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  It probably wasn’t necessary. Of all their shore stops, St. Alban’s was the least dangerous. For one thing, there was no standing militia. For another, Jack’s men were enthusiastically welcomed for the valuable supplies they generously shared with the town. On this particular weekend, while the crew planned to occupy themselves with drinking, gambling and whoring, Jack was looking forward to spending some quality time with the young girl he’d recently met.

  The crew gathered around him on the open deck. No one spoke, though they were itching to hoist sail.

  “I’ll take Rugby,” Jack said.

  Pim shuffled his feet, ill at ease. “Rugby the cat, Sir?”

  “You know any other Rugbys on board?”

  Pim sighed. “It’s a glad thing to wish for, but no, there be but one Rugby, as the devil himself can attest.”

  “Then that’s the one I’ll take.”

  Pim took a deep breath and looked the crew over to see if he could enlist some help. But most would rather jump off the side than go near the hairless, evil-looking cat.

  “Mr. Pim,” Jack said.

  “Aye, Cap’n?”

  “Are you still the roughest, toughest man aboard The Fortress?”

  “To my knowledge I still be.”

  “And yet you’re frightened at the prospect of getting a little pussy?”

  The men sniggered.

  “It ain’t pussy in general that scares, me Cap’n, and my beloved Darla be proof of that fact. But this vile monstrosity and me don’t get along so well.”

  “Then you’ll be pleased to know this is her last voyage.”

  Then men punched each other’s arms and spoke enthusiastically.

  “Aye, Cap’n, that’s good news indeed!” Pim said, smiling. He turned and made his way across the deck to the Captain’s quarters.

  The symbiotic relationship between the town and pirates began years earlier when Milton Shrewsbury, Mayor of St. Albans, made a deal with the privateer captains: if they agreed to police their crew and confine their shore activities to an area two miles from the town proper, he would construct a Free Zone at the North Port to include a general store, ale house, gambling house, rooming house, and a house of prostitution. While in the Free Zone, the pirates could do as they wished, subject to Captain’s law. The town of St. Alban’s benefitted from the pirates’ trade, of course, but also from the valuable gifts and sorely needed supplies the pirates freely donated.

  “Come here, you fargin’ banshee!” Pim shouted from within Jack’s cubicle. The entire crew chuckled as Pim continued cursing Rugby. “Show yourself, you motherless cur! You evil vomitous bitch! Get out here, or I’ll turn your hairless arse into a crossbones, you poisoned pig’s pizzle!”

  A pirate caught outside the Free Zone was subject to immediate imprisonment, a mandatory six-month sentence. If, in addition to being caught the pirate had committed a crime, the Mayor could order him hung. By the same token, any St. Alban’s woman found in the Free Zone, a.k.a. Sinner’s Row, could not claim rape, should she be set upon by a drunken pirate or scallywag, subject to the preset rules of the ship’s Captain.

  “Bull’s blood!” shouted Martin, the boatswain, from the foredeck.

  Jack looked in his direction. “Torn sail?”

  “Aye,” said Martin. “The jib.”

  “Satan’s eye!” one of the men cursed. A torn jib sail could easily take an hour to repair.

  “Set to it, then,” Jack said, calmly.

  Jack Hawley didn’t look like the other pirates, even when dressed in full battle regalia. He was youthful in appearance, with fair skin and a smooth, unpoxed face that he kept clean-shaven. He had a full set of white teeth, and a well-muscled body.

  “I’ll head out now, and you can hoist anchor when she’s repaired.” Jack said.

  Though an ambush was unlikely, Jack was cunning enough to want to keep his identity a secret. Indeed, last time in port, Mayor Shrewsbury had gone to the main pier of North Port with an entourage of businessmen to welcome the ship and asked for Hawley by name, and twenty men stepped forward claiming to be he.

  Pim approached, having finally caught the cat-like animal. Rugby was unhappily bundled in a white silk scarf that featured French writing on all four borders. Pim pointed the surly beast’s face away from him and held her tightly with both hands, as far away from his body as possible.

