Chapter Text
I was a boy when I first set a foot on a boat to join a crew. I had a few coins in my pockets and a sword tied to my belt, but my face was round and my body was puny. I looked like a child pretending to be a man. Nonetheless, my innocent subterfuge was enough to get me hired by Marius de Romanus, the captain of The Exhibition, a ship of art merchandise. I remember speaking to him with the slang I borrowed from workers on the quays, my fingers wrapped around the rosary hidden under my shirt to find confidence. He barely talked to me, but on the next day, I was part of his crew, sailing to Italy with a collection of canvas in the holds. For a decade, I proudly believed that my credibility convinced my captain to recruit me. Turned out entertainment was the only skill he saw in me.
Years later, those upsetting memories flooded my mind as I heard a group of orphans begging a wealthy captain to engage them on his vessel. They were young disabled boys, dressed in stinky ragged clothes. There was no chance for them to be hired and they seemed painfully aware of their fate. Sickened, I decided to look away. I was not a child anymore, but the captain of my own ship, sitting in a crowded tavern in the port of Tortuga. Yet, it was like a part of me had never left the deck of The Exhibition.
My crew and I were sailing away the next morning, therefore I had little time to enjoy my stopover. As I finished my glass of rhum, I tried to ignore the loud noises coming from the other tables. A violinist was playing music behind me. He wasn’t as skilled as a professional musician, but one could easily hear his enthusiasm through the rhythm of the melody. If I were more inebriated, maybe I would have joined the sailors dancing around him. There was no musician on my ship and sometimes, especially on bad days, I missed hearing the joyful tune of an instrument. For a second, I even considered enrolling him in my crew, but I quickly got rid of that idea : I remembered all too well what happened with the last one.
I was about to pay the wench for my drink when a hand slammed a couple of coins on the counter. On my right, a young man was grabbing a chair to sit next to me. His brown curls were messy and his impish blue eyes were staring at me in a strange way. It was like he knew something about me I wasn’t aware of yet.
“For his drink and for two more.” he told the wench with a delightful smile.
I gazed at the enigmatic man, perplexed. In Tortuga, one would never take care of your bill unless it was to obtain a sex or a business deal. The stranger hadn’t spoken to me yet and I was already evaluating his motivations.
“You’re a pirate, ya ?” he simply questioned me.
I couldn’t tell if he was serious or if the alcohol was making him stupid. I raised my eyebrows at him, confused.
“Do you know where you are ?” I asked, pointing at the iron sign of the tavern.
The man let out a husky chuckle. Our drinks arrived and I grabbed my glass, pleased to finally have something to keep my hands busy.
“Now you probably think I am an idiot, but that’s not it.” He replied, taking his drink to his lips.
I gave a brief look at his clothes. The brown shirt he was wearing was old, stained at the extremity of the sleeves and repaired several times, but the fabric was of good quality. Moreover, it was not worn out by salt, unlike mine. He had a strong accent, but I couldn’t determine his social class well. Rather than an idiot, I thought that man looked lost in such a sailors' lair.
“Well, you are wondering if a stranger sitting in the most frequented tavern of Tortuga is a pirate. What else should I think of you ?” I said, unsure of what he was expecting from me.
“Not everyone here is a pirate, sir.”
“Even the prostitutes who work here have already set a foot on a stolen boat.” I contradicted him.
“I am not a prostitute, sir.”
I could sense the tease in his tone as his wide eyes shone. Annoyed by how blurry his intentions were, I stayed on my guard. It was almost dawn and the conversation was going nowhere. In fact, the conversation was slowly sinking into nonsense. I think my face betrayed my frustration because my enthusiastic interlocutor suddenly became tense. I tapped my fingers around the edge of my glass, waiting for the young man to talk again. However, it seemed like he misinterpreted my quietness for disinterest, which made the situation more awkward for him. He was staring at me out of the corner of his eye, unsure about whether or not he should break his silence.
“Alright, you are not a prostitute. Who are you then ?” I asked him, out of impatience and curiosity.
My question shifted his behaviour. He turned his body towards me, a large smile parting his lips. He sipped his rhum and a hint of suspense appeared in his voice as he declared :
“I am a writer.”
Proud of his revelation, the mysterious stranger played with the coins in his purse, waiting for my reaction.
“A writer ? What is a writer doing in Tortuga ? I thought y’all were city men.” I asked.
“You are right. However, if any city man can be a writer, only travellers are good ones.”
“I guess so. Yet, I am not sure to understand what a good writer would search for in Tortuga ?”
“I am searching for a treasure.” He said in a tone of confidence as he leaned his head towards me.
His breath smelled like smoke and alcohol. As intriguing as that man seemed, I was convinced that half of his words were influenced by the substances he had taken. Nonetheless, the incoherence of his speech didn’t tone my curiosity down.
“Now, why is a writer paying for my drink ?”
For a second, the mysterious writer remained silent and I couldn’t tell if his eyes lit up due to lust or excitement. His expression changed too fast for me to guess and my focus went back on his story, as he pointed at the sword tied to my belt, amused.
“Aren’t you a pirate, sir ?”
“Captain.” I replied immediately.
The man frowned as he finished his drink.
“I am a captain, sir.” I repeated, insisting on the last word to gently mock him.
“Yeah ?”
“Yeah.”
