The lighthouse was still distant, but getting clearer, the closer they got. Émile stood at the bow of the ship, hand blocking the mist from his eyes, wondering how many seconds it would be before he could call it real.
A mop slid up next to him, and soon Marie was at his side, squinting into the distance just like him, but with the faintest smile on her face, too.
“What is?” she asked in very broken French; her favourite expression, used regularly, but never quite like this.
Émile pointed at the land beyond the lighthouse bending down so she could see exactly what he meant. “Halifax,” he said. “Home.”
“Halifax home,” she repeated, committing the words to memory. Then, as she clearly had no idea what he meant, she snapped to attention, pointing to the ground beneath his feet. “Excuse me, sir.”
He stepped out of the way, and she got to work. It had only been a short time of teaching her, but she took to the language almost immediately. Some words, she understood inside-out, like “food” and “quiet” and “safe.” Others, she was proficient at parroting, and used remarkably well. Concerned about how the crew would react to her continued appearance, he’d taught her to call everyone “sir” in English, which had morphed into a kind of catch-all “hello” and “good-bye” and “excuse me” rolled into one. But most of the sailors took it in stride, though, and even got in the habit of calling her “Miss Marie,” which she seemed to enjoy.
Émile hoped she was ready enough for a new life in Halifax. He had no idea what kind of people he’d find there, or how they’d react to a strange Canadien coming into their community with a girl who possibly spoke a language none of them had ever heard before. He wondered if they’d take her in, treat her as their own, or if it was more like the life he’d had as a child, rejected and neglected by everyone, regardless of blood.
He hoped her new home would help her forget everything she’d seen. He was afraid it wouldn’t, and he wouldn’t realize until it was too late.
“Hello, Mr Deschênes,” said O’Malley, joining them at the bow. “Hello, Miss Marie.”
“Sir,” said Marie, with a wide smile.
O’Malley noted the lighthouse. “A few hours yet, I reckon. We’ll get in too late to unload today.”
Émile nodded. The dock workers wouldn’t take the work after dark unless they were paid handsomely for their efforts. But since Gregory had paid for the trip in advance, there was no rush either way. Émile might have felt a sense of urgency about it, but he had a plan—an ever-changing dream, really—to spend one last day with Marie, showing her around her new city before taking the journey to her new home. Spoil her rotten, leave her with good memories to drown out the bad. Leave them both with good memories.
“When we dock, I’ll go see my contact about the trip back to New Orleans,” said Émile. “Find out how long he needs to prepare his stock.”
O’Malley’s smile froze. “Uh…you…you don’t know?”
“Know what?” asked Émile, trying to think of what the issue could be.
“Crosby says we’re headed back to Barbados straight away. Don’t even get a day of shore leave before we set sail, he said.”
Émile blinked back his confusion, his growing anger. “He what?”
“I thought you knew. I thought—”
“Excuse me, please,” he said, and stormed back through the ship, down the stairs to below deck, and then straight back to the captain’s quarters, which Crosby had taken as his own.
Émile knocked on the door with three sharp knocks, then went right in.
Crosby was in the middle of eating, and seemed extremely nonplussed to have been disturbed. His three henchmen, Rickford, Polz and Crane tensed their muscles at the intrusion, ready to step in and break some bones for their captain’s amusement.
Behind the,, mounted on the wall, were two pistols that Crosby had stolen from Gregory’s shipment. Redwood handles, polished to perfection. The wall had once had dozens of artifacts from Hamlin’s adventures around the world—all stolen by the pirates. These two pistols were the first entries in what would be an entirely different kind of collection. One that reflected the new captain, and his new ways.
“Ah, stowaway,” said Crosby. “We were just discussing—”
“New Orleans,” said Émile. “Our next job is to New Orleans.”
Crosby laughed. “The captain sets the jobs, and as captain, I disagree. Barbados is a much higher return, so—”
“I promised my contact a quick round trip,” said Émile. “He bankrolled this run specifically—”
“He paid for transport, which we will deliver. And when we collect payment—”
“Payment owed to him!” Émile said. “He loaned us the money to make the trip with the understanding we would pay it back as soon as possible!”
Crosby set down his fork, pushed his food away. “And we will, stowaway. After Barbados. When we can.”
Émile’s hands, despite his best efforts, were tight balls at his sides. He was not controlling his anger, not at all, and he knew it would end in disaster, but he simply didn’t care anymore. “I made a promise—”
“And that’s your business,” said Crosby. “Sort it out on your own time.” He snapped his fingers and Rickford lumbered forward, ready to throw Émile out.
Émile glared at Rickford menacingly. “Touch me and you’ll regret it.”
