Читать книгу To Slight the Jacket Blue - Bronwyn Sciance - Страница 14

A pirate ship was a country unto itself, a small slice of England–or whatever country it originated from–afloat on a vast and ever-changing ocean. And just like on land, just like any other community, there were social classes and hierarchies. Ned was coming to learn his place in the hierarchy of the Swift Return, and it was a status he had never known at his poorest and most abject days in Bristol.

He had been a cabin boy before, of course, but on the pirate ship he was given a status that would have insulted a galley slave. It didn't help that many members of the crew seemed to go out of their way to abuse or belittle him while he worked. After a month, it was growing rather tedious. Today had been a particularly bad day. A crew member had "accidentally" spilled his bucket of water where he was scrubbing the deck, another had kicked him as he lay on his stomach trying to fish a lost item out of a small crevice, and a small cluster of them had seemed to take delight in being as messy as possible while using tar for some purpose or another, then ordering him to clean it up. One had said he wanted the deck to be clean enough to eat off of, then made Ned do so when he was finished scrubbing. Through it all, Ned had tried to maintain his calm and his temper, but he was exhausted. And he still had to report to the captain's cabin.

Ned walked into the cabin with his eyes lowered and gave a proper salute. "Reporting for duty, Captain."

"Stop the nonsense, Ned. When it's just us, you can call me Sam."

Ned kept his eyes on the ground. "Will there be anything else you need me to do?"

Sam sighed. "Ned, you've been on my ship a month and not said hardly a word to me. I was looking forward to catching up with you. What's the matter with you?"

Ned looked up at Sam at last, feeling a quiet desperation that he knew was reflected in his eyes. "Why are you doing this to me, Sam?"

Sam looked bewildered. "Doing what?"

Ned spread out his hands, palms upwards. "This...all of it. If we're such good friends, why are you keeping me here, making me be your cabin boy?"

Sam shrugged. "Everybody's got to start somewhere. It's not like you've never been cabin boy before. I'm not about to play favorites just because you're my best friend, or because you were a Naval commander."

"I'm not looking for favors or special treatment, Sam," Ned said softly. "I just want to go home."

Sam laughed. "Home? Like it or not, Ned, this is your home."

Ned struggled to explain. "But my mother...Elsie..."

"Didn't they tell you when you first went to sea that the Navy was your home?" Sam interrupted. "It's the same here."

Ned gaped at Sam in astonishment. "You don't really believe that, do you? Sam, I...I have to go back, she'll be dreadfully worried about me..."

Sam laughed even harder at that. "Ned, I've not seen my mother or my sister in near seven years. I don't know if they live or die, and I'm sure they have no thought for me any longer."

"There you're wrong," Ned said quietly. He thought of Sam's once plump and jolly mother, now grown thin and gaunt, who wore nothing but black and drifted around her tavern like one in a daze. Hannah had even changed the name from the Purple Falcon to the Rosemary Sam–rosemary for remembrance, as Rebecca so often said. "Your mother's not had a peaceful night since word came of your ship's encounter with Christopher Moody. Sam, imagine how she would rejoice if you came home to her!"

"For a bright lad, you're doing a right good job of being stupid," Sam observed, although his face showed some little disquiet. "We can't go back now, don't you understand that?"

"Of course we can," Ned protested, though he felt a sneaking suspicion that it might be otherwise.

"Ned," Sam said, spreading out his hands. "We may call ourselves else, but we're still pirates, friend. And the only good pirate is a dead one."

Ned started, recalling his thoughts of a month before and wondering if the man who had once been his best friend had learned to read minds. Recovering his wits, he said shakily, "But you could be pardoned...if I explained..."

"Explained what?" Ned, you seem to have forgotten that I'm Captain Bluejacket, terror of the 'igh seas. I hunt Navy vessels!" Sam chuckled bitterly. "The Crown isn't going to pardon me on the say-so of a Naval officer who lost ship and crew."

The remark stung Ned. "My record," he said stiffly, "has been exemplary since I took up service. The Crown would have no reason not to at least grant me an audience."

"But what reason would he have to grant your request to pardon me?" Sam pointed out.

"Well..." Ned couldn't think of an answer. "At least you could be home for a little while. We both could go home. Home, Sam."

Sam threw Ned a sharp look. "What, being to sea with me isn't good enough for you?" He stood up, folding his arms. "I thought this was what we talked about–going to sea together."

"Yes, but...oh, Sam, not like this," Ned cried. He had a horrible image of his best friend swinging from a gibbet. "This isn't the life for me. I could never be a proper pirate. I have too much at stake."

Sam turned red. "Are you suggesting that I don't care for my mother's well-being? That I got into this life because I didn't care what happened at home? That I've a heart of black?"

"You're twisting my words," Ned protested, although a part of him wondered if that was what he was suggesting after all. "I never said that at all. I only said that I could never do this! You can, and you made the life work for you; that is all to the good. But I myself could never–"

"Do you think I don't know what to do for your own good?" Sam demanded roughly. "That I act randomly and callously? You have the makings of a fine buccaneer if you would just–"

"I'll not stand by and be insulted by one who would slight the jacket blue!" Ned shouted, his temper getting the better of him.

With frightening strength, Sam lashed out, slapping Ned across the face. Ned threw up a hand, blocking the next slap, but Sam cuffed him with his other hand. Caught unaware, Ned fell against the desk. A lantern crashed to the deck, and Ned followed.

He lay on the floor amidst the broken glass, looking up at the man no longer identifiable as his old friend–Captain Bluejacket stood above him, undeniably and unequivocally. A massive foot drew back, preparing to hit his ribs, and Ned closed his eyes, bracing himself for the impact.

It never came.

The door to the cabin flew open. "Cap'n!"

Bluejacket–Sam–stopped. "What is it, Bathan?" he snapped.

Ned opened his eyes and recognized the bare, hairy feet of the quartermaster. He gingerly rolled over to look up at the man, who had seized a scrap of parchment. "Article Five: No striking one another on board, but every man's quarrels to be ended on shore with pistol and sword," he read. He looked at Ned, then Sam. "Do you understand?"

"Bathan, I am the captain," Sam snarled.

"Aye, sir, you are, but if you don't follow the Articles, who will?" Bathan stood his ground. Ned knew that Bathan was that rare thing amongst quartermasters–a man liked by both the common rank-and-file of the ship and by the officers–and he felt a surge of gratitude towards the man. "We're near to a sandbar and there's plenty of daylight. If you'll both come this way?"

Ned pushed himself up off the floor, carefully avoiding the fragments of glass, and followed the quartermaster. His heart was beating rapidly. The duel was not to the death–necessarily–but to first blood. Such was the tradition on pirate vessels, merchant vessels, and even Navy ships when duels arose. It was a gentleman's arrangement. But Ned wasn't sure he could hurt Sam.

Still...he reached up and touched his cheek as they loaded into the ship's jolly boat. Still, maybe it wouldn't be necessary. Sam certainly seemed angry enough to draw first blood, the fight would be over, and they could put the whole thing behind them. Ned was already regretting his hot and hasty words.