Ocean's Triumph

by Carlton, Demelza

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Part 1

  Part 2

  Part 3

  Part 4

  Part 5

  Part 6

  Part 7

  Part 8

  Part 9

  Part 10

  Part 11

  Part 12

  Part 13

  Part 14

  Part 15

  Part 16

  Part 17

  Part 18

  Part 19

  Part 20

  Part 21

  Part 22

  Part 23

  Part 24

  Author's Note

  1. Sirena

  2. Joe

  3. Sirena

  4. Joe

  5. Sirena

  6. Joe

  Updates

  About the Author

  Ocean's Triumph

  Demelza Carlton

  This book is dedicated to

  all those who manage to live on the crabbiest place on Earth...and still make it a wonderful place to visit.

  Dragons, crabs, cyclones and all.

  Copyright © 2014 Demelza Carlton

  Lost Plot Press

  All rights reserved.

  One

  This could be the craziest thing I've done yet. At least this boat had an engine and I was wearing clothes. If only they weren't damp and full of salt.

  I cursed quietly, but the sound echoed through the hold. I'd meant to change them as soon as the ship was properly under way, but it seemed that the hum of the engines had lulled me to sleep. I climbed out of my blanket-lined burrow amid the crates and stiffly made my way to my trunk. What I'd give for a proper mattress to sleep on. Perhaps I'd borrow one from one of the unoccupied cabins – ugh, or maybe more than one. I'd grown soft in my time on land.

  Stripping off my soiled clothes, I wished for a washroom – or a wash basin – or...at this point, I'd take a bucket of fresh seawater. Hang on. The passenger cabins I'd seen had wash basins. They'd been hidden behind crates of cargo, but they'd been there. All I had to do was sneak into one and I could get clean.

  I grabbed a clean dress from my trunk and padded across to the hatch. I held my breath and listened, but I heard no one near. I crept along the passage and slipped into the first cabin. Clambering over the crates to the sink was a challenge, but there was a small gap between the wall and the cargo that was just large enough to conceal me – while I had full use of the washbasin.

  I turned the tap on and cupped water in my hands, drinking deeply before splashing some on my face and chest. I hadn't thought to bring a flannel or a towel, so I washed myself as best I could before drying myself with a sheet from the bunk. I debated whether to rinse my clothes or just let them finish drying, seeing as they were close to it already, when I heard male voices. I dropped to a crouch and tried to shrink further behind the crates.

  "I tell you, I saw a woman walk along the passage and into this cabin," one man insisted.

  "There aren't any passengers on this side. The cabins are all full of supplies Grumpy McGregor ordered in Fremantle. There's definitely no women aboard," the second man scoffed.

  The voices sounded like they were just outside the door. The wide open door, I realised, wishing I'd thought to close it behind me. "I know what I saw. She had tits as big as melons. Not one of them flappers – a real woman."

  Melons? I glanced down, horrified at the thought that I was carrying around melons. My breasts were nowhere near that big.

  "Melons?" the second man echoed. "Next thing you'll tell me she was beautiful, too, and beckoning." His pitch crept impossibly high. "Come to my cabin, Black, and I'll show you my melons."

  Black laughed. "Didn't need to go into the cabin to see 'em. She was as naked as the day she was born. I could see every jiggle as she walked..."

  "You're daft. Not three hours out of port and you're imagining naked women with enormous tits. Next thing, you'll be seeing mermaids."

  Both men laughed and their voices faded away.

  I slowly let out the breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding. As if either or even both of the men together had posed a danger to me. I laughed silently as I pulled my clean dress over my head.

  I was on a ship with William, headed to Christmas Island. One way or another, I intended to reclaim my heart. Just as long as they didn't kick me off the boat. That's what happened to stowaways.

