Apprentice To The Sorcerer

We reached Madagascar. Making port in Sainte Marie, we sailed longboats to the island. Jack said nothing, but his hand wrapped around my elbow the moment we made land. Thinking he meant for me to stay with him, I remained very close. The throng of people and goods everywhere made my senses reel.

“What do you know of the Libertatia?” Jack asked softly, his mouth nearly in my ear. As he spoke he steered me away from a knot of people gathered by a watering hole.

“Nothing,” I answered. “What is it?”

“A brotherhood,” Jack answered. “Do not get drawn into conversation about it. If you are asked about that word, pretend you’ve never heard it. Do not act interested.”

“I understand,” I said quickly.

“You’re willing to do what I say, but you don’t really understand,” Jack corrected. “I’ll explain it later. You and I are here for herbs, drugs, and fabric. The Pearl needs new sails.”

We wound through a bewildering block of four cornered huts interspersed with more permanent structures.

“The slave trade here is massive,” Jack whispered. “I want you to make noise if someone even jostles you.”

“I’m not helpless,” I protested.

“You’re not experienced either,” Jack muttered, pulling me toward a shop. “I’d rather your pride found offense than know you’re getting buggered and bartered over.”

I had nothing to say to that. I felt warmth at how concerned Jack was for my sake.

I stood by while Jack haggled with the proprietor over prices. He ruled the negotiation from start to finish, I could tell it even though I didn’t speak the garbled language they used. After less than ten minutes Jack had a receipt of sale and a delivery to the ship in the works. He wouldn’t even have to use his own men to get his purchase on board.

“You need a new hat,” he commented as we walked back into the throng.

“So do you,” I couldn’t help say.

“My good hat,” he defended. “Very lucky, that hat. Keep your old tog then, I won’t say another word.”

Like I feared he might yank it off my head, I clutched the brim of my hat nervously. Jack steered me around and around until I barely knew which direction the ocean lay in. Suddenly I stumbled through a doorway.

Jack had brought me to a whorehouse. I couldn’t think what else it might be. Half naked or completely naked women lounged around on thick rugs and low stools. The atmosphere had so much acrid smoke in it I gagged.

Jack tugged me toward an area with tables and chairs, his fingers raised in signal to someone on the far side of the room. In moments a man appeared, arriving just as we sat down. Jack spoke a few incomprehensible words to him. The man placed a pipe, a candle, a bag and an orange on the center of the table. Jack said more words to him, gave him coin, and he walked away.

Jack’s clever fingers dug into the bag and withdrew a black ball. It smelled terrible and I could think of nothing I’d ever smelt to compare it to. He packed the bowl of the pipe with this substance and held it over the flame. The metal pipe heated, began to vaporize the ball inside, not burn it. Jack sucked a lungful of the vapor down. “Not too much now,” he said on his exhale, handing me the pipe. “We aren’t here to get smashed. This is the polite, preliminary stage of negotiations.”

“Negotiations with whom?” I said, burning my throat and lungs with the foul goop in the pipe. “The whores?”

Jack laughed softly. “We aren’t here for the whores either, though I could give you the time for it.”

“Are they clean?” I asked, pretending I might be interested.

Jack shrugged. “No whore is clean. You want to go where leagues have gone before, be my guest.” He took his turn with the pipe and handed it over. “You’re better off to jerk yourself. Not only will your hand not give you boils, it won’t ask for money.”

“Do they give baths then?” I felt desperate for a bath. Even for an hour alone with my breasts unbound I would kill someone.

“I believe they do.” Jack pushed the pipe to my lips. “Smoke,” he commanded. “Not as deep on the inhale there lad, unless you want your first time to be about sleeping and the inability to drain your bladder.”

So I got intoxicated in a whorehouse with Captain Jack.

I noticed by the fourth pass of the pipe that many men and women eyed Jack. All had hungry, lustful eyes. That he could appeal to both sexes had never entered my mind, but oddly, it made me rather proud. I enjoyed knowing I was the one sitting with Jack.

“It doesn’t bother you,” Jack said quietly. “I didn’t think it would.”

“What?” He sounded like he spoke to me from very far away, in a tunnel.

“The people staring,” he said patiently. “It doesn’t bother you.”

“They stare at you, captain,” I answered truthfully. “There are maybe five people in here that wouldn’t tumble with you.”

Jack grinned. “I know. Fun, isn’t it?”

