Rapture of the Deep: Being an Account of the Further Adventures of Jacky Faber, Soldier, Sailor, Mermaid, Spy (24 page)

There is a roar of
Salud!
and the toast is drunk. Pirates will always drink to money and love. I notice that while many of the faces are familiar, many are not, and then I look for a face that is not there. I sit up straight.

"Where is Chucho? Oh my God, he wasn't ... ?" Chucho was Flaco's First Mate, and I liked him very much.

"No, my sweet, he was not killed or hanged," says Flaco, shaking his head, his braids flying about his face. "No, it was far worse than that."

I steel myself for the worst. Chucho was a good friend to me.

"No, the Grand Chucho, his sword feared from Martinique to Saint Martin, from Saint Thomas to Puerto Rico, has fallen ... and fallen to a woman, at that. A hostage we took in a raid on Puerto Gordo. While she was aboard and waiting to be ransomed, poor Chucho fell under her spell. He and the woman now have a farm and raise sugar cane and a horde of brats on Santo Domingo." Again Jimenez shakes his head at the ways of the world. "No proper end for a pirate, no." That sentiment is echoed around the table. "El Feo there has been elected First Mate." I look over to see a large, scowling, and very unpleasant-looking cove.
El Feo
means "the ugly one," and it seems to fit. I take an instant dislike to him, and I have a suspicion that he feels the same way about the bit of
inglesa
fluff that has just landed in his captain's lap.

"But enough of the henpecked and disgraced Chucho,
chiquita,
time now for that kiss."

I lift my face and give it to the rascal, and there are cheers all around—
Olé, Capitán!
Yes, I have always been free with my kisses, but then, I wasn't raised up proper. I say, what's the harm?

As I take my lips from his, he says, "That was lovely,
mi
corazón,
and we must have another. But if you would put that blade away, I would be even more appreciative of your very obvious charms." He glances nervously at my shiv, which is still in my hand, the razor-sharp edge of which rests not very far from his right ear.

Leaving my left arm about his neck, I bring the knife around and put the point of it to his chin and gently tickle his beard with it. "No
hay rosas sin espinas,
eh, Flaco? You taught me that one—'No roses without thorns.' True,
cómo no?"

"
Es la verdad, mi querida,
and especially in your case, my British
rosa,
but if you would just..."

I whip my knife back into my forearm sheath, and as soon as I do, he clasps me to him.

"You have become even more beautiful, my quivering little bowl of jalapeño jelly," he says, his nose a bare inch from the top of my bodice. The danger from my shiv now past, he leans in and plunges his face in the cleft between my breasts, then gives his chin a bit of a shake back and forth. I yelp and grasp his hair and jerk his head back up and out of there. I hear a faint tinkle, and see that at the ends of several of the braids now dangle tiny chimes.

"Bells, is it now? The beads and ribbons were not enough? Are you now a horse and carriage, Flaco?"

"Our captives and hostages seem to demand something colorful in the way of fierce pirate captains. I only seek to oblige them, my dear. And now for the second kiss, which I trust will be even sweeter than the first."

His arm goes about my waist, and as he draws me even closer to him, I take a deep breath and muse about the past.
I must admit, Jaimy, that I have sat in this very same lap before—yes, I have. It was during that summer on the
Emerald
when I thought you were out of my life for good and ever. I met Flaco Jimenez, Captain of
El Diablo Rojo,
in a smoke-filled tavern in Fort-de-France on Martinique, right after the lot of us, sailing in consort, had sacked and pillaged that very town. It was, after all, a French town, and being an English privateer, that's what I was supposed to do, wasn't it? Parts of the town were burning right merrily when my Irish crew and I piled into that tavern and, after many a drink, formed sort of an alliance with the crew of
El Diablo Rojo,
and I formed more than a bit of an alliance with her Captain, Flaco Maria Castro de Jimenez.

Anyway, I don't think very many people got hurt in that raid. Most of the smart ones, including the local police, headed for the hills as soon as they spotted our ships coming into their harbor, each bearing a version of the skull-and-crossed-bones flags flying at our mastheads as we charged in. I hope not, anyway.

It turned out that Flaco was a decent sort, for a Spanish pirate. He had a sense of honor in that he did not abuse his captives, and he did not push me any further than I wanted to go with him ... which was far enough, but never mind.