  “The crew’ll be breathin’ a sigh of relief once you get this cursed creature off the ship,” Pim said.

  Captain Jack looked at the slender hairless cat and smiled. “I’m amazed the crew let her live this long.”

  “Only be due to your fondness for it, I’d wager.”

  Upon hearing Jack’s voice, Rugby struggled to break free of Pim’s giant hands. The savage hissing that escaped her mouth sounded more serpent than cat. Pim’s eyes registered fright.

  “May I set her down, Captain?”

  Jack nodded, and Pim released his grip. Rugby, still tangled in the scarf, failed to make the proper adjustments for attitude and distance, and hit the floor hard. She shook the scarf off her body and offered a shrieking hiss that caused the Quarter-Master to shudder and grip the stock of his loaded pistol.

  “She’s unique, Pim.”

  “If I may say so, Cap’n, she’s a monstrosity of nature who ain’t right in the head. Some on board are convinced she’s the devil’s tit.”

  “And you, Mr. Pim?”

  “I won’t be goin’ that far with my conjecturin’, Cap’n, but I’m one a them that’s gonna feel a hell of a lot safer when this malignant beast is mousin’ on the mainland.”

  Jack laughed. “You should charge our musicians with composing a tune by that name.”

  Pim grinned. “Mousin’ on the Mainland?”

  “Aye. And you can pen the words.”

  “I’ll do ‘er,” he said. Then added, “Provided you’ll be pardonin’ the language that might be defamin’ Rugby’s character.”

  “You’re still upset over the beard incident.”

  Pim’s eyes narrowed as he eyed the cat. Rugby caught the look and arched her back. “Hell of a way to be woke up, Cap’n. A man tries to catch a few winks and wakes to this hairless devil’s spawn givin’ ‘im the evil eye, rippin’ ‘is chops, rakin’ her claws over ‘is face…”

  “I can still hear your screams in my head.”

  “Aye, and I ain’t the only one. That hairless bat ain’t popular among them that’s been woke similar in the crew.”

  Jack clucked softly, and Rugby turned to face him. She rubbed her body against his leg and purred. Jack dropped to one knee and scratched her ears. When he stopped, the ugly gray creature hopped effortlessly onto his shoulder. Jack stood and walked to the small dory and climbed in.

  “You got your kit?” Pim said.

  Jack reached under the front bench and removed the large leather satchel. He checked the contents, nodded, and strapped it over his shoulder. Pim signaled his team to lower the dory into the bay. The water foamed around the small wooden boat, causing Rugby to dig her claws into Jack’s shoulder. Jack carefully extricated the cat and placed her on the floor of the boat. Rugby remained there until the first whitecap sloshed over the side, drenching her paws. Wanting no more of that, she jumped onto the front bench and pressed her body flat against it, locked her paws on either side, and held on for dear life.

  Jack removed the hoist, secured his oars in the oarlocks, and began rowing toward shore. Over the next twenty minutes he worked the oars expertly, knifing the dory through the Bay, while accepting minimal water from the heavy chop. Finally he steered his little boat into the still, sulfurous water of the Little River. He lifted an oar high above his head and waved it to let the crew know he was safe. Then he continued upriver.

  The first bend was no more than fifty yards from the bay, but the high dunes and scrub brush effectively blocked the wind and made for stale air and stifling rowing conditions. Within minutes Jack was at his canteen, wiping his brow.

/>   “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Jack said to his hairless companion.

  Rugby didn’t answer. She wasn’t interested in conversation. Something had drawn her to the side of the boat, and she leaned out and over it, transfixed by something just below the water line.

  “I wouldn’t put my face that close to the water,” Jack warned. “If that’s a snapping turtle you’re tracking, it’s apt to take your head off.”

  Rugby arched her back and hissed loudly, causing Jack to follow her gaze. He leaned over the side and shielded his eyes against the sun’s glare on the water.

  “What do you see down there that you haven’t seen a hundred times, girl?”

  In this part of the river the water was brackish, with light green patches of algae hugging the shorelines. Whatever it was that had riled the cat was still troubling her, but Jack couldn’t make it out.

