Apprentice To The Sorcerer

Mokulu arranged some boards atop some small casks for me to lie upon while I waited, sitting in Ragetti’s hammock. The “bed” put me just over a foot or so from the hammock overtop; the hammock Jack had taken to sleeping in. I thanked him, promised a conversation later, and lay flat. The pressure on my rib relented by degrees.

I dozed off and on, waking intermittently when others would come in but falling right back to sleep when they quieted to a dull roar. Someone brought out a whistle of some kind and played. Miss Coscoroba, investigating the new furniture, sniffed me out. She had grown so much in a week I feared to think what she would be like fully grown. Nevertheless, she felt warm and soft and I encouraged her to lay with me. She wriggled under my head until I practically used her for a pillow.

The room quieted suddenly. I peeked out from under the brim of my hat to see Jack strolling in with a crate. He set it down in the middle of the room. “I forgot,” he announced. “I picked you lads up a present in Madagascar. What with the unfortunate events that transpired it just slipped me mind.”

I didn’t bother to get up or to even exhibit wakefulness, and so I deliberately passed up my chance to get more baijiu. Instead, I burrowed my nose down into Scorby’s fur and let my eyes shut. Jack climbed into his hammock and settled. He was so close I could feel his heat. “I know you aren’t asleep, Lei,” Jack said softly. We had no close neighbors and I knew no one heard him.

“I want to be, though,” I answered. “Got pain again.”

“Open your eyes.”

I opened my eyes. Jack’s face hovered maybe five inches from mine. He held a little black ball between his finger and thumb. “You keep resting and maybe you’ll heal up good enough to be in the rigging again by the time we make Boston Port.” He passed the opium down to my lips and pressed. “Open up. You’ll sleep soundly if I have to force you.”

I let him feed me the drug. God help me, I wanted to lick his filthy hand.

Jack smiled in satisfaction. “There’s a good lad,” he said.

*************************************************************************************

I awoke with the raging need to urinate, a taste in my mouth like pistol wadding, and murderous thirst. Very carefully I got to my feet and headed for the deck. By the time I got there I thought I would burst my bladder.

Opium has a way of making it difficult to start the flow of urine. I stood on the edge of the deck, false penis in hand and mostly concealed, praying to any manner of god that might listen to my pleas. I could not suppress a sigh of relief when I finally got free of the barrier between me and a healthy leak.

Feeling greatly improved five minutes later, I shook off and tucked my falsey away. No sooner did I turn around, I stumbled into Jack. His eyes searched me, running from the top of my body to the bottom. His expression held a mixture of confusion, uncertainty, and relief. “How do you feel this morning lad?” he asked.

“Much better,” I said. “Thank you sir.”

“You’ve lost three days,” Jack replied. “We made port and stocked up already. I’m sorry I couldn’t wait for you. We are charted for Nova Scotia.”

“And Maine after that?” I asked.

“Aye.” Jack waved me toward the grog tub. “Better slake that thirst, boy,” he said.

I didn’t know how he knew of my thirst and I didn’t care. I took the scuttle and drank as much as I could, almost sick from being utterly parched.

“De captain, he not let us wake you,” Mokulu said by my elbow. “Not dat anyone would try, not with devil cat sitting guard.” He raised his hand in the air, imitating a curved paw with claws out. “She spit and throw fit if anyone get close to you. Even I stay away; I know how cat bites. Captain, he try to give you water and cat not attack, but complain.”

I shook my fuzzy head. “Scorby watched over me?”

“Dat be she-beast’s name?” Mokulu shuddered. “She not even leave you to hunt until dis morning, when you show signs of life.”

I remembered hearing Scorby’s purr in my ear and feeling her soft fur at my neck. “Good kitty,” I said, grinning at Mokulu. “She can fight for me next time.”

“Dere be no next time,” Mokulu said ominously, cracking his knuckles. “Even if Captain not protect you, Mokulu does. You too precious to lose, Hodari.”

“I’m honored you feel that way,” I murmured. “But I could be replaced.”

“No one to replace Hodari Lei,” Mokulu argued. “I hear no more about it. Come, sit in de sun awhile.”

“But I have duties to do.”

“Not today. Today is day off. We on rotation, remember?”

“Oh, this is one of my days off,” I said, grasping the concept slowly. “And tomorrow?”

“Yes.” Mokulu walked beside me and hovered close when I meant to sit down on a pile of rope. He moved away immediately when Scorby appeared out of nowhere. “She be night creature,” he said, “why she be out on deck in daylight?”

