Chapter 113: Turns Out Liberty is Contagious
Black Sam came over the rail like he stepped own front porch, easy and certain, his balance never in question before his boots touched the deck. He caught James’s forearm in a firm grip and flashed a grin wide enough to show every tooth.
"Calloway."
He held on a heartbeat longer than necessary. "Word among the smaller ships is ye’ve turned this whole venture into yer own bloody navy. Should I be pleased ye left the rest of us a place in it, or offended?"
"Bit of both, I’d wager." James returned the grip just as firmly. "Flattery costs less this way."
Bonnet dipped his head with his polished manner.
"Captain Bellamy. A pleasure, as always."
His gaze shifted to James. "I believe I should see to the Fortune’s trim before the tide carries on much farther, Captain. I’ll leave the pair of you to the business that brought him aboard."
He offered a small bow, found the rope leading down to his own rowboat, and disappeared over the side before either of them thought to stop him.
Black Sam watched him go. Then his eyes wandered across the waters, as any sailor’s would among so many ships. They never lingered on the Rose, unlike every other captain since Nassau.
"That corvette of yours."
He nodded toward the Fortune. "Lean as a knife. Quick through her stays, I’d wager. Looks built to run round a ship twice her size before the poor bastard aboard knows which way she’s gone."
James let out a chuckle.
"Careful. Keep speakin’ that way and folk’ll think I’ve hired ye to praise the place."
Black Sam snorted. "If I’d been hired, I’d have asked for better coin."
"Too late now, you’ve already started."
"Aye, should’ve kept my mouth shut another minute."
"Would’ve been unlike ye."
Black Sam’s eyes wandered over the water again, slower this time. He took in the ships, the fresh-cut spars, the crews that went from deck to deck as though they were truly one fleet. It wasn’t envy James saw. It looked more like he was trying to decide which stories he’d been told were worth believing.
"There’s another tale follows you besides this fleet."
James snorted through his nose. "If it washed ashore in Nassau, I’d hear it with caution. That town got a tongue quicker than a fair wind. By the third tavern, a skiff’s grown three decks and twenty guns."
Black Sam’s grin came quick and sly. "Aye, that’s the very reason I ask. They keep swearin’ ye’ve built a harbor somewhere beyond Andros where a body’s old life gets left at the pier. Every man tells it different, but they all come back to one bit. A stone with names carved into it."
James couldn’t help smiling.
Nassau never had cared much whether a tale was true. Folk there judged a story by whether it earned another round, and Concordia had bought more rum than he’d ever hoped it would.
"That sounds like a story told by men who’d rather spend the truth than keep it."
"Aye, but it keeps comin’ back."
"Because folk love a marvel more than a fact, and Nassau loves both more after dark."
James rested an elbow on the rail, looking out over the ships. "Still, there is a harbor, there is a stone, and there is a sort of welcome there that leaves a man freer than he was when he came."
Black Sam’s grin faded into something more thoughtful.
"So what is she, then? Truly?"
There was plain curiosity in his voice now. "I’ve heard the name tossed around taverns as any other tale, but I’ve never spoken to a man who’s actually stood there."
"Concordia, mind you, was set down with a mind to keep a man from being owned by his past."
James tipped his chin toward the distant shore. "A place where a body answers for himself, and no one takes his worth by the ship he came in on. Every grown soul has a say in what touches the town, and no person, whether born free or bought free or dragged in by luck and then loosed again, gets set above his neighbor by old tricks or old names. It keeps its peace by its own hand, and if a man bleeds for it, the town sees to him after."
Sam barked a laugh, half disbelief and half admiration. "A man keeps his own name, keeps his feet, and gets a say besides? By the Holy Virgin, that’s a rare port indeed. Most places I know’ll take yer coin, yer labor, and half yer liberty besides, then call it kindness if they leave ye the shirt off yer back."
James smiled despite himself.
"Wasn’t plannin’ to put it quite that grand myself, but I won’t argue with ye."
Black Sam slapped one hand against the rail, delighted now in earnest. "I’d like to sail there myself once this business done, one way or another. Put my own name beneath that stone, my crew’s too. Make it my home port, as Nassau’s been."
James raised an eyebrow.
"What, Nassau’s grown too small for ye already?"
Black Sam gave a bark of laughter.
"God forbid. I’d miss the place before I was clear o’ the harbor."
"Then why another home?"
"Because Nassau’s a fine woman to drink with, and a dreadful one to marry."
James barked a laugh. "There’s a sayin’ I’ve not heard."
"Then steal it."
Sam went on, warming to it. "That island’s like a cask with a crack in it. Full of good spirit, sure enough, but the lot inside would drink the rest dry if it meant the barrel were theirs alone. Liberty for themselves, and damn the man beside them if he goes thirsty."
James couldn’t argue that.
"That’s the curse of it."
Sam wagged a finger as though making a case before some invisible court. "Nassau’s brave when the wind’s fair and every man’s got his cutlass in hand, but it hangs together about as well as wet rope. One hard shove and the whole place goes squealing into the sea."
James let out a low laugh. "You do have a fondness for cheerful pictures."
"I have a fondness for honest ones."
That brought another grin from him, quick as flint. He tipped his chin toward the horizon, where Nassau lay beyond the curve of the water. "A man can make a home port out of a place like that, true enough. But if he means to keep it, he had best also have somewhere else to put his feet when the roof starts burning."
James watched him. "And you reckon this Concordia of mine is that somewhere?"
Sam spread his hands. "I reckon nothing of the sort, because I have not laid eyes on the blasted place. I only know a harbor by the smell of the talk around it. Folk do not swear that sort of nonsense about a mere sand spit."
James snorted. "Nonsense?"
"Aye, the whole mad tale. A stone, a welcome, and rules enough to make a bishop spit. Sounds like the sort of place a man invents after three rums and a beating."
"And yet ye’re interested."
"Interested?"
Sam’s grin widened. "I’m near to pining for it. A harbor where a man might keep his name, keep his share, and not have some blackguard with a fat purse and a louder mouth tell him his freedom ends where the other fellow’s begins? That’s a rare beast, Calloway. Rare enough to chase off the coast and ask after dinner."
James shook his head, smiling now in full. "Then maybe I should see about keepin’ the stone polished."
Black Sam nodded, eyes bright with the joke of it. "Aye, polish the stone, mind the ropes, and make certain the place does not turn into Nassau’s ill-behaved cousin by next month. A man likes a home port better when it is not trying to mug him in broad daylight."
James let the words linger.
Black Sam had no way of knowing what lay ahead. For the space of a single breath, nothing he’d said felt like persuasion. A captain seeking a favor would have spoken differently.
This was simply the truth as he saw it.
He clapped Black Sam on the shoulder. "Welcome to carve your name beside mine whenever ye’re ready. The more hands that raise that place, the stronger it’ll stand."
Black Sam’s grin widened until it hurt.
After that they stood together in easy silence, both looking toward the horizon.
"Sky’s too clear for my likin’."
Black Sam narrowed his eyes and raised a hand against the glare. "This far into storm season, a sky that still and sharp means she’s savin’ somethin’ nasty for later."
James followed his gaze upward.
There wasn’t a cloud worth naming. The sky stretched bright and empty from one end of the sea to the other.
"Aye."
He didn’t like the look of it either.
"Let’s hope she keeps it until after we’re finished here."
Black Sam gave his shoulder one last clap, swung himself over the rail, and dropped toward the waiting rowboat below, still wearing that broad grin despite whatever warning he’d seen in the sky.