Chapter Fourteen: Attack at Noon

Florencia sat up as though someone had stabbed her; shock coursed through her body as she panted and sweated, frightened and trembling she had been running all night. She raised a shaking hand to wipe her brow as the watery light of day streamed in through the great bay window, whose many panes of glass were kept immaculately clean by Flower.

She did not know why she had woken up, for she had forgotten her dream in her rush back to the waking world. However, she had an inkling that it had something to do with Margarita, but what exactly, she did not know.

A shrill whistling sound caught then her attention. She looked around the cabin in search of the source, standing shakily as she listened carefully, certain that it was not Storm’s snoring. It seemed to come closer and closer, and with a sudden, icy rush of horror, Florencia realised was the sound was.

However, before she could even wake the pirate up, the cannonball struck the Dark Horse-or rather, it landed in the sea with a very loud splash a huge spray of water that bejewelled the glass. The little light that punctured the thick cover of coeruleum cloud was refracted through the watery lamination, like with a faceted diamond, as she stared out at the blue grey sea.

“-gonna kill ‘im!”

Storm roared back into consciousness. His hand, which had snuck inside his scarlet frockcoat, jerked a rusted dagger out of his coat lining, which he held aloft, hand quivering as he stared, wild eyed, around his cabin. He seemed to freeze for a moment with a string of pink drool hanging off his chin, before he shrivelled up, as if in slow motion, and screamed.

The sound caught Florencia off guard. She jumped and jumped again as someone threw the door open and yelled sonorously, “Cap’n, we’re bein’ shot at-!”

A second crump noise rang out, and Florencia, with an ear-splitting yelp, ducked and grabbed onto the writing desk’s leg. She huddled against it, quivering fearfully as the old ship shuddered with the force of the impact.

Storm, who was clawing at his chest, and squeezing his eyes shut against the pain, did not seem to realise that he was under attack. The dagger had slipped from his hand, and Rufus, dirty and not as drunk looking as he had been the night before, stared at him nervously, awaiting an order.

“What should we do?” He asked, swallowing dryly and jittering on the spot.

The sound of splintered wood falling into the sea carried to their end of the ship; peering behind the grubby pirate, Florencia saw the rest of the crew running about as if they were headless.

Storm, moaning quietly, glowered coldly at the world through his right hand’s spread fingers, which covered his face, and hissed, “Whose fire-?”

He did not finish his sentence for a third ball racked the ship with such force and nearness that even his writing desk, which was nailed to the floor, shudder violently. Florencia let go of the leg she was holding and scrabbled away; to her immense relief, Flower burst in at that very moment.

“It’s the Hermes,” he reported breathlessly, “Three shots in two minutes, captain-it can only be a Brit-”

Although it was cloudy outside, it was a muggy day, and the cook showed it. His shirt was sweat sodden and his brow breaded as he stood in the doorway, panting and waiting for a response. He did not get one, even as a fourth, red hot ball hit the deck feet from the great cabin, sizzling as it smashed through the deck and vanished from sight.

“We have to set sail, sir,” Flower told him, “or fire back. You-!”

Florencia yelped and ran to him as another ball whistled through the rigging, singing the ropes as it passed through and plopped into the water on the larboard side. She heard the telltale crump noise another canon being fired in distance.

“Do something!”

She looked up and was surprised to see that Flower, the mildest mannered man she had ever met, was glaring at Storm as though he could burn holes through the other man. His face was nearly as red as Storm’s stained coat with the effort, but it did the trick.

Florencia watched, slightly open-mouthed with disbelief, as the pirate she had been led to believe was the most vicious still afloat, raised himself, albeit shakily, out of his chair. He breathed in a great gulp of hot, salty air, and, with the loudness of a thunderclap, bellowed, “NEWLAND!”

He staggered a little as the ship was struck again but did not sit. A familiar, short man in a too-big brown frockcoat soon scurried in, panting from having run the length of the ship.

“Take the helm!” Storm shouted at him, “Get us out of ‘ere!”

Newland, his order delivered, rushed to carry it out. He gave his captain, Flower and Florencia a clear view of the wheel, which he grabbed on, waiting.

“Rufus,” Storm said more quietly, “Tell Greer to weigh anchor.”

The former left as quickly as the other, and ran up the deck to fetch the hulking man as the other pirates dodged another cannonball that soared overhead. He and Greer disappeared from view, and before long there was a great clunking sound came from underfoot, which caused Florencia to look down. She nearly missed Newland turning the wheel because of it, an action which made the Dark Horse lurched almost immediately as they spun left a little before heading forward.

With his ship on the move and the wind blowing behind them, Storm allowed himself to sink back into his chair and slump in it more than before. He covered his face with a trembling hand and groaned, prompting Flower to move forward.

“Captain?” He said, all his anger spent.

“I wanna drink,” he moaned, covering his face with his other hand as well, “strong beer, wine, rum, gin, brandy, whiskey-compounded liquor-!”

His head shot up and Florencia, gasping, saw how skull-like his face had become as stared with bloodshot eyes at his unimpressed cook.

“Anything!”

Storm slammed his fist down on the desk, causing the delicate drawers to rattle ominously.

“You should eat,” Flower told him warily. He looked at Florencia, “Do you still have that pie-?”

