Raised By Wolves 1 - Brethren (69 page)

I did not wish to speak of any of it. I rolled onto my back, and he slipped from the hammock to retrieve weapons and place them in the netting. He returned to lay partially atop me.

“Will?” he queried my chest.

“I saw you in an asylum, and you were begging me to kill you. I could not bear to see you in pain. I will never allow anyone to hurt you. I would rather see you dead than tortured.”

I gasped at my last words. “That is awful. I am sorry. How selfish of me.”He was very still. “I would rather be dead than suffer again; and if my madness ever does bring me to such a state, I would rather you kill me.”“It will not come to that.”

He sighed. “I have night horrors, too. I dream of harming you while mad.”

I had dreamed of that myself, many times. “It will not come to that.”

He raised his head to regard me. “Do you speak from faith or defiance?”

“Delusion?” I proffered with a smile.

“Go to sleep.”

I prayed the Gods truly granted dreams of hope and paid little heed to ones of fear.

Wherein We Chart A New Course

I thankfully had no more memorable dreams that night. We woke to voices and the smell of food wafting though the window, as our room was at the back of the house. I found myself piss-hard as I often do, especially with his naked body pressed against me. I knew he would have none of it, and I quickly rolled out of the hammock and donned my clothes to go to the latrine.

I discovered Cudro and a few other men sleeping in the front room.

I left them to their snoring. I wondered just who slept here. I knew the wolves had a room and we had ours. I guessed Julio and Davey had the third. Perhaps Belfry, Tom, and Dickey had the fourth. I wondered if any of them were helping with the cost of food and water.

In the yard, Striker was sitting in the bathing tub with his breeches on. He was staring at some distant point in the sky that I was sure only he could see. I passed him without comment and used the latrine.

When I emerged he asked, “Did I say anything of interest last night?”

I walked over to him and discovered the tub did contain water.

Several possible retorts and jests occurred to me, but I opted for kindness of a sort.

“I do not know. I heard nothing, but then I did not hear more than three words from you all night, as you were quite inebriated when you reached our table. You could have said all manner of foolishness to Morgan and Bradley.”

“That is what I’m afraid of. I was hoping someone of a more sober nature was there. Pete was as drunk as I, and he never remembers Raised By Wolves - Brethren

things.”

I surmised that, to some degree, Striker was still intoxicated. “You should return to your bed.”

“Nay, Pete’s snoring.”

“Well, you should at least cease sitting in a bucket of water.”

He regarded me quizzically. “I rather enjoy it.”

“Later today, when you are not inclined to sit in tubs of water while clothed, we need to speak of matters of import regarding things I do remember being said last night.”

Striker nodded. “Where can I find you?”

“I do not know, as of yet. I know we shall go by the gunsmith’s, and then there was talk of meeting at the new ship.”

“The new ship?” he blinked comically for a moment, and then rose from the tub in a soggy rush. “That… that… aye.” He frowned and nodded to himself. “I shall rouse Pete. After the smith’s, please return here and gather us, and we will accompany you.” He leaned on the cistern and continued to collect his wits.

“We can wait until later in the day.”

“Nay, I would see her.”

Gaston had emerged from the house, used the latrine, and joined us. “Who?”

“The ship they returned on.”

“Have you…?” he began to ask in French. I shook my head. He looked toward the cookhouse. “Will we be fed?” he asked in English.

“When Pete rises,” Striker said. “She’s only nice to him.”

“Oh bloody Hell,” I chuckled. “And how does he regard this?”

“He is still wary of her, as if she were a wild dog that might turn on him at any moment.”

“That seems wise,” Gaston said.

I regarded my matelot. “I am of the suspicion that you are not very fond of women, either.”

“I am not familiar with them. Except for the maids and governesses of my childhood, I have met few, and I did not like the maids and governesses. I do not dislike women in general.”

“Nay, because then you would be forced to like horses.”

He smirked.

