Came the morrow, and nothing was sorted out. Nothing's ever sorted out on the morrow–just postponed, overlooked and forgotten. By the time I rose, 'twas to an empty house, anyhow. More's the better, 'though; for I could not've endured yet another round of confabulation such as had twisted me soul and knotted me stomach over the past few days. I had me own breakfast, in me own company, and resolved to spend the day in quarters. For one day, life could go on beyond me doors, without me assistance–and thus less harm to me.
In this respect, I succeeded; me bruised spirit was recouped by midday. I was past trying to sort through and resolve the issues and events of the past few days. 'Twas all beyond me capabilities–me faculties. I determined to set back, act detached, and allow events to unfold afore me.
By nightfall, 'twas evident the world shared me value for disassociation; not a soul came to me door to seek me out, or take me out. 'Twas a most marvelous solitude: no one–nothing–not a sound. But that was the cursed cleverness of the world I would forsake. It need not seek you out.
If it ignore you long enough, you are caused to ponder the situation, and you become engulfed by the riddle of "whys." "Why is Annalea so late?" "Why is Mam' Tiére so late?" "Why are those accursed Spaniards not here?" "Why are trouble and strife always me lot?" "Why am I so bothered when there is no one about to bother me?" "Why?" "Why?" "Why?" "Why?"
Finally, at about midnight, I could contain meself no more–nor be contained, no more. I flung open the door to me quarters, stepped outside and confronted me adversary: the world at large. Quite aloud, I spake the words, "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" I felt a release of frustration from me outburst.
'Twas then, while howling at the moon and looking out 'cross the landscape, I spotted him setting there on a log, besides a great tree, just staring at me–silent and staring. 'Twas that blasted, one-armed, Spanish soldier: silent–staring. I felt a right git! I waited for the flush to leave me face, and I marched meself over to where he sat.
"And what sort of night creature is this? What sort would lurk about in the shadows, spying on a man? A wretched Spaniard, that's what sort!"
No response. Just silence–cold, staring silence. I thought to rail at him further, but I just stared back. Silence. Silence and tension. Then, at once, 'twas broken by the hiccupping sound of giggling laughter echoing off the boundaries of stillness.
It was Annalea, and she was not alone. That Spanish puck was with her. As they approached–her on his arm–she spake a few words and then laughed, and then he laughed. Then he spake a word, and she laughed, and he laughed, again. And so this continued all the ways to me door. They sailed on past, mindless of me and the older Spaniard, silent in the shadows, watching them parade on by.
I watched them jauntily walk through the doorway, closing the door behind them. Then I turned to look upon the Spaniard, still perched on his log. He looked back to me and said, "Qué?"
I left the Spaniard to skulk in the night and returned to quarters. Pushing through the door, I startled the youngsters. Annalea jumped up from her seat next to the boy. "Oh, Papa, I thought you were asleep in bed. You surprised me."
"Surprised you, child? Why? I could as well've been Mam' Tiére coming to home."
"Mam' is spending the night in the black quarters," she replied, "tending to an issue of community. And, aside, Mam' would never slam through a doorway like a raging bull!"
"I apologize, sweetheart, but that damned Spaniard skulking in the dark just put...."
"Is Gaspar still out there?" The young puck cut off me words, then bolted out into the night to seek his companion.
"Oh, Annalea." I sat next to me angel and rested me head upon her shoulder.
"What is the matter, Papa?" she spake sweetly, while gently stroking me face with her hand.
"It is just everything, child. I feel an old banty put off her roost. I feel cast off from me own life. I feel at odds with the world."
"I understand, darling Papa," she said softly–and directly to me soul. And I believe she did understand. Not from me telling. But from her deep knowledge of the people she loved, her natural sympathy and the wisdom of womanhood.
And finally, in the comfortable caress of that angel's wings, I felt all me frustrations released. As if a twelve stone weight were lifted off me, I felt limber, again. I felt refreshed. I felt truly loved. I realized Annalea is me world. She encompassed the beauty, the righteousness and the significance of life itself–for me. And I now saw that she was so much more–for me. She served me, simultaneously, as blessed daughter and loving mother.
With me world reassembled and me life reinvigorated, I settled in again–quite comfortably–to me roles as master of household and majordomo for all Nemusmar. When Mam' returned the next morning, I set about me rounds with me spirits and sense of purpose renewed. For the first time in memory, 'though, I did so without Annalea "clipping at me ankles–chattering and chirping all the way–and all the time."
