Author: Kristy Tate
Category: Young Adult
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/kristy-tate/page,9,583699-the_pirate_episode.html
“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Cami said.
Joel grabbed a cot and flipped it over, knocking the thin pallet and bedding to the floor.
“Is that going to be our boat?” Cami asked.
“No, this is your boat.” He handed it to her before he picked up another. “This one is mine.”
“Don’t you think we should try and stay together?”
Above them came the terrible sounds of clashing metal and the screams of fighting men.
“Swords,” Joel said.
“How are we going to get our cot-boats to the upper deck?” Cami asked.
“Take off your dress,” Joel said.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Don’t be modest. I’ve seen you in your tennis uniform a thousand times. There’s no way you can swim in that dress.”
She turned her back to him. “You’ll need to undo the buttons.”
He hesitated.
“I’m serious. I can’t undo them myself,” Cami said.
Joel sighed and pulled a knife from behind him.
“Oh my gosh! Where did that come from?”
Joel wrapped his arm around her, steadying her. “I borrowed it from one of the sailors. I thought it would come in handy.”
“And he just let you take it?”
“No, of course not. I stole it. Now hold still.”
“You don’t need a knife—” Cami began, but seconds later the dress fell away. She shimmied out of it.
Joel smiled, thinking she looked like Little Bo Peep in her petticoats.
Cami slapped his chest. “Stop it!”
“Stop what?”
“You know what.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and turned away from him.
Joel found himself grinning, despite the dire circumstances. He grabbed Cami’s dress from the floor and used his knife to cut the fabric into strips.
“What are you doing?” Cami cried. “That’s one of my favorite dresses!”
“Not anymore,” Joel said. He held up a strip of fabric. “We’ll use these to tie our bunks together when we’re in the water.”
“And how are we going to get in the water?”
“I haven’t figured that—” He fell silent as another boom rocked the ship.
“Grab your cot!” Joel grabbed a low-hanging beam and braced against the assault. Closing his eyes, he waited for the rocking to subside. When he opened his eyes, he immediately searched for Cami, but couldn’t find her.
She lay moaning at his feet. Blood trickled from her forehead.
“Oh, no,” Joel whispered. Kneeling beside her, he touched her throat. As her steady pulse reassured him, relief mixed with fear swamped him.
A quiet noise startled him and drew his attention to the corner of the room. A young black woman dressed in a simple cotton dressed gazed at him.
“I will take you to shore,” the woman said.
“Are you the captain’s woman?” Joel asked.
She didn’t affirm or deny but watched him with a steady gaze. “Come with me and you’ll both be safe.”
#
When Cami woke, she thought she was back in Connecticut. It took her a moment to process her surroundings—the four wooden walls of a small room, a stone floor, a window. This place was nothing like Île du Ciel and she wondered how she had arrived.
Closing her eyes, she tried to remember what had happened. Hazy images of the burning ship, a sky full of stars masked by smoke, and endless water came to mind. A shuffling drew her attention.
Cherise stood in the doorway, holding a tray with a teapot, a cup and a plate of food. “You’re awake. Good.”
Cami lay back against the mat on the floor and closed her eyes. “I suppose I should think so, but I don’t know why you would care.”
“The Captain will come for you,” Cherise said.
“I don’t think so.” Cami heard Cherise carry the tray to a small table next to the bed and set it down. “And then you’ll be disappointed you saved my life.”
“I did not save your life. No one can save a life. A life is not for man to give or take. Only our creator determines the hours and days of one’s life.”
Cami peeked open an eye, but when she saw Cherise frowning at her, she closed it again. “That’s so not true. People murder other people.”
“Not if it isn’t God’s will.”
“It’s not fair to blame God for people’s cruelty.” She paused. “And stupidity.”
“Wake up, eat. You must not look like a drowned cat.”
“Why would you care how I look?”
“Do you wish to starve? Do you wish to sleep on the sand for the remainder of your days?”
