Other Oceans

by Andrea Jones

  “Spare me your jealous fits, Captain.” Hanover sat down, shaking his head in irritation. “Hook is far more shrewd than I at first believed. He discovered both my occupation and my daughter, and appropriated us for his use. I am outraged still at the thought of it! I have had no choice but to feign acceptance of his terms. My daughter—”

  LeCorbeau snorted through his overlarge nose. “Do not attempt to deceive me. Your daughter is the one item aboard this ship with which you do not concern yourself. Even I, who have little use for the so-called fairer sex, can see what you disregard. The girl is obsessed with Hook! And he knows too well how to handle her. He keeps her intrigued! Yes, he ignores her, while the rest of his crew can’t wait to—”

  “You have spoken sufficiently on the subject of my daughter. Tell me what else is said on the Julianne.”

  LeCorbeau cocked his head to observe the doctor. “Very well. As I have indicated, your responsibility to your daughter is the least of your worries. I sat a long time with Captain Whyte, discussing his woes and listening to his men report the damage. Since your abduction, the rumor is abroad that ‘Hanover’ may not be your real name, and that you hail from another city than you claim. That you fled England to serve on a merchant vessel only until such time as you formed an alliance with a shipping partner who could more readily assist you in, eh, some lucrative trade.”

  Hanover paled.

  “In short, your secret is guessed. The only error lies in who your partner is presumed to be.” LeCorbeau’s glittering eyes narrowed. “Unless, of course, it is I who have erred…partner?”

  The doctor dismissed the captain’s suspicion with a gesture. Leaning on the table, he rubbed his clean-shaven chin and swore under his breath. “Damn that Hook!” With the fingers of his free hand, he felt for his watch.

  The Frenchman raised his eyebrows. He blinked. “So. I am to believe you are a victim. We have both been brought to heel like dogs at my old friend’s knee?”

  “LeCorbeau. I am an honorable man. I do not break the law, and I make it a practice not to endanger myself by associating with those who operate outside it. I am first and foremost a physician. My work is dedicated to the good of mankind. Until the day the Julianne was sacked, my reputation was beyond reproach.”

  “Your reputation, or that of ‘Doctor Hanover?’”

  “It is immaterial now. But I see that ‘Hanover’ cannot live long. You must get me away from this ship—”

  “Ha! Now that Hanover is exposed, you need me again, eh?”

  “You insinuate that I deliberately broke my word to you.”

  LeCorbeau jerked himself up to stand. “I insinuate nothing. I accuse!”

  “It is outrageous, after all I have been through, to be treated thus, as a lying cheat!”

  “And how should I treat you? The fact is you are here,” LeCorbeau rapped the table, “living the high life, becoming rich on pirates’ plunder, and not where you promised to be!”

  “I shall dismiss your insults as the petty petulance they display! Find a way to get me aboard L’Ormonde. Then we will reform our partnership.”

  “You? And what of your daughter?”

  “Yes, yes, her too, of course.” And one other. The doctor had already shrugged off the nagging Frenchman’s implications and was thinking ahead, his thumb massaging the back of his watch. “But this time I’ll send the girl away, to a convent. Switzerland. As I should have done at the start.”

  LeCorbeau began to laugh. Hanover eyed him with annoyance. “I find nothing amusing in the situation. I consider my pledge to you sacred. It is not me but that blackguard, Hook, who is to blame for our disagreement. He is using my daughter against me!”

  Allowing his mirth to erupt, the privateer indulged it. Once his wheezing subsided, he drew a fresh handkerchief from his inner coat pocket and wiped his eyes. “Oh! Oh, mon frère, you are a model of honor! Heh, heh! You expound to me upon the sanctity of your pledge, while your daughter serves a pirate’s whore, lives among as randy a pack of dogs as ever sailed the Seven Seas, and will no doubt very soon lose every shred of her precious maidenhead!”

  “For God’s sake, LeCorbeau! Show some decency! There is no need to insult the captain’s lady. And surely Liza’s degradation at the hands of these pirates proves I had no intention of betraying you.”

  LeCorbeau waved the doctor’s interruption away. “No matter. Whether or no, the little girl has been compromised by her virtuous father’s carelessness, and all you can think about is the honor of an expensive prostitute— and eh, may I tell you that you reek of her?— and also of the inconvenience to yourself!” Wheezing again, he tapped his chest. “And I am called immoral! You are too much, my friend!”

  He sighed, dabbed his lips and shook out the handkerchief. “Only my knowledge of your upstanding character persuades me to believe you are— heh, heh!— innocent!— in this predicament. You might not think to secure your daughter’s best interests, but you surely would not endanger your business!”

  “I pride myself on keeping a clear head at all times. If you find that quality to be immoral, I am sorry for you.”

  “A clear head? Was that your condition when your wife lay dying from your own—”

  “And speaking of business, Captain, did your contact supply my material?”

  Like a bantam, LeCorbeau puffed up his feathers. “No need to worry. As always, I have upheld my end of the arrangements.”

