A | B | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14A | 14B | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21
PART I
MARCH, 1780
ATLANTIC OCEAN, TRADE ROUTE
FURY SIGHED.
Elliott heard the feet running toward Fury’s cabin, so the subsequent pounding on her door was not a surprise.
“Cap’n!”
“Aye! Aye!” she croaked. “I’m coming.”
The only answer was the receding sound of those same feet. “She’s fixin’ her voice, mates!”
Another roar of approval and what sounded like people rearranging themselves.
Elliott listened as she cleared her throat.
And again.
Thrice before she began to hum, low in her throat. Hoarsely at first.
Then she pushed away from him and stood whilst beginning to sing the scale. She stepped out of the tub, went to her door, and opened it.
“FRESH WATER!” she bellowed.
With the scales, her voice gradually cleared in the time it took for her to enrobe herself in her kimono and tie it closed with the gold sash. A pitcher of water was brought by a crewman with a half-wild grin.
She chuckled at him, then tipped the pitcher back, drinking as if she were dying of thirst, water spilling out of either side of her mouth. She finished half of it, then fetched her box of herbs. She withdrew a small flat pot, pulled off the top, dipped her tongue in it (which stirred Elliott’s desire for something other than her voice), and tilted her head back to work it down her throat.
“What was that?”
“Honey.”
She put it away with the same sort of ritual she did all her small tasks, then finished off the water and thumped it down on the table with a satisfied sigh. It was when she began to sing the scale, louder and louder that Elliott realized he was listening to a woman he would have paid to see perform.
As her voice grew louder, the men and women above began to cheer and the instruments began to play the scales with her, to tune to her voice. Whilst she sang, she checked her chronometer and sang the time: four of the morning.
Then she stopped singing and looked at him. “Come,” she murmured. “You wanted to know why Skirrow never molested me. I will show you.”
Elliott arose and exited the tub, accepting the towel she proffered him, then pulled on his breeches. “I thought ’twas your navigation.”
“Half,” she conceded, holding her hand out to him, leading him out the door, down the passageway, and to the hatch. “He thought I was a witch, that I could bring down the wrath of Satan upon him at any time just by opening my mouth.” She grunted as she attempted to pull her kimono out from under foot where she had caught herself. “On the other hand, my crew believes me to have the power to protect them from evil.”
“Do you?”
“Do I believe it or do I have it?”
“Aye.”
She chuckled. “I am an educated woman, Sir, so neither. But the superstitions themselves have always served me well, thus I do not discourage their notions.”
If Elliott had thought the clamor was great when he lay in Fury’s cabin, it was deafening now, akin to that of a battle, without the sound of cannon fire or stench of brimstone. And when she emerged from the hatch …
“God almighty,” he whispered, coming up through the hatch after her to see nigh seven hundred fifty men and forty women gathered across the three ships, all bathed in the cool light of a full moon and the warm light of hundreds of lanterns hanging from all the lower yards.
Fury’s crew was standing and applauding. The crew of the Mad Hangman followed suit. She dropped into a deep curtsey, the ends of her loose hair brushing the deck.
She arose and looked around, then up toward the poopdeck of the Silver Shilling looming high above the Thunderstorm. She turned to him. “There,” she murmured, pointing to it. “Would you be so kind as to assist me, Captain?”
At that moment, watching her dignified grandeur, Elliott would have given her the world. Yet he only grunted, “Aye,” because he was so besotted he could not speak.
A dinghy was lowered to the Thunderstorm, into which he assisted her as if they were in a grand ballroom. Once she had her balance, it was slowly raised until it was level with the wale of the Silver Shilling. He swept her into his arms and set her gently on her feet.
She smiled at him and he was lost to her. She might fall in love with every flap of a sail, but Elliott had only done so once. He could not point to the moment, but some time in the past four days, he had given her his heart.
The makeshift orchestra had taken it upon itself to play some sort of entry march as she climbed higher and higher until she stood at the rail of the Silver Shilling’s poopdeck. She looked down to her musicians and nodded. Everyone settled in and grew silent as they began to play and Fury stood with her fingers clasped, relaxed, in front of her and her head bowed.
He saw Fury’s mother sitting on the main deck of the Mad Hangman in a chair next to the Hollander’s wife, who snuggled against her husband. Several of her crew then stood where they had sat before: ten men, four women.
Elliott intended to join his men down on the main deck, but her head snapped up and she said, “No, please, Judas. Stay.”
He did, seating himself on the deck at her feet, his back against the rail.
As the makeshift orchestra (which was, by comparison to the very few performances Elliott had ever attended, not particularly bad) wound down and finished that piece, Fury raised one hand.
All was still. Not a breath of wind. Not a stir of sail. Not a whisper of a voice. Then Fury dropped her hand and when the musicians began again, Elliott watched her raise and lower it again, both now, his astonishment growing as he realized she was conducting.
