Mutiny of the Heart

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  Henri looked at him as if he sprouted horns.

  “Do you have tea?”

  That question brought Henri out of his stupor. “Aye. Rissa is always stocked with tea,” he said. “Nasty stuff, I’d say. Ain’t got no bite.”

  “Make her tea for when she wakes. Preferably elderberry. If you have it, add honey.”

  “How do ya know all this?”

  Julian saved Ricker’s life, in more ways than one. Mayhap he could save Joelle’s. “A friend,” he answered.

  * * *

  Ricker lay on his bed with his arm draped over his eyes. It’d been another several insufferable hours since Henri and Sam had left. He’d made the little man promise to tell him of any change in Joelle. The wait was killing him. At some point, he must have fallen asleep. The disengaging lock startled him awake and to his feet.

  Henri ambled in carrying a tray of food. Had it been that long? Sam, once again, guarded the exit.

  “Joelle?” he asked.

  “She woke,” Henri said, “but only for a few minutes.”

  Relief washed over Ricker. ’twas a good sign, he hoped.

  “She asked for ya,” Henri added.

  Ricker’s heart hiccupped. “She did?”

  “The Capt’n was delusional.”

  “’Tain’t true,” Sam mumbled.

  “Only repeatin’ what Valeryn said.” Henri threw up his palms, taking no responsibility for Valeryn’s words.

  The bastard. Valeryn would say and do anything to keep Ricker from Joelle for as long as he could.

  “Then, Capt’n Jo started shakin’ real bad all over,” Henri said. “And she slipped back under.”

  Ricker sank into his chair. He felt entirely helpless and angry.

  “Let me go to her.”

  “Ah, ya know I can’t.” Henri rubbed at the back of his neck.

  “You can.”

  “Nay. Valeryn has an order to have ya shot and threatened to maroon any of us who helps ya out.”

  Ricker shot a glance to Sam who shook his head once. So she suffers for his pride. The tern.

  “Did you use the onions?” he asked.

  “Nay. Valeryn—”

  “Valeryn can go to hell.” He slammed his fist into the small writing table. His platter of salted pork and hard tack rattled with the vibration. Ricker jabbed his finger at Henri. “You tell him if he wants to save her life, he damn well better stow his arrogance and take my advice. Use the bloody onions! For the love of God, what can it hurt?”

  Henri nodded, his beard bows droopy with the sorrow evident in his scruffy jowls. He cocked his chin to Sam. The behemoth threw a bumpkin of rum to Ricker.

  “To drown yerself with,” Henri said.

  “Yours?” Ricker asked.

  “I’ve sworn off drinkin’,” he declared.

  Ricker couldn’t bet on it, but he thought he saw Sam roll his eyes. They left without another word. Left Ricker alone to wither in anguish. If only he could see her, wipe her brow, hold her hand.

  Ricker fought to stay sober. Almost convinced himself he would. That he needed to be dry for Joelle. ’twas a fanciful idea. He’d done well, at first, not even popping open the cask after he supped. But the time dragged on and he rationalized with himself. One or two drinks would keep him alert.

  Worry ate at him. What if she didn’t wake? Was she suffering? What would become of her? What would become of them? Did Henri convince Valeryn to use the onion remedy?

  Before he knew it, Ricker had poured the last of the rum into his mug. Good thing, too. He could no longer focus. His limbs were like mallets, heavy and unwieldy.

  He lay down on his bed. He’d have to thank Henri for the lost hours he was about to have.

  * * *

  “Bouse up, cad.”

  Someone kicked at Ricker’s leg hanging off the bed.

  “Come on. Get up.”

  Ricker rubbed his eyes open. He moaned when Valeryn came into view standing over him. His weary body protested as he sat up. Screaming pain in his liquefied brain revolted. What the blazes was Valeryn doing in his cabin?

  Fear clenched his gut. Was Joelle...

  “I should kill you,” Valeryn muttered.

  Ricker couldn’t read Valeryn’s face. Stony, austere lines carved around his tight lips, jaw muscles clenched. However, Ricker read the poise of the first mate’s hand resting on his pistol hanging from his waist loud and clear. Ricker was ready to lunge for him should Valeryn draw.

