Crimes by Moonlight

In Memory of the Sibylline by Lou Kemp

The many men so beautiful

And they all dead did lie!

And a million million slimy things

Liv’d on-and so did I.

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner-Coleridge

Like a shower of fairy dust on fire, the embers from Townsend’s pipe blew across the railing and into the night, lost long before they fell into the waves.

He cupped his pipe to protect the remaining embers and to keep his hands warm. It seemed like only hours ago when the Christianna had sailed out of Cascais under a warm Portuguese sun.

A pregnant moon hung low over the sea. The waves reflected moonlight on iridescent crests that rolled by the Christianna as frothy and lacy as underskirts. Townsend gazed upward. The conflagration of stars seemed endless. Somewhere beyond them lay places the sailors of the future would travel. He’d be content to reach Alexandria and with a wee bit of luck it would be more temperate than his last visit in 1812. He nearly froze before he reached Cairo.

Although he did not hear footsteps, Townsend became aware of another presence at the rail. Townsend looked closer and saw that it was an older academic he’d met as he boarded the ship. A deep and pervading sadness seemed to weigh upon the man’s shoulders.

“Good evening, Mr. Perideaux,” Townsend said.

“A beautiful night, no?” Perideaux’s cigarette flickered in the darkness, revealing a faint sheen of perspiration decorating his brow.

Although his words seemed calm enough, it appeared that Perideaux needed to be reassured in some manner, perhaps only to hear another voice in the vastness of the night. Townsend could sympathize with that thought. The undercurrent of fear existed most tangibly when a lone ship rode the waves in the dead of night. It was long after eleven bells, and the crewmen in the rigging above were only a suggestion of movement. Or life.

“Yes, a beautiful night,” Townsend agreed.

Perideaux made no response. The man’s attention seemed transfixed some distance off the port bow as his gaze swept the sea from side to side, as if searching for something.

Under their feet, the Christianna creaked and groaned as she climbed a wave. Townsend relit his pipe. The damned thing could never stay lit for more than a few minutes. He wondered if Perideaux expected to see another ship cross their wake.

If Townsend hadn’t been watching his companion closely, he wouldn’t have seen the delicate shudder that traveled down the man. Perideaux said, “Felicity, oh, Felicity,” and he grabbed hold of the railing.

At first Townsend could perceive nothing except the inky night and the roiling waves. Then he saw the outline of a ship. Within seconds, the vessel seemed to glow and solidify. Three masts pointed to the sky, and brass rails glimmered underneath canvases that billowed, tickled by the wind. Shadows walked the deck. She floated nearly a league in the distance, without lights, without substance.

A gurgling sound came from Perideaux’s throat, and he whispered, “The Dutchman.”

Townsend heard him, but couldn’t stop watching the phantom ship that appeared to fade away until the moonlight pierced through her, and then she became distinct once again.

FROM a porthole I watched as Madagascar slipped away into the distance. Already, a hot sun reflected off the sea, obscuring the city with so much brightness that the smoke-shrouded shacks and fishing boats blended to gray, leaving just a suggestion of civilization behind the foam-capped waves.

My cabin was on the leeward deck, only a few paces from the captain’s quarters and those of the passengers. Through the portholes blew a fragrant breeze, bringing the suggestion of frying sausages and the calls of the sailors as they worked high above in the rigging and swung from spar to spar. The LeHanna was a barkentine and considered to be of good size.

I’d determined that my cabin door would not open. Presumably because it was locked. However, I had no trouble hearing footsteps on the wooden deck approach and stop just outside.

Through the porthole, I could see most of my guard in profile. The newcomer confronting him was a tall man, nearly my height, scholarly and pale.

“We’re pleased to have you aboard, Dr. Perideaux,” said the guard.

The trick to observing someone without staring and causing them to turn and stare back is to look a bit off to the side. In this instance, I watched the sky just beyond Dr. Perideaux’s large ears. There was no mistaking the steel in his voice.

“Are you? Is that why you feel it necessary to brandish a musket around my family?”

The guard replied, “I’m sorry you feel that way, sir. But I have my orders.”

“What orders? What do you have to guard? I just sent Felicity back to the cabin for her safety.”

“I’m sure your daughter will find something to do there,” the guard said.

Dr. Perideaux pointed at the cabin door. “I demand to know what is in there.”

“No one is to enter this cabin. And no one will.”

With a clatter of boots, Captain Hume arrived wearing a wide smile and insincere eyes. Perhaps Dr. Perideaux noted the captain’s eyes, for his tone did not change.

“Captain, what is in there?”

Although a short man, the captain did not shrink from the doctor’s aggressive stance, nor did he raise his voice.

“Please calm yourself. I’m sure you do not want to upset your wife.” The ship’s bell rang thirteen times for the hour, drowning out his next words. “… simple matter. We have charge of a prisoner. He is to be dropped off at Victoria Island tomorrow.”

