Nassau – Capital of New Providence, population about 100 permanent residents and 1,000-2,000 pirates at any given time. Surrounded by dozens of secluded cays, and with waters littered with dozens of shipwrecks. Called the pirate capital, the centerpiece locale of the Republic of Pirates.
image [https://i.imgur.com/TbiZUkw.jpeg]
THE HAZARD CAME into Nassau’s port at what ought to have been noon on 8 March 1717. The Long Night had not yet ended when they maneuvered past the field of sunken ships, their prows sticking up out of the water like blades of rotted wood. They scraped by these purposefully laid defences and dropped anchor amid the neat rows of pirate vessels. A few of the Hazard’s crew disembarked to handle offloading and paying the wharfage fees. Captain Laurier remained aboard for many hours. When the master-parker asked Okoa why the captain did not make an appearance, he was told the captain had suffered a terrible injury.
It didn’t take long for the word to spread that the Hazard had done something spectacular. You couldn’t keep pirates from talking once they stepped off a ship and found the nearest drinking hall. Already Isaacson, Jenkins, and Dobbs were having rounds of drinks bought for them by men and women who wanted to know all about it. Some of the African crew found other former slaves in port, slaves who were also now pirates and wore gold and silver jewelry. Drinks were bought for all of them, as long as they were free with the details of the Hazard’s great score.
Because for months now the story out of Jamaica had been that Captain Laurier and his crew were dead, their ship scuttled or destroyed by some creature of the Long Night, and that the Ladyman had gone down fighting, killing many militiamen. That he was alive and his ship was intact was enough to stir controversy. And the controversy was explosive, for while none of it could be corroborated just yet, the crew of the Hazard divulged more details about an event at a Spanish fort no one on Nassau had ever heard of. Mugs of grog were pressed into the crew’s hands, and the story grew.
Because here was a victory against both England and Spain—the Ladyman had cheated death and in so doing thumbed his nose at King George, and then he had robbed King Philip blind. This was a victory all freedom-seeking pirates would find delicious, no matter their station or affiliation. Here was a tale to be told, far and wide.
The sun rose at a little past seven-thirty, precisely when it should have, putting an end to the Long Night, and there was much joy and celebration across Nassau. Pistols were fired into the air, bonfires were lit and pigs were spontaneously roasted in the middle of the streets.
When finally his figure emerged from the Hazard’s forecastle, Laurier was in the fine dress and gloves he had secured for himself back in Port Royal, along with high-heeled shoes and wide-brimmed bergère hat, and his cutlass and a brace of four pistols lashed around his midsection. And surely some noticed those satin gloves, how the right hand looked elongated and thin, malformed yet elegant, and with holes cut in thin fingers to allow for five sharp talons to protrude from the place his fingernails ought to have been. And surely the people who noticed just assumed this was some false hand, some other elaborate addition by the Ladyman.
Laurier took an hour or so to examine his ship’s keelson, cross-braces, mizzens, and spritsails, letting everyone on the docks see him in full colour before the sun, then stepped down the plank onto the dock. He was joined by a retinue of large, grim-faced Africans, among them a female who wore a man’s tunic and breeches, her young child strapped to her back and sleeping.
“Mr. Okoa,” he said before departing. “You have command. Tell LaCroix to keep searching the ship for any more deathwatch beetles or fungus. Scour the damned planks, every room, every companionway. Make sure he finds all the lumber he needs to replace what we’ve lost while he’s in Nassau. Tell him send the bill to you. Roche, you’re with us. Anne, you know what to do.”
“Aye, Captain,” said Okoa, who headed back up to the main deck.
“Aye, Captain,” said Roche, who twirled his axe in hand.
“Aye, Captain,” said Anne Bonny, who walked into Nassau and immediately disappeared into the crowded streets.
“Mr. Akil, keep your eyes sharp. You are a freer man here than you were in Port Royal, but even here your kind will find those who would take advantage of your ignorance of the culture.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Remember, you’re with a captain who is on the account, which by extension means you are on the account, provisionally. Should any man harm or threaten you or your people while you’re here, let me know before you do anything, and the two of you may be allowed to settle up in a fair duel. Otherwise, no violence. Those are the rules. Understood?”
“Aye, Captain.”
The city of Nassau, if it could be called a city, was simultaneously more sophisticated and more chaotic than Port Royal. The majority of the paths were either made of planks laid over muddy roads or else elevated planks and scaffolding that led around shops, around houses, sometimes even over their rooftops. But there was a river that led directly into the sea, and crossing that river was a small viaduct that loomed like a great hunched beast, labouring to carry the horses and wagons crossing it. A decade ago, you could have spent all day in the middle of Nassau and not seen a dozen people. Some days you wouldn’t have seen any. But now…
Laurier’s feet sank ankle-deep into the mud and shit. Legless sailors lounged with nowhere else to go, or leaned against a post, all with their hats or cups out taking donations. Laurier would not be seen to not be gracious, and every cup saw some of his doubloons go into it. This got shocked looks from sailors unaccustomed to such handouts, and soon he had gathered a following of the poor and downtrodden who ached for more of his charity.
This, too, was part of his plan. His charity would underscore the stories he had sent his people ashore to spread, that the Hazard had conquered a Spanish fort, that the Hazard was invincible, that her crew was the fiercest in the Caribbean and her captain was lethal to his enemies and charitable to his friends.
Ramshackle buildings merged seamlessly with straw huts. Every drinking hall was filled, every brothel spewing music and laughter out into the streets. Men lay passed out drunk in the mud, and men on horseback went around them without a second glance. Games of Hazard and fanorona and Morris were played on porches by bare-chested pirates. West of the beach, high upon a hill, sat Fort Nassau, with black banners snapping in the breeze and seventeen guns facing the water. The fort was rebuilt over two years by Blackbeard’s people, and to this day was still manned by pirates. The Republic’s own trusted men kept this pirate haven safe from law and common society.
Nassau had risen to offer everything pirates needed to feed their profligate lifestyles, even though it was very much embedded inside a jungle. Unlike Port Royal, the trees still had dominion in this city, some of their branches scraped rooftops, and even went through the upstairs windows.
A strange sight was waiting for them deeper in the jungle. Birds flopped on the ground, flightless. Dozens of them. Parakeets, bitterns, herons, egrets, they all flopped in the mud. Groups of children lifted them by shovels and tossed them into wheelbarrows.
“What is wrong with the birds?” asked Akil.
“The Long Nights. Even once they’re over, the birds remain disoriented for a while.”