“To watch?” I grinned back. “Yes.”

“’Tis a burden to be lovely,” Jack snickered. His eyes were glazed over. I knew mine had to be the same.

I felt incredibly distant from personal pain. My mind would not dwell on anything hurtful. My aches and pains dissolved more and more with every pull at the pipe. Languid, easy, my muscles warmed and relaxed. Voices came to me in a muffled way, but ambient sound sharpened to unbelievable crispness. If I’d been able to understand the language I’d have been mightily entertained.

Jack cut the orange in half with his boot knife. His knife he kept so sharp as to exert almost no effort. “Y’ dig some of the pulp out,” he instructed, “I usually eat it.” He crammed the orange pulp in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “See how I left some of it down in the bottom?” he asked, pointing. “Make sure you’ve crushed it enough that it’s juicy.” He promptly mashed down into the already soggy mess with his thumbs. Some juice squirted in his eye. He grunted, blinking furiously.

With a comical tilt to his head, Jack took another black ball from the bag. Dropping it into the orange rind bowl, he rolled it around and around in the fragrant liquid. “Somethin’ about the orange gives poppy sap an extra kick,” he said. “Not somethin’ ye want to do every time, lad, but somethin’ to keep in mind.”

On a medical standpoint, this scene fascinated me. Opium came up as a pain remedy from many different sources. This being the first time I’d had it, I felt very studious about the whole experience. Jack made his opium more potent with citrus juice. I could experiment with that and maybe come up with a painkiller more efficient than knocking someone out with rum.

I let Jack smoke the more intoxicating bowl by himself. It pleased me just to watch him. He didn’t seem to notice how I stared at him, but he wasn’t paying any attention to how everyone else stared at him either. I followed the curve of his full lips, the sharp plane of his straight nose, the graceful sweep of his brows and the restless, twin pools of molten russet underneath.

“If you really want a bath, I’ll wait,” Jack said suddenly. “My man isn’t here yet and may not be for some time.”

“I should,” I said. “I think I’ve got lice.” It was a lie, but it made for a good excuse as to why a young man might feel compelled to bathe.

Jack grabbed a naked woman by the wrist as she sauntered by. He spoke a few words to her. She smiled at me and beckoned with her finger for me to follow her. We walked by a tangle of people copulating at the foot of the stairs. I averted my eyes lest someone take offence, or worse, invite me to join them.

The woman showed me to a glorified bathroom. She snapped her fingers and two women, also naked, came into the room. They saw me and left. Mere moments later they came back, carrying buckets.

“You English?” The first woman asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

“I speak.” She smiled. “I am Dharamin.”

“I’m Lei,” I said politely. “You do know I’m just here for a bath?”

“Captain Jack make that plain enough,” Dharamin said, grinning. “Why you not wish for the other service?”

“I have someone to be faithful to,” I answered. I wished she would go away. Never had I felt so ready to unbind my breasts.

“I see.” Dharamin pointed to a table with soaps and creams. A straight razor and strop lay across them. “Your soap and lotion,” she said. “We wash your clothes and dry them for extra.”

“Do it,” I said. My clothes were nasty. My bandages were nasty too, but I’d wash them out myself, in the tub. “And I want privacy. No visitors.”

“We provide,” Dharamin answered. “Leave your clothes outside the door. You will find a robe in the cabinet.”

Finally alone, I shucked out of my clothes and tossed them outside the door. My fingers tore at the knot holding my bandages in place. Irritated, I at last cut it. Each unwinding pass restored my comfort, but I’d been bound so long it hurt to release my breasts. I welcomed the sight of them, truly. After having seen them flattened for so long they looked huge.

I sank into the tub with a grateful sigh. The opium and the bath quickly took away my every ache, even the one topside. I scrubbed every inch of myself, then cleaned my false penis and washed out my linen strips. Because I could and because nobody would know, I shaved my legs and armpits.

By the time my clothes came back I’d dried off and accomplished various acts of strapping myself. Strap down the breasts, strap on the penis, braid hair and strap into black ribbon. I felt like a caricature of a person. Each time I shed my disguise I appreciated it more. I was a warrior cursed to never remove his armor in the presence of another.

My clothes clean and only slightly damp, my skin scrubbed and my outlook brightened, I made for the staircase. Halfway down I paused to view the room. The orgy at the bottom of the stair had moved to one side. Many people sat at the drug tables now. Jack sat immobile as a woman draped herself over his shoulder. She obviously accompanied the man Jack spoke to.

