Howel Davis (Post 16)

Thankfully, it was not difficult, getting signed to work aboard the Mumvil Trader as a cabin boy. I happened to know quite a bit about seafaring at this point, and showed off my knowledge with a flourish. Either because the first mate was impressed, or maybe because he wanted to shut me up, he gave me the job.

As I walked through Nassau, I felt a thrill surge through me. I would not be on the same ship as Howel, but I would be with him. He didn’t want me, but I had a mission, and that mission was nothing less than preventing the man I loved from dying. Before I left New Providence, however, there was one more thing I had to do.

I found Ruth in her hut, sitting in that dark, smoky corner. I wondered, for a second, if she had even moved since I’d seen her last. “Ruth?” I said. “It’s me, Sabrina.”

Ruth stared at me, the hint of a smile on her lips. Unlike the first time, she was not surprised to see me today. As if she had been expecting me at that very moment. I blinked, my eyes tearing and my nose burning from the powerful scent of spice as she stood and murmured something in her native language. She turned her back to me, going about her business, and said, “I have been waiting for you.”

God, this chick made me nervous. “I see that,” I replied. “Uh, so… How have you been?”

Ruth turned to me abruptly, her good eye flashing, her scar livid. Clearly, there was going to be no small-talk with her. “The spirits favor you, Sabrina,” she said.

“Ha,” I said dryly. “That’s funny. Because I thought they were pissed at me.”

Ruth didn’t crack a smile, her dark face fixated on mine. I felt the flesh on my arms crawl as her eyes glazed over and she went somewhere far, far away. It must have gotten several degrees cooler in the small, dark hut, and I swore I felt a breeze, even though there wasn’t a window or a door open. The urge to run out struck me, but before I could act on it Ruth said, “You can go back… one who got here like you, he know how… he… black pirate…”

I was afraid to speak, to break her trance, but no fewer than a hundred questions popped into my head. I felt nauseous, dumbstruck. A way back? One who got here the same way I did?

A black pirate, who got here the same way I did, knew the way back.

Holy shit.

Then Ruth looked at me, finally seeing me. The air grew warmer, her eyelids drooped. She turned back to what she’d been doing before going into her trance. “You want coffee? I put rum in it.”

“No,” I said, shaken. “Ruth… What you just told me… Who is this black pirate?”

She shrugged, stirred the dark liquid, presumably rum-spiked coffee, in her mug. No wonder she was having visions — that was one serious drink. “Not know,” she replied simply.

“Is he from the future?”

“Not know.”

Oh, Christ. The trance was over, and I wouldn’t be able to get another word out of her. I flopped down on a stool, cradling my head in my hands and groaning. “God, Ruth, tell me more! Please! How do I find him?”

Ruth looked at me, the pink color returned to her scar, a crooked smile on her lips. “He come to you, Sabrina.”

“Oh,” I replied. I thought for a second. “But I’m leaving Nassau tomorrow…”

Ruth laughed. It was the first time I had ever heard her laugh, and it was, quite frankly, terrifying. Not the laugh itself — it was quite a beautiful laugh, actually — but the unexpectedness of it that was frightening. I jumped. “What? What’s so funny?”

She offered me a mug and took a sip from hers. Her eye twinkled. I stared for a moment, then took the mug. Rum-spiked coffee sounded good right about now. I asked, “So do I go back?”

Ruth rolled her good eye and sighed. “Not know.”

Of course.

I shuffled back to Nan’s, feeling both buzzed and hyper. I wasn’t changing my plans. Ruth said this black pirate would find me. But was my fate within my control? Could any of us — Howel Davis, Edward England — change our fates? If, for instance, I decided to stay in Nassau rather than follow Howel, would the pirate still find me? It was all so confusing. While I vibrated with excitement (and too much caffeine) at the the thought of returning to Sophie and Jake, I simply dreaded the thought of leaving Howel. If I had to choose between preventing Howel’s death and going back to 2009… I shut my eyes and took a deep breath — I’d cross that road when I got to it. One step at a time, Sabrina.

But then, who said I had to leave him? Maybe he could go back with me. I stopped suddenly in the middle of the road as people and carts and horses milled by me, and doubled over with laughter. Just the thought of Howel in 2009 was so absurd. What in God’s name would an 18th century sailor and potential pirate do in 2009? Get a nine-to-five desk job? And what, exactly, would I tell Jake? Yeah, Jake, um, this is my friend Howel Davis… I’m madly in love with him and couldn’t stand to leave him in 1718, so… Maybe we can make this work?

I stopped laughing and instantly became somber, ignoring the strange looks I was getting from passers-by. He would never go back with me — he didn’t even love me.

The next day I hugged Nan and her girls good-bye once again and, with my little knapsack slung over my shoulder, made my way to the sloop Mumvil Trader. Beside it, the Buck bobbed in the harbor, its crew amassed on deck. My heart leaped — somewhere in that crowd was Howel Davis.

The crews of the two sloops were a colorful lot; mostly pardoned pirates, with a few sailors fresh from England sprinkled in. It was a dangerous game Rogers was playing, hiring a bunch of ex-pirates to sail these heavily armed sloops. I looked at their faces: hardened sailors, criminals, most of them, who’d tasted the good life of that “sweet trade” and were hungry to go back. No, I couldn’t say this looked good for Woodes Rogers.

The captain of the Buck, one Jonathan Bass, stood on the quarterdeck of the sloop-of-war and addressed his crew. I climbed into the shrouds of the Mumvil Trader to get a better look at the deck of its sister ship, scanning it for the face of Howel Davis. It wasn’t difficult, since he shined like a beacon to me, his handsome face fierce with concentration, his blue eyes blazing. I blinked. Something was wrong.

Captain Bass was talking, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I squinted, trying to see what Howel was glowering at. I finally looked at the man standing beside Bass, an air of authority about him in his nice new jacket and shiny leather boots.

It was none other than Ned Taylor.

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