T.J. Laverne

Copyright © 2017 T.J. Laverne

 

Chapter 1

The Raggedy Sail

 

A million stars stretched across the inky black sky, arching above everything like a massive upside-down bowl. Beneath it was a mirror, reflecting the stars as if two skies were sitting one on top of the other. As far as Leena’s eyes could see in front of her was water. The ocean.

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Voices floated above the ocean, drifting in on a salty breeze toward Leena on a nearby hill. They were coming from the deck of a ship that had pulled upon the sandy beach for the night. It hoisted a strange, red flag with a skull and crossbones knitted upon it.

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The voices were happy. Drunken. They sang and laughed and yelled coarse words to each other and toasted ridiculous things. A stringed instrument played a reel beneath the rabble, and there was a stomping of feet on wood to the rhythm of the music.

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On her hill, Leena paced back and forth, sometimes running and stamping and sometimes screaming and pulling her hair, making a scene that everyone would surely hear around for miles. But no one did. She was alone, and no one cared that her world was in turmoil.

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She didn’t recognize anything. Not the ocean, not the ship, and not the strange, vivid trees all around her.

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“The world is so big!” her voice was an octave too high. Her legs worked furiously beneath her, pacing one way and then another.

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“How will I ever find Vinnie in such a big world? Where in the hell am I and what freaking year is it? It sure as hell isn’t 500! But is it still 1886? Vinnie’s year,” she choked back a hysterical sob. “I can’t tell! If that freaking puddle takes me to a different place every time I go through it and I can’t ever go back to where I came from, then I’ll never find my way home again! I’m lost! Forever! What are the chances I’ll just happen to run into Vinnie? It’s impossible! I’ll never find him!”

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She came to a dead stop and stomped her foot on the ground like a child throwing a temper tantrum. She put her hands to her head and pulled on the short ends of her hair.

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“No! It’s not impossible, damn it! As long as I have breath in my body I’ll keep looking for him and I’ll find him! I’ll find him no matter how long or how far I have to look!”

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There was a massive eruption behind her and she spun around and pulled a knife out of her belt, ready for a fight. Several hundred feet out into the ocean, the perfect mirror was disrupted as a large, black ball plummeted into it, sending forth an immense, circular splash.

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Leena’s breath came quick as she heard raucous laughter erupt from the deck of the ship. She put a hand to her chest, at a loss of what had just happened. Had the black ball come from the ship?

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With an irritated sigh she turned away from the ocean and stepped up to the edge of the hill, overlooking the land. It was covered with exotic trees, very unlike the forest of Langley Wood. The trees had curved, smooth trunks and very few branches at the tops, and leaves that looked like fingers.

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In the distance beyond the trees was a village, the only sign of life around for miles aside from the ship docked on the beach behind her. Beyond the village, the land ended and gave way to ocean, again. She appeared to be on a small island. The village was lit up with hundreds of specks of light that illuminated hundreds of buildings, and what looked like a stone castle. Hundreds more ships bobbed gently in the harbor in front of the village.

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Leena turned and looked back at the lagoon to her left and grumbled. She had always been so sure what to do next.

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“What do I do?” she threw her head back and yelled up to the sky.

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If she jumped back in the lagoon, would she return to Tucson? She didn’t want to return to Tucson. She had already come to the conclusion that Vincent wasn’t there. But would it take her home? That was where she was supposed to have gone the last time she went through it. So was it impossible to go back home? If she went through it again, would it take her somewhere else entirely?

 

“Okay,” she stood up straight, trying to think it through, logically. “If the puddle in Tucson took me here, it must’ve taken Vinnie here, too. Right? But did it? How am I supposed to know?” She stomped her foot again and growled, looking up at the star-strewn sky. “He wasn’t in Tucson, so he has to be here!”

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She wanted so desperately to do the right thing, but one wrong step might lead to another wrong step, and then another, until she was so far down the wrong path that she might never, ever find her way back.

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She looked back at the village, biting her lip and tapping her hand nervously against her leg.

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“If the puddle took me here, then it took Vinnie here, too,” she said firmly, as if arguing with herself.

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She nodded, as if her other half agreed, and felt a sudden wave of determination. The least she could do was ask around the village for him. She couldn’t leave this place without checking first, or she might live to regret it. She couldn’t afford to take such a risk.

