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EXCERPTS FROM THE JOURNAL OF
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August Second We are nearing the home port in Cadiz--another six or seven days, if the wind holds. I think I shall be glad to be back on dry land. My legs desire greater exercise than walking to and fro on deck and the occasional climb into the rigging. I am kept occupied, on occasion, by what is brought in from the sea to supplement the dry rations kept on board. I am keeping a catalogue of fish and sea vegetables, and their edibility, as some things are thrown back, either because they are not palatable, or as they are deadly. (Of course some deadly substances can have great medicinal use in small quantities, so I am retaining samples for future study.) One sea creature I have yet to witness is the one most spoken of as of late. Every sailor wishes to find a shark before we come to port. I was surprised to hear of this; I rather think sailors would keep far away from sharks. Persistent naturalist that I am, I questioned the crew further. The shark of which they speak is a ferocious beast, incredibly large in size, prodigiously strong and so agile that it may leap from the water onto the very decks of ships to feast upon the unfortunate crew. What a monster! I should very much like to document such a thing, especially as it is as yet unnamed. It frequents the waters of the main shipping lanes, and one of the jobs of the White Star is in fact to patrol the sea and protect merchant vessels from the deadly depredations of the great shark. That’s why the ship has such large cannons, and so many of them. A necessary precaution, I must say. I have instructed the crew to fetch me at once if we do come across such a shark, and if they can safely capture it, so much the better. August Fourth Such an exciting night! Exciting and unfortunate, rather, for me and for a number of poor sailors; they, naturally, worse off than me, being dead instead of merely disappointed. The White Star is a curiously built ship, I think. It is framed in such a way that there are curious spaces, some which can be disguised and hidden away, some in odd corners where one wouldn’t expect a partition. When I first arrived on board, my position as neither crew nor paying passenger nor officer led to a question about sleeping arrangements. I didn’t believe that I merited a cabin, but I could hardly take a hammock like the general sailors. So a compromise was made: one of the odd areas in a corner at the stern was curtained off for me. There is enough space for a cozy bed and my chests, and even a window to let in light or be tightly shuttered against the rain and wind. The only drawback is that it takes a roundabout route to reach this corner; if a bell rings to call all hands, I am always the last one on deck. So last night, while in a deep sleep, I thought I heard the bell being rung rather vigorously, but cast it away as my imagination. (Really, I just didn’t want to wake up.) And, for a time, I was able to convince myself that the booming noises were thunder. It was so persistent, and added to by the urgent shouts of the crew, that I finally knew it was cannon fire. As I roused to full awareness, one word pierced through the melee of noise--”Shark!” At last! A chance to study that elusive specimen. I bolted out of bed and started to gather my tools. I would need the notebook, the small ruler, the large ruler, the large flexible ruler, the calipers, assorted vivisection tools, what else?... Of course, I first had to strike the light, put on some clothes, then search through my luggage, then run down to my other chest in the hold, then run back up for a bit of chalk, then make my way halfway to the deck before I remembered one other thing, then twist and turn to finally reach the stairs and head up into the night. Not a quick task, unfortunately. Of course, by that time the cannon fire had stopped. I was surprised, when I finally emerged on deck, to see that there was a ship next to us. A ship that was badly damaged: the mast broken clean off, splintered planks everywhere, and with a curious list that I’m sure a ship shouldn’t have in the water. The White Star crew were busy throwing lines across the short distance, pulling the two ships alongside each other. “But where is the great shark?” I wondered. It had, as is so often the case, savagely attacked the other ship, killing all the crewmen on deck and threatening to sink the entire ship before the White Star was able to come along and kill it with the cannons. Of course, with even just a few cannonballs in it, the weight added meant that it could no longer float, so it slipped over the rail and sank to the depths of the sea. And could I just scoot aside from the hatch so that they could carry this cargo down to the hold? Thank you very much, miss. No sense in wasting good cargo. Might as well bring it on board before it sinks to the bottom along with the poor dead men on board. I went to bed disappointed, and a little suspicious. August Fifth My goodness--they’re pirates! August sixth Have now been lectured on the difference between pirates and privateers. I don’t think I’m cut out for a life at sea. Privateering aside, I can hardly grow plants on the deck, no matter how often we send the powder monkeys to fetch dirt. I yearn to be amongst the trees, climbing rocks, even following sheep about a hillside. I want a roof over my head, a place to paint, musical instruments, dancing in the evenings, a room to hold drying herbs and pots of dye, a comfortable seat on which to read all day long. August Eighth Naturally there had to be one more adventure before reaching port. I was visiting with Captain Lot--we were discussing my desire to be back on land, and possibilities at the villa--when one of the interchangeable sailors knocked at the door. “You’d better