“Why is he up here with the passengers?” Dr. Perideaux demanded.

“Why is he not kept below with the crew?”

I enjoyed Captain Hume’s slight hesitation. How would he put it? Would he tell the truth or prevaricate?

“Doctor, I have specific orders that the prisoner is not to have contact with a living soul. He has to be separated from the crew.”

The doctor stared at the captain. “Why?”

“I cannot tell you.” Captain Hume placed a hand on Perideaux’s shoulder. “Please. Keep your family away from this area. Entertain them. I believe your wife is not well?”

Dr. Perideaux rubbed his chin and frowned. “No, she is not. The baby is due shortly.”

“All the more reason for you to join her. Perhaps with a cup of tea?”

A rain shower visited the ship with the lightest touch. The LeHanna climbed the waves rhythmically, descending and rising as lovers do, hesitating to savor the moment slowly.

The last few days had marked the end of summer in Madagascar, and I’d grown tired of the food and lack of good lager. On balance, the muggy nights were warm with scents made more pungent with the heat and promise of whatever I could find in the bohemian quarters. When we reached Seville, it would be autumn, and the bougainvilleas would still bloom in veils of brilliant color. I had no intention of being dumped on Victoria Island like a rancid bag of potatoes.

The penal colony on Victoria Island offered little besides hard labor and the most notorious criminals for company. The sharks that circled the island did so knowing that there would always be another convict swimming toward the sun, tiring… and then succumbing. I shuddered delicately and resumed my reading.

THE dulcet sound of snoring filtered through my cabin door. I arose and moved to the porthole to watch my guard as he slept. The full sun, a satisfied belly, and the repetitive motion of the waves had lulled him to sleep against the wall of the cabin. Or it could have been something else? Perhaps dropped into his plate of stew?

A young girl approached from the stern. She wore her red curls tied in a ribbon that matched her dress of robin’s egg blue. She was probably eight years of age, but checked over her shoulder with the furtive-ness of a well-seasoned Singapore pickpocket. If I interpreted her smile correctly, she seemed content with what she saw.

As she passed by, I said, “Hello, poppet.”

Innocent eyes widened, searching for my voice.

“Up here, my dear.” I unlocked the door. It would be a simple matter to lock it again if the guard awoke and became curious.

She stood under the porthole and squinted. “I can’t see you. Who are you?”

Such a sweet little lamb. Where was her nanny or her father or whoever keeps the unsuspecting from characters like me?

“My name is Celwyn. Would you like to come inside?”

The child hesitated but a moment before stepping over the legs of the sleeping guard.

By the time she’d opened the door, I’d moved to the far corner of the stateroom and sat behind the petite drop table common to all sea cabins. It had been a while since I’d been around a tiny person, but she would most likely be less intimidated if I was closer to her level. The child poked her head inside the door, noting my traveling trunk with its mysterious contents visible to a curious eye and finally myself. I must have passed a childlike test, for she came inside, leaving the door ajar. Perhaps she felt more afraid of her parents finding her than she was of me.

If you wonder why I did not venture forth from my unlocked cabin, it wasn’t time yet to do so. Crafting a perfect situation from raw elements is so much more entertaining than being tossed about by random acts of fate. Or shot at by pistols.

“Please sit down,” I said to my new friend.

She took several steps and then flounced into the chair across from me. Up close, I could see some of her father in the intelligent eyes, but her beauty would come from her mother.

“Who are you? Why are you alone in here?” she asked.

“May I call you Felicity?”

A miniature jaw dropped open. “How did you know my name?”

I gestured toward the deck outside. “Your father mentioned you.” How many other children named Felicity would there be on a cargo ship on its way to the Cape?

“Oh.” She studied me for a moment like her mother would peruse a menu. “I suppose that would be all right.”

Rather verbose for a little one. She eyed me with the inquisitiveness of a young cat. To her, I would appear similar to any other gentleman she would encounter: strong of face, whiskered, and dressed in a linen suit and brocade waistcoat. Not as many men would wear a ruby on his finger such as I wore, nor savor the aroma of a particularly obscure and fine tobacco that I’d stashed in my trunk. Very few men were as feared as I, which was a pity; I am misunderstood most of the time.

“Would you like something to drink? Milk?”

Felicity nodded assent, and then frowned. “I don’t see any milk.”

“Look around. I’m sure you will,” I said.

Her eyes traveled the rather small room, and when they returned to the table, a glass of milk sat before her. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“Help yourself,” I said.

Felicity touched the glass with a fingertip and then drew it closer until she could sniff the contents. With a lingering look of doubt upon me, she drank. Half of the milk remained when she licked her lips and asked, “Where did you get this?” She looked under the table. When she sat up, the glass was full again.

The girl blinked rapidly, and then her eyes darted from object to object in confusion. She asked, “How did you do that?”

I smiled. “Do you always believe only what you can see? Or do you believe in things you cannot see?”