She had excused herself based on a promise to the Spaniards to take them the length and breadth of Nemusmar: to familiarize them with every square inch of land, and the fauna and flora, to boot. I saw it as most a waste of time–and Annalea's good graces. But me spirit did not flag. Me darling sprite had provided me renewed confidence and sense of purpose. I was able to gracefully dismiss her company and was contented with pursuing me own tasks, and me own thoughts.
This routine went unbroken, for near a fortnight. Annalea's time was virtually consumed with attending to that Spanish lad. Finally, one fine morning, she decided to rejoin me. It was, doubtless, partly due to me nightly grumbling at the supper table, but moreso, I think, a bit of guilt on her part for neglecting her duties. These were self-ascribed duties rather than assigned ones, to be sure–but duties nonetheless.
It had long been Annalea's habit, when walking out with me, on me routine, to inquire and attend to the well-being and the needs of members of our community. Who was sick or injured and neglected? Was some wench near time for birthing? Was there some intelligence Mam' Tiére might need from the black quarters, when she could not herself trek out there? Was anyone attending some poor soul locked up in the "tomb?" These were among the duties Annalea felt guilt for neglecting.
And so we joined our paths and combined our efforts to fulfill our obligations while enjoying each other's company. About midday, we stopped at the settlement for necessary sustenance.
As we et and relaxed, I broached a subject that had been long on me mind. "Darling, 'tis been some time since I've made me rounds of the settled islands. Asides a mountain of gold, there was a rich harvest of supplies on that galleon; and it's not been necessary for me to trek about for provisions. Frankly it might be some time, yet, afore such is necessary. The thing is 'though, lass–as you know–'tis at such times that I makes the effort to contact your kin."
"You are me kin, Papa. And the captain. And Mam', and Orke and all of our people on me island!" Annalea interrupted me.
"I understand, pet," I continued. "And that shall always be so. Wherever you are in this wide world, me heart–the hearts of all that loves you–will be with you. But it is only right that you should know of your blood kin–and that they should have the privilege of knowing you. 'Tis me intention to make another trek, day after next, and–this time–I'd like you to accompany me."
"Aye, Papa!" was her immediate response. "Oh, to see and hear and smell and taste and experience all the things you've described from your trips.... Oh, 'twould be just marvelous! Might Don Estaban accompany us, as well?"
"What! That little puck?" Me reaction to her request was immediate and vocal. "I'd wanted this be our time together: a special voyage we'd always remember."
I looked to Annalea, full expecting a vituperative argument to unfold from her lips. But she just set there: sullen faced, eyes downcast. I looked at her a moment, waiting for a change–a powder spark to ignite her temper. Nothing came. It was evi
dent to me that–believing this to have so much significance to me–her sensitive, loving nature was preventing her tongue from revealing her mind and causing me hurt. So she spake not. Nor could she look to me, for fear of revealing her feelings and, mayhaps, harming mine.
But, in truth, it was her happiness that was most significant to me. I wished mostly to share in that happiness–not monopolize it.
"Well... if you would... I suppose 'twould be no harm in you bringing along your 'playmate.'" I thus relented to an argument never posed. Her face lifted, her eyes brightened and her lips seemed 'bout to release a squeal of delight. But she caught herself and held back from emotional outburst. Doubtless, she considered a display of eagerness might be insensitive or cause me a change of heart.
So the words trickled out slowly. "Well... Papa.... Well, Papa... if you think it is for the best. Well... then I suppose...."
I did not have all day for this sentence, so I interjected, "Aye, indeed, child. I am certain 'twill go just fine. His English is most good enough to pass. 'Course he is needing some other garments. That Spanish gentry 'frock' he wears would be a dead giveaway. And, 'twould seem the captain has no plan for these Spaniards, save allowing them amble about this island 'til their ransom is set."
So, it was settled. On a truly fine morning–just at sunrise–we set me skiff down from off the ship into empty waters, just beyond eyeshot of our first destination: a middle-sized island with a settlement, a small detachment of his Majesty's lads–on contingency–a colony of rather incompetent merchants and less successful farmers, their wives and children and a small collection of African slaves who seemed to spend a vast portion of their day avoiding their white masters–and avoiding work. Were it not for a few competent wives and industrious Indian slaves, doubtless no one on that spot of land would ever eat–or successfully complete one simple task in life.
Whatever the king's purpose for planting this conglomeration of misfits on this tropical plot, it served to me advantage. Left to their own devices, they could not sustain their little community and resupply their basic needs. Thus, they were always hungry for gold and silver and any precious stone as might come their way. Their need–and their desire–made them an unquestioning lot, eager to fill any request. I found them a ready source for military provisions: from flint, powder and shot, to the most durable steeled blades. Such things, as I might forecast a need to obtain them, these gallants would procure from their suppliers and have waiting at me next arrival.