A strong male voice rang out over the still ocean.
“Comfort ye … comfort ye, my people … ”
Elliott closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the rail as he listened. To have a few musicians aboard a ship was, in Elliott’s opinion, an absolute necessity. To have as many as Fury did meant she had deliberately sought them out.
… good entertainment of an evening …
A degreed musician, who had not been able to rise above the chorus. Yet she could also conduct. Why was he surprised? A ship’s captain who was a trained musician should be able to lead an orchestra as well as a crew into battle.
The next piece, another male part. Elliott was already half enthralled, never mind she had not sung yet.
“Ev’ry valley … ev’ry valley shall be exalted … ”
He didn’t know what this was, but it sounded vaguely familiar.
Fury took a breath. “And the glory, the glory of the Lord … ”
The other women were singing with her, then all the men joined in. Fury was not overpowering her chorus, but all Elliott truly heard was Fury’s voice, high and pure. As she conducted, her kimono sleeves created a small breeze only Elliott could feel.
The night went on, Fury and a handful of her crew performing for three ships’ crews in the moonlight cast large over the still Atlantic. They were alone in the world, these three ships, and nothing could touch them.
The music wound around him, cradled him in its majesty and safety.
And then … Then!
“There were shepherds abiding in the fields … keeping watch by night … ”
Her voice, powerful but delicate, high and pure but warm. It rang out into the night without accompaniment, and he could indeed believe that she was a sorceress, keeping her crew safe from evil.
He drew his knees up to his chest and pressed his face into them to simply absorb the sounds.
… could not rise above the chorus …
Dear God in heaven, why?
… cannot maintain a sufficient vibrato …
He had no idea what that meant. He only knew he was at the feet of an angel in the guise of a pirate captain, one he had had the privilege of bedding.
“And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone ’round about them, and they were sore afraid … ”
His mind cast back to the moment Fury and Old Ben had descended from the platform, after which she had sent her girls up in the ratlines of the Silver Shilling with glasses. She had then bid Kit go to the platform she and Ben had just vacated, and keep watch.
Sails?
Nay. Nothing to be concerned over.
That was a lie, but he did not want to consider the truth overmuch.
The music went on and on for an hour, as skilled and joyous as it had begun, but Elliott knew this was the end of their idyll.
“Hallelujah … Hallelujah … ”
Her voice was majestic, powerful, blending in with her crew’s but rising above it, and with her voice gaining more strength, her arms began to rise slowly—
—as slowly as the dawn was breaking. She stood toward the east with her arms outstretched, her face to the sky as she sang to the rising sun.
“And he shall reign forever and ever … ”
And as the sun rose to worship her, he saw tears running down her cheekbones, down the valley of her ear and jaw.
Her voice gained strength and soared over the world, to the sun. Elliott heard nothing but her.
“For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth … Hallelujah, hallelujah … King of kings … And Lord of lords … And he shall reign forever and ever … Hallelujah, hallelujah—
“—’allayyyyyyyloooooooyaaaaaaa!”
Silence.
Fury dropped her arms whilst gasping for breath through her sobs, her chest heaving. At the first sniffle behind him, Elliott looked over his shoulder through the balusters to see hundreds of men wiping their noses. Some had buried their faces in their bandanas, their shoulders quaking. Fury’s mother was curled up in her chair, also sobbing. Even the Hollander, who cradled his weeping wife in his lap, pressed a thumb to his cheekbone.
whuuuuufffff
Elliott’s head snapped up to the topgallant sails, which began to flap, and his mouth dropped open.
whuff-snap!
A bit of breeze stirred the ends of Fury’s hair, now a blazing orange halo between the red sunrise and red silk.
A strong wind filled the sails, pushing all three ships forward together at once with a bevy of protesting groans.
“Begorra,” he heard a man whisper. “She summoned the wind.”
To a man, Elliott’s crew looked up at her in frightened awe. Elliott watched her, as stunned as his crew, as the corner of her mouth turned up.
The angel was disappearing and the pirate taking her place.
She cupped her hands ’round her mouth and bellowed, “SORT YOURSELVES OUT AND MAKE READY! WE SAIL IN ONE HOUR!”
Three ships’ crews scrambled to do her bidding, and Elliott blinked up at her. “I think Skirrow was right to fear your voice.”
She grinned. “Whisht!” She leaned down to him and whispered, “He was too busy fearing my voice to hear me sharpen my ax.”
If you don’t want to wait 2 years to get to the end, you can buy it here.
Fun chapter.
🥰
[opera applause]
So I’m going to assume that Eliot fakes his death to escape his family obligations.
And the King’s wrath.
Fuck you, JI. 😍😍😍
Obligatory?