Her eyebrows nearly touched as she thought. “Only what I can see is real,” she answered.

I pointed to the glass. “Is the milk real?”

“Of course it is, silly.” To prove it, she drank more milk, all the while keeping her eyes on me. My, my, such suspicion. When she replaced the glass on the table, it was once more full to the brim.

For several moments she stared at the glass before daring to look at me. “How did you do that?”

I shrugged and asked, “What is in that pouch?”

She had placed a velvet pouch on the table when she joined me. At the mention of it, she didn’t hesitate to open the strings that closed it and dump the contents on the table between us.

“These are my jacks. This is the ball you play jacks with,” Felicity said.

She tossed the ball, which was about the size and color of an apricot, into the air, and caught it again. On the second toss, she deftly picked up several of the tiny metal stars scattered on the table. “Do you know how to play?” she asked and without waiting for a reply added, “Of course, you have to pick up all the stars and not lose the ball.”

With that admonition, Felicity threw the ball into the air again. It hung, suspended between us, above her head. Her eyes grew as wide as her little face. Before she could cry, the ball descended again. Slowly.

Her hand automatically reached for the metal stars. Felicity squeaked and stood up. The stars had become tiny frogs made of the finest crystal. Even in the muted daylight, they reflected light delightfully.

“Oh, my!” the child exclaimed and gathered them into her hands. The ball bounced off the table and into my trunk.

I ushered Felicity to the door. The pouch of crystal frogs was clutched in both of her hands. As I reached for the door handle, she asked, “May I come visit you again?”

“Certainly. But only if the guard is asleep. This is our secret.” I placed a finger to my lips. By the time we reached Seville, I might even have a young apprentice to teach some less sinister magic tricks to.

Felicity put a finger to her lips and then slipped out the door with a giggle.

The ship’s bell had sounded the next hour when boots thundered on the wooden deck. Voices raised the alarm. Above the commotion, Captain Hume’s oaths could be heard outside my door: “Damnation! Wiggins is dead! Get that doctor out here.”

“What for?” It sounded like a sailor located in the rigging above me. He apparently had an excellent view of my newly departed guard. “His throat has been cut open like a pig’s.”

Sounds of more of the curious arriving, then the extreme annoyance of Dr. Perideaux when he saw the body.

“Captain!” Dr. Perideaux bellowed.

“Yes, Doctor.”

“This man is not sick. He has been murdered.” The doctor’s voice shook, and his words were measured. “You are responsible for every act upon this ship!”

“I am aware of that,” Captain Hume replied with just as much control.

“Did your prisoner do it?” Dr. Perideaux inquired.

I noted a significant hesitation before the captain answered, “That would be impossible.”

Someone tried the handle on my door. It remained locked.

“How do you know your prisoner is in there?” Dr. Perideaux demanded.

“Because I am sure he is,” Captain Hume said. “Here… is the key to the door. As you can see, it was still in the guard’s pocket. However, I will humor you.”

I yawned and waited.

As the door opened, the dying sun streamed into my cabin, bringing warmth against the approaching evening. The captain filled the doorway. From over his shoulder, the doctor peered inside.

I put down my book and stood. “Come in. I’m afraid I cannot offer you any refreshment but my company.”

Dr. Perideaux’s curiosity won out. He pushed by Captain Hume and into the room. I had been correct. We were of the same height, well over six foot. Our builds were similar too; I could have traded waistcoats with him. Mine, however, would have been finer than the rather dated one the doctor wore.

I bowed. “May I introduce myself? Jonas Celwyn, lately of Singapore and Madagascar.”

Captain Hume kicked the door shut and advanced to stand between us. He removed his hat, revealing a glistening sheen on his balding dome. A bead of perspiration trickled onto his ear.

“Doctor, this is not wise. As you can see, the prisoner is still here. He is in a locked room from which he could not have murdered the guard. Come along, please.”

“What were you charged with, sir?” Dr. Perideaux ignored the tug on his sleeve as he addressed me.

I shrugged. “If I were to list all of the nefarious crimes I’d been charged with, we would still be here long after the dinner bell.” A few minutes ago I’d caught the scent of roasting beef. Hopefully there would be a nice salad to go with the meal, and possibly a fine bottle of wine.

“I repeat, what were you convicted of?” Dr. Perideaux’s tone sounded much colder than a Bavarian street in winter.

Captain Hume gave up tugging on his sleeve and yanked open the cabin door. He gestured to one of his officers. “Johnson. Come in here. Escort Dr. Perideaux back to his cabin. Now.”

The doctor didn’t budge. He stood so close I could see the flecks of gold in his irises. The stubborn line of his lips indicated the crew would have to carry him out before he’d accede to the captain’s order.

“Get him out of here,” Captain Hume growled.

Officer Johnson reached for Perideaux. The officer started to speak, but his words turned to a strangled gasp as his hand passed through the doctor’s forearm, not once, but twice.