Scorby jumped into my lap, turned twice, and lay down. I couldn’t mistake her protective stance. All hunched over, she swung her head back and forth to watch the activity on deck.

I grabbed Mokulu’s hand and showed it to her while he regarded me with big eyes. “She tear into me,” he said fearfully.

“No she won’t,” I said. I patted his hand and then patted her. Scorby sniffed Mokulu, gave him a green stare, then bumped her head against his hand. His lips parted as relief flooded him.

“She soft like hare,” he said. “My people never hunt her kind so I did not know.”

Mokulu left Scorby and me to our sunning. Scorby burrowed under my coat in spite of the heat, leaving only her head poked out. This gave me the illusion I had a cat’s head sprouting from my abdomen. Jack found the sight so funny he almost tripped trying to walk by us and laugh at the same time.

“Your gallant defender looks less than dignified,” Jack said, wiping water from his eyes.

“Scorby doesn’t have to be dignified,” I defended. From the area of my stomach, the cat chirped.

“Scorby? I gave her a perfectly good name,” Jack complained.

“I can say this one,” I said. “May I?”

“Scorby it is,” Jack relented. He reached down and rubbed the cat’s ears. Scorby’s purr was loud enough to hear over ocean spray. “Scorby should go back to hunting soon,” he said, mock-stern. “Now that she knows her friend is alright.”

So,” I said. “Do you mind telling me what we did in port?”

“Not at all.” Jack leaned on the rail with both elbows, slouching backward to face me. He’d replaced his sash and his boots. I felt a bit disappointed he wasn’t barefoot. Jack had lovely feet. “We freshened our water, fetched a bit of ale, traded a few bolts of fabric for flour and eggs, and purchased new lines. Cook took on a helper, one of our second batch of newly freed men. Because of him we picked up marama seeds, shea nuts, and bambara beans.

We went on a rat killing campaign despite the addition of Scorby to our crew. Ragetti and Pintel killed more than a hundred and fifty of them. You would have enjoyed watching them wander around the ship with their pikes.” Jack grinned. “What else?” He looked up at the sky. “I took Miss Bishop out and let her purchase gifts for her family. You would have been pleased by her demure behavior.”

The flash of jealousy I had for Jack leading that bitch around quickly died. I managed a smile.

“Oh,” Jack said. “I managed to pick up some precious oils imported from various places. Port Blanc has a seller that specializes in such things.”

“What will you do with them?” I patted Scorby, who instantly melted even further into my coat.

“I’ll wear some of them just to be an indulgent pirate and all-round lady-killer,” Jack said with a wicked grin. “Never hurts to have scented oil when you can’t get a bath.”

“We could all bathe more often,” I said. “It’s healthy, apparently.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Jack fished around the back of his coat and pulled a book from underneath his waistband. “Do you read anything but textbooks?” He held it out to me. It was still warm from his body. I suppressed a shiver and looked at the title.

Jack had given me a poetry book to look at. It seemed to be a special press, maybe limited to a single copy. I thumbed through it, catching the names Milton, Dryden, Pope, and Wilmot. I knew Milton, for my father was fond of him, but I didn’t know the other names. When I informed Jack of this, he shrugged. He took the book back. “We have a poem reading when the crew asks for it,” he said. “No one would believe it, eh? Poetical pirates.”

“How did this event come about?”

“Mr. Ragetti requested it, unsurprisingly,” Jack answered. “Wasn’t too sure about complyin’ at first; unusual thing to be askin’.”

“I imagine,” I murmured. I wondered if there might be some unwritten mutinous code using poetry, and then vetoed the notion. We were talking about pirates. “So is Ragetti the only one who asks for poetry?”

“Others have asked,” Jack informed me. “Life at sea can be very boring in b’twixt plundered ships. The men take stories, poems, songs, anything to pass the time.”

“You care about us,” I said. It seemed an obvious thing to say, but there it was.

Jack looked at me sideways, almost coyly, his lips turning up in a slow smile. “A man who cares about his crew and treats them well can usually benefit, my lad. Your crew counts as contacts. They’re yer most important, most easily overlooked contacts, actually. Didn’t I make you a contact when you came aboard?”

My smile answered his. “You are a very smart man, captain status aside.”

“Smart has nothin’ to do with it. Staying alive is my motivator.” Jack grinned and straightened his hat. “Take it from someone who’s died, Lei; it’s boring. You just tread water and wait for something to happen. Stay alive as long as you can.” With that, Jack sauntered off.