  Two

  I waited for what felt like an interminable time before I dared move. I definitely didn't want the men seeing mermaids – especially not this one. Pulling a blanket off the nearest bunk, I shrouded myself in it, so that the grey wool covered my fair hair and skin, and most of my blue dress, too. Hopefully, this would hide me from distant eyes as I prowled the ship. This vessel had electric lighting just like the Trevessa had had – much too bright to hide in.

  I clung to the shadows as I crept along the passage. All the closely-spaced doors seemed to open into cabins the same as the first one, so I didn't waste time with them. I needed to find food, my grumbling stomach told me. I climbed a ladder to the deck above and continued my search.

  The sound of snoring emanated from the open door at the aft end of the passage, drawing me closer. Was this where the crew cabins were...and with them, William? Eagerly, I peeped into the room. Four bunks each held a blanketed body. The snoring came from the top bunk which had a slim, brown arm hanging down from it. Whoever he was, he wasn't William. I scanned the bunk below him, then the two on the other side. There wasn't much to see until movement made me look closer. The light outside glittered off a pair of open eyes in the lower bunk.

  My heart stuttered as William's eyes bored into mine. I couldn't speak for fear of breaking the connection, but I had so much I wanted to say. So much to tell and even more questions to ask. I wanted...

  He grunted and rolled onto his side, facing the bulkhead.

  I almost cried. I took a step into the cabin, reaching for William so I could pull him back to where he could see me so we could talk, before reason returned and I realised that was a stupid idea. If the others woke up, I'd be in a lot of trouble, and I might not have enough time to explain to William why I was aboard the ship before they interrupted.

  Reluctantly, I forced myself to leave. Tears spilled down my face, blurring my vision, so I stumbled through the nearest open hatch instead of crying in the corridor. This room was bigger than the cabins – I managed to walk several paces before my hip bumped painfully into a table. Blinking, I looked around at the ship's mess hall. If I'd believed in Merry's religion, I might have thanked the deity in charge, but I contented myself with a smile of victory as I strode to the door that I was certain led to the galley and, hopefully, some food.

  The darkened kitchen was much larger than Merry's, but I couldn't see the icebox anywhere. The low-ceilinged room was full of benches and utensils, but there was no food in sight. Incensed, I scanned the room, looking for the large pantry that must be required to feed the whole crew for the voyage. I spotted a door partially concealed behind a shelving unit full of crockery and that's where I headed next.

  In the light spilling through the bank of open windows, I saw that this room was full of humming iceboxes. Perhaps these were the new refrigerators I'd seen advertised in the newspaper. If they were, then they held my next meal.

  I yanked on the lever and opened it. I almost moaned as I saw a bottle of milk in front, the cream already rising to the top.

  Someone will miss it, I told myself as I lifted the bottle off the shelf, revealing a row of more behind it.

  I didn't care.

  I drank deeply from the lip of the bottle, knowing Merry would frown and shake her head if she saw me, but
I didn't dare go and find something more civilised to drink from. The liquid calmed the snarling in my stomach and I finished off what must have been almost a quart of milk, but it tasted so good.

  Levering open the next icebox or refrigerator or...whatever it was, I became transfixed by a familiar Mills and Wares tin. Why keep biscuits in the icebox? Unless the tin held something more perishable than biscuits. Holding my breath in anticipation, I pulled the tin from the shelf and cracked the lid. I smelled chocolate before I saw the half-eaten cake, but my mouth was watering too much to let me return the delicacy to the shelf without tasting it. Cake required cutlery, though – at least to cut it. I carried my prize to the galley and found a suitable knife. The blade scraped against the bottom of the tin as I cut myself a generous slice.

  The first bite was heavenly – no one made a cake like Mills and Wares. I lifted the piece to my mouth to take another and heard shuffling footsteps in the mess hall. I fled to the refrigerator room. Just in time, I realised as the galley light clicked on. I hid behind the furthest refrigerator from the door, sinking onto the floor in the hope that whoever it was wouldn't see me.

  "Bloody McGregor. If he leaves his sweets about like this, the rats will get them and serve him right. Not like he shares any with the rest of us. Probably counts every crumb, too."