As Dr. Perideaux watched his sleeve in fascinated horror, I replied, “Something so ridiculous. Witchcraft.”

A supremely talented and creative magician would have been a more accurate portrayal.

MY assessment of the good doctor had been correct. He was a persistent cuss. It couldn’t have been another hour before I became aware of the doctor in whispered conversation with my newest guard. I didn’t even have to lean against the door to hear them.

“… have items you’d like to buy when we reach port,” Dr. Perideaux said.

The guard grunted. “Course I do.”

“Perhaps this would prove useful to you?”

“Aye, it would. It sure would. For this much you can sniff around this bastard’s door for more than a moment.” The guard laughed. “I have to go to the head, and I’m sure I’ll be gone awhile.”

In a moment I heard a slight scratching sound outside the door. From the porthole I could make out the lower half of the doctor as he crouched beside my door. It appeared he was examining the door hinges.

BY the next morning, the day brought stronger wind and vigorous waves. The LeHanna climbed them easily, bottoming out, and climbing again. On the western horizon purplish, opalescent clouds seemed to be gathering in a thickening haze. Interesting; I hoped we were not sailing into a storm.

We passed Tila dunmati a little after noon, and within the hour the fate of the ship changed. It began with a warning call from the crow’s nest. Another ship approached, sailing directly toward us.

The general excitement aboard the LeHanna increased with the terse orders shouted from the bridge, bringing the ship to. The lad in the crow’s nest called down, “Dutch flag, sir. Fully armed.”

Most provocative information; I wondered what they wanted with the LeHanna?

Nearly a half hour later, our ship slowed until she floated in the waves in an exaggerated rocking motion. If this kept up, I surely would be seasick.

The other ship adjusted their course. They no longer rode the wind but drifted off our leeward side about five hundred feet away, edging closer with each swell of the waves.

Our crew grew silent. It seemed like our ship held its breath, waiting. At last, Captain Hume barked an order. But it was only to the crew to man their positions and await his orders. From my porthole, I could see him standing midships, near the railing. He said something to First Officer Greer at his side. Officer Greer saluted and in seconds had marched to my cabin and accosted my guard.

“Open the door,” Greer ordered him.

The guard held the door open with one hand and trained his pistol on me with the other. After the murderous incident with my last warder, the procedure for guarding me had changed. Now, they brandished a pistol, not a musket.

Greer entered my cabin and glanced around before saying, “Gather your things, Celwyn. You’re leaving.”

“Where am I going?” I asked.

“No questions. Either pack your things, or you’ll leave without them.”

WHEN I emerged on deck, two more guards gripped my arms, and another lugged my trunk. As I walked, I reveled in the sun and drank the fresh air like a newborn calf.

During the time it took to pack my belongings, a boat had been launched from the other ship. It contained six crewmen and a man who was obviously their captain. He sat at the rear of the boat, examining the LeHanna with an air of ownership. Between the bulkheads and in the rigging of the other ship, dozens of muskets were trained on the deck of our ship. Why hadn’t the crew of our ship reacted? The crew numbered less than thirty, and they were lined up at attention, not at battle stations.

With his officers flanking him, Captain Hume stood in front of the bridge, arms folded, feet apart. His officers maintained a stern stance, but their eyes bounced everywhere. The tension in Hume’s officers increased as the other crewmen left the rowboat and scampered up the rope ladder. They attained the deck and walked toward Captain Hume, ignoring the rest of the LeHanna’s crew. I strode over to the bridge and joined them.

“No restraints? I no longer frighten you?” I held up my naked wrists to Captain Hume.

He didn’t quite look at me, but said, “Be quiet, you ruffian. If necessary, Greer will knock you out to insure your silence.”

I had a good idea of what Captain Hume was up to. And an even better idea of what he deserved.

As the crewmen swaggered toward us, I studied their captain. Perhaps forty years of age, with strict bearing and well-tended whiskers, he was a barrel of a man. Solid muscles and apelike arms swung at his sides. He shoved one of the LeHanna crewmen out of his way, and the rest parted without chancing contact with him.

Up close, the most innocent blue eyes swept over Captain Hume and his officers. Taking his time assessing the ship, the man noted each doorway, the bulkheads, the shining brass fixtures, and other evidence of care in the ship’s maintenance. He’d assume the ship had a good larder, and even more profitable machinery stored below. Finally, he addressed us in a baritone with the faintest of Dutch accents.

“I am Captain Falkenburg of the Sibylline.”

A simple statement, but out of the corner of my eye, I spied Captain Hume wetting his lips. A bead of sweat trickled from under his hat and ran down his collar. If it hadn’t occurred to the rest of the crew, it should have: this appeared to be a pirate ship flying under the innocence of a legitimate flag.

Captain Falkenburg turned on his counterpart. “What are you carrying?”

Sweat began pouring down Captain Hume’s pudgy cheeks. Beyond him, the deck of the Sibylline swarmed with dozens of pirates who had not been visible before. They watched the LeHanna silently, evidence of strict discipline. Captain Hume flicked a quick glance at them and then addressed the pirate captain.