Akil had not spent much time ashore these last few months, he had not seen the change that the Long Nights brought upon the land.
As they walked, Roche picked up some of the birds. The Brazilian tried talking to them, he patted them on the head and stroked their wings. Whenever he found a new one, he put the old in one of his pockets. He also dug around in the mud to find worms to feed them. Soon there were happy chirps coming from all of his pockets.
Whatever keeps the fucker happy, Laurier thought, ducking under the giant, sagging limbs of a palm. He used his Corrupted hand to brush aside giant leaves and branches that blocked his path. Both the hand and the razor-sharp talons that extended from it felt nothing. He wore a glove over it to try and hide it, but where the demonic hand met the flesh of his forearm, the skin was dark purple and veiny and itchy.
The lanes between shops rose and fell, sometimes going into the sweltering jungle, sometimes curving back around to the crannogs, held above the sea only by stilts. Scores of people were heading to the only church in town, just as its bell sounded, calling them like Christ’s love up the hill. But the church itself was nowhere in sight, and several worshippers had gathered outside of the husk of the old building in throngs and sang with arms lifted up to the blue sky.
“Why they do this?” Akil muttered.
“I’m sure they’re thanking God for bringing back the sun,” Laurier said.
“But why? If He brought it back, was it not Him who took it?”
“You would think some would’ve figured that out by now. But I try not to argue with men about religion. It’s irrelevant to the work.”
“Work?”
“Business.”
Laurier shoved his way through the crowd to reach another lane that cut through a portion of the jungle. The planks got narrower, the trees tighter along the path. Laurier searched everywhere for an ambush, for here would be as good a place as any for one.
Throngs squeezed past him. One sailor led two blind men, each of them with hands touching the sailor’s shoulder for guidance, and their free hands held out cups. Laurier stopped one of the blind men and said, “It’s a nice day to be out, isn’t it, Homer?”
The taller of the blind men stopped and gasped. “My God! Captain? Is that you, sir?”
“It’s me, Homer.”
“Faith! I’ve heard men say that when the Long Night comes, ghosts can appear. We all heard you were killed away in Jamaica!”
“True enough, old friend. But I’m not quite dead. Not yet.”
“Ah, but bless you, bless you, Captain! You’ve come back! Jes like I told every one o’ those scallywags up on Fern Street! Didn’t I, Irwin? Didn’t I tell them all?”
“That you did, Homer,” said the fellow leading the blind men. “Bless you, Captain Laurier. Bless you for comin’ back. The Republic needs more men like you. Homer here says you’ve always been a fair captain. I’m a fair pilot, m’self. I was an apprentice trained in the navy, back when—”
“If you’re looking for work, ask for Mr. Okoa back on the Hazard. Long as you can hand and reef.” Laurier cut him short, sensing a sailor looking for work and not caring to hear his résumé. “But right now you gentlemen could help me find my way around. Either I’ve gotten lost or the church has moved.”
“You’re not lost, Captain, bless you!” said Homer, still giggling at the revelation of Laurier’s return. “You’re right, Father Cockrell moved the church six months gone, when a tidal wave came crashing up the shores. Took half the docks with it, nearly reached the church. He moved it to make sure that didn’t happen again.”
Laurier dropped doubloons in their cups and the two blind men bit them to see what they were. Their nearly toothless smiles split their faces. “Would you all mind showing us the way?”
“Be glad to, Captain, be glad to,” said Irwin.
They were led uphill, through thickening jungle where flies buzzed in great swarms, desperate for the moisture of their faces and eyes. Laurier doffed his hat to fan them away. The way became narrower. No more planks now, only dirt paths. Birds started righting themselves, started climbing up from the ground and testing their wings, taking flight. Roche took some of the birds from his pockets and, one by one, held them up to assist them in their first flight.
“Look like they getting the hang, Captain,” he said.
“Aye, Roche. You’ve a thumb for helping animals. I’ll warrant they’ll sing songs of you now.”
Akil and the others laughed. Roche grinned shyly and bowed his head.
Suddenly, they heard the crack of gunfire, and someone briefly shouting. Everyone stopped and drew pistols. Everyone but Laurier, who waited and listened. Through the jungle came stamping a red-faced Anne Bonny, someone else’s blood on her tunic. “How many?” Laurier asked.
“So far as I could tell, just the two,” she said.
“Did you get anything out of them before you cracked them?”
“One of ’em said he answered to someone back in Port Royal named Kramer. Said the reward is two hundred doubloons.”
“I know Kramer, he’s one of Rogers’s men. He say anything else?”
“No. He coughed his last breath soon after.”
“Good work. Keep stalking around us, see if any more show up on our trail.”
“Aye, sir.” She wiped her brow and headed back into the jungle, vanishing between thick acara bushes and dangling vines.
Homer and the others continued leading Laurier on without mentioning what had just happened. They climbed the hill up to an area where locals had built two rope bridges over a river. They crossed them, moving up the elevated planks, walking across the roofs of log cabin homes, and crossing another viaduct before they came to a square-roofed church with a single, tall, narrow steeple jutting out of it like a dagger’s blade. Surrounded on all sides by foliage, Laurier doubted even an egret could spot the church from above. But there were paths cut through the jungle, through which visitors came and went.
Laurier dropped more doubloons in the blind men’s cups. To Irwin he said, “Remember, see Mr. Okoa about that job.”
“Aye, Captain. I’m an excellent pilot, I swear. I promise I’ll do the job proper.”
“Homer, make sure everyone knows you’re still crew of the Hazard, even if you never set foot on her again. Men of the Hazard ought to be treated well.”
“Aye aye, Captain!”
The Parish of Christ Church looked anachronistic, like someone had plucked it right out of England from a time long past, and set it down gently here in the Bahamas. Scaffolding all around it was loaded with workers stripped to their waists and using pulleys and ramps to lift cut stone, which, upon asking, Laurier discovered was being brought from a local quarry.
“This man Cockrell,” said Akil. “You never tell me about him before, Captain. He friend to you?”
“The man sets my teeth on edge.”
“Sorry?”
“Not a friend. Not anymore. Well, he is a friend of sorts, eh—mostly just a man I used to know, but necessary to an end. Do you have friends like that where you come from?”
“Yes. We call them bokhu, sort of like a man who carries dung away. He smells, nobody want to be around him, but bokhu is necessary.”
Laurier laughed and clapped Akil’s shoulder. “Then you have it exactly. Father Cockrell is very much bokhu.”