Not that they ever asked, nor cared, but I'd oft' told them a yarn of how–in the progress of me legitimate trade–I regularly stopped at places frequented by buccaneers, who paid for me goods and services with the bobbles they'd "harvested" from the seas and port towns. (Well, it was a partial truth.) I oft' wondered if their suppliers ever questioned the need of such continual replenishment for such a tiny retinue. Doubtless, they had some fabrication similar to mine that they passed along to those who mattered. And, doubtless, those who mattered cared as little of the source as they cared a great deal for the bounty.
The leading members of this community seemed uncharacteristically reticent, at first, about discussing business–or much of anything else. I'd never before brung anyone along on me previous visits to them. But the beauty of Annalea, and the charisma of the young Spaniard, soon warmed them to our company. Frank conversation and trust ensued.
I introduced the lad to them as Thomas. I'd thought to call him Stephen, which was his true name, in English. 'Twould be more likely he'd associate with the name were it announced unexpected. The problem came in pronunciation. As good as was his English–and as clever his accent–he could not naturally say "Stephen" without some forethought and considered effort. Otherwise, it always came out "Estaban;" and that would not do.
As to his clothing: I dared not dress him as a seaman or farmer or a craftsman, or an anybody. I was not convinced he could play a role. So he was dressed as nobody: in the dullest, drabbest most mundane garb we could find. If he resembled any class, it was the unskilled, indentured servant. What I hadn't figured on, was the power of personality. That quality of class and breeding–and that very individual quality of charisma–that allows a unique spirit to shine through the blandest trappings. This lad could not go unnoticed.
Settling down to business, I began to negotiate price and quantity. This was mostly a game, for in the end, they needed me a bit more than I needed them. Still, there is something about a poor businessman. Rather than realizing when best off, he seems compelled to conduct business–poorly. So we'd take our turns to barter and bellyache, and in the end, I'd have the provisions I desired at the price I wished to pay. Don't misunderstand, they were very handsomely paid; after all, I needed them solvent and happy. So as to provide for this, and allow the leaders to show worth to their community, I quickly established a low settlement from which I would not budge–and then allowed them to drag me back up to the amount I'd intended to pay from the start.
Finding these proceedings dry and tedious, the young'uns took themselves off to explore the surrounds. They excused themselves, politely enough, but this went largely unnoticed by those so intently focused on the heated negotiations. Having little need to focus on such matters, I threw another trinket into me pile of possibles–for their contemplation–while I took a moment to instruct the children where to go and what to look for.
Business done, victuals were prepared and offered (and damn good vittles they were). Our hosts would delay while the young'uns were found and fetched, but I'd have none of that. We'd be all day on that sorry little lump of land and sand. And I guessed 'twould be Annalea's preference to examine the vegetation of this plot, and explore for wildflowers. I did request, instead, that they provide some sturdy young backs to load me waiting boat, while I dined and amused me hosts with tales of me fictitious travels–as a "merchant." Oh, there was plenty of truth in the places and experiences I revealed; but it was all done under a much different guise than itinerant pot-swapper.
Well, as pleasant as that all was, Annalea and the lad returned afore I knew it, and reminded me we had a good deal to travel and much to do, afore this day was through. With me new acquisitions already on board me boat, we set out to meet our ship, again–just beyond eyeshot. This trek was time-consuming, but necessary. 'Twas best to undertake this process incognito.
The young'uns seemed a bit bored, but their spirits hadn't flagged. And I knew our next port-o'-call would spark a good deal more interest. Again, well beyond eyeshot, we were dropped off. We headed hard for land, and I swear you could hear the evocative din of strange activity–and stranger music–near a half league away.
This prelude had captured Annalea's full attention, long afore we reached port. As we pulled in 'twixt several large ships at anchor, and she caught full view of the bedlam in the busy little port town, she went bug-eyed; and as she watched the colour and confusion of seeming chaos amongst the busy–preoccupied–inhabitants, a grin grew on her face that nearly spread to her ears. And those bug-eyes began to sparkle! As I fastened to the mooring, I watched Annalea–still sitting in the boat, her face moving back and forth, studying the characters darting afore her eyes: like she were an audience of one, watching a play–or, more likely, a circus.