“Spices and sugarcane. Nothing more.”

“Nothing, Hume?” The pirate smiled broadly, and I could see he’d been opening wine bottles with his teeth. More of interest: I wondered who else noted that we’d had a chance encounter with a buccaneer who happened to know Captain Hume’s name.

Several of the LeHanna’s officers shot swift and speculative looks at their captain. He didn’t return them but swallowed several times without speaking.

Captain Falkenburg laughed, and the sound seemed to chill the crew of the LeHanna. Wide-eyed, every one of them stared at their captain. With Hume’s next words, some jaws dropped, too.

“Our agreement is still good. I have what you want,” Captain Hume blurted. He looked at me, nearly in the eye, and added, “I also have another token of good faith. A prize of sorts.”

“Eh?” The pirate captain picked his teeth with the sharp point of a blade, spat, and then regarded Captain Hume with his brows up.

Undeterred, Captain Hume explained, “Mr. Celwyn here is the cousin of the British ambassador to Portugal. Surely, you can ransom him. He was to have stopped off for a short time on Victoria to assess conditions there. They won’t miss him for several extra days. Perhaps weeks.”

I turned on the bastard. He wouldn’t look at me. Ah. Plainly dear Captain Hume was letting me know that I could have my freedom if I went with the Sibylline or be dumped on the penal colony on schedule-if the LeHanna survived this meeting.

Captain Falkenburg didn’t seem impressed. His glance rested on the cabins below the bridge. “This can’t be all you have, Hume.”

Most anxious to please, Captain Hume nearly curtseyed like a matron in front of a queen. He assured the pirate, “Oh, no! You will receive what I promised you. One moment, please.”

He turned to his first officer. I caught parts of his whispered instructions, enough to know that the crew of the LeHanna would trade Dr. Perideaux’s family in exchange for their lives. Apparently, the doctor had something the pirates wanted.

First Officer Greer wasted no time gathering a contingent of crewmen and marching over to Dr. Perideaux’s cabin. It was then that I decided to allow myself to be transported aboard the other ship; I must protect my new apprentice, after all.

MORE than an hour later, the doctor, his family, and I were removed to the Sibylline. I did my best to reassure Felicity and carried her aboard the pirate ship while the doctor helped his wife. In a billowing pale blue dress, Mrs. Perideaux appeared angelic and as fragile as a porcelain figurine. She maintained a white-knuckled grip on her husband’s shoulders as he steadied her on deck.

We huddled together and watched as the pirates used ropes to bring our trunks up to the deck. With hungry eyes divided between the woman and the trunks before them, the pirates hovered close by. Their stench competed with the foulness of the ship. Mrs. Perideaux clung to her husband, and the child buried herself in her mother’s skirts and whimpered.

I squatted beside her and tapped Felicity on the shoulder.

“Poppet, we must be brave. And quiet.”

One tearstained blue eye chanced looking at me, and then she buried her face in her mother’s skirts again.

I said, “Remember the crystal frogs?” Without turning around, Felicity nodded. I placed a hand on her shoulder, and her whimpers subsided. “Just wait,” I added softly before standing once more.

AS the last of our trunks were brought aboard the pirate ship, the LeHanna made sail, looking to gain yards swiftly in the growing wind. We watched her for a moment before Captain Falkenburg turned his attention to his captives.

Standing at Captain Falkenburg’s elbow, and surveying the rest of the pirates with distain, stood a scarecrow of a man as pale and cold as death. When I saw his eyes, I inserted myself between his line of vision and the family.

“Well,” Captain Falkenburg said as he circled the trunks at his feet. As the wind whipped around us, seeming to grow stronger by the moment, the pirates straddled the yardarms and unfurled sails. The boom swung to the left, creaking with the weight of the masts.

The scarecrow murmured something in Falkenburg’s ear. The captain smiled with approval. “Excellent, Borodin. Blast her.” Borodin crossed to the pirates by the cannons, gave orders, and in a moment returned to join our party.

Captain Falkenburg’s expression caused the doctor to step back. “Tell me. Where is it, Doctor? Save time, save your family, and just tell me.”

Dr. Perideaux grew paler, and the stubborn set of his jaw weakened, but he didn’t speak.

Beyond the pirate captain, along the port side, the pirates lit fuses on the cannons as they jabbered and hopped around like colorful crickets. In the near distance, the other ship climbed waves, guilt-driven and anxious to get away.

We watched, knowing what would befall the ship as soon as the pirate ship had a clear shot. The LeHanna ascended another wave and disappeared down the other side. As the tops of her masts sank lower, and still lower, the wave rose higher. Much higher than the sea conditions would suggest. Slowly, the wave crested and descended. The chattering of the pirates increased as they realized what had happened; the sea had swallowed the LeHanna; sails, crewmen, deceit, and all. As if she had never existed.

