Free Web NovelChapter 54: Fair Winds Out of Pensacola
Pensacola’s gossip moved faster than any ship in the harbor.
Within three days, everyone in town had heard about Fray Bartolomé’s sudden devotion to doña Mariana’s rear side.
Something had gone badly wrong at the mission, though James never learned the whole story. One afternoon he heard enough shouting spilling out of the chapel to decide the friar’s future there was probably much shorter than his endurance.
James had a fair idea who’d carried the tale from the well into every kitchen in Pensacola, and he couldn’t bring himself to care.
A story that entertaining deserved to be shared.
The days that followed slipped into the easy rhythm of life in a Spanish outpost.
Cards. Rum. The occasional handful of coins won or lost from soldiers who never seemed to realize God always favored the man who held the dice the longest.
James spent more evenings than not at Catalina’s house, and whatever happened between him and her daughters behind the low garden wall stayed there.
Inés carried herself much the same as before, save for the occasional look she sent his way. Lucía still blushed whenever their eyes met across the yard.
James wasn’t about to spoil a pleasant relationship by talking about it.
By the time Sawyer declared the hull ready for sea and Juan’s men lowered the first mortar to the harbor, the Rose had lingered in Pensacola Bay long enough that the crew had started wagering whether James would leave with a wife.
He settled the matter the only way he knew.
He ordered the anchor raised.
The waterfront waiting for him that morning barely resembled the busy maze of cargo and dockworkers that had greeted them before.
Juan’s men controlled the docks now. A few soldiers stood along the wharf under very clear orders to pay as little attention as possible while a mortar was winched aboard a pirate brigantine in broad daylight.
Farrow stood beside the gun crew, fitting the weapon into its new carriage while arguing with a Spanish artillery sergeant in a language neither of them actually spoke.
Somehow they understood each other anyway.
"That’s not how ye seat a breech. It’ll roll loose the first broadside!"
Farrow jabbed a finger at the fittings.
The sergeant frowned.
"¿Qué? No, hombre. Mire."
He looked from the mortar to the carriage, then shifted the wedge a fraction, as if testing it.
Farrow leaned in, watched it settle, then shook his head once.
"Too loose."
The sergeant held his stare for a moment, then bent back to it without comment. A few quick adjustments followed, firmer this time.
Farrow grunted.
"That’ll do."
James left them to it with a grin.
He crossed the wharf toward Juan, who stood beside the customs house exactly where James expected, coat buttoned despite the heat, hands folded behind his back like a merchant reviewing accounts that had finally come out in his favor.
"The mortar and both cannons are aboard your vessel, Captain."
Juan’s eyes drifted past James to the Rose, carefully inspecting her. "The remainder will be delivered upon your return, payment upon proof that Mobile’s harbor no longer functions as it once did."
"Proof bein’ what, exactly? A burned warehouse and my word?"
"Your word has never been the currency in question, Captain."
Juan didn’t so much as blink. "If you fail, or if this becomes known to anyone capable of asking questions I cannot answer, you will discover that I have never heard your name."
James laughed. "Aye, I’d expect nothin’ less from a man buildin’ himself a governorship with other men’s silver. You’ll get yer proof, Juan. You might even get it with a bit o’ style."
Juan regarded him a moment longer.
The faint sound through his nose was almost a snort, the closest James had ever seen him come to genuine amusement.
"Fair winds, Captain Calloway."
He turned away. His men fell in behind him without a word.
Once they were gone, James walked over to the Bloody Rose’s deck.
The new carriage sat firmly at the waist. The mortar’s black muzzle caught the morning sun, looking strange aboard his ship, as though it still hadn’t decided it belonged there.
The familiar display appeared before him.
🏴 [BLOODY ROSE — STATUS]
Hull Condition : Good, Repaired
Armament : 20 Broadside Cannons, 1 Mortar
Gunpowder Supply : 22 Casks
Provisions : 20 Days
Crew : 69 / 80
Fit for Duty : 67
Wounded, Severe : 2
Morale : High
Loyalty : Steadfast
Perks : [The Rose’s Luck], [True Shot]
A mortar sits on your own deck now, which resolves the small matter of jealousy toward a sloop’s armament. I have adjusted my estimate of your survival odds accordingly. They remain unconvincing, though marginally less so than they were a month ago, which is the closest thing to progress this experiment has produced in weeks.
Twenty guns. A mortar of her own. Enough powder for a proper fight instead of scraping through one. Sixty some healthy crewmen fit for duty, with only two still recovering.
The Rose had come a long way.
Cudjoe found him standing there with his arms folded, staring at empty air a few paces above the deck.
The man had stopped being surprised by his captain long ago.
"Starin’ at nothin’ again, Captain. Crew’s startin’ tae wonder if the heat’s finally cooked ye proper."
"It has."
James grinned.
"Turns out I like the scenery."
He clapped Cudjoe on the shoulder.
"Right then. Cast off, Cudjoe. We’ve a Frenchman’s afternoon to ruin."
"Aye, Captain!"
The orders swept across the deck.
"Cast off!"
"Aye, castin’ off!"
Lines splashed into the water. Men leaned hard into them, boots digging in, shoulders set.
"Loose her, ye barnacle-bitten fools!"
"Already loose!" someone called back. "Unless ye want me to swim it out me teeth!"
Another voice, laughing rough.
"Let’s go then, before the dock grows legs and grabs us back!"
Sailcloth dropped free above them, snapping once as it filled, the sound cracking down the rigging.
"Haul away!"
"Haulin’!"
"Gods, I’ve missed this bloody noise," a crewman muttered, grinning as he worked.
The Rose groaned beneath his feet as she came alive, timbers shifting like something waking after too long asleep.
Near the foremast, James spotted a familiar face hauling on a halyard beside Kit and Ned.
Sleeves rolled up, the young man wore some satisfied expression.
Tomás.
Word around the mission was that the boy’s faith in his old teacher hadn’t survived the boathouse any better than the friar’s vows.
Rather than stay in Pensacola to watch the aftermath, he’d talked his way aboard as ship’s interpreter and occasional nuisance. On the Bloody Rose, that qualified him for much the same duties as everyone else.
Kit shouted something thoroughly unhelpful in his direction, and Ned, for the first time, looked genuinely relieved that someone else was now the newest hand aboard.
James took the wheel himself as the Rose cleared the shallows.
Her sails filled cleanly for the first time in weeks, and the deck stirred with fresh purpose as the wind finally found somewhere worth carrying them.
He looked back once.
The fort still stood above the trees, squat and pale. The bell tower watched over it exactly as it had the day he’d first arrived.
Two figures stood at the bank, waving both arms with enough enthusiasm to make it seem the harbor belonged to them.
Lucía’s ribbon flashed brightly in the wind, easy to pick out even from the deck.
Beside her, Inés raised one hand instead. She wasn’t nearly as energetic as her sister, but she kept waving long after Lucía finally lowered her arm.
James raised a hand in return, smiling the whole while.
Then he faced forward again and held the wheel steady as Pensacola slowly slipped into the distance.
Open water stretched ahead, and the Rose’s bow turned toward Mobile and whatever waited there.
