Owned by the Ocean (7 page)

Brant had
continued to learn the skills required of a Sailing Mate from
Captain LeFleur after Corbin had left, but he had been told that
for this voyage he was taking over as Sailing Master. No more
Sailing Mate. Now he answered to no one, served no one but Captain
LeFleur. And he would happily serve the man that had offered him so
much until he could get a ship and a crew of his own. When that day
came, he would sail to England and face his father with pride. He
wondered from time to time how James was doing, but over three
years had passed since he had seen him. He assumed James was doing
well… he would be ten now and probably still acting like the
perfect disciplined boy he’d been when Brant left. Shaking the
thoughts of his past, of a family he left behind out of his head,
Brant joined Captain LaFleur in his cabin to look over their
intended course.

He had
attended countless numbers of these meetings when he had been
learning under Corbin and then LaFleur, but now it was his turn to
take charge. He knew what to do. In the last year he had pretty
much been doing everything himself with LaFleur only watching over
his shoulder and putting in suggestions when needed. He was
confident in his knowledge and in his skills and he knew that he
wouldn’t fail; nevertheless it was a daunting thing to be called
before the captain to do the job he had been trained in completely
on his own for the first time.

Brant looked
over the map that LaFleur was showing him and pointed at a
location. “Here is where we’re at. We’re traveling at about fifteen
knots right now. You want to get to Tortuga, best way would be
along here,” Brant explained as he traced a route along the worn
paper.

“
But?” asked LeFleur.

“
Won’t be many ships along this route.”

LeFleur
nodded. “I want to take the most direct route to Tortuga so we can
empty the hold. We’re sitting low in the water and it’s slowing us
down too much. Also, we can’t keep having Harold do repairs on the
ocean like this. We’ve taken too much damage in the last few
raids.”

“
We should try to avoid storms as much as possible. It’s
getting late in the season. Could be some big ones starting to
brew.” Brant had been watching the sky earlier. He didn’t like the
look of the clouds that seemed to be chasing them down faster than
they could sail, and he wasn’t sure that the
BlackFox
was in any shape to weather
a big gale. LeFleur had pushed them hard this season, barely
letting them make port, having Harold do repairs on the run as much
as possible. The last raid they had to run from with their tail
between their legs, their beautiful ship barely limping
away.

“
It is, but we have to go a bit longer. We’ll dock at Tortuga
and spend the summer months there.”

“
If you don’t mind me asking, Sir, why Tortuga? We just left
Port Royale.”

“
Port Royale is taking in heavy trade and I don’t want to
trade, I want gold. Tortuga is a good place for that.”

“
Gold that is not taxable to the King?”

“
If we play our cards right.”

Brant pressed
his lips together, holding back the words that were brewing inside.
LeFleur was taking risks; pushing both the men and his ship harder
than ever; going later into the season than was advisable; and now
trying to cheat the King of gold that was, according to the letter
of Marque, rightfully his.

LeFleur was
getting up in age. Was he trying to cash in for retirement?
Whatever it was, something wasn’t adding up.

Brant took his
leave and went to set the ship on the course they discussed. It was
a time consuming job, but he had a good crew that could adjust the
sails quickly and efficiently for their purposes. Of all the crews
Brant could have been serving with, without this group of men—as
rough as they were—he wouldn’t be where he was today.

* * *

The summer
storm months were usually dull, but this year was particularly so.
Normally the crew settled in Port Royale, and Brant would spend the
months with Corbin and Anna. There, he had some semblance of a
family. Tortuga though was nothing but women, drinking and cards,
which sounded good in theory. The women were boring and frivolous,
only spending time with the men for money, and the entertainment
was often drinking and bar brawls—which was good for a few laughs
until it landed you in lock up for a night.

Brant spent
most of his time with the men in his crew, throwing away all their
money on rum and cigarettes. Many of the men had some girl on their
arm that they had paid for, but Brant mostly ignored them. He had
no interest in a girl that was merely giving away her body and not
her heart.

Women weren’t
in his future. He didn’t live a life he could bring one into and
he’d come to terms with that about when Corbin gave up his position
to look after his family. He was lonely, but he refused to lower
his standards for a one night lie. He’d seen what that did to Leo,
and he didn’t want that.

Brant finished
off his glass of rum and noisily dropped it onto the wooden table.
He was sick of hearing the girls in this bar laugh and flirt,
pushing themselves on inebriated men. Was this how girls had been
around Leo? He could remember thinking they were pathetic, but they
were looking for a life change. These girls were just looking to
make a pound.

Brant played
with the idea of taking one up to his room… It would be so easy,
just one night of reckless abandon that he could forget about the
next day. Sooner or later a girl would come up to him if he watched
them long enough. There was one girl who looked younger than the
rest, wearing a dress that barely covered her chest. She was
laughing at something another girl was saying to her. She was
blushing… Either she was incredibly good at what she did or she was
new enough to still have a little bit of innocence about her. She
looked over and caught Brant’s eye. It was just a second, but it
was enough. She sauntered over.

“
You’ve been watchin’ me.”

“
You aren’t like the other girls. What’s your
story?”

“
It’s long… I got the time to tell it if you got the
money.”

Brant smiled
“I got money. Sit, let me buy you a drink.”

She sat and
Brant waved over a serving girl and ordered two rums. “I’m
Brant.”

“
Clarice.”

“
You’re too young to be working this job, Clarice. Too
pretty.”

“
Mayhaps, but it’s good money and I need it. My father died a
little while back, he was a sailor, and me mom and baby brother are
left with nothing. We don’t have two shillings to rub together, so
I do this. It’s the one thing us women can do to make a decent
penny and I ain’t gonna let my momma and baby brother go out on the
street.”