  Until he could.

  “God’s blood!” he exclaimed, jumping back in shock. There, just below the stagnant surface, he’d seen the hideous, human-like face of a yellow eel. Five feet long if an inch, and covered with dark brown spots that looked like eye balls. Jack had never seen an eel in these waters before, let alone the eyeball markings. This one had obviously slithered out of one of the numerous limestone caves that lay beneath the waters of the Little River. A terrifying sight; and Jack shuddered to contemplate what manner of soulless, unknown species might be too large to escape the dark caves below his boat.

  For the better part of an hour, into late afternoon, he navigated the river, relying on his sharp vision and keen intuition to evade the submerged tree limbs and sandbars that discouraged less skilled travelers from duplicating the journey. He and Rugby passed snakes, turtles, raccoons, skunks, cranes, and lily pads teeming with great, bellowing bullfrogs, and giant spiders mending their webs. Other than the occasional puff of hot breeze, the air was rank and stagnant, and filled with the odor of rotten eggs. Rugby winced and sneezed.

  Jack laughed. “I know, smells like hell fire, don’t it, girl? But it’s just the sulphur pits that line these coves. We’ll move past them soon.”

  He kept to the center of the river to avoid the thick, green pond scum that had all but taken over the river at this point, and the ravenous mosquitoes that hugged the verdant shore.

  Rugby’s ears pricked as they neared the final bend that led to their destination. Jack knew what his companion had heard. A moment later, he heard it too.

  Children’s voices.

  Though he knew whose children they were, he stopped rowing, and kept his oars in the water to hold the boat in check. He listened a moment, studying the cadence of the voices. They sounded enthusiastic.

  “Rugby, make nice, for they’ve assembled a landing party to greet us.”

  The cat looked at him and Jack said, “I don’t know how they knew I was coming. But they always know. It’s probably Rose, the witchy one. She senses things.”

  Chapter 4

  THE LANDING PARTY, Jack knew, would number six: George and Marie Stout, their three young children, and Johanna, the young girl who lived and worked with the Stouts. Jack let out his signature whistle before rounding the final bend, and the voices immediately stopped, their minds processing the sound. Then, almost instantly, they began cheering. Jack had taught Johanna and the Stouts this particular whistle as a means of identifying themselves from a distance. He had taught them a danger whistle as well.

  The group had gathered at the Stout’s dock, thirty yards west of George and Marie’s outpost. For years the dock had been the primary means of accessing the outpost by the river families that settled on the banks north of this location. But the previous year’s hurricane had deposited so many trees that the river north had become virtually impassable. These days, those who visited the outpost were forced to walk or ride the rough trail on horseback. Though the post was isolated, people willingly made the trip to obtain the one thing George had that they couldn’t get elsewhere.

  Medicine.

  Medicine, the most prized and valuable commodity in the colonies, had been the foundation for Jack and George’s close friendship. Other than gold, Jack’s principal reason for attacking ships was to acquire medicine, which he sold and traded for goods and services. He had two paying customers in St. Alban’s: the Mayor’s physician and Thomas Griffin, who owned the local apothecary. He also traded medicine with George Stout in return for information regarding the town’s current attitude toward pirates, the unlimited use of George’s horses, and care for Johanna, whom Jack had rescued from an abusive family two months earlier.

  When the greeters saw Jack making the final turn, they cheered. But when they saw Rugby, George and Marie crossed themselves and spit over their shoulders. Even the children, accustomed to all manner of woodland creatures, crossed and spat, and hesitated to approach the boat.

  Johanna was the lone exception. She sported a smile that seemed to occupy her entire face. When she bent down to accept the bow of the boat, she and Rugby eyed each other closely. Jack said, “This is Rugby. She’s yours, if you want her.”

  Johanna squealed with joy, which caused Rugby to arch her back and hiss. One of the Stout boys yelped at the sound, and Marie recoiled in horror. But undaunted, Johanna put her hand out, and waited for Rugby to respond. Eventually the cat bent her head against Johanna’s hand without launching an attack.

  “She likes you,” Jack said.