When I beckoned her to leave the boat, she stood up and stepped off without acknowledging me and without releasing her eyes or attentions from the activities onshore–as if she was stepping onto the stage and becoming one of the players. Certainly, she'd seen such tumult–a similar thronging of people–every time we'd docked our ship back at Nemusmar, ever since she was a wee bit. But that was familiar. Those were her friends–her people–her family. This was a whole lot more.
The wonderment it caused her brought joy to me heart. For me, the world was continually remade through the eyes of Annalea. I cannot imagine how different–how drab–the experience of life would have been for me, if this dear child had not
been part of it. Mayhaps I'd've seen as much wonder in the world, meself, when I was a child, had I paid more attention. But I'd always been focused on some particular or another. I s'pose that's common. Now, with older eyes, I could clearly see the joyous discoveries of youth–through Annalea.
Even when the Spanish lad spake direct to her, she did not acknowledge him. Mayhaps, we were like background figures in a painting, unnoticed while the eyes still scanned the main characters, seeking a theme–a motif. At a point when I realized she'd never move, I took her gently by the arm and began to conduct her down the street, with the lad in tow. He obviously was amused and interested in the sights and sounds that surrounded us. But he was well travelled, and this had not the newness and excitement for him that it had for Annalea.
Fair shouting in her ear as I led her along, I announced the names and purposes of the buildings we passed. 'Twas at a small tavern that she stopped us cold and begged to go in. Not–mind you–due to the eloquence of me description, but to the alluring melodies which exuded from that place. I looked to the lad, he shrugged his shoulders, and we followed Annalea, who was already most ways over the threshold of that tavern.
Stepping over that threshold was like stepping into an abyss; there was nothing afore your eyes but emptiness. You find yourself walking into a mist shrouded in clouds. Must've seemed to Annalea as if she was entering a magic fairy land–or the outskirts of Satan's lair. In fact, it was a shroud of tobacco smoke layered over a dense fog of ancillary emissions from a poorly vented chimney, various candles and oil lanterns, and moistened by the not-so-sweet breath of too many souls in such a wee "chapel."
'Twas but gradually that your eyes came accustomed to the sting and the hazy lighting. The denizens of this "swamp" had that advantage of being acclimated–and seeing you afore you could see them. Annalea discovered that, when a hand seemingly came out of nowheres and grabbed her ass. She jumped and let out a whoop! She peered through the cloud, to make out her assailant, but still saw mostly shadows. It didn't matter. Being accustomed to such surroundings, and able to quickly focus, I brought a fist down hard on the culprit's head, driving him down like a mallet to a peg. He did not pop right up, as I half expected he would. Either he was truly hurt, too besotted with grog or–most likely–just the weakest sort of a coward, who dares only grab for a woman in the dark–anonymously–lecherously–cowardly.
Annalea set little mind to this distraction. What commanded her attention were the sounds of music wafting through the murk. You could make out the melodic sounds of fiddles and fife and pipes. "Gentlemen" seated about the musicians were quick to rise–offering to share a seat with Annalea. She took a seat in the midst of the players, and the lad and I came down aside her–to the chagrin of the "gentlemen." They grumbled a might and moved on. As was me habit, I kept me hand clasped to the hilt of me cutlass–not so much from expectance of trouble but for the avoidance of trouble. A mock cockery–some display and an attitude of violence–is part of the game with men such as these. And to call a man's bluff is a risky business. If you were wrong, he'll hand you your head (or throw it to the omnipresent dogs). So, unless you are ready to die that day–for pride's sake–you make a few gruff sounds of your own ('though nothing challenging) and walk away with your head–if not your pride–intact.
Annalea stared spellbound at the players. And they stared at her, as they played. She must've seemed a vision afore their bloodshot eyes. In no time, she was singing along with every ditty they could conjure up. They must surely have wondered how this divine little angel, with the mannerisms and accouterments of a lady, could possibly know all their risqué old mariners' tunes. But, of course, they knew not her background–nor her tutors.
By this time, our eyes and our spirits had fully adjusted to our environs. Without so much as a shout for service, I found a brimming flagon placed afore me. I drew a cup of its favourable content, and thought to meself, "How congenial!" Then I noticed the why of it. A bevy of serving wenches was hovering about us, attempting to get the attention of–and to please–our handsome young companion.
The Spaniard seemed flattered by the attentions of these giggling girls, but modestly declined their displays of affection. While never questioning his honourable character, I did wonder about the sincerity of his modesty. These none-too-bashful colleens were quite suddenly–and rudely–put aside by another, more aggressive, flock of females: an assortment of whores from the bordello attached to this "chapel." The serving wenches were easily rousted; they were no match for harlots in heat. And these "convenient" women liked very much what they saw in our Spanish puck.
