The Dust Of 100 Dogs Part 20

That's right, Fred. You show us.

"This is my my turf! This is turf! This is my my beach! This is beach! This is my my f.u.c.king dog and I can do what I like to it! Call me an a.s.shole, will you? Call me a queer? I'll show you who's queer!" f.u.c.king dog and I can do what I like to it! Call me an a.s.shole, will you? Call me a queer? I'll show you who's queer!"

That's right, Fred. You show us who's queer.

"Just shut up, will you!" Fred screamed, and then drank back his bourbon in one mouthful, swis.h.i.+ng it through his cheeks and his teeth like mouthwash before swallowing it. It was four o'clock, so he turned on McHale's Navy McHale's Navy, kicked off his slippers, leaned back into the chair, and promptly fell asleep.

At six o'clock, Fred woke to another knock at the door. Before he got up to answer it, he opened his bottom desk drawer to retrieve a can of pepper spray. His bottom drawer was full of that sort of stuff-a large rubber strap, a leather whip twisted into a perfect circle, a dart pistol, a pair of night vision goggles, two sets of handcuffs, two palm-sized cans of mace, and a boxed set of surgical scalpels. He put the pepper spray in his pocket and walked down the stairs. He readied his hand to catch Rusty by the neck this time, and jerked the door open quickly without using the peephole.

A young local woman with wide eyes jumped back. "Good evening, sir," she said. "I'm collecting for the Saint Elizabeth Literacy program. We help-"

"Illiterates?" Fred snapped before she could finish. He looked past her for the dog.

"Yes, sir. We teach people who missed out on an education."

Fred stepped out past her and looked both ways for Rusty. The woman retreated, frightened. He reached into his pocket, past the pepper spray, and pulled out an American ten-dollar bill. "Here. Now go away."

"Thank you, sir. Thank you very much," she repeated, and then hurried up the patio steps and back onto the road.

"f.u.c.king illiterates." Fred walked out toward the pool and searched for the dog. As he walked back, he stepped on a piece of broken crystal still scattered on the doorstep and swore in pain.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n that f.u.c.king dog!" he yelled, hopping and inspecting his foot at the same time. "G.o.dd.a.m.n that f.u.c.king woman!" The local woman heard him from the road and walked faster.

When he returned to his desk, Fred opened the wound and picked the shard of gla.s.s out with a toothpick. He pulled an ice cube from his gla.s.s and placed it on the cut.

"That b.i.t.c.h doesn't know who she's f.u.c.king with!"

She didn't break the gla.s.s, Fred. You did.

"Now this will have to get ugly."

Sure, Fred, ugly.

"Stop f.u.c.king mocking me! I'm serious!"

You certainly are, Fred. You certainly are.

Fredrick, stop with that swearing! I taught you better than that, his mother scolded.

"Shut up, Mother."

Don't you talk to me that way, young man!

"I'll talk whatever way I want, you f.u.c.king old wh.o.r.e. You're dead. Why don't you just p.i.s.s off?"

p.i.s.s off? he answered. he answered. Why are you telling me to p.i.s.s off? I'm on your side! Why are you telling me to p.i.s.s off? I'm on your side!

Fred took the handcuffs from the desk and twirled them around on his index finger. "Will you all just p.i.s.s OFF?" p.i.s.s OFF?"

Emer awoke to the sound of sailing. In the dim candlelight, she could make out only the nearest things: a basin of water and a cloth, a pair of wrist cuffs, a small, brown, corked bottle, and a bottle of rum. She reached out for the stool next to the bunk, but her arm flopped down to the planks beneath her instead.

She looked down at the shape of her body and tried to move her legs. Great pain rose from her right calf as she bent her knees and grabbed them, hugging them to her chest. She moved the blankets until her right foot appeared, swollen and discolored and wrapped with layers of white absorbent rags. Blood seeped through where her two toes used to be. She tried to wiggle the remaining ones, her big and middle, and her smallest, with no luck. They didn't move at all, not even when she tried her hardest.

Moving slowly, balancing as the Chester Chester broke through fast waves, Emer reached for the rum and took a swig. She tried to remember where she was, what had happened, and whose care she was in. She drank two more swallows of rum before someone unlocked the door and opened it. broke through fast waves, Emer reached for the rum and took a swig. She tried to remember where she was, what had happened, and whose care she was in. She drank two more swallows of rum before someone unlocked the door and opened it.

A man appeared, a short man wearing a round spectacle. He smiled when he saw she was awake and asked, "How do you feel?"

