s an old haunt of mine but it’s—” dirty, dangerous, not a place for novice time travelers, “—a little eclectic. I just have an errand to run there. I wasn’t expecting you up so soon.” I felt stupid using the word “errand” to sum up what was likely to be, at best, a successful transaction of criminal subterfuge wherein I’d obtain good cargo.
“Eclectic, huh?” She took a drag and looked through the glass some more.
Tell her something now.
“There’s an…aspect to this trip I was keeping as a surprise.” I took a baby step towards confession.
Smooth.
Shut up.
“You know I invited you on this trip because our lives are going in such different directions. We’re drifting apart, and I wanted a, kind of, last hurrah before your life takes off and you leave me behind. Don’t deny it.” She wasn’t, but the words were for me, not her. “It is what it is. I can’t hang around you forever.”
The days of me tagging along with her as she flew from one event to another were coming to a close. She was getting older, and I wasn’t giving up my traveling ways. This summer trip was meant to preempt a traumatic goodbye by giving her some great final memories.
“So I arranged things to recreate our best summer together. Remember the one? When we were at that pretend camp of yours? With the tents and the turkey legs and the jousting?” I asked.
“Yes.” My sister chewed her bacon and I plowed on. If she swallowed this load of crap about a Renaissance reenactment, I could buy a few more days to work on how to tell her it wasn’t reenactment but actual Renaissance.
“We had fun, right? That was one of my best summers with you.” It was the only time in my life I hadn’t costumed myself in modern clothing after returning from a journey. It was the only summer I’d resembled even a touch of the person I spent most of my life being. Izzy had rolled with my curious appearance that summer and given me hope that perhaps she could know me as I truly am one day and not as the person she grew up with in a room decorated with rainbows and unicorns.
“Really?” She was always surprised when it turned out I liked the same things she did.
I laughed at her expression; she was honestly surprised. But when had I ever turned her down when she invited me to do something with her? Never. She was good times.
“Yeah, so I thought we could recreate it this summer. I have this place in Portugal. Everyone dresses up.” Literally everyone because it’s what people dressed in in the 1600s. “I have stuff for you in a trunk. Good stuff. Not that glittery shit you got at craft stores.” She looked like a horny elf most of the time she dressed up. This summer she was going to look like an empress.
“Portugal?”
“This is just one stop I needed to make on the way there. It’s to fund Portugal.” There. That ought to do it. No mention of time travel yet, we were just dressing up and having a lark. I relaxed a little.
“Yeah.” She seemed to relax too.
The island grew larger, and I started to make a list of the preparations I still needed to complete before docking.
“What do you mean you have a place in Portugal?” she asked.
“I will have the place in Portugal after I deliver this cargo,” I clarified. Charlie had spoken for me. The place was waiting for us, but I wouldn’t get in or have clearance to occupy until I delivered the cargo. “I’ll be an hour, three tops, and then we’ll be on our way.” We’d resupply in Bermuda, get fresh water and food, and then make our way to Europe.
“I see.” Izzy kept eating her breakfast. I was glad she was enjoying it. “Wait, what? I can't come with you?”
My sister? Going into Tavern Rock? I quickly stamped out an involuntary laugh. Izzy’s first experience in the 17th century was not going to be some pirate hidey-hole famous for black-market dealings and the occasional stabbing. No. I had a plan. I was going to stick to that plan. Get Charlie the cargo, go live in a castle, throw a massive party, take Izzy back home. End scene.
“This place isn’t really your scene. It’s rough. Just chill out here, stay below decks. We’ll be on our way by sunset.”
“Rough? Like a dive bar?”
“Picture the worst place you’ve gone and add a bunch of barnacles. There’s still a bottle of your disgusting lavender gin in the fridge. Drink that, and I’ll be back as soon as I’ve got what we need. It’s just a quick stop. Really. Go have a drink.” A nice breakfast gin, a romantic comedy on her laptop, not going into a bar with violent sea criminals…I mean, what more do you need for a fun-filled morning? I looked at the sun, low in the sky. I guess it was evening now. We had exited the portal into late afternoon/early evening. I shrugged and went to get ready to dock.
That went better than expected.
We’ll see.
“Hey!” Izzy yelled as I went to the steps. “My botanical infusions are not disgusting!”
“Yes, they are!” I called back and got ready for landfall. I held firm at my ten-percent chance of surviving the moment Izzy discovered how far from home I’d taken her.
Before docking I needed to finish packing up the gold and my sack of cake and cream “incentives.” My wardrobe also needed a few final touches. There was a faded blue broadcloth-and-leather wrap that resembled a knee-length skirt full of pockets and loops and sheaths for holding blades. It was more like an apron made of sturdy fabric and leather. I wrapped this around my waist. I didn’t love skirts, but they hid all manner of useful items from sight: pistols, pocketknives, smoke bombs, vaginas. Over everything went my leather trench coat lined with Kevlar. I cinched the ensemble with my sword belt: short sword and cutlass on my left, one-handed brass flanged mace and dagger on my right.
The sun was just beginning to set as I pulled into the dock. An hour or two of light remained before the stars came out. I wondered if Izzy would notice how short the “day” had been. I’d tell her everything once the ship was loaded with cargo and we were on our way. Dear God, I prayed, let this not go to hell.
God didn’t answer.
My welcoming party was just leaving the tavern as I lowered the sails to slow us down. The tide cooperated, and I was able to bring the Try Your Luck in smooth and easy. Several grizzled men from the welcoming party came down the planks to help me tie off. I threw the lines to them, and they hauled me to a standstill. I didn’t recognize a single one, but the sailing community is generally helpful when it comes to aiding a solo sailor coming into port. Plus I had a big box of gold for them, and they didn’t want it sinking to the sea floor.
“My thanks, gentlemen,” I called out to them as I put down the gangplank. They just stared back, hands on the blades at their sides, sneers on their shabby faces. When it was clear more conversation wasn’t forthcoming, I shrugged and began lowering the sails and coiling the ropes. They didn’t leave the dock.
“You going to go tell that bastard I’m here or just stand there watching with the gulls?”
“Woman shouldn’t have a boat like this. Shouldn’t be on the seas at all,” one of them grumbled. “Bad omens.”
