Pirate Souls

I - Chapter 14 - Delivery

Our meeting place is near the Saint-Louis cathedral, a few minutes' walk only from the point where Steven has docked his ship on the Mississippi.

When I think that I missed our entering the river... Bappé had explained to me during the day that the town had a dozen or so little harbours. Some of them managed to escape the official trading rules in the colonies. A number of vessels dock there without it coming to the knowledge of the bureaucrats. Civil servants find it difficult to apply laws in this remote territory where understanding governors grant priority to local needs. As for the smugglers, they have striven to avoid leaving any written traces for over half a century. For some time they have realized that there will be no return on investment. The colony is self-sufficient, but will never enrich the Continent to the extent that was expected.

I am astounded to see a multitude of canoes and boats of all shapes and sizes sailing on the water. The sailors, of all origins, load and unload their wares unceasingly. And that is how I meet my first savages, who are only savages by name. One of them stares at me. He is magnificent, with his array of jewels and the bird's feather in his long brown hair. His amber skin must yearn for soft caresses under a full moon. I am rambling.

The streets are relatively clean and well kept. The picturesque atmosphere is incredibly exhilarating. I almost forget why I am here.

Almost.

We have arrived.

Steven gives me a heart-breaking look.

"After you, Milord," I joke to lighten the mood.

"Stay here," he orders his friend. "This won't take long."

Together we climb a few steps and then push open the door of the establishment. At last an inn worthy of the name, frequented by good people. No prostitutes, bandits or drunken soldiers. This should reassure me as to the identity of my future owner. But when all is said and done, I don't give a damn. No matter who he may be, he will not escape the fate I have reserved for him. My little knife is wedged between my breasts, ready to be drawn.

"Monsieur Kelly, for Monsieur Basselin," he announces to a gentleman who is waiting by the entrance to seat the patrons.

"Is that all?" I laugh. "All this mystery for a simple name. I know no Monsieur Basselin."

"Silence!" he delivers.

My indifference perturbs him. He is risking his life in this strange exchange. What if I cried out that he had kidnapped me, that I am here against my will? After all, we are in a French colony here. Steven has certainly imagined that the idea would cross my mind. Perhaps he thinks that I will take pity on him, or why organize this encounter in full daylight, in front of these good Samaritans? He considers that I shall not dare send him to the gibbet because we have slept together.

He is dreaming.

The fact is that to act in such a manner would take me straight to another manner of captivity. I would once again become Florence des Acres, or rather Florence McPherson. The wife of an old slave-owner. I gag at the thought. Steven knows me well. He understands that I would prefer to confront the man who ordered my abduction than return to that life of pretence.

A man, aged around sixty, appears at the back of the room. He has an unkempt beard in a wrinkled face that has been damaged by too much sun. His apparel has not been in fashion for several decades on the Continent. His slenderness borders on emaciation.

Something is nagging at me. I cannot tear my eyes way from him. Why do I have the feeling that I know him?

And suddenly, like a whiplash, it becomes evident.