Chapter 9 #3
“Literally cannot?” Everard laughed. “Is there a going rate of ruinous extortion? Surely, there are only the two options, bribery or violence. As a rule of piracy.”
“As a rule of humanity,” Vitaliy agreed, “it is one or the other. And…” He smiled. “…Not literally incapable, no. I am sorry to say he is a successful pirate.”
Everard took a moment to think why this statement had so lacked braggadocio, framed with the typical polite modesty as it had been. Maybe it was the third-person distancing. Or perhaps just Everard’s own radical views on capital tinging the matter.
“He’s wealthy, you mean.”
“Yes. You might see for yourself soon,” Vitaliy said lightly. “Still, we must find some alternative than that he has compensated you financially for your loyalty. Varfolomey’s influence is almost all in hearsay. A pirate’s reputation is everything he is.”
The man was very reyish, after all; he only lacked a rubied crown. Everard let it slide, because it was true. What he’d done had felt rather like loyalty.
“You would rather men—other pirates—turn tail than engage him. As I understand, that’s been the point of insignia for millennia. But, you’ll pardon me for asking, how does escaping His Majesty’s noose make him any lesser in the Caribbean?”
“There are governments there, recognised and unrecognised—”
“Ha?ti?” Everard interjected; Vitaliy nodded.
“—that depend on others’ reception of my trade.
Governments that I depend on receiving my trade,” Vitaliy emphasised.
“It’s all connected, sticky, like web. None of them must think I am connected in any way to the Crown, or they will reject me and my ships and my people out of fear of their own betrayal, or worse. ”
“But if you are American, is that not just as bad?”
Vitaliy paused. “It would be,” he admitted. “But while you know my true name and heritage, there are few who do. Very few.”
That gave Everard a happy thrill. The truth.
“And so Varfolomey…” he prompted.
“Is my grandfather’s name. Also was Russian.”
“I gathered,” Everard said dryly. “And so has everyone else—I suppose that’s the idea? Russians are goddamned vicious sailors, I’ll give you that.”
Vitaliy smiled. “And there are almost none of them in America.”
“But we have—the English, I mean—the Royal Navy—I trained a company or two of Russians. They’ve been allies once or twice. Is that not also too close an association?”
“Mm,” Vitaliy agreed. “Yes, you are seeing my predicament. And now”—he pointed to Everard—“three Englishmen have saved me. The Navy let me run. How does it look? It looks like I am now the Crown’s.”
“Let you?” Everard gestured round the coffeehouse. “You haven’t even run yet!”
Vitaliy ignored this. “But you see that they will not attribute it to my especial skill in escaping fetters.”
“They’ll credit me, the supposed bribee.”
“The supposed bribee, who is following lead from the admiralty, maybe.”
“That is bloody absurd.” Everard laughed bitterly.
“The admiralty were going to arrest me! Is this the whole problem, my being English? Is that why you were so angry at me, pulling you from that hold? I saved your life, maybe, but also wrecked your legacy? Well, I’m sorry I am who I am, but there’s nothing I can do about having been in the service.
I may forge evidence, create it out of almost nothing, but it doesn’t go the other way.
I can’t erase myself and my record from existence. ”
Vitaliy leaned in close, so that the stream of sunlight fell over him in profile. His eyes were lit into turquoise ocean, his hair ignited into gold.
“Do not never be sorry for who you are,” he said fiercely. “I am not angry at you for being Navy. To be upset at that thing would make me… a hypocrite. Especially since you gave that thing away for me, my life.”
Everard was stunned. “All right,” he agreed. “I shan’t, then.”
Satisfied again, Vitaliy sat back. “You forged evidence, too?” he asked, after a moment.
Vitaliy really hadn’t gone through his trunk. If he had, he’d have seen C’s letters.
“I did,” Everard said. “That was my plan when I thought you were innocent—not a pirate. Before it all went to shit and murder. I’d kept a few letters from an old acquaintance whose hand I know quite well… it was a matter of hours to forge more.”
Vitaliy looked even more resolved. Towards what, Everard was becoming increasingly curious.
“Look here,” Vitaliy said. “Your being Navy is only a… complication. A fact. But it still may ruin my reputation… if we do not make it popular that your motivation for saving me was something else than money, or king and country.”
“Oh, well, good,” Everard said, sarcastically. He crossed his arms. “I hope you’ve remembered that I am not at all motivated by such things as sentiment, nor nights shared.”
Vitaliy laughed. “No, no—you’ve guessed it! That is my solution. If you will agree to it.” He grinned, and three years were gone, disappeared.
“Er… what? What do you mean?”
“It is perfect,” Vitaliy said. “It suits both our needs. You do not want to be left behind, and I cannot be known as in bed with the English.”
In the corner of Everard’s vision, Vitaliy’s right hand reappeared from beneath the table, came close to his own. He tapped something solid-sounding onto the table.
“Unless actually in bed. With one Englishman.”
“I’m not really…” Everard looked down. Between his thumb and forefinger, Vitaliy held—
“What?” Everard exclaimed.
—a wide golden band of a ring.
“Yes,” Vitaliy said seriously. “Everard, marry me.”