Owned by the Ocean (13 page)

Sure enough,
Brant found James staring appallingly at the crew’s quarters.

“
I don’t actually have to sleep here, do I? This is a joke,
right?”

Brant laughed.
“Would you rather sleep in the brig?”

“
Does the brig have a softer bed?”

“
No, it doesn’t have a bed.”

“
And how long are we at sea?”

“
Oh, a few months. We make various ports but you and I will be
remaining on the ship for the most part.”

“
And Karl doesn’t have to sleep here? Or you?”

“
Karl is the quartermaster and I am the captain. We have
special privileges. I have something for you.”

James looked
at Brant in excitement, his distress over the sleeping arrangements
apparently forgotten for the time being. “Really? What?”

Brant pulled
out the sword with a flourish. “Your very own cutlass. I’ll teach
you how to use it.”

James took the
sword from Brant and turned it around in his hands. “Wow!”

“
This is a weapon, not a toy. You must keep it sharp and clean
at all times. If you ask some of the men they’ll show you how to
look after it. If you don’t do so there are consequences. We have
to always be ready to defend ourselves or fight others. You will
not be taking part in any raids but you will be held to the same
standards as the other crew members, that means keeping your
effects in good repair, you understand?”

James nodded
furiously, a huge grin plastered on his face as he gripped the hilt
of his brand new blade.

“
Good. Then as cabin boy you can go report to Karl and he’ll
keep you busy until we cast off.”

“
Busy?”

“
Chores, James. There aren’t servants here to do your bidding.
We have to do everything ourselves and everyone does their
part.”

“
Oh.”

Brant laughed
at James’ dejected face. “You’ll get used to it.”

Sure enough
James did get used to it and he quickly fit in amongst the crew.
Brant took a walk down memory lane when he saw James emptying
latrines and swabbing the deck; it hadn’t been that long ago when
those had been his daily chores.

The first few
weeks the boy had awful blisters on his hands but they soon
callused and grew tough. James allowed his hair to grow long and
his clothes became worn and dirty. Brant watched his younger
brother transform before his eyes from a spoiled young aristocrat
into a hard working cabin boy. Money suddenly needed to be earned
to put food on the table and hard work made for a good night’s
sleep.

But, although
James excelled at his new life of manual labour, he couldn’t seem
to pick up or even enjoy his daily exercises in swordsmanship. He
didn’t have the heart or desire to learn the deadly dance that was
sparring, and Brant was quickly beginning to question his decision
to take his brother on as a crew member. If he couldn’t defend
himself, he was better off living on the plantation with a tutor
where he could enjoy a life of luxury like he had been meant to.
But he wasn’t ready to allow his brother to waltz out of his life
and be looked after by strangers, so he stayed and Brant continued
to push him daily to learn and improve. Soon enough the boy would
turn sixteen and it would be back off to London and school for
him.

“
Can we stop for the day? I’m not very good at this,” begged
James as he let his cutlass drop uselessly at his side.

Brant did his
best to hide his disappointment and nodded. “Of course, but you’re
doing just fine. It’s an art form and it takes time to learn.”

“
Did it take you so long?”

Brant laughed.
“It takes everyone a long time. I spent four years perfecting it
and I still spend every day trying to get better.”

“
But you’re good. I heard the men talking; they say you’re the
best.”

Brant walked
away and stood at the railing, James following. “Who told you
that?” He laughed.

“
The men all say that’s the case. Are you telling me it’s
not?”

“
The men like to embellish things. You shouldn’t believe
everything they say.”

“
Why not? They have no reason to lie.”

“
They enjoy telling stories, James. It keeps life from being
too boring. Now back to work if you don’t want to continue
lessons.”

“
All work and no play makes James a very dull boy,” he chanted
as he walked away to continue his daily chores.

“
Karl!” called Brant as he walked up to the helm. Karl stood
up from where he was mending a sail and followed Brant.

“
Yes?”

“
How long has it been since we’ve made a raid?”

“
Three weeks.”

“
Are the men becoming restless?”

“
They are, but they are also concerned for the young master
Foxton’s wellbeing. We had our first raid of the year and it scared
him quite a bit.”

“
He said nothing to me.”

Karl smiled.
“Of course not. He wouldn’t want to disappoint his older brother.
He works so hard for your approval.”

“
This is our way of life. We need raids or we don’t eat. James
will have to get used to it.”

“
That is why you haven’t been ordering raids either? We’ve
passed a few ships in the past weeks we coulda had any number of
em. Who you trying to convince, me or yourself?”

Brant sighed.
“I’m concerned about him too but I’m also concerned about the state
of this ship. It needs... work.”

“
Yer unsure of how to handle this.” It wasn’t a
question.

“
Yes! I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. I’m not a
father, I’m a brother and I have no idea how to look after a
ten-year-old boy. No idea at all. I have no idea if I should be
sheltering him from my life or allowing him to be a part of it.
We’re immoral men, Karl. Can we justify turning James into one as
well? And who do I put first? James, or my crew?”

Karl shook his
head. “There ain’t no easy answer and I can’t tell you what to do.
Your father entrusted James to you, so I assume he knew what kind
of life he would be going into. You and I know we gotta keep this
here ship afloat so we have to either raid or find a new way to
bring in money. Like you said, James will be fine. He’ll get used
to it.”

“
Thank you, Karl.”

“
Aye, Brant, tis why I’m here.”

