Side Quest: France

“Hold on!” I shouted to Bessie. The portal had finally let me catch our exit after two lazy days inside. I ran us out, fast, to catch the wave pattern that would exit us into the Bay of Biscay in October 1650. We rode along the edge till I was sure I had it, I tacked us out of the portal’s sunshine and into plain water. 

And into rain. 

It was pouring rain. Sheets of it deluging out of the sky and straight through our light clothing. 

God, I hated England.  

“Captain!” Bessie ran to me, eyes terrified at the sudden change in weather. 

“It’s okay, Bessie, just a little storm!” I shouted over the driving rain and thunder. I pulled out the sea harnesses and hooked us both up. Together we dropped and reefed the sails.  There wasn’t much to do except hunker down and keep the ship afloat. Bessie shook like a leaf and stayed glued to my side. “You can go below!” I shouted but the girl just shook her head.

“No! I have to stay with you!” I could barely hear her over the wind and rain. It was her decision if she wanted to get soaked. I pulled my hat brims wider and kept steering. 

Huge deluges like this were short lived as long as they weren’t spinning around and around in a hurricane. This particular storm passed us by about half an hour later and we both steamed in the sunshine, laughing with relief.

“Captain, what happened?” Bessie wrung out her skirt.

“We traveled across the ocean and into the next year. Apparently they are experiencing some weather here.” I smiled. It felt so good to be back in my element. Time and space were my good buddies; people were messy. Even now I could feel the portal beckoning me back for another ride. Bessie looked confused. “It’s a little disorienting but you’ll get used to it.” I punched her shoulder. “Go change. We are going to France.” God bless her, she just went to go get dressed. None of this, why are we going to France? What’s in France? Why aren’t we going to England to save that young lieutenant? Shouldn’t you be eating and sleeping? I took a deep breath of hot humid North Atlantic air and relaxed. I loved my sister but these last weeks of solid bonding time had been tough. Usually it was just a fun week or two at home with her and then I’d be off and traveling for a year or two or ten.  

“Here, Captain. We are out of the portal now.” Bessie climbed back up the steps and handed me a cup. “Isabelle told me how to make it.” 

Un-fucking-believable.

“I’m fine, Bessie. Let’s get to shore.”

“No. She said you were to take it or else she’d tell your mother on you.”

Un-freaking-fucking-believable!

“Hope you’ve learned enough about sailing because if this is too strong you’ll be bringing us into port while I’m passed out.” I sat down on the soggy bench.

“Sip, Captain.” Bessie reminded me in a fine imitation of the sister I was going flick next time I saw her. I followed orders and took a careful sip. The drink wasn’t terribly strong after all. I wrung out my shirt as I sipped. The medicine did its dance through my veins and I thought of Graham. He and I danced so well together. I took another sip to fortify against the torrent of raging grief as it fell just as hard against me as the recent deluge. I watched the raining grief from afar as it crashed against the numbing field of medication. I couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t feel anything. It was nice.

“This’ll work. This is good. Bessie, do you dance?” I traced against my palm, remembering his hand in mine as we swept across the floor. 

“Captain, Isabelle also warned me you might converse more as you sipped and that I must be mindful of my questions and your answers.” Bessie was soaked at the wheel. 

“Izzy says all kinds of shit, doesn’t she?” I took another sip. There were towels in the starboard bench. I wandered over to it and tossed her one and wrapped another around my shoulders. Bessie thanked me. “You have questions? Ask the questions.” I took another sip. The sun was coming out and steam started rising from the boards. It was pretty in its own way.

“Well…yes. I suppose I do have a question.” She squirmed a little as she decided on her words. I smiled patiently and didn’t rush her. I just watched the steam. “Where will you take us after Greenland?”

“Haven’t untangled that knot yet. Sorry. Where do you want to go?” 

“I don’t want to go anywhere. I like it here.” She gripped the wheel of the ship.

“You like it here on my ship? This ship? With me?”

“Yes.” 

