Or Else My Lady Keeps the Key

SIXTEEN: A Surprise

MRS. WAVERLY WAS A little cold to him next morning. John would have thought she’d have made some comment about the ghosts and spirits that had come calling, but no indeed; only the fact that John hadn’t been up for a jolly tumble seemed to weigh with her, this morning.

Mr. Tudeley also had no memory of the night past, it seemed. He lay like one dead by the fire until just after sunrise, when he scrambled up on his hands and knees and puked into the coals. The resultant blast of flame therefrom singed off his eyebrows. Afterward he sat in the shade and complained peevishly about the damned poor quality of the rum.

Nor did Sejanus seem to have any desire to mention his unwanted guests. He wore his new hat, however, when they walked back down from the camp to work on the pinnace.

John crawled into Mrs. Waverly’s little boudoir of canvas that night, by way of apology, but she minced no words in explaining to him that she hadn’t offered a standing invitation to her person by any means.

The pinnace took shape quickly. If it wasn’t the most elegant craft ever built it was at least seaworthy, as they found when they floated the hull after it had been well tarred with some of the Dutchman’s stores. They put in thwarts and stepped a little mast, made from one of the Harmony’s spars, and rigged a jib sail. All that remained was to finish a bit of a half-deck at the stern, where cargo might be stored or Mrs. Waverly might retire in privacy.

In regard to which, the lady seemed to have thought better of her adamantine chastity somewhat, at least as far as what hands and lips might do; for she lured John away two nights running for a stroll along the beach at sunset. There she eloquently persuaded him of her lasting devotion and fond hope that he’d squire her around the Continent, after they should claim the four thousand pounds. So pleasantly she backed her words with deeds that John barely noticed the dead men the last tide had brought up to festoon the sand, though they were getting pretty disgraceful now.

“These are the last I could shake free,” said Mr. Tudeley, struggling over the sand with a netful of coconuts. “Really, need we bring any more?”

“You’ll want ’em if we get becalmed on our way,” said John. “I make it two weeks to Leauchaud. Six coconuts per person per day, that’s three hundred thirty-six coconuts.”

“There’ll be no room for us in the damned thing, then!”

“Ah.” John laid a finger beside his nose. “We load ’em in the boat and tow it after us, see? Which will be handy to have anyhow in case the pinnace sinks.”

“It won’t sink,” said Sejanus, loading in the little chest of navigational gear. “Have a little faith.”

“Faith in what exactly?” said John, glowering after him. “That bit of high wind brought you your fancy hat?”

Sejanus shrugged. “I have all the faith I need, in myself. I don’t plan on dying just yet. Too much to do.”

“There’s some palms in a grove the far side of that rock,” said John to Mr. Tudeley. “Whyn’t you go see what you can collect over there?” When Mr. Tudeley had gone tramping off with an empty net, muttering savagely, John turned back to Sejanus.

“What’ll you do now, after you leave us off at Leauchaud?” he asked. “Sign on with the Brethren? Or set up shop as an obeah man?”

Sejanus raised an eyebrow. “No reason I can’t do both, is there? The one’s a good way to finance the other, seems to me. But I won’t be serving the orishas. I’m no houngan; I have other things to do.”

“You don’t believe in ’em?” John stopped work and stared at him. “After what happened the other night?”

“Chah! Of course I believe in them. Not impressed. Didn’t you hear ’em, all pushing and shoving to talk through one poor little old white man? They’re weak; this isn’t their country. But it’s mine.” Sejanus looked out on the Caribbean. “I’ll have to imagine something new. Buy myself a fancy coat, maybe, to go with my hat, and a walking stick to impress folk. Deal a little in the old tricks. Good luck charms, poppets for barren women, fortunetelling, just to build a reputation, you see?

“Get a new religion going, then. Tell blacks: doesn’t matter if your bones don’t lie in Africa. You won’t be cold and lonely in the dark here, once you die; somebody’s going to look after you. You’ll be dancing and drinking good rum, and eating sweet cake!

“And if I can make them believe it, truly believe it, then it’ll be so. That’s how religion works, friend.”

Once upon a time John might have laughed at him, or told him he was a liar. But John thought back on the things he’d seen and done here, in the West Indies, since he’d escaped from the cane fields and gone on the account. On sober consideration, he just grunted and shook his head.

“Hope you get away with it, mate.”

They worked on in silence a while, loading in gear and fastening it down. John retrieved the swivel gun from the salvage-pile and looked at it fondly. He had cleaned and scoured it out with sand, and greased it well with goat fat, and greased up the sack of one-pound balls too.

“Reckon we ought to mount it on the stern, just in case?” he said. Sejanus eyed him.

“You’re precious fond of that gun, for a man who’s going to quit the Brethren and become an honest bricklayer.”

“Well, it handles prettily,” said John. “And you never can tell what sort of bastards are going to come sailing up astern, can you?”

“Just like all those cutlasses you’re stowing away will be useful opening coconuts,” said Sejanus. “And the pistol and balls be useful for shooting seagulls, eh?”

“Old habits die hard,” said John. Mr. Tudeley came trudging up.

“I have here thirty-six coconuts,” he announced in a martyred voice. “And I’m going to go recline in the shade and drink rum now, and if you attempt to stop me, sir, I shall run a cutlass through your damned liver.”

“Peace, Wint,” said Sejanus. “Don’t see why we mayn’t stop work for today, anyhow. We can finish up in the morning.”

“I reckon so,” said John. He heaved his sea chest in over the side of the pinnace and dusted his hands.

They went together up the trail they’d worn through the sea-grape, single file. John came over the crest of the ridge and looked down into the camp. He frowned in puzzlement. He looked out at the horizon. The others slammed into him, as into a wall.

“Damn you, sir!” said Mr. Tudeley. John ignored him and ran down the hill through the camp, which was in disarray, and jumped the palisadoes and kept going down to the beach, which was crossed with many pairs of footprints, and splashed out into the surf to gaze after the black sloop, which was halfway to the horizon.