  “Let me have it!”

  Now firmly the ruler of the roost, LeCorbeau smiled wryly. “Ah, Monsieur. As I told you shortly after we were introduced in that so-charming little hot-spring resort— when the time is ripe, I will make for you all things possible.”

  “I see no need to delay my work while I am imprisoned on this infernal ship!”

  “I, too, am anxious to receive your medicinal product, both for personal and for profitable application. But this resource is too rare to trust to pirates.”

  “But you can trust it to me! My quarters are private, strictly off-limits to the sailors.”

  LeCorbeau’s glare pierced the doctor’s mask. “To the sailors, maybe. But what about the mistress?”

  Hanover blinked, but refused to dignify the comment with a response. It was, he suddenly realized, too true.

  “You are not as impenetrable as you pretend, Monsieur. Not to me. Not to Hook.”

  “No one dares to enter my cabin. It is the one dignity Hook allows me.”

  “It is the one illusion he allows you! The wonder is that your foolishness has not exposed you before this, Hanover. You really are innocent if you believe there is any safe place to stow your secrets on this ship. No! No! I put my foot down. Only when you are safely aboard my own L’Ormonde will we complete the transaction!”

  The man called Hanover set his shoulders squarely. “There is no need to fret, Sir. You are too nervous. No one on board the Roger suspects what I conceal.”

  “As ever, your confidence overwhelms. But I do not share it.” Then, deciding to smile, LeCorbeau bobbed around the table and bent, the picture of amiability, to fling his arm around the proper doctor, gripping his shoulders before releasing him. “Well! We will talk again as soon as I have found a way to clean up this mess Hook has cooked for us.” As he straightened, he looked down at the surgeon. His cocky face dropped its good humor. “You will not cross me again.”

  Hanover stiffened; his eyes flew wide. The watch fell from his fingers to dangle and twist at his waist. Beneath LeCorbeau’s handkerchief, a bit of steel gleamed in the lanternlight.

  “And you will be thankful that, unlike so many others, I know you well, Doctor. If I did not, my petit ami would by now have pierced your petit heart, and in spite of your medical miracles, you would be a very dead man.”

  DéDé LeCorbeau finished polishing the nasty little stiletto with his handkerchief, and returned them both to his inner coat pocket. He strutted to the door to salute his partner with a flourish.

  “Au revoir, mon ami. Not go
odbye.” He smiled. “Not yet.”

  Chapter 8

  Visions and Voices

  The servant girl heard only soft sounds. The sea swishing against the hull. Breathing from the bunk. The portside curtains hung open, and the moon poured like liquid into the captain’s cabin, illuminating it so brightly that the mistress had extinguished the lanterns to bathe in its pool. He would find his way to her side without false light tonight. Jill had set a cup full of cool water on the bed shelf, and retired, instructing Liza to honor her father’s orders and stay until her mistress slept. Unaware of intrusion, Jill lay on the bed now. Her servant listened, but the woman didn’t stir.

  Earlier in the evening, Liza turned down the covers for her mistress and replaced the opal necklace in its drawer. She helped the lady into a nightdress. As she hung the dressing gown, Liza had left the wardrobe door the least bit ajar. That morning she had polished the mirror inside it, and she had made sure the door swung noiselessly on its brass hinges. After she curtsied a good-night to her mistress, she prepared the curtain that enclosed the couch— it was of primary importance tonight. She slid it into a thick velvet bunch at the end of its rail. Fashioned for a life at sea, the curtain’s folds didn’t sway with the rise and fall of the swells. Its plush hem nestled in a satisfying heap against the carpet. Appreciating the usefulness of such a drapery, Liza sat down on the couch to wait.

  She had believed Jill to be asleep when the woman’s voice surprised her, dismissing her for the night. Liza walked to the door, opened it, and without passing through, shut it. The bookcase loomed over the dim wall by the door. Silent as the moon, she wedged herself against it. She waited again. Jill didn’t rouse. Eventually, in the half darkness, Liza had stolen along the carpeting toward the daybed. Her skin prickled as she moved, and her insides felt sick with trepidation, but she crept around the curtain and stood straight within it, absorbed like a wood-nymph within the bark of a tree. She was positioned perfectly to accomplish her objective— a pace before the daybed, a few scant feet from the wardrobe. Her confidence returned as Jill’s voice said no more.

  Liza found reason to slip out of hiding only once. After several minutes of quiet, she stepped forward and bent down to retrieve the cane she had stowed away. But just as her fingers brushed the floor boards beneath the couch, she heard her mistress sit up. Liza froze, her eyes alarmed and her breathing ended. Straining her ears for movement from the lady’s direction, she nearly jumped at the noise of scraping wood. Then she tingled with relief. The mistress had opened a window. Liza looked up hastily and saw Jill kneeling with her elbows on the sill, gazing out at the bobbing lights of the neighboring ship. The girl felt along the floor until she grasped the walking stick. She lifted it like finest crystal, then fast regained her shelter within the drapery, where she could neither see nor be seen.