come see this, Captain.” Up on deck, Quintin handed over the spyglass. He explained, “She’s been with us all day, and has just turned to intercept. Can’t see her flags, but the wind’s in her favor, so she’ll be upon us soon enough. Should we prepare the cannons?” Lot peered through the spyglass. “She’s hardly La Luna Negra, boys. Far too light in the water to interest us. I say we hold until she comes alongside.” It was half an hour at least until she was close enough to Lot to see the markings. He made a noise. “Feh, it’s the Isabella, headed by that so-called Diego the Crow. Remember them, lads?” He turned to explain to me. “I gave them a hand six months ago. Their captain’s a decent sailor, but a lousy leader and a scheming scoundrel. I think he may be getting too big for his britches. Best if you stay away from that lot; they’re hardly genteel.” He waved me off to the other side. I tucked a scarf close around my head and waited as the Isabella sailed closer. “Ahoy there, White Star. Where’s that captain of yours?” came the shout. It was a young man, scruffy like all the rest, but wearing a long black coat that flapped in the wind. Producing an effect like his namesake, I suppose. “Here, Diego, if you had wits enough to see him. You look as scurvy as a two-week red shirt on his first voyage. What do you want?” Our captain called back. “I’ve a business proposition for you. Good profit in it, too, if you’ll let me come over to discuss it.” “Profit, eh?” Lot made a motion behind his back; Quintin crossed his arms. “Come over and we’ll talk, but I’ll have none of your bilge rats on my deck.” Two of Diego’s sailors extended grapnels across to pull the ships together. Diego came across with one of his sailors (brawn to Diego’s brain, I suppose). They started talking with the captain and Quintin, their voices too low for me to hear. As the Star’s crew went about their tasks on deck, I snuck closer, hiding partially behind the mast, straining to listen in on the conversation. “...You turn a fine phrase, Diego, but I don’t see the profit in it for me.” Lot said. Diego laughed. “I only said ‘profit’, Lot. I didn’t say whose it would be. You’re low in the water with the usual ill-gotten gain. Besides, you’ve got much more on board this ship than meets the eye.” I gasped as two arms grabbed me roughly from behind and lifted me up off my feet. Before our crew had a chance to react, there I was, locked under one blackguard’s arm with a knife at my throat, while Diego pulled the cutlass from his belt and stalked over to me, one eye still on Lot and Quintin. To them, “Move, and Juan slits her throat. I’ve got my ship’s cannons trained on you, and they’ll fire on my order.” To me, “Now what’s a fair thing like you doing in a place like this, hmm?” He pulled the veil off my head, then grabbed my chin in his hand and brought his face close to mine; his breath stunk of onions. “Light hair; pale hands, pink tipped. You’d fetch a fine price in the market. There’s always rich men looking for an exotic beauty as a mistress, or maybe some shah will add you to his harem.” He let me go suddenly and spun as if he detected someone sneaking up on him. “Now what do you say about our little proposal, captain?” Then as if to help prove his captain’s point, Juan brandished his knife towards them. That opening was good enough for me. I lifted one foot and brought it down, hard, hearing a satisfying crunch, as I slammed my elbow back into his stomach. That served to loosen his grip on me so that I could duck under his knife arm. As I went by, I grabbed the handle protruding from a scabbard at his belt and drew. That gave him enough time to turn on me, ready to thrust his dagger home, but his bulk made him slow. His sword, though cheap and rather ugly, had a very well-honed edge, as evidenced by the way it cut nicely through flesh and bone when I brought it whipping down at his wrist. I looked up just in time to see Diego’s incredulous expression at me, as both Lot and Quintin pressed in from behind to hold him immobile. All around me I saw the flash of steel as blades appeared out of nowhere to end up in each crewman’s hand. (Funny that--when you’re wearing hardly more than a pair of breeches, where do you keep your sword?) I stepped forward to sweeten the deal, placing my point right in Diego’s face. “One word,” I said sweetly, “and you’re shark bait.” Suddenly the air was filled with cheering. No, not from our crew, but from the Isabella. “Skewer him!” Someone cried. “Plank him like a colegiala traviesa!” “You mutinous wharf rats!” Diego spat. “I’ll teach you to turn on me!” I didn’t think so. As it turned out, Diego was not well-favored by his crew due to his always taking a lion’s share of the loot, and his trafficking in slaves. Most of the sailors wanted to get away from piracy and go back to fishing. They were just waiting for a good opportunity to mutiny. Knowing that their was a fair bounty on Diego’s head, they saw him thoroughly trussed in irons and thrown into the brig before they sailed off. Juan they bundled off as well, still covered in blood, though I threw a bandage around his wrist. He’ll probably die unless they had a surgeon on their ship, but it’s out of my hands. Once we’d seen the stern of the Isabella, Lot turned to me. “May wonders never cease. Where’d you learn to use a sword?” “I have four brothers, all educated as befits a nobleman. I used to sneak off and watch their lessons, then play by myself with one of the wooden practice swords.” Indeed, how many hours had I cut at bushes and shadows, pretending that I could be just as good as my brothers someday? Of course, ladies never learn how to use a blade. “I think this lady should learn how to use a blade.” Lot declared. “Mina, remind me to introduce you to our weapons master.” August Tenth Cadiz--my new home. |
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