  Looking pleased, Johanna steadied the boat and Jack climbed out. Giving the cat a wide berth, the Stouts gathered around Jack. Marie hugged him vigorously, and George clapped him on the back.

  “Good to see you, Henry,” he said, for that’s the name Captain Jack used among the locals.

  “Aye, and you and your family as well,” Jack said. He looked at Johanna and nodded. “And you, miss. How are you?”

  Johanna had picked Rugby up and cuddled her. Upon being addressed by Jack, she blushed and curtsied slightly. “The Stout family has taken excellent care of me, sir, and Mrs. Stout has been learning me to cook and clean.”

  “Such are good skills to have,” Jack said, approvingly. He and Johanna looked at each other a moment, as if unsure what more to say. By contrast, the children were full of questions, most of which involved the cat.

  Seven-year-old Samuel said, “Why do you call him Rugby?”

  “She’s named after her former owner, Colonel Rugby, of Glenshire.”

  “And what became of the Colonel?” the ultra-precocious, ten-year-old Rose asked. “Was it ghastly?”

  “Rose, hush!” her mother scolded. “If Henry wants us to know what became of Colonel Rugby, it’s for him to say, and not for us to ask.”

  Rose pointed a finger at the cat. “No matter,” she said. “I suspect we’ll all be dead by morning.” Of all the Stout children, Rose was the least inclined toward optimism.

  “Mind your tongue, child, or I’ll cuff your ears!” Marie said, though Rose looked as though she might welcome such a cuffing. She was, in all respects, an unusual child, and her siblings weren’t the only ones who regarded her as such. George and Marie learned early on to distance Rose from other families, after hearing visitors question whether she might be a witch.

  Rose was not one of the Stout’s birth children. According to George, he and Marie had found her four years earlier, wandering the woods, speaking in tongues. They took her in as they would any stray. From her first days with the Stouts, Rose had shown a particular fondness for heights and could routinely be found high in the branches of trees. According to Samuel, Rose could talk to spiders, rats and snakes. Jack, though far less superstitious than most, always gave Rose a wide berth.

  Jack watched Samuel tie his boat to the pier before speaking. “Colonel Rugby was set upon by either the French or pirates. I came upon their smoldering ship quite by accident, while fishing.”

  He and George exchanged a look as Jack continued his story. “When I boarded, I found not a single person or thing on it, apart from this strange cat-like creat
ure. I did manage to salvage a portion of the Captain’s journal and read mention of Colonel Rugby’s strange, furless cat. Not knowing the cat’s original name, I named her for her former owner, and she seems to have accepted it without protest.”

  To Johanna he said, “Of course, she’s yours now, miss, and you may change her name as suits you.”

  Rose said, “We could call her Calamity!”

  “Calamity the Cat?” Samuel said. “That’s obscene!”

  “She’s nakey!” said four-year-old Steffan.

  George Stout said, “She does appear to be naked, compared to other cats I’ve seen.”

  Marie scolded her husband. “George, the children are present!”

  George nodded and said, “Odd looking animal, nonetheless.” He paused a moment. If he knew of any news Jack should worry about, he’d have told it by now. Instead, he clapped his hands and said, “Let’s head to the house, Henry. I’ve a bottle of rotgut that’s still got some kick left in it.”

  After carefully depositing Rugby on the dock, Johanna sidled up to Jack. It was clear from her body language and attentiveness that she found Jack not only attractive, but also desirable. While he understood it was the way of young women to want to marry and raise children, he loved his carefree life and preferred not to settle down in the near future. Had he met Johanna earlier, who knows what might have transpired? After all, she was sweet and charming, could hunt, fish, cook and sew, could skin animals and take care of children, was eager to work, was strong, and pleasing to the eye in all respects. In short, she possessed all the qualities that would make any man happy. But Jack resolved not to take advantage of Johanna, or lead her on, since he had another young lady in his sights, a girl named Abby Winter, whose mother had a gray face. Jack planned to ride to the river crossing to meet Abby early the next morning, and, if it pleased her, he intended to give her a good fucking.