"That is good," I continue, "for I mean to take, as prizes, those ships that have been coming off the coast and thumbing their noses at us all these weeks."
There is a sharp intake of breath around the table.
"You mean the Captain ...," says Harkness, narrow-eyed, leaning toward me.
"I mean I am going to take those ships and you all are going to help me, and by doing so, will make yourselves rich. Rich in prize money."
I pause, letting this sink in, and then I say, "The Captain is dead. He has been dead ever since that night he tried to have his way with me."
They are astounded. The men on deck and in the rigging let their breath out in one sharp whoa! of astonishment. Robin's head snaps up and his countenance undergoes a transformation upon hearing me say the word tried.
Before they can do anything else, I continue in command voice. "Corporal Martin, you will take Earweg into the Captain's cabin and verify what I say. Earweg, you will then undress him and examine him for any wounds—you will find none. He died of a brain or heart stroke in the excitement of his desire to wear the mantle of my maidenhead. In which attempt, by the by, he did not succeed." So much for "the Captain's whore," you dogs. "When you have done that, you men at this table will verify it and will sign a paper to that effect drawn up by Mr. Wheeler here. Do it, Corporal Martin!" I bark out as he hesitates. The Marine and the loblolly boy go down into the cabin.
I notice that men have come down from the rigging and are beginning to make a circle around the table. Better do this quick, I think. Even though the day is cool, sweat is trickling out of my armpits and down my sides. My face is dry, though, and I place the Look upon it and hope for the best.
"You men," I say to Jared, Drake, and Harkness, "and all you men"—I raise my voice to the throng pressing ever closer—"have a decision to make. I am Acting Lieutenant Faber, made so by Captain Scroggs before you all, as you well know. I have been written into the ship's log as such, and, as such I am, and have been for the past four days, by lawful succession in the naval chain of command, the commander of this ship!"
Growls and grunts and disbelieving ahs! greet this announcement. The Hmmmm! starts up again, this time not in my favor.
I lean back in my chair to look all languid and without fear or care, even though my heart is pounding hard in my chest, and I say, "It is simple. Here are your choices: You can stand in open mutiny to my lawful authority, bind me, confine me, do whatever you want with me. When the Court of Inquiry convenes, they will doubtless commend you for your courage in standing up against a foolish woman. They will probably pin medals on you, and then they will most certainly hang you, for you know there are no exceptions to mutiny!" I lean into that one.
I let that little nugget of doubt worm into their brains and then I say, "Or, you can follow me, take lawful prizes, and be happy in your newfound wealth. If there is any problem with all of this later, it will be on my head, not yours. You can truthfully say you were only following lawful orders. What will it be?"
This is the moment, right here, right now. Whether Jared and Harkness and Drake will follow me and whether they can hold the crew. Whether in one minute I am in command of this ship or in its brig. Or worse.
"I fer one ain't gonna be followin' no orders from no jumped-up splittail what thinks she's a bleedin' officer!"
Uh-oh...
That came from a group of men gathered about the foot of the mainmast. There are growls of agreement. Curses, too. I look over and see that it has come from none other than Cornelius Muck, himself. His crew of ne'er-do-wells, slackers, and Waisters is around him, nodding and mouthing their agreement.
I jump to my feet. "Hear me on this, all of you! When I was child, I was an orphan on the streets of London. I was a member of the Rooster Charlie Gang and we lived in our kip under Blackfriars Bridge. Is anyone here from Cheap-side?"
The crew is taken aback by the sudden turn this has taken, but I have known, from their Cockney accents and the slang they use, that there were many from my old neighborhood aboard, and several from the crowd do say, Yes, I'm from Cheapside, and one in the rigging says, Aye, I remember that gang, and suchlike. They are mystified, but Muck is not. A look of sudden fear crosses his face, and I can see him trying to make his way back into the crowd.
"Then you must know of Muck, the Corpse Seller!" I sing out. "He who gathered us up when we were dead and sold our bodies to the anatomists who cut us up and treated us most foul! Do you remember?"
More calls of Aye and I remembers the bastard! Muck tries to get back and away, but he can't—the crowd is too close.
"Well, there stands, 'neath that beard and cap, and under the false name of Asa Horner, none other than Cornelius Muck, the Cheapside Ghoul, the Purveyor of Corpses!" I make my arm ramrod straight as I point my finger to Muck's stricken face. He shakes his head no ... no ... but it ain't gonna do him any good.
Hands are put on him and men peer into his face. Good God, it's 'im! It's goddamn Muck, himself! says a voice and e got me little brother! And 'im not dead but a few minutes! says another and a body snatcher! Here, on our ship! and then, the thing that dooms him ... He's the Jonah! The cause of all our bad luck!
The babble of voices grows louder and louder. I rise and go to the rail and look out over the water to France. Behind me, I hear the sound of a struggle, but I do not turn to look. If someone wants to take this moment to put a blade between my shoulders and settle this that way, then so be it. My last sight on this earth will be the beautiful ocean slipping by my keel on a beautiful, soaring day.