Curses in dozens of languages colored the deck as the pirates ran from bow to stern, looking for the other ship. Some scrambled up the masts and across the spars trying to see more. Captain Falkenburg grabbed a spyglass from Borodin and didn’t say a word as he scanned the area. Even without a glass, it appeared that not even a sliver of wood remained of the LeHanna.

Such a pity. Or not.

Captain Falkenburg lowered the glass and with deliberation gazed at us, one by one. Finally his eyes rested on me. I shrugged. It would be illogical to think anything but the sea claimed the LeHanna, would it not? The sea is mysterious; at best, it is a beautiful abyss capable of capricious treachery. Drowning is not the only thing that awaits the unwary.

The pirate captain turned toward his crew, who still squawked and chattered nervously. “Enough.” Without raising his voice, he restored order. “Silvestri, recalculate our course to the south. Get us moving, Borodin.” Then Captain Falkenburg returned his attention to Dr. Perideaux.

“Again, and for the last time, Doctor, where is it?” There was no mistaking the menace in his words; each one seemed to be a blow to the doctor, and he winced as the pirate took a step toward him.

A wave slammed the pirate ship broadside, heaving the doctor and pirate captain into the bulkhead. I held Mrs. Perideaux and Felicity steady. In seconds, the sun had disappeared as armies of clouds rolled over our heads, and the sea became a mass of whitecaps climbing as high as the deck. The wind whistled around the pirates, circled the salon and cabins, and whirled upward into the masts.

The rain began like a celestial sword had slit open the sky. With an eye on the growing squall, Borodin pulled Captain Falkenburg aside. They watched another wave as it rose level with the deck, and if they didn’t like that wave, hundreds more ascended upon each other as far as the eye could see. Only hours from rounding the Cape, and it seemed we had entered an exceedingly stormy sea. Someone with a more suspicious mind would remember that it had been so calm an hour ago.

Captain Falkenburg barked orders and then glanced back at us. “Put them into the salon. Hurry up, you bastards!”

As if we’d rehearsed it a thousand times, the doctor and I surrounded his family so that the pirates wouldn’t. When the woman and child had entered the salon, I hooked a finger at Perideaux, and he followed me back on deck. Through the heavy rain, we beheld a curious sight.

Half a dozen pirates stood around our trunks, cursing. One of them, a particularly hairy and primitive specimen, screamed and held his blackened hand in front of the others. The pirate nearest to my trunk reached for it and then bawled in pain. I patted a yawn: they seemed to be slow to learn from what they saw.

The other pirates hovered around the distressed pirate and conferred, as best they could, while casting worried glances at the bridge, where Captain Falkenburg paced and swilled wine. Another few moments and the largest pirate approached the doctor’s trunk. His hand flamed and the flesh melted away as his scream carried much farther than the bridge, riding the waves into the lowering darkness.

That should be enough of a demonstration. Perideaux followed me to the center of the deck to our trunks. The remaining pirates gave us a large berth. I grabbed my trunk by the handle and rested it against my hip. The doctor, with the barest hesitation, did the same with one of his trunks.

I bowed. “After you, Doctor.” We wasted no time carting the luggage back to the salon. After our last trip back to the salon, we stepped inside and the door slammed behind us, and I heard the sound of several hammers nailing wood across the opening.

As we dragged the trunks into the center of the salon, Felicity and Mrs. Perideaux observed us with the kind of fascination that indicated they’d seen and heard the pirates’ attempts to touch the trunks. Felicity’s eyes held the same wonder as when she couldn’t believe her milk glass had magically been refilled. This time, she included her father in the assessment, certain he’d also been responsible for the pirates’ reaction.

Mrs. Perideaux’s gaze stayed on me, and she held her daughter close. She wet her lips.

“What just happened?” she pulled Felicity closer.

The wind howled around the ship like mythical demons chasing each other, bouncing against the walls, crashing into the spars overhead. The rain slashed at the portholes, first on one side, then the other side of the salon.

Our new quarters did not appear to be as much of a pigsty as I had expected. I deduced only the pirate captain used the salon, and he believed in displaying his treasures. Racks of wine, oil paintings, lace curtains, and a mahogany table surrounded us. Red velvet settees faced each other at the lee side of the room, and a polished oak bar took up the entire fore side.

I explored the bar, and magically, the pirate captain happened to have a jug of ice-cold milk and a carafe of sparkling water awaiting his guests. By the time I’d placed them on the table between the settees and poured, Felicity had broken free of her mother’s embrace and joined me on the facing settee.

“Felicity-” her mother exclaimed and pulled her back to the other side.

Dr. Perideaux remained by the bar, deep in thought, regarding me with a furrowed brow. “Would you be so kind as to bring more glasses, sir?” I asked him. The sound of my voice startled him, but he seemed glad of an opportunity to do something and not ponder too seriously our predicament. Or perhaps what had caused the pirates to abandon their attempts to touch our luggage weighed on his mind.