Which by the way I find hysterical that he will take on another treasonous family name!
Story: JK Rowling told Alan Rickman Snape’s “secret” at the very beginning of the movies, when the series hadn’t finished yet, so he could adjust his performance accordingly.
She said about the same time, she had a random encounter with a fan who correctly guessed what the “secret” was.
I was like, dude, any romance reader knew the deal as soon as it was revealed Snape was a friend of Harry’s mom, in the first book.
Mo – technically those are children’s books. They haven’t seen the trope as often.
You have a point, but Rowling was utterly shocked that ANYONE got it at all, much less so fast.
Odd.
My reaction was “That’s supposed to be a character ‘Secret’?”
JI, I will tell you this: He thought of it as soon as he found out his father and brother had died, and he was the new earl. He’s made numerous plans. He just hasn’t had a reason motivating enough to cast off his duty.
Technically, being out to sea would offer many “opportunities” to disappear, but I would imagine it must be a bit tidier. You teased a bit about his getting Dunham’s blessing.
When you’re a noble, you can’t just disappear. Your death has to be proven so the title can pass, or you have to be gone X years, leaving the estate without its head, which is doable, but difficult.
Second, if Elliott were caught, he would be executed, but the entire family, his estate, his villeins, would all suffer greatly. The earldom would be forfeited, all its assets returned to the crown, and everyone associated with the earldom would be cast into the streets without a farthing.
So faking an earl’s death has its challenges.
I met him 3 weeks ago; I was told there was nothing left; no reason, no conscience, no understanding in even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, of good or evil, right or wrong. I met this… seven week old puppy with this blank, fluffy, emotionless face, and… the blackest eyes – the Devil’s eyes. I spent three weeks trying to reach him, and I’ll spend another seven trying to keep him locked up, because I realized that what was living behind that puppy’s eyes was purely and simply… evil.
We found this does a decent job of getting evil out of your carpets.
What is the Devil Dogs name?
Tulpa.
Butters. His name was Butters.
BEHOLD, THE HELL-BEAST, BUTTERS!
It has a ring to it.
You can introduce him to my hell-beast, the devourer of half a dozen bagels (that I had left on the counter to slice before freezing).
You bought the ticket, you take the ride, Bro.
Definitely. And with such a sweet face, who wouldn’t want too?
I’ve always liked this recording. Start at about 5:00 for Comfort Ye.
https://youtu.be/71NCzuDNUcg?si=tZehiWOUMCfGwYkQ
It includes my favorite version of For Unto us a Child is Born also.
I have that one! I have 5 performances of that and 5 of Carmina Burana.
Long ago, when both of my ears still worked, I used to sing the Hallelujah chorus with the choir on Easter Sunday.
I don’t even remember how I ended up with the CD of the London Philharmonic doing Messiah. It was a lifetime ago.
I sang in the RLDS Messiah Choir in the 90s. Alto. I was honestly shocked I made it in. (I also had a piano recital in that auditorium AND I saw a performance of Carmina Burana there.)
Yeah, that’s on another level. My church had a couple hundred people.
This was a lot of fun, an engaging chapter. Always fun for some fan service, as well!
“Do I believe it or do I have it?”
“Aye.”
This is interesting:
Civil war portraits AI-ed – colorized and animated, I guess?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rhiHpuB-DKU&t=95s
There were some hard mofos on both sides of that unpleasantness.
Hard mofos *back then* in general. If you survived childhood, you were a rough, tough sonnuva bitch. Plus much if your assigned birthing person survived your delivery.
Thought bubble, using the autism example frothing about: Sanitation and medical advancement are the biggest reasons for the child mortality rate dropping so drastically. But doesn’t it seem likely that many kids with many of the issues we see today, some legit and some not, IMO, if they were born back in the day, many /most woulda been kinda culled out of existence. Naturally, socially, culturally. (Runts don’t do well.)
Goes into the ‘hard times creating hard men’ idea, along with our current, coddling prosperity building the weakness *we* see in contemporary society. Makes sense, evolutionarily, and I reckon the previously wouldve-been-‘abandoned to-die’ kids have survived to spawn their genes into the pool, over-populating the generation(s) with traits that traditionally were highly counter-productive to human success.
We’ve become comfortable breeding weakness into our population. Yuck, that sounds nasty, but it’s actually good. We don’t abandon broken children to die in the woods. We’re rather special, in our timeline. No sarc. Good on us for giving a shit, but consequences.
The annoying part is that once upon a time, I could have named all those people before the names came on screen.
I have since forgotten which name went with a lot of those faces.
That always bring to mind the character and conditioning that would result in men marching shoulder to shoulder into likely death. My lack of military service is a gulf that separates me from those who have.
Good God…one year ’empty nesting’ and I am ready for them to leave again. Kids are so…draining.