I burst out laughing till I ended up spilling the rest of the drink and couldn’t catch my breath. “You are crazier than I thought!” She wanted to stay on this ship of doom with Captain Crazypants. What a world. I couldn’t stop laughing. It was too funny. After the worst trip anyone had ever had, she still wasn’t scared off enough to flee at the nearest port. Bessie started laughing too. “I tell you what, you still want to sail with me after this little trip and you have your berth.” I giggled and squeezed out my hair. 

“Do you think Catherine would be upset?”

“Probably. Let’s work on that later. Deal?”

“Deal.” She smiled. 

I got up and stretched. “I think I’ll go change out of these wet clothes. Mind keeping the wheel for a little?”

“Yes, Captain!”  The girl was delighted and I remembered how much I loved to sail as a teenager. Maybe I’d let her take us close into port. She’d get a kick out of it.  

I went below and peeled off my layers of sopping wet clothing. The jar of ointment sat next to my bed. Izzy kept reminding me to put the stuff on while my skin was wet. Well, I was certainly wet now. I spent a good long session rubbing myself down with it, then took the extra care to wrap my legs and redress in appropriate land clothing. At least we were headed to France. I chose a nice linen tunic, tight breeches, jerkin, and new dry boots. Then I pulled on my sword belt and grabbed an extra for Bessie. I’d need to teach her how to throw more than a punch if she was going to keep sailing with me.

While Bessie manned the helm, I brought the ambergris up and filled the little rowboat with the stinking stuff. I attempted to stifle the smell with a tarp. I was unsuccessful. I couldn’t wait to get this crap off my ship. Where we were headed it would have a nice home.

Little Jean was the grandfather of an old comrade I’d lost in Kings Bay and an expert perfumer. He had a nice cottage on the coast of Saint-Brieuc where I could moor the ship and stay in relative safety. More importantly, Bessie could stay there in relative safety as I went and did whatever was needed to be done at this estate of my brother-in-law's. Little Jean would take these stinking balls of wax and digestion and spin his magic around the substance until it literally came out smelling like a rose. I was looking forward to seeing him. It had been too many years and I’d made EJ a promise to keep an eye on the old man.  

The journey on plain water took a little over a day. Bessie and I traded off in five hour shifts with me taking the lion’s share as I navigated us along the French coastline to Saint-Brieuc. On our last stretch before we anchored and returned to life on land, Bessie was in her hammock with her favorite book and looked at me questioningly.

“Captain, I know you are not medicated now but perhaps I could ask you another question?” Bessie had gotten enormous enjoyment asking me all manner of questions while I was under the influence. So far we’d covered what the duties of a first mate might be, why I would ever leave California, how old I was, what exactly happened at the temple to grant me immortal adjacence, and just how much I hated Commander Sutton. The latter was her favorite topic to get me ranting about. 

“You can ask me questions anytime, not just when I’m high.” I smiled. I was finding it easy to converse with her with and without the medication. 

“Have you lain with a woman like Isabelle has? Do all Californian women enjoy that?” 

“What? No. I haven’t.”

“It’s just…well, you and Emilia have much in common. She is more reserved at the tea parties, often guards the door.” Bessie was flushed as I hung on every word. What the hell was she talking about? The girl gripped her book. Why would anyone need to guard the door of a tea party?

“Okay. I do guard things.”

“So Emilia is the blacksmith’s daughter. She practices with the customers' swords by moonlight. She will often wear her fathers clothes – well, he’s not really her father, she was adopted by the blacksmith as a baby but he is a nice and good man with a wonderful description of his muscles that Catherine enjoys and has me translate often. She said he reminds her of Henry.

“You are talking about the plotline of a book? That book?” 

