Other Islands

by Andrea Jones

  Once again, Hook experienced that fleeting sense of brotherhood, an awareness of shared desires. Further, Hook himself was once condemned to solitude, just as Jill’s husband was a lone man now. Thoughtfully, the commodore considered the captain, and, as he did, he resolved to call upon the occupants of the House in the Clearing. It was time he paid his respects to Lily.

  And Hook was curious. He found it useful to familiarize himself with all that transpired on the Island. Hook’s association with Jill had stirred in him a thirst for stories. In more ways than one, his thirst was stimulated this afternoon. He and Cecco, indeed, shared common desires.

  Lily was certain to know the story of the raven-haired beauty.

  CHAPTER 11

  Secrets of Unity

  Hearing boots on the steps, Jill opened the door to her men. She flung herself into their arms, Hook on her right, Cecco on her left. After her concerns, their double embrace felt wholly satisfying. “I am so glad to see you— to see you both.” She kissed each one, receiving fervent returns, and when she pulled away, a damp patch darkened the right side of her dressing gown. “Oh, but you must get dry, Hook. Come in! Mr. Smee, please see to the commodore.”

  Smee smiled wryly to hear a second unnecessary command today, but he merely nodded and shut the door. “Aye, Madam. I’ll do that.”

  Hook gestured to the dining table. “If you please, Captain, seat yourself. Jill, will you do the wifely thing and pour your husband a drink? The cognac, I believe.”

  “Of course I will. Giovanni,” Jill waited while Cecco removed his weapons, then she took possession of his arm and accompanied him to the dining area at the aft starboard corner of the cabin, bathed in the light of a setting sun. It was here she settled with Cecco when he was first elected captain, when she dined with him, pretending to eat but grieving for Hook, second-guessing her decision to become his successor’s mistress. So many meals they had shared together, so many plans laid, here in the glimmer of the silver candelabra on this round, polished table. And on the window seat, just behind it, she had proposed to become Cecco’s wife. Avoiding his eyes, Jill drew out a cushioned chair for him, then skirted away to the sideboard to find the finest bottle of cognac.

  Cecco delighted in watching her. He sensed she was remembering, as he, too, was doing. “On the lower right, Lady. As I recall.” He smiled.

  “Yes.” She caught the nostalgia in his gaze, then looked away. Having located the bottle, she set out four snifters.

  Cecco stood to draw the cognac from her hands. Along with the emeralds Hook had given her, he saw the luster of his own ring on her fingers. “Allow me.”

  “Thank you. Thank you for everything.” Her eyes looked deep into his. “I can’t begin to tell you…”

  “Then do not attempt to.” He uncorked the bottle and poured, salivating as the burnt wine aroma of cognac rose to their noses, and then he seated her. Neither lifted a glass; both turned toward the commodore, waiting.

  Smee had stripped the shirt, boots and breeches off his master, and the soggy garments now huddled at the foot of the wardrobe, giving off a smell of mud, while Hook supported himself with a hand on the carved back of the couch.

  Smee pronounced, “You look to be undamaged, Sir. But I see you’re favoring that right ankle.”

  “Yes. I wrenched it in the riverbed. Nothing serious.”

  “I’ll be making up an arnica dressing for it. Lelaneh gave me a fresh supply of her herbs. Keep the weight off it, now.”

  Cecco observed as Smee released a clip and, cautiously, disengaged the leather harness from Hook’s arm and shoulders. The Irishman picked up a towel and rubbed it vigorously over the commodore’s honed, muscular body. Cecco was reminded of classical statues he had seen when he was a gypsy boy wandering the Italian countryside. Some of those marble bodies, too, were broken but beautiful, their limbs or faces nicked by time.

  Smee gathered Hook’s hair in the folds of the towel to press the water away. “It’s a good thing you wore your second-best boots today. Tom Tootles will have a job to do, drying them out. And I’ll be tending your hook right away, Sir. A fair piece of oiling it’ll need, after the soaking it took this afternoon.”

  Cecco found himself staring at the harness where it lay upon the carpet, the gleaming, wicked hook inert at last. He had viewed it once before when he presumed the commodore dead, and it had filled him with gypsy superstition. But he had never glimpsed the workings of the commodore’s weakness as the man lived and breathed beside it. For many long years, only Smee had witnessed that sight.