Rickford laughed.
“I’m afraid your services won’t be needed anymore, my dear stowaway,” said Crosby. “I wish you the best of luck in Halifax, and may God have mercy on whatever ship you choose to sully next.”
Rickford grabbed Émile’s arm and pushed, but couldn’t move him. He seemed surprised at the resistance, pushed even harder—
—and got a quick clip to the throat that stunned him, choked him, and doubled him over. Émile kicked the man’s leg out from under him, sending him sprawling, and shoved him aside. Crosby was so shocked by the suddenness of the attack, he scurried backward, out of his chair, flat against the wall.
“Halifax to New Orleans,” said Émile, evenly. “After that you do what you want. But not before.”
Crosby watched Rickford wheeze, trying to stand, and saw the look in Émile’s eyes, and his lip trembled in fear and anger…until his bravery kicked in again, and he squared his shoulders and said: “Arrest that man!”
Polz and Crane moved in from each side, grabbing him by the arms before he could get away. They jerked him off his feet, slamming him into the door to knock the wind out of him. He kicked, trying to get free, but there was no way.
Crosby came around the desk, stepping over the still-stunned Rickford, and sneered. “Time to finish what we started, hmm?”
They dragged Émile through the ship like it was a parade, with Crosby yelling out: “All hands on deck! Time to send off the stowaway! And his little bitch!”
Émile thrashed harder at that, but Polz and Crane were too strong, too certain in their strength to fight against. Crosby gave Émile a quick kick to the gut, winding him just as they came above-deck, where the crew was already starting to assemble, eyes wide in confusion and concern.
Crosby spotted Marie at the bow, and headed straight there. Polz and Crane threw Émile to the ground, and he skidded along the wood until he hit the wall of the ship, trying not to make a sound, but yelping from the impact. Marie dropped her mop and ran to him, terrified.
“Émile?” she asked, as he righted himself. “Émile?” she repeated, this time more scared than before.
“It’s alright,” he said, getting to his feet, unsteadily. “Don’t worry, it’s alright.”
“Aw, don’t lie to the girl,” said Crosby, strolling forward, the entire crew at his back. “You must know what happens when a man’s thrown off the bow. How his bones crumble from the impact as the ship runs him over? Not even a chance to scream, has he.”
Émile looked behind himself, at the lighthouse calling them on. A lighthouse he’d never see.
“You do this, and—”
“And what?” laughed Crosby. “I’m the captain, here!” He snapped his fingers, and Polz stepped forward. “Do the girl first. I want to see him cry.”
“No!” shouted Émile, rushing for Marie, but Crane grabbed his ankle and held tight.
Polz caught Marie by the arm, then heaved her up over his head, walking toward the edge as she twisted and squirmed in terror, suddenly realizing all too clearly what was about to happen. “Sir!” she screamed. “Sir! Excuse me! Excuse me, sir!”
Tears ran down Émile’s face as his hand reached for her, if not to save her, to let her know, in her last moments, that someone tried to save her…
“Sir!” she screamed—
—and Polz was swarmed.
O’Malley led the charge, rushing across the slick floors and tackling Polz to the ground, while others caught Marie, ushering her back to safety, a protective shield around her.
Émile was so shocked, he didn’t even recognize he, too, was being freed. Crane had been hit in the head with a bat, and was being dragged away as Crosby found himself surrounded by furious and angry men.
“I’m the captain!” he shouted. “You fools, I’m the captain of this ship!”
“Not anymore,” said O’Malley, and spat at his feet. “To the brig with ‘em.”
Crosby screamed and cried as the men he thought he’d commanded pulled him, Polz and Crane down the ramp to the bowels of the ship, as O’Malley offered Émile a hand and a smile.
“Thank you,” said Émile, still stunned by the turn of events. “I didn’t—”
“Only one man on this ship has saved us, time and again,” said O’Malley. “We were only waiting for you to claim what should’ve been yours all along. But given the situation…”
Émile smiled. “I appreciate your initiative.”
Just then, Marie got free of the sailors surrounding her, and charged across the deck, leaping at Émile and wrapping him in a desperate hug. “Émile,” she cried. “Émile…”
He held her tight, saying: “Shh, shh…” as O’Malley watched with a quiet smile.
“Mr O’Malley,” said Émile. “Spread the word. A week’s leave in Halifax, before our return to New Orleans.”
“Aye, captain,” said O’Malley. “Much obliged, on both counts.” He turned to go, but then paused. “And what of Mr Crosby, sir?”