“Huh, no.” Cami opened her eyes and sat up as the seriousness of her situation dawned on her. “Where are we?”
“We are on the island Lopez at my uncle’s home. He works at the Crown and Stag, and if we are so lucky, we will join him there.”
“Lucky,” Cami murmured. “Lucky Lopez.”
“Yes,” Cherise said, authority in her voice. “Paid work is a gift not granted to all.”
“I suppose,” Cami ran her fingers through her stiff-with-salt hair and gazed out the window overlooking a bustling town square. “Where is Joel Fleur?”
“The man who looks like the Captain?”
Cami nodded.
Cherise shrugged.
Working was a good plan and she wished she and not Cherise had thought of it. Maybe if she saved up enough money she could find a way to get back to Connecticut, drink from the well, and hopefully return home. Cami looked down at her gray and sandy pantaloons. “I don’t have anything to wear.”
“My cousins have clothes you may borrow.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Cami asked.
“As I told you, I wish to find the Captain. He will look for you, and when he does, he will find me.” And with that, Cherise left the room.
Cami inspected the tray. Heavy brown bread, a chicken leg, and unfamiliar vegetables. Cami’s stomach rolled a complaint. She wished she could wash her hands and her hair, and scrub away the sand between her toes and eyelids, but she also knew she was lucky to be alive, to have food and a place to stay. Cherise was right—she would be lucky to find employment. A bath would be icing on an eighteenth-century cake.
#
The next morning, Cami followed Cherise through the busy streets. They passed a dry goods store, a candle maker’s shop, and a slaughterhouse. The humid air reeked of too many people and animals sharing too warm a space. From the street, the Crown and Stag looked as if it couldn’t possibly hold another person. Cami hung outside on the boardwalk while Cherise pushed her way through swinging doors and disappeared into the crowd. Moments later, she returned, grabbed Cami’s wrist and dragged her into the crowd of people.
A frazzled-looking man with a belly like a barrel stood behind a counter, his hands a whir of motion as he handed out mugs slopping with ale. “There’s work to be done here for sure, lassies, if you can pass out a pint or two.” He ran his gaze over both of them. “Are you bondswomen? Do you have a master who’s gonna come charging after ye? Because I don’t want no trouble.”
“We are both free,” Cherise said. “And at your service.”
Cherise dropped into a modest curtsey. After a brief hesitation, Cami did the same.
The man ran his hand over his flushed, sweaty face. “Can ye sweep, wash pots and kettles and handle yourselves among the men?”
Cherise dipped her head. Cami guessed that was a yes, so she followed Cherise’s example. Although she’d rather wash pots and kettles than handle men, she knew she had little choice.
The man narrowed his eyes at them and lowered his eyebrows. “And if a man invites you to his bed, what say you?”
“May the devil take the soul of any who should try,” Cherise said proudly.
The man turned his gaze to Cami, waiting for her response.
“I know self-defense,” Cami said.
When the man’s expression went blank, Cami tried again. “I can handle myself…and men.”
“Where you from, lass?”
“Connecticut.”
“And how did you come to be down here?”
“I don’t know…I’ve lost my memory.” She thought about adding, and my mind, but decided against it since she really did need a job.
“You must know all those traitors, Ben Franklin, John Adams, and the men of their ilk.”
“I know of them, but I don’t know them personally.”
“You sympathize with them?”
“I’m just a girl looking to find the means to return home.”
The man chuckled. “I like a girl who knows what she wants, and who is willing to work to get it.”
Cami had never really thought of herself like that before, but she decided this was exactly the type of girl she wanted to be: someone who knew what she wanted and found a way to make it happen.
