Oceanswept (9 page)

T
he captain, two guards, and I walked to middle of the main deck where a crude courtroom of sorts had been organized. The captain took his seat behind a makeshift desk and I was instructed to sit in a solitary chair facing it. Dozens and dozens of pirates looked on, sitting and standing wherever there was room. Curious eyes even glared down at me from the rigging.

I squinted in the brightness—I hadn’t seen sunlight for weeks—and scanned the crowd for Nicholas, but didn’t find him.

In the full light of the afternoon, Captain Black looked more terrifying than ever. With his snow-white skin, wispy hair, and blood-red eyes he looked like a demon from beyond the grave. I could hardly stand to look at him, he was so terrifying, yet I found it impossible to look away.

The captain took a pistol from his waist and pounded its butt upon the desk.

“The trial of Miss Tessa Monroe officially commences. Miss Monroe is hereby accused of the murder of Thomas Wrack. Who be the accusers?”

The majority of pirates raised their hands above their heads, cheering and hollering.

The captain stared directly at me with his grotesque eyes. “Looks like majority rules. Any last words?”

My last words? Had I just been found guilty? This was insane. I hadn’t even heard the full accusation nor had the chance to defend myself. This was my life! Not some silly pastime for bored pirates. My face flushed hot.

“That was it?” I cried, standing abruptly, not caring that I was challenging the captain. Nicholas was convinced that this trial was a show of authority to remind the crewmen of their station, but this…this
trial
did none of that. And now I was convinced that my punishment would be the captain’s message to the crew.

The little composure I had was dismantled. There was no way that manners or proper display of behavior would hold any sway upon these madmen. Something inside me snapped. “That’s what you call a
trial
? Wrack—” the name felt dirty in my mouth “—was not even murdered. Give me your reasons. Let me defend myself!” I looked into the crowd surrounding me, hoping to find a shred of sympathy.

The captain bellowed a laugh and struck the pistol butt against the desk again.

“She’s a right funny lass, ain’t she, boys?”

A wave of cackles rippled through the onlookers.

“Sit down, Miss Monroe. We are all gentleman here,” he gestured to the audience of pirates who chuckled raucously. “We be more than happy to give you the trial you ask for.”

I sat down nervously. Was this all just a mockery to them? Would my arguing prove to be a foolish move?

I looked across the sea of faces and finally saw Nicholas. He was on the forecastle deck leaning casually against the foremast, surrounded by a thicket of dirty men. Our eyes met, but his gaze was less than generous. There was no reassurance there. I remembered our last encounter on this deck, surrounded by the same pirates. Nicholas had betrayed me then. Would it be any different today?

“Of ye who have accused this pretty little thing, what reasons do ye hold to?”

“She had the motive!” a faceless voice called out.

“She broke Wrack’s nose!”

I twirled around with each flying comment, trying to locate my accusers, but the allegations came from all sides.

“She killed Wrack in his hammock!”

“She’s a witch!”

This was outrageous. Forcing myself to look into the captain’s blood-red eyes I said, “You have no proof!”

“Just like all women, they always want more,” the captain snickered, eliciting lewd chuckles from the crowd. “Tell me exactly what it is that ye be wanting from us lot o’ pirates.” He seemed entertained but I sensed a real threat under the carefree demeanor.

I thought as quickly as I could. Everything I said would be taken quite literally or twisted back on me. I needed to be clever in my requests, making sure to protect myself in every way. “First, I demand to know what charges are against me. Second, I demand the right to refute any charges or comment made. Third, I demand that honest testimony and real proof be presented to the court. No opinions, no assumptions.”

“Is that all, miss?”

I hoped it was. “Yes.”

Captain Black stood and leaned over his desk sneering at me, “Miss Monroe, you are hereby charged with the murder of Mr. Thomas Wrack. Do ye plead guilty or innocent?”

“Wrack was not murdered,” I shot back.

“Can you prove that with honest testimony or real proof?” he asked sarcastically.