* * *

After Brant’s talk with Karl he started ordering raids again
and despite the late start in the season the
BlackFox
docked in Port Royale with
a hull full of pillaged goods. After a percentage was paid to the
crown the rest was divided among the crew according to their rank.
There was a little less than the men were used to, but none gave a
word of complaint.

Brant and
James prepared to go to their father’s plantation. Brant hadn’t
been there for years, not since before his mother had died. He
didn't have much memory of the estate but found himself pleasantly
surprised. The grounds were well kept and the house seemed in
order.

Stepping into
the house they were greeted by an older woman who introduced
herself as Liza, the housekeeper. She was a single mother, her
husband having died. Looking after the Foxton estate was a family
affair for her; her son looked after the grounds and her daughter
helped around the house, and was kept in pristine condition
year-round despite the only inhabitants being the housekeeper and
her children.

“
I didn’t know you’d be comin’, Master Brant, or I would have
had rooms prepared. I got news that Sir Foxton passed on, so sad.
And this is your brother?” she went off on a nervous series of
questions and statements.

“
Yes, this is James. We’ll be spending the storm season here
and then heading back to sea.”

“
Back to London?”

“
No, sailing—I am a captain. We’ll likely spend most storm
seasons here.”

“
Oh, it will be wonderful to have people living here again!
I’ll get Sarah to make you up some rooms and I’ll get started on
dinner. Will it just be the two of you?”

“
Yes, thank you. You and your children are welcome to join us
if you wish.”

“
Oh, we couldn’t.”

“
Please do, it is much too large of a house for us not to eat
and live together.”

“
Thank you, sir.”

“
I’ll be in the study if you need me, going over the papers.
If you see your son could you ask him to let the foreman know that
I am here and would like to meet with him tomorrow
morning?”

“
Yes sir.”

“
Thank you.”

As Brant
retired to the study he sent James to explore the grounds, of which
there was plenty to explore. From what he remembered there was a
stable—which had at one time been full of horses, but now more than
likely sat abandoned. There was also a cricket field in the back
and a patio. An expansive front yard with fruit trees and pathways
completed the picturesque landscaping and the two story Spanish
plantation house was a work of art all on its own. The estate was
cheery and bright, much different from the gothic architecture of
the London home James and Brant had grown up in.

That night at
dinner with Liza and her children; Sarah and Samuel, James asked
Brant if he could have a horse.

“
A horse? Whatever for?”

“
It will give me something to do while we’re here. There is so
much to explore and it would be so much easier to do so on
horseback.”

“
I’ll see what I can do.”

“
If you want I can look around for a suitable horse for the
master,” offered Samuel.

“
Thank you, that would be wonderful. I’m afraid I don’t know
much of animals. Just ships.”

“
We can’t know everything, sir.”

“
Please, call me Brant.”

Samuel smiled
and nodded. “I went and spoke to the foreman for you today. He said
he would be by the house tomorrow morning at seven. Is that
good?”

“
Perfect. What do you think of the man?”

Samuel blushed
a little and looked down, obviously unused to having his opinion
asked. “It’s not my place to say—”

“
I learned long ago that a smart man listens to the
observations of those that see more than him. I’d like to have an
idea of the man I’m meeting tomorrow.”

“
I think he is good at was he does but perhaps a bit more
harsh than necessary. But the men always pull a good
crop.”

Brant frowned.
He didn’t believe that a strong hand was always best, and if Samuel
was right in saying the foreman was harsh there would likely be
some changes made in the near future, but for now Brant’s main
concern was becoming acquainted with the plantation and everything
involved.

“
Would you be able to give me a tour of the plantation
tomorrow afternoon?”

“
Of course. It is best done on horseback but my mother and I
each have a horse here that we can make use of.”

After dinner
Brant locked himself in the study again to continue looking over
the books. Pouring himself a glass of port, he sighed and smoothed
out the page he was looking at. Not for the first time today he
wished he had paid more attention in class for the short time he’d
attended school. It should be a simple task, to figure out where
they stood financially. If there was a deficit or a surplus and
why, but nothing was simple when what you were looking at looked
like a different language.

* * *

Summer on the
Foxton estate was different from any other Brant had experienced in
Jamaica. He enjoyed watching James return to his childlike
innocence. He had noticed that even the ten months on a ship had
caused his brother to harden. It went fast when you were surrounded
by men who made their living by killing and stealing

It was hot in Jamaica, that was nothing new to Brant, but it
was to James who was used to overcast and rainy England. Most days
he ran around wearing next to nothing but his breeches. Brant just
laughed and enjoyed Liza’s expression of horror. She had quickly
adopted James and fussed over him nonstop when he was anywhere near
the house—much to James’ dismay. When storms rolled in, they closed
themselves indoors and waited out the weather with games and
reading. Brant had a family. Gaining command of the
BlackFox
had given him a
sense of accomplishment, but having James back in his life had him
feeling like he was starting to put his life together.

This summer,
unlike all the others, went quickly and although he was ready to
set sail, Brant left the estate with a sense of loss. The men,
however, were eager to set sail after a summer of being land
locked. Even James was excited to return, evidently the thought of
having Liza as a caretaker was more terrifying than swabbing decks
and cleaning latrines.

Leaving Port
Royale, Brant watched the disappearing shore line and smiled. That
island was as close to home as he ever got on land but he was
always happy to be back on his beloved ship, back on his beloved
ocean.

* * *

James burst
into Brant’s cabin, hair disheveled, not even pausing to knock or
request permission to enter. Brant was sitting at his desk looking
at charts and maps.