"What's wrong with my foot?"

"Your foot should be fine in a few weeks. Just a bit of gangrene is all."

Emer looked down. "It doesn't look fine."

"Trust me. I've been a doctor for twenty years and I know my business." He reached into the darkness beyond the candlelight. "Are you hungry?"

He brought the tray and placed it on the stool. Emer gagged at first, but then picked up a biscuit and brought it to her mouth.

"How long have we been at sea?"

"Four or five days. Only a few more to go, in this wind." He inspected her foot and applied some liquid from the brown medicine bottle.

"Where are we going?"

"You worry about resting and eating," he said, turning toward the door. "I'll tell Captain you're awake. He'll be quite pleased."

He locked the door behind him and Emer propped her head with a feather pillow. She looked around for anything sharp, but there were nothing but blunt things. The best weapon she could find was the rum bottle. She worked to empty it, thinking she could hide it in her bed and strike when the Frenchman wasn't paying attention, then escape to the deck and kill everyone. She sat up and when her foot hit the floor, she cried out in agony, fell back into the bed, flushed, and pa.s.sed out again.

When she woke up, her candle had gone out and she was in total darkness. The s.h.i.+p swung violently from side to side, causing items to s.h.i.+ft and crash onto the floor. She held on to the sides of the bunk as the s.h.i.+p tacked one way and then the other, repeatedly. This was the movement of battle, for sure. Minutes later, she heard someone yelling orders and the gunners running above her from cannon to cannon. She felt the forecastle cannon fire and her heart thumped.

Emer wished she could stand up. She tried again, but could not get past the pain in her right foot. She lay down in the darkness and listened to the fight. Surely this must be the governor's best s.h.i.+p, sent to kill the Frenchman who had double-crossed him. Ironically, she found herself rooting for the crew of the Chester Chester.

After an hour of gunfire, the boats met and there was fighting on deck. Emer smiled at the familiar language of battle the way she'd once smiled at the musical call of the returning swallows. She heard men fall to their deaths and men laughing aloud. She heard men skewering the dead, their blades sticking into the ceiling above her head. She heard men falling overboard, their bodies meeting the hull before they finally hit the sea. And then she heard two sets of footsteps approaching the dark cabin. a.s.suming her team had lost, she quickly lay flat and played dead.

"It's locked, sir," someone said.

"Kick it down."

There were several light kicks to the door.

"Harder!"

The door finally flew open, half of it snapping and landing on the floor next to the doorway.

"Sir, are you here?" David asked.

Emer sat up. "Over here." She reached out toward his voice.

"Come with us," he said. "Hurry."

"I can't hurry, David. I can't b.l.o.o.d.y walk."

The two men walked to her bunk and picked her up. She s.n.a.t.c.hed the medicine bottle and shoved it in David's trouser pocket. When they got her upright, Emer faltered and felt dizzy. The men held her at the waist and the three of them moved through the doorway and up the steps to the sunlit deck. Emer closed her eyes and heard David gasp.

"Bring the doctor," she whispered to him. "The one with the spectacle."

David ordered his men to get the doctor. He carried Emer over the ropes and onto the Vera Cruz Vera Cruz. The rest of the men continued to fight while they went below deck to her cabin. Everything was exactly as she'd left it almost a year before. Even her cape still hung on its hook.

When the doctor arrived, David left him in the cabin with Emer and one marine and went back above deck to finish the battle. He ordered the gunners to their places and the marines to untangle the s.h.i.+ps and get aboard. When they did, the Vera Cruz Vera Cruz sailed past the sailed past the Chester Chester twice, pouring endless double shot into her hull. The twice, pouring endless double shot into her hull. The Chester Chester began to take on water and sink as they tacked west. began to take on water and sink as they tacked west.

When David returned to her cabin, Emer was lying in the bunk looking tired.

"What happened to her?" he asked the doctor.

"She is very lucky, you know. She could have lost her whole foot."

David said, "You'll stay with us until she's good as new, you will."

The doctor nodded. "We'll need some things."

"What things?"

"Medicine for her leg. Rum for her pain."

David looked at Emer. She smiled the best she could through her shame. "Now this," she thought. "A menace to my crew." He sat down beside her on the bunk, and took her weak head in his hands and kissed her.

"I have a surprise for you, Captain. A very big surprise."

"I've had my fill of surprises, David. Tell me."

"Well, if I told you, then it would scarcely be a surprise, now would it?"

"I order you!"