“Sir, you told me yourself this morning in the quartermaster’s cabin that Mr. Wrack died of a sudden fever. Unless you claim that you lied, I use your word as honest testimony and proof that Mr. Wrack was not murdered by anyone.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose.

I smiled smugly.

“’Tis black magic!” a voice hollered from my left.

The captain addressed me again, “Miss Monroe, you are hereby charged with witchcraft resulting in the death of Mr. Thomas Wrack. Do ye plead guilty or innocent?”

“What? You cannot change the charge!”

Captain Black sneered at me. “You are hereby charged of murder and of witchcraft. You are found innocent on the charge of murder. Happy?” He mirrored the smug look I gave him a moment before. “Now onto the charge of witchcraft. Do you plead guilty or innocent?”

I looked to the crowd for help. Surely anyone could see the injustice. No one seemed to care but me. Not even Nicholas.

“Guilty or innocent?” Black boomed.

“I am innocent.”

“Let it be known that Miss Monroe denies the charge.” The captain walked in front of his desk and looked at the group of pirates to either side of us as he continued his charade as prosecutor and judge. “Miss Monroe, how did you happen to be on this vessel?”

I stole a glance at Nicholas. If only I knew what he was thinking. Was he on my side now, hiding inconspicuously among the crowd to protect both of us, or was he proving allegiance to his crew? I debated whether or not I should tell the captain about our chats in the galley. Revealing Nicholas’s involvement with me may prove dangerous for him—but it could be the alibi I needed.

I answered honestly, “I do not remember, sir.”

“Can anyone else answer the question?” he asked the crew. No one answered.

“Gibbons!” he called.

A pirate shuffled forward ever so slightly and removed his knitted cap.

“I believe you can clear up this matter. Speak.”

Fixing his stare on his feet, the man told of how he was the first to see the wreckage of the ship. He informed the quartermaster and was instructed to look for salvageable goods. While the crew was hauling up buckets of rum they spotted a floating jollyboat with me inside.

The captain asked for others to confirm this story. Several did.

“The lone survivor of a hurricane,” Captain Black said to me. “How did ye manage that?”

“I do not recall, sir. I was unconscious.”

“Just lucky, eh? Or perhaps ye had some help from an otherworldly source.”

The implication was inconceivable.

The captain continued his questioning, “What happened next? What can ye remember?”

He circled my chair like a shark.

Deciding to leave Nicholas out of my story, I said, “I came onto the deck during your ruthless attack on that poor ship.”

Captain Black wheeled on me, “This is a court of law, Miss Monroe,” he said sarcastically. “We need to be objective. Best not let pesky opinions of yer benefactors taint yer testimony.”

My jaw clamped shut. Black contorted everything I said. I wanted to scream. Logic and justice were impossible.

“I apologize, sir,” I said, hoping that the contempt I felt did not manifest in my voice. “I came on deck during the…battle—” I hoped that was a less offensive word “—and was confronted by two members of the crew.”

“Which members?”

“One was Wrack. I do not know the other one.”

“Who was with Wrack that day?” the captain asked the crowd.

His question was met with silence.

“Me thinks you lie,” he said in a playful tone. It made me sick to my stomach.

“It’s the truth,” I insisted.

“Anyone? Anyone admit to confronting Miss Monroe on this very deck during our latest mission?”

No one moved.

The captain resumed his cocky pacing around me.

“It was Beck,” a clear voice from the crowd said.

Nicholas.

“Tell me about it,” the captain challenged.

Nicholas did not step forward, did not stand any taller, just continued to slouch against the foremast, picking disinterestedly at his fingernails.

“Beck and Wrack approached the girl. I knew she was meant for the captain only, and didn’t want any overzealous appetites to force them to break command. I simply reminded them of that, and they let ’er be.”

“Beck!” the captain called.

“Aye?” I recognized the burly pirate as he stepped forward.

“Would that be the truth?”

“Aye, for the most part,” he confirmed.

Turning back to me the captain prompted me to continue.