  Nor had Cecco laid eyes on the crippled wrist since the day his commander— known as Captain James in those days— fell to his knees in agony, baring his teeth and clutching his arm to his breast as it bled. The Island boy, aided by a blinding ray of sun on his blade, had severed the captain’s hand from his arm. Cecco remembered the horror of that moment. With his fellow members of Hook’s crew, he was stunned to behold the maiming of his leader— his heretofore unbeatable leader— at the height of his manhood. The crew were shocked by the shrill, joyous laughter of the child, as he hovered with a gory sword in one hand, and a gory hand in the other. When he tossed it, the lunge of the crocodile as it consumed the captain’s hand seemed tame compared to the violence of that child. The suddenness, the senselessness of his act laid Hook’s men low, too.

  Cecco recalled the gloom that reigned on the Roger in the following days: the groans that rose from the captain’s quarters, the harried voice in which Smee sent Noodler scurrying to fetch this and that. For days, no one spoke of the captain’s wound, even below decks in their hammocks. Two other men had been killed outright as the wild boys took advantage of the chaos, and Cecco and his mates sewed them into their hammocks, weighted with shot at their feet, consigning their remains to the waters. Smee had ordered Mullins to set a course for the nearest mainland and, grimly, the men put to sea, with none of the eagerness, none of the songs or ribaldry that usually accompanied the turning of the capstan and the raising of the anchors. Like a phantom ship, the Roger had slipped from her mooring and ghosted toward a moonless sea. Unable to catch sight of their captain, the men’s imaginations filled his ship with speculation. Rumor had it the captain was feverish, was mad, was dead. But Smee kept discipline, barking orders and shoving bowls of blood and bandages onto the companionway, for Noodler to carry away.

  Smee’s doctoring saved Captain James; the ingenuity of a harness maker salvaged him. Another visit, to a blacksmith, and James was never seen again. Captain Hook took his place, a man more volatile, more bitter, and more determined than even his former incarnation had been. Where he was once strict as a disciplinarian, he was now vindictive. And he was demon-driven to conquer his crippling. When the pain receded to a slow, constant throb, the captain took up his cutlass— in his left hand— and fought every man aboard, day in and day out, until no one could best him. Once he’d mastered the cutlass, he handled his rapier, fighting duel after duel with Gentleman Starkey, the finest swordsman afloat. To this day, Starkey’s scar-marked face bore witness to the captain’s progression.

  Hook had never cultivated the society of his men, and his maiming widened the distance. When he wasn’t fencing, he retired to his cabin. Sometimes the men heard the harpsichord singing, plaintive songs, bawdy songs, stormy symphonies— but all missing some fundamental dimension. One-handed music. Silence might ensue, but when the captain emerged from his lair to stalk alone upon the quarterdeck, blots of ink stained his cuffs. Months churned by like the sea, then years. Hook regained his abilities, but— until Jill— he never found his civility.

  Beholding the bald, mottled stump that caused so much suffering, Cecco wondered about his own civility. Confronted by the mutilation that the harness disguised, by the helplessness of the stub so cleverly cloaked by that claw, Cecco debated. Did he have the right to steal Hook’s hand from him, again? Jill was everything the commodore had lost in that battle. She restored him, body and soul, to wholeness. Cuttin
g her from Hook’s side might amount to a second mutilation.

  Cecco looked at Hook’s face, and was startled to find the dark blue eyes intent upon him, as if Hook read his thoughts. That wily intelligence was seldom hoodwinked. Cecco had studied his commander for years. He owed his own success to the lessons he had learned from Hook. By now, Cecco was canny enough to appreciate the man’s manipulations. And all at once, Cecco understood why Hook had invited him here. His rival had seized the opportunity today’s misfortune provided, and used it. Hook designed this scene for Cecco’s edification. Exposing his weakness, Hook cemented his strength. In a physical demonstration, he reminded Cecco of his needs. Hook needed Jill— and he needed Smee. Cecco squinted into those eyes, acknowledging the lesson, admiring the man’s method while begrudging his victory. Without a doubt, Hook still stood as master.

  And Jill, as his mistress.

