6. Bermuda Hospitality

I took off down the road, crate in my good arm, valise in my other. The inn was not far, a mile at most. As I walked from the dock into town I looked around at the buildings and townspeople, now matching my ugly memories of this place almost perfectly.

 

It wasn’t truly a year I had left, more like ten months. All these people would be there. The little street urchins running about would be running with scrap lumber and lit sticks. The merchants would hold their wives and babies in fear as the witch was hauled past their doors, trussed, bound, and bleeding. The laborers and sailors, the vendors and soldiers, everyone would be there, cheering for my painful eradication. My scars tightened and I walked faster. There’s where they stripped off my clothes for evidence of the mark of the devil. There’s where they erected the stake. There’s where I ran flaming through the street to jump in the bay. A little street urchin got under my feet and nearly tripped me. She backed away in terror at my terrible expression.

 

“Get out of here,” I ordered her, and she scampered. For all I knew, she was one of the ones who had called for my death with a sing-song smile on her face. The town square here had been packed with people, shoulder to shoulder. All of St. George's, all of Bermuda had turned out to see the Bitch Captain of the Seven Seas go up in smoke.

 

I took a minute to collect myself before my memories could overwhelm me. That was next year. Right now there was no smoke in the plaza, just people going their own way as I should be going mine.

 

The Sea Wind was right around the corner. Soft firelight flickered from Izzy’s window, and I prayed a quick and silent prayer to the Almighty that, for once in her life, she was chilling the fuck out. If God loved me at all, Izzy was in her room high as a kite and snuggled up next to a strong bottle of wine.

 

The sun was just beginning to set, and my stomach rumbled. I knew from experience the Sea Wind had food and drink. It was the getting-them-to-serve-me part that was the problem. I decided to shortcut the issue by buying food off a street vendor just beginning to take his stall down for the day. It was a meal of meat and vegetables wrapped in pastry and smelled delicious. I bought a few extra in anticipation of them being my only source of food for the foreseeable future.

 

The Sea Wind tavern at night was teeming with locals and sailors and all the detritus that followed those denizens around. A group of navy midshipmen were treating their young and fresh livers to tankards of rum and mead. I saw the young lieutenant from earlier in the day among them, and he lifted his glass to me over the songs of his fellows. I nodded back to him and veered away from their tables and found a nice dark corner to set up shop.

 

The bartender scowled at me as I took a table. “Five bottles of your finest whiskey!” I called to him. He kept scowling and didn’t respond. Well, I tried. I slid the crate under the table and arranged the seats so my back was to the wall. The room was noisy and crawling with soldiers and merchants. I stared at the section of ceiling that was Izzy’s floor. Even though my militias could be here at any moment I had to check on her.

 

I quickly ran up the stairs to Izzy’s room and shook Gerta awake. The woman startled and looked at me in horror. “The lady is fine. Not fat yet. I am working on it,” she stammered out.

 

“Do that.” I looked her up and down. Was she nervous with me so close or was she hiding something? I couldn’t decide. For the moment, there was little risk. All seemed quiet behind the door.

 

“Iz – Lady Isabelle?” I called to her and pounded on the door.

 

“What?!” my darling sister screeched through the door. That was as clear a message as any.

 

“Can I come in?”

 

"Fuck no!" Izzy hollered. She was a delight.

 

“Good night then,” I said to the solid door. “Fat. Happy. Idle,” I reminded Gerta, who nodded her head vigorously. I turned and dodged a small errand boy rushing up the stairs and passed servers in and out of the kitchens on my way back to my table.

 

Five bottles of whiskey sat on the crude wooden table, and I looked up at the bartender in shock. There was a woman next to him, and she nodded curtly to me as I sat. I was finally getting service here, just in time to never need it again. I ate my meager dinner and steeled myself for a long night.

 

From this vantage point, I had clear views of the room and an exit route through the kitchen. I pulled out a glass jar and candle from my valise and put it on the table. I surreptitiously lit a match and touched it to the candle wick. I was nervous to use anything so high tech as a match this close to my burning time but didn’t want to bother finding a flame from another table.

