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The last thing I heard was the slightest hint of a snore from Bellamy’s hammock. It was then that I finally allowed myself the luxury to sleep.
14
In the Offing
Milo
I’d been searching the island for hours, slowly accepting the harsh truth that my friends didn’t seem to have ended up in the same place I did. But I had to find them. I had to find Katrina.
With a weary soul and aching body, as if by instinct, I wandered home. My feet couldn’t help but carry me through the village where I grew up, knowing every one of my steps like I’d taken them yesterday. I wondered what awaited me should I find the courage to see my childhood home. A churning in my stomach quieted my racing thoughts.
Avoiding curious stares, I kept my head tucked low beneath the cloak hood, concealing most of my face. If this was the year I suspected it was, I couldn’t risk people recognizing the face of a man who was meant to be a boy. And I certainly couldn’t attract the attention of my father, or anyone who might’ve known us then.
Palm trees grew wild in every corner of the failed colony, poking up from the sand and rising higher than the small wooden houses plotted along the island. Shops like the fisher’s stand, the sailmaker, and the tavern brought some sense of order to the place. It was an otherwise lawless place, with taverns and brothels plentiful. Disease was as rampant as the debauchery.
Diseases like that of the sudden infection that took my mother. I knew then that Nassau wasn’t the place I wanted to make my home. I hated to admit I was even a citizen. The city was all I knew of a home outside of my birthplace in Portsmouth, England. And when my father was offered a stipend by the king to settle and maintain trade routes in a place the government refused to touch, I knew there was no escaping it. Not till I was old enough.
And yet, as these sour memories invaded my mind, I found some strange peace being back in the time of my adolescence. I smiled slightly at the thought that maybe I’d see my father here. Just to catch a glimpse of him before his untimely fate…
And that’s when I caught sight of something that made me shudder in the harbor. Docked at port, it floated, proud and regal—the HMS Regal Mercy. A Royal Navy ship that I recognized without trying. I remembered that ship visiting on a very particular day.
I stopped at a nearby tavern by the name of The Salty Crow. It stood on the edge of town, frequented by pirates, visiting officials, and locals alike. I knew the owner, old Codface, well enough. With his tavern closest to port, he had the monopoly on fresh gossip from the harbor.
“I’ll have a round,” I uttered, and watched the withering man slide me a mug overflowing with cheap beer. He wasn’t even that old. But his skin had been lost to the sun long ago. “How long has that ship been docked there?” I asked.
“Just got in last night.” Codface wiped his face with the back of his arm. “Something about withdrawing funding or something or other. Some bloke going around offering pirates a pardon if they’ll just be dumb enough to give it all up. Nothing but the damn king trying to screw us over as usual, I’m sure.”
“Hmm. Benjamin Hastings,” I said, trying to make it sound like a question as I took a swig from my cup. But I didn’t need to ask. I knew exactly who was here and why. He’d helped found this republic, and now he was turning his back on those same pirates who helped him build it. “He’s at it again, eh? Maybe Daven can hold him over just a little longer. Before they start hanging us in the streets.” My father was one of the few liaisons left here willing to negotiate with both pirates and privateers. He’d be one of the first to report on the state of things when the government paid a visit.
“Aye, a proper mess it is,” Codface coughed. “Now pay up.”
I dug into my pocket and flicked a coin toward his open palm.
“You look an awful lot like Daven,” he said with a strange smile. “You a relative here on business?”
“Something like that.” I barely noticed what I was saying. I was too busy turning over the reckless idea forming in my mind. If Hastings was here, that meant Valdez wasn’t far behind. I remembered this week perfectly. My father turned to working with Valdez because of the king’s ever-growing threats to revoke stipends for tradesmen as the state of Nassau worsened and dealings there became less and less profitable. And Valdez would be here for his next trade deal. But I knew how it would end.
And that’s when I thought it.
What if…?
What if I could stop my father’s fate? The rosary in my pocket suddenly felt heavy, and I reached in to close my fingers around it. I was given this moment—this chance to be here, in 1720, the exact week my father was double-crossed. It would be the day after tomorrow. What if I could keep it all from happening?
I had to find him. I could hardly suppress the eagerness flurrying in my bones to get up and run home. But I had to. To keep safe the identity of the mysterious man under the hood, I had no choice but to sneak my way back to the house from my childhood.
When I crept inside, the place was just as I remembered. The smell of freshly tanned leather and the crisp scent of map parchment intermingled with that of rum and dust. The roof was still patched from the week before, when my father repaired it after a hurricane had blown through.
My gaze swept the space. My room was small, but it was all I needed as a boy. I was never in it anyway. As I wasn’t now. There was no sign of a younger me here at the moment. But I knew he wasn’t far. If I wasn’t out sailing with my father or repairing the ship, I was out exploring and making my own secret maps of the island. I did wonder, though, if my presence here now somehow disrupted my existence in the past.
In the left corner of the house, near the hearth we never used, my mother’s chair faced the center of the room. I could picture her there in it, singing slightly off-key and working her magic with a needle and thread. But the last time she’d sat in it was seven years ago, before the sickness took her. And that’s why her portrait now took her place on the seat cushion.
I glanced upward, awakening a memory I’d almost succeeded at pushing away. The door to my father’s room stood locked, a heavy padlock guarding the entry. It had been that way since the day Mother died. He said it was his way of protecting her memory. I never questioned it more than once. His reaction—the only time I’d ever seen him lose his temper—had been enough to keep me from prying.
And now, as a man walking in the shadows of my past, I still yearned to see behind the locked door just as much as I did in my adolescence. I walked to the lock, examining it carefully for any sign of weak points. I’d now had my fair share of practice lock-picking, and I thought this one could prove no more a challenge than the others.
But as I touched the lock, I heard voices from the outside. My father’s. And someone else. I scurried to the small section of the house that acted as my room and slid underneath the bed, thankful for the silent leather boots I’d swapped out with my attacker earlier.
“I trust you found everything in accordance with what we agreed upon the last time we spoke?” My father’s voice became clear as he entered the doorway, his heavy, strong steps as familiar as breathing. “Aye,” the other man’s voice was one I didn’t recognize, but I assumed him one of the many business partners of my father. “All but one. You were a vessel short. And I’ve arranged payment as such.”
