Owned by the Ocean (5 page)

Brant huddled
closer to the thin walls of the building, wishing the slight warmth
would chase away the chill that was creeping into his limbs. It
took hours, but eventually the cold and exhaustion allowed him to
drift off.

Brant probably
managed to get two or three hours of sleep before a hubbub of
working men roused him. His joints were stiff from the cold but he
slowly sat up and stretched, working the blood down into his
extremities as they tingled painfully to life. When he stood up he
spotted Karl almost immediately, barking orders at a few men who
seemed to be loading a row boat with supplies.

Karl looked up
as Brant approached and gave a little wave.

“
What ya doing 'ere already, boy?”

“
Figured it’s better to show up early than late.”

Karl studied
the boy carefully, his eyebrows furrowing, as if deep in thought,
then, once he’d come to a conclusion, his face broke into one of
the warmest smiles Brant had ever seen, crooked and stained teeth
adding a comedic sense to the picture. “Well, I dare say we ain’t
gonna stop ya from working. You can help Joseph over there. He’ll
tell ya what to do.”

Brant nodded
and walked towards the middle aged man who was helping steady the
load in the row boat.

“
Hello, Joseph?”

“
Aye. What do ya want?”

“
Karl sent me to help you.”

“
Well don’t just stand there like a nancy, get in ‘ere and
help me stabilize this here stuff.”

Brant jumped
in, causing the row boat to rock precariously. Joseph only threw
his hands up in disgust. “You don’t know what yer doing, do ya,
boy?”

“
Not really,” he admitted, heat rising in his face. “But I’ll
learn fast. I’ve done a lot of reading and—”

“
All the readin’ and learnin’ ain’t gonna help ya out here.
You gotta work hard and learn hard and you’ll either die tryin’ or
become a man. Can ya handle that, boy?”

“
Sure can. I’m not afraid of hard work. The name is Brant, by
the way.”

Joseph
chuckled. “Yer lucky I like you, Brant, cause I got a mind ta throw
ya overboard. Now, enough jabberin’.”

Joseph pushed Brant hard but in an hour the row boat, which
Brant learned was actually called a long boat, was full to the brim
with supplies. The men working on the dock climbed in, positioning
themselves amongst the crates and barrels, and rowed the large boat
towards their ship; the
BlackFox,
where they tied her up and worked at hoisting box
by box up onto the ship and into the hold. It was slow, gruelling
work. Brant had rope burns and slivers in his hands and he was
pretty sure he had blisters on top of blisters, but he never once
stopped. He had to prove himself to these men or he would be sent
back to his father sooner than an angry wasp will sting.

With the last
box loaded Brant went to follow Joseph as Karl began to shout
orders about hauling anchor and this person to the helm but Captain
LaFleur grabbed his shoulder.

“
That’s enough, son. You’re more likely to get in the way now
than help. You’ll learn in time. Come with me, I’ll show you where
we’re headed.”

Brant followed
the captain to his cabin where he pulled out a large map and spread
it over his desk, pinning down the corners with various heavy
objects.

“
We are heading into the Caribbean, here.” He pointed to an
area on the map. “We will be trading for sugars and such to bring
back to France and England, officially.”

Brant studied
the map. “And what do we do unofficially?”

“
Well, I would say pirate but that is such an awful word. I
prefer to think that we relieve certain enemy ships of their goods
to provide ourselves with profit.”

“
I see.”

“
Is there a problem, Mr. Foxton?”

Brant’s throat
tightened. He hadn’t been looking for piracy, or privateering. He’d
wanted a good, upstanding ship to get him experience so he could
join the Royal Navy. But now he was among dangerous men, and his
future hung on how he chose to answer. “No problem here, Sir.”

“
Good man. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you out of the foray until
you’re ready. I’ll train you with the blade myself and the master
gunner can show you the cannons and guns. Have you had any formal
training?”

“
No sir.”

“
That’s a shame.”

“
You’ll have a blank slate to work with. Should make things
easier.”

“
Perhaps. I do believe we are underway now; Karl has stopped
his hollering. Shall we take a spin around deck?”

Brant nodded
and followed Captain LaFleur once again. The captain showed him all
the gun ports, hiding places, what different rigs did and what not.
It was overwhelming. They stopped at the starboard side of the ship
and looked out to the ocean. England was slowly disappearing along
the horizon.

“
Forgive me for saying, sir, but you and your crew don’t
strike me as pirates.”

Captain
LaFleur laughed. “Of course not. We aren’t the criminal sort. We’re
employed by the King, although if we get caught by the Spaniards we
can never admit to that. We are of the respectable sort or pirate,
if those exist; Privateers, my young friend.”

“
Privateering doesn’t make it right. You’re still killing
people for greed.” Brant felt bold, confident to speak his mind due
to the kindness of his captain.

“
We are waging a private war, my boy, no better or worse than
a public one. I don’t pretend to think that what I do is moral, but
someone has to do it and I’m good at it. Believe me, I’ll be asking
for a priest to take my confession when I’m on my death
bed.”

Brant smiled.
“What should I be doing?” he asked, changing the subject.

“
For now, wander and stay out of the way. Meet the men and try
not to make any enemies; these are cramped quarters we share. Karl
will let you know if there are things to be done, but you worked
hard this morning and I’m pleased with you. You might do okay out
here.”

The loud boom
of cannon fire shook the ship and the planking beneath Brant’s feet
as he ran down the cramped hall below deck with a heavy iron ball
clutched between his hands.

“
Hurry up there, Foxton!” shouted Joseph, who was waiting
impatiently for the cannon ball to reload the huge gun that had
already been wheeled back from its port. “Yer gonna need to bring
more than one at a time,” he growled as he snatched the ball from
Brant’s hands and rolled it down the nose of the cannon.