“I was sent to the brig.”

“And who sent ye to the brig?”

My eyes flickered to Nicholas. He lazily stood against the mast as if he were taking a break from the day’s labors. I could not read his posture or his face. “Th-the quartermaster,” I finally replied.

“How long were ye in the brig?”

The days and nights had all blurred together. “I do not know for certain.”

Captain Black called for the ship’s log and examined the records. “A fortnight and a day. A right long time to be in such miserable circumstance. What did ye do to cause such punishment?”

The image of Nicholas raising the cutlass at me flashed across my mind. I mimicked what he had said, “I insulted the quartermaster.”

“How did you insult good ol’ Marks?”

My heart faltered. I wrung my hands and tried to concoct a believable tale. What would it take to insult someone gravely enough to be locked in the brig for two weeks but wouldn’t make me appear more treacherous to these men?

“She spat on me,” Nicholas called to the captain. “And she called me a naughty name,” his tone was jaunty and laughter pealed from the crowd. I was glad for his interjection but at the same time I felt rebuffed by his laughter. I glared at his lax figure.

“Spitting on an officer. What an insolent little strumpet.”

Captain Black paused and scanned the crowd. He stopped when he found what he was looking for and the corners of his mouth lifted in a devilish grin.

“I understand you made a sort of friend, Miss Monroe,” Black sneered.

I followed Black’s gaze to Skidmore.

Sweet, quiet Skidmore. He seemed utterly incapable of telling a lie. Skidmore knew everything there was to know about me. About Nicholas. With the captain’s gaze locked on him, he looked terrified. There was no way he could remain collected under the captain’s scrutiny. He would break. He would tell of the mutiny. His testimony could put a noose around my neck.

My hope plummeted as I heard the captain call him.

“Mr. Skidmore. Please step forward.”

C
aptain Black paced before me with delight.

“Skidmore, tell the court about Miss Monroe’s behavior when you saw her in the brig.”

Skidmore was standing near Nicholas. He shifted uneasily, pulling at his beard of straw. I silently begged him to defend me, save me.

“Miss Monroe was mostly quiet.”

“Mostly,” echoed the captain. “Did she or did she not act out aggressively when first placed in the brig?”

I sighed dejectedly. Any hope of my friend defending me melted. The captain would get whatever he wanted out of Skidmore.

Skidmore avoided my pleading stare. “She was upset.” His response was so quiet I wasn’t sure if I heard him correctly.

“How did this
upset
girl act that day in the brig?”

“She threw her furniture against the bars.”

“And she screamed like a banshee,” the captain added triumphantly. “We all heard her.”

Skidmore’s head bobbed slightly.

“And we all saw Wrack after Miss Monroe finished with him. It takes a certain amount of…
nerve
to attack a man who was only bringing ye a bit o’ rum.”

I shot to my feet. “He attacked me! He was
not
bringing me rum!”

“Sit down, Miss Monroe,” Captain Black growled.

I sat.

“Did he or did he not bring you a jug o’ rum?”

I sensed a trap. “He had a jug, but—”

“And he let himself into the brig to deliver a generous amount of rum.”

“He let himself in the brig to violate me!”

The captain ignored my outburst. “The two of ye must have exchanged words. He must have stated his purpose of being down in said brig.”

“He was down there to hurt me,” I seethed, my hands balling into fists at my sides.

The captain stopped his pacing and stared directly at me, his hands clasped behind his back. “Did he tell ye that?”

I did not know how to respond. Of course Wrack didn’t proclaim his intentions—what criminal would? My lips moved eagerly but no sound came out.

“Answer the question, Miss Monroe. Did Wrack tell ye he came to the brig in the middle o’ the night to
violate
you?” He strung out the syllables of the word “violate,” as if it were a foul obscenity.

“N-n-no,” I stammered.

The captain leaned in towards me. His face was only inches from mine. His breath reeked and his scarlet eyes danced. “Did he say why he were there?”

“He said he was there for refreshment,” I replied, mimicking his suggestive tone.