Crosby was bleeding from the nose, but had the best of it. Both Polz’s eyes were swollen shut, and Crane was lolling uselessly in the corner, still dazed from his run-in with the bat. The brig was small, and made smaller by the fact that the two back-up cells were stacked with food and guns and ammunition, as part of Gregory’s load heading north.
Émile took an orange from a box, turned it over in his hand. “I was happy to let you lead, Mr Crosby,” he said. “I bit my tongue so many times, to let you lead. But you never took the chance. You never rose to the occasion.”
Crosby spat at him, said nothing.
“Hamlin trusted you, so I thought I must not see it. I thought there must be a reason I can’t see. But I think the truth is…you never deserved it. Any of it. Any of them…” He gestured above-deck.
“So what’s it to be?” asked Crosby, angrily. “The plank? Or a noose?”
Émile laughed, shook his head. “Neither. Not arrested, either. No, Mr Crosby, I will not have your anger haunting me forevermore. When we arrive in Halifax, you are free to go. Where, I do not care. But not here, on this ship. And not with these men. You come near them again, and a noose will seem a delight next to what you’ll find in store.”
Crosby sneered. “I should have drowned you on the spot. That first day, I should have thrown you into the rocks and watched you die.”
“Or maybe,” said Émile, “you should have tried to make an ally, instead of yet another enemy.”
“Halifax home,” said Marie, as Émile joined her at the bow again. Halifax was closer now, the buildings visible, the setting sun casting brilliant shafts of light along their roofs. Somewhere out there was the life she needed. He couldn’t wait to find it for her.
“Halifax,” he said, pointing to it all, then paused and said: “Home.”
She didn’t understand, but she smiled sweetly anyway, whispering the words to herself over and over again.
“Getting close now, captain,” said O’Malley, standing at attention.
“So we are,” said Émile. “Bring us in to dock, please.”
“Aye, sir.”
“And O’Malley?” Émile said, and O’Malley paused. “I’ll be needing a First Mate.”
O’Malley’s smile was briefly visible on his face. He nodded sternly after that. “Aye, sir.” And rushed off to make preparations to land.
Émile turned back to Halifax and
///
Rickford stumbled along, falling into the walls as he went, a pistol hanging loose from his hand and a look of vengeance in his eye and
\\
O’Malley checked the masts, the sails, the rudder.
“Gettin’ close to dark,” said the pilot. “Maybe best to wait ‘til morning?”
“Not tonight,” said O’Malley, watching Émile and Marie from a distance. “We’ve got places to be tonight,” and
///
Émile pointed to the harbour, at the ships gathered there, and said: “Harbour. Harbour.”
Marie echoed him perfectly: “Harbour.” She turned to him, curious. “Home?”
“Soon,” he smiled, and
\\
Rickford found the cell where Crosby and the others were being kept. Crosby leapt to his feet, sensing his fortunes changing. “You’re alive!”
Rickford pointed at his throat, tried to speak, but it only came out as a raspy croak.
“Never mind that, just get me out of here!” snapped Crosby. “I’ll gut that damn stowaway for this. Stem to stern. No mercy.”
Rickford tried to open the cell, but discovered a padlock over the handle. He blinked back his dizziness, trying to focus.
“Well break it!” shouted Crosby. “Hurry, before someone finds you!” and
///
O’Malley wove his way through the corridors below-deck, checking in on all the sailors, ensuring they were ready for landing.
“A week, that’s right,” he said. “Then back to New Orleans, and…”
He noticed something at the end of the hall: the captain’s quarters door, ajar. He headed down immediately, knocking twice before peering in. “Hello?” he asked, then walked through and
\\
“Marie,” said Émile, and she turned, smiled. He spoke the next words in English, as best he could: “Pleased to meet you.”
She frowned, because that was a lot of words at once. He repeated them for her, slower this time, and gave her a moment to process what she’d heard.
“Pleased to…meet…you…” she said.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said with a nod.
“Pleased to meet you,” she said, and her smile grew bigger, and
///
Rickford kicked at the padlock again, but it didn’t break. Crosby swore, then pushed Polz and Crane back to the other side of the cell.
“Shoot it!” he barked. “Just shoot it off! We don’t have time for this!”
Rickford took a step back, aiming the pistol and closing one eye to help him focus, though his vision was still swimming.
“Do it!” Crosby yelled, and
\\
O’Malley looked across the room and noticed only one of the redwood pistols mounted on the wall, and
///
the aft of the ship exploded in a fireball as Rickford’s shot went astray, hitting the gunpowder shipment and igniting it all at once. Émile and Marie were knocked off their feet as the whole ship shook, and started to tip back as the water rushed in, and their hopes rushed out.