The pirate ship fell deeply into a trough. He waited for the ship to climb again before he retrieved the glasses and joined his wife on the sofa. Perideaux took his time pouring the water before looking up.

“I believe we have sailed into a hurricane, Doctor,” I said.

As if to confirm my observation, the wind shrilled, startling our little party. Felicity whimpered a response. The portholes rattled, and we held on to our refreshments as the pirate ship creaked loudly in protest. The Sibylline picked up speed. She shuddered from bow to stern, scattered the glasses on the bar, and then sailed faster yet.

Perideaux glanced left and then right, his anxious glance straight at me confirmed that something he deemed unexplainable had just happened. The speed of the ship could not be accounted for under the stormy circumstances. No longer did the vessel appear to be under the control of the pirates. Wind drove the ship, out of control, first one direction, and then much faster than man could change course, another direction. She raced ahead, bounded up the sides of the waves, and bottomed out again before climbing laboriously upward once more.

It was then that Dr. Perideaux noticed his wife’s pallor, as I had a few moments earlier. She was heavy with child, had been abducted by pirates, and was in the company of a man she feared. Perideaux put his arm around her and bowed his head.

The doctor’s wife paled again, dangerously so in my opinion. She had not yet lost the fear in her eyes when she glanced at me.

Perideaux said, “My dear, this is Mr. Celwyn. Mr. Celwyn, this is my wife, Mrs. Helen Perideaux.” He nodded toward me like he wasn’t sure of what I’d done, but he knew it had helped. “We are in your debt, sir.”

“Nonsense.” I winked at Felicity, and she did her best to wink back. “We will weather this storm.”

Mrs. Perideaux gripped her husband’s hand and studied me. I returned the regard. Her chin quivered, and her eyes were hard. In a moment she said, “I still need to know what we’re going to do.” She left me to stare at her husband. “Our safety, Jonathan. Those men…”

Dr. Perideaux held her, and before things got out of hand, I said, “I promise you, madame, they will not harm you. Or your family.”

She raised her head from her husband’s embrace and looked at him, then at me. “But what will we do?” she wailed. As she spoke, a spasm of pain crossed her face, and she paled. Instantly, Dr. Perideaux’s expression changed, and there was no one in the world more important than his wife.

“Is it the baby?” he asked her.

“No, no.” Mrs. Perideaux replied and patted his hand as she uttered the lie.

Felicity left her mother’s side and approached the trunks.

Dr. Perideaux said, “Felicity-”

“It is all right. I assure you, sir,” I said.

Felicity peered at the myriad stickers that decorated my trunk like a garish Christmas present. “What is Mary Katch?” she asked.

“Marrakech,” her father corrected.

Night was falling. I arose and lit a lamp and then traveled the room discovering candles to light. In the cupboards I found some biscuits and then beckoned to the doctor. He made sure his wife was comfortable against a mound of pillows before joining me behind the bar.

I kept my voice low. “If it becomes necessary, there are clean blankets here. And a quantity of water.” There hadn’t been, but I’m a helpful soul.

“I sincerely hope we will not need them tonight,” he said with a glance at his wife. He looked at me, and his gaze didn’t waver. “Don’t you think it is time for a moment of candor? I mean, sir, we may be fighting for our lives at any moment.” He lowered his voice. “Or we may succumb to the storm. I’d like to know who is fighting with me. Or dying with us.” From outside the salon the heavy steps of the pirates tromped by.

“Well put,” I said. I placed both hands on the bar and then removed them. A plate of cheeses and savory meats sat before us. “Perhaps your wife or daughter is hungry.” I handed him the plate. It fell through his fingers and clattered to the bar surface. “Please take it to them.” I offered it to him again. “Eat. You will feel better.”

After another look at me, he dutifully delivered the plate to the settee. Perideaux nibbled a bit of cheese before presenting the plate to his wife. His expression indicated he approved. I do have excellent taste.

When his family was sufficiently distracted, he returned to stand behind the bar with me. “That was a most welcome and deliberate diversion, Mr. Celwyn.” He pointed to the plate as Felicity selected a sliver of ham. “Explain it.”

I yawned. This would require something stronger than water. It appeared that although the pirate captain seemed fond of wine, he also had stored a single bottle of malt below the bar.

“There’s so much to say and yet so little.” I poured two shots, and then poured one for the doctor. “What do you know of the black arts? Of magic?”

As I spoke, the Sibylline lurched to starboard. She slid down a wave on her side in a most sickening manner before gradually righting herself. The wind howled and screamed, competing with the pirates shouting from the deck. By now the sails would be shredded, and they’d try to steer by the rudder, if they tried at all.

When the doctor could speak again, he said, “Parlor tricks; that is all magic is. There is no basis of fact.” His attention rested upon his wife, but I could see him thinking as he tried to find an explanation for what he’d seen with the trunks and what his wife enjoyed nibbling only a few feet away from us. He probably did not consider the storm anything more than bad luck.

