Woman Overboard

Chapter 2 : Sword (2)

Jaiye

August 21st, 1820

(11:40 AM)

Jaiye's heart burned like the fire surrounding him, burning him toxic energy that pushed him through The Elizabeth's doomed walls.

He hadn't been too sure about this plan when Afiba proposed it. She wanted him, Edwin, Hany, and Nia to swing aboard The Hampshire, then to The Elizabeth from there. Once aboard the burning ship, they were to loot whatever could be salvaged and follow the same trapezing path back to The Brookes.

Edwin had laughed. Nia had hit him in the back of the head and said, "Why not?" He and Hany had just looked at each other and shrugged.

Even Afiba, a woman of dangerous optimism, had recognized the amount of hazard this plan carried with it. Before they left, she had pulled him aside and said, "I'll join y'all soon. Just keep 'em safe, a'ight? I trust you." Then she gave him a (what Jaiye considered "last") hug and sent him to the sea-riding bonfire of The Elizabeth.

Swinging aboard The Hampshire hadn't been difficult. Everyone on board was far too preoccupied with their artillery to notice four brown boys and girls scuttling across their deck. By the time someone cried out in protest, they were already jumping from the deck.

They threw themselves over the space between the two ships, ropes grasped tightly in their palms. The fire made landing tricky -- Jaiye had to swing back twice before he could find a safe spot to let go.

"Jaiye?" Hany called, leaping past the fiery carpet of the foredeck. "It ain't safe to go down 'low, ain't it?"

He grimaced, the heavy aroma of death settling in his nostrils. "We gotta," he replied. "Cap'n's orders."

Really, knew Afiba wouldn't be angry if they simply returned empty handed: she cared more for their well being than any treasures that could be hidden below. But he knew Hany would be inspired by the reminder that she was not only risking herself for supplies and material goods, but for the respect of her captain.

"Oh, Hany ain't nothin' less than a li'l doll," Afi would say. "I dunno why she wanna fight so bad -- if I had a li'l face like that, I'd keep myself out o' the fight fer as long as I could get 'way wid it."

But Hany never wanted to sit out, although she was significantly younger and prettier than the rest. Fourteen with a button nose, smooth skin and hair that curled in perfect ringlets and bounced when she walked, Hany still insisted on being a prominent figure in the action.

"Right," she said, exhaling. The hatch leading below deck hung open, inviting them down. She shook out her potato sack, showing him the single spyglass on the bottom. "So, we's taking e'er thing, or ju's valuables?"

Jaiye led the way to the stairs. "Anything worth salvaging. Good luck, Han."

"Don' do nothing stupid, Jaiye."

"No promises."

They exchanged a smile before another cannonball burst, sending them back into their panicked frenzy. Hany ducked into a room to her right and Jaiye leaped into the dining hall.

Abandoned, the room seemed large and ghostly. He could see bullets darting above through the giant hole burnt in the ceiling. Shots and cries leaked into his ears, the scent of settling gunsmoke filling his nose.

No time to waste. He leaped onto a table, running down its length to dive for the crystal chandelier than hung ostentatiously from the ceiling. As his fingers closed around a string of crystals, he wondered about the people who lived here. Pirates, who lived in such ludicrous beauty that a crystal chandelier was not out of the realm of affordability. Who could they be?

He remembered the ship's exterior appearance: a naval vessel. Perhaps this ornament was left over from The Elizabeth's noble navy days?

Ripping a strand of crystals down, he continued his sprint down the runway of splintered wood. Ah, the kitchen. Perfect. He was getting rather tired of all the fish Oni had been serving lately.

He burst through the door to find a room full of food. Into his potato sack he shoveled bags of flour and grain, boxes of matches, crackers, and coffee grounds, packages of dried fruits, tins of tea, and an assortment of silverware and china.

Feeling quite satisfied with the haul, he scurried out of the kitchen. He could hear someone (Nia) rustling around in a room down the hall. He scampered down the hallway, beads of sweat dripping down his face. What if the ceiling collapsed right now? What if a shrapnel shell exploded right above his head?

He took a deep breath, telling himself that the future was out of his hands. He plodded along, looking for an interesting door to throw aside.

Finally, Jaiye came to a polished, bronze-knobbed door: the Captain's quarters. He peered past the cracked-open door, then pushed it aside. He closed it behind him, the sounds of the battle muting to a dull pounding above him.

The captain kept his room neat, every wrinkle in the bedspread pressed smooth. His feathered hat and the next day's clothing hung immaculate on the closet door, his full length mirror spotless and exempt from the mildew of sea life.

Wait. These clothes wouldn't fit a man, would they? There were allowances in the fabric for curves men didn't have, and a type of collar Jaiye had never seen on anyone but a woman. What if, like The Brookes, The Elizabeth also had a female captain? He ran his fingers over the linen shirt hanging on the wall, wondering what she looked like.

Something else hung on the wall, too.

It caught his eye, drawing him away from the curious clothing. Jaiye reached out for it, taking it from its hook. In his hand laid a lovely steel sword, embellished with silver and bronze. The blade weighted perfectly in his hand, begging him to take it.

He extended his arm, sizing up an invisible opponent. He struck, then parried, his muscles exalting in the compliant movement of this wonderful sword. Jaiye tossed it lightly in the air, its familiar weight returning to his hand a moment later.

Jaiye sighed, running his fingers along the sword's glistening edge. Somehow, taking it seemed wrong, although his one job was to steal. This sword, though, felt sacred. The wall on which it had lived, he thought, should be hallowed. Who was he to take it from its proper place?

But he couldn't leave it. Taking a deep breath, he shoved the sword into his bag and choked it shut as if to seal the deal. He also took the feathered hat, a small pillow from the bed, a case of small knives, a bible, and a framed portrait.

The portrait depicted a man in a Navy uniform with a woman in a lacey dress standing behind his chair. As every model in any portrait Jaiye had seen did, they looked poised, elegant, and detached. Staring harder, though, he thought he could see a glimmer of laughter in their eyes. A flame of shared joy, of poorly concealed love.

So he took the picture, thinking it would be cruel to let such a jovial, glittering love go to waste at the bottom of the sea.