“Yet here I am.” I sighed. Breaking in my presence to unfamiliar sea rats was always a challenge. Their superstitious fears were rooted deep in their uneducated bones. The men didn't move an inch from their current positions. That rat bastard thief had more than likely instructed them to watch my every step from the second my ship docked. He was such an asshole.
Since they weren’t leaving, I needed to make sure my passenger stayed out of sight. If one of them caught a glimpse of her…or if she caught sight of them…maybe I should have roofied her along with all the alcohol.
“No men on my ship,” I warned them, including a glimpse of my pistols for extra emphasis, and went to find Izzy. I wasn’t concerned they’d behave themselves. They hadn’t gotten paid yet and wouldn’t risk the rat’s temper by ruining this deal with some good old-fashioned premature ejaculation.
Izzy was on her bed in her cabin, laptop on her lap. I would leave her one final reminder to stay inside before I grabbed the gold for that rat bastard thief.
“Wow.” Izzy took in my full regalia. The blades were sure to take some explaining later (never mind the mace).
I decided to breeze past the issue.
“Hey, so just enjoy the solitude. Stay down here. Don’t go up top. I’ll be back in a sec.” I ignored her blatant what-the-fuck-are-you-wearing stare. Tonight, when this island was far, far behind us, I’d sit her down and explain everything. I was happy to see that she had a chunk of pot brownie on a plate next to her; perhaps that would serve in place of the roofie I should have slipped her. “Want me to shut your door?” If only I could lock her in for safety. But she might have something to say about that. My hand was on the handle even so.
“Are you sure about this, Anne? It sounds...seedy.” Her eyes bounced from her window to me and back again.
“It’s fine,” I lied. “I know this place. Just a little rough around the edges.”
One of the men on the dock drifted into view of her window and I reached over and twitched the drapes closed before he could look in or Izzy could look out.
“I see,” she said. Izzy was smiling. That was a good sign, right? I hoped I wasn’t sweating through my trench.
“Are you going to watch Hello Dolly or Twelfth Night again?” I took a step out of her cabin and shifted the strongbox from one hand to another. In preparation for our trip I’d had her download her favorite movies because “the wifi will be really patchy in some areas.” So I know she had several movies locked and loaded: Miss Congeniality, Pride and Prejudice, The Notebook, Superman, along with some others. She’d be fine.
“I haven't decided.” Izzy was suddenly on her feet, her hand in mine.
The gesture startled me. I was not a physically demonstrative person by nature. Back home, Izzy might hug me occasionally, but she was the only one. While traveling – and particularly while on this ship, definitely not while dressed like this – I was never touched. My life was a solitary one, and the sudden physicality of another person’s hand in mine was overwhelming.
“Listen, is there anything you need to tell me?” She wouldn’t let go.
“I’m just running an errand.” I finally disengaged her hand from mine. “Pretend I’m going out for some milk. I’ll be right back.”
Izzy reached for me again. I shied away from her but put on a smile to temper the reaction.
“You don’t need to worry so much about me,” I insisted.
“Okay.” She seemed unconvinced. “Everything is okay, you’ll be right back, and there’s nothing you need to tell me?”
Yes. So, so many things.
Not now. Later. There’s a right way to do this.
Tell her!
“Not a thing.” I smiled again. “I’ll be one hour. Three tops. Love you.” I made it to the stairs before turning back around. One more reminder that she was not to leave the safety of this ship. “Stay inside,” I said in my most serious, captainly voice. I did not temper those words with any comforting grin.
The men were still standing diligently at their posts at the bottom of my gangplank, only now there was a new addition. I bit back an epithet as I saw the figure treading down the dock. I guess you ask the universe enough times for a familiar face and it’ll deliver, whether you freaking want it to or not.
Failure gave me a soft kiss as the new addition moved into view. Tall enough to look down on most but not a giant. Dark hair tied back by a length of fabric under a sturdy hat, brims folded up at the sides. All the men on the dock were tanned and leathered by the sun, however, I knew this man hailed from somewhere in the Middle East and I wished he was there now. Marco.
“Annie,” Marco greeted me, “been a while. Last I saw you, you were behind some very lovely and very solid bars.” We’d been in that jail cell together, but I’d gotten out.
“Don’t call me Annie.” I went down the gangplank and muscled past the men. He knew I hated that name. He was being an ass on purpose. “Last I saw you, you were shortlisted for a hangman’s noose. Sailing with rats again?”
“I’m sailing. That’s enough,” he grinned and followed me, “for now. Are you trading with rats now?”
“For now.”
“Where you been, Annie?” he asked.
“On my boat under my own command. Don’t call me Annie.” Stay calm, I urged myself, batting at Failure’s gossamer threads weaving in and around my ambition.
Marco had lost countless boats. He was just jealous I still had one when he had lost nearly every boat he’d ever stepped foot on. The sea floor was littered with his attempts at ocean crossings.
“Does that rat bastard thief have my cargo?” I asked.
“You’ll be pleased.”
“Who are your friends?” I gestured to the flunkies flanking him.
“That thieving rat bastard is good at making friends.” He grinned his megawatt smile that earned him berths and beds and friends the world over. I did not return the expression.
“Press-ganged?” That was one way of making friends.
“Or shanghaied. That rat isn’t picky.”
“Clearly. After all, he let you on his ship.” Now I did smile.
“To the quick, Annie.” Marco mimed getting stabbed through the heart.
“If only.” We’d reached the tavern entrance. “Are we doing this deal or standing around all day?”
“I’m in no rush.” He stretched and yawned, but one of his flunkies knocked his hand down.
“Let’s get it over with. I don’t like this sea bitch. I want her and her cursed ship far away from us. Women are bad luck.” The old sea dog was grizzled and unwashed. He’d likely been crewing ships since he was at his mother’s teat, knotting ropes, eating hardtack, and letting the harsh salt air eat into his superstitions alongside the milk. The other men grumbled. I dropped my free hand to my short sword.
“I can’t argue with a consensus. Let us adjourn to the dining room.” Marco’s smile was back, and he gestured for me to lead the way. The others weren’t about to follow a woman and crushed through the flimsy door a few steps ahead of me.
Inside was the same moldy, stained tavern, stacked floor to ceiling with barrels and crates and sacks of goods. Looked like that rat bastard thief had been busy. There were several ships’ worth of cargo stored here, and likely none of it was gotten honestly. Behind the bar were two Tainos, a man and a woman, who I could only guess that rat bastard thief had enslaved. When I ran the place, I didn’t need any help. The rest of the tavern was populated with the crews of the few smaller ships, who presumably were there to trade with that rat bastard thief. It was the busy season for merchants on the sea.