#
Joel gazed up at the ceiling, wondering if he was asleep, and if he was, then when in Heaven’s name would he ever wake up? This nightmare seemed without end. Generally, in his experience, nightmares stopped just before something terrifying happened. If a monster chased him, or if his boat was about to go over a waterfall, or a zombie was moments away from eating his brain—he always woke before the monster caught him, or his boat plunged, or the zombie devoured his brain. But this was the nightmare that just kept on giving. In the past three days there had been plenty of times when, if things had been going according to typical nightmare behavior, he should have woken up with a pounding heart and found himself in the comfort of his own bed. Then he could shower, go to work, open a few young eyes to the miracles of the natural world around them, go to bed and start all over again. That’s the way his life was meant to be.
If he woke and found himself on the floor of his Biology class, that would have been okay, too.
But, as the stone walls and barred windows attested, this nightmare refused to end. First, facing those sword-wielding British had been truly terrifying. He should have woken then. That would have been best, because then he wouldn’t have had to live through these past few days of hell, sweltering in this jail cell, fighting nausea and cockroaches. But more importantly, he wouldn’t be haunted by the memory of Cami, lifeless and still, sinking into the fathomless ocean on that dark night.
#
Cami and Cherise fell into a routine, and if not an uneasy friendship, then at least a truce. They woke at dawn to the happy sounds of the rooster and chickens, scrambled into their clothes and aprons, and showed up at the tavern before the first guests arrived. Their waking hours were filled with cooking, cleaning, and slogging sloshy beer steins and steaming cups of bitter coffee. Cami managed to snatch bites of food between serving customers and even though her arms and legs often ached from her long hours, she found that she, for the most part, liked the work, although she knew it couldn’t last. She didn’t intend to spend the rest of her life as a barmaid. And if her days in the tavern were short, she knew Cherise’s days had to be shorter.
She cut a quick glance at Cherise, who so far had managed to hide her growing belly beneath her apron. But Cami knew as soon as Cherise’s pregnancy became obvious, she’d be out of work, and maybe even out of a place to live. Most of their meager earnings went to Cherise’s Uncle Thomas for the privilege of sleeping on a cloth pallet on the floor of a bug-infested room they shared with six other women. Cami had learned most of the women were somehow related to Cherise, but she had yet to untangle all the family lines. The most important thing she had learned was there was no free lunch. If she didn’t pay Uncle Thomas her rent, she wouldn’t have a place to live. And she suspected if she didn’t work hard at the tavern, then she would have nothing to eat. So she served ale, food, and coffee with a smile, all the while wondering about Joel, Phillip, and the other men on board the Snow Maiden.
The men she served were usually kind. The British soldiers in their handsome crimson coats with shiny brass buttons and tall leather boots were easy to spot. The others, though, mostly local farmers and tradesmen, wore homespun cotton breeches. She learned most professed to serve the king, but there were some with watchful eyes and hushed conversations who supported the rebellion. They tended to sit in dark, shadowy corners, their shoulders hunched forward and their heads drawn close together. Cami found it strange that they were considered outlaws—thieves—and yet, in her time, where she really belonged, these men were considered heroes. She tried to catch bits and pieces of their conversations as she served, hoping to learn news of Phillip and his men.
A man in a red coat stood suddenly, bumped into Cami, and splashed a tankard of ale over her dress.
The men at the long trestle table hooted with laughter.
Cami smiled at them and headed for the kitchen. She knew the beer would leave a sticky film on her skin if she didn’t mop it up, and between the humidity and her own sweat, she was already sticky enough.
A tug on her apron strings stopped her. She turned to the man who had bumped into her. Holding both of her apron strings in his hands, he yanked her into his arms. He smelled of tobacco, leather, and an unwashed red coat.
She elbowed his pudgy gut, but he only laughed, exposing his brown and rotting teeth.
“Let her go, Bellmont,” a man from the table called.
A chorus of men echoed him.
“Who’s going to bring us our supper if you got your filthy hands all over our girl?” another man asked.
“I’m just glad he’s not got his hands all over me,” another man muttered.
Bellmont sputtered, his face turned the color of his coat, and he fumbled for his sword. “Who dares insult me?”
Cami jumped away as Bellmont waved his sword in the air. She wanted to crawl under the table for fear, but no one else seemed at all upset or afraid.
