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Chapter Twenty-Three
Yes, Skank, Shandy thought again now as he watched someone out in the harbor keep on trying to yank the Jenny's gaff-spar higher, yes I was more jumpy in those days. I had things to do then; now there's only one task left, and that's ... forget. He stretched out more comfortably in the sand and swirled the sun-warmed rum in his cup affectionately.
A young Navy ensign hesitantly approached Shandy. "Excuse me ... you're Jack Shandy?"
Shandy was finishing the cup, and stared owlishly at the young man over the rim. "Right," he said, lowering it finally.
"You're the one - excuse me - that sank the Whitney, aren't you?"
"I don't think so. What was the Whitney?"
"A man-o'-war that blew up and sank, this last June. They'd captured Philip Davies, and - "
"Oh." Shandy noticed that his cup was empty, and got to his feet. "Right. Until now I never knew her name. Actually, it was Davies that blew her up - I just helped." He put his cup down on the table in front of the liquor tent and nodded at the man who ran it.
"And you shot the captain?" the young ensign went on.
Shandy picked up his refilled cup. "It was a long time ago. I don't remember."
The ensign looked disappointed. "I arrived here on the Delicia, with Governor Rogers," he explained. "I, uh ... guess this was a pretty wild place before, huh? Swordfights, shootings, treasure ... "
Shandy laughed softly and decided not to burst the boy's romantic bubble. "Oh, aye, all o' that."
Encouraged, the young man pressed on. "And you sailed with Blackbeard himself, I hear, on that mysterious trip to Florida? What was that like?"
Shandy gestured expansively. "Oh ... hellish, hellish. Treachery, swordfights, men walking the plank, sea battles ... trackless swamps, terrible fevers, cannibal Carib Indians dogging our tracks ... " He paused, for the young ensign was blushing and frowning.
"You don't have to make fun of me," the boy snapped.
Shandy blinked, not recalling exactly what he'd been saying. "What do you mean?"
"Just because I'm new out here doesn't mean I don't know anything. I knew the Spaniards completely wiped out the Carib Indians two hundred years ago."
"Oh." Shandy scowled in concentration. Where had he heard of Carib Indians? "I didn't know that. Here, lemme buy you some rum, I didn't mean any ... any ... "
"I can't drink in uniform," the ensign said, though he seemed mollified.
"I'll have yours then." Shandy drained his cup and put it down on the table again. The man behind the table refilled it and made yet another mark on his credit sheet.
"It does seem that I've missed the great days of piracy," the ensign sighed. "Davies, Bonnett, Blackbeard all dead, Hornigold and Shandy have taken the pardon - though there is one new one. Do you know Ulysse Segundo?"
"No," said Shandy, carefully picking up his cup. "Dressy name."
"Well, sure. He's got a big three-masted ship called the Ascending Orpheus, and he's taken dozens of ships in the last couple of months. He's supposed to be the most bloodthirsty of all - people are so scared of him that some have jumped into the sea and drowned themselves when it became clear he was going to take their ship!"
"That's pretty scared," Shandy allowed, nodding.
"There's all sorts of stories about him," the ensign went on eagerly, then halted. "Of course, I don't believe most of them. Still, a lot of people seem to. They say he can whistle the wind out of your sails and into his, and that he can navigate and catch you even in the densest fog, and when he captures a ship he not only takes all the gold and jewelry off her, but also the dead bodies of any sailors killed in the capture! Why, he won't even bother with stuff like grain or leather or hardware - he takes only real treasure, though they say he values fresh blood most of all, and has sometimes drained whole crews. One captain who lost his ship to him but lived says there were corpses in the Orpheus's rigging, obviously corpses, rotting - but one of them was talking!"
Shandy smiled. "What'd it have to say?"
"Well ... I don't believe this, of course ... but the captain swore this one corpse kept saying, over and over, 'I am not a dog.' - hey, watch it!" he added angrily, for Shandy had dropped his cup, and rum had splashed on the boy's uniform trousers.
"Where was he seen last," Shandy asked quickly, "and when was it?"
The ensign blinked in surprise at this sudden intense interest, so uncharacteristic of the sleepy-eyed, easygoing man who had seemed to have no other goal in life than to be the settlement drunkard. "Why, I don't know, I - "
"Think!" Shandy seized the young man by his uniform collar and shook him. "Where and when?"