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She looked down at the beach and saw that it led around in a circle along the ocean, leading back behind her toward the village. With a deep breath, she balled her hands into fists and trudged down the hill, her legs strong beneath her. She steered out of sight of the drunken idiots aboard the strange ship, keeping under the cover of the trees until it was safe, then stepped out onto the beach.

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The ocean breeze whipped against her face, full of the scent of salt and fish. It was an intoxicating smell, so strange and different than anything she had ever smelled. She tilted her nose into the air and closed her eyes, breathing in another strong whiff of sea. It was oddly welcoming and comforting. It almost made her smile, but she stopped herself. Now was not the time to smile.

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Her heart raced in her chest as she rounded the curve in the land along the beach and saw the village in front of her. She reached a long, wooden dock that protruded out over the harbor and stopped. The village stretched out behind it, the buildings scattered almost messily across the land in a haphazard manner. It had a strangely menacing quality about it that she couldn’t identify. It was certainly dirty and smelly.

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Like Tucson, the people of this village seemed to prefer the night. The streets were swarming with people despite the late hour, laughing and carrying on in what Leena recognized as drunken stupors. She crept a little closer to get a better look and walked slowly down the side of a street, keeping to the shadows as she watched men and women stroll past.

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The people were similar to those from Tucson, dirty and rough around the edges and highly intoxicated. And yet their clothes were different. They were elaborately ruffled and frilled—even the men’s clothes—and were much more ostentatious than anything anyone in Tucson would have worn. She noticed, also, that the men carried swords in sheaths that hung from their waists, as well as guns. Perhaps she was somewhere in between her time and Vincent’s?

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Many of the men and women had tightly curled and rather large hair, most that were already graying, though their faces were young and smooth. It was baffling, until Leena witnessed a young man whip his gray hair straight off his head, wipe his sweaty face with it, and replace it over his perfectly normal brown hair. She made a face and continued around a corner.

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People suddenly crowded the street, lounging around in large groups, drinking and chatting, and some singing. Clearly, it was a popular location to get drunk. They were all speaking in Vincent’s language, she realized.

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She came to a halt, then sidled inconspicuously to the side, hiding behind a tall stack of crates. She wasn’t sure why she was afraid of being seen. She would eventually need to be seen if she wanted to ask around for Vincent.

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Looking down, she realized she was still wearing her mailshirt, as though she were dressed to go to war. She knew it would attract unwanted attention, so she lifted it over her head and threw it inside one of the crates, revealing only her tunic.

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She looked around at the other women with their large, ruffled skirts and puffy sleeves, and square necklines that revealed pearl necklaces and heaving bosoms. Clearly, she would stand out no matter what she wore. She had nothing to bind her breasts with, but maybe, if she was lucky, she would be mistaken for a boy, again.

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Straightening her tunic, she pulled herself up to her full height and walked out boldly from behind the crates, trying to look as though she belonged. To her dismay, people stared at her almost immediately, jeering to their friends at her ridiculous appearance. She was flat-chested, but not flat-chested enough, apparently, to pass for a boy. And she was dressed like a poor hobo, in a place where women, once again, were apparently not allowed to have short hair.

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She rushed back to the side of the street and found herself speeding through an open doorway and into a much more crowded room, with hundreds more eyes staring at her. She stopped, then shrank against the wall, hoping to blend in with it.

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Immediately, she recognized where she was. It was a bar, very much like the Rusty Nail, but even more crowded and rowdy.

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Eyes still upon her, she hid behind a large group of shrieking girls, whose dresses were ripped in several places and hung low off their shoulders, revealing far too much. She recognized them, as well. They were what Ester had called ‘whores,’ or ‘prostitutes.’

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She steered clear of them and spotted a gray wig hanging loosely off the head of a man seconds from passing out. She had just decided to steal it when she ran into someone and fell forward onto her face.

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“Ah, I am sorry, me lady,” came a voice from behind her. “I not see you dere.”

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For a flash of an instant, Leena thought she recognized the voice, and turned swiftly onto her back to look up at the man. She gaped. He was unlike any man she had ever seen in her entire life. His skin was the color of dark wood. She had never known or even imagined that skin could be such a color.

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His black hair was quite long, and was woven into dozens of thick strands that looked like braids, but weren’t. He wore a ruffled white shirt with large puffy sleeves that contrasted magnificently with his skin, and a three-cornered hat atop his long-haired head.

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She stared at the poor man, fascinated, as he held out his hand for her. Waking up from her stupor, she shook her head and accepted the man’s hand, allowing him to lift her from the floor. When she was nose to nose with him, her eyes widened and she gaped for a different reason.