 

My first clients arrived within the hour. I knew they were for me as the noise dipped in the room when they entered. I knew these bastards. They were a motley crew of farmers from outlying settlements on the island. They carried their weapons openly, and the crowds swirled and parted around them, eager not to get too close. I pulled the brim of my hat down and hunched over the table to disguise my silhouette. These assholes were not feminists.

 

I took one of the small twists of gunpowder and paper and tossed it into the candle flame. It was not enough for an explosion of any sort, but it burned and the acrid smell dispersed across the tavern. Several heads turned, but it was a common smell and was shrugged off as a fluke, especially since there was no accompanying bang.

 

My clients understood. That very smell was the reason they had come here. They turned as one rough and uneducated mass towards my table. The leader of the band pulled out a chair across from me, and his cronies took up positions on his flanks.

 

“I hear you have cargo to sell. Guns. Ammunition. Powder,” he grunted through thick whiskers and greasy dark hair.

 

Show time.

 

“You heard right.” I lifted my head and didn’t bother to hide my high voice as it rang out its double X chromosomes.

 

The entire ensemble broke out in laughter loud enough to silence the bar area for a moment. That was okay. I’d been met with this reaction before. Let them laugh. I had what they wanted, and therefore they’d listen – or not and then I’d shoot them. Either way…

 

Once the laughing died, a man with white-blond hair and a hard expression barked at me to “Go home and fetch your husband to come talk with men.”

 

“No. You’ll deal with me, or I’ll arm a different militia with these fine and superior weapons. Much better than what you're carrying.” I pretended to sip my whiskey while his friends restrained him. He looked familiar. I did not like when people looked familiar, and I couldn’t place them. It put me on edge. I decided then and there not to deal with them.

 

“Deal’s off the table,” I said. “Have a nice evening, gentlemen.”

 

“Now wait just a moment, woman,” the leader said. “I didn’t say we wouldn’t deal. Marius was merely startled. Not often you see a woman pirate.”

 

“Not a pirate.”

 

“Oh? Then how’d you come across such interesting cargo?”

 

“A storm. A big one. Very dangerous. Killed this rat bastard thief and his entire crew. Can you imagine it? What luck for me.” I pretended to sip again and speared a slice of pastry with the sharp silver dagger I reserved for special occasions such as this, where men needed to see a good reason to keep their adrenaline in check and their genitals in their pants.

 

“No storm that big this season,” Marius pushed.

 

“Have a nice evening, gentlemen,” I said again.

 

“Listen to me, woman—” Marius slammed his hand on the table and raised the other one to strike me then paled as all the blood drained from his face. My lovely silver dagger now stabbed clear through his palm and an inch into the wood beneath. A matching dagger now appeared at his throat.

 

“I saw that storm with my own eyes, and guess what? It was heading this way,” I threatened.

 

“I know who you are, you sea bitch, giving my wife all those books,” Marius choked out. “I know your ship. We don’t need to trade with you at all.”

 

“Cargo is buried. You want it? You’ll pay.” I pressed the knife deeper against his throat and pulled a thin line of blood from his skin.

 

“I can still sink you,” he continued.

 

“Enough of this,” the leader said. “Release him.”

 

“I’ll release him last. The rest of you leave. He’ll be home by dinner tomorrow.”

 

“If he dies, we will come for you and your boat,” the leader threatened.

​

“Stitch his mouth closed and there won’t be a problem.”

 

The militia got up and left, but Marius stayed under my knives. A rivulet of blood reached the end of the table and began a pleasant plit plit plit onto the floor. The woman who’d procured me the five whiskey bottles brought another chair over, and I shoved Marius down into it. I tipped her and poured him a glass.

 

“You are my guest until my business is finished here. One wrong move, one wrong word, you’ll be reenacting the stigmata.” He grunted and tried to move, but my dagger was sunk in deep. Unless he wanted to slice his hand in half, he was stuck. Personally, I didn’t care.