  I held my breath as the shuffling steps approached my hiding spot. I heard the sound of a refrigerator door opening, then the clink of the tin on the metal shelf, and the door closed again. I breathed again when I heard clanking in the kitchen.

  "Tea for the officer on watch...damn, but I haven't missed night duties while we were in port. Haven't missed McGregor, neither..." The cook continued to mutter as he made tea. It seemed like an eternity before he left with his rattling tray, turning the lights off on his way out.

  I'd finished my cake as quietly as I could. William's cake, I supposed, but he'd been a right arse to me, not letting me pay my passage like a normal passenger. It was because of him that I was forced to scavenge for food instead of enjoying my meals in the mess like everyone else. I marched back to the refrigerator that held the cake and tucked the tin under my arm. I grabbed another bottle of milk, too.

  Hoping this would tide me over until breakfast, I sneaked back to the hold and my hidey-hole. Let William wonder what had happened to his chocolate cake as he slept.

  Three

  I woke up thirsty, wishing I hadn't finished up all the milk last night. A quick, cautious peek outside told me I'd slept until the early afternoon, judging by the slight westerly angle of the sun. Mindful of last night's near-discovery. I returned to the hold to hide until darkness fell.

  Easier said than done.

  For an hour, I tried not to think about how much I wanted a glass of cool, clear water. In desperation, I dug out Captain Foster's book about their journey in the Trevessa's lifeboats, wondering how they dealt with thirst. The book was distinctly unhelpful – the men sucked buttons, bathed in seawater and caught rainwater in anything they could, none of which seemed particularly practical advice. There was neither seawater nor rain in this hold and I had no intention of sucking at the buttons on my dress.

  Angrily, I stalked the hold, examining the crates and boxes for something to quench my thirst. Flour, rice, sugar, cooking oil, toilet paper...my mouth seemed to grow drier still as I read the letters stamped on the cargo. I let out a whoop when I discovered one marked MILK, but fifteen minutes with a crowbar left me swearing. The crate did contain milk – row upon row of tinned, condensed milk. The sickly sweet stuff that I'd gagged on in the lifeboat. If I'd had a tin opener, I might have cracked one open anyway, but the best tool I had was the crowbar. Surely I could find something better. If not...I swallowed with difficulty, knowing I'd choke it down if I had to.

  I checked every crate I could reach or read, but most seemed to be heavy machinery. The rest of the food stores must be in the boxes in the cabins I hadn't been allowed to sleep in, I decided. Of course they would be. Right beside the nearest drinking water that I couldn't reach 'til dark.

  Annoyed, I flopped onto my makeshift bed. If it had to be the gooey milk, then so be it. I glanced at the crate that obscured my hidey-hole from the entrance to the hold and traced the letters: Roma Fruit Palace.

  My hopes rose, but I squashed them quickly. Roma stocked plenty of things and it seemed more likely that this was full of tins or other bulk supplies than something as perishable as fruit.

  Yet the crate was directly below one of the loading hatches – it might have been one of the last things winched aboard. So maybe...

  Sighing, I hopped down and retrieved my crowbar. Five minutes later, I squealed in excitement at the watermelons in the crate. I was in heaven.

  I hefted the smallest one I could reach – easily twenty pounds of fruit – and dropped it onto the deck. It smashed in a satisfying splatter of coral-coloured flesh. I slid down to claim my spoils.

  Armed with a knife I'd borrowed to cut the cake, I carved chunks out of the lopsided bowl of melon rind that sat between my crossed legs. The sweet melon melted on my tongue, making me moan with longing for more. I caught myself before I made too much noise – I didn't want the Islander's crew to catch me because of a melon. Even as I forced myself to enjoy my meal in silence, I'd never derived so much pleasure from fruit before.

  A trickle of juice squirted down the front of my dress, oozing between my breasts. A sudden image of William licking the sweetness from my bare breasts left me with longing for the real thing. Just the feeling of his hands on my body and his lips and tongue on my skin...