Bessie flushed harder but was on a roll and I wasn’t about to interrupt her. “She does not understand why she can’t seem to fit in with the other girls her age. Or why none of the men her father introduces her to bring her any…excitement. But then, one night she is practicing her sword play when Ovidia comes by with a late night order that must be filled that evening or she will be in trouble. It’s awfully dramatic. Emilia is wonderfully abrupt. She is dressed as her father and wearing a face covering that only reveals her eyes…eyes that radiate passion. Ovidia doesn’t know she’s talking with Emilia. She believes she is talking with the blacksmith. Ovidia will be beaten if she doesn’t get the tailor’s scissors sharpened in time for the Queen’s alterations to be completed by the next day. She says she’ll do anything.” Bessie thumbed her way through the book, too excited to stop herself. “Emilia tells her to unlace herself and begins to touch her…” Here Bessie looked up as if she’d been caught herself. I wondered if, with all the modern appliances Izzy had introduced her too, she’d introduced her to the little toy under her mattress too. I doubted it. Izzy wasn’t that good at sharing. 

“I think I get the picture. Sorry, no. I’ve never been with a woman like that. I know I seem the type. It actually takes a fair amount for me to lay with anyone.” 

“Mr. Andrews –”

“So does Ovidia discover Emilia is the blacksmith?” I did not need to talk about him right now.

Bessie was only too happy to keep narrating the sordid affair of this she-blacksmith. “No. She discovers a few things that night but not that it’s Emilia. Though she returns the next several nights and…discovers even more. Ovidia’s mother becomes suspicious and follows her one night. She knows it’s not the blacksmith right away. Once Ovidia leaves, Francisca – the mother – unmasks Emilia and gets her into bed where she teaches her a new way to…love. It gets rather complicated after that.” Bessie trailed off, her eyes glazed and dilated. 

“Would you like to meet your own Emilia someday?”

“I’m far more like Lady Portia and Estrella. Lady Portia goes to the tea house first because it is also a secret library where women can read without being censored by the strict men of their town. It is there she reaches for the same book as Estrella. They learn…many things…together.” She sighed and looked out at the horizon.

“Estrella sounds lovely. She’ll be lucky to have you.” I smiled at the young girl in love. The years and clothing changed, teenage girls fangirling over book and movie heartthrobs did not. I compiled a list of ports in my head where I could take her for some fun of the female variety. For a few silver pieces I’m sure we could find a talented Estrella.

Bessie dove back into her book, reminding me strongly again of Izzy. We were almost there when the girl surfaced from her tale and came to the rail to watch the passing towns and coastline. It had been far too long since I’d visited Little Jean. My soul felt light as I recognized the familiar landmarks. We finally arrived around sunset and I lay anchor off the shore and rowed us in.  

“Perhaps I should have asked sooner, Captain, but why are we here and not England? I thought we were going to see the Lieutenant Commander.” 

I pulled the oars and grimaced. No one could resist those types of questions for long. “I am going to England. You are going to stay with a friend of mine. England is at war, as per usual, and I’m not bringing you into a fight.” I pulled the oars harder. “You will stay safe. You will stay alive. You will have a great time eating French food and enjoying the scenery.” I pulled the oars hard with each instruction. “Then, when I’m done in England, I’ll come back for you.”

“Isabelle said–”

“I’m bringing you back to her and your family in one piece, you understand?” The Bitch Captain of the Seven Seas proclaimed.

“Yes, Captain.” 

I liked this Bessie. She was like a young Izzy, except way less annoying and into plants.

Little Jean was waiting for us on the shore and gave me a great big hug and kissed both my cheeks in welcome. Little Jean was not little at all. He was a giant beanpole of an old man.  The only one I’d known who could look down on Maui.  “Nini! Ma chère! I saw your sails and my heart lifted to know you are still on the seas. Et un ami! I am glad. You are too much alone, Nini.” He put his arm around me and we watched as Bessie climbed out of the row boat.    

I answered him in French. “This is Bessie. I have a favor to ask you. Bessie needs a place to stay while I am in England.”

“Beurck,” he spat, “England.”  

“I know. I shouldn’t be long. Can you keep her safe and fed for me?”

“Nini, ma chère, for you, the world.” He kissed my hand. Bessie looked back and forth between us as we spoke French to each other. “And what do I smell? A gift for your Little Jean?”

“Oui. But you knew I’d never come to you empty handed.”