The captain backed away and looked at the pirates.

“See, men? Just a bit o’ rum in the wee hours of the night. Who of us has never enjoyed a bit o’ late-night refreshment?”

The trial had turned in a direction that frightened me. I desperately needed to regain control. “He did not mean rum.” Trying to twist the captain’s words, I argued, “Who would come down to the brig in the middle of the night just to drink rum with a prisoner? A
female
prisoner? He said ‘refreshment.’ He meant me!”

“So in yer opinion, when he said ‘refreshment’ he meant you?”

“Yes,” I nodded emphatically.

“What caused ye to form this opinion?”

How could I explain that cold feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach when Wrack entered the hold that night? “The fact that he was there in the middle of the night. The way he looked at me.”

I could tell I wasn’t convincing anyone. My head swam. I fumbled for any logical blow.

“He ran the keys along the bars.” I mimed the movement.

The captain’s cottony eyebrows shot up, surprise widening his eyes. “Solid evidence indeed!” His feigned look of surprise twisted into a look of ridicule. “Opinions and assumptions, miss. Opinions and assumptions.”

I trembled from frustration. The captain already had his mind made up. This was all a game for him. He wouldn’t even listen. Yet as I sat there, replaying my answers in my mind, I knew that the things I said were somehow lacking. Even if the captain or the other pirates were listening, my story seemed hollow. Though the captain was toying with me, he was playing this game by the rules I designated.

If I couldn’t gain any footing, with all the rules I established, was it because I was wrong?

Was the captain right?

Wrack had never really
declared
his intentions. In truth, all he did was offer me rum, explaining that he needed to place it in the brig because it was too large to fit through the bars. And that was entirely legitimate. He must have done something—something that proved his intentions, something the others could agree with. I thought hard, remembering the series of events that night. Wrack came down the ladder. He was a bit sneaky, but that wasn’t a crime. He offered me the rum. He had keys to the brig. He explained that he needed to put it in the brig. Then he opened the door and…and I attacked him before he ever touched me.
I
attacked
him
.

No.

There was a threat. I knew it. I knew it then and I knew it now. I had not overreacted. His actions after I slammed the door into him were not brought on by my behavior. He was a predator. The fact that I tried to thwart him did not justify how he treated me.

“He was drunk,” I argued with new determination.

The captain waved dismissively. “Most of us are drunk right now,” he spread his arms wide to his audience like a fabulous entertainer. Cheers and whistles sounded.

“Were ye angry with him for his midnight visit?” he continued, still putting on a show.

“Yes.”

“Do you admit to assaulting Mr. Wrack?”

“I was defending—”

“Miss Monroe, do you admit that you assaulted Mr. Wrack?”

“He was threaten—”

“Miss Monroe, one more time. Did you or did you not assault Mr. Wrack?”

Captain Black towered over me, his crimson eyes boring into mine.

“Yes.” My voice was feeble.

“How did the aforementioned scuffle end?” He spun away, his duster whirling dramatically.

“Mr. Skidmore and Mr. Nicholas pulled him from me,” I said.

The captain spun on the heels of his boots. “Mr.
Nicholas
,” he said mockingly, “tell us what happened.”

Nicholas had not moved an inch. It was infuriating to look at him, lounging easily against the mast.

“My keys were missin’. Wrack was missin’. I heard screams from the hold and thought to investigate in case there be trouble,” Nicholas replied absently. “We discovered that Wrack had locked himself in the brig with the young lass. He looked to be forcing himself upon her. I shot the lock on the door and we removed him from the temptation.”

“Fair enough.” The captain slyly looked at me. “And if I may ask, what was the temptation wearin’ that night?”

The question blindsided me. I didn’t answer.

“Skidmore! What was Miss Monroe wearing that night?”

“A dressing robe.” His voice cracked.

“And nothin’ else?”

Skidmore looked down and shook his head ever so slightly.

“Miss Monroe, tell us what happened after Mr. Wrack was removed from the hold.”

