No Quarter: Wenches - Volume 1

No Quarter - Wenches

Volume 1

By MJL Evans and GM O’Connor

NO QUARTER SERIES COPYRIGHT @ 2014

No Quarter: Wenches COPYRIGHT @ 2016 MJL Evans and GM O’Connor

ISBN: 978-0-9948744-8-1

Artwork: GM O’Connor

E-Book Production: MJL Evans

All rights are reserved to the authors. No part of this ebook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Tempest and a Teapot

September 22, 1689

Atia Crisp was counting the bars of her cage for about the hundredth time when Port Royal came into view. She had first arrived there just over a month ago, a journey that began when a hurricane struck the ship carrying her to Hope Bay. She and her sister, Livia, had been the only survivors of the wreck, which claimed many lives including those of her ma and half-brother. After being tossed to the jagged rocks of Folly Bay, she and Livia were kidnapped and sold into slavery.

Atia’s fortunes turned somewhat when she was used as a pawn in a card game and liberated by Capitaine la Roche. She later discovered that he was actually a pirate known as Gator Gar or simply the Capitaine. They fell in love and escaped to a plantation in Jamaica’s Blue Mountains where they stayed for a spell before being mobbed by English Redcoats and Maroons. All in all, she was back where she started from, in the pestilent city of Port Royal.

Atia could already smell it: shit, fish, and smoke. Not even the storm could clear away the stench. A flash of lightning illuminated the approaching harbor. Behind them, off in the distance, speck-sized ships sat on the horizon. The wherry boat dipped on the swell, causing Redcoats and prisoners alike to hang on tight.

Colonel Beckford led the procession, ordering the English soldiers to dock near the Wherry Bridge. They disembarked, and prison carriages wheeled up Thames Street, passing through the great stone arch of Fort Carlisle and Gallows Point, where prisoners were hung by their necks until dead.

Atia grimaced as Bridewell Prison came into view. Its stone foundation housed dozens of cells with iron bars. The dilapidated top structure held many more barred chambers, each with little natural light. Great, more confined spaces! she thought with a snarl.

She and Livia were dragged to separate cells. Hang on, Liv, he’s coming, Atia said.

She knew the Capitaine would rescue them. She could hear his broad-billed parrot, Minuit, following her across the Ligania plain; she’d seen him periodically on her journey. With the tempest looming she hoped her feathered friend was safe. Too many lives had been lost already. The attack on Strangewayes’s plantation had claimed her friends Tanama and Lilly. Tanama died in her arms. Atia had pretended to be asleep when English soldiers came to take the body away, and she’d given one of them a black eye.

She did not know the fate of others. The buccaneer Dashiell Dupris and a native elder, Yaguara, had picked the lock of their cage and escaped into the jungle. Carlena, the plantation’s leader, had guided the residents away through underground tunnels during the attack. Runaway slaves Ekene and Fatima, though, had had the misfortune of being captured and transported back to Port Royal in one of the prison carriages.

Atia peeked through the barred window, catching rain on her tongue. Lightning clawed the skyline, and the tiny ships drew nearer. Perhaps it was the Capitaine coming to take his revenge on this accursed city. She staggered to a hay bed in the corner of her cell. Her ribs still ached from the shipwreck, and she would have given anything for some laudanum. The hair on her arms rose, and she shuddered. Her head pressed against the stone. She could still see her ma being sucked overboard, her body smashed upon the rocks of Folly Bay.

A rat scuttled along the floor, its wee claws scraping against the foundation. Atia shut her tired green eyes. She imagined herself back at Strangewayes’s plantation, with its warm sweet air, bright green leaves, and fields of vibrant wildflowers. Iridescent butterflies glittered, and birds chirped in the trees. The kindly Dr. Strangewayes invented new and unorthodox concoctions in his apothecary, while his assistant Gladstone always sampled the medicines. They had twilight picnics of cured meats, yams, mangoes, pineapples, apple tarts, and well-aged whiskey.

Her nap was interrupted by the metallic clang of keys and the click of a lock as a guard entered. Atia Crisp, time for processing.

He dragged her to her feet, and they stopped to collect Livia, who could scarcely walk due to a broken rib. Shackles locked around their ankles and wrists, and they were herded from one cage to another. Atia squeezed Livia’s hand as she dozed from exhaustion.