“Oui, Nini. Ahhhh, bless you.” He leaned over into the row boat and uncovered the ambergris. “C’est bonne.”

“Captain?” Bessie’s footprints in the sand indicated she’d been steadily mincing away from me and Little Jean. “Captain, I don’t speak French. What am I going to do here?” She hissed at me.

“You and I,” Little Jean spoke in English, “will enjoy all the French countryside can offer us until mon petit capitaine returns. Suis-moi, into the house now.”

Little Jean’s house was a tiny cottage next to a stone barn repurposed into a perfumery. The cottage was little more than a one room house with a loft. Little Jean gave Bessie a few extra blankets and told her the loft was hers for the time being. It wasn’t a dirty place, it wasn’t a cold place, it was a humble place. If Little Jean had been born a few centuries from now I could imagine fingerpaint artwork on his refrigerator, wedding pictures from his various children and grandchildren in frames purchased from drugstores. Maybe one of those rag rugs from a craft fair would decorate the floor. One thing would be exactly the same however, floor to ceiling racks of wine against the far wall. 

After drinks and a humble dinner, Bessie and I hauled the ambergris into his workshop. Her nose wrinkled against the strong smells of the waxy hunks of whale intestine build up.  

“How can you stand to work with this?” Bessie asked the old man as she gagged at the heavily scented air of his workshop.

“A person becomes familiar to their conditions, no? Forgets the air is flavored differently on other doorsteps.” Little Jean escorted Bessie to the other side of his shop where tiny glass vials sat in neat lines on a polished wooden table. He uncorked a vial and held it under Bessie’s nose. The young girl smiled and inhaled in delight. “Beautiful, no?”

“It’s lovely.” She beamed up at him, inhaling the scent again. “This comes from that?” She indicated the ambergris with disgust. Little Jean laughed.

“Ah, but how else is beauty born? Chaos makes love to Order and together they make the world worth living in. But it takes both.” He laughed at Bessie’s confused expression and wrapped her hand around the small vial. “For you, chère, welcome to my home.” Bessie stammered her thanks while I perused the other vials. One with a slight cognac tinge to it smelled especially lovely. It crossed my mind that perhaps Izzy could add it to the ointment and make it smell especially lovely too. “Nini? Would you like to take that one with you?” Little Jean spoke quietly in French behind me.

“I’ll pay.”

“Of course. Of course.” He picked the vial up and brought it with him back to the house where he wrapped it with a little twine bow. He poured Bessie and myself some wine and we sat by the fire sipping. Bessie was soon drowsy and her head bobbed as she drifted off. I put a blanket over her and moved her wine so she wouldn’t knock it over. 

“I shouldn’t be more than a fortnight. She’s a good kid. Hard worker. Will Antoinette be around? Perhaps they could become friends? Bessie has not had much opportunity for friendship with girls her age.”

“And she was stolen? Oui?”

“Oui. Shipped over to the colonies as a child.”

Little Jean spat in disgust. His oldest grandchild, named for him, was also forced into slavery as a boy. Jean had escaped, earning him the moniker ‘Escaped Jean’ or ‘EJ’, and took up paid positions on merchant ships until he’d been shot at Kings Bay. I’d met the young man during my stint as proprietor of Tavern Rock.

“Will you stay the night, Nini? Or are you sailing out this evening?”

“I’m leaving after this drink.” I toasted him and we drank together. “Little Jean, do you know a place called Avington?”

He thought this over. “Aving-ton? Not Avingnon? A moment to let Little Jean think.”

“It’s an English estate.” 

“English, beurck,” he spat again. “Much wealth? Shipbuilders?” 

“The wealth for certain. I do not know about the ships. Although,” I remembered the young lieutenant’s “ship” he took Izzy on for their honeymoon. “Yes, perhaps the ships for certain as well.” 

“You might find your way to Seamus and Aoife on Mersea. I believe your Avington is up their way. Seamus was here several weeks ago, spoke of unrest. It is possible he mentioned Avington. He is not much for words. It is possible I misheard.”

“England is always in upheaval. I will start with them before trying to find what I can in London.”