  Abruptly, Cecco turned away and grasped his glass. No longer waiting on courtesy, he hoisted the cup in salute to his wife. “To the Lady, our lovely one,” Cecco swiveled his gaze toward Hook, “who, most fortunately, possesses two hands.” Jill blinked in surprise, and Cecco drank.

  He wasn’t certain, but through the bevels of his snifter, he thought he saw Hook’s half-smile. Yet when he set the glass down, no trace of amusement remained.

  “Do have another drink, Captain.” Hook slid into the dressing gown Smee held open for him, a handsome affair of maroon, silk, and velvet with a rich ruby sheen and buttons like jewels. Smee worked the buttons, then gathered up the harness and the clothing and excused himself from the commodore’s quarters.

  “No, Mr. Smee. Send my things away, and join us at the table. We’ve matters to discuss.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir. Right away.” Smee left, quickly replaced by Noodler, who touched his tricorn to the officers before swabbing up the puddles on the floor. The sailor exited as Smee returned to sit with the commodore, the captain, and the lady. Smee’s busy hands began rubbing oil into the hardened leather of the hook’s harness.

  Raising his glass, Hook proposed his own toast. “To Captain Cecco. My thanks for your commendable performance.”

  Cecco nodded, and the others drank to him.

  “You may put it about, gentlemen, that I intend to show my gratitude to the company, as well. I shall host a celebration of our success.”

  Smee looked up from his work. “That’s right good news, Commodore. The lads will look forward to it.”

  “Aye, Sir, they earned a reward,” affirmed the captain of Red Lady. “Every man tended his duty, and speedily. Even my Frenchmen.”

  “Agreed.” Hook said. “I am satisfied with the new sailors’ performance. Today’s incident was a test of their courage, not to mention their loyalty. Facing the natives in battle fury is never easy, even when one is accustomed to their methods.” Hook sipped and savored his drink, as if the harrowing affair of this afternoon had happened to some other man. “The festivities will take place in a few days’ time, on the beach of the bay. I’ll allow the men to anticipate the revelry, and by then Jill’s strength and my ankle are certain to be improved. I trust you have satisfied yourself as to the lady’s health, Captain?”

  Cecco gazed upon Jill, glad of an excuse to do so, and lingering on her loveliness. With her loved ones restored to her, she appeared wan, but recovered in spirit. Cecco replied, “Aye, Commodore. But please, Madam, to me your well-being is primo— my first concern. You will rest yourself.”

  “I will. You needn’t be anxious for me.”

  Hook set down his cognac, laying his hand and his stump upon the gloss of the tabletop. “And now to business. I am not displeased with today’s misadventure. It gave me the opportunity to accomplish my aims. First, we have solved a mystery, apprehending the thief who preyed upon our ladies.”

  “Oh,” Jill exclaimed. “I’d forgotten. Giovanni, you’ll remember him. It is David, the cabin boy from the Unity.”

  “David? Ah, yes. That is his name. I thought I had seen him before.”

  Smee snorted. “He’s a cheeky lad. You’d best keep a short leash on that one, Ma’am.”

  “Not to worry, Mr. Smee. I believe David worships me.”

  “As do we all.” The Irishman grinned.

  Cecco sent a black look to Smee. “I see no need for my lady to entertain worshippers. Surely two husbands and two lovers are enough.”

  Hook bridled, and Smee’s hands ceased their labors over the hook. His ruddy face turned redder, but he didn’t dare retort. Smee might be Hook’s first mate, bo’sun, and steward, but Cecco was a captain.

  Jill’s expression grew sober. “I possess only one true husband, Giovanni. And one true lover.”

  “Signora,” Cecco shook his head. “So loyal— to all the men she loves.” Murmuring, he said, “Fortunate men.” Cecco huffed in Smee’s direction, then turned to Hook’s disapproving eye. “But how does this David come to be on the Island?”

  “Jill will question him tomorrow to discover his story. Tonight he lies a prisoner in my brig. The twins forewarned us, and we waylaid him, of all places, at the crocodile’s grotto.”

  “Yes,” said Cecco, “When I frightened him at the Clearing this morning, he ran that direction. But what were you doing in that foul place?”

  Jill answered, quietly, “We laid flowers from the Fairy Glade at the tomb of the Lost Boys. It was my first opportunity to pay my respects. But I never dreamed we’d find another lost boy there.”