I dropped my sack and box by a table and took my seat, the position with my back to the wall. Marco went out and behind the bar where there was a small room that functioned as living quarters for the proprietor. Presumably he was announcing my arrival to that rat bastard thief. I scanned the various sailors and crew mates and didn’t find anyone I recognized as a friend. I also didn’t recognize anyone as a foe. I didn't recognize anyone at all. Unease crept through my joints, settling in my fingers and making them twitch. That rat bastard thief and Marco were the only known quantities now.
“Evening, gentlemen,” I declared as I sat. “Any of you heading to England? I’ve got salt, pepper, and vanilla to trade or sell.”
“Aye,” a captain near the bar answered. “I’ve got some bolts of cotton out of Egypt. You could make yourself a nice get-up. Something with a skirt a man could get under.” Low and sordid laughter oozed through the bar. As if I hadn’t heard that line before. Cotton was a great item to buy up; I’d deal with this ass if it meant he had something valuable.
“How much? I’ve got a butt load of salt for you if you have at least twenty bolts.” I held back my own laughter at the “butt load.” It wasn’t as funny in the 17th century as it was in the 21st. Butt load. Hilarious. This comedy gold was wasted on them.
“Twenty bolts? You’ll be including the vanilla then?”
“If you were in Egypt, you’ve got some glass and paper—”
“Enough, Reg!” The captain of another ship jumped on my negotiations. “Them goods were promised to me.” The two then got into an argument about their verbal contract. This felt like old times. Even though the merchants were new, the business was not. And I was the best in the business.
I settled back and waited for them to reach that conclusion. I’d win. Salt wins every time. The other captains jumped into the argument as they’d all been trading and negotiating away the cargoes in their holds for a few days now. Now that “Reg” was considering this big deal with me, it threw their loose contractual agreements into chaos. I stoked the fires by working in a few other offers for goods that interested me. There wasn’t a lot of value in their holds, but a few things caught my attention. The captain arguing with Reg had several casks of rum from a distillery I favored in the Caribbean. At some point in the ensuing argument, Marco returned and watched the uproar with amusement.
“Never one to let an opportunity slip past, are you?” He took a seat on the barrel next to me.
I just sat back and smiled. I could come out of this little errand better off than I thought. Charlie’s cargo was always leaving with me…but if I could get more cargo from the other ships and trade it, sell it myself…I could add a tidy little profit to my name. Maybe after I explained everything, Izzy wouldn’t mind if we made a tiny stop or two in Virginia and Canada, possibly Ireland too. I know she’d always wanted to go.
And just as thinking the name of the beast is akin to summoning it…the door opened.
Failure tittered in my ear.
The whole place went dead silent at her entrance. The setting sun framed my sister in golden light, that mystical light that gilded and softened even the sharpest edges of disaster.
Did you really think she’d stay on the ship?
Yes. Izzy doesn’t lie – never lied to me before.
Don’t just sit there. Move.
The one teeny tiny, itty-bitty piece of mercy was that Izzy wasn’t still in her bikini. I’d seen my sister in a number of Renaissance outfits through the years; this time, however, she was dressed in the real deal, petticoats, corset and all. She was making an impression alright. Queen Elizabeth II going to a dive bar in the middle of Baltimore would have made less of an impression. The corsairs shielded their eyes from the sun in order to get a better view of my sister and her barely-contained chest.
Move.
“Well, well, well, Annie, what have you done? I never thought I’d see the day.” Marco looked between us and tsked.
Shit shit shit. There was no hiding her now. Here Izzy stood, brocaded and bustled and female, for all the world to see. I couldn’t send her back to the ship now, these men had seen her, she wouldn’t be safe alone any longer.
MOVE!
I scrambled off my seat and raced to her side before the shock could wear off the tavern. I pushed aside the stunned men, some of whom were actually attempting to brush dirt off their pants, take their feet off the table, and sit up straight. Now that there was a proper lady in their midst, they wanted to make a good impression. Izzy’s attention bounced between the shabby interior decoration, the crusty inhabitants, and me rushing to get to her. She took a few cautious steps towards me.
“Is everything okay?” She spoke in a whisper but might as well have used a megaphone. All ears were on us.
“Who’s your friend, Annie?” Marco shouted out. Damn him.
“What are you doing? You said you’d stay on the ship!” My tone and manner were rougher than she deserved, but I was in my full regalia and prepped to go into negotiations with that rat bastard thief. Who I was with my sister was an entirely different person than the captain these men had all heard tales of, the captain who’d taken blood from both Marco and that rat bastard thief on more than one occasion over the years.
“You said she always travels alone,” one of the men behind Marco growled.
“Annie is always full of surprises.” He could go to hell on one of his sinking ships. As a rule, I was alone…always. Rule number five was no men on my ship. The women here wouldn’t sail with me even if I did offer them a berth…which I didn’t.
“You shouldn’t be here. You were supposed to stay on the ship,” I repeated. My stomach was a rock. Every muscle clenched to hustle her out the door, but it was useless. There was no hiding her now.
“I couldn’t leave you alone here,” she whispered.
Oh god, she came in here to protect me.
If only you’d thought of something to say.
Not the time!
“I like this surprise,” another man smarmed. His hand disappeared under the table. “Think she’s got any more girls on that ship?” This sea rat, along with all the others in the tavern, wouldn’t hesitate to pay my sister’s vagina a visit now that they knew she was on my ship, female, and unguarded.
“What’s going on?” Her eyes darted around the dirty tavern, freaking out.
I couldn’t sit in this indecision for long. Choices had to be made, and fast. Like a politician in a scandal, I had to get ahead of the story. Here the story being a fresh, young, beautiful passenger in a pirate hidey-hole in the middle of nowhere 400 years before anyone who knew and loved her could file a missing-persons report.
“Shit. This is not good,” I mumbled to myself.
“I hear men aren’t allowed on that precious ship of hers,” someone scoffed, and a few pirates whistled.
“They’ve seen you. You’ll have to stay.” I was heartbroken. My first stop out and I was unable to protect her. Despite the layers of cloth and petticoats fanning out around her she looked small. Dammit! This was not how our journey was supposed to begin.