Laurier asked a wagonmaster, who was currently fighting with his oxen to pull a wagon full of large square-cut stones out of the mud, where he could find the church’s overseer. He was directed around to the back of the church where a hole big enough for a horse was cut into the ground, and mud-covered Africans came crawling up a ladder. The Africans were lean but strong, much smaller than Akil, who received odd looks from them. Some of them looked at Bogoa, whose mangled face gave them obvious fright, and Noala, whose babe slept in his sling on her back.
“Father Cockrell?” John asked. One of the Africans pointed into the hole. John knelt by the hole. “Father Cockrell! Ellis, you down there?” While he waited, Laurier whistled. He watched the African workers slurp ladles of water from a bucket while eyeing Akil and the others, all of whom carried sabres or spears.
A muddy face popped out of the ground. When he saw Laurier, Cockrell grinned, and climbed out. John’s heart froze at the sight of his oldest friend.
Ellis Cockrell did not look like a priest. He had his hair long and in a ponytail and wore no robes. He was very handsome. Caramel-smooth skin touched with scars dappled in just the right way, lending ruggedness to silk. “John! I wondered how long it’d be before you turned up. I knew you hadn’t died when they never found your body. Have you come to help us rebuild the church? No, of course not, I’m sure you’re too busy with—what was it? Something to do with a fort, I’m sure I heard. Some men came up from Wynn Street earlier today to trade, brought us news of your exploits. Took me back, hearing those stories.”
“I haven’t come to catch up on old times or brag about new ones, Ellis. Are they still meeting here?”
“Who? You mean the Kings?”
“Yes, I mean the Kings.”
Cockrell nodded and accepted a towel from one of his helpers and wiped his face. “Yes, they still meet here, John. What do you imagine we’re building below? It’s another cellar, just like the old one, in case the Royal Marines ever raid us again. That was something, wasn’t it? We narrowly got away—”
“When is the next meeting supposed to be?”
“Not for another month.”
“Are they all here on the island?”
Cockrell shrugged. “Most of them, I expect. Why?”
“Call for another meeting.”
Cockrell threw his head back and laughed, slapping Laurier’s shoulder. “Same old Johnny! You get an idea and think the world drops what it’s doing! Johnny, you’re only recently on the account, and nobody but the Pirate Kings can call a meeting. You summoning them would be like…like Lord Hamilton summoning King George across the Atlantic for tea! Haw haw haw!”
“Just send out the word,” Laurier said agitatedly. “I’m on the island. They’ll want to speak with me.” He gestured at the hole in the ground. “We can christen your new cellar with its first official gathering.”
“Can’t do it, Johnny boy. Sorry, but I just can’t.” He reached out to touch Laurier’s cheek. “But God welcomes you back, if you’ll admit him into your heart, old friend.”
Laurier lifted his right hand. The talons seized Cockrell’s wrist, and the priest flinched, smile wavering, as Laurier pulled his hand away. Cockrell looked at the deformed hand like it belonged to a demon stepped from his nightmares. Then he looked back at Laurier, and said, “What happened to your hand, John?”
“Never you mind.”
“My God…John, have you been touched by some demon? Corrupted? You wouldn’t be the first. We had a lad here last month was bitten by some ten-foot-long eel no one’s ever seen before. It happened during a Long Night. One of Lucifer’s creatures, no doubt. We prayed for him. Let us pray for you, as well—”
“Tell your God I have more gold and silver than in all his heavenly coffers,” John said. “Tell him I bent the Spaniards over a barrel away in Panamá, and I’m anxious to do it again, to the English and the Dutch and the French and anyone bloody else in my seas. Tell that to the Kings, as well. I’ve gold. And a plan. I know you know how to contact them all, what coves each of them careens in. They trust you. God knows why.” John leaned forward and spoke sotto voce. “And don’t pretend at prayers and godliness with me. We both know what this church is. We both know.”
Cockrell’s eyes lingered on the hand. Then he looked over at the Africans, and an ember of humour returned to his eyes. “Interesting company you’re keeping these days, Ladyman. What are your names?”
Neither Akil nor his friends answered.
“Did he tell you anything about me? No, I shouldn’t think so. Has he told you the same gospel he tried selling to everyone else that’s ever sailed with him, that the only place for you in this world is aboard his ship? I’ll wager he did. I’ll wager he didn’t tell you about men like these,” Cockrell said, gesturing to the Negroes working on the church. “The Ladyman made sure you didn’t know you had another option here in New Providence.”
“Captain gave us choice,” Akil finally said.
“Did he? Well, that’s new for you, John. Or was it a choice at all, really? Was it the same ‘choice’ our Teach gave us? Did you tell them they had this ‘choice’ while they stood aboard your ship, and had nowhere else to go at the time? And now that they’ve killed many Spaniards in your name, their cause cannot help but be married to yours, eh? They’re pirates now. It’s all they know of this world, the only skill they have, and you made sure they learned no other—”
“Just pass along my message to the Kings,” John said, growing tired of Cockrell’s same doggerel. He gestured to Roche, who stepped forward with a heavy bag that jingled, and offered it to Cockrell.
“What’s this?”
“A donation for the church. I had no clue you were rebuilding it, so this is auspicious. Use it however you like. Build a fountain, a statue of Christ doing something noble, as you please. There is a second payment just like that one if you pass the message along, and can convince the Kings to meet.”
Cockrell chuckled. “Johnny boy. Ohhhh, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny. You always remember to grease the axle, don’t you?” The bag disappeared inside the folds of Cockrell’s robe as smoothly as the purse of many a noble’s had done fifteen years ago, before they came to the Caribbean together, before the two of them ever set foot aboard a ship and everything changed for them. As John recalled, once money went into those hands, it never again saw anyone else’s. “I’ll send out messengers within the hour. The Kings will either meet with you or they won’t. Will that do?”
“I suppose it will have to.”
“And will that be all?”
“Yes. No, there’s one other thing. Anne!” There came a crack of gunfire from somewhere in the jungle that alarmed some of the workers. “That be Anne Bonny. I don’t believe the two of you have ever met. She’s always around and she’ll be watching us. I’ve eyes and ears everywhere, you know this already, but just in case you needed reminding…” He started to turn away. “Oh, and I’m going to leave Roche here. You’ve heard of the Brazilian, I’m sure. He won’t be leaving until he sees you send your messengers to the Pirate Kings. Good day, Cockrell.”
The priest smiled and bowed politely. “Good day, John. May God guide you always to safe shores, and someday back to me.”
