They're all looking at me, expecting the true and straight skinny. Even you, Jaimy, you fool.
"I told you I was only asking directions," says I.
"Yeah, right, and me mother's the Queen o' Sheba. C'mon Jacky, you black sinner, you've been there and done it and you've prolly got the pox now, so tell us about it afore you swells up and dies."
I get to my feet and face them. I put my right hand on my hip and my left hand in the air and says, "I, Jack Faber, swear on my tattoo and on my honor as a member of the dread Brotherhood of Ship's Boys of HMS Dolphin that I did nothing at that house except ask for directions." I looks them each in the eye.
Directions in how to be a girl, I finishes to myself.
That satisfies them 'cause they know I wouldn't lie under that oath, which they allows was a right fine oath and ought to be the form for giving oaths from now on. So adopted, say you one, say you all, done.
They fall back into their talk and I reach up and touch my eyebrow. It's just about healed and the stitches are out, leaving a little white scar. The hair of my eyebrow is coming in white around the cut. Jaimy says it gives me a rakish look, like I'm a g*y and raffish rogue, but I don't know. I do know my teeth have tightened up and my ribs don't hurt no more and all the swelling went away. All in all, I ain't no uglier than I was before, for which I am thankful.
One thing that worries me, though, is that Jaimy's been acting kind of odd. Sometimes he's real warm and friendly to me and sometimes he ain't. Like, sometimes we lie in our hammock at night and talk real low before going to sleep, him about how much he'd like to help his family, and me about carrying tea from China in my little ship, and him laughing and calling me Captain Jack, Fearless Jack, Merchantman of the Orient Trade and me saying that it could happen, don't laugh. But, like, sometimes he don't talk at all. Maybe he's just moody, off and on, like me. That's got to be it.
***
Now that I'm better, I keep on Mr. Jenkins, pushing and prodding. He still looks doubtful and confused, so one day I look around all furtive and say, "This is going to send my Immortal Soul straight to Hell for the breakin' of me oath, Sir, but I'm goin' to break the Code of the Secret Society of Street Urchins and show you the Secret Choke Hold, known as The Jaws o' Death throughout urchindom. Now, Sir, you just close the door and I'll show you, but you must swear never to tell anyone or the Society'll hunt me down and kill me in a most horrible way, and they're all around, Sir, don't think they're not. Awright, I put my left arm across your throat and my left hand..."
'Course, it's just a regular old choke hold, but he don't know that, never having had to fight physical before. These young gents, if you need a sword or a bullet put in someone, they're just the ticket, but if you're down to the rough and tumble, you're better off with your common man.
I tighten my arms a bit and he lets out a little choke. "Now, Sir, you do it on me. That's it, not too tight now, you don't want to break me neck. Now, to break the hold..."
I got all this stuff from Charlie, who had to scrap all his life, what there was of it.
I bring my mind back to the foretop, and now Davy is talking about how since we got tattoos and oaths and such, the next thing is a gold ring in our ears. What happens is some bloke pokes a hole in your earlobe and runs a gold hoop through it and then welds it shut so it can't come out. They all allow that that would indeed be a fine thing but why?
"It's tradition, y'see," says Davy. "When you stands your Last Watch and dies or gets killed and yer body washes up on some beach somewheres and some farmer or fisherman walks by, why, he'll say, 'Ah, poor Jack the Sailor, done at last,' and take yer poor bones and give 'em a fine burial and take the gold earring for his just payment. It's tradition, like."
We nod and solemnly consider this bit of naval lore.
"But what if he just cuts the earring out of your ear and leaves your corpse for the crabs?" says the ever doubtful me.
"He wouldn't. 'Cause the curse would be on him then, and he knows it," says Davy. "No, he'd do the job. No mistake."
The force of Davy's reason carries the day and the Brotherhood resolves to get earrings.
What's next, I think, a bone in my nose?
The boys have gone to the bowsprit netting again and I plead my wounds as an excuse not to get nak*d with the rest of them. I go over to the port rail in the waist of the ship out of sight of the lads but not out of hearing, and I can hear them hooting and shouting, and I swear I can hear their voices changing before my very ears. Willy's voice has already changed over, and he sounds like a bull roaring over the squeaks of Davy and Tink, but Jaimy's voice is cracking, sometimes low and sometimes high, and I love to hear it. I know that my voice won't change.
It won't be long now, girl.
My hair, too, is growing out as the Captain ordered and soon it'll be long enough for a pigtail and that ain't helping The Deception none, neither. I can see now by looking sideways my hair hanging by my face and blowing in the breeze. It's a sandy color, not blond, not brown, just like my mum's hair what hung about her face as she leaned over me at night. Same as her hair hung over the edge of that cart on That Dark ... No. I've got to let her go, too.
I'm looking out over the calm Caribbean and thinking of the pirates we ain't caught and how it's wearing on the crew who are my dearest friends on the whole, but who are, at the same time, a gang of bloody-minded cutthroats who lust for action and plunder. Who's the pirate and who's the King's man when it comes right down to it? And who am I to blame them? Liam with six kids to support on a rocky scrap of a farm that he don't want to lose even though it's worthless. And Sanderson and Snag and the rest of them? One good prize and they could buy a tavern or a boardinghouse or a chandlery and live snug the rest of their lives. The officers want to buy fine houses and buy their wives a way into a society above what they got now, and why should I say no. Everybody wants something. I ain't no different. I want my own little cargo ship. Just a little one.