I must admit I approached the cookhouse with a small amount of trepidation. I found Rachel cooking a large pan of eggs. There was a heaping platter of broiled fish. She started when she turned enough to spy me.

“Sorry, I came to inquire as to food. It smelled quite lovely upstairs.

May we eat it?”

She nodded pleasantly enough. “Aye sir, will you be wanting to eat out here, or at the table?”

I considered it. “Here should be fine.”

“Will you be sharing it?”

I nodded. She pulled a good pewter plate from a shelf, ladled eggs on it, and added fish. I accepted it happily.

“Can you get him out of that tub, sir?” she asked.

“He is standing now. Please forgive him; he is still intoxicated from last night.”

She nodded. “I am not used to men indulging in strong drink.”

“I assure you he is a sober and industrious fellow when at sea; we all are.”

“Will he ever be sober when he is in port?”

“Has he been drunk every night?”

She nodded with a grimace.

I nodded thoughtfully, “I truly do not know if there is much I can do concerning that.”

“And I should not complain, as it is not my place. I realize that, sir.”

“True, but… Has there been issue?”

“Nay, nay.” Then she shrugged. “They’ve retched in the house a few times and…” She flushed. “They do not seem overly concerned about where they are when they do a number of things, when they are intoxicated.”

“Ahhh,” I said as understanding dawned. “They are not overly concerned with where they do that when they are sober. I will speak to the others, and we will attempt to be more discreet about the house.”

I returned to Striker and asked, “Did you bugger one another in front of the housekeeper?”

He thought and then his eyes went wide. He chuckled and looked over his shoulder to the cookhouse. “Not with malice. Is that what she’s bothered about?”

“Aye, and I said we would attempt to be more discreet.”

“I can attempt to do many things,” Striker said. “My matelot on the other hand…”

I could see his point.

Gaston was chewing thoughtfully on a piece of fish. “This is not bad, but I would prefer bacon.”

“She is Jewish,” I said.

He swore flagrantly in French. When he calmed he said, “I had forgotten. However, she does not have to eat it.”

“I think there are prohibitions about it cooking in the same pan. So I feel we will not eat pork at all while she is with us.”

Gaston appeared ill-pleased with all things religious. In contrast, I thought it likely she thought us silly over the boiling of the water.

We ate, performed our morning toilette, such as it was, and left for the gunsmith’s.

Massey was pleased to see us. Our muskets were ready. Minimal damage had been done by the rough handling, and he pronounced them as good as new. We explained that a number of the men sailing with us had lost theirs altogether, and inquired as to what he had on hand.

He only had six of the fine pieces from Dieppe, and another nine of somewhat inferior quality from England and Holland. They were similar to the piece I had arrived with; and I realized I had another I could loan someone. Massey was not willing to part with all fifteen, as that would leave him nothing to offer any other buccaneer who might be in dire straits before his next shipment. I thought this kind but misguided; but as I was often the same. I did not argue. After some haggling, we reached a price on the high side of satisfactory for twelve of them, including five of the fine pieces and seven of the others.

Massey led us into the back room and opened a vault of sorts built into the floor. There he retrieved a box with Gaston’s name on it, from amongst over thirty of its brethren. I realized Massey was truly a bank of sorts.

Gaston set the box on the corner of a work table and opened it.

There was good deal of gold in the box, as well as silver and some gems.

Gaston counted out enough to cover the debt to Massey, which was now several hundred pounds, more to replenish what he had spent on the horses, and then still more. He handed a good fifty pounds to me. “Keep this.”

I did not view it as money I could spend, but as a thing I held for him.He put a similar amount into the bag he wore inside his breeches and the rest in his belt pouch. There were still over five hundred pounds in the box.

“However does he not get robbed?” I asked.

“He only holds buccaneer money. If I were robbed, I would hunt the thief to the ends of the world. He holds money for over a score of men like me.”

I chuckled. “And only those he holds money for know of it, I would wager.”

He nodded.

Massey gave us a receipt and vouchers for us to give to the men we would allot the muskets to, as we were not going attempt to carry fourteen muskets and their shot and powder.

