any tack. What to do when I heard the cry, “All hands wear ship!” and “Stand by to set cro'jack! Let go the brails, haul out!”
Of course I wondered about what Basil had said to me.
There's things in Josiah's past that you don't know nothing about,
he'd said.
What things?
I wondered.
What did Basil mean? And what does it have to do with me?
I asked Basil about Josiah while we were aloft, reefing the fore course because the
Sweet Jamaica
was falling too far behind. “Why did he become a pirate?”
“Captain Black, he was a privateer commissioned to hunt down ships of England's enemies. Only thing was, when Captain Black returned after a year or so with his treasure, the government denied ever having given him a commission and locked him up instead. It was an injustice, Daniel. A terrible injustice.”
“Why did they deny having given him a commission?”
Basil shrugged. “Can't say.”
“What happened?”
“He escaped, of course, and took up the life again. Only this time he didn't have a commission and targeted the governor's ships. The king's ships as well. They don't take too kindly to that, you know.”
“But what did you mean when you said there's things in Josiah's past that I don't know anything about?”
“I'll say no more about it,” Basil replied, seeming to seal his lips shut even as he said so. “There are things of which it is better not to speak.”
And indeed, no matter how many times I begged or cajoled, now Basil acted as if he didn't know what I was talking about.
One night, as the half moon carved the black sky like a scimitar, I asked Timothy what he knew of Josiah. Had he heard anything? Some secret in his past, maybe? We both stood at the bow, the bowsprit pointing into the darkness. Beneath us, wave caps shimmered moon-silver as the
Tempest Galley
sped along, close-hauled on a freshening breeze that blew us day and night toward the Red Sea.
Timothy didn't answer me right away, instead taking a swallow from his cup. “Drink?” he offered, holding out his cup to me. His hand trembled, and even in the moonlight I could see bags under his eyes.
I shook my head. “You're not looking so well.”
He brushed his hand through his mop of hair. “Can't help it. Toke's getting low. Rum's all out. I'm getting dry, Daniel, awful dry, and my head's busting. Can't hardly think straight anymore.”
“Maybe you should stop drinking so much. Look what it's doing to you.”
“Maybe you should mind your own bloody business,” he replied, his voice high and sharp. “You sound like a bloody minister. Or bloody God on his bloody throne.”
For the last couple of weeks, Timothy had grown more andmore irritable. I sighed, supposing it was like he said—the rum was all out and the toke was getting low. “Just trying to help.”
“Well, you can stop now. You aren't my mother.”
“Don't you miss her?”
Timothy looked away. “Of course.”
“Don't you think she worries about you?”
“Believe me, once I come home a wealthy man, she'll forget all her worries. I'll buy her the biggest house in Boston, dresses fit for a queen, and anything else she wants. I'll take care of her, you can be sure of that. She'll never again have to worry about being sent to the poorhouse.”
“Do you really think you'll come home a wealthy man?”
Timothy looked at me, eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
I shrugged and looked away, pretending this was just nonchalant conversation. “Just wondering how good Captain Black really is, that's all. Just wondering if he's good enough to make everybody on this ship a wealthy man.” It wasn't what I really wanted to know, but it was good enough for starters.
“Bloody fire, Daniel, where have you been? Sulking around with your head up your backside, likely. Everyone knows Captain Black's the finest pirate captain that ever lived. There's a reward on him for five hundred British pounds sterling, dead or alive.”
I did not have to pretend surprise.
Of course I wondered about what Basil had said to me.
There's things in Josiah's past that you don't know nothing about,
he'd said.
What things?
I wondered.
What did Basil mean? And what does it have to do with me?
I asked Basil about Josiah while we were aloft, reefing the fore course because the
Sweet Jamaica
was falling too far behind. “Why did he become a pirate?”
“Captain Black, he was a privateer commissioned to hunt down ships of England's enemies. Only thing was, when Captain Black returned after a year or so with his treasure, the government denied ever having given him a commission and locked him up instead. It was an injustice, Daniel. A terrible injustice.”
“Why did they deny having given him a commission?”
Basil shrugged. “Can't say.”
“What happened?”
“He escaped, of course, and took up the life again. Only this time he didn't have a commission and targeted the governor's ships. The king's ships as well. They don't take too kindly to that, you know.”
“But what did you mean when you said there's things in Josiah's past that I don't know anything about?”
“I'll say no more about it,” Basil replied, seeming to seal his lips shut even as he said so. “There are things of which it is better not to speak.”
And indeed, no matter how many times I begged or cajoled, now Basil acted as if he didn't know what I was talking about.
One night, as the half moon carved the black sky like a scimitar, I asked Timothy what he knew of Josiah. Had he heard anything? Some secret in his past, maybe? We both stood at the bow, the bowsprit pointing into the darkness. Beneath us, wave caps shimmered moon-silver as the
Tempest Galley
sped along, close-hauled on a freshening breeze that blew us day and night toward the Red Sea.
Timothy didn't answer me right away, instead taking a swallow from his cup. “Drink?” he offered, holding out his cup to me. His hand trembled, and even in the moonlight I could see bags under his eyes.
I shook my head. “You're not looking so well.”
He brushed his hand through his mop of hair. “Can't help it. Toke's getting low. Rum's all out. I'm getting dry, Daniel, awful dry, and my head's busting. Can't hardly think straight anymore.”
“Maybe you should stop drinking so much. Look what it's doing to you.”
“Maybe you should mind your own bloody business,” he replied, his voice high and sharp. “You sound like a bloody minister. Or bloody God on his bloody throne.”
For the last couple of weeks, Timothy had grown more andmore irritable. I sighed, supposing it was like he said—the rum was all out and the toke was getting low. “Just trying to help.”
“Well, you can stop now. You aren't my mother.”
“Don't you miss her?”
Timothy looked away. “Of course.”
“Don't you think she worries about you?”
“Believe me, once I come home a wealthy man, she'll forget all her worries. I'll buy her the biggest house in Boston, dresses fit for a queen, and anything else she wants. I'll take care of her, you can be sure of that. She'll never again have to worry about being sent to the poorhouse.”
“Do you really think you'll come home a wealthy man?”
Timothy looked at me, eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
I shrugged and looked away, pretending this was just nonchalant conversation. “Just wondering how good Captain Black really is, that's all. Just wondering if he's good enough to make everybody on this ship a wealthy man.” It wasn't what I really wanted to know, but it was good enough for starters.
“Bloody fire, Daniel, where have you been? Sulking around with your head up your backside, likely. Everyone knows Captain Black's the finest pirate captain that ever lived. There's a reward on him for five hundred British pounds sterling, dead or alive.”
I did not have to pretend surprise.