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She wasn’t sure how she knew it, but this man, she was certain, was Perth—and Paul. The very same Paul she had watched die only a few days ago. The Paul who had jumped in front of Basil and had been shot in the chest, tragically ending his short life.

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It was his eyes that gave him away. She stared deeply into them, wondering if she was somehow dreaming. The room spun around her and her heart wrenched painfully in her chest as tears streamed down her cheeks. Before she knew what she was doing, she leapt forward into the man’s arms yelling, “Paul!”

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A few startled people turned to look at her, then laughed with their neighbors. She realized at once how strange her behavior must seem to the poor man whose name surely was not Paul, so she quickly released him.

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“I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else,” she looked down at her feet.

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The man just laughed, apparently too drunk to care. He swayed a little and held a large mug in his hand that was almost empty. She marveled at how much his drunken face resembled Paul’s—and Perth’s—drunken face, even if it was a different shade.

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“I’ll be anyone you want me to be, me lady,” he draped his arm around her shoulders and smiled, revealing a gold tooth in the front.

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He spoke Vincent’s language in a smooth, sing-songy kind of voice, but his accent was so thick that she almost couldn’t understand him. Feeling quite emotional, she peeled his arm off her shoulders and took a step back. His smile didn’t fade as he leaned his face close to hers.

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“I can go by Paul if you want me to.”

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Leena laughed despite herself. He certainly had a knack for laying it on thick, no matter what body he had. She wondered if he, too, like Paul, was overcompensating for something else. Her smile quickly faded and she felt suddenly, profoundly sad. How much was this man like Paul? Were they similar in every way? Would his life end the same way?

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“Ah, what be troubling you, me lady?” he asked, his voice lifting as if he were pleased. His arm found its way back around her shoulders and he almost ran into her. “Come over and sit wid us a bit. We like dee company.”

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He gestured vaguely to a table, but she couldn’t tell which one, as the room was full of them.

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“Who does?” she asked, her eyes searching every face as her heart pounded in her ears. Who else was here? Would she find Arthur, again? The man didn’t answer her, but was pulling her through the crowd, presumably to the table in question. “What’s your name?” she asked him.

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“Dee name could be Pereko,” he smiled slyly and winked at her. “But it be Paul to you, remember?”

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Leena shook her head and smiled. It was difficult carrying on a conversation with a drunk person.

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They pushed through another gaggle of haggard-looking women, Pereko barely stopping to slap one on the backside. Leena noticed that everyone present in the room was missing not one, but several teeth, and there was an awful stench emanating from more than one person that smelled like death.

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The noise in the room was so intense, she could barely hear herself think. Nearby, a man was playing a stringed instrument that he strummed with his fingers, singing a coarse song and frequently going out of tune. Someone threw a few leaves of lettuce in his face, but he didn’t stop singing.

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As the crowd parted and Leena looked ahead, she spotted Baird sitting rather calmly at a table by himself. She stopped in her tracks and grabbed hold of her chest as though she had been struck with a sword. Her eyes watered and her smile grew wider. Pereko tried to usher her forward, but she needed to take it in, first.

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The puddle had taken her here for a reason, she realized. Her people were here, too. Because they were her people. This much she knew, now. How could they not be? She had no idea where she was, or when she was, and somehow, miraculously, she had managed to find the people she had always been with, as though a magnet had drawn her to them. She was meant to be in their lives as much as they were meant to be in hers.

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Feeling suddenly lighter than air, she stepped forward and plopped down beside the man who was Baird, smiling widely at him. He lifted an eyebrow at her, surveying her as though she were out of her mind. She chuckled. It was exactly as Baird would have looked at her.

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Like Pereko, his skin was the same extraordinary shade of dark wood, and he, too, wore a puffy white shirt and a three-cornered hat, which concealed most of his hair. But the scowl on his forehead so resembled Baird, she could hardly see the difference in his appearance.

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“Dis is . . . ,” Pereko started introductions but stopped, looking at her expectantly.

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“Leena. And what’s your name?” she asked the other man brightly.

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The man gave Pereko a startled expression, then looked awkwardly down at the table. He cleared his throat. “Bodua,” he said barely loud enough for her to hear.

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“Ah, Bodua be frightened of dee white woman,” Pererko leaned comfortably back in his seat, smiling as though he owned the room. “Him not be used to his freedom as of yet.”