Laurier stepped back into the jungle, gritting his teeth so hard he thought they might snap.
____
What was it, fourteen, fifteen years since the rookery? John hardly liked to think back on those days. He stood on the balcony on the roof of The Foghorn, one of the first taverns he’d come to when he landed in the West Indies, looking over the tops of wood buildings that, from here, formed a design like concentric rings, spanning outwards from the center of town. Stone ramparts surrounded two tiny, crumbling forts close to the beach. Beyond that beach were almost two dozen pirate ships, including the Hazard, and beyond that was the sea he’d crossed with Ellis Cockrell. More than three thousand bloody miles of seasickness and disease, eating weevil-filled hardtack, shitting his guts out over the rail while in full view of others also shitting their guts out, fighting for every scrap of deck he could find to sleep, and all the while wondering, Is Ellis going to kill me?
Back then, Laurier’s hands had shaken at the very thought of violence. He would never have hurt Ellis, even if it had been Ellis who struck first, even though he knew that if Ellis did attack him, it would mean his death. His hands did not shake now. One of them made a fist. The other one, the Corrupted one, tapped lightly on the balcony rail.
There was a jolting sensation, something between pleasure and pain, that started in his new hand and traveled all the way up to his elbow, his shoulder, up and down his spine, to his sphincter and brain. He clenched his jaw a moment, let it pass, and let out a sigh. Looking down at the taloned hand, John reached down and slowly peeled away the satin glove he’d forcefully stretched over it. He ran his left-hand fingers over his right-hand fingers. The right hand still felt no sensation at all. And yet it obeyed him whenever he moved it. Its motions were elegant and smooth, graceful as an eel.
A fly buzzed by his face, and with speed he’d never possessed before, John reached out and snatched the insect out of the air, pinching it precisely between thumb-talon and middle-talon. It was done with such precision the fly appeared undamaged, yet the fine tips of each talon had skewered it.
He flicked it away. Rested both hands on the balcony. Looked out over the sea as the sun set. For the rest of human history people would have to wonder if the sun was coming up tomorrow. So strange, to have such a fixture of the heavens, something so consistent that its movements could be accurately guessed from season to season, and had been written about for centuries and understood as nonnegotiable, suddenly become as erratic as the whims of a summertime lover.
Footsteps approaching. Without thinking John’s Corrupted hand shot to his hilt and drew his cutlass before he could even turn. Anne was there, hands out, having kept her distance since learning Laurier’s right hand had a mind of its own. “I spoke to him.”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“Braithwaite? What did he say?”
“He has one. But just one. Most of the components that you’ll need for the crane, as well.”
Laurier relaxed his posture, and sheathed his sword. “Excellent job, Anne. Go check on Roche at the church, see if all’s well. But speak with Akil before you go, in case he needs anything.”
“Aye, sir.” She hesitated.
“Something else?”
“I was just wondering why we need a diving bell, Captain. And if so, why one of Braithwaite’s? Surely there’s cheaper ones at other ports.”
“Not many other ports are friendly to our kind anymore, Anne. Or haven’t you noticed? And while others may build cheaper diving bells, none of them will be better than Braithwaite’s, faith.”
Anne nodded. “Very good, Captain. But he’s expecting a lot.”
“And we can afford it. We can afford anything right now, Anne.” John turned back to face the sea. “We are kings of all the world, after all. Who has more freedom than us? Certainly not Philip or Lucky George. Certainly no one but us.” He added, “Enjoy this moment, there won’t be many like it in this lifetime, and few ever experience it at all.”
“Reminds me. I stopped by the harbour. Okoa says there’s been lots o’ fellas looking to crew the Hazard when we head out next. Word of our haul is spreading fast, Captain.”
“Like sharks with blood in the water. Well, that was the plan. We still must watch and quarter them all,” he said. Meaning, they would need to assign them all jobs. “What about that pilot? Irwin was his name.”
“Okoa’s already acquainted him with the Hazard. Fella’s fingers touch the steering like it’s his lover. Fella seems right confident, Captain.”
“Good, he’ll need that confidence. They all will.”
“There’s some tars on deck all want to sail on the Hazard, them as can’t find work elsewhere.”
Laurier could see some of those sailors now. Their bodies certainly bore the stigmata of years of sea life: that leathery skin, those crooked and tar-stained fingers, a few scars from punishments by the cat’o’nine. Most had likely been highwaymen in their day, Newgate birds, burglars, jack-a-dandies, pickpockets, gamesters, thieves of every kind. One or two might merely be former navy men that had fallen on hard times. “Watch and quarter them all. As I said.”
“Aye. Okoa also said there’s a big fella waiting for you down by the docks. Fat fella that dresses real nice like. Says he has information he thinks you’ll be interested in. Says he knows you.”
“I’m sure he does. What’s his name?”
“Funny name. What was it…rhymes with cunt, I remember. Munt, that’s it.”
Laurier shrugged. “I don’t know him. I’m sure—wait.” It had been months since he had even thought about the corpulent fellow that dressed like a Nancy and was speaking to Benjamin secretively about something at The Golden Goose. He had nearly forgotten the man’s name. Had nearly forgotten everything about those days just before the Cataclysm, when he and Benjamin had finally been on good terms, each of them forming their own private plans. “Where is he now?”
“Still at the docks, waiting by the Hazard last I saw.”
____
“I understand,” said Munt, shifting his wide arse across two barrels, “that you’ve come to see Father Cockrell.”
Laurier came strolling down the dock to meet him. “What do you know about that?” he asked, doffing his hat and tossing it onto a barrel opposite Munt.
“Ah, my dear lad, I know a lot about a lot. It’s my only gift really, to be sure.” Munt grunted as he leaned forward and rolled up the pant leg of his left leg. There was terrible redness and swelling—the gout, no doubt—but he just sort of smiled as he massaged it, like the pain was an old friend. “I know things such as this: you and Cockrell were once friends, weren’t you? Came here together on either the Albion, the Belfast, or the Equinox, tales vary. Then some say you found your way aboard Queen Anne’s Revenge?” He winced as she rubbed his calf muscle, which looked ready to burst through his flesh.
“We have ointments for that aboard the ship.”
“How very good of you. But thank you, I’ve my own remedies. I could not go far without them.” Munt gestured to Laurier’s own malady. “That hand. Some around here are already talking about Corruption. That’s what they call it whenever someone like you turns up.”