To my surprise, Gaston turned away from the direction of the house when we left the smith’s.

“Where are we off to?” I asked.

“I was thinking…” He sighed.

“Oui,” I prompted.

“I should have my own medicine chest.”

“Ah. Will you wish to advertise you will have one, or…”

“I do not know yet.” He led me to the apothecary. It was a crowded little shop, filled to the ceiling with shelves crammed with jars and vials of this or that potion or powder. I wrinkled my nose at the overall smell.

Gaston began to converse with the proprietor, and I thought he might be a while.

Another scent caught my nose, a pleasant one; and I found the counter containing the toiletry and beauty items such as rouges, paints, creams, perfumes, powders and all manner of things for ladies and discerning gentlemen. To my delight, I also found a fine assortment of sweet oils and scented salves, far more than I would have suspected in a town of this size – until I remembered that I was not the only one who had use for such substances here, and though many of the buccaneers lacked refinement, the ones that did appreciate finer things had need of a steady supply and the money to demand variety. I set about sampling each fragrance and type in turn, to compare their smell and consistency. Gaston stopped beside me.

“We will need an adequate supply of that,” he whispered quickly in French, and moved on.

I did not dare ask him what amount he felt would denote an adequate supply. Instead I bit my lip to keep from smirking and inquired, “Any preferences?”

While the proprietor was rummaging under a counter Gaston joined me and I had him sniff the ones I favored. He still smelled deliciously of almonds, and I was disappointed there was no fragrance that matched it. He glared at me when I opened my mouth to explain this; and I shrugged and caught up his wrist, and pushed it under his nose. He sniffed and sighed and looked over the bottles.

“None match,” I said simply.

The proprietor was still looking for something Gaston had requested, and his search took him into the back room.

“Why do you not wish to speak of it?” I hissed quickly.

“It is a thing of intimacy,” Gaston snapped. Chastised, I at first bridled at this, as it bothered me that he did not wish others to know what we did as if he were ashamed. I had been ashamed until now and not wanted any to know what we did, because we did nothing. Now there was a small part of me that wanted to announce that we were actually intimate from the highest mountain top. Of course, that would make it apparent that we had not been engaged in any carnal activity of merit before. As always, my life was steeped in irony.

I watched as he quickly and methodically sniffed every container with earnest concentration, and realized I was a fool. Gaston had no more qualm than I concerning any knowing we were matelots and therefore presuming what they would. He merely wished, as I did, to keep the details of such things a private matter as they should be. I experienced a dollop of guilt that I should abuse his intent so. He was not the ghosts of my past. I vowed to both respect my matelot’s wishes on the matter of privacy and to exercise even more vigilance against habitual thoughts that had been learned at the hands of others.

He found two he seemed to favor: one was spicier and the other fruitier, with the latter particularly reminding me of berries.

“I do not know of this berry one,” I whispered. “If one of us were coated in this, Pete might mistake us for a pie, and there would be no end to the bloodshed that would ensue.”

Gaston found this very amusing, and had difficulty composing himself when the apothecary returned. He chose a spicy cinnamon-396

smelling salve and a musky oil that became sweet when warmed by the skin, and added several jars and vials of each to his growing pile on the counter.

Other than the oil and salves, which he said we would stockpile in my chests during voyages, he bought no more of each item than he could carry. I helped assemble the chest as Gaston directed. The box itself was much like the one he had bought for the plantation, only larger by half. The front and top opened to reveal shelves and rows of compartments, which we filled with vials and muslin bags of various herbs and powders.

I was appalled at some of the prices, especially when he paid ten pounds for a bag of buds of some flower. The bag would not fit inside the chest, either. Then Gaston explained it contained poppies, and they were the thing one made laudanum from. He said it was a thing not always available and well worth the price. Once I knew what they were, I was more appreciative of them.

It was late morning when we finally returned to the house, the chest carried between us. I was thankful it would be on a ship and we would not have to lug it about.