“They are in great need, Nini. They would love to see their capitaine.” He put his hand under my chin and smiled at me before patting my cheeks and laughing. 

“I’ll see to them. And I’ll see Bessie to bed.” I went over to the girl and shook her shoulder, “Bessie, let’s get you to your pillows. Come on.”  

“Captain?” She yawned and looked at me with bleary exhausted eyes. "Where are you sleeping?”

“I’m going to sail across the channel tonight. I’ll sleep on my ship once I’m in England.” 

“No!” She grabbed my arms. “Isabelle told me you needed to sleep. She said that it was when you got tired that you forget –”

“Oh my god. Bessie, stop. I’ll be fine.” Had Bessie and Izzy spent all night up and talking about every little micron of my life before we left? 

“She said that if you said that you are fine, I needed to remind you that fine people sleep. And that if you didn’t agree to go to sleep now then she would tell you bedtime stories all about her honeymoon for a month.”

“Good god.” Izzy was diabolical. 

“Captain? What’s a honeymoon?” Bessie yawned again.

“A vehicle for extortion apparently.”

“Captain?” Bessie was tired. I helped her get to the ladder and up into the loft.

“Never you mind. No good deed goes unpunished,” I grumbled.

“She makes a good point, Nini. Stay the night. The tides will be there in the morning.”  Little Jean went and pulled a blanket and pillow from the trunk by his bed. “Here. Lie down, ma chère.” He plunked the items on the couch and refilled my wine. I was tipsy already. “Sleep.” He patted my cheek again.

“Yes, please sleep, Captain,” Bessie added from the loft. I sat down hard on the couch. I was tired. It had been a long day of sailing. Little Jean snored in his bed and I could hear Bessie’s steady sleep breathing from above. He was right, the tides weren’t going anywhere. I pulled off my boots and lay down.  

Back in Greenland I’d (hopefully) already arrived back to Izzy. I wonder if she’d had a good day. Right now (a year or so ago) she and I were probably sitting down to a meal. I’d be telling her about my trip, she’d be telling me about her day, and we’d be making plans to set off across the Atlantic for…somewhere. And, because I was sleeping here for the night, I would not have to hear any stories about her honeymoon.

I was tired and this couch was comfortable.

1650. What a terrible year.

I wondered if, by this time, Izzy was back home. I know I certainly did not plan to live through this year yet again. If I hadn’t managed to get her home yet, where might we be? Portugal might still be an option if I could swing another castle. Even thinking about it made me tired. If Izzy was still here in 1650 then I’d massively failed her.

What was I doing here? 

I’d been actually planning to go to Avington. What an idiot. I shook my head and rubbed my eyes. Sleep was the right choice. Avington was the wrong choice. No. I’d leave Bessie here and continue with plan B: lie about finding the young lieutenant dead...except Little Jean said Seamus and Aoife were in need. One trip across the channel to see how they were doing and then go relax in a few of my favorite pubs. 

I fell asleep humming my favorite bar song about a sheep.

I stayed for breakfast in the morning and left Little Jean and Bessie a decent sized purse to aid in her room and board while I was gone. Part of my instructions included getting Bessie new and proper sailing attire, especially a hat. Bessie hefted the purse with wide eyes and a big smile. She looked my own outfit up and down, maybe looking for tips, and I worried about what exactly I might return to see her wearing. Watch me come back and see her in a blacksmith getup straight from her favorite new book. Ah well, I’m sure she’d rock it.         

Bessie pushed a thermos into my hands that she’d smuggled off the ship. “Please do not get me in trouble. Isabelle is trusting me to keep you safe.” I unscrewed the lid. She’d made a travel batch of medicine. I kissed her cheek and promised I’d be mindful of her orders.

The two of them walked me down to the rowboat and helped shove me off. They waved goodbye and Little Jean put his arm around Bessie, walking her back to the cottage and said, “Mon petit Baiser, do you enjoy playing cards?”  They’d have fun, I assured myself, both were amiable companions. I’d be back before Little Jean could be too damning an influence on her…probably.