John nodded. “I know. We met some of them on Kanal Island.” It had been a brief careen, just a day of repairs, John had been ashore trying to heal up, get some fresh air while he watched Okoa direct his men to work. There had been Carib natives on the island, and a few marooned sailors, some of which had been attacked by the same Beasts said to have assaulted Port Royal. Those that had lived had had wounds grievous like John’s, with strange protrusions coming out of them, usually a black tentacle that flopped around. As with John’s new appendage, all attempts to amputate them failed, as they only grew back. The next day, the Long Night began, and the Hazard had set sail under two white moons.
“Been touched by one of them, haven’t you?” Munt chuckled. “Well, same as me. This looks like gout, I know, but in fact I was bitten by something, some creature that came into Port Royal during the Cataclysm, on the very night you disappeared, in fact.”
Laurier’s eyes narrowed. “How many has this happened to?”
“Oh, I’ve heard stories of a dozen or so others.” Munt sighed wearily. “I myself left Royal after the Cataclysm, when it became clear our mutual friend wasn’t going to go into a business venture with me, after all, and instead decided to help the island bureaucrats and the Royal Navy in their time of need.” He looked up at Laurier. “Aren’t you even going to ask about him?”
“I assume Captain Vhingfrith endures, as ever. Else I would’ve heard differently.”
“He does, he does endure. He’s a survivor like yourself. Like me, too, I suppose, only my adventures are less gallant.” He laughed at himself, and drank from a flask and rubbed at his swollen leg. “Cockrell. He turned to God at some point when he got here. Is that what happened between you two?”
Laurier paced around the dock, aware of the gazes he drew from dockworkers. Beside him, waves lapped lightly against Hazard’s hull. “He found God when he reached these shores. He has a very specific relationship with the Almighty, as well as an interesting interpretation of His Scripture.”
“Most holy men feel this way. That their relationship with the Sovereign is unique. But not too unique, you see, for any person who has claimed to have a ‘special’ connection to this Power has been invariably persecuted. John Scotus Eriugena was excommunicated, Bruno was burnt at the stake, all of Meister Eckhart’s theses were condemned.” Munt nodded sagaciously and took another sip, and belched. “Clever holy men know how to make their messages stand out, to gather their flock, but they must still operate within the—ah, never mind, I can tell I’m boring you. Perhaps I’m mistaking you for my old friend Vhingfrith, who does love a philosophical discussion, and who I’ve come to beg you to help.”
Laurier stopped pacing and looked at him. “What do you mean, ‘help’?”
Munt sighed. “Oh dear. I thought you might be clueless, or else surely you would’ve already left for Port Royal, along with your—”
“What the fuck are you talking about? Tell me what’s happened, Munt.”
Munt massaged his leg. “Our dear boy is in a dungeon. In Marshallsea Prison, in fact. I saw him just once when he came to shore in shackles, and bribed a militiaman to let me speak with him for five minutes. John, he bade me give you this, should you ever return from the dead.” Munt reached inside his shirt pocket and pulled out a necklace, at the end of which was a silver locket John knew very well.
“I’ve laid a trap for you,” said Munt. “You know that. And here is the bait. You know that I’m only here because of my business agreement with Vhingfrith, and though he abandoned our agreement to chase the Spanish, I think now he will reconsider our deal. If I can free him.” Munt nodded. “But it is a trap I’m laying now, I do confess. And I apologize. And I am sincerely sorry that they took the man you love most in the world. But I also confess to being selfish, and will use this to my benefit. So there.”
John reached out slowly and took the locket.
“A thousand-pound reward is on your head now, and a hundred for any pirate that sails with you.” Munt lifted one ass cheek and farted. “King George has straitly commanded all his governors in this part of the world by no means to suffer any trade with your kind. To give you no succour, no safety, not even a modicum of leniency. All he wants is your eradication. Woodes Rogers and Governor Hamilton mean to see it done. Nassau is still the Republic of Pirates, but if you leave here, only a gallows waits for you elsewhere in the Caribbean.”
John gripped the locket in his Corrupted fist, and quickly drew his pistol with his other hand and pressed the barrel against the fat man’s head. His lip curled in disgust. “Did you help Woodes Rogers design this plan to lure me?”
“On my life, sir, no,” Munt said calmly, and massaged his leg. “But I saw an opportunity and I’m exploiting it. Benjamin never told you what I’m after, did he? He never told you about Levasseur’s treasure.” He shook his head. “No, I thought not. Let me tell you, then. And then I will tell you what deal I mean to cut with you, in exchange for what I know about the treasure, for bringing me along, and for the people in Port Royal that I can leverage to help you get Benjamin back. Do this, and not only can you save him, you can have a cut of Levasseur’s treasure.”
John’s heart was racing. His mind was suddenly filled with a silken rage and it would have felt good to shoot Munt dead on the spot. But he was panicking. Short of breath. Imagining Benjamin sitting in a dungeon, being whipped, being fitted for a noose—
“I don’t give a fuck about this…treasure, or whatever it is you’re after. But…Benjamin…so help me God, Munt, if you’re lying to me—”
“I’m not lying, sir. See it in my eyes. I’m not lying.”
Tears formed at the rims of his eyes, but John managed to hold them back. He lowered the pistol. Paced a moment. Considered this might be a trap.
Then he looked back at Munt. “Marshallsea Prison. How many entrances? How many guards?”
____
The exchange happened the next day when there should have been a dawn. Dobbs helped Jenkins and a number of the Africans roll barrels of silver doubloons onto the dock, and watched as they were deposited onto the back of a wagon pulled by two oxen and carried away. Dobbs stood on the beach looking at the eastern horizon. The sun was an hour late, which meant they had entered another Long Night. There were too many clouds to tell if they had any new moons to contend with.
The bloody Hellmouth won’t let us out, Abner, thought Dobbs. His eye drifted south along the beach, to where Jenkins and Isaacson were receiving a wagon coming in from Melon Street, making its slow way down the ramp to the dock. On the back of that large wagon was an enormous bell, twice the size of the largest church bell Dobbs had ever seen, half covered in bedsheets and rope to keep it steady in the wagon.
Isaacson hopped off the wagon and muttered something to Jenkins, then shouted down to Dobbs, “Oi! Boy! Make yourself useful, go an’ tell the Negroes we need help with this!”
Dobbs nodded. How will I kill you? Captain’s given me permission, but he says the time is mine to pick. Could I do it now, in the open? It goes against Pirate Law of a fair dual. No, I should like to wait for a better moment. I don’t know when that’ll be, but I feel like your death should somehow be useful, Isaacson. It should have greater purpose.