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“Freedom?” she scowled at Pereko. “What do you mean, freedom?”

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“Well, we walk around freely, wouldn’t you say?” he leaned toward Leena, still smiling. “Dere be no chains around our hands and feet.”

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She scowled down at his hands, wondering why he would say such a thing. “Why would there be?”

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“Why, because of dee white man, of course,” Pereko leaned back again, now looking somewhat exasperated. His smiled slowly faded. “Why else would we be here instead of our homeland? Dee white man look at us and see only slaves, because dere religion tells dem so. Dee Curse of Cana’an.”

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Leena’s eyes opened wide as Bodua scowled up at her, as though it were her fault.

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“The what?”

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“The Curse of Cana’an,” Bodua spoke furiously. “They think we’re descended from some idiot named Cana’an who did something bad once and was cursed to be a slave the rest of his life. It is rubbish, of course, but these white people are ignorant asses. It is an excuse to enslave millions of people across the ocean.”

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Leena noticed that Bodua spoke better English than Pereko, though his accent was equally as thick. She knew Bodua was just as smart in this life as he had been in the others.

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 “But not us,” Pereko smiled again. “Not anymore. See dat man over dere? Dat white man wid the scar on him cheek?”

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Leena looked to her left and flinched, grabbing for her knife, again. The man with the scar on his cheek was none other than the buck thief—Epps Peetzke. He had retained his skin color from his previous life, and the look in his eye was no less malicious.

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Like the others, he wore a long, curly gray wig, as well as a large, heavy-looking red coat and a shirt with such a colossal ruff at the collar, it brushed the bottom of his chin. He also wore an outrageously large, wide-brimmed hat adorned with an enormous red feather. She couldn’t help but think he looked ridiculous.

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“Dat man free our ship on our journey over dee ocean. Because of him, we sit here wid beautiful woman,” Pereko winked at her.

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“What’s his name?” she stared at the man, not ready to trust him just yet, even though he had freed her friends.

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“Captain Higgin Beamish,” Bodua answered her somewhat haughtily, as though she had just insulted him.

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“What kind of a man is he?” she stared back at Bodua. “Does he treat you well?”

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Bodua blinked, clearly surprised by her question.

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“He treats us as well as expected,” he said.

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Leena interpreted this to mean that the Captain didn’t treat them well at all.

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Pereko leaned toward her conspiratorially, a twinkle in his eye. “Him a pirate.”

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She stared at him, trying not to look too confused. She must not have succeeded, because Bodua looked at Pereko and said, “She doesn’t know what that is.”

Pereko’s eyes opened wide. “You not know of slaves, and now you not know of pirates, eider? Where have you been, me lady? Living under a rock all dese years?”

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Leena leaned back, her mind whizzing with an explanation. “I just arrived here. On a ship. I live in a land far from here, where there are no slaves or pirates.”

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“Does such a land exist?” Bodua asked her suspiciously. His eyes searched her face and she squirmed. “What is your land called?”

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“Natanleaga,” she said quickly, remembering that she had told Felix the same thing. She swallowed against a knot in her throat.

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Bodua scowled, but she could tell he wasn’t sure if she were telling the truth. He lowered his head, as if suddenly ashamed.

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“Can you tell me where I am now?” she asked, taking advantage. “We met a storm and were knocked off course. We weren’t supposed to land here.”

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“You’re on dee island of Jamaica, me lady,” Pereko said happily, gesturing around him as though he loved the place. “Enjoy it while you can. And dis establishment you now find yourself in is Dee Raggedy Sail in dat wicked and rebellious city of Port Royal, home to pirates, cuttroats, and whores.”

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Leena stared at the table. She wanted to ask where Jamaica was, but was afraid it would be too suspicious.

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“The New World,” Bodua said, watching her closely. He saw too much, she realized. “As far west as you can go.”

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Leena nodded, trying to understand. The New World. She had heard that term once before in Tucson. She had thought the land Vincent had lived on had been called the New World. And his land had been west of her land, too . . . England, as it had been called. She wondered if she was on an island near Tucson.

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Her heart suddenly raced. If the puddle had transported her close to it, maybe she could make her way back without having to jump back into the lagoon. But a thought suddenly came to her and her heart quickly sank.

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“We were traveling for . . . years,” she started slowly. “We lost track of time when we hit the storm. Our ship was destroyed and we were stranded for some time before we were rescued. Wh-what year is it?”

