'Twas Annalea's eleventh birthday. Or, more rightly, what I designated as her birthday. From what I could fathom of those old documents of her father's, I understood she was expected to pass her third birthday back home in England. By me estimate, that would place her natal anniversary somewheres in autumn. Since it was me given duty to provide judgement in all matters concerning Annalea, I designated the first day of November–All Saints' Day–as an appropriate anniversary for our precious angel. 'Twas a most convenient selection, since we were likely to be ashore at that time of year–the seas being so unpredictable, and the trade routes so hazardous.
The annual celebration had become the most anticipated event of our year, attended by every soul on Nemusmar. A feast was provided by the wenches. And bobbles, ornaments and peculiar bits of precious metals and coins taken during many ventures, over a year's time, and secreted from Annalea's prying eyes, were provided by me shipmates and me for the occasion. On that particular morning, the ruse was to have Annalea accompany me out to the ship and collect charts I'd neglected since our last voyage. Of course, she always was the clever lass, awares of goings on and about to be goings on. 'Twas seldom our Annalea was caught unawares. But this year, I believed we'd succeed. 'Tis certain she'd seen through me ploy about the neglected charts. After all, for as many years as she could remember, this had always been a special day: her special day.
So Annalea gleefully accompanied me to the ship, chattering all the way about anything and everything that had nothing to do with birthdays, presents or the like. She would not want to hurt me feelings or disappoint those misguided dears who thought they could surprise her. So she glibbed about the weather and her friends and her frock. And, of course, about flowers. Annalea adored flowers, and had collected one of near every variety on Nemusmar. She described for me, in detail, the petals of one particular flower. Macathwee, a recent "recruit" to our ranks, had come upon this oddity and brought it back to Annalea, promising to show her where a bed of these flowers may be found.
As I watched Annalea sparkling and gushing, on our early morning venture, 'twas obvious she knew what I was about; and mayhaps she was aware that I knew this. Yet I'm right certain she did not know the whole of it. At the ship, me charts located and gathered, I tarried to glance them over, then poked about 'twixt cabins, rummaging through odds and ends. I could tell Annalea was getting anxious, fidgeting about as she was. But I made pretence not to notice, carrying on like a man with all the time in the world, and no particular place to be.
"Papa, will you be much longer?" Annalea spake out.
("Papa" was how she addressed me since first I took her in. I assume at that tender age she thought that was how to call the man who cared for her.)
"Not much, darlin'," I responded, "just need to make certain I've not forgotten anything. Don't want to trek out here again for fid nor fancy. Are you needing to get somewheres?"
"Oh, no Papa, I'm just... bored."
"Well," says I, "I can remedy that. I've a bit of a surprise for you."
She responded haltingly, not really wanting me to reveal the "surprise" that she fully expected, and spoil the "surprised" reaction she'd been rehearsing.
"Oh... I'm not really bored, Papa... mayhaps I could help you look...."
"No, no, pet," I interrupted, "I've detained you long enough on this old scow."
"Oh... well...." was all she could muster as retort.
As we hiked back, I noticed her somber countenance and absolute silence. 'Twas as if she thought the slightest sound, on her part, would elicit a full explanation from me of the big "surprise," and she was determined to be appropriately surprised: but only at the time and place of her own choosing. Putting Annalea into a predicament was a most uncommon turn of events, and that brought a smile to me face. Enjoying me moment–having one over on her–I laughed out loud. Realizing her quandary–she could not conduct her ploy and remark on me laughter–I laughed all the more! Me eye caught her glimpse at me, stone faced but bug-eyed.
So, along we trode–an odd pair, a giggling old man and a somber young girl. When we reached the first crossway, Annalea continued walking while I stopped abruptly. I watched and waited to see how long it'd take her to notice. She was fully sixty paces gone afore she looked about for me.
Then I shouted out, "Where you bound for, lass? Return to me, now!"
She ambled back, looking confused and none too happy. But she said nothing: just stood afore me and glared. Annalea is a sprite and a prankster, but most unappreciative of a prank placed on her.
I said, "This is your surprise, darlin'. We've been invited to break bread with the captain, this day."
"Oh, how marvelous!" she responded, the glimmer returning to her eyes.
The captain was just outside his quarters, surveying the sea with his spyglass, when we approached.
"Good day to you, sir!" I said, announcing our arrival.
"And good day to you, sir, and your lovely companion," the captain returned, approaching to greet us.
"'Tis a glorious day, sir!" Annalea responded exuberantly. Her eyes scanned her surroundings, as if expecting to see someone, or several someones.
"Well, you look particularly lovely, today, me dear," the captain said to Annalea. "Must be that frock you are wearing; somehow, you look older, today."