I cleared my throat. “I was taken to the quartermaster’s room where I recovered from my injuries.”

“Were ye alone during that time?”

“I slept a lot.”

“Certainly. But that’s not what I asked. Who was with ye?”

“The quartermaster, mostly.” This turn in questioning confused me. I couldn’t decipher Captain Black’s motives or anticipate his next question.

“Who else?”

“Mr. Skidmore.”

“Now I know I have personally seen the quartermaster and Mr. Skidmore working their watches for the past three days. So I know they did not keep you company every moment. Marks, Skidmore, can you confirm that Miss Monroe had time by herself when she was recovering?”

Skidmore’s eyes caught mine briefly, then he stared at the ground. Reluctantly, he affirmed. “Aye.”

Nicholas stood taller against the mast and crossed his arms over his chest. He seemed defiant when he said, “For brief moments.”

The sudden change in his demeanor meant two things to me. First, it meant that Nicholas was defending me. I had not been abandoned. Second, it meant that the direction the trial had taken was much worse than I anticipated. Nicholas was exposing himself now…for me. 

“And now for me own bit o’ testimony.” The captain addressed the crowd. “This very mornin’ when I informed Miss Monroe and our noble quartermaster that Thomas Wrack had given up the ghost, this lady’s exact words were ‘I’m sorry.’” He rocked on his toes then slammed his heels down victoriously. “She apologized!”

The crowd of pirates erupted with gasps and shouts.

“I did not!”

“Do ye deny what ye said?”

I thought very hard, remembering exactly what had happened during that conversation. The captain told me that Wrack had died of a fever. He implied that I knew about it.

“The words were not an apology, they were for clarification,” I disputed.

“Oh. To clarify what exactly?”

“You seemed to be accusing me. I was unsure of what you meant.”

The red eyes grinned at me. “Seems awfully strange to apologize to me when I be the one accusin’ ye of a crime.”

“It was not an apology!”

He held a hand up to me, halting any further rebuttals.

“After that, Miss Monroe was taken to the brig to await trial. That brings us to the current time.”

This was not going well at all.

He could not be serious. I stared at Captain Black in complete disbelief, my jaw slack. But I no longer saw the playfulness, the enjoyment in his demeanor that was there before. Somehow, this situation had turned very grave.

“What we have here,” the captain pointed a bone-white finger at me, “is a girl who is the sole survivor of a hurricane. A girl insolent enough to insult a ship’s officer and spit upon him. A girl who admittedly assaulted a member of the crew without good reason—”

“I had reason!”

“Quiet!” he bellowed. The captain seemed more dangerous than ever. A shiver cascaded down my spine.

“…without good reason,” Captain Black reiterated. “A girl who wore nothin’ more than a scant robe until this very day. A girl who admits to bein’ very angry with Mr. Wrack for his visit. A girl who, as a
prisoner
, attacked a crewmember simply because she
assumed
his intentions were ill. A girl who had enough time alone to put a black spot upon a sailor who was in perfect health the prior day!

“Ye have heard the testimonies, men. And as requested, this trial cannot take any assumptions or opinions into consideration, only honest testimony and proof.”

He paused dramatically. He had an undeniable charisma, and I hated him all the more for the way he spun webs around my words.

“I may be judge and hangman upon this vessel,” he said to me. “But I do not presume to be the jury too. Men, sound off if ye find Miss Monroe guilty.”

A thunderous chorus of “Aye! Aye!” and the stomping of feet on the deck sealed my fate.

Captain Black turned to me gleefully, his red eyes burning. “Tessa Monroe,” he said over the commotion of the cheering pirates, “ye be found guilty of witchcraft and the resulting death of Thomas Wrack.”

This was utterly unfathomable. I was completely aghast. This entire charade had been a complete mockery. I could not believe that there was any seriousness in any of it. My indignation kept me from being as frightened as I should have been.

“Fetch some rope and tie a noose! That witch be dancing the hempen jig from the yardarm and we won’t be missin’ that!”