One lass stood behind him–her arms about his chest, her long black curls draping over his shoulders and her bare breasts stroking at the nape of his neck. Another lass, with strawberry hair, plunked her well-sculpt ass in his lap, while a third lass–too late for the lap–knelt aside him and began stroking his loin. Lucky for me, there was a fourth lass, with no place to go but me own lap. I could feel her ass was ample–but also well-sculpt. She wrapped her arms about me neck, and pressed her cheek hard against me face, but her eyes were unceasingly on the lad. It seemed to be the fashion with these ladies to go about bare-breasted, and those of hers were also well-sculpt–creamy-white, with large, pink nipples. Me hands were upon them afore me wits could control them.
Now, the lass perched upon the lad had her breasts quite modestly concealed; 'though you could tell they were most ample. Not to be outdone by her "sisters," she flung the coverings aside–with much bravado–allowing her "attributes" to spring forth, literally in the lad's face. She obviously appreciated the immodest, and frankly lustful leer of his countenance at this unexpected–well-rounded–turn of events. Amazingly, the lad was quick to compose hisself. But she was a professional, and not so simply dismissed.
She moved her fingers caressingly through his hair, gently wrapping large strands 'round her fingers. Then, with this firm grip on his locks, she pulled his head down to meet her teat: actually trying to cram the large, rock-hard nipple into his mouth. The show was not quite finished. Pulling back her skirts, she exposed her lower quarters to demonstrate that there were no further garments–no other obstructions–'twixt his hand and her intentions.
I saw excitement in the lad's eyes and eagerness in his muscles. Then–suddenly, his look changed to one reminiscent of a street urchin caught with his hand in your purse. Annalea was glaring at him! He came to his feet, full-erect–dumping the whore to the floor. His countenance was now that of a simpleton. He looked to Annalea and just shrugged his shoulders–again.
"Now, Thomas, that is no fit way to sit a lady," I chastised him. I would like to've shown him how it fits, with a slight tweak of me hand now resting on me lady's thigh. But with Annalea present, there was nothing appropriate I could publicly do but bite me lip–me own lip–move me hand away from temptation, and just politely stroke her bare breasts–like a gentleman.
There could be nothing much gained by our tarrying longer in this place. As rousing as that music was for Annalea, the lad and I were coming too much aroused to remain dignified in her company. I saw to a tankard for each of the players and Annalea thanked them sweetly for their music. They fell over themselves to kiss her hand and thank her for her sweet presence. (All I got from them was a nod of acknowledgement.) To each of our half-naked amusements, I handed a small nick of gold. I've oft' found that a splinter of gold goes as far as a man's shaft, in satisfying the lust of such coquettes.
All assembled, we were back out on the street–arm-in-arm-in-arm. The sun was brightly shining. The sun is always shining here! The circus is always in town. The town is a bloody circus! Hell, this is Kingston! And there is no other town like this any place on this earth.
You might catch a piece of this in Liverpool, and a whiff of it in Paris, and a reminder of a cobblestone path in London–an air of Africa and the oddities of the East Indies–so much, from
so far brought together in one small place. It is by nature berserk and cosmopolitan and bucolic and enchanted. Hell, this is Kingston! Oh, 'tis not so grand as Port Royal: that once-glorious gem of imperial Britain–the largest metropolis I'd experienced in all the known world. Sadly, many of me old haunts from the past days, as well as many friends who now haunt that past, are lodged deep below the waves–well beyond the present shoreline–ever since that singular tragedy (what some back-bench crips in parliament refer to as "God's day of retribution").
But there still was so much to see and do in this new "olde towne." Much of the "olde towne" remained: including some of the magnificent brick edifices with their elegant interiors. And much remained unchanged. Elements that had given her an unsavoury reputation as "wicked" were still in abundance. But there were also some new practices–far worse to some sensibilities.
As I'd mentioned afore, everything we'd seen seemed magical and delightful to Annalea–as if walking into a play or a fairy tale, and stepping into the midst of a carnival. Everything, that is, until we entered upon a small square where the shouting and confusion were not of the joyous nature she'd come to expect. Instead, our ears were assaulted by haranguing: voices making demands, giving commands, shouting up chattel for auction and bids for purchase–and frenzied arguments erupting from every corner. The chattel for sale–the cause of all this commotion–was African slaves.