Anger and jealousy swelled up within my ribcase. How dare that woman rub her dirty breasts all over Jack? With effort I controlled myself. I couldn’t act upon my jealousy. And anyway, Jack didn’t seem to even know the woman hung all over him.

That gave me pause.

Jack would rebuff the woman outright, surely, if he felt free to do so.

I slunk back against the wall to observe the scene, still half upon the stairs. Jack seemed too attentive to the man sitting across from him. His shoulders and back were rigid. He kept his hands in his lap, hidden from view. The dark, brawny man leaned in toward Jack. Jack did not move away. His face seemed carved from stone.

A flash of metal told me all I needed to know. The man had a blade at Jack from underneath the table. Possibly, the woman had a weapon on him as well. If I could get Jack clear of his seat he’d have a chance to draw his weapon. His captor apparently didn’t want to be overt with his threat…

I affected a drunken reel, coming down the staircase like a man with rubber legs. Listing to one rail only to bounce off of it and careen into a group of serving women, I then ricocheted off onto the stairpost. I left a trail of destruction in my wake, and screams, which echoed around me and all the way down.

Pretending to head to the bar, I veered off to one side and tripped, knocking Jack completely out of his chair and into the floor. He rolled to his feet in a flash, assuming a crouched, defensive stance. Ignoring the mess of spilled drinks dripping from me, I staggered on to the bar and pointed at a barrel. The server stared at me as I watched Jack out of the corner of my eyes, but poured my drink. I paid out my coin and swallowed.

The fire that went down my throat seemed to seer shut my nasal cavities, throat, and ears. My stomach shrieked as the molten, sugary concoction flooded it. I lowered the glass, wondering if I could suck in a breath before I passed out. Spots and stars circled my vision. I didn’t gag, vomit, or pass out, all three of which I desperately wanted to do. An incredible wave of pressure soared through my neck and burst out my ears. “What is this?” I whispered, not able to speak properly since my neck was now hollow. I didn’t really expect an answer.

“Baijiu,” Jack said from somewhere near my elbow. His goon squad had vanished. “A chinaman’s drink. Not for guzzling.” He thumped his hand on the bar and held up three fingers. Some strange gibberish that almost sounded like French left his lips, his oh so perfect lips. I could not stop staring at those lips. “Now that we’ve settled business, we leave,” he said, assuming an air of finality.

The bartender gave us three crates, which I took two of. I didn’t want Jack’s hands full if we got attacked on the way back to the beach. The crates weighed so much my muscles trembled by the time we reached the longboats. Gibbs and cook were already waiting for us, along with Mokulu, Faraday, and Lloyd. Since we had enough to warrant a longboat, we opted not to wait for the others.

“What’s that smell?” Faraday said, sniffing the air. Lloyd, Jack, and Gibbs put their noses in the air. Mokulu didn’t appear to notice the conversation. He sat beside me, large enough to provide a significant amount of shade from the afternoon sun.

“Smells like…”

“Like a banana threw up in a sorghum field,” Faraday finished Lloyd’s sentence.

“And someone buried the mess under violets,” Jack added.

“That a whore’s sitting on,” Gibbs provided.

“It’s me!” I tried to shout, but ended up making a terrible hiss instead, so frightful in volume that Faraday and Lloyd shrank away from me.

“Ah, that’s right,” Jack said helpfully. “Boy had a bath.”

“What for?” Lloyd gave me a look of disbelief.

“So he get de ladies,” Mokulu ventured. “Ladies like clean.”

This apparently satisfied everyone. Not soothed but nowhere near as explosive as I’d been mere moments ago, I sat back down.

Once back on ship, I carried the crates to the rum room. Jack had given me the key so I locked our cargo up and went back on deck to give it back. The rest of the crew now swarmed on ship, busily lowering the old sails and replacing them with the new ones.

“We pull out before the sun comes up,” Jack shouted to his men. “No drinking unless you can be sober for your shift. I find anyone under the weather from their own stupidity it’s the lash.”

So said the man who could drink and smoke anytime he pleased, I thought grumpily. Jack frequently could be seen nursing a bottle, just not while at the helm. I gave him back his key and slunk off to my hammock. I had plenty of time to sleep off the alcoholic stupor in my brain before sunrise.