😂😂😂
One at a time is a treat. They feed off each other when together and just become assho.
Timeline laid out though. You have 6 months and we are selling Vegas home. Get it together
They feed off each other when together and just become assho.
Yep. You can try to raise them right…
(I resemble that comment.)
It’s funny how having children is such a draining, lengthy and fraught process that evolution ‘designed’ sex to be so numbingly fun to promote every incentive that trick’s people into creating the most taxing burden a human can face. People don’t (*rarely*) volunteer to give up massive shares of vital resources on a project that, uh, doesn’t exactly carry its own weight. Especially for ~13 years. (Save the love, pride and accomplishment to hopefully be felt. And inherent cuteness.) Brains be crafty, making us all doe-eyed. Mostly for tits, but babies need tits. Dammit.
Nature don’t play, and her tricks dig deep with their mind-fuckery. Speaking of which, fucking sounds nice…
The are going to dissapoint you regardless. Yet I still love them.
Nah…we’ve supplanted human nature with ‘raising’ kids. Nature says toss em to the wolves. We say…not yet.
Until relatively recently in human history, children were put to work ASAP, at least with the gathering if not the hunting, then pitching in on the farm. It was that pesky Industrial Revolution that spoiled everything and made having kids earn their keep unfashionable and frowned upon.
‘Raising’ kids has always been done. Sports is just soldier training, readin’ for if they ain’t good at that. Household hands, farm work and more is the natural origin of family businesses, land, estates+.
@OBE: Word, but now ‘we’ send kids to college. Then, around 22yo we throw them to the new wolves of the world of Adulting. The ostensible adults have never had any experience, yettheir parents are befuddled how to even wonder why. They even, like, can’t even.
@ Gender Traitor:
I think it was with good reason that most cultures have their “becoming a man/woman” ritual at around age 13, after which the subject would no longer be considered a child but a sort of junior apprentice adult. They would have spent most of their time around other adults in some type of work.
They won’t reach a level of responsibility if we don’t guide them into those higher levels. If the kid turns 18 and has never had to do any work besides trivial household chores, they’re going to be totally unprepared for real life.
The continued postponing of adulthood is probably why we’re seeing such skyrocketing rates of anxiety, depression, and general lack of fortitude in young people (that, and rampant smartphone addiction).
Friday Funbags After Dark!
https://d84d5pvw336aha.archive.is/Uu5XG/f2c9cbca720df301055f0a501043c9df3b60ac98.jpg
NSFW.
https://d6m5hgaj1in5g4.archive.is/OGkLv/a46719b6ca19825ffbdfbcbf51d537dc6cef435d.jpg
NSFW.
https://d99298b6xk93qq.archive.is/F2jBB/b5f3afc6bb496a1934a367717cb10dea4b920671.jpg
NSFW.
https://dfzdhr98bvhsq4.archive.is/pMWiu/5a7b6e3bee7bb151472d21dc0458121e443e9bbd.jpg
NSFW.
https://d6xwnwyv5144ch.archive.is/A7JCu/9333e4b6650f97c22491ea8d53ab432fb460f418.jpg
NSFW.
#4 wins something special.
Hello contestant #4!
Hello.
Eve, OBE.
Odd it’s Friday night. Folk are off doin’ People things. I did nap extensively earlier, but I gotta get ready for my alarm in 3hr 30. Saturday mornings are less chill than the Sunday variety, but I more hope I don’t have to ‘Dispense’ to drivers and get to walk around in-store.
I also hope my incredibly cute manager works tomorrow. She strongly reminds me of The One that got away. (I was foolishly naive in youth, not seeing her Red Flags of attraction, and our mutual intellectual meld.) I highly doubt there’s any way we’d ever get along, especially as she’s quite much younger than me, but I will say. I’d love to inseminate her with the engineering perks of phallic rocket design.
Lift-Off in T-Minus 3.. 2… *kkchk* Dammit. That went off early. Normally that doesn’t happen. Sorry.
Mornin’ from Wally. Chill so far. No customer stories yet. Yesterday’s spotting was a woman with an artificial leg, above the knee. I’ve seen a few of those. One was a dude missing both above the knee.
Gets your attention. So does my manager’s entire cute-itude. Facebook found her without my asking. I strongly approve.
How’s the morn?
Yarr! Mornin you scallywags!
🏴☠️🌅☕️
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZTBdJei9gB8
🎶🎶
Morning!
Today’s special at the diner is either an open faced sandwich or an eggs Benedict variation.
Split biscuit
Turkey (real not deli!)
Tomato
Bacon
Sauce Mornay.
Much yum.
Good morning, NA, Sean, and EfE!
Oh, and poached eggs of course.
“Turkey (real not deli!)”
That’s very rare.