Sea Witch (Sea Witch Voyages)

by Helen Hollick

From across the room, Tiola laughed, her head back, delighted. He was so absurd!

  Lifting the bucket, swinging it in his left hand he set off again to fetch the last. “The lieutenant’s a baby, ‘e’s got two – well maybe; so I’ll ‘old yours while you ‘old mine and we’ll do all the crew of a ship o’ the line!”

  It was shadowed in the stairwell, lit only by the daylight filtering up from below, the sun hot and bright in the courtyard itself. Grinning, Jesamiah filled the fourth bucket and returned to the dark stairs. About to step on to the first, out of the corner of his eye he saw movement in the deeper shadow beside the street-side door. He paused; Kisty? One of Bella’s girls? Heard the very familiar double click of a flintlock hammer, at the same instant saw a man coming forward – and the glint of a brass-inlaid pistol barrel.

  Suddenly sober, Jesamiah yelled, dropped the bucket and ran, taking the stairs two at a time. The pistol fired, the sound booming loud in the confined space, the lead shot plunging past Jesamiah’s ear to embed in the wall a few inches from his head. He hurtled on up, his only thought to get to his own pistol. Heard feet pounding after him, the ominous click of a second weapon. Whoever this was, he would not be missing again.

  Tiola was there at the top of the stairs. Jenna peering, anxious, behind her.

  “Out the way! Move!” Jesamiah barked.

  If he had to fight, God alone knew how effective his right arm would be. He was not even sure he could hold his cutlass for long, let alone use it. The pistol he could fire left handed. Thank God, through old habit he had loaded it!

  “Where’s m’weapon?” he bellowed as he swept past Tiola and pushed Jenna aside. He skidded across the room, found the pistol, cocked it, relieved to hear the satisfying click, click, of the hammer as it locked into place.

  Back to the top of the stairs – everything happening so quickly, a matter of seconds – and Tiola was standing there, two stairs down, blocking the way, the man’s second pistol raised pointing straight at her. Jenna caught hold of Jesamiah, swung him to a halt.

  “Leave this to Tiola, boy. Put the pistol down. She knows what she is doing.”

  Jesamiah swore, struggled to free his arm, almost going to strike her but Jenna’s grip was strong, her voice commanding. “Do as I say!”

  He stood, breathing hard, a mixture of anxiety, exertion and anger surging through him; did not lower the pistol, recognised the man on the stairs. The one who had pushed him through the window. “What? I wait for him to shoot her first, do I?”

  Calm, Jenna folded her hand over of the barrel. “Just wait.”

  “Wot be ‘ee ‘bout yur?” Tiola said, her accent a strong rolling Cornish, quite different to the mild, soft lilt Jesamiah had become accustomed to. “Tiddn the whorehouze by yur, tiz oop auver to there you’m wantin’, vine gentry folk like ee be.” She cackled like a crone. “Or bist ee vancying an aua dummun? Show me yer zilver my bura, an I’ll pool un var ee. Doan’t make a bit av odds, you’m that ‘ansum bay.” Wheezing into a paroxysm of mirth, she reached out her hand suggestively, squeezing and releasing her gnarled, misshapen fingers, her meaning clear.

  Jesamiah’s brows furrowed, he gasped as she half turned, moved up a step. He knew the woman on the stairs to be Tiola, he had pushed past her – but this woman, the one speaking, this was not her! This one was a hunched and deformed old hag with wrinkled skin and squint eyes.

  The attacker was unsure, hesitant. Tiola lifted her right hand, gestured a sort of beckoning, figure of eight sign with what appeared to be gnarled and misshapen fingers. The air shimmered as if there were a haze of heat, except the stairs were in shadow. “Be no one ‘ere, beyon’ me’sel’ boy.”

  Jesamiah was stunned, stood rigid, open mouthed. He was standing clearly in sight at the top of the stairs, so was Jenna. How could Tiola say she was alone?

  Gesturing with her hand again, Tiola’s unblinking stare never left the man’s eyes. She spoke, commanding, in her own, sweet voice and from her own, familiar face. “This is not the place to be looking for pirates! You will not be remembering coming here – be gone with you, and leave us in peace!”