The music became louder to cover up the noise of a fight between a group of customers. Instinctively, I raised my head in their direction. I had to make sure that none of my sailors were involved in such a scrap the night before our great expedition. I caught sight of a familiar face, but it wasn’t a member of my crew, so I allowed myself to relax. When I directed my focus back on my interlocutor, he was so close that he was almost sitting on my chair. With a broad smile, he begged :
“I want you to take me.”
The wench cackled as she cleared the table from our drinks.
“It’s ten more coins for a room, sweetheart.” she muttered.
“I beg your pardon ?” I let out, not sure who I was talking to.
But the wench was already gone and only the writer could answer me. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes shiny.
“Take me on your boat. With you, I mean.”
So it was a business deal. I didn’t know much about him, not even his name, but I was sure of one thing : he was a terrible businessman. I could sense his anxiety as much as his impatient enthusiasm just with a brief stare. Moreover, we had been discussing for long minutes now and I barely had an idea of his motivations.
“You are not a sailor, then why would I hire you ?” I asked, genuinely confused.
“Oh, but I’ve already travelled by boat, captain.” He hurried to inform me.
“Is that supposed to convince me ? I’ve already told you, even children and prostitutes here have travelled by boat once in their life, it’s a port.”
“I know how to be useful on a ship, that’s what I mean. My grandfather owns a sailing boat and he taught me a few things, like hoisting sails and reading a compass.” He claimed with a desperate voice.
“If your grandfather owns a boat, why do you need my help to travel, writer ?” I finally asked, suspicious.
The young man sighed and took a notebook out of the leather bag tied to his hips. The red cover was damaged at the corners but once again, its quality was incontestable. His stained fingers ran through the pages and stopped right in the middle, between two blank ones.
“To discover the world, you have a boat and I have a quill. Writing is just my way of doing it. I have written about merchants, farmers, maids, blacksmiths, and even prostitutes. They explained their work to me, some even shared their little secrets. They told me their story and I wrote it down to feed my curiosity.
“Oh, I thought you were one of those new types of writers who imagine long whimsical stories.” I interrupted him, aware of my error of judgment.
“You mean a novelist ?”
“Probably yes.”
“Well, I am not very good at writing fiction, even though I enjoyed reading extracts from Homere a lot.” he exclaimed, passionate about such a topic.
Only wealthy people had the privilege to study latin transcriptions of antique authors. I was struggling to grasp the identity of my interlocutor and my curiosity hardened as the conversation evolved.
“Your speciality is studying people then ?” I asked.
“One could say that.”
“And then, what, you want to study me ?”
The ambiguity of my own tone caught me off-guard and I tried my best to hide my surprise from the writer. We were finally having a productive discussion, I didn’t want to blur the lines once again. Fortunately, he paid no attention to my awkward moment of hesitation.
“I want to study piratery.” He corrected me.
His answer made me snort a little. He sounded like a child.
“Why don’t you ask the supreme head of the East India Company about that ? They seem to know a lot about this subject.” I suggested, my voice distorted by irony.
“Enough to hang a man, probably, but he knows nothing about the sea and its secrets. They are greedy men, they are blind to the real treasures of sailing.”
“Have you tried writing about fishermen ?”
My last question had the only purpose to tease him. My intention succeeded according to the funny shape his eyebrows were making. He held his face in his hand and let out a cry of protestation.
“I want to write about pirates, captain. I want to learn about their habits and struggles, I want to discover the world through their eyes.” he explained, frenzied.
I contemplated him for a moment. It was so difficult to form a proper opinion about him. He was passionate and intriguing, but disconcerting and unprepared to whatever he was asking for. His bright eyes were emphasizing his emotions the same way watercolour spreads at the contact of water : he looked excited and desperate at the same time. A part of me wanted to accept his request, a part of me even thought of letting him write my logbook. Yet, I couldn’t find a genuine reason to trust him. In just a few hours, I was about to begin the most important quest of my life and I couldn’t allow myself to make any mistake. It did not only engage me, I owed it to the rest of my crew. Regretfully, I cleared my throat and told him :
“I don’t deal with nameless strangers.”
I believed my statement would get him downhearted, but he replied with the same delightful energy :
“I am Daniel Molloy. And I am not a stranger, I paid for your drink, remember ?”
His tone was challenging and his smile was so big that I could barely focus on anything else. My polite refusal had failed to discourage him. I was about to be more explicit when suddenly, it hit me. The name.
“Molloy, you said ?”
The man nodded and his grip on the red notebook tightened. I focused on the features of his face, as if it held all the answers. Could it be possible ? His messy brown hair looked similar to the old Molloy I once knew, but not his eyes : they held way too much hope. It was like seeing a ghost and my mind became foggy. Without thinking twice, I heard myself pronouncing those three words :
“You are hired.”
The young Molloy stood up so fast that his chair almost fell to the floor. He scrutinised me. He probably thought I was making fun of him. To make my intentions clear, I added :
“I am the captain of the Black Angel and I will set sail with my crew at sunrise. Don’t be late, Mr Molloy.”
I was about to join my room upstairs when the voice of my new sailor called me out.
“Hey, you have not even told me your name !”
I turned back to face him. After all, behind all this mess, I could sense enough mischief to make a pirate out of this writer.
“Armand. My name is Armand. But for you, it is Captain from now.”