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Bodua raised his eyebrows, no longer suspicious but genuinely astonished. “Sixteen hundred and ninety.”

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Leena closed her eyes, trying to hide her horror and disappointment. She had only recently learned of this method for marking the passage of time, but it was proving more than a little alarming in all her strange travels. She had learned that she had lived in the year 500 with Arthur, while Vincent had lived in Tucson all the way in 1886. And now she was in the middle, in 1690, as far from her time as she was from his. Vincent could be anywhere, now, and in any year. She could search forever, she realized, and never come close to finding him.

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“This news is distressing?” Bodua asked her, watching her curiously. She hadn’t noticed that tears were rolling down her cheeks. “Have you lost many years?”

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“Yes,” she said. At least he had found an explanation for her, so she wouldn’t have to search for one, herself.

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“But dere is no time like dee present, me lady,” Pereko said, sidling up close to her and putting his arm around her shoulders, again. She caught Bodua rolling his eyes and sighing, looking irritated that Pereko was comforting her first. “You must live for here and now. You are in Jamaica. Dee ocean lies at our feet. You can go anywhere you want. You are free. You must join our crew.”

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“Join our crew?” Bodua’s head snapped in Pereko’s direction. He looked more than a little alarmed by this prospect, but then he surveyed Leena and looked suddenly as eager as Pereko. He smiled somewhat smittenly. “Yes, join our crew.”

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Pereko’s smile faded as he looked at Bodua, clearly disappointed that Bodua had taken a shining to Leena so quickly. She saw the heartache clearly in his eyes and knew that he was just like Paul. He recovered quickly, concealing his disappointment as though it had never been there, and tightened his grip around her shoulders.

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“It is settled den,” he smiled.

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“Are there others?” she asked, her heart racing with the prospect of meeting Arthur, again. “Others that Captain Higgin freed? Family or friends from your homeland?”

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Pereko’s smile quickly faded and his arm loosened around her shoulders. He exchanged a very meaningful, dark look with Bodua and didn’t answer her for a while. Leena’s heart raced faster, this time with fear. Had she already missed him? Had his life already ended as it had for Felix in Tucson?

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“Dere are odders, but dey were not so lucky as we,” he explained to her, his voice full of grief and an undeniable hint of anger. “Dey were on different ship, bound for dis island. Dey are here, still, but dey are not free. Dey work dee fields night and day, slaving away for dee white man.”

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“Isn’t there something you can do for them?” Leena asked in alarm. “They’re so close! Couldn’t you use your freedom to find them and rescue them?”

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“If we could get to them, don’t you think we would have tried by now?” Bodua said impatiently. “There are thousands of slaves on this island, Leena. The white men have a tight hold on them. They are always on the lookout for runaways. And then, if we were captured, not only would we fail in freeing the others but we would be enslaved all over again, and all would have been for naught.”

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Leena heard this final sentence and nothing else. She knew this was the real reason. “Then you are afraid,” she said boldly, feeling as though she were talking to Baird. “You are more concerned for your own skin than freeing your own family and friends.”

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To her surprise, Pereko laughed. “Dis woman be not afraid of speaking her mind,” he leaned back in his chair, watching in amusement as Bodua seethed. “You are right, me lady,” he admitted easily. “We be afraid. And for good reason.”

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“You said there are thousands of slaves,” she pressed, despite what Pereko said. “How many white men are there?”

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Pereko looked at Bodua, as if looking to him for the answer, too. Bodua stared down at the table and squirmed in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and itched the side of his nose.

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“I don’t know exactly.”

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“Dee woman has a point, hasn’t she?” Pereko smiled, reading Bodua’s behavior.

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Bodua stared at Pereko in surprise, clearly not ready to admit such a thing. Leena smiled, feeling as comfortable with Pereko and Bodua as she had been with Perth and Baird, and Paul and Basil. She felt as though she were reliving a moment she had already lived before.

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Bodua finally looked back at her, his forehead jutted with a scowl and his confidence returned.

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“It’s too dangerous,” he spoke in a tone of finality. “You would not understand unless you have lived through what we have.”

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A shadow had crossed over both his and Pereko’s faces, and Leena fell silent, swallowing heavily. Whatever they had lived through, it was enough to make even Pereko afraid. If he was anything like Perth or Paul, which she knew he was, then he wasn’t afraid of much. It must’ve been particularly horrible.

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And yet she could tell by the looks on their faces that whomever they had left behind to be enslaved on the island, Arthur was one of them.