"Things have changed, my gallant buccaneer," I say, my mind and body back in Havana and still in Flaco's lap. "I am now promised in marriage to Lieutenant James Emerson Fletcher, an officer in His Majesty's Royal Navy."

Flaco affects shock. "What a silliness
—pirata bonita muchacha
is going to wed an
inglés
pig of a Royal Navy officer? No, it cannot be—it is a crime against nature."

I laugh. Flaco always did have a poetic way about him.

I decide to give him a bit of fun and squirm my bottom around and say, for the benefit of his mates, "Do you have a jackknife in your pocket, Flaco, or are you just glad to see me?"

Roars of laughter and poundings of the table.

"I am
most
glad to see you, Jacky," he says.

More hilarity all around, and Flaco presses his advantage, again clutching me to him. "That next kiss, my little chili pepper, will you give it?"

Why not,
think 1.
1 could scream for help if I need it.

I wrap my arms about his neck and lift my face to his and our lips meet...
uummmm
... and a part of my mind—the sane part, which is admittedly a very small part of that mind—says to me,
Isn't this the part when James Emerson Fletcher comes bursting onto the scene?

Sure enough, there is a kick and the door flies open, and there, holding two pistols before him, is ... not Jaimy Fletcher ... but, rather, Higgins, with Davy and Tink to either side, knives drawn and about to do damage. Beside them I see, all big-eyed, Daniel and Joannie.

Taking my mouth off Flaco's I cry, "Higgins! It is our old friend Flaco!"

Higgins thumbs the pistols back on half cock and says to Davy and Tink, "It's all right, lads. Stand down." He puts the pistols into the vest holsters, where they habitually reside.

Davy's and Tink's knives were not the only ones drawn upon Higgins's entrance—pirates do not live to old age by allowing themselves to be caught unawares—but eventually all blades go back into their sheaths. I notice that El Feo's is the last one to disappear.

"The worthy Señor Higgins! Come in!" says Flaco. "Enrique, get up, and let the man sit down! We must talk business!"

The man next to Flaco vacates the chair and Higgins seats himself. Davy and Tink, and now Jim Tanner, stand around him, hard-eyed and very vigilant. Since there are no more open chairs, I figure I'll stay where I am.

"We are all friends here, mates," I say, and nod to the serving girl such that drinks are placed in my lads' hands.
Everybody be calm, please.

"Buenas noches,
Captain Jimenez," says Higgins, picking up his glass and taking a sip. "It is good to see you again."

When we had been sailing in company with Flaco and
El Diablo Rojo,
we had fallen upon a merchant ship that had a good, fat cargo, and several hostages as well—a Spanish girl, Rosalita, and her brother Alfonso, she being eighteen and bound for an arranged marriage in Puerto Rico, he being ten and going into apprenticeship with a distant uncle in cotton trading. He was told that he would not be forced to walk the plank if he succeeded in teaching me Spanish within two months. Although he realized very shortly that we had no intention of drowning him, he was relentless in his instruction, and soon I was quite good in conversational Spanish. Higgins, also, decided to avail himself of this chance to learn another language, and that is why he is able to converse so easily with Flaco.

After several months with us, Alfonso didn't want to be ransomed, but, alas, it had to be so. His sister, however, was another story—she fell in love with one of my crew, Sean Mc-Murphy, and they were married in San Juan and are now in Ireland. She preferred the man she knew to the one she did not, and who am I to stand in the way of true love? Flaco was angry with me over the loss of the ransom, but he soon got over it.

"So, Captain Jimenez," says Higgins, beginning the sparring that I know is coming. "How do you come to be here in the heart of the Spanish Empire? Why do you take the chance?"

"Ha!" laughs Flaco. "I am here at Ric's, and Señor Ricardo Mendoza very much appreciates the goods that I bring to him from my various ... uh ... forays. The rum, the spices, the women..."

"But where is
El Diablo Rojo,
Flaco?" I ask from my perch. "Are you not afraid the
San Cristobal
might take you?"

"Pah! That fat hog of a boat cannot sail out of its own way. I spit on the name of
San Cristobal."

"Still, she carries a lot of iron."

"Well, no matter. Our ship is up the coast at Bahia Honda."

"But still, we wonder at your presence here," persists Higgins.