“Not exactly,” I said.

Perideaux seemed to have come to a deduction or perhaps a belated question he had wanted to ask. “Why did Captain Hume insist you be separated from his crew? Why were you locked up?” He licked his lips and glanced at his wife. “I’d prefer that Helen not know anything of this.”

I shrugged. “As you wish.” I poured more malt for both of us.

“And my questions?”

I regarded him a moment longer before speaking softly so that his wife would not hear.

“For hundreds of years, I’ve honed my skills to the point where I do not question the difficulty of what I attempt within the realm of magic. But I do consider what effect my magic may have on innocent persons. My personal sense of right and wrong has also evolved accordingly.”

Dr. Perideaux watched me over the top of his glass as he downed the rest of his whiskey. He didn’t even blink when I mentioned that I haven’t just lived for this time, in this century. His assessment was mirrored in his eyes: scientific speculation, not the wide-eyed terror some men expressed on the rare occasions when I have told them tidbits of my history.

“How I interpret my ideals, or morals if you will, are as personal as every man’s are.” I continued, “But for now, let us say that I had no compunction in killing my guard, but I will go to great lengths to save your family.”

The doctor swallowed nothing several times but kept his gaze neutral. Thinking.

After a moment he managed, “Exactly what did you do?”

The rain beat on the roof of the salon so loudly we could hear nothing else. The wind howled, furious at the ship. I told him, “I’d been arguing with a priest at the cathedral in Madagascar. To make a point, I appeared during the church service and levitated myself onto the altar. Then I made myself comfortable to enjoy the services. When the ushers would have laid hands on me, I simply disintegrated within their fingers. Like ice that has melted or water that evaporates.” I elbowed the doctor. “A miracle, would you not say?”

If he’d had any morsel of humor left from his stern upbringing, he’d allow a small smile to escape. But no.

“Later, when the authorities tried to arrest me, a few of the officers were injured.” I had dispatched them with mercy and alacrity. “My temper can only be maintained so long when provoked.”

The doctor slammed his glass down. “But what did you do to make them so afraid? There must be more.”

For a moment I contemplated him. When he finally met my gaze, I locked the contact and said, “I have the ability to climb inside another man’s mind, Doctor. Once there, I can wander anywhere and learn a man’s darkest secrets and enjoy his most pleasant memories.” I flipped a hand. “While there, I sometimes plant new thoughts. Of all sorts.”

After pouring more whisky, I wrapped his limp fingers around his glass. “Thoughts are powerful, are they not, Doctor?” I asked him without speaking.

THE storm intensified as the day bled into the night. It appeared so dark and turbulent outside it seemed hard to tell when the night actually became complete. As I looked out the porthole, a pirate fell against the rail near us. A hungry wave tried to pry his hands from the rail, but he held on tightly. The wave crested and receded, leaving behind another pirate rolled into a ball. The pirate that the wave delivered lay against the bulkhead. When he didn’t move, the first pirate kicked him. Another wave broke over the rail, sweeping them both to the stern.

From behind me, the wails of childbirth filled the salon. For the last hour, Mrs. Perideaux’s cries had been growing more frequent and prolonged. The hurricane seemed to strengthen with each of her screams. The doctor had given Felicity a weak sedative to calm her, and she slept on the other settee. After our talk, he hadn’t said much but appeared deep in thought, until his wife’s condition changed and he devoted his attention to her.

As dawn broke, the baby’s first cry could be heard, stark and sweet against the ugliness of the world. The Sibylline rocked in an exaggerated motion in the aftermath of the hurricane, but the wind no longer howled, and the rain fell in a gentle veil.

The wood across the salon door fell away as I walked outside, stepping over the pieces of debris, including dead pirates. A glassy sea of blue stretched to the horizon.

The pirates addressed me as Captain, most courteously, as they went about their duties, unfurling new canvases and getting the ship under way. I swept a hand, and all of the debris disappeared. The broken main mast stood whole once again. Midships, I stopped and admired myself in a polished brass dial, adjusting the buccaneer’s hat that sat upon my head at a most jaunty angle. My waistcoat had given way to a silken shirt of crimson. The shoes I wore had become boots of the finest and softest leather.

My crew was freshly bathed and shaven. The ship shone from top to bottom and appeared to be in pristine condition. It would be most appropriate to honor the late Captain Falkenburg in some manner. I tapped my fingers on the rail and thought. Perhaps I shall rechristen the ship the Flying Dutchman. I imagined that he did go flying out with the wind, whirling far away into the sea. Yes, a most excellent idea. I called back inside the salon.

“Doctor, we shall arrive in Seville on schedule.”

The newborn’s plaintive cries could be heard: life has been renewed. The game renewed also.

Is it possible they’ll name the baby after me? I must wait and see.

Some gestures should be natural, gifts of gratitude.

Or memory.