“Is this what you’ve been up to? A patroness? Someone’s finally turned you into a legitimate captain? My dear lady, you could have had me at half the expense.” Marco’s deep voice assumed the tavern’s attention. The pirates then began to shout the prices they’d pay to escort my sister on their cut-rate rafts. “Patroness” – damn, that was good. Crap. I didn’t need to be any more in debt to him than I was. I ground my teeth and kept my attention on my sister.
“Well? Are you going to introduce me to your friend, Anne?” Izzy indicated Marco.
She reminded me so much of Mom sometimes it was startling. Even in the middle of a gang of pirates in the Atlantic Ocean in the 1600s, I mustn't forget my manners and make the social gaffe of not completing formal introductions.
Izzy meet Marco. Marco, Izzy. Izzy enjoys volunteer work with unappreciative youths and spending her days around plants. Marco enjoys singing, pretending he knows how to sail, and negotiating with warlords. Do try the pinot noir paired with the taleggio; both are aged to perfection and ready to delight your palate.
I ignored her pointed dig at my lapse in etiquette. Plans were forming fast and furious in my head. She needed status, she needed a story, and she needed a name. The tavern waited for an answer to Marco’s question.
“I suppose I’ll have to,” I concluded, feeling like I’d taken a step down a dark path we shouldn’t be treading. Damn Marco to hell.
“Gentlemen,” I announced to the tavern at large, “as luck would have it, my esteemed patroness wanted to meet you all. This is the Lady Isabelle. She is traveling with me and is more than happy to provide a few rounds of drinks for you fine fellows. The lady is under my protection. She’ll be staying with me.” I signaled to the barkeep to top everyone off and pour more drinks. There were a few coins in my pocket to cover the glasses of goodwill, and I tossed them on the counter. Only a few scattered mumbles of appreciation and acknowledgment met the gesture. Reg and the other captains returned to their talks of negotiation, but the tone was changed. Thoughts of sailing away with extra profits today evaporated.
I yanked Izzy’s arm to make her follow me to my table. The fancy costume was working. The pirates gave her the space and respect due to nobility. However, despite the deference, there was a new edge to their behavior. A veneer had worn off their words and countenances revealing a glint of trouble hidden beneath the surface. It was as if Izzy’s arrival had not only altered my plans beyond repair but theirs as well. She was an unwelcome quantity for everyone on this island, and we were all scrambling to adjust. The question was: what plans were they trying to rearrange? Why did they need to scramble? The dissonance set my teeth on edge.
She was quiet for all of two and a half shuffling, petticoated steps.
“What is going on here?” She yanked my hand off her. “This feels unsavory as fuck. We should leave, Anne.”
“Of course we should leave,” I hissed. “This place is a hole. But I haven’t finished my business here, and now I have to figure out how to do that with you here. Here.” I pointed her to my barrel and pulled a crate over for myself. “Sit.”
“Maid’s day off?” Izzy fussed about her seat. She was very into hygiene. I mean, she’d blow a bottle of hand sanitizer if it looked at her with bedroom eyes and promised to make her feel real good afterwards. “Do I have to sit? I’ll ruin my clothes!” she whined.
“Have a seat, Lady Isabelle.” I was unamused with her prissiness in the face of the fact that she could have been neatly situated in her cabin right now with that bottle of hand sanitizer instead of here ruining all my plans. Once she and her flounces were arranged over the straw-and-dirt floor, I leaned over to whisper in her ear. “These clothes, this air of wealth, this is your shield,” I warned. “Do anything to break the image of wealth and nobility, and we are screwed. And I mean dead.”
Marco watched our whispered exchange but didn’t interrupt until I sat back. “My lady, please call me Marco.” He held out his hand and Izzy took it.
I bristled at the casual touch. These were two people in my life who should never have existed in the same room, let alone have their fingers intertwined. Marco kissed Izzy’s hand gently, holding on just a touch longer than necessary. I ground my teeth, wishing I could warn Izzy. Marco had had even more wives than boats.
“Marco, Lady Isabelle. Isabelle, Marco.” I tried, but I couldn’t pry my eyes away from their hands. Why did they have to look like they fit together? Why did she have to have such doe eyes and beautiful skin? Why was he smiling back at her?
“Nice to meet you, Marco,” she responded. Izzy was ready to make her vacation fun-filled in more ways than one. Getting a partner into bed was never a challenge for her.
I ground my teeth together. She was here with me, she would leave with me, we were having our last summer together, and that was that. If I had to shoot Marco again to make it happen, I would.
“Pleasure is all mine.” The fucker smiled up at her. Izzy and Marco’s hands finally dropped to their respective sides. I didn’t relax.
“Drinks, ladies?” he asked.
“Sure. Is there a menu?” Izzy’s question caught both him and me by surprise, and we laughed. Izzy was used to establishments with tufted-velvet club chairs, tables with a high-gloss lacquered finish, and servers that had bathed in the past month. The tension in my jaw broke a little (a very little) with the laughter. Menus. God bless her, that was hilarious. The memory of her asking for a menu at Tavern Rock was almost worth all the danger we were currently steeped in. Almost.
Marco sauntered to the bar. The clock was ticking. I had to get this deal done. Where was that thieving rat bastard? I clocked Reg ambling off, back toward the living quarters. Surely he was going to inform that rat bastard thief about Lady Isabelle.
“What do you mean ‘dead’?” Izzy asked.
“Just keep your head down.” I kept my eyes on Reg. “Say nothing. If I could have done this before you got aboard, I would have, but there were complications.” Complications as in I didn’t want to blow up. Charlie’s cargo was gunpowder and arms, and I didn’t care to risk carrying that crap through the portal.
Marco leaned against the bar and ordered our drinks. The barkeep was still busy when Reg returned and met two stooges by the door.
“When we get out of here, we are going to have a very, very long talk.” Izzy gripped my arm.
No shit. “Agreed.”
The talk in the tavern died down to just a few muted conversations. It was as if Reg was the stage manager and he’d just called places. Aside from that rat bastard thief being a thieving rat bastard, I had not walked into this tavern anticipating any issues. The deal was to pay that bastard an absurd amount of money for Charlie’s cargo, put it on my ship, and leave. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I was not a person you wanted on your bad side. Even that rat bastard thief wouldn’t want me as an enemy. I was far more valuable to the merchant sailing community alive than dead. My jaw felt wired shut with tension. Marco likely knew what was happening but gave nothing away, the fucker. That rat bastard thief continued to make us all wait.