As they traveled across the street to the courthouse, the rain pelted hard, submerging the streets in water. The prison carriage slowed, unable to go any further. As a second prison cage halted beside them, Atia could see that it held Fatima and Ekene, half-conscious and bloodied.

At the courthouse on High Street, they were stopped, and someone called out, Thames Street is flooded all the way down to the King’s House, so you’ll have to go around High Street. Water pooled down the front steps. City officials arrived in carriages and debating ensued. What the hell is all this? one began.

Councilman White, another shouted over the wind.

These are prisoners from Captain Longstaff. They’re to be processed tonight.

White’s eyebrows furled. Now? Why can’t this wait till morning?

Colonel Beckford said to take them in now.

Oh, Beckford, White sighed. He tries hard for an idiot. Take them back and lock them up for the night. We’ll process them in the morning.

Judge Goblet’s orders. These prisoners are to go before the bench tonight.

The door to the courthouse blew open, and a stout man in a judicial black robe leaned out. Excuse me, Mr. White, these prisoners are vital to an ongoing investigation into slave smuggling. One of the highest crimes there is. Thank you, Constable Blower. Goblet glanced down at the pooling water. We have to relocate the proceedings, however; the entire building is flooded.

Aye, so we go home and let it stop raining, White said.

Goblet’s bottom lip quivered. Whig justice doesn’t wait for the rain to stop.

Well, if you must proceed tonight, there’s the old courthouse on Church Street, White suggested.

It’s a synagogue now, sir, Blower added.

White shrugged. Well, tell the Jews to move out for a while. It’s nothing new for them.

Yes, I agree. We’ll move the proceedings to Church Street. He motioned for his carriage. Have Colonel Beckford meet us there.

White yawned. Ever fall asleep by the fire to the sound of the rain only to find yourself out in it? I have.

Thank you, Mr. White. England appreciates your sacrifice. Please meet us there. Goblet hopped up into his carriage, followed by his aides, and took off.

That’s ‘Captain’ or ‘Council President’ to you, Chief Justice, White huffed. Whatever! Take us to the old courthouse on Church Street. He entered the carriage, and it rolled away.

Atia wiped the rain from her eyes, and the prison cart looped around, bumping and grinding against the uneven terrain. Livia moaned and trembled. Atia couldn’t even hug her sister with these damned shackles. Don’t you worry, Liv. I know he’s coming. She was convinced; she had to be. The Capitaine wouldn’t leave her here. He’d come. Her da would come too once he found out. He, her uncle Rourke, and her brothers would race in on Lucky Charms and blast holes in the city.

Atia wasn’t going to cooperate with these fancy officials. She wouldn’t give them a thing. Her whole family had suffered at the hands of people like that. Particularly the slaver Hansel Crisp. Crisp blackmailed her mother into marrying him by threatening her life and Livia’s.

They could throw Atia back in prison. Beat her. Torture her. She refused to crack. Each and every one of them could go to hell.

Captain John White, the council president, debated whether to step outside the confines of his carriage. Like a dog, he’d been summoned in the middle of the night during a storm. He massaged the stubble on his head before placing a heavy white wig there. He secured his rain cloak and hood, then stepped out in front of the courthouse.

This will do nicely. Goblet lifted his robe and climbed the stairs. Seems old Port Royal is on higher, firmer ground than new Port Royal.

White wrinkled his nose. Smells the same in the morning, though. He rushed indoors to shake off.

Colonel Beckford joined them, and they advanced to the old court bench. Once the prisoners were escorted inside and lined up against the back wall, Goblet took a seat and removed a wooden box from his pocket. He used a small mallet to whack the tabletop. He frowned at the indent in the woodwork. Whose invention is this? The Dutch?

It’s to bring order, Beckford said.

I know what it’s for, Colonel. Goblet wore an expression that made him look like a constipated terrier. He eyed Livia and Atia Crisp. Well done, you got the pikeys. He flipped through a stack of papers. Now, you captured a buccaneer and the Indian called Jaguar. Where are they?

Beckford’s large ears flared red. They…they escaped somewhere on the Ligania road.

Escaped? How could you let them escape? Goblet pressed.

With less than ten percent of my men left, we were unable to contain all the prisoners.

"I’m astounded you know what