 

Another militia group appeared, and I lit another twist of gunpowder to get their attention. They only wanted to speak with Marius, who hurled insults at them and spat at me. They wouldn’t trade with a woman, I was bad luck, they said, and left.

 

By this time, the moon was rising, and an old whaler and his enslaved man replaced the midshipmen at the bar. I eyed them and lit the twist of powder, but if they were here for me, they weren’t ready to make their move. Shame. If he was a successful whaler, he could be worth trading with.

 

Militia number three would trade with me, but they were poor with nothing to offer. They were a ragtag group of starving fishermen off the far end of the island. If I were to wager a guess, they were mostly escapees and refugees. The amount they offered must be the full sum their families could combine. It was mostly scrawny farm animals, a few crates of fish jerky, and a scattering of coins. Marius laughed at their pathetic offer. I flicked the tip of the dagger handle, and he gasped and failed to stop tears springing to his eyes. The blood dripped merrily, and I sat back enjoying his pain. I’d seen Mary’s bruises. This was a small measure towards retribution. Izzy would be all about working with this group, but I pushed their offer back to them and advised them to try their hands at planting rice. I needed cash. I wasn’t here to barter.

 

It was breakfast time and two militias later (who quailed at the sight of Marius’s hand), and I was running on fumes when the door opened again to let in a large group of men from south of town. Marius was losing color. A man from the last militia had slipped on the puddle of blood on his way out. This group of men was numerous and dressed in dark and sober clothing. They brought a haze in with them. I wondered if the kitchen had set up a fire pit outside. I blinked to clear the smoke from my eyes. I needed to be alert, and this place did not serve coffee.

 

The man in the lead pecked at my memory the same way Marius had.

 

It was hot in here.

 

I pulled off my jacket and hat, tugged at the front of my shirt. The lead man was tall, well over six feet, with long, smooth hair cropped into a disciplined line at his shoulders. The dust and sand that covered most of this island didn’t touch him. I swallowed against the stink of burning meat. What the hell was the kitchen cooking up?

 

Marius said something, but I couldn’t hear him through the crackling flames. I couldn’t answer anyway with my throat closed against the smoke. The barman pointed the group towards my table, and I saw that I did indeed know this man. His name: Closer To You My God Cowlishaw. He wouldn’t know me for another year. But I knew him now. His face was different, a little younger, handsome, missing a distinct series of scars and burns drawn across his cheek. It was him for sure. Sometime between now and the fateful day when I docked in St. George's and got hauled off my ship by these fuckers, Closer To You My God would be sliced up by someone and burned. Bless that unnamed soul and his sharp blade. The smell of burning cloth and hair drifted into my nostrils, my legs twitched as the flames licked across my shins.

 

Puritans.

 

I hate Puritans.

 

The as-yet-unscarred Closer To You My God pulled out the chair across from me. He saw the knife stuck through Marius’s hand and turned his attention to me.

 

“A harsh punishment. I hope it’s deserved.” He sat with the unwavering calm of a man who was assured his place in heaven.

 

“It is,” I wheezed.

 

“My fellows and I hear you have a bounty of arms. I would hear your price.”

 

“I will not deal with Puritans.” I hoped my voice did not sound like the deflated tire I was.

 

“My good woman, you will.” He was not being an ass. He felt every inch of his power, purity, and masculinity. He commanded and I was to follow; that was the way of it. “Now, let us hear your offer.”

 

I took in the whole crowd of them and tried to breathe. I touched my chest to reassure myself that the ropes I felt constricting me were not in my present – my past and their future, yes – but for now I wasn’t on trial at the stake.

 

“I will not deal with Puritans,” I repeated. Marius scoffed and drew their attention for a second.

 

“You should have taken our offer, sea bitch.” Marius was drunk from blood loss. His hand was growing red with infection already. “But these Puritans, ha! They have gold for miles. Bleed it out of everyone in exchange for heaven. Tell me, Closer, what need do you have of guns if your land is in the hereafter?”