Marco returned to the table with the drinks and a subtle amused look on his face. If I could get him on his own, I could get the information out of him. He put the glasses of dark rum in front of each of us, one to me and one to Izzy. The last he took himself and sipped slowly.
Izzy sniffed at her glass and took a small sip, coughing at the potency. I’d seen her toss back absinthe; she could handle a little rum. I wish she’d handle it a little quieter, though.
“Cheers,” Izzy said suddenly in full voice and raised her glass. Damn it all if the rest of the pirates didn’t raise their drinks along with her. I shook my head in begrudging amazement. How did she do this? Didn’t matter if you put Izzy into an AP history class, Miami dance club, or 17th-century black-market shack, she made friends and stole hearts. She drained her cup and turned it upside down like she was at a frat party playing quarters.
I left my glass right where he’d placed it. Marco refilled Izzy then picked up my untouched drink. “I know, I know Annie. You don’t drink on duty.”
“Don’t call me Annie,” I warned.
Marco offered Izzy his hand again. I glared. What was he up to now?
“My Lady?” I wondered if Izzy could sense the capital L in “Lady” when Marco addressed her. “Perhaps a short walk down to the water while we wait? I would enjoy a woman’s presence after months of nothing but these salty and fermented sailors.”
A few of the more brazen men chuckled and heckled. I made out a few comments: Bet she smells real good. What’s the matter, Marco? Can’t have your fun in here with us? The rats, all of them, laughed and sneered. The hackles on my neck rose.
What was the lesser evil here? Keep Izzy in the line of fire but where I could see and protect her? Or let Marco escort her out of the lion’s den and secrete her away in a secluded spot? The image of her hand in his made my stomach tighten. There were many of clandestine spots on this tiny island, and Izzy worked fast. So did Marco, come to think of it.
If this little errand of mine took much longer, more than just their fingers might become intertwined. I shuddered. The lewd comments continued while Izzy formulated her response. Marco was the most palatable of this group, but I didn’t know if I should encourage her. There were many things Marco could whisper in her ear away from my intervention.
Perhaps if you’d told her earlier…
Shut it.
“I’m quite content in my current location, thank you.” Izzy dismissed him like a good noble lady, but her finesse left much to be desired. She must be thinking of secret places in the rocks too. I suppose I should feel good that she chose me over Marco.
“Annie, convince her otherwise.” Marco’s hand was still out.
There were no good options now, and I wanted my sister close. “Call me Annie one more time and I’m cutting off a finger.” I loosened my short sword in its sheath for easy access.
He shrugged and sipped at his glass. Mine remained untouched. I kept scanning the denizens of the tavern; my barometer reading of the situation was not good. We were in for a storm. This storm wasn’t precipitated by my sister, but she was the storm crow heralding it. Slowly the conversation rose around us again as we waited for that rat bastard thief to make his entrance.
“How’s Mr. Hard To Let Go?” Marco waited patiently to see if I’d answer his taunt. I narrowed my eyes and kept my silence. “Come on, Annie,” he baited me, “it was a long time ago.”
Enough of this. I wasn’t going to wait on Marco and the rat’s timeline any longer. It was time to trip a few land mines.
“I swear to god, Marco—” I shoved my chair back and started to draw my sword. The stress of the situation already had me humming like a piano wire, and there Marco sat, the cherry on top of a nuclear reactor tower about to melt down, smiling and drinking a glass of rum and calling me by that stupid name. I didn’t care if I owed him anything, I would have his head.
Izzy made a noise of protest, but it was drowned in the sudden click, click, click, click, click coming from every direction in the tavern. Every pirate in the joint had pulled out a firearm and cocked it. The tavern was quiet enough for a moment that all anyone heard was the sea.
And a ding.
A very distinctive ding that anyone from the 21st century would be able to shrug off as commonplace. The ding of a cell phone notification. Dings like that didn’t belong in 1649.
Oh, I was so going to die. Scrap any gambling odds. I was dead.
A particularly mangy pirate tried to clear out an ear, wondering what exactly he’d just heard. No one lowered their gun.
Failure clapped its little hands in excitement.
“Ah, Annie,” Marco sighed. “That rat bastard thief was concerned you might let your temper run away with you.”
Ding.
“All this for one little lady?” I asked in my most simpering southern belle impression. I wanted to keep the attention on me and not Izzy and her stupid stupid stupid! phone.
“No one wants another Kings Bay.” He motioned for me to take my seat.
There was my answer. Kings Bay. Kings Bay had been a massive failure of this thieving rat bastard to put an operating ring together throughout the triangle. It wasn’t clear who tipped the navy off to our presence, but here I was, a woman, and men were superstitious and mean.
If he wanted—
“Good morning to yoooouuu.
Good morning to yoooouuu.”
Marilyn Monroe’s sultry voice as envisioned by a cartoon unicorn sang out from that devil rectangle in Izzy’s lap. My world froze. Wisps of smoke wafted up from under my feet. The roar of the surf morphed into the sound of religious zealots calling for my death.
“Good morning to yoooouuu.”
The pirates looked around for the source of the alien song. I had no time. This group would seize any chance to burn me alive. Ignore? Distract? Run? Izzy and her damn petticoats could barely make it to the table, she’d never make it out the door.
Distract.
There was a woman at the bar. An enslaved woman. She’d have to be Marilyn today. My apologies, Marilyn. I’ll make it up to you.
“Good morning—”
I smashed my sword into the table, whipped out my pistol, took aim, and fired. The shot exploded a bottle of whiskey just to the right of Marilyn’s head. My actions were so stunningly violent, unexpected, and loud the entire tavern lay silent and paralyzed. Twenty-first-century guns are a hell of a lot louder than the pop-gun flintlock grandfathers in the hands of these mangy pirates. There was no attention spared for Izzy. The men looked between me and the woman at the bar, who stared at me in terror.
“I will not be made a fool of, and I will not be intimidated!” I hollered above the ringing in my ears. “Leave!” I commanded her. Probably safer for her not to be here anyway. The woman fled without a moment’s hesitation. “Get that thieving rat bastard out here now or I’m walking.” My words were directed at Marco, but the threat was to the tavern at large.