  The man turned, unlocked the hammer and slid his pistol into his pocket, began to walk away. Tiola made a sound, a breath mixed with a hiss, “Hie-asssh,” and the air quivered again with a high, long note of sound, barely audible, perfectly pitched. He opened the street-side door, went through, closed it behind him.

  Tiola nodded satisfaction. It was done. “Ais.” Yes.

  Turning, looking up the stairs she was the normal, familiar, Tiola. “I would be obliged if you would follow him a while, Jenna dear, to ensure he has no friends lurking outside.”

  Jenna grunted, grumbled something under her breath but fetched her shawl and bonnet. “Do it for you, lass,” she said as she began to descend the stairs, jerked her thumb over her shoulder at Jesamiah. “Not for him though. I said he would be trouble. He has to go.”

  As she passed, Tiola kissed Jenna’s cheek. “Thank you, my friend.” She looked up the stairs, Jesamiah was standing there the pistol lowered, staring, pale-faced. His arm was aching abominably and he was shaking.

  She had said she was a witch. He had not seriously believed her.

  Twenty Eight

  His legs buckling, Jesamiah slithered into an untidy heap; Tiola was there, kneeling beside him, not touching, her eyes searching his ashen face, his gaze stubbornly not meeting hers. Tentative, she reached out, touched his cheek. “Are you alright?”

  He closed his eyes, took several breaths to steady himself. Not trusting his voice, managed only a nod.

  When he looked up at last Tiola’s heart lurched for he was not alright. Terror was bolting through him at full gallop.

  She smiled, apologetic. “I did tell you I was a witch.”

  “I did not believe you,” he whispered.

  “It is perhaps as hard for you to accept I am what I am, as it is for me to accept you are a pirate. I heal. I bring life into the world, you think nothing of killing and torturing and stealing for no reason except the satisfaction of your own greed.”

  “You missed out rape.”

  She raised one eyebrow. “Do I add it to the list?”

  One hand steadying himself against the wall he pushed himself upright. “Alright, aye, I’ve killed. I lie, I cheat, I steal,” He flinched, finally speaking the truth. “And yes, I’ve raped.” He ran his hand through his hair; he was sweating, he could feel it trickling down his back. “I’ve joined with men stripping terrified women naked, abusing them. Aye, I’m part of all that, and you know what?” He backed away from her into the room. “I bloody enjoy it!”

  For the last, he was lying again, she could see the false bravado clearly in his anxious expression, in the rigid way he held his body. Lying to appear strong, to convince himself – her – he was not afraid, that he was dangerous. A regular pirate trick; make as much noise as possible when attacking, make them think you are the very Devil come to claim their souls and they will give up without a fight. Anger was mixing with fear, and the two together were as volatile as a barrel of gunpowder left open where sparks were flying. She would have to stop this flooding panic before it erupted.

  Best to do it now, make him forget, get it done, although she was reluctant for she had wanted to be able to trust him. Beyond Jenna, no one else knew of her Craft – even Tiola herself was uncertain of what she could or could not do, for her power had not yet reached its maturity. It would come, but not until it was ready to reveal itself. Like a tree in the late days of winter, it had lain dormant until awakened. But as yet the branches bore only buds and a few bright catkins. Soon, very soon, the leaves would burst open and the tree would come to vivid life. So it was with the power of the White Craft of the Old Wise Ones.

  Jenna had known Tiola’s grandmother, and what the old lady had been gifted with, so the young woman had now, but Jesamiah was a stranger, Tiola’s telling him what she was, even disguised as teasing jest, had always been a risk. One
she had not taken lightly. It had been the only way she had known of conveying, albeit obliquely, that by trusting him with her identity he could trust her with his. It was not to be.

  She raised her right hand made a small gesture with her fingers, breathed the same sound as before, “Hie-asssh…”

  Jesamiah moved quickly, with agile speed caught her wrist in his injured right hand, ignoring the pain he pushed the barrel of his pistol, in his left hand, against her throat. “Not on me,” he said, furious, the words spitting like venom. “You will not be using bloody witchcraft on me!”