“Oi! Did you hear me?”
“Of course,” Dobbs said, and ran back to the Hazard to fetch Akil.
____
Akil did not understand the purpose of the large device they were offloading. It required twenty men all moving around it with long metal poles carefully slid through hoops on its side. When the sheets came off, he saw that it was an enormous bell, about a head taller than himself, and from it extended numerous tubes and something else that looked like an inflatable stomach.
There were large beams of wood and a pulley system that also had to be taken off the wagon and hauled aboard the Hazard. Captain Laurier oversaw every bit of the work, and took off all his clothes except for a loincloth and joined in.
“What—is—this—rafiki?” asked Bogoa. It was getting hard for him to speak, for the wound to his face, while healing, had become Corrupted with boils and black patches across his flesh. One part of his face was nearly skeletal, while the part of his mouth that he still had was swollen like he’d been stung by bees.
“I don’t know, brother,” Akil grunted, bending to pick up the metal bars and lift the bell up. “Another white man’s contraption. His, I suppose.” With his chin, he pointed to the tall, potbellied man in important-looking brown robes, talking to Captain Laurier, the Frenchman, and some hugely fat man down on the dock.
Noala, who had her sleeping child strapped to her back and was clearing away clutter from the deck to make room for the crane assembly, walked by Akil and Bogoa, and said, “I heard the captain asking the Frenchman something about going underwater. He said, ‘Are you sure we will be able to breathe down there?’ The Frenchman said yes.”
Akil and Bogoa exchanged quizzical looks. How on earth could a bell help anyone breathe underwater like a fish?
____
As the Long Night grew cold and the clouds dispersed, new constellations were revealed, some of the stars pulsed with red light. There was a single red-and-yellow moon, gibbous at the moment, and it was extraordinarily large. Its glow gave shape to the bronze-coloured diving bell as it was set on the center of the deck. The shape of the thing is magnificent, LaCroix thought. He wondered how the moulding had been made so smooth, with the aperture at the bottom being large enough for three people to fit inside. The four windows were also finely made. And those chains! He’d never seen such large metal chains, each iron link half as big as his fist.
“—and you’ll want to oil the gears on the crane daily,” the man Braithwaite was saying, adjusting his foggy spectacles. “The sea air may be bracing for the human soul, but I’m afraid it has a compoundingly corrosive effect on machines like these.”
“I’m well aware of what happens to iron in saltwater, old friend,” Captain Laurier was saying.
“And you’ll need special oils to keep it well lubricated,” Braithwaite went on as though he hadn’t heard. “I have a bouquet of them in my bag I brought with me. And I believe I told you before that the air pumps allow you air for one half-hour, but you could go longer if—”
“You’ll want to share those with Mr. LaCroix here, he’s my man in all matters of engineering. I hand you off to him now, make sure you give him a full detailing of the maintenance required.”
LaCroix could think of nothing that excited him more at the moment, but first he had to know something. “Capitaine, do you have an ear for me?”
“Make it quick, LaCroix, I’ve other matters to attend.” He was already clutching Munt’s elbow like he meant to guide the fat man away for a private talk.
“I just want to ask, why now? Why, after all this time, do you wish to explore the ocean floor?”
“Because there is more to it now than ever before.” Laurier’s Corrupted hand twitched, and LaCroix backed away. He was sure Laurier had caught the motion. “The firmament has changed the world. The sea perhaps more than anything else. I would very much like to know who our new neighbours are.”
LaCroix had been smiling in exultation at the diving bell, but now that smile died. “You…you intend to…?”
“There are many uses for a diving bell, my friend. Who knows when it’ll come in handy?” The captain nodded aft. “Hazard’s still injured, see to her repairs before we leave. Send some men ashore to fetch wood from the forest. Should you need more oakum and pitch, tell Okoa, he’ll see to it.”
“Aye, sir.” LaCroix considered asking more. But then he remembered the saying that went around Port Royal. There’s a hundred reasons why the Ladyman does anything.
____
The Long Night was ongoing, and it found the Hazard’s crew on main deck. Laurier stood before all of them, on the second step of the quarterdeck stairs. Each man and woman had his or her own ideas about what they were doing here in Nassau, what they were doing buying a diving bell, an apparatus none of them understood, and where they were going next. The Africans were intermingling with the rest of the crew at this point. The blacks sat next to the whites on barrels, Roche sat on a cannon whittling, Anne was lying down, head propped up on the railing, Dobbs was standing behind Isaacson, and LaCroix was up in the netting with his legs threaded through the gaps, looking down on the proceedings.
Laurier told himself that he must be honest with them, but that his reasoning must also be sound. If he gave any hint that he was deceiving them, they would feel betrayed, and all these months of building trust would be for nothing. They did not mind if he lied to anyone else. All the world be damned, but this was their ship, and this was their captain. The Ladyman. And no other like him.
Laurier touched the two lockets that now hung from his neck, and recalled a friendship like no other, a love that rivaled that of his crew, but did not exceed it. If he was being honest with himself, he had three loves: Benjamin Vhingfrith, his crew, and freedom as only the open sea could provide. He must find a way to have all three.
Removing his glove to show his Corrupted, blackened hand, he exposed himself in a way he had never done before. May as well be naked at this point. Most of his crew had already seen it, but it still brought a heavy silence. “You see that?” he said, pointing at the sky. “It was once permanent. The sun came up and it went back down and there was only one moon in the heavens. That time is past.” He looked at his Corrupted hand as if seeing it for the first time. “See this? No wound like it anywhere, is there?”
“No, Cap’n,” they murmured.
“And no ship like Hazard, is there?”
“No, Cap’n,” they intoned more proudly.
“You feel her? Beneath your feet? She’s sleeping now, lads. But like a lioness, she awakens thirsty. And hungry. Do you feel her?”
“Aye, Cap’n!” they said eagerly. Some of them stomped the deck with their feet to feel her more.
Laurier nodded. “The sky is not permanent, so you know God has changed His mind. Just like He changed it from Old Testament to the New. God changes His mind, lads. Or else He’s stepped away from His godly duties and relinquished our world to…others. So, now you know, nothing is certain. He’s proven His willingness to abandon us. After all this time, setting the Universe to His list of laws, and setting the rules on where you can live, what you can have, who you must obey.” Laurier looked each of them in the eye. “And who you can love.”
They were all still, waiting to hear the word.
Placing his Corrupted hand on the railing, he waited with them.