  “I still cannot believe it,” Valeryn said.

  “Is she...” The words, unthinkable and foreign, lodged in his chest.

  “She pulled through.” Valeryn put Ricker out of his misery. The crushing weight was now gone.

  “But she’s weak. Too weak.” Valeryn shook his head. “I don’t know where you came up with that insane idea of wrapping her in onions.” His lips curled with a chuckle, and he looked away. The codfish was warring with himself over something he might say.

  ’Twas Ricker’s turn to relieve the tension. “She’s a strong woman.”

  “Aye,” Valeryn agreed. “She’s quite remarkable.”

  Criminy. ’twas something they agreed upon. Awkward.

  “Put your boots on. Our quarry was spotted on the horizon.” Valeryn turned to leave. “I need you topside to work the sails.”

  “All right.” The last thing Ricker wanted to do was move. The hammering in his head would surely pop out his deadlights if it didn’t abate soon. So be it. ’twas better to suffer the dregs of Henri’s rum than stay imprisoned in his cabin.

  Ricker slipped on his boots and met Valeryn at the door. The skipjack had his back to the captain’s quarters, ensuring Ricker go the other way—down the corridor to the hatch and away from Joelle.

  Topside, Ricker resumed working the sails. The thunderous stampede in his head subsided as he sweated out the poison. It took longer, however, to keep his roiling stomach from upheaving.

  Kipp walked by and patted his shoulder.

  “Good to have ya back, mate.”

  “Wasn’t my choice to be gone,” he groused.

  Kipp helped pull a halyard Ricker was securing. “Willie tells me the lads are fond of ya.”

  “Oh yeah, for what?”

  “Your skill as much for your measured restraint.”

  Ricker chuckled. Restraint. Is that what they call it?

  “It cannot be easy dealing with an impetuous, reckless fire-eater like Valeryn while tethered to a hellcat like Capt’n Quint.”

  “I manage.” Ricker tied a knot in the rope.

  “Some might find ya lucky, being at the whim of a bonny armful like Quint.”

  “They’d be a fool.”

  Ricker gave the knot a good tug and checked the tautness of the line. Kipp handed him a length of rope. “Aye. For as much as Valeryn’s wrath as Quint’s madness.”

  In spite of the conversation, Ricker liked Kipp. The jack’s affable attitude was infectious. Kipp readily accepted Ricker as a friend, though they’d only just met. He reminded Ricker of Julian, genuine and wise on the subject of human nature. Ricker should be inclined to listen, but he was just too beleaguered by the last few days cooped up at the order of Valeryn, and away from Joelle.

  “Everyone on this ship knows what’s going on between you, Valeryn and Quint,” Kipp continued. “The tension between the three of ya is thicker than sargassum seaweed.”

  Ricker looped the cordage around a belaying pin. “What’s your point, Kipp?”

  “I come to ya as a friend, Ricker. But Valeryn’s a friend, as well. The crew, they like you all right, but their loyalty is with Valeryn. Our brethren, we’re family. Should you try to replace him, so to speak, the crew will stay true to him.”

  Amusing how his original plan of mutiny was on their minds. He hadn’t thought of being a replacement to Valeryn. Hell, he didn’t want to be a replacement. How different that would be from his current situation. With the exception of title, he’d still be under someone else�
�s command. Not even Joelle would convince him otherwise.

  “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “Valeryn may be an irrational arsehole, but his heart’s in the right place. He’s a good man. Quint thinks so, too.”

  Ricker stopped coiling the rope. “You act as if I’m hunting for a definitive battle.”

  “We all wage war, mate. Sometimes the battle ain’t worth the risk.”

  “You should tell that to Valeryn.”

  “Not likely he’ll listen. That’s why I’m tellin’ you.”

  “Appreciate the chat, Kipp. But I should tell you, I’m not a good listener, either.”

  “Best clean out yer lugholes, then.” Kipp clapped his shoulder and strode off.

  Ricker knew there was something to Valeryn. Otherwise, a woman like Joelle wouldn’t have him. Whatever it was, Ricker just didn’t see it. As much as he didn’t like the man, Ricker was fully aware that if he hurt or killed Valeryn, she’d never forgive him. He wondered if she’d feel the same way about him should the tables be turned.