“He’s almost finished.” Marco glanced towards the back living quarters. I heard some grunting and moaning from a deep male voice and muffled female cries.
“Nut or get off her, Rat!” I shouted back there. “St. Kitts would love this gold.” I shook the box. The grunting increased. I’d pay Charlie some other way. Nothing was worth this. “I’m out. Tell that thieving rat bastard to contact me if he ever gets his dick back in his pants.” I stood and gestured for Izzy to get up. My sister’s face was a mask of shock and horror.
Marco blocked my way. He motioned the others back into their seats and spoke to me in a low voice. “That bastard knows you’re the best ship on the sea. He’s ready to pay through the nose.” Marco was buttering me up. “A little patience will go a long way today.”
“Why does it matter? What’s in it for you?”
“I’m playing a hunch.”
“I thought you didn’t gamble.”
“Only on sure things. Right now, that’s you.” He was too handsome for his own good. I wanted to kick his ass.
There was even more going on here than I realized. Marco wanted me here too much; desperation shadowed his words. He didn’t like that rat bastard thief any more than I did, but here he was, working for him. There must be a reason for it.
He sighed and threw up his hands. “Ten minutes?”
“Three.”
“Five. You owe me.”
“Fine. Go tell that thief to get out here right now.” I sat Izzy back down.
Marco was famous for his ability to play a long con. He wanted me as a piece in his game now, and I did owe him for leaving him to hang in that jail cell. He made sure I wasn’t going to run, then went to the back and knocked on the door.
I slowly sat back down, and the pirates placed their guns on the table. No one uttered a word. That rat bastard thief finally made his entrance, still buckling up his belt as he entered the bar area. He and Marco actually made an impressive pair, both tall, well built, not the most filthy individuals in the room, but one would leave you bleeding and one would steal your shoes as you bled out.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Bitch Captain of the Seven Seas herself. And a new friend,” he said, addressing Izzy.
“‘Bitch’?” Izzy exclaimed. “Did he just call you—?” I shot her a severe look. She settled, but the countdown was on to get the hell out of here before Izzy lost it or I cut off that thieving rat bastard’s prick.
That rat bastard thief laughed and smiled. I knew that smile hid a thousand lies and betrayals. He could con the czarina herself into bed with his words and touch, but she’d still end up with herpes in the morning.
“My apologies, fair lady. But your captain and I have long neglected our pleasantries.” He smiled and Izzy stared back at him warily. Marco poured her another rum.
The bastard ignored her and returned his attention to me. “I told you I would not do a deal for coins alone. Do you have my special request?”
I patted the sack, and he began to drool.
“Prove it.” He sat back and laced his fingers over his belly. He was a barrel-chested mountain of avarice held together with sail-canvas pants and a leather bandolier.
I reached in and pulled off a tiny piece of pastry from one of hundreds filling the sack. I placed the tiny bit of cake and cream between us. The rat bastard thief had a sweet tooth, and I didn’t care whether he died because of a bullet or diabetes. It would all be a win for me. He gobbled up the bite of cake and drooled over my bag. It had been tedious work unwrapping these hundreds of cakes.
“How much do you want?” He kept his eyes on his dessert.
“Charlie specified that you and he have already discussed items and amounts. I have gold to supplement if the cargo is sufficiently valuable. I am also open to buying up more than just what Charlie asked for. It appears you’ve got an abundance on your hands, and I’d be willing to buy some of it outright if the quality holds.”
“Show me what’s in the box.” He tapped the top of my strongbox, almost as eager for the sight of gold as for the cake.
“I will not take live cargo,” I specified before opening the small chest.
“LIVE cargo?” Izzy exclaimed.
“It pays better,” the rat spoke to Izzy.
Izzy made a distinctive Black Girl Noise, and I thought that perhaps I’d give her the honor of castrating this rat bastard.
“No live cargo. Charlie has no need for that,” he confirmed. “Besides, we all know the sea bitch travels alone.” He eyed
Izzy. “At least she did.”
“Fair Lady, we would all love to know what goes on aboard that ship of hers.” Marco sat down close to my sister and refilled her glass again. What was he playing at?
“Oh, yes. Do tell us a story,” that rat bastard thief crooned. I noticed the other pirates were leaning in with anticipation too. Disgusting, head-in-the-gutter fools, all of them.
“Well...” Izzy was tipsy, and I worried she’d had too much to keep the pretense of her ladyship up. She hadn’t exactly walked into the tavern sober as a priest on Sunday either.
“This box is bursting with gold and you want a bedtime story?” I cut Izzy off.
“I’d love to hear about your bed, Annie.” Marco grinned like the devil himself.
“That’s it!” I pulled out my dirk, pinned his hand on the table, and took aim.
“Annie!” Marco ripped his hand away and lunged for me. That rat bastard pulled Marco back, and the bar erupted with the clicks of guns cocking again.
“Enough! I will not have this turn into another Kings Bay!” the rat bastard hollered.
Everyone sheathed their weapons, including me, and had a seat. I felt Izzy’s eyes on me but didn’t dare take mine off Marco and the rat.
“Now, let’s see that gold,” he ordered.
I opened the box filled with glittering gold, silver, and gems, but the men looked at it with anticlimactic expressions. I think they would have actually sold Izzy the cargo for her stories of life on my ship.
“And the other?” The rat bastard thief indicated the sack, which I opened to reveal hundreds of preservative-filled snack cakes.
“We have a deal?” I cinched the sack back up tight.
“We have a deal.” He poured me a shot of rum and one for himself, and we drank together. “Start loading her up!” he ordered his enslaved men.
I got up to oversee the loading, but that rat bastard thief grabbed my arm. “Not just yet, girly.”
“I will cut your arm off,” I threatened. He removed his hand but stayed close enough that I could smell his breath and sweat and cum.
“You owe me an apology for Kings Bay,” he demanded right back.
“You made your own mistakes there. I owe you nothing.”
“I lost my ship.” His hands itched towards me again.
“You kept what mattered.” He’d escaped with his life, a feat only Marco, myself, and a scant few others could boast of.
“All these fine gentlemen here lost ships as well. In fact, everyone lost their ships. Everyone except you. That’s led us all to become mighty curious as to how those soldiers found us.” He leaned back in his chair, awaiting explanation.