Annalea's eyes saddened (and, doubtless, her heart dropped with her spirits) as she beheld the sight: mournful, naked, dirty, beaten blackies, tied to posts like horses–some in chains like convicts–being paraded, demonstrated, auctioned and sold like cattle. "Oh GOD! Oh Papa! Look! Look! Did you see? Did you see that? Did you see what he did to her?!"
"Aye, pet, I saw," I replied. I grabbed her arm to prevent her storming the auction block and getting us all killed. "I should've had you forewarned, love. Me 'olde towne' is no more. It is more a ghost of what once was. For certain, the bawdiness remains–and a good deal of the wealth and rapaciousness that spawned the legend of Port Royal. But there are 'new' people here, now, and 'new' ways. Above the courtyards and the belfries, the sun is always shining; but in ever-increasing, shadowy nooks of the towne, dark clouds appear and linger. I swear to God, the slave trade stains a man's soul and darkens his surroundings, to boot!"
I held both her arms and looked into her face. It was angry and red and crying. "But I've told you of all this, before, me darling. I've tried to explain the why and...."
"But... oh, Papa... 'tis just wrong!"
"Annalea, you must look upon it as just a business...."
"No... no, Papa! No business! The devil's doings! How can you say these things, Papa! What if she were Mam'? What would you do? And look! Look over there! Over there, Papa! That girl is the spit of Reena! And at the block, now: that proud-looking buck could be our own Orke! Would you do nothing, Papa? Nothing?!"
"At the ultimate cost of me life, for them, I would do everything, pet! But for the rest of the world, I can do nothing."
I summoned the lad to help me restrain Annalea.
"We are off, now," I said. "There are other, better spectacles, far more suited to the likes of us!"
Annalea was still weeping–weeping in anger–when we came upon a well, some distance from that misery. I sat me sweet on the edge of that well and spake what was in me heart. "'Tis the way of the world, love. Now understand, I could never conjure up a single word in defense of the slave trade. Nor would I–could I–ever offer a word in such defense, for fear that the lie would cause me tongue to burn to cinder in me mouth! But there are things–nasty things–in this world beyond our control, unless we control the world. Near as I can tell from me readings, this bad business of man enslaving man has been going on so long as man has existed. Slavery has been a part of every condition: from barbaric tribes to civilized nations. There was a time, Annalea, when our people were taken and held in bondage by others not dissimilar to ourselves. And you've seen for yourself how the natives of these lands bind and trade and use others of their kind. 'Tis not good, but it seems by nature and tradition to be a condition of human society.
"No, darling. I could never defend slavery or the process of it that passes for respectable business. But I do believe this: that all works are God's work. Even the devil's doings are within the sight of God. Nothing happens without purpose. And 'though the estimate of that purpose is beyond such as me, I must bow to the divine and just wait see. Me personal prejudice 'bout the 'trade' aside, I'll say this: without this African slave trade, we'd've never known Mam' and Reena and Orke and the other blackies we cherish. And they'd've never known this different, but opportunistic environment. And without people like us, who've always felt enslaved by the restrictions of a self-serving, mindless social order, they would not have the freedoms and respect and opportunities they deserve.
"To set you a straight line, pet, let me add something; in talking and dealing and doing with me brother Orke, I've come to understand this: Orke shall always resent what was done to him–and what was taken from him. He still has dreams 'bout what might have been, in his former life. Yet he is even more proud of the life he has since made. He has stated that this is the life he would choose and, even given the opportunity, he would not now choose to return to the former life and forsake his current position and prestige. This, we have sponsored. This, we can do. And as much for Mam' and the rest. If this is not God's intention, then I know of no alternative."
Reflecting on all of this, she said to me, "Cannot things be changed, Papa?"
"I don't know, pet, mayhaps. I know this: you do make a difference. You spend your entire life amongst other people: most familiar, some strangers. How you live your life will affect other people–and can change some. I've never seen angry words or acts of violence really change a body's mind. But the silent, unembroidered example of someone you admire, observed in daily life, has a subtle but permanent influence. You stay your course, darling, and you'll find that the souls who populate your world will eventually be of a like mind."
Our young Spanish companion set down aside Annalea and took her hand. "He is right. I observed this in my father's life; he was a great influence for good will amongst people, in the lives he touched. And I have observed this same quality in you, chiquita."
It was time to move along. If you sit still in this place too long, a crowd will form about you. Everyone here is curious as to what everyone else is doing. Not wishing to be a curiosity, I gathered up me wee entourage and set off to seek a distraction–something to change the mood. What was needed was some amusement.