 

“I would defend my people against their early occupation of a heavenly home,” Closer To You My God responded. “But you, my brother, look indisposed. I will need to speak with the woman for the nonce. However, the kingdom of heaven is ready for you when you are free of your bonds here. Brother, I shall welcome you with open arms.” His deep voice rattled as he began to address me. “Woman, the flawed man to your left is stricken by more than your knife. Demons cloud his eyes and drain his spirit even as we sit. It is not worthy of a man to sit thus. Let him free.”

 

“You are neither my maker nor my mate. I will not deal with you.” It was too hot in here. I tugged at my collar again.

 

Sweat ran in rivulets matching Marius’ blood splatters. There were too many of them for me to force my way through. I’d need to keep my place until they chose to leave and stopped stealing my oxygen with their fire and their lungs.

Closer To You My God was still and silent, perhaps in prayer, perhaps in anger. His women were supplicant and quiescent. I was not. Coming from this unmarred and handsome face, his silence was more dangerous, more patient. I could be patient too.

 

But Marius could not.

 

“She’s hidden the goods. Won’t tell a soul where,” he slurred, and his non-stabbed hand reached out and knocked the mostly untouched whiskey bottles over. The alcohol mixed with his blood and my sweat and poured over my lap onto the floor. 

 

I cursed and slammed the blade harder into his hand. He screamed and failed to stop his own tears from falling.

 

“Woman held a secret once and man fell from grace,” Closer To You My God mused. “No,” he continued, “No. You will tell me where the arms are hidden, and your confession will further the kingdom of God on earth.” He crooked his finger, and his cronies moved as one in a well-practiced woman-abusing team to confine and kidnap me.

 

Under the table I pulled open my bag of gunpowder twists and threw them in a pile on the table. I overturned the candle and the papers ignited. I was just looking for a distraction. A few fireworks to cover my run to the kitchen. I neglected to factor in the potency of the Sea Wind’s whiskey, now spilled over tables, chairs, my clothing, and the crate below the table. The liquor ignited and I realized the danger right away. I pulled my Kevlar-lined trench over my head and ducked just in time for my corner of the barroom to blow. My ears rang for real this time, and the sight and smell of real smoke cleared the phantom smoke away.

 

I grabbed my belongings and began climbing over the blasted and singed Puritans. Closer To You My God’s face was closest to the explosion. He was burned down the left side, but he still had the wherewithal to reach out and grab my ankle.

 

“Thou shalt not suffer—”

 

I grabbed the knife out of Marius' palm and swiped at Closer’s face. The red burst from his cheek in a clean line that looked oh so familiar. I stared at the knife in my hand and breathed in the smoke, this time in savage glee. Closer staggered back and tripped over an upturned table. I jumped on top of him and straddled him using my knees to pin his arms against the floor. I swiped again at his face, and bright red blood sprouted from another line. And what’s more, I knew just where to put the rest. With delicious vengeance I carved out the rest of his scars until he matched the face I knew from my nightmares and spat on him.

 

“Suffer me you will.” I took my time with the last cut, deliriously happy with the seeping wounds, an artist in her crowning glory. It was poetry: a silver knife and a pulsing artery mere inches away from joining. The chaos in the barroom was delightful muzak to my ears, and I sighed in contentment, thankful for this moment of pure beauty.

 

Alas, Time, being the little bitch she is, was too short. Loud and simultaneous gunshots quieted the bar. Marching feet dispersed the crowd, and rough hands hauled me off Closer To You My God and restrained me at gunpoint. Another soldier was restraining Closer To You My God and his dripping face along with several members of his posse. Marius melted away in the chaos.

 

The old whaler’s enslaved man came up close behind me and said, “If you live, we will trade,” and he gave me the whaler’s location. What a glorious day indeed.

 

I was frisked, and all my weapons handed over to soldiers too chicken to approach me themselves but brave enough to pocket my arms. The soldier restraining me kept up a steady barrage of insults and instructions along the lines of “Stay on your knees, sea bitch,” and “Stop kicking, woman,” and “You should count yourself lucky that I don’t fight ladies,” and “Ow, that was my thigh.”