  She held the blaze of hatred in his eyes a long, long, moment then blinked slowly. “You can only stop me by silencing my Voice. If you are intending to kill me, then do so now, Jesamiah.”

  Silent, she waited, standing very still barely breathing. Her dark stare holding his, then, released her wrist, lowered the pistol and uncocked the hammer. He walked into the room, put the pistol on the flour-covered table, set his hands to either side and lowered his head, breathing heavily.

  She did not move beyond the curtain. “I was only intending to cause you to forget what happened here, nothing more,” she said. “For my benefit, not yours. I shall continue trusting you with the memory of what you saw, what I am and what I can do if that is what you want.”

  “Want?” he shouted as he lurched around. “What I want?”

  He wanted to cross the room, push her to the bed and take her. That was what he wanted. Wanted to show he was not frightened of her, could dominate her. He was a pirate he could do whatever he pleased! He took two steps, his face contorted and ugly – stopped abruptly when he saw the sudden fear flood her expression. He had seen such a look before, God help him, on the faces of terrified women aboard a Prize.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his shoulders slumping. “Sweetheart, I am so sorry. I did not mean to frighten you.”

  He held his left hand out, his Adam’s apple bobbing, swallowed hard. Admitted, “Actually…” swallowed again, looked away, talked quickly, confessing. “Actually, I’ve not forced myself on any woman since I reached seventeen years old. She was about your age, barely a woman.” He cupped his hands near his chest, expressing what he meant. “She had nothing much up here. She was an untouched maid, only I hadn’t realised that until I...” He faltered, the shame making it difficult to continue. “Until I’d entered her. I wasn’t careful. I was drunk, I was rough. She lay there so quiet, she just…As I….” He took a deep, inhaling breath, “She didn’t make a sound, didn’t move, nothing, and I suddenly thought, why am I doing this? There was no pleasure in it, no satisfaction. The opposite in fact. I realised I was no better than…”

  His voice choked, the words, my brother, caught in his throat. He looked down at his boots, the incident as clear in his mind as if it were yesterday.

  “I’ve not regretted anything so much, nor been with a woman who didn’t want me, since.” Shrugged, conceded, “Well, not with one who didn’t want m’silver, that is.”

  Raising his hands he offered a gesture of surrender. “I’m dishonest and I’ve done some bad, stupid, things in my life. I have killed men and thought nothing of it. I am a pirate. I pretend I am a rough, hard bastard. I rarely have to do anything more than draw my cutlass, wave it about and make threats like a black-hearted devil with no capacity for mercy. Makes sense to not disillusion anyone.” He shrugged again. “I’ll kill a man who is as capable of killing me first without a qualm, but I’ll not hurt a woman or a child.” Said, very quietly, “I ain’t like my brother. I don’t hurt those who can’t fight back. Those who, because they are too weak or too small can’t run away. I know what it’s like, you see. I couldn’t run either.” He looked straight at her. He had never told anyone about that. Never.

  “I’ll leave. I got angry with you because I thought you were going to do something,” he attempted a laugh to hide the fact he was hurting inside, that he did not want to leave. “I thought you were going to turn me into a toad.”

  “Now why would I be wanting to do that?” Tiola asked, “When you already are one?”

  He smiled, appreciating her attempt at a jest. “Forgiven?”

  Running her hands through her hair she turned slightly away from him. What was she to do? Here was this man in front of her, a man she had been attracted to since she had first seen him from the quarterdeck of the Christina Giselle, but he was a man who frightened her because of the emotions he was awakening. Because of her Craft she was ageless; in experience she was a sixteen year old. The woman that her body was becoming wanted to grow up. The child within her wanted to stay innocent. But children should not always be having their own way. Too many who looked like grown men and women on the outside behaved like spoilt children on the inside. She was sixteen, a child. She was sixteen, a woman.

  She wanted him to kiss her, to hold her, to do – other – things, but was too scared to let him. Her mind kept seeing her father’s face, remembering the panic and revulsion of his mouth on hers. Surely, that was because it had been wrong – against the law of nature and the balance of the White Craft? Jesamiah was not her father, he was not tainted by the influence of the Dark Power; he did not mean her harm, he only wanted to give her love.