  “Two points on the starboard bow!” A top man called down from high in the mast.

  They’d been chasing the Mariposa since the forenoon bell without getting any closer. Though the ship kept a steady south, southeastern course, this would be the third veer right in the last half glass.

  “He’s leading us somewhere,” Valeryn called out as he climbed to the quarter deck to join Willie at the helm. “But where?”

  “Shoals three points forward the larboard beam,” the top hollered.

  “Shoals starboard beam,” a tar on the mizzenmast shouted.

  “What the devil?” Valeryn strode from one side of the deck to the other.

  “We should slow down,” Henri yelled. The poor tiny salt struggled to climb the ladder to the helm. “We’ll beach if we’re not careful.”

  “Nay,” Valeryn said. “We’ll lose him.”

  “Henri’s right.” Ricker knew he should keep his yapper shut. “A slower speed will keep us off the shoals.”

  “Tut, slave!” Valeryn pointed directly at Ricker. “You’ve no voice on this crew.”

  Ricker bit the inside of his cheek to keep from retorting. He didn’t need a map to know where Leviathan had led them. He was just surprised by how far south they had sailed.

  “Diablo’s Teeth.”

  Everyone turned to Joelle standing in the hatchway.

  Ricker caught his breath. Her skin was ashen, her eyes dull. With palms pressed against the door jambs, she swayed, trying to keep upright. By God, she looked so frail.

  “Leviathan has led us to Diablo’s Teeth. The sands—” she paused, licking her lips, her energy obviously failing her, “—they shift rapidly.”

  “What was sailing waters in the morn may be impassable by afternoon,” Ricker explained for her. “A ship could run aground and become trapped for days, even weeks, in the Teeth before she can sail out.”

  Crewmen mumbled, wide-eyed, amongst themselves, realizing the seriousness of their situation.

  “Jo!” Valeryn reprimanded. “You should be in bed.”

  “I’m fine, V.”

  “No, you are not,” Valeryn argued.

  Ricker concurred. “You need your rest.”

  “I said I’m fine.” Her voice rose loud, but squeaky. “I’ve got to get us out of this mess. We can’t let Leviathan get away again.”

  She took a step forward and staggered. Ricker raced forward and caught her before she fell, scooping her into his arms. Joelle’s head lolled, her eyes squeezed tight.

  “You need to get back to bed,” he urged.

  Valeryn jumped from the quarter deck, blocking Ricker’s way inside. He drew his pistol. “What do you think you are doing?”

  Ricker’s gaze followed down the barrel and landed on fiery pale eyes. “Out of the way, mate.”

  Valeryn’s grip tightened on the gun.

  “Valeryn,” Kipp called out. His gaze darted to Ricker and back to the first mate. “We need you on deck. Let the lad take Quint to her quarters.”

  Valeryn’s nostrils flared, his snarl deepened. “Very well.” He flicked his pistol up. “Five minutes. If you’re not back in five minutes, I will see you bleed and send you headlong to the devil.”

  Without a word, Ricker pushed past and carried Joelle to her quarters.

  “I’ll be all right,” Joelle muttered. “I...just moved too fast.”

  “Be that as it may, you are too weak to be effective topside. You know that.”

  He crossed into her cabin and laid her in her bed. A partially eaten bowl of soup sat on her desk.

  “Joelle. You must eat. You need the nourishment to build your strength.”

  “I know. I’m just not hungry. Besides, it has onions in it. I hate onions.”

  Ricker laughed at that. “Then I won’t mention you smell like a freshly harvested onion patch. Or that your stench is burning my eyes.”

  That rendered him a smile.

  “I’ll get someone to bring you a bath. For now, you must eat.” He handed her the bowl. “Eat. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to stay with you until you do. Then Valeryn will come looking for me and have to kill me.” He teased, “You don’t want my blood on your hands, do you?”

  She smiled for him again. “He’s only trying to protect me.”

  He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “As am I.” His hushed tone was true to the mark, and for the moment, it rendered her without a response.

  Ricker unraveled her arm dressing to take a look, well aware of her stare upon him while she sipped her soup. The angry, torn flesh was not inflamed. Though still red, her wound was healing.