A man at the end of the table raised his mug in greeting or stupidity, Cami wasn’t sure which. He was younger than Bellmont, sturdier, and not nearly as drunk.
With his sword held in front of him like a battering ram, Bellmont stumbled toward the men. “You, a mere sergeant, dare to speak to me thus? I should kill you as a service to His Majesty.”
The man climbed to his feet. “Of course, if you do so, you will certainly hang.” He stepped toward Cami. “Be safe, my dear, and steer clear of this lot.” Then he said something so low under his breath, Cami wondered if she’d imagined it.
The jail.
Cami desperately wanted to fling off her apron, sprint out the door, and search for the jail. But the look in the man’s eyes told her to be patient. She tried to go back to her work, ignoring the men, serving beer and food, despite her racing heart. She waited until the night was over, the tavern emptied, and the floor swept clean. Propping her broom in the corner of the kitchen, she went to find Thomas.
“Thomas, can you tell me how to get to the jail?”
“Thinking about locking yourself up, now are ye?” Thomas asked.
“No… no,” Cami stuttered. She couldn’t think of a good reason for visiting the jail.
“Your performance today might be sending your young champion there soon enough,” he said.
“What?”
“He’ll likely get a beating, as well as some jail time, for insulting Major Bellmont the way he did,” Thomas went on.
“But Major Bellmont…he shouldn’t have been speaking to me like that,” Cami said.
Thomas looked at her as if she was a misbehaving puppy. “Girl, the major can speak to you any way he pleases.”
“But…that’s not right.”
“Says who? You?” Thomas wagged his head. “Girls like you ain’t got no say. I’d think you’d have learned that by now.”
#
When the tavern finally closed, Cami hurried down the moonlit streets, passing black girls walking in barely-there clothes. They stared at her as she picked up her skirts to her knees and ran as fast as she could.
She didn’t know where the jail was, but part of her didn’t care. She wanted to run as if running could take her somewhere else where things made sense.
A skin-prickling feeling told her she wasn’t alone. She cast her gaze over the dark buildings lining the street. Blank windows stared back at her. Shadows shifted behind the glass. Someone somewhere was watching. She ran faster.
Coming to the top of a hill, she spotted the gallows. In the dark, they stood tall, like a house made of bare bones. Her steps slowed as she drew closer. Logic told her the jail would be nearby. The gallows had a platform where the prisoners would stand. She knew after the noose was drawn around the prisoner’s neck, the floor of the platform would drop away, leaving the prisoner to hang. What she didn’t know was why there was a dark stain surrounding a nearby pole.
Flogging. The word came to her. She tried to remember where she’d learned the word. Had she read about it in a book? Cat-o’-nine-tails. Another word she didn’t know how she knew, but in her mind she saw nine knotted cords or thongs of rawhide attached to a handle and interwoven with wire—the wires hooked and sharpened so they tore through flesh. She closed her eyes against the image of the man who had stood up for her against Major Bellmont. But the image wouldn’t go away. She saw him tied to the post, stripped to the waist, his back laced with bloody wounds.
Cami stumbled up the steps of the closest building, and her trembling, fatigued legs gave way. Sinking back against the wall, she knew she didn’t belong on the streets. They were dangerous. She could be killed, or worse.
Gratitude swept over her. How amazing she’d been born in the twenty-first century when women didn’t have to be men’s playthings, bought and sold like something on a store shelf. They could pursue educations, careers, raise children who could have full, meaningful lives without fear of poverty, hunger, or exploitation. Why had she not realized how lucky she’d been? She couldn’t believe she’d been willing to trade it all away, just because she was too scared to stand up to her mom, too lazy to come up with her own life plan, and too stupid to recognize what she really could do, and what she could become.
Using the wall to brace herself, she pushed to her feet. She had to find Joel, and together, they would find a way home. She didn’t know how to do that, but the man in the tavern had risked a lot to tell her that she needed to find the jail.