“I’m not going to mince words any longer. And I’m not going to lead you on. I have room in my heart for only three things: the sea, you fucking scallywags, and one other man in particular. I believe you all know who that man be.”
Some nodded. Most said nothing. Noala shushed her baby, who had just started crying.
Feeling inspiration take him, Laurier pointed to her. “Hear that? Listen well, lads, because that’s the noise you all made when you came into this world, helpless and unable to crawl or fight or fend for yourself. You were done to. The world did as it pleased with you, and you had no say. No say at all. Well, not anymore. Before you came aboard the Hazard, you had no family. Well, not anymore. Before I took you, and embraced you, you had to jump from ship to bloody ship, making meagre earnings from meagre treasures. Well, not anymore! You took on an entire bloody Spanish fort, and you won! Before that day, the world had never heard of you, much less feared your names. Well! Not! Any! More!”
“A-hoooo-rahhhh!” they shouted.
“You were all like yonder crying child. So, will you protect it now?” He pointed to Jenkins. “You! Will you protect Noala’s child with your life?”
“Aye, Captain!”
“And why?”
“Because he’s bloody crew, Cap’n!”
Everyone laughed and stomped and cheered.
“That’s fucking right. He’s bloody crew, id’n he?” Laurier looked up at the maintop, and they followed his gaze to the Jolly Roger, the black flag flapping in the breeze, the skull and bones rippling animatedly. “Look how happy you boys make ol’ Jolly Roger!”
They laughed and stomped and banged their fists on barrels. Even the Africans, most of whom spoke barely any English, thumped their spears against the planks. Anne shot to her feet and fired her pistol in the air and others did the same.
Laurier had them now. So he closed the deal.
“We are all Corrupted now. Like this hand of mine. Born into a world we did not ask for, tossed into lives we never asked for, and then abandoned by England! And then used again by her when she needed us against Spain, only to be targeted ourselves once we’d already bent King Philip over a barrel! Now England hasn’t just abandoned us, she means to kill us! So, when I tell you I mean to head back into Port Royal, I need you to understand why!” he cried.
They all settled down to listen. Here was the crucial part. They could all vote against this action. He had to sell them on it.
“I am like you all. I love who and what I want, and fuck everyone else! I told you before, I love the sea, you scallywags, and one man in particular! If anyone came for any of you, I’d kill them. If someone tried to take the sea from me, I’d crush them. And if someone means harm to that particular man, I will eat their hearts!” And now he had to humble himself before them, make himself vulnerable to attack. “And so, I cannot ask that you all come with me, for this is my love, my particular man. And they mean to hang him, brothers. The Admiralty at Port Royal mean to hang this particular man as a criminal, as some sort of conspirator against the Crown. And while this particular man may call himself a privateer, do you know what I call him? A pirate!”
There were a few nods. He could most likely buy the rest of them off with promise of greater shares of the Spanish treasure resting belowdecks. But he needed more than that from them. He needed their hearts.
Some of them will go with me. Some of them will. But not all of them, not to save the Devil’s Son, a privateer not on the account. But I need them all. And only their hearts will summon them.
“Akil!”
The warrior stepped forward. “Yes, Captain?”
“Come here, please.”
As Akil approached, Laurier drew his cutlass and beckoned the warrior to join him up on the steps. He handed Akil the sword, and held out his left hand. He spoke loud enough so that all could hear. “I’m going to ask a question of my crew, and should any man answer yay, I command Mr. Akil, our own master-at-arms, to lop off my only un-Corrupted hand. Do you understand?”
Akil blinked, but otherwise showed no emotion. “Yes, Captain.”
Laurier rolled up his sleeve slowly so that they all could see. He let them whisper amongst one another for a moment, then laid his left hand on the rail. “Does any man here think I do not love him as much as I love Benjamin Vhingfrith?” he shouted. “Say yay, and this hand leaves me. I swear it. If that is what it takes to prove it to you, I swear it will be done.”
But for the wind across the deck and the waves lapping the hull, the Hazard was tomb-quiet.
There.
“I’m glad to hear it. Then I must ask you this, brothers, sisters, you who’ve raided the Spanish and spat in King Philip’s eye. Will you come with me to Port Royal, and spit in King George’s?”
Predictably, Dobbs was the first to step forward, and spat vehemently. Jenkins chuckled, and spat. Next to spit was LaCroix up in the netting, then Okoa and Jaime and all the others. Many of the Africans only caught on that this custom was warranted, and so spat. Men laughed, and spat in each other’s faces. A couple of men punched one another, but it was all in good fun.
Captain Laurier smiled and rolled down his sleeve. “I’m relieved you didn’t have to maim me further, Mr. Akil.”
“Me too, Captain. I’m afraid it might grow back, too.”
Laurier smirked, and went belowdecks.
____
John maintained his composure as he crossed the companionway into his cabin, and then he slumped in his chair and faced the windows and stared out at the Long Night. He rummaged through his drawers, looking for a new glove to cover his Corrupted hand. White satin, pearl embroidery. He’d lost its mate some years ago and never found it. He had to cut holes from the tips to allow his talons through. Then he removed the iron file from another drawer, and began filing his talons. It was an ongoing project to see if it could be done. So far, after months of filing, the talons would not diminish. Sharp as razors, they wouldn’t even dull.
There was a knock at his door and he quickly put the file away. “Come in.”
The door opened enough for Captain Belmont to poke his head in. “Are you busy, Captain?”
“No, Captain Belmont, what is it?”
The militiaman stepped in with a bag at his side, the one filled with everything needed for physic. “Shall I take another look at it now?”
“You’re so concerned about my hand? My health?”
“Only so far as it guarantees a return on your promise to me, Captain.”
Laurier nodded. “You’ll be returned to Port Royal. Perhaps sooner than expected, my friend.”
“We aren’t friends, I’ve told you.”
“And I’ve told you not everyone called ‘my friend’ is really a friend.”
They stared at one another beat. Laurier cracked a smile. Belmont did not.
Wordlessly, Laurier presented his Corrupted hand for inspection, and Belmont stepped over to examine it. “How is it today?”
“Same as before. No change.”
“That was quite a speech you gave up there.”
“You were listening?”
“Yes.” Belmont pulled on gloves of his own to handle the Corrupted hand, then used forceps and a small razor blade to poke and prod. The external veins, which ran around the Corrupted hand in strange looping designs, were thick and tough as cord, and occasionally pulsed with dark purple light. Belmont always seemed fascinated by those veins, and gave most of his attention to their study. “You’ve convinced them all to go on some suicide errand for you.”