  “Why?”

  He looked up. “Why what?”

  “Why do you want to protect me?” The dark circles under her eyes enhanced her quizzical gaze.

  Ricker re-dressed her arm with the bandage. Thoughts, emotions assailed him. He’d been so afraid of losing Joelle, but not for his freedom. For something else entirely. He was not ready to explore or admit what he wasn’t clear on himself. So he answered with what he knew was true. “You promised me my freedom. I feel obligated.”

  Her brow creased and her eyes shimmered. Was she about to cry? Nay. She was too strong for that. He stood and headed for the door. “I’ll have Henri bring you more soup.”

  “Sloan?”

  Her desperation resonating in his name stopped him in the open doorway.

  “Is that all? Freedom and obligation?”

  “No.” He shut the door behind him and rushed topside. Coward.

  “Nine fathoms deep,” a leads-man secured to the bow called. He threw the sounding line back into the water for another depth reading.

  That was getting awfully shallow for the middle of the sea. Just how far had they sailed into Diablo’s Teeth?

  “Shoals one point larboard bow!”

  “Shoals broad the starboard bow!”

  Different fellows from various places on the ship called out, creating a bit of a panic.

  “Eight fathoms deep!” the leads-man shouted.

  Ricker directed his attention to Willie. A strain pulled at his face, his eyes mere slits in concentration.

  “Shoals dead ahead!”

  Willie spun the wheel.

  Valeryn cursed and cursed again. With good reason. Rissa was trapped. He ordered the sails dropped.

  Ricker dove into the task, but it was too late. Rissa ran aground.

  Valeryn launched into a volcanic eruption of profanity.

  “Hull down!” the top man called. Mariposa was now far enough away that her hull could no longer be seen on the horizon.

  “Jollyboats, anchors and lines in the water,” Valeryn ordered. “We’ll pull ourselves off the sandbar.”

  “Even if we get unstuck,” Ricker said, “it will be nightfall soon.”

  “Aye,” Willie chimed in. “We can’t sail in this in the dark. We’ll just run aground again.”

  “I’ll grant t
hat,” Valeryn said. “But we can’t just sit here and wait for a high tide. We get off the shoal and drop anchor until sunrise.”

  Ricker had an ominous feeling about that. ’twas always better to be on the move in open water. Unfortunately, they had no choice. And he hated not having a choice.

  Chapter Eleven

  Joelle stretched her limbs and rolled over, pulling her wool blanket under her chin. She felt much better now. She’d eaten, drank more tea, and had taken a warm bath. Her sleep was restful instead of fitful. She was refreshed, though she still had a hint of onion clinging to her skin.

  Next time she was in Tortola, she would purchase that rose-scented soap she liked so well. She wondered if Sloan would like it, too.

  Humph. Thoughts like that made a woman weak. He made her weak.

  She shouldn’t be thinking of him like a silly smitten child. But she did. She couldn’t deny that sometimes she liked it. The floating emotions reminded her of the excitement of sailing into a beautiful, secret lagoon of an uncharted island—breathtaking and buoyant.

  She cuddled deeper into her pillow.

  Something rustled nearby. Joelle froze.

  She wasn’t alone.

  She opened her eyes and peered into the darkness. Was her mind playing tricks or had she really heard movement?

  “Ye’ve kept me waiting long enough. Bouse up, Miss Quint.”

  The air in her lungs ceased to exist. Her heart stopped beating. She had to be dreaming, because if not, she was soon to be dead.

  A flash of tinder illuminated the hand lighting the lantern on her table. As the lantern came to life, so did the man keeping vigil.

  Joelle bolted upright in her bed.

  Leviathan.

  His black matted hair and beard hung like thick, frayed, rotten ropes. Charcoal-colored but clear eyes were emphasized with deep crevices. Scars ran along his pock-marked cheeks and leathery neck. Despite his scabrous features, his clothes were immaculate. Clean and starched. His back straight in the chair, his long legs stretched out casually and his boots crossed at the ankles.

  “I’ve waited many years for this moment, seeing ya again.” His stare bore into her as he lazily ran his finger over the rim of his tricorn hat sitting on the table.

  “As have I,” she said. “Only I envisioned our meeting differently.”