I had not called in the navy. One of the other desperate and dubious men there had ratted us out, if not this bastard himself.
“Life is full of mystery, isn’t it?” I said, eyeing the door and planning my escape. Failure tickled up my spine. This was the real reason that thieving rat bastard had offered to do business with me. He thought I owed him a pound of flesh, and he meant to take it off me.
Izzy’s quick and nervous breathing reminded me that I was handcuffed by her presence. I could probably make it out of this place, but she was a sitting duck. For so long I’d traveled alone, free from the responsibility of another life on my boat, carefree and reckless. Now Izzy was here. Now I wasn’t a lone wolf anymore.
“Lady Isabelle, it’s time to leave.” I stood.
“No. No, I don’t think so.” That rat bastard thief stood toe to toe with me.
I dropped my hand to my sword. He didn’t blink. He was the one with several crews’ worth of backup. I was the one with a ball and chain in brocade at my back.
“I’m owed an apology,” he repeated.
“The Bitch Captain of the Seven Seas doesn’t apologize.” I gripped the hilt, threatening violent responses if he kept this up. We could all still walk away. He just needed to prove to his men he was the big bad. I waited and watched his thoughts churn. Come on, give me the opening I need, you bastard. I’ll let you play your charade, but it’ll be on my terms.
That rat bastard thief laughed. “I’m not an unreasonable man. I can offer an alternative.” He laughed again. “No need for any apologies. Words are cheap. I’ll just take your ship.”
“Like hell you will.” I’d burn my ship before letting him close enough to sniff the teak.
He just laughed and stroked a finger down my cheek. I should really never have let him make out with me that one time. Sure, I made off with his cargo hold of tobacco afterwards, but was it worth it? Yeah, it was worth it; I made a killing off that haul in Calais.
“Perhaps a partnership? Now that you take passengers,” he strayed a step inside my personal boundaries, “we could sail together.” Guess he still had fond memories of our time in St. Kitts.
“No,” Marco interrupted in a sharp, clear tone. “No men on her ship.”
“You heard him.” I walked that rat bastard thief out of my personal space with a finger to his chest. He backed off but kept the smile on his face.
“Have it your way. What’ll it be? Your ship? An hour with you?” He sighted Izzy and a new avenue for his greed appeared. “I am not picky. I would take an hour with your fare.” The bastard maneuvered behind Izzy and wrapped his dirty hands around her hips. He sniffed at her hair.
“Get off of me!” Izzy screamed. She was on her feet now with a bright new shade of panic in her eyes. She gave him a sharp elbow to his solar plexus and broke free.
“Do not touch her, you thieving rat bastard,” I moved in front of my sister.
Now, I knew this was just another bargaining ploy. Besides the fact that it took him the better part of an hour to get off before making his entrance, he had no interest in getting between my or anyone else’s knees at this time. He just wanted to have his say, get high off seeing fear in my eyes and body, and perhaps get me to throw in another sack of cake.
All males in this era (all eras) loved to throw my virtue and my sex in my face as a way to denigrate my skills. Very few would actually make good on their threats as to do so would mean losing good business. I wasn’t captain of a big ship, but I specialized in hard-to-find items and had contacts in ports all over. I’d earned that Bitch Captain of the Seven Seas title fair and square. Thus far, I was more useful to men in my ship than in their bed. Money talked louder than sex on the sea. Money bought you sails. Anyone could be bent over willingly enough in port or on the water if they got bored enough. Bending me over would only lose them money along with their favorite appendage.
Izzy did not know this. “This is a rough place,” I’d told her. Izzy didn’t truck with male nonsense. She was a savvy club-hopping, bar-closing, late-night-partying beautiful woman who had no illusions when it came to her own safety. She’d brought her phone. Why wouldn’t she bring her own weapon? After all, I’d brought several of mine. Why wouldn’t she have chosen some protection too?
The thieving rat bastard cried out in pain as the pepper spray met his eyes at point-blank range. The nearest pirates went down next, and soon we were all rubbing our stinging eyes.
The rat bastard thief was rolling on the floor screaming, “Witch! She burned me! Witch!” The rat was frenzied.
The other pirates were in a panic watching the rat bastard brought down by a woman who shot invisible fire from her hands. They took up the call, and I heard a faint crackling in my ear as the smell of smoke filled my nostrils. The stake reared its ugly head before my eyes, and my pulse quickened. It’s not real, I told myself as my eyes stung with remembered smoke and chemical capsaicin. It’s not real. It’s just the pepper spray.
“Witch!” the rat bastard screamed again. The crowd had roared at me the same way, calling me witch, calling for my death.
The smoke intensified until I couldn’t see through it, until I couldn’t breathe. Izzy was shrieking. I met the rat with one hand gripping his beard and the other hand holding my short sword pressed to the delicate under skin of his neck.
“Back down,” I cautioned and pulled the blade enough to draw blood.
“Thou shalt not abide—” The rat’s shout cut off in a gurgle of his own blood as I slit his throat. My panic attack cleared as I took that rat bastard and all his threats out of this world.
Someone fired a pistol with a deafening bang, and my calf collapsed under me with a hot, heavy weight.
“Get your back to the wall, Izzy!” I ordered as the tavern erupted.
I pulled out my pistols, wanting a fast end to this fight. With four shots in each of my guns, seven pirates met their maker in a very fast and surprising way. The rat was still rolling on the ground around my feet, and I leaped over him to meet a cutlass mid-swing. Jab, cross, uppercut, throw through the window.
“Feel like jumping in here, Marco?” I shouted as I ducked a sword. I charged after the gunman and sliced through a series of arteries that brought him down in a wave of red.
“I need passage to London,” he bargained.
“No men on my ship.” I parried a sword, disarmed, and sank said sword deep into a belly.
“Cheers then, Annie,” Marco toasted me.
“Don’t call me Annie!” I used my last remaining shot on him and missed. I started to chase him but was hauled back by a pirate twice my size. One of them got behind me, and my right arm went dead as someone shot me in the shoulder. The mace dropped to ground. I scooped it up with my left and screamed in rage and cleaved his head open.