"Presently, sir. You can't order me. You can't even walk! You'll see soon enough what I have for you!"

She handed the small brown bottle to the doctor and allowed him to examine her foot and apply the dark liquid to the place where her toes used to be. He made her eat two biscuits and then left her to sleep.

Two weeks later, Emer was able to walk around her cabin with the aid of a crutch. Three weeks later, she could limp steadily without the crutch and began to turn the proper color. She walked circles in the cabin, and each day would make it through the entire s.h.i.+p's undercarriage twice. She ate one full meal a day, and had managed to keep down some dried meat. By the time the Vera Cruz Vera Cruz reached its surprise destination, Emer was nearly healed. She would always limp, the doctor warned her, but it would become slight with time and practice. reached its surprise destination, Emer was nearly healed. She would always limp, the doctor warned her, but it would become slight with time and practice.

David arrived one morning with a plate of fruit. "Today you get to see your surprise," he said, smiling.

She dressed in a pair of black trousers and a clean blouse. She attempted her boots, but one was still too small to fit on her swollen foot, so she left them behind. She fixed her battle cape around her shoulders and fastened the collar, now completely crimson with the knots of dead Spanish sailors.

As they neared the ladder to the deck, her men began to applaud and cheer. She looked up and saw that each had a small cup of rum in his hands.

"Close your eyes," David said. He led her to the starboard edge and then told her to open wide.

When she opened her eyes, Emer didn't know what she was looking at. At least fifteen s.h.i.+ps surrounded them, mostly frigates like the Vera Cruz Vera Cruz, but also several small brigs and a few enormous galleons as well. The crews on each of these s.h.i.+ps cheered as noisily as her own, each holding up a cup of rum, toasting.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Twenty s.h.i.+ps in all, sir. Good crews, competent officers, and four hundred guns or so."

Emer looked at the s.h.i.+ps, and then looked back at David. "You did this?"

"We did." He motioned toward the crew. "The Spanish are due tomorrow or the next day. A fleet of about twenty, heavy with trade. We have two sloops tailing them, aye."

She looked at her crew, and then back at the fleet.

"You'd better say something, sir," David said, reaching down and squeezing her wrist.

She raised her cup and toasted her own crew first. "To the most loyal men alive! Verily! I owe you my life, I do." Then she refilled her cup, raised it again, and turned to the new fleet. And though she knew the men on board the other s.h.i.+ps couldn't hear her, she said, "We'll take the Spaniards to the sea floor, or my blood!! Arg!" She let the rum trickle from the sides of her mouth and held her fist up. The men drank as if she'd always been their captain, and they held their fists up, too.

Men brought a basket of dried meat and a crate of fruit. Similar items were brought to the decks of the other s.h.i.+ps, and the party began.

Emer leaned against the starboard rail, searching the decks and sails of her new fleet. She asked the men for a telescope and looked from s.h.i.+p to s.h.i.+p, inspecting her new men and her new guns. She recognized a frigate from Port Royal and waved, and its captain waved back.

Then, David gave a loud order. Simultaneously, all the s.h.i.+ps raised a single flag to the top of their mast. It was Emer's flag-or so David had named it when he'd had women in Tortuga st.i.tch them. It was black, with a red and orange dragon eating a one-eyed man whole. Twenty of these rose in the sea around Emer. She focused on them with her scope-and, in doing so, focused accidentally on a sailor keeping watch from his frigate's crow's nest.

From the side, the sailor looked familiar. And when he turned to face her, something hit her like a ton of double shot. She dropped the scope into the sea and grabbed the side of the boat with both hands. Her crew worried that she was relapsing, that the matching flags had been too much of a gesture.

But Emer wasn't overcome with embroidery.

She yelled for another telescope, and when a sailor delivered it, she carefully focused again on the man in the crow's nest three s.h.i.+ps away. He waved a familiar wave- two fingers up, dancing from side to side-and she waved back, with two fingers, barely believing what was happening. David came to steady her as she began to quiver and sob hardy tears.

"What is it?" he asked.

Emer answered, "Lower a rowboat."

"What's the bother?" he asked again.

"Just lower the rowboat, aye, and get in it."

When they got to the deck above the boat, tears were still streaming down Emer's cheeks and into the sides of her wide, grinning mouth. David had never seen her so emotional. He asked, "Where am I going?"

"To meet that man, there," she pointed. He was still waving.

"Who is it?"

"Seanie Carroll," she answered, her voice shaky. "That's Seanie Carroll."