The Dark Goddess [2]

I need critiques; the more brutal, the better.

Her father’s funeral was a simple affair held that evening. At dusk, his stiff body was laid into a plundered rowboat. Jo had lovingly dressed him in his finest clothes, a welcomed distraction from her grief. Jo watched as the boat was slowly lowered into the sea. She closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to flow over. Behind her, Pegg gave a robust speech about her Father’s courage, compassion, and overall goodness. Her stomach twisted up, as if it were trying to escape through her ears.

William said a short prayer and it seemed so odd to Jo to hear the dodgy crew give a solemn “Amen.” Turning away, Jo swallowed the despair threatening to overtake her, and arranged for all of the men to receive an extra share of rum. Perhaps the alcohol would work as a peace offering and if not, at least the men would be too drunk to assemble a rebellion. She shivered at the thought of what might happen to her if there was an uprising. Death would probably be the least of her worries.

As her father’s body drifted off into the midnight sea, the officers on board were called into Josette’s quarters. There was a lot to discuss and Jo wanted to feel out their loyalties. Who could she trust? Which ones would she have to watch her back around? The light from several lanterns gleamed off the rich mahogany paneling of the cabin, giving it a cozy feel. Jo could not give into the grief she felt as she looked at the large oak table, which had been scrubbed clean of her Father’s blood.

Chairs scraped against the wooden floor as men assembled themselves around the table. Josette positioned herself at the head of the table in her Father’s red chair. The scene seemed almost surreal to her; was she truly the new Captain of the Dark Goddess? Clearing her throat, she was pleased to see that most of the men seemed to house no resentment towards her, but they could be masking their true emotions. “What are the damages to the ship?” she asked, addressing the boatswain who sat to the left of Pegg.

“Well, we’ve already patched up the majority of holes that were caused by the cannons,” George began his speech slightly slurred by the rum he had already imbibed, “fortunately they only got off a few rounds.”

“We were lucky, most of the damage was done to the sails,” the carpenter, Samuel, put in. “Which we’ve been able to replace with those of the Rosario.”

“And what of the crew?”

An awkward pause followed, the heavy silence filled with the rustling of clothing and uncomfortable grunts. She looked for clues in their eyes, but many of them avoided eye contact, making it almost impossible to decipher their masked expressions.

Finally One-Eyed Freddie spoke up. “Many are dissatisfied to serve under a woman.” He said it with such disdain that Jo figured he shared in their sentiments.

“But many remain loyal,” Pegg quickly assured her.

“Aye,” William agreed.

None spoke of mutiny, although it was unlikely that it would be mentioned if there were such a plot brewing. Josette fought down the nasty taste of fear rising in her throat. “How long until we reach port?”

“As long as the weather remains fair, we should arrive in Port Royal within a week.” William replied.

“Very well.” Jo stood up, her indication to the men that they were dismissed. “Pegg, could I speak with you privately?”

“Aye.” he said, as the men trailed out of her cabin.

She waited until the door was shut and latched before she turned to the Scotsman with the wooden leg. “I trust you Pegg, you’re like an Uncle to me. But I have to know that I have your loyalty. I need at least one person that I can wholly trust.”

“You have it, lassie. I’ve known you since you were a babe and I’d die before I’d let any harm come to you.” She could tell that he was sincere.

Jo let out a sigh of relief. “What do the men speak of, when I am not around?”

“No revolt has been planned as far as I’ve heard.” He hobbled to a chair and sat down, propping his good leg on a chest. “Some have spoke of desertion once we reach port.”

“I can handle that, I only fear what the men would do if they had their way with me.” She was not naive when it came to the workings of the male mind. She shook her head, frightened to go down that path. “What of loot? What was our take on that?”

Pegg pulled out a detailed list of the new cargo. It still surprised and impressed her that such a rough looking man was literate.

“Four crates of leather shoes, six bales of silk, ten casks of Spanish wine, four barrels of tobacco, two very fine Persian rugs, and eight chickens.” Pegg paused as if for dramatic effect. “We also found three unmarked crates which upon opening contained gold bars.”

Jo’s eyebrows shot into her hairline. “Gold? On a merchant ship?”

Pegg smiled broadly, showing a mouth of crooked and blackened teeth. “Aye, sixteen gold bars in each crate. Needed four men just to lift the crates.”

“Makes a bit more sense why they decided to fight back,” Jo murmured. “Where is the gold now?”

“In the weaponry closet.” Pegg motioned towards the door. It was always under lock and key, with only Pegg and her knowing where the key was hidden.

“How many know of the gold?” Jo asked. The prospect of gold might incite the men to mutiny that much sooner.

“Only myself and William. He was the only one present when I opened the crate. He is loyal. Probably more than me.” Pegg smiled.

“Very well.” Jo sighed. She had seven long days to retain her Captaincy, smother any whisper of rebellion, keep forty-eight bars of gold hidden, deal with her Father’s death and remain alive herself.