She nodded, and glumly removed the squashed, cold slice of meat and pasty from beneath her shirt, where she had been keeping it with a mind to finish it off. She watched as Flower handed it to Storm, who snatched it and ripped the paper back. He bit into it was gusto, chewing it as if he had not eaten in days.

“Cap’n,” someone said.

Rufus slunk into the doorway, a little shamefaced.

“We’ve been holed,” he said, “nowhere bad, mind, but the men agree-we should stop and patch up-”

He flinched with Florencia as the HMS Hermes fired at them again, sending a hot ball sailing for Storm’s flag, which it ripped away with a loud tearing noise.

“I agree,” said Flower, taking half a step forward, “This ship is damaged. I can smell the burnt wood from here, and with that frigate knowing that we’re in the area, it might be best, captain, if you weighed anchor somewhere quite, like the Biminis-”

He stopped abruptly when Storm turned to look at him with a very ill eye that promised great malice.

“That’s the second time yer’ve opened yer trap today, Fiore,” he spat, “I am cap’n of this ship an’ what I say, goes, an’ I say that I am not-!”

A cannonball whizzing by collided with the spritsail and smashed it to pieces, scattering the poop deck and sea with wreckage. The ball itself splashed down into the sea, but it was enough to stir Storm’s wrath; with a furious shriek, he stood, shoving his chair back so that it toppled over.

Flower grabbed Florencia and pulled her to her feet, and then out of the way as Storm charged passed them and out into the sweltering day. He gnashed his teeth and roared like a bull, scaring his crew into manning the cannon that line the uppermost deck. The sound of loading, firing and the smell of combusted gunpowder filled the muggy air as the Dark Horse returned fire.

“What were they doing here?” Florencia asked the cook quietly, her arms around his waist.

He embraced her back and replied, “That frigate didn’t get here by chance. It must have followed us-the Governor’s going to kill Storm-”

She up at him, and said, “Because they found the island?”

“It’s already on the map,” Flower told her, “but there’s no town on the official charts-”

He sounded apprehensive and more than just a little frightened. She supposed that he was thinking about his family and what would happen to them.

“Ana and Luigia will be fine,” Florencia told him, her face turned into his stomach a little, for tears were threatening to well as she thought of his dark haired, cream skinned daughter who resembled her poor dead sister so very much.

When he said nothing, she looked up him, a little afraid that he was too consumed with fear as to answer. Instead, she saw a frown on his olive face. He let go of her and walked away, picking up Storm’s falling chair and throwing the greasy pie paper of an open window, before turning back her, disquiet in his face.

“Why did you stay?”

Florencia looked at him, slightly confused.

“Pardon?”

“On the island,” he explained, gripping the upholstered chair back, “why didn’t you run away?”

“I did,” she told him, “you remember-?”

He shook his head.

“Not from Newland. I meant from Storm. Why didn’t you run away-go to the governor? You had the perfect opportunity. If you’d told him who you were-you could have gone home-”

Florencia looked away from him sharply, and fixed her gaze on the grim, greying sea. She could see a ship flying the white ensign of King George’s navy through the window until the cook back into her line of sight.

“Well?”

She blushed sullenly, and after a moment of taciturn silence, answered a little peevishly, “What home? I have no home-not done since I was seven. That’s why we were on the Le Dauphin in the first place-”

“But you must have been going somewhere,” Flower pressed, frowning more, “I’m sure the Governor could have sent you there-”

She shook her head rather fiercely and wrapped her arms around her skinny body, bathing in the watery light that the darkening cloud cover threatened to choke.

“There’s nowhere for me,” she told him emphatically, “It was my mother and aunt who had relatives in Saint-Domingue-not me. I never knew their cousin, and without them…”

Her breathing hitched momentarily, and when Florencia breathed out, it was a sigh of sadness for hopes dead and things lost. She and Flower lapsed into silence once more, which let him digest her words. The only other noises were the drum of a dozen feet up and down the deck and Storm’s angry commanding from near the main mast as the Dark Horse set out into open water. Even the navy ship became a speck in the distance as they sailed away.

“You could have stayed,” Flower said at last, breaking the tense fug between them, “you could have stayed on the island and lived with Ana and my wife. You would’ve had good food and clean dresses-grown your hair as long as you liked-”

She flinched.

“There was no need for you to come back,” Flower told her, “society might never accept you again-”

He looked at her seriously, and she grudgingly at him.

“It’s a big risk,” he told her, his dissuading frown returning.

Florencia looked hard at Watling Island; spots of rain had dirtied the window glass, but she could still see the pirate town, backed by sage coloured trees as it nestled in the crux of a limestone mesa. A broad, sandy beach footed it and stretched out southerly alongside them as they cut through the water like a knife through hot butter. However, as the Dark Horse sailed away, blown west by the gusting wind, the beach became an old lace ribbon. The harbour shrank with it; before long, the houses became blurs, and soon the whole island had disappeared into the oyster grey horizon, and the HMS Hermes along with it.

“So it is,” she replied impassively, “But it’s one I’m willing to take.”

The cook held his breath, and then sighed heavily, almost as though the woes of the world had been strapped to his back.

“Be it on your head, Florencia,” he said to her, “a pirate’s life is no fun.”

He left without another word, and she felt the first pang of guilty shame as the door swung shut after him. She turned to say something, but it was too late, and all she could see were the pirates moving back and forth on deck.