Annalea, fairly lit up with expectation, replied, "Am I not significantly older this day, sir?"
To which the captain replied, "I suppose we all are a day older, 'though how significant that is I don't know."
Leading the way into his quarters, the captain beckoned us join him. Annalea brought up the rear, approaching the doorway somewhat hesitantly. Her head entered the room afore her body did.
She quickly examined the room and took inventory, concluding "no people, no party, no nothing!" Unintentionally, she uttered this last part out-loud, "Nothing!"
The captain queried, "What ails you, lassie?"
"I... I... I... nothing, sir," was her response.
"Methinks our Annalea is not herself, today," he said to me. "Mayhaps we'd best postpone this afternoon's diversions."
"Oh no, sir," Annalea quickly objected, "'tis well I am!" She beamed at the prospect that "diversions" meant festivities.
"Excellent!" he said. "I shall set cook on our vittles, and after we sup, we shall review your lessons, have a reading from you and, be there time for it, mayhaps a bit of music."
Once again, a cloud descended over Annalea's countenance and seemed to dampen her spirits. 'Tis certain I am, this was not her idea of a gala birthday, spent in the company of two old sea hounds who'd put her through her paces, reciting her lessons for their amusement.
"In the meantime, Crockett," I continued watching Annalea's face as the captain spake, "let us have a look at those neglected charts you've brung. And Annalea, you can amuse yourself out in the garden for the time being."
Annalea dutifully went out the door and down the path toward the garden.
The captain returned from instructing cook and said to me, "Think you, Mr. Crockett, she suspects something?"
"Methinks she'd like to suspect something, Captain, but I believe we've got her off her guard."
"Well, we'll delay her a bit more, after we sup," said the captain, "to ensure all is Bristol-fashion for the celebration. Forbes is coming up to give us the sign, when it is time. Now, to those charts."
Quite a little time passed afore cook was ready for us. When he announced it, I set out to fetch Annalea. I went to the garden, through the garden, around the garden: no Annalea. I beckoned for her, several times.
Hearing me shouts, the captain appeared at the door. "What for, Crockett, have you misplaced me prized guest?"
"'Twould seem as much, Captain. I can find no trace of me ward. 'Tis not like Annalea to wander off, unaccompanied."
The captain began shouting for Annalea, and this brought cook to join us.
"Beggin' your parden, sir, but I saw t
he young miss a time ago, when I went for stock out to the garden."
"Did she speak to you, cook?" asked the captain.
Cook replied, "No, sir, I don't think she took notice of me. She was talkin' with that other man."
"What other man?" the captain demanded.
"Looked to be one of your men, sir," cook explained, "but not one I knows. Mayhaps a new man?"
"Macathwee," I remarked. "It must be Macathwee. He is the newest man, and the only one cook's never laid eyes on."
"Did anything pass betwixt them?" the captain asked cook.
And cook related what he'd overheard.
"He asked the lass, 'Why so glum?'
"And she says to him, ''Tis no fit way to spend a birthday, waiting on everyone's pleasure–and having none of your own.'
"'No fit way, indeed,' he pipes in, 'skulking about this old keep on your "special" day.'
"That truly got her attention, and she said to him, 'That's right, me "special" day! Did you hear that from others? Did they speak of it?'
"'No,' he replied, 'just from you. I've heard not from the others 'bout anything "special."'
"She seemed right disappointed when she said, 'Then they've forgot me birthday.'
"I remember, he put his arm 'round her and sought to comfort her with, 'Well, you are obviously a young woman now, and mayhaps they reckon you are too old for birthdays, parties and the like.'
"She looked to the ground, but he lifted her face with his hand and said, ''Sides, a comely young woman like yourself is needing no such childish diversions. You should have yourself an adventure, and find a beautiful place all your own!'
"Then I comes inside and didn't hear no more."
"Did you see them leave together, cook?" the captain asked.
"No, sir," he answered, "I didn't even think about them leaving. I considered they come with Mr. Crockett, to sup with you."
"I know it was Macathwee, and he's taken her off to see that flower patch he told her of," I said to the captain.
"And where might that be?" he asked me.
"I've not a clue, Captain," I responded. "He never said where, just told the lass he'd take her there."
"I can't believe Annalea would abandon us like this, without notice: so inconsiderate," the captain remarked.
To which I replied, "Aye, but you must admit we've spun her around a bit much this day, ourselves."
The captain took command of the situation, instructing cook to hike the perimeter of the compound, scanning the areas betwixt for Annalea, and bringing her directly to him, if found. I was directed to search the lee side of the island, where flowers patched in mead and on knoll. The captain was taking hisself down to the settlement. If she was not found there, he'd put every man-jack to scouring the island–'til she was found.
