Owned by the Ocean (10 page)

The captain
spit at Brant’s feet. “You are nothing but a weak Englishman.”

Brant smiled.
“We shall see about that.”

Brant walked away and went back to his ship where he briefed
Casper on what heading to make and then retired to his cabin where
he could collect his thoughts and prepare for the celebrations that
would ensue. In the past few seasons it had become tradition on
the
BlackFox
for
the men to have a bit of a celebration after their first successful
raid of the year and, although not a first of the season, it was
the first with Brant as captain and worthy of
celebration.

Brant smiled
as one of the men ran past his window and below deck—likely to pull
out a crate of rum. He was jumping the gun a little, but as long as
the anchor was pulled up and they were making headway Brant didn’t
care if half his crew couldn’t stand. There wouldn’t be another
raid today anyway.

* * *

Brant looked
at Karl in shock. “What do you mean I'm wanted?”

“
I mean they want to put a pretty noose around your neck in
Port Royale. It would be wise to adjust our heading and clear
things up.”

“
Clear what up, exactly? And what happened to privateering
status?”

“
Apparently privateering status ain't transferable from
captain to captain.”

“
So you're saying that when LaFleur died and I took over I was
acting illegally and am nothing more than a common pirate?” Brant
could feel his blood pressure rising with every word spoken. He
hadn’t signed on for this. He’d wanted to serve the King, not
himself.

“
Aye.”

“
And you didn't tell me this, why?”

“
I was as much in the dark as you, until now.”

“
There were no rules and bylines about this whole thing when
LaFleur got into it originally?”

“
Sure there was, I just didn't know.”

“
Who would I get a Letter of Marque from?”

Karl shrugged.
“The Gov’nor, I suppose.”

“
Then we sail for Port Royale. We’ll anchor off the coast,
take a long boat in at night, and make a little visit to Governor
Modyford.”

“
Very good, Cap'n.”

“
Karl—”

“
Yessir?”

“
Enough with the formalities; we both know I'm Brant to
you.”

“
Aye, Brant.”

“
Thank you. And could you send Casper in?”

“
Yessir.”

Brant shook
his head and laughed. Casper walked in moments later looking a
little concerned. “Something wrong, Cap'n?”

“
We need to make a change to our route and
destination.”

“
Cap'n?”

“
We need to head straight for Port Royale, but avoid other
ships. No more raids. And we won’t be making port.”

“
Sir?” Casper looked confused.

“
Seems there’s a price on my head,” he offered in explanation.
“Just change our course, and have us drop anchor off the coast,
somewhere inconspicuous.”

“
I’ll take care of it right away.”

“
Thank you. Oh, and Casper, try to get the shortest route
possible. I don't like having a death sentence hanging over my
head.”

“
Of course, Sir.”

***

The winds
seemed to be in their favor, pushing them towards Port Royale
quickly. Brant didn’t know if he should be thankful that he would
be able to put this mess behind him sooner rather than later, or
terrified that he was rushing towards a waiting noose.

They docked
off the coast of Jamaica, near a small beach a short hike outside
of the port city and waited.

When darkness
fell, Brant along with Karl and Christopher, lowered a long boat to
the water below and rowed it the short distance to the beach.
Hauling the boat onto the shore sufficiently high enough to avoid
any incoming or outgoing tides, they double checked their pistols,
and then set out on their hike through the dense jungle towards
civilization.

It took a
couple hours of pushing through brush and vines and walking dusty
roads before the made it to the outskirts of the city. Walking down
the streets, Brant knew they stuck out like a sore thumb, covered
in dust and sweat, but they made their way to the good quarter of
the city where Governor Modyford resided.

“
Hey, you!” came a shout from behind, just as they were about
to turn up a street where some of the more lavish houses were
situated.

Brant spun to
face the speaker and paled. It was a guard.

“
Brant—” warned Karl.

“
You and Christopher better get out of here.”

Karl nodded
and he waved Christopher to follow him as they slipped into the
shadows of a back alley while Brant walked towards the guard.

“
Can I help you?”

“
What’s your business around here?”

Brant
shrugged. “Just out for an evening stroll.”

The guard
squinted at Brant in the low light. “You been drinking?”

“
Not a drop.”

“
You’re a captain?” asked the guard, indicating Brant’s
hat.

Brant
grimaced. He should have removed his hat. “Yes sir, I am.”

“
What’s your ship?”

Brant’s mind
spun as he tried to come up with a lie, with a ship’s name that
wouldn’t incriminate him, but for all the ships he knew and
captains he was associated with, his mind refused to cooperate and
offer him a name.

“
You look familiar.”

“
I make port here quite often.” Brant could feel the sweat
pooling on his upper lip and forehead, and this time it wasn’t from
heat or exertion. “May I go? I’ll head straight to my ship. I’m not
going to cause any trouble.”

The guard
shook his head. “I think you’d better come with me.”

Brant
hesitated. Should he run? He knew Port Royale like the back of his
hand and likely could hide, but that didn’t solve his problem and
he would still have to find a way out of the city. With a sigh, he
nodded his acquiescence, unbuckling his belt which housed his
pistols and cutlass, and handed it over to the guard who accepted
it, then shackled Brant’s hands.

As they walked
through the streets towards what was undoubtedly the jail, Brant
studied the guard’s face, impassive and stony in the moonlight.

“
Do you even know why you’re bringing me in?”

“
I saw a poster with your face on it. You’re Brant
Foxton.”

So much for
anonymity. He didn’t reply; his silence was answer enough for the
guard.

They
approached the jail and the guard walked him to a dirty cell which
housed three other men. The smell that wafted out had Brant
gagging, and thankful for an empty stomach.