In Kingston, if you want a change, just go 'round a corner. If you seek a bit of amusement, or a little excitement, it is 'round another corner (or secluded behind some doorway–invitingly left ajar). So, not surprisingly, we'd only to whisk over a few score of cobbles, turn that corner, and there was a frolicking crowd gathering about a group of minstrels and performers. There were musicians and jugglers and acrobats and so on, to interest and amuse the crowd. And there were so many giggling, flirtatious women within the crowd to amuse the likes of me. So we three just blended in with the crowd, laughing and gawking and cheering and gawking and singing and gawking.
From behind me, a commanding voice boomed forth: "Why is this scum planted in a man's path?"
Hand on hilt, I turned about–a snarl on me lips–prepared to do battle. What faced me was a grinning goon of most familiar form. "Nesmith! You ugly, deceitful, surly old bastard! 'Tis the best to see your gruesome face!"
Nesmith turned to his companions and introduced me. "This is Crockett: the old campaigner who once saved me life, only to fleece me twice at gambling, and–many more times–separate me from a favoured wench!"
The children were absorbed by the entertainers, so I thought to forgo any further introductions and fell into conversation with Nesmith and his mates. We moved away from the crowd so's to
hear ourselves speak. The conversation was lusty and hardy, if not downright boisterous.
More than an hour must've passed that way. Nesmith and I had much to catch up on. And each of us in that group had at least one unusual seafaring yarn to spin. At the time they started getting itchy–favouring some grog and some wenching–I knew it was time to part company. They served me an invite to join in their planned debauchery, but I graciously declined. After all, I had responsibilities–and a sort of schedule to keep. Yet it was mighty tempting. I knew these lads could raise hell and teach the devil a new dance!
I returned to where the crowd had been watching the amusements. There was no crowd. There were no more entertainers–just a handful of revelers casting about for companionship. Apparently, in me absence, everyone had moved along–including Annalea and the lad. Mayhaps they went seeking me. Or, mayhaps, they just followed the crowd. They'd have no idea where to begin to look for me in this maze of construction and obstruction; so I'd opt for the latter, and try to follow the crowd.
'Twas not a hard thing to do. As I went along, I asked those I passed if they'd seen this travelling throng, and I'd be given directions which enabled me to catch up with them pretty quickly. As I swiftly moved along, I experienced a moment of panic, brought about by a fleeting remembrance of a similar circumstance. Annalea out of me reach–out of me sight... Macathwee... danger! Just a fleeting thought. Mayhaps, there was nothing amiss. I ran faster.
I could hear loud music and people laughing, ahead of me, but I could not yet see the crowd. Passing an alley, I could hear shouting, the angry clang of metal and the choking gasps of a man dying! I stopped short, turned in me tracks, and dashed back to that alley. At the terminal of that crack in the architecture, there was Annalea, in the midst of a skirmish. And out in front of her–acting as her champion–was the Spanish lad wielding his sword against three would-be attackers, like a craftsman whittling a chair leg down to size. At his feet was the very man I'd just heard moan–now dead.
The lad was doing just fine with the three, but a fourth culprit looked to blind-side him, so I skewered the bastard! Meanwhile, "Thomas" had dropped another assailant, leaving two. Two of the stupidest would-be cutthroats I'd seen in some time! They were up against a cyclone, and thought somehow they could subdue it! 'Though this made right good entertainment (best of the day), I'd not the patience for the outcome, with Annalea so near harm's way. So I shot fool number one through the brain, and when fool number two turned to see his comrade fall, he was done. The "whirlwind" cut him down!
Seeing Annalea was unharmed, and the lad but winded, I stepped over the last fallen carcass to address them. "Right, then. What is all of this? The jugglers and acrobats were not enough amusement for the two of you?"
"'Twas nothing, sir," "Thomas" offered. "Not but a misunderstanding. These 'gentlemen' mistook Annalea to be part of their entertainment."
"'Twas more than an inconvenience, Papa," Annalea contradicted. "I was quite put upon, and quite put out. I am scared, now, thinking what might have become of me had not Esta... 'Thomas' been present–and been all the man he is!"
Stung to the heart by these words, I apologized profusely to Annalea for abandoning her.