As cook departed, I spake to the captain. "'Tis certain Macathwee saw and heard all the people preparing the festivities for Annalea. Why would he turn the girl's head so? I tell you, Captain, I don't like the smell of things!"
"'Tis why we act now, Crockett!" the captain responded.
And we were away.
I found meself trotting at a quick pace, just knowing the lead they had on us. I did not trust that lad, Macathwee. Then again, I hardly knew Macathwee. What really bothered was Annalea being out of me sight. Most likely, there was nothing amiss. Still, I felt the guilt of it. She who relied on me, looked to me, and loved me: and I cast her off to be about me grown-up business. But, mayhaps, there was nothing amiss. I ran faster.
As I neared the lee side of the island, I could see where someone, leaving the path, had trampled the grass, recently. I bolted in that direction. I followed this trail 'til I reached a slope running up to a prominence which, on the far side, hung high over the river. I left off tracking and climbed to the top to look about.
Sure enough, on the far side of the river, I spied two figures. I could tell it was Annalea and Macathwee. They were sitting in a bed of flowers. Macathwee had his arm around Annalea, and held a flower against her cheek. I thought to call out, but I was too winded from the chase. Had I called at that moment, things might have ended differently–or, mayhaps, the inevitable simply delayed.
But events turn in the twinkle of an eye. And some things are meant to involve you, 'though fate may puckishly stay your hand from action. And in that twinkling of time–at a distance beyond me reach–events turned from the serene to menacing. What I saw sickened and alarmed me. As Macathwee's right arm pulled Annalea closer to him, his left hand fell upon her knee then quickly rose, under her clothes, between her legs to where his hand never should be! At first, Annalea seemed stunned, and he continued to grope her, pulling her all the while toward the ground with his right arm. I attempted to shout out, but Annalea screamed at him and slapped his face, at that same instant. Me yell went unheard.
I looked for a means to get down that sideling slope, and 'cross that river as fast as I could. Me eyes were upon them all the time. The blackhearted swine slapped Annalea clean 'cross the face, knocking her to the ground! He jumped upon her, his legs astraddle hers, and pulled her clothes from her. Annalea screamed like a bloody banshee! The Lord hisself couldn't've heard me shouting through all that. And 'twas certain Macathwee didn't hear me, for he continued his odious ways. Hunched over her, with his hands pressed hard against her shoulders, he released his grip to undo hisself. 'Twas then Annalea reached up with both her small hands and scratched at his eyes! He lurched back and let out a howl. With the instincts of a fiend, Macathwee reached across his sash, pulled his dirk from its scabbard, drew it up over his head and prepared to strike sweet Annalea in the heart!
I was speechless, choked up in horror, as I watched from across the river. As his arm cocked back, then forward, the point of his blade swooping towards Annalea's breast, a strong black hand grabbed his wrist and with a jerking twist, sent the blade into Macathwee's heart–clear to the hilt! It was Orke! Orke had saved me Annalea! Regaining me wits, and me voice, I shouted out to Orke. He seemed not surprised to see me there (but, then, nothing took Orke by surprise). Doubtless, coming upon the scene, he had immediately noticed who was where and what was happening and, instantly, what must be done.
Orke informed me that Macathwee was well dead, and Annalea seemed unharmed, but she was unconscious. He said he'd carry her and meet with me at the crossover. I agreed and started along the riverbank. Me eyes seemed drawn to Macathwee's carcass. I thought several times to cross the river and assure meself the blackheart was truly dead. But as me mind got clearer I realized, if Orke strikes a mortal blow, a man can be nothing but dead. At the crossover, I met up with Orke, still carrying Annalea who was now conscious and obviously shaken by her experiences. 'Though Orke held her snugly in his strong arms, she clung to him with a grip so tight, 'twas like a tourniquet. Methinks 'twas not a fear of falling to the ground but, rather, a fear in the mind of falling victim to the likes of Macathwee.
"Orke, me mate, you are a blessing from God!" I shouted to him.
I could see the colour returning to Annalea's face. She raised herself in Orke's arms and, lifting her head, she kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Orke. I love you, Orke."
We spake not another word as we walked back towards the settlement, Orke bearing Annalea all the ways. As we neared the settlement, we were joined by several others who'd, themselves, been out scouring the countryside for Annalea. They pressed on us, seeking to pet and comfort Annalea, and ask questions. Orke and Annalea said nothing, so I took it upon meself to recount our recent tribulations to each soul who approached.
When we finally reached the flat, and she could see all about the settlement, festooned like Mardi Gras, Annalea lit up. "Me birthday! Me birthday! I'd forgotten me birthday!"
And then the tears started flowing. Ironically, the day's object had been met; Annalea was surprised.
Chapter IV
Orke