  What was wrong with me? I felt unusually warm and all I could think of was William. Yes, I wanted to kick him or knock him to the ground for his rudeness. But then I wanted us to shed our clothes and indulge this raging lust that inflamed my mind. All night.

  I smothered the laughter that threatened to bubble up. For the whole time I'd lived with Merry, I'd managed to control myself and now I was ready to jump William at the slightest hint he was still interested. So much for being the sedate young lady Merry had tried to turn me into in Fremantle. I needed air, I decided. The cool, stiff, night breeze off the ocean as we steamed north to the tropical island William now called home.

  I busied myself with cleaning up as much of the smashed watermelon as I could – putting the salvageable pieces back in the crate for later and resolving to clean the sticky mess on the floor as soon as I could lay my hands on a bucket and mop.

  Somewhere above me, a dinner bell rang. That meant evening and, hopefully, darkness. I grabbed my empty milk bottle and hurried to the hatch.

  No one seemed to be around, but I'd been wrong before, so I donned a blanket again to creep up to the nearest unoccupied cabin. I rinsed out the milk residue and filled the bottle with water. I drank it down, barely pausing for breath, before filling it up again. I screwed the cap back on, intending to take it back to the hold with me, but the stickiness of my fingers made me want to wash more thoroughly. I washed my hands and then my forearms, lifting my feet one at a time to wash from my toes to my knees, which was as high as I could reach without stripping off entirely. A proper wash could wait until later, when there was no one about.

  The running water had awoken another need that became increasingly urgent. I crept along the passage to the nearest head and made use of the facilities. Whatever man had used it last hadn't seen fit to flush it, so I pulled the chain without thinking. The roar of the plumbing could surely be heard halfway across the ship, so I did my business in record time, flushed again and scurried out as quickly as I could. I raced back to the cabin for my bottle of water and I'd made it halfway back to the hold before I stopped dead at the sound of voices.

  "Captain said to make sure none of the pipes up here are leaking. With everyone at dinner, there's no reason for water to be running here, so there must be a leak. More'n likely, someone just left the tap on or the washer's gone, but we don't want to run out of drinking water from a leak. McGregor'd p
robably make us drink our own piss like shipwrecked sailors instead of putting in at the nearest port for more water. He says he was shipwrecked once – three weeks at sea in a little lifeboat with twenty other men, poor bastards. It's a wonder they didn't throw him overboard when they had a chance and save the world a lot of misery."

  A different voice sniggered. "D'you think that's what made him so sour? Drinking his own piss?"

  "Dunno. I think he was born that way. Not even his mother could love such a mean bastard. Can you imagine him smiling?"

  "I heard he smiled at one of the girls in the White House on the island and she fainted in shock."

  "Before or after?"

  "Probably after she was done servicing him. Why would he smile before?"

  A pause before the first voice finally said, "I could do with a turn with one of those White House girls. The ones in Fremantle cost too much. I could spend a whole night with Su or Lian in the White House for the price those Australian girls wanted for ten minutes!"

  Another pause. "But what d'you need with more than ten minutes?"

  "You barely get your wick wet with ten minutes. I want a good hour, at least. First a quick poke while she squeals, then get her down on her knees to get me ready again so I can take my time the second time around. You haven't had a woman properly unless she's walking bow-legged the next day as if she can still feel you inside her."

  What I'd give for ten minutes more with William. Or an hour...but better to have a whole night. That's all we'd ever had together and I wanted another night more than I could say. The hard heat of him between my legs, driving us both to the peak of pleasure...

  The bottle I'd been stroking in a cold imitation of what I really wanted slipped from my fingers and landed heavily on my foot. Smothering my yelp, I watched it roll toward the edge of the deck. If it fell, it would hit the deck below and alert the men to my presence.

  I'd seen what happened when lust-crazed crewmen looked at me on a lonely voyage. It would end in me killing them, like it had last time.