I lean over and put my forearms on the rail and my chin on my hands as I gaze out to sea. My ankles are crossed and I idly wave my tail back and forth in rhythm to the roll of the ship.
Sometimes I am so stupid I cannot believe it.
He comes up behind me and rams himself up against me back. He puts his arms over mine so's I can't escape and he grinds against me.
"Please, Sir," I plead. "Please..."
"Now, now, Jacky," whispers Sloat, all soft. His mouth is right on my ear. "I'm just seeing ow my little Jack the Sailor Boy is doin' after 'is 'orrible beatin'. Was it so bad, Jacky, was it so bad? Tell yer dear old uncle now."
His voice has a singsong to it, and he keeps rubbin' against me and I'm strugglin' to get loose, but it ain't no use, he's got me pinned. I don't want to cry out 'cause that'll be trouble, but I gots to...
I feels the roughness of his beard against me cheek and me skin crawls and I'm sick to me stomach and he says, "Soon, Jacky, soon ... for our little talk belowdecks, soon..."
He draws out the words as if he's talkin' to an animal he's tryin' to calm. "Soon—"
All of a sudden he lets me go, and I turns around to see Liam lookin' at Sloat wi' pure murder in his eye. He's got one hand on Sloat's shoulder and the other all balled up and cocked to slam into his face.
"Touch any o' the boys again and I'll kill you where you stand," says Liam. Not loud, not showy, just real even and slow.
Sloat knocks Liam's hand off and steps back a pace, but he is not cowed. Other men are gatherin' about.
"Well, if it ain't Father Delaney, the Patron Saint of All the Micks," sneers Sloat. Some of the men laugh. Some don't.
"Mark me, Sloat. Touch any of the boys again and I'll kill you."
"Tell me, Father," says Sloat, "might ye be savin' a bit of this fer yerself?" I slinks back into the shadows.
Liam lunges forward but is held back by his mates.
"Awful friendly wi' our little jacky sailor boy, ain't-cha, Father McSwine," taunts Sloat with a leer. "Teachin' 'im all manner o' sailor stuff, I'll wager. Showin' 'im stuff, too, I imagine. I imagine all sorts of things. My, my."
Liam looks pure murder, but Sloat looks him right back and he ain't banterin' now and he says, "You son of a bitch, Delaney. You son of a bitch."
Sloat's toadies haul him away, and Liam's friends do the same to him, but the damage is done. The two are separated but the whole ship knows that words have been said and they cannot go unanswered. I just hope they get over it or settle it off the ship, cause I couldn't bear to see Liam lashed to the grating and whipped for fighting, but I know they won't, it's just more bad blood.
The ship is awash in bad blood. The ship don't feel lucky no more. Instead of dolphins following the ship, we got sharks, big black brutes what never go away.
Bad blood.
And it all seems wrapped up in me.
Chapter 24
Jaimy's been acting right funny lately. Like, if all of us are in the top and some leave so that it's just Jaimy and me up there, he'll swing over the side and leave. And he's taken to hangin' around with Willy and not me. If I come up and say something, he'll just grunt and walk away.
In our hammock at night I've got to be real careful to stay over to my side and touch Jaimy as little as possible. Our h*ps and legs got to touch, of course, no way around it, it bein' a hammock and all, and our feet are up in each other's face, but that's it 'cause of the way Jaimy's been. I mean we didn't do nothin' but lie there and sleep before, but now he lies there all unnatural stiff and don't say nothin'.
Tonight when I talk about my dream of a little ship and say, "Wouldn't it be grand to have a little seaside cottage to come back to and dry out between the voyages and the adventures and the cottage would have a big fireplace and roses and things," he don't say nothing, doesn't even snort at my silly dreams, just lies there all silent and I know he's awake and it hurts me.
When we're awakened for the midwatch, he don't say nothin' to me. When we're on watch he don't come talk to me like he used to.
When the watch is over, I don't go back to the hammock. I find a blanket and curl up in the old kip between the guns. I don't sleep.
Maybe it's because I'm a proven murderer, thief, liar, and mutineer. But I was all those things before. It's been this way ever since that thing with Sloat. Why should that matter? I didn't do nothing wrong. Why does Jaimy hate me now? What did I do?
I think about how happy I was when we was first put in the same hammock all those weeks ago. Thinking on it now just brings me sadness.
Things ain't no better in the foretop. The boys have been quiet and sullen and castin' side glances at me. The Sloat thing and the Bliffil thing is weighing heavy on the ship and it seems to be weighing heavy on the Brotherhood, too.
Finally Davy gets up and points at me and says what's been on his mind.
"If you weren't forever prancin' about and wigglin' yer ass the way you do, maybe stuff like this wouldn't happen. All this bad blood and bad luck is on account of you."
I feel like I've been punched in the gut. This can't be happening. This has got to be just some more Jacky and Davy bickerin'. But no ... I look at the others. They look away. They don't say nothing. I look at Jaimy and say, "Jaimy...," and plead with my eyes, but he don't say nothin'. Jaimy shakes his head and looks down at his feet.