“
Is that your real story or is that the one your mistress told
you to tell?”

“
You think men around here give a lick about women being put
out of their own homes? That’s the truth. For every other man I
just pretend like I’m not a working girl. That’s what they
want.”

“
I’m sorry you have to do this.”

“
Tis life, Brant. Don’t tell me yer so naïve you think this is
a choice. Now, are you gonna take me upstairs or should I look for
business elsewhere?”

Brant smiled
and shook his head. “I’m not looking for that. I just want some
conversation. Sit here with me, talk, that’s all I’m asking for and
I’ll pay you good.”

“
I do believe you’re one of the good ones, Brant.”

“
So are you. Don’t forget that.”

So they
pretended. He told her about his life on the ship, about his father
and brother back home and she listened. She laughed in all the
right places and took the coins as he slid them over. For just one
night, Brant could pretend that he had someone waiting for him
whenever he was out to sea, wanting to hear his stories of
adventure. But when he made his way up to his room alone in the wee
hours of the morning, reality came back. He was just a sailor and
he would grow old and alone like most of the men on the crew.

For the first
time in his life, Brant began to wonder if maybe his father had
been right… maybe this wasn’t the life for him.

* * *

Brant barely noticed the passing of his twentieth birthday.
Four years he’d sailed with the
BlackFox.
But this season was
different from the others. If LaFleur had pushed harder than ever
in the previous season, he was sitting back and relaxing this time
around. It was the general consensus of the crew that he was
getting tired. Soft. And there was talk that he wouldn’t be captain
for much longer.

It unsettled
Brant to hear murmurs of discontent and mutiny ripple through the
crew. He’d tried to talk LaFleur into following heavier trade
routes. The men were restless, barely having enough raids to
satisfactorily line their pockets with gold and they were heading
into the latter half of the season. And now, to make matters even
better, LaFleur was talking about heading to Port Royale early and
taking a longer break over the storm season. It was as if he was
completely blind and deaf to the discontent spreading through his
crew like wildfire.

He was getting
old, tired. He’d spent too many years in a hard life and everyone
saw it.

Brant was worried. He couldn’t help but feel like a storm was
brewing. And by the feel of things, the
BlackFox
wasn’t going to get through
it unscathed.

Brant woke up
with a start as the sounds of running feet thundered overhead. That
wasn't right. The men should all be asleep in their bunks. But
instead they were up, which couldn't mean anything good.

He swung his
legs out of his bunk and quickly pulled on his trousers and boots,
grabbing his cutlass from where it hung on a peg on the wall.
Refraining from running above, Brant walked cautiously up the
stairs and peered out of the hold.

The deck was
alight with lanterns and it seemed the entire crew was gathered on
deck. Karl, LaFleur and Joseph made up a small group at the center
of the foray. LaFleur looked as if he'd been roused from bed, his
shirt untucked and barefoot, hair disheveled. But he looked
anything but tired. His eyes were ablaze with anger.

Brant walked
up on deck and joined the crowd of sailors to try to get a better
idea of what was going on. The sick feeling in his gut told him to
hang back, not to get involved, but he moved forward anyway;
curiosity winning over.

"You're a bunch of cowards!" yelled LaFleur. "You drag a man
out of bed in the middle of the night, for what? To betray him? To
stab him in the back? You ain't happy with the way I'm running
things, you can leave at next port. That is how things work
on
my
ship."

"Yer ship?”
one of the younger sailors, Jacob, stepped forward. “This ship
would be nothin’ without us. You are nothin’ without us. And quite
frankly, yer draggin’ us down.”

Brant
swallowed hard as the men around them yelled their approval at the
apparent leader’s words. He caught Karl’s eye, silently asking what
to do. All he got in response was a nearly imperceptible shake of
the head. So he stood, his hand resting on the cutlass strapped to
his hip and watching the crew members he called friends and family
turn into crazed men. They were calling for blood, and he knew that
this night would end with a red sun rising.

Shouts calling
to throw him overboard, to maroon LaFleur, came from the men that
were quickly taken up as a chant, rippling among the men like the
words of dark magic. LaFleur was growing red in fury and he pulled
his pistol, waving it in the face of Jacob.

“
Usurper! You’re gonna hold a mutiny against me? I put food on
the table and lined your pockets with gold!”

Karl reached
for LaFleur’s arm and rested his hand on his shoulder, whispering
to their captain. Calm down, Brant prayed. He wanted to push his
way through the crowd and join his captain. Instead, he stood on
the outskirts, a coward, and watched the situation deteriorate
before his eyes.

The minute
LaFleur’s pistol was waved in Jacob’s face Brant knew it was the
end. The men were calling for blood. They’d lost faith in their
captain and had elected a new leader. To lose control, like LaFleur
was doing, was basically signing his own death warrant.

The chant for
overboard had been dropped and instead calls for a duel filled the
ship deck. Though they were not calling for blood in as many words,
they might as well have been. There was only one way a duel would
end; in death, and Brant wasn’t confident LaFleur would win.

Jacob drew his
cutlass and turned to face the crowd of men that stood behind him.
“A duel you say?”

“
Yeah!” came the uproarious shout from the men.

“
Winner be captain? No contest from no one else.”

“
Aye!”

Jacob turned
to LaFleur. “What say you? Sounds fair to me. The men ain’t happy
with you, but they’re willin’ to give you a chance if you can best
me.”

LaFleur
nodded. “Aye, tis fair.”

Brant could no longer stand aside and watch. He pushed his
way through the crowd. “Let me fight for you, act as champion,” he
called. He
knew
he could beat Jacob and secure LaFleur’s
captaincy.

But LaFleur
and Karl shook their heads. “Nay, boy. You fighting for me won’t
help. I fight for my own place, or I hand it over.”