There are sounds of desperate pleading behind me, cries of no ... please, no! then a long, long gurgling sound, then silence. Sounds of something being dragged. Then a splash. Then, again ... silence.
So, Rooster Charlie, so...
I turn back to face the crew. Jared and Harkness are standing at their chairs. Jared is smiling at me. "What's it to be, Lieutenant?" he says.
Taking my seat again, I reflect that sometimes it takes blood to properly seal a bargain. "Please sit, gentlemen. Drake, please unlock Mr. Raeburne's bonds." All sit and Robin's hands are freed. He rubs his wrists and looks at me with real heat in his eyes.
"You, Mr. Raeburne, are to be First Mate. You, Mr. Jared, are to be Master's Mate. You, Mr. Harkness, are to be Gunner's Mate, and you, Mr. Drake, are to be Sub-Lieutenant-at-Arms. Mr. Wheeler, read that into the log." I see their chests swell at being elevated to warrant officer rank. "A glass of wine to seal the bargain." I lift my glass and they do, too, and we all drink them down.
"I will dine with my officers tonight in my cabin. That is, if we are not otherwise engaged. As for now, we are going to take that ship!"
As one my men look out toward the smuggler. A roar of pure greed comes from their throats.
I rise and call out, "Beat to Quarters! Clear for action!"
Feet pound on the deck and the men go running to their stations, joyous as any pack of wolves in sight of helpless prey. I go up on the quarterdeck to relieve Ned who dashes to his station as Fire Control Officer with Tom. I see Georgie and Tucker tumble out of the foretop and head for the port guns, and I confer with Jared and Harkness as to our plan.
"Mr. Jared. I want to continue south for a bit till our quarry goes over the horizon. Then turn east and parallel their course for about a half hour till we are out of sight of land as well. Do you understand why?"
Jared's cocky look is back on his face. It gives me some satisfaction to recall that, during the session at the table, that look was gone for a bit. "You do not want to alarm those on the shore so that they will stop sending ships out?"
"Even so, Mr. Jared. You have the con. Mr. Harkness, you will ensure that all the guns are ready. And I want you to personally make ready the Long Tom up in the fo'c'sle. It's possible it may see some action this day, and, if it does, I want you to do the firing."
Jack Harkness grins and goes to knuckle his brow and then remembers his new station and bows instead and says, "It shall be done, Lieutenant."
"Thank you, Mr. Harkness."
I guess that is what they have decided to call me. Lieutenant. Lieutenant Faber. I think about it and decide that I like it.
Robin comes up to me now. "I am so glad, Jacky, I..."
"So am I, Robin, but now you must go down and clean up. I have put Seaman John Harper in charge of your old division. As First Mate, your place during Quarters will be by my side on the quarterdeck. Go down. We will have the Captain's funeral soon, and you must be presentable." He hesitates, then nods and goes to leave.
"And Mr. Raeburne..." He turns and looks at me. I lay two fingers over the lace in my lapel. "...when we are in public..."
He flushes and says, "Yes, Lieutenant." He turns on his heel and is gone.
Sorry, Robin, but if you think things are going to be as they were, you are wrong.
I send the Messenger of the Watch for Higgins and when he arrives I say, "Have Earweg prepare the Captain's body for burial. Then, if you would be so good, see what you can do to fix up the cabin for me. I know it's distasteful ... the bed and all..."
Higgins bows and says, "On the contrary, Miss. This is the happiest day of my life. I shall do what I can."
I take a deep breath and go to my usual spot on the quarterdeck, right in the middle with one leg on either side of the centerline so I can get the feel of the ship. I look up at the sails and find that they are perfectly set, and when I look back down, I am astounded to find little Eli Chase, the smallest of the ship's boys, standing in front of me with a drum strapped on his waist, his hands holding the drumsticks poised above it, his eyes fixed on my face should I give an order that requires his drumming. Oh, my...
During the chase Captain Scroggs went over the side. Earweg had sewed him up in a canvas bag and his mortal remains were laid upon a plank that was set on the starboard rail. I took the Bible and said the necessary words and the board was lifted and the body slid off.
On my command, the men of the starboard guns pulled their shameful skirts from their belts and threw them into the water, to sink down with the Captain's corpse.
There was not a sorry heart nor a damp eye on the ship.
We come down on the unsuspecting smuggler like the pack of hungry dogs we are.
He is running up there ahead of us, and I take the glass and run up to the foretop and train it on him. Sure enough, the other Captain has his glass trained on us and, from what I can see, is looking mighty worried. Why is this English ship bearing down on me? he's probably thinking. Have not the bribes been paid?
Oh yes, Frenchy, you have paid, but not quite enough. Not yet, anyway.
A suspicion has been growing in my mind that Captain Scroggs had been taking bribes for letting the smugglers through the blockade, a suspicion fueled by gazing at all that gold he had in his drawer. As I figure, he was probably paid off through a middleman in London—the smugglers pay the middleman, who takes his cut, and then gives the rest to the Captain and all are happy. Were happy, that is.
I still haven't figured out the flashing lights on the shore, though, and we did see them again last night.