“
In you go.”

Brant’s eyes
watered from the stench and his nostrils burned but he walked
forward, and waited for the guard to release the shackles that held
his hands firmly behind his back.

Once the door
clanged shut behind him, Brant turned around the face the guard. “I
want to see Governor Modyford as soon as possible. You tell him
Brant Foxton, son of Calvin Foxton was brought in.” Brant nearly
choked on his father’s name, the blow to his pride hitting him
harder than any punch to the gut could. But this was a matter of
life and death, and if it meant living to see many more sunrises,
he’d put his pride aside just this once.

The guard
smiled. “Yeah, I’m sure the governor will give pirate scum an
audience.”

“
He’ll give it to me.”

“
High and mighty, ain’t you? Fine, I’ll pass on the message,
but don’t expect much.”

Brant nodded
and turned away, finding a corner of straw to sit in that looked
somewhat clean, if there was even an inch in this cell that wasn’t
covered in filth. The other two men, his cell mates, watched him
but remained silent.

Brant drifted
in and out of sleep on the hard stone floor. Bugs and rats
skittered about, waking him up frequently throughout the night. The
stench was slowly becoming less noticeable as he acclimatized to
his surroundings, but his skin crawled more with each passing
minute. He itched constantly, convinced fleas were making their
home on his person and moved out of the straw, sitting on the cold
stone where at least he could see what was moving along the floor
instead of just rustling pieces of straw that had him wondering if
it was the wind, his imagination, or a cockroach.

When the sun
finally made its appearance, leaving a sliver a light through the
tiny single window, Brant felt relief and energy flooding his body.
He got up and started walking around, waiting for news that his
message had gotten to the governor.

A guard
brought breakfast, if the slop could really be called that, and the
line of sunlight moved along the cell floor slowly, showing the
passing hours. Still, no one came. Brant peeked out the window at
the sun, and guessed it was nearing noon, when he finally heard
footsteps echoing down the stone hall he walked over to the bars,
eager.

“
Brant Foxton?” asked the guard.

“
Yes sir.”

“
The governor wants to see you.”

The guard
inserted a key into the door and opened it, motioning for Brant to
turn around as he fished the shackles off his belt and locked them
on Brant’s wrists.

Leading him
down the hall and out of the jail house, he was loaded into a wagon
and driven across town where it stopped outside the ornate mansion
that was known to all as the governor’s house.

Brant was
unceremoniously unloaded from the wagon and pushed into the house
and a short distance into a dining room, where Governor Modyford
sat, eating lunch.

“
Unshackle him,” he said, without looking up from the
newspaper he was perusing.

The irons fell
from Brant’s wrist and he swung his arms around while twisting his
wrists in little circles to get the blood flow back.

“
Sit.”

Brant pulled
out a chair and sat down. The minute he relaxed into the chair a
plate, set of cutlery, and wine glass was set in front of him. He
took this as invitation to the food spread out on the table and
reached for various fruit, breads and cheeses that were causing his
mouth to water hungrily.

“
Leave us,” was the governor’s last command as he folded his
paper and set it aside.

Brant watched
his host curiously while eating some grapes, waiting for the man to
open up conversation.

They sat in
silence for a time, Governor Modyford seemingly content to eat his
lunch in peace and quiet before addressing the business at hand.
Hungry, and the spread of fresh food too much to ignore, Brant
feasted. He wasn’t about to be hung now. He had the audience he
wanted and he didn’t plan on leaving in irons.

“
So, Brant, you are Calvin’s son.” It wasn’t a
question.

Brant nodded
around a mouthful of bread and cheese. “Yes sir,” he said upon
swallowing.

“
And how did you find yourself in this line of…
work?”

“
I was a sailor on the privateering ship the
BlackFox.
It recently
came under my command due to some unsavory circumstances, and I’m
afraid I was acting in ignorance when I was raiding enemy ships
without a Letter of Marque.”

“
Unsavory circumstances?”

“
Mutiny, Sir, of which I had no involvement.”

“
I see. And what is it you want me to do for you?”

Brant smiled,
feeling more at ease with the situation by the minute. “I would
like to pay my percentage to the King, and in turn we forget these
piracy charges. A Letter of Marque would also go a long way.”

Governor
Modyford remained silent, sipping at his tea with a thoughtful look
on his face. Finally, he set down his tea cup and looked at Brant.
“You pay the required percentage and we will forget everything,” he
said. “And I’ll commission the letter.”

“
Thank you, Sir.”

“
I’m doing this because you’re Calvin Foxton’s son. If you
fall on the wrong side of the law again, don’t expect any aid from
me.”

Brant nodded.
“Of course, Sir, thank you.”

The governor
rang a bell and a guard came marching in, leaning in close to
Modyford for instructions, and then leaving. Soon a servant came in
with a small writing desk and set it by the governor, who turned to
it and wrote up a letter, signing and stamping it, then sprinkling
the wet ink with sand.

As he stood up
to hand Brant the letter, he grasped his hand. “I take it you
haven’t heard of your father’s well-being?”

Brant frowned.
“No sir. Is he well?”

“
He’s been ill for some time and news from London says they
don’t expect him to live out the year.”

Brant took the
letter from the Governor’s hand and nodded somberly. “Thank you,
Sir.”

“
I urge you to sail for England. If you leave now you can beat
the summer storms. No man should die without saying goodbye to his
son.”

Brant forced a
grim smile and nodded, but couldn’t bring himself to say anything
in response. Maybe the governor was right, but Brant wasn’t really
Calvin’s son anymore, and hadn’t been in years.

He turned to
walk out, pausing at the entrance way. “I’ll have my men bring the
gold this afternoon,” then walked out.