 

They divested me of all my blades and bound my hands tightly behind my back. As the madness siphoned off, I looked at the space where Izzy’s room was above my head. Maybe she was still asleep and hadn’t heard anything. The hole in the building was catty-corner to her quarters and wasn’t likely to bring the building down. Probably. It’s possible I should have been more concerned about my sister and her well-being, but Closer To You My God’s face was a dripping masterpiece of satisfaction and all I could feel was a sense of deep calm and justice.

 

Once the soldiers had cleared the barroom of civilians and chained all us miscreants, the young lieutenant entered the room. I sagged back in my irons. An idealist like him would make a meal out of a situation like this. He took in the hole in the wall and blanched.

​

“Order and discipline will be maintained on this island.” He began what sounded like a well-rehearsed speech but petered off with another look up the stairs. “The Crown – ” He lost steam again with another look at the ceiling. He probably thought this whole place was going to come down and bury him...the coward. “Take them away. Lock them up. I will deal with each individually at the fort. Rest assured each of you will be flogged in due course.” With that he ran to inspect the hole I’d blown in the wall. 

 

I was happy not to have to suffer a long primrose speech about character and honor from the young lieutenant, but honestly, I didn’t get what he was so worried about. I had blown way bigger holes in way bigger walls. This was a tiny hole in some random bar. I mean, you’d have to duck to walk through it.

 

“Lieutenant!” I shouted to try to get his attention. I was going to request he check on my sister, tell her where I was going, and apologize that our dinner plans with him would now need to be postponed as I’d be unavailable. 

 

The young lieutenant didn’t stop his inspection, and the soldier behind me struck the back of my head with the butt of his musket. The world went black for a second until the soldier hauled me up and quick-marched me out of what was left of the Sea Wind (which was a lot. Again, I’d made bigger holes in much more impressive walls. Everyone could chill out a little bit). I had paid Gerta well. She could mind Izzy for a few days in my absence. I wasn’t worried.

 

Fort St. Catherine sat along the rocky shoreline just outside of St. George's. It was a modest fort, but it got the job done. Right now it was nearly empty of officers and soldiers; the English civil war had called away most of the men and left just a few lower-ranked men and green recruits. These men paused in their activities as they watched the Puritans and myself marched through the yard. I’d been here plenty of times and knew the way. My soldier was needlessly rough with me. I wasn’t fighting him. Deep inside me, a knot had come undone. I’d gotten my revenge on Closer and was walking among the clouds. There’d be time to consider the consequences later. The familiar fort sat bathed in sunshine, and I turned my face up to drink in the last rays I might feel for a few days.

 

My cell was the same dark, dank hole I’d been imprisoned in several times before. It was just a large room with a tiny window showing the rocks, waves, and a square of sky. Iron bars bisected the main room, making two holding cells. I was separated from the Puritans because I was a woman, and I sat leering at them through the bars with my feet up and a clear view of my crotch (I was in pants, relax). They refused to look my way and began mumbling prayers until it was a dull buzz, a continuous white noise.

 

Last time I was here was right after Kings Bay. Both cells had been packed with people at that time. Marco and I sat back to back, keeping an eye out for each other. This time it was just me and the wall.

 

Last time I was here, Andrews came for me.

 

I’m not coming to get you this time. If you get into trouble, you can get yourself right back out again. I mean it, Nan!

 

I was on my own this time. But that’s okay, I counseled myself. It was time to move on and relearn how to live without him. It had to be okay. I had to be okay. There was no other choice. So stop crying and toughen up.

 

I forced myself to think of other things and to sleep.

 

Dungeons and jails had a soporific effect on me; I was alone behind sturdy bars, I was not in danger of sinking into the open sea, and I had nowhere to go and nowhere to be. Today I had carved up the face of my enemy, I had made a sale, and I had stabbed Mary’s husband. It was a good day. I was asleep within moments.