"And we, in turn, wonder at yours," says Flaco. He picks up a shrimp from the platter in front of him and places it between my lips.

I chew it, then swallow, and say, "I am no longer a pirate, Flaco. I am now a simple sponge diver. We are here in Havana merely to sell our catch."

Flaco laughs out loud. "You. Jacky Faber. A simple sponge diver. Ha! That shall never be!"

"It is true, my friend. We also have a naturalist aboard and are doing scientific research," I say, running my finger down the side of his face and smiling upon him with my best open-mouthed grin.

"Jacky, you were always the greatest liar," says Flaco, suddenly standing up and pitching me to the floor. "We know you are after gold, and we want to know what will be our cut."

What?

"We have absolutely no idea what you are talking about," says Higgins.

"Oh, please, Señor Higgins," says Flaco, reseating himself without me. "Do you see that man over there? Yes? Well, he was onboard a ship called the
Dolphin
in Boston and he overheard some very interesting things. And when that vessel docked in Savannah, he jumped ship and got on a fast mail cutter and came straight to me. So, what do you say to that?"

Damn! I warned Captain Hudson about that! And here we are in deep trouble ... and if Flaco knows, who else knows?

I pick myself up off the floor and poke my finger in Flaco's face.

"There is no gold. None that you're gonna get your hands on, anyway, Flaco!"

"We shall see, Jacky. Bahia Honda is not very far from Cayo Hueso."

"Right, Flaco," hiss I. "And in the future, be careful just who you throw on the floor. Come on, mates, let's get out of this place."

I leave to the sound of laughing pirates.

I'm seething on the way back to the
Nancy B.
The whole thing is blown wide open!

"Were those really pirates?" asks Joannie, tugging at my sleeve.

"Yes, dear, they were. Now hush," says I, irritated.

"Coo," she says in wonder.

"You have interesting friends, Jacky," comments Davy, his view not asked for but offered, anyway.

"What you saw back there was not necessarily the truth, Davy, so button your lip."

"Hey." He shrugs. "You're Jaimy's problem, not mine. I've got a good girl."

Grrrrrrrr...

The next day we ready ourselves for departure. All the stores and supplies are in, and we are due to rendezvous with the Dolphin within a few days. Everybody is back, including John Thomas and Smasher McGee, who return leaning on each other, both of them stone broke. I suppose it has always been thus with sailors, all the way back to Jason and the Argonauts. In fact, I bet ol' Jason had to comb the bars for an errant Argonaut or two when it came time for him to sail from the Isle of Lemnos or Colchis, Golden Fleece in hand or not.

Yes, 'tis time to leave the charms of Havana behind, which the
Nancy B.
will do—right after the noon cockfights, that is.

Dr. Sebastian, too, has returned from his pursuits ashore, so he escorts me to the arena. On the way, I fill him in on the events of the past two days, little of which pleases him.

"So, it seems the entire Hispanic world knows of our intentions. That is not good, not good at all," he grumbles, lost in thought.

"I did warn our good Captain Hudson of the ears that wag on a ship," I say.

I've got El Gringo in a little canvas pouch held at my side, his head sticking out of the top of it, peering avidly about. I figure this is better than a chicken cage—better for his
machismo.

The Doctor sighs. "Captain Hannibal Hudson is my dearest friend, and he has no equal as to bravery in battle or in knowledge of things nautical. But I am afraid that he is a complete fool when it comes to intelligence. Ah, well, we shall deal with this when we rendezvous. Ah, here we are."

We stand before the great hall of cockfighting and take in the flags whipping about, along with the colorful posters advertising the gladiatorial combat that will soon take place inside. The crowd pours in. Dr. Sebastian takes his leave of me and goes in the front entrance, while I am directed to a side door where the combatants enter. Inside I find a room filled with caged cocks and their handlers. At the other end of the room are the big doors that I know open out into the ring, through which Gringo and I will go when it is time. Meanwhile, back here there is a great deal of cackling and crowing, with challenges thrown back and forth between the birds. I can feel Gringo quivering with rage beneath my hand. He works himself up into a mighty crow and delivers it with a certain kiss-my-feathered-ass-and-stay-away-from-my-hens-all-you-pretenders-to-my-throne sort of quality.
Be patient,
mi amigo,
you'll get your chance.