Brant only
nodded and ran back down the hall to where the ammunition was kept.
Struggling to lift two balls into his arms, he hurried back down
the ship, dodging men and guns in the flurry of activity that was
occurring below deck.

The constant
booming of firing cannons left Brant's ears ringing and his mind
disorientated. It took all he had just to remain standing upright
as cannons leapt backwards in plumes of smoke and the deck rolled
beneath his feet.

He couldn't
hear the clashing of swords, the screams of pain and death, the
metallic smell of blood, or the yells of victory that he was sure
were taking place somewhere above, on this ship or the one they had
locked in a dance to the death. No, all he could hear was the
ringing and booming that came with cannon fire. All he could smell
was the acrid smoke of gunpowder and singed skin of over-eager
sailors. All he could feel was the burning protest of his arms as
his muscles screamed at him for a moment’s rest, a moment’s relief
from the heavy load they'd been carrying for what seemed like
hours.

And then,
almost as quickly as it had all begun, it grew silent.

But it was far
from over. As he exited the dark hold into the bright sunlight, he
was bombarded by the smell of death. Despite the salty sea air,
there was no escaping the sickly sweet smell that seemed to cover
the ship in a haze of despair. Brant felt his stomach protest and
ran to the rail, heaving his breakfast over the side and gasping
for breath.

A rough hand
rested gently on his shoulder. “You okay, son?”

Brant turned
to face Karl and nodded slowly, wiping at his mouth with his dirty
sleeve. “I will be.”

“
First time is always the hardest. You’ll get used to
it.”

Brant
shuddered. “I’m not sure I want to—” he trailed off and looked back
out to the open water, the sight of the blood stained deck
threatening to have him heaving over the side again.

“
This is a hard life, boy. Death and pain are an unfortunate
reality. Is that somethin’ you can handle?”

Could he? He
breathed in fresh sea air. With each exhale he felt calmer. When
he’d first left London he’d wondered if he’d live to regret this
decision, but up until this point he’d loved it. Loved swabbing the
decks and helping the cook prepare dinner. He loved washing laundry
and revelled in the blisters that covered his hands from ropes and
mops and swords. It was excited to practice sparring with Captain
LeFleur and Karl, feeling the power of a pistol firing, or loading
a cannon. There was something about going to bed each night
exhausted and waking up each morning eager to see what the day held
in store that had Brant feeling more alive than he ever had.

But could he
learn to live with death? To become efficient at taking lives
without a second thought, all in the name of blood stained
gold?

Brant looked
up at Karl’s smiling face, his kind eyes showing concern for the
boy, and slowly nodded. “In time.”

***

Brant had been sailing with the crew of the
BlackFox
for nearly
three months when they docked in Port Royale, Jamaica. Here, they
paid a portion of what they had taken to the Governor, who would
report it as profits to the King; keeping their business legitimate
and their necks comfortably noose free.

Port Royale
was everything Brant had dreamed it would be; exotic, noisy, busy,
and in no way industrialized like London. It was beautiful, with
palm trees swaying in the breeze and white sand making up beaches
along the island’s edge. The word that came to mind when Brant
walked through the streets was something akin to paradise.

Brant sat next to Corbin, the sailing master aboard
the
BlackFox,
in
a dingy bar. He glanced down at his cards, a two of clubs, five of
spades, a nine of hearts, and two queens. That, paired with the
cards on the table, he had nothing. He took a long drag of his
cigarette then threw his cards on the table. "I fold."

He glanced
over at Corbin who tapped his finger twice against the back of his
hand of cards. He had a good hand. This was the third round Brant
had folded and his pockets were beginning to grow light.

They made a
few more rounds of bets and then a smug looking young man, who
looked much too well-dressed to be found in an establishment such
as this, called.

One by one the
men lay down their cards, Corbin included. The smug man had a run,
and with a smirk he swept the coins down the table towards himself,
pocketing the small pot. It was nothing extravagant, but it was a
good portion of many of the men’s wages sitting around the table.
Wages that were nothing more than pocket change and a good time for
the man who had won. Brant was beginning to understand why people
hated it when he and Leo had played. Because rich boys and men did
not belong at the same table as the desperate and poor. Here, it
was more than just a game; it was an escape, it was hope that
they’d be able to bring home a few pounds more for their wife and
children. When you lost, the men understood what that meant. People
like Leo, like this young man, like the person he used to be, did
not.

Brant pushed
back his chair and walked out of the pub in disgust. It wasn’t so
much that he’d lost the money. It didn’t matter for him. He had no
one to send wages home to. It was that he used to be that man. He
used to be the one taking hard earned money from those less
fortunate, and it made him sick.

Corbin didn’t
follow Brant out, and he assumed his friend had stayed to either
play more cards, or join a couple other crew members who had
deposited themselves at a table and were filling themselves with
drink.

It was growing dark as Brant made his way down the docks back
towards the
BlackFox.
The men had all been given a couple days leave while they
recuperated from the three months in cramped quarters.

He walked up
the gangplank aboard the ship. It was mostly deserted. A single
lantern hung near the mast, illuminating a small portion of the
deck, and Karl who was sitting beneath it. Smoke curled out from
the man’s pipe, and drifted out to the open water. Brant could see
a glow coming from the captain’s cabin, where he would likely burn
the midnight oil going over books and routes in preparation for
their departure.

Taking a seat
next to Karl, Brant reached into his pocket and pulled out a
cigarette. He’d gone without for most of the three months voyage
and the first thing he’d done upon docking was buy more.

“
Had enough of the shore?” asked Karl after a long stretch of
silence.

Brant was slow
to respond as he listened to the waves slapping against the hull of
the ship and the various noises from the town drifting towards
them. “A little too much reality for me.”