  The past was finished and must be left there. The now, the future, was all that mattered. And to walk confident into the future she must abandon uncertainty. The child must become the woman. And the past must be forgotten.

  “Forgiven.” She walked across the room, touched her hand to his chest. “You have no need to be afraid of me, Jesamiah. I will never use Craft on you. Not on you.”

  Bravado made him answer, “I am not afraid of you, I’m a pirate!” He bit his lip, took several breaths before blurting out the truth, “How can I be sure? How do I know you have not already made me forget everything?” He pointed towards the stairs. “As you did to that poor beggar?”

  “You would rather have him remember then? So he can slink back and put a pistol to your brain later?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Patiently, Tiola reassured him. “I cannot physically harm anyone. To do so would be to destroy myself. You know I am telling the truth because you can remember. You remember the Crafting that made those men chasing you believe I was a street hustler – the same skill as I used just now. The only thing you are not aware of, I took the worst of the pain from you, those first few days when your fever raged. That is all the Craft I have used on you, and will ever use. You have my word.”

  He was not convinced.

  She looked into his eyes, her hand still resting on his chest, feeling his quick breathing beneath her palm. “If you cannot trust me Jesamiah, then as sure as a ship floats, neither can I trust you. How can I be certain the moment you walk out of here you will not betray me?”

  Tilting her head she said with force, not quite the command she used with Voice, but near to it. “Think on this. They hang pirates, sometimes they hang witches, but more often they do far worse to those of my kind.”

  The accusation horrified him, instinctive, he curled her hand within his own. “Sweetheart, I promise I would never betray you! Never!”

  “Promises are so easily given. So easily broken,” Jenna declared coming into the room, swinging her shawl from her shoulders and untying her bonnet ribbons. “The intruder has gone. I left him drinking ale in a tavern.” In the same breath said to Tiola, “Bella wants you, Kisty has managed to scald her hand. I swear the girl is more trouble than she is worth.”

  Ah, so that was all the noise and fuss a while ago.

  Collecting a few things from the cupboard Tiola gave Jesamiah an eye-sparkling, assuring smile, then whisked away down the stairs. Jenna began clearing the mess abandoned from her cooking.

  “If I thought, for one moment, Captain Acorne, you in any way have hurt that girl you will regret the day your mother let your father come anywhere near her.”

  He countered with his own vehement accusation. “I wonder who it was who se
nt that man here? Eh? If it was van Overstratten he moved pretty damned quick. You have had plenty of opportunity to set them on to me though, have you not?”

  She gave him the withering look he deserved. “Had I wanted to betray you, boy, I would have done so a week past when you were unable to run or defend yourself.”

  He hesitated, about to say something else caustic, asked instead, “Why do you not like me, Jenna?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “If it is money, I have plenty. Probably more than van Overstratten. It is all safe in various banks. Dutch mostly, a fair bit is secured in this new-formed Bank of England.”

  “It is not about money. It is about reliability and honour. Two qualities you will never possess. I can trust master van Overstratten to take good care of Tiola. Could I so trust you?”

  She pushed him out of her way to reach the other side of the table, pointed at his pistol. “You live by that,” she said with scorn. “Stefan lives by good manners and courtesy. When he proposes marriage to Tiola tonight, I am expecting her to accept.”

  Jesamiah looked up, sharp. “How do you know he will?”

  “Because he has already asked my permission, which I have granted, and I have seen the betrothal ring. It is an emerald, to complete the set.”

  Twenty Nine

  Jesamiah wandered down the stairs soon after Tiola and Jenna had gone. He had peered from the window to watch them enter the carriage sent by van Overstratten, watched them being driven away. He hated green. Whether it was unlucky or not he did not care, not now, just knew he hated it. She had looked beautiful with her hair piled high and falling in a cascade of curls. Looked beautiful in the green gown van Overstratten had given her. In the emeralds.

  And what had he given for her birthday? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  The rum was gone, he had finished it the moment they had left. He needed another bottle. Needed something else, too. Finding Tiola’s scissors Jesamiah unpicked one of the gold coins sewn into his sash. Went downstairs to spend it.