Curses and obscenities poured out of me as I went after more of the attackers, who were now afraid of me and regretting their life choices. No matter. They wouldn’t have long to spend their remorse. After a decidedly distasteful incident in my early days of traveling, I had dedicated myself to learning several martial arts. My favorites were boxing and judo. On my boat there were a punching bag and a speed ball that I hung and practiced with on all those lonely days at sea. These lazy, drunken pirates were no match.
My shoulder and leg were screaming by this point when a slug found the back of my hand. I hissed and growled at the long, deep path the lead ball furrowed into me. Izzy was cornered and wielding a broken chair at some drooling mongrel, and I lost all sense and control. I can’t remember much else of that fight except to register that Marco was at
Izzy’s back and for that I would owe him another goddamn favor.
In moments we went from screams and gunshots and rage to a dead quiet in the tavern. Failure lay sprawled on the floor amongst the bodies in a post-coital glow of ecstasy.
Just me, Marco, Izzy, and the now-freed Tainos were left.
I kept my blade trained on Marco. “Did your gamble pay off?”
He nodded. “My debts are settled now.” He shoved the rat’s body over. “He’s finally where he belongs.” Marco spat on him.
As much as I hated that rat bastard thief, I hated being used as a weapon. This was Marco’s con all along. He wanted the rat dead, and there was no surer way of accomplishing that than setting me free on him. The rat had set the stage, but Marco had tipped us all over the edge. The fucker.
“Would you at least consider taking me to London?” he had the nerve to ask.
“I’m taking the cargo and Isabelle and leaving.”
“I’ve never gotten in your way before.” He looked around the tavern, strewn with dead pirates, and sighed, “Looks like you got me a boat after all. Thank you.”
“Take your pick.” He gave me a curt nod and went out to inspect his available prospects.
Izzy was wild-eyed and frozen to the wall where I’d ordered her. I was able to pull her outside but not much further. She’d be okay for now by the door.
I went back in and picked up the sack of cakes. The formerly enslaved people were surveying the carnage. As I approached them, they stood together and presented a united front, wondering what price the bloodstained fury in front of them might demand.
“The place is yours now if you care for it,” I told them. I shoved the strongbox into the woman’s arms. “I’d appreciate it if you would help load the rest of the cargo.”
There was hardly an inch of space left on the boat once we were finished. I scavenged what I wanted from the dead pirates’ ships, what I wanted from the tavern, and what was owed to Charlie. I’d make a killing in any port in the world right now. The Try Your Luck sat low in the water, and I made automatic adjustments in my head for the next leg of our trip.
The woman I’d handed the box of gold to led Izzy down to the dock. I nodded in thanks, and she departed back to the tavern. Izzy kept her eyes on the woman until she disappeared into the shot-up structure. Then my sister turned on me.
“Anne, what the fuck is happening?” Her voice was steady, but the rest of her shook.
I looked around for a blanket. She was in shock, and people in shock needed blankets and juice boxes. I didn’t have any juice boxes. I should take off my coat and wrap her in it. My hands were shaking, and my coat was covered in blood. She needed a coat not covered in blood. Where could I find that? My boat, I could find that on my boat. Izzy still waited for an answer.
“It’s okay. We’re fine. We’re safe.” My head was still spinning with adrenaline, and I twitched at the least sound. I held out my hand, even though it shook, and offered to help her aboard.
She almost took it but then looked me over, head to toe, and backed away. I was covered in the stuff of nightmares. Izzy hadn’t come out of this unscathed either, at least her dress hadn’t. The garment was torn and sliced and stained in a dozen different locations with alcohol, blood, and dirt. I’d probably have to burn it. There was no salvaging that costume.
“Where are we?” Her eyes wheeled in the dim evening light.
What are you going to tell her?
“It’s ‘when,’” I answered.
“What?”
“‘When are we’ is the question. The answer is 1649, June 1649.” I had to start somewhere. Might as well start here.
“Time travel?! Those were bedtime stories Da read us, not instruction manuals!” She’d always liked to hear every detail of the dresses and the fancy balls. She’d make him repeat the passages about silk brocades over and over again while I pulled the covers up and wondered…was it really possible?
“They were journals, not stories.” Non-fiction versus fiction. Hans Christian Anderson versus a vacuum-cleaner warranty booklet. “They are true.” I’m not going to say I was expecting her to cheer and rejoice as I had when I’d made that discovery. But perhaps a tiny bit of excitement?
Izzy rage-screamed at me and shoved me off the dock. It was a long drop and a cold splash down. I choked and sputtered in surprise once I bobbed to the surface. There was just enough light to see Izzy flip me off before stomping onto the now heavily-laden boat.
Dumbass.
.
.
.
I know.
****
“Mom’s finally settled down,” Izzy said as she flopped on the couch next to me. She handed me a sandwich, and I picked at it without eating. “You really have her worried, you know.” I shrugged. I didn’t want to go into it. “You worry me too, by the way.” She had me there. I didn’t like to worry Izzy.
“I know. I don’t mean to.” I spoke to my plate since I couldn’t look her in the eye.
“You can’t keep running away like this.” She turned my face to look at her.
“I don’t mean to. I’m just not good at it yet.” Izzy was like truth serum. I couldn’t not talk to her.
“I hope you’re never good at running away.” She laid her head on my shoulder, and the gesture was so familiar and pure I almost broke down right there on that old corduroy couch.
“I’m not running. I’m...traveling,” I tried to explain.
“Are you here?” she asked.
“No.”
“Did you tell me where you were going?” Izzy wouldn’t let me look away.
“No.”
“Then what’s the difference?”
“Nothing. I guess.”
“Traveling. So what do you do when you...travel?” Izzy was trying to be patient with me, and I was trying to find a way to tell her everything I was desperate for her to know. I’d love to tell her what sunrise looked like on the untouched coastline of the Americas. How the world smelled before the discovery of fossil fuels. The absolute quiet of endless miles of unpaved land and empty skies.
“I just go see places. Went to Florida once.” Once. That was a colossal mistake. “It’s more like...more like… it’s time traveling. Going back in time and just being free.” There, I said it.
“Time traveling...okay,” Izzy said. “Can you tell me any more about that?”
God, how I wished to tell her everything about it.
“How about I show you someday? Think you’d like to go sometime?” I asked.
“Maybe. Let’s get through high school first, okay?” I don’t think she understood what I was saying. She flipped on the TV to put on some stupid show. I loved TV. No thinking, just numbing.
“Sure.” I ate my sandwich.