  Hook said, “Judging by his appearance, I should say your David is as lost as any. Possibly more so.”

  “Yes, the poor dear. The Island certainly confused him. He seems not to have arrived here by choice.”

  “Magic, then,” Hook replied. “No wonder the lad is baffled. I predict he will be even more mystified before he leaves the Neverland. I gather he possesses a limited imagination.”

  “Except where his idol is concerned.” Jill smiled.

  Hook returned it. “Indeed, my love. Now to the next order of business. The second of today’s accomplishments is the establishment of truce for the Clearing. The native people now understand that I will punish violation of the peace there. I expect that the ladies, and Jill’s twins, and even my sailors will be safe in that sanctuary. Captain Cecco, Mr. Smee— you will inform the company of this truce. On no account will I allow my men to disturb the tranquility of the Clearing. I vowed to protect all who visit there, Indians of both sexes included. I will brook no excuses of drunkenness or provocation. Any violation of my decree will meet severe penalty.”

  Smee asked, “With what punishment, if you please, Commodore?”

  “I shall abandon such an offender to the justice of the natives.”

  “Aye, Sir. That should do it.” Smee nodded. “You’ve set my mind at rest for Lily.”

  “A harsh penalty, but a just one,” Cecco agreed.

  “Third,” Hook continued, “as is my policy before any enemy, I cast doubt on my devotion to our lady. You must understand this tactic, Captain, and lend credibility to my misinformation. I learned at the village what I have heretofore suspected: the Indians are keen to capture Jill. They were, perhaps, more eager to scalp and kill my ‘wife’ today than to dispense with me.”

  Smee’s eyes enlarged behind his spectacles. “But why, Sir? What’s the lady ever done to them?”

  “It isn’t what she’s done. It is what she might do.”

  As Hook’s thoughts communicated his meaning to her, Jill paled. “No.”

  “As a single man, I pose less of a threat. Once I head a clan, the natives will seek to emasculate me— through my offspring. You must faithfully follow Lelaneh’s instructions, my love, and continue imbibing her tea. My disinclination to father children is no longer the primary factor. It has never been more important to deny me a son.”

  Cecco’s brow creased. “Commodore, how is this? How do you forbid Jill what every woman—”

  “I forbid Jill to place herself at risk. Should she honor me with progen
y, she would only produce new scalps for the warriors’ trophies. Her own, and her children’s.”

  Jill’s pulse seemed to pump ice through her veins. “But what of our grown sons?”

  “Nibs and Tom are not sons of my blood. The Indians know me to be their foster father, and they know that I only recently became so. And, of course, their mother is another man’s wife.”

  “And Lightly? Might they turn on him because of me?”

  “If I deny your importance, there is little chance of his suffering for your sake.” Hook turned to Cecco. “So, once again, your marriage to my mistress proves useful. The gossip will spread among the Islanders, throwing doubt on Jill’s value as a vulnerability.”

  Cecco’s dark eyes smoldered. “I will be happy, at any time, to make our marriage completely useful, and take my wife to live upon the Lady.”

  “As always, Jill holds that option.” Hook’s voice had turned wintry. “She may seek release from her oath— should she wish to do so.”

  Jill watched Cecco, in silence, then turned her gaze. Gently, she reached her red hand out, to lay it upon the scars of Hook’s wrist. It seemed to Cecco that she spoke to Hook, though her words were inaudible. At her touch, Hook dropped his bristling posture.

  Stung, Cecco subsided, gripping his glass again. He clutched, also, at the words Lily had spoken to him. His task was now clear. Only one choice would serve in this matter. For everyone’s sake, he must discern the deepest wish of Jill’s heart— and find, within his own, the power to grant it.

  Becoming aware of Smee’s scrutiny, Cecco snapped out of his reverie. He shot the bo’sun a murderous look, then refilled his own cup with cognac.

  Smee sought to ease the tension with a change of topic. “Commodore, Sir, you’ll be glad to be knowing that the lady suffered no worrisome injuries. Not a scratch from that cat, thank the Powers, and only a nasty bruise upon her shoulder. She tells me you saved her from worse, but I looked her over to be sure. Held the poultice to the hurt myself, as her poor chilled hands shook too much from exhaustion.”