“They go because they believe in fighting against the shackles of England.”
“Maybe some of them. Not all of them. If it was all of them, there would be no need for a speech like that.”
Laurier looked at him. The man sees right through me. He found that refreshing. The Ladyman did so tire of everyone agreeing with him. Occasionally it was fun to have disagreement, even argument. He shrugged. “In any case, you have no need to worry, my friend. For I would not dream of forcing you to fight against your own people.”
“I wouldn’t obey the order if you gave it,” Belmont countered.
“Of course. But you know I cannot release you once we get to Port Royal, not immediately, not until I have what I came for.”
“You mean who.”
Laurier shrugged. “Who. What. It’s all the same.” He looked at his hand and became disgusted all over again with how he couldn’t feel any of Belmont’s proddings, and he yanked it away and stood up and paced to the windows. He stared for a moment and said, “This Long Night…do you think we will survive it?”
“You mean this particular one, or all the ones to come?”
“So, you don’t think this will end.”
Belmont sighed and clapped his thighs and stood up. “I may know my physic, but I’m a soldier at heart, and soldiers believe things will get worse before they get better. Soldiers are usually right about that sort of thing.”
Laurier snorted. With his left hand, he pulled up his shirt, and looked at the cuts across his belly. In his sleep, the Corrupted hand often twitched, and slashed out against his surroundings. There were gashes across his chest and legs, against the walls beside his bed, in his pillow, which was on the floor right now, spilling its feathers. He’d had to sew one of his cuts and apply hot iron, for it was so deep. He’d dreamt once that the hand had tried to strangle him in his sleep. He wondered if it had been a dream.
“The world is changing, Belmont. What will you do when the sun sets for the last time? Crops will continue to fail. I’ve heard of famines—one in Japan a hundred years ago, and another one in China some eighty years ago—that lasted so long people began eating each other. Where will you want to be when all the food has run out?”
Belmont didn’t need to think about his answer. “I’ll want to be with my family. Those I love.”
“That’s funny, I want the same.” Laurier said, turning to him. “Someone to be with when it’s all ending.”
“It won’t end like this. God won’t let it.”
Laurier laughed. “Hear this man! Forsaken by God and thrown to the pirates, and sure to return to Port Royal in shame. Yet still he speaks of God’s glory and goodness.”
Belmont bristled. “I don’t appreciate hearing the Lord spoken of so flippantly.”
“I don’t appreciate Him treating us so flippantly.”
The militiaman bristled again, then chuckled to himself.
“I’ve said something funny?”
“What is all this about, Ladyman?” Belmont asked. “Where do you think this is all going? The Age of Piracy is at an end, surely you see that. Even privateers like your friend Vhingfrith are no longer safe, they’re seen as the twin to your kind. And now that I’ve seen you at work I cannot but fathom you are a man who sees things before they happen. You know that there is no ending to the path you’re on that doesn’t include a gallows. And yet you fight on. Why?”
Laurier walked over to his desk, opened a drawer with his left hand, and pulled out a bottle of bourbon with his right. The Corrupted hand poured with uncommon precision, never spilling a drop, nor altering steady pour, no matter how the ship swayed. He lifted the glass to his lips, held only by his five razor-sharp talons. Belmont looked unnerved by it, which was the point.
“Have you ever heard of Libertalia?” Laurier asked.
Belmont winced. “I’ve heard of it. A supposed secret pirate haven, somewhere on Madagascar. The legend is that someone intends on building a permanent settlement there, to be the capital city of the Caribbean, and the grand central city of the Republic of Pirates.”
“A legend? You don’t believe in it?”
“It’s all myth.”
“Pirate myth?”
“Something that size cannot be built without anyone knowing—”
“Why not? And give me the particulars.”
Belmont scratched his chin and shrugged. “It’s just too big to exist and no one know about it.”
“Don’t dodge the question. Be specific. Why must it be a myth?”
Belmont sighed. “I helped build Fort Carlisle. I watched Port Royal grow to the size it is. For an operation that size, one would require capital, investment, resources beyond measure, architects willing to live among pirates for several seasons, and workers disciplined enough to complete the task over several years.” Belmont shrugged. “That’s not something pirates have. Not for long. They’re too busy squandering it on…” He trailed off.
“Go on, say it.”
“Whores and liquor.”
Laurier sighed, drank, and paced.
“Is that why you came here, Captain Laurier? They say there’s a hundred reasons why the Ladyman does anything.”
“Is that what they say?” Laurier laughed. “Belmont, are you completely dedicated to King and country? To the Crown, and nothing else?”
“That is my duty, so yes.”
“What if I offered you half of my share of the Spanish treasure we hold? And all you have to do is stay on my ship and teach me, help remind me of the maneuvers England will attempt against us. And if I said it was for a year. A year tenure with us. If I contracted you for that long, what would you say?”
Belmont bristled once again. Gathered his bag. “Will that be all, Captain?”
“I didn’t summon you. You came of your own accord. But yes, you may go.”
Belmont left.
John continued looking out at the Long Night. Then he looked down at his Corrupted hand. “Fuck you,” he said to it. It didn’t react. Didn’t acknowledge it knew what he was saying at all. “Fuck you.” John paced a moment, pulling out the silver locket Munt had handed him. Ben’s locket. The other half of his soul. He paced around the room, scraping his talons across his desk, until those long, charred fingers touched the hilt of his cutlass, lying there on the desk. John lifted the sword. Gripped it tight. Gave it a soft, elegant swing, as smooth as a fish through water.
____
After clearing everything with Munt, Laurier walked back over to Braithwaite, and shook his hand (making sure to use his left hand). “I’m grateful for this.”
“I’m the one should be grateful, John. There are no real explorers left in the West Indies, it’s all been discovered, so no one has need of a diving bell much these days. And with this perhaps being the End of Days…well, no one has use for my contraptions anymore.”
“You’re certain it will work?”
“Better than any diving bell you’ll find in the world. You can trust me on that, old friend.” Braithwaite adjusted his spectacles, and made a pained face. “Did you see Cockrell?”
Laurier shrugged. “We spoke. He’s going to be doing me a favour. I have nothing more to say to him besides business.”
Braithwaite winced. “I’m sorry to hear that. I remember you once said how very close you were. And I remember how he protected you when…well…” He sighed. “All that’s water under the bridge now, eh?”
“Indeed, old friend.” Laurier looked out at the dark, choppy waters. At the Long Night. “Indeed. Very ancient. And that bridge is far, far from here.”