The Scourge - Pirates & Privateers

Chapter 9: Departure from Nassau

From the time he was tucked into bed, his cheek wrapped tightly in a bandage, Martin felt every sleepless second of the night scrape by. Every pulse of his heart dragged him further from slumber, even as he lay in one of the softest, most luxurious beds anywhere in the Northern Hemisphere. Not enough that the pain around his eye lashed him like the sting of a whip, the fear that at any moment the two sailors from his night's adventure would break down the door robbed him of any comfort.

After she had dressed his cheek, Emily had insisted on staying, though she didn't last long in the land of the waking. She nodded off curled up in a chair in the corner only minutes after she had promised to stay up and see him through the night.

Martin lay on his side, a strange experience having spent so many months sleeping on his back and bent crescent by a hammock, but on this feather mattress it felt right. No matter how much he wanted to lie on his left side so he could watch the door, he dared not turn for fear he would anger the wound stretched across his cheekbone, so instead he lay on his right and stared out the window, waiting for the red flash of dawn to snap the horizon and signal danger's end.

Mornings in Nassau began a lot earlier than anywhere else in the world, so by the time the sun had rolled into the sky, the streets were already packed with people. It was no challenge for the Captain to reach into the fast-flowing stream and wrangle an urchin, whom he offered the prize of a shilling to find Doctor Cotral and summon him to the Golden Fleece. The Doctor arrived at Martin's bedside in a matter of minutes, the young urchin being wise enough to check the pubs and brothels first. He set to work sewing Martin's cheek back together by way of a very blunt needle. Each time it pierced his raw skin, Martin clawed at the bedclothes and groaned, shutting his eyes tight, the air in his lungs catching in his throat as if he were being choked. Whenever he opened his eyes, he stole a glance over at Emily. She sat glassy eyed on her chair carving a furrow on the edge of the seat, her nails clamped between her teeth, flinching and blinking away fresh tears every time the needle burrowed through Martin's skin with a hiss. She didn't look at him once.

Martin's eyes wandered over to the doorway, where he found Captain Percival staring back, his shoulder propped against the frame, arms folded across his chest, concern written across his face. The look may as well have been tears to Captain Percival. Any ordinary man would have been embarrassed at such a display, but Black Hal kept staring, his eyes like onyx stones, cool and soft instead of burning with tempered fury.

The Doctor bit the final thread and tied it off.

'He's going to be alright,' the Doctor assured Captain Percival. 'He's young and healthy. The wound should heal nicely, though there'll be a scar.'

Emily exhaled sharply, dashing away at a tear and pressing her fingers to her lips. Her eyes glistened like the surface of a lake disturbed by a soft breeze.

The Captain sighed and patted the Doctor on the shoulder, then his face hardened to stone.

'Find Ratchett. Tell him to gather the men. I want them back aboard the Scourge and ready to sail by midday. Anyone who fails to show gets left behind.'

Before the sun had fully emerged from the horizon, the crew who had stirred from their rest, hungover, bruised or exhausted from a sleepless night, were loading the necessary cargo onto the longboats for the near-month long voyage to Barbados.

The Captain settled his accounts with the shipwright, baffled though he was for Black Hal to set off; he'd barely touched the ship. But, after paying him in credit for the repaired capstan, replacement anchor and patching a few rotten planks that were beyond salvage, the shipwright's doubts dried up, though he didn't neglect to remind Captain Percival of his debt.