"No, Papa, 'twas not your fault," she assured me. "'Twere we who chose to depart your company and stray with the throng. There were so many frolickers, I hardly noticed a gang of men who seemed to shift their movements to coincide with ours. At some point, it became obvious to me that their loud, lewd remarks were intended for me. Thinking to avoid them, I took 'Thomas' by the arm and foolishly moved away from the crowd, to the edge of the buildings. As we came aside this alley, those men decided to seize their opportunity. Mayhaps they considered 'Thomas' no threat: a mere baldfaced, bumpkin of a boy. For they merely pushed him aside, grabbed me and dragged me hastily down the path. It all happened so fast, Papa, I'd not time to clear the scream inside me past the lump formed in me throat!
"They had to stop at the terminal of the alley; but they no doubt believed they had me fate sealed. As for meself, I had no time to think or consider, only to observe. I was turned about to face a grizzled, one-eyed goon who held me in place with his hand clutching me hair, tightly. I'd seen this man, afore! I'd spied him watching me at the tavern. I realized they must've been tracking us since then!
"But in the next instant, he was gone and I was looking at 'Thomas'' face! The lump in me throat went down, but I'd lost the urge to scream. I was preoccupied marvelling at 'Thomas'' skill with the sword. He kept those men at bay as easily as you might shoo so many dreary flies away from your biscuit! Then you arrived, Papa, to save the day!"
"Right, hardly," I muttered.
"Truly, sir," "Thomas" said, "without your intervention, the fight may've lasted longer."
"May've?" I grumbled.
'Twas all for naught. Me feelings need not be assuaged. I was glad of the outcome, and thankful for "Thomas." Once I felt comforted enough to break from me embrace of Annalea, I embraced the Spaniard, telling him, "I'll not forget this, lad."
We departed quickly, leaving the mess behind to be cleaned up by the authorities—such as they may be. Time was catching up with us, and I needed to go off to the chandlery, where I could arrange posting another notice to Annalea's kin. I stated as much to the two of them, but Annalea refused to come along. It was in her heart, more than her head, that even this attempted connection with relatives unknown, would distance her from her "family" on Nemusmar. But I felt the right of what must be done–what was proper–and I'd not be swayed from me course.
The necessity at hand was to occupy Annalea's time–while I was about me business–in a place and manner conducive to her safety (and, therefore, me peace of mind). Kingston was not just a tropical Sodom and Gomorrah. There were families in Kingston. Well-placed families. 'Though the patriarchs of some of these families came to wealth in ways more scurrilous than piracy, this was not the time for casting stones about. They were proper families with proper manners and the king's own for protection. Their outdoor activities were always open to those of their own ilk.
So I had all the necessary ingredients for ensuring a pleasant interlude for me sweetie, in me absence. I knew the location of their gathering, I knew these patriarchs, and I knew their secrets–mostly past lives of which their beloved families were not privy. So with a bit of a hike from these environs, a few introductions, and with the obvious comeliness and refinement of Annalea and "Thomas," I had found a safe harbour in which to leave me precious. Not that safety is ever really ensured, as a commodity. The Lord knows there are more lechers in silk than in sackcloth. But I felt no compunction about leaving the lass under the lad's care and protection while I performed me God-sworn duty to contact her natural family. So, with directions and instructions of where and when to meet me, I left them to their niceties and went off to complete the day's final business.
When finished with me final transaction of business, I handed off me communication. Preparing to leave, I noticed the man who'd received it went hastily to speak to two gentlemen who'd been loitering there since me arrival. I say "gentlemen," due to the cut and cleanliness of their garb; but, reflecting on the moment, I'm doubtful they were gentlemen: they dressed more like barristers. But the odd thing which caught me attention, was the way he waved me correspondence as he talked–and the two men looked at it. He said a few more words to them, and then glanced back towards me–and the two men looked at me. I could not make out what he was saying to them, but I was certain it could not concern me. After all, this was no time in life's game to become irrationally suspicious. Recouping me senses, I determined to mind me own business and be about me own business.
At the appointed hour, I met Annalea and "Thomas" at the point where we'd first arrived in the "olde towne," so many hours afore. They were sparkling with conversation–literally brimming over with chatter about the day's experiences. But I hastened th
em to the boat, for we had to be underway. Taking a last look over me shoulder to glimpse the gaiety of the towne, I spied those same two "gentlemen." I know it was the very same two! One was talking to the other and pointing directly at Annalea.
Well, I had enough! Irrationally suspicious or not, I would confront these two! But as I full turned and began to move towards them, they slipped in amongst the crowd. 'Tis for certain, I could have picked them out, but I was halted by Annalea. "Papa, what is it? If we delay our departure, we'll never find our ship in the dead of night."
She was right, of course. And once off the island, I'd never see those "barristers" again, anyway.
Chapter XIV
A Good Deed Punished