  She clutched the ram’s-headed cane. With her elbows pressed to her sides, she held it close against her body, waiting for the moment to use it. Her father, apparently having no stomach for carousing with pirates and privateers this evening, had retired to their quarters. She was certain he would miss neither his cane nor his daughter tonight.

  Liza was determined that she herself would miss nothing. It was this determination that granted her the courage to remain in the cabin.

  Now— hours later?— Liza’s ears attended new sounds. Men’s voices through the open window. The party on board L’Ormonde was breaking up. Boards clapped and bounced as men secured planking to cross to the Roger. The bedclothes rustled again, and Liza’s mouth felt suddenly dry. She tried to move her tongue and found it impossible. In the next minutes she would be discovered, or she would be safe. As terrible as the master’s anger might be, it was a relief to find the moment at hand at last. And would it be so awful, really, to be noticed? Even struck or beaten? Discovered or not, either way, she would win something from her time here.

  Liza took stock of herself. She was hidden, she held her tool. Her legs were sore, but she ignored them. She was used to that, yet she found herself squeezing her father’s cane hard, harder even than he did when he used it, and she forced her fingers to relent. She sucked one silent breath.

  Audible now came a round of cheerful salutes from the deck, then footsteps moving toward silence. Quieter footsteps approached the door to the captain’s quarters. Liza drew herself into her velvet shell.

  He entered. The door closed. Tense, Liza listened for the click of the key turning the lock, but the bolt remained mute. She relaxed her shoulders; when the time came, she would be able to escape soundlessly. Now she could concentrate on the present.

  She never heard enough of his wonderful voice. Only once had he directed words, just three words, to her. She longed to hear him speak again, whether in language addressed to Jill, or toward herself. Even words of rage. She wanted to see him, yes, but always for Liza, so long denied her own voice, the height of any experience was its sound. On edge, she waited, anticipating her pleasure.

  But he remained silent. Even his boots made no noise as she felt him closing in on her hiding place. Keeping her head straight, she watched from the corner of her eye. Without warning, something heavy hit the couch, and Liza pulled back. It shot a draft of air at her, rippling her skirt and the curtain behind her. She blinked and beheld his tawny-brown coat sprawling on the satin fabric of the daybed. Before she could steady her knees, his waistcoat joined the coat, and Hook himself sat down on the armless end of the couch. Liza didn’t need the mirror yet. She could look directly on him, only four feet away. He bent, pulling a dagger from what seemed like nowhere, and it flashed as he laid it beside him. Then he gave a grunt, starting to work off his boots. As he faced the moonlight, inky waves of hair hung down his back, in contrast with his white shirt. Liza could smell him— leather, salt air, and spirits. She smiled into the silence.

  As if summoned by his scent, a phantom drifted from the direction of the bed, a white-gowned ghost with flowing silvery hair. Gliding over the carpet, she came to him and took his face in her two hands. She leaned down to kiss him. He lifted his face to her embrace, and they hung together for a space of time— as if floating. Two white-shrouded lovers, belonging to no particular world.

  Then the ghost-lady in the nightdress knelt down before him. Slowly, she drew off his boots. He received them from her hands and, rising, the two wraiths drifted from Liza’s view. The girl took the opportunity to breathe again. As her mind cleared, she listened to the boots settling by the bunk, and the soft shush of rich fabric sliding away from richer flesh.

  Not until the bed accepted their weight did Liza venture to use her stick. She had to be sure they wouldn’t notice. By the otherworldly sound of their breathing, she guessed, and gambled. Grasping the cane by its top, Liza slid it outward, as low to the floor as she could reach without bending. She pointed its tip at the crack of the wardrobe door and inserted it. Pausing to listen, she heard only the hushing of the sea. She inched the door open, stopped, and listened again. Her gaze darted around in the darkness, then fastened on the mirror within the wardrobe. It showed the blackness of the closet’s interior. She nudged the door again and saw herself reflected, vaguely, all eyes and ears. And still no voices, just spirits whispering in their shrouds.

  One more push and the mirror swung away. Liza glimpsed white moonlight before it settled— too far! Her mouth fell open and she stood perfectly still, thinking. She was growing warm within her velvet snare.

  Liza drew the stick back. Running her finger over the ivory carving and around the curve of the horns, she allowed one of the tips to prick her finger. And then she reversed the cane and reached the ram’s head out to the wardrobe door. The cane was heavier this way, and her arm shook as she extended it fully. But, hooking the edge with the tiniest tap, she pulled the mirror into place. She was rewarded with the sight of her master and her mistress lying together in the pool of the moon. Liza’s whole body felt damp as she recovered the cane, as if the pool encompassed herself as well.

/>   He still wore his hook. It shone where it rested above his woman, on a pillow. He seemed aware of it, too, because he sat up then, and, pulling his shirt over his head, he shed his ghost-skin. He shook his hair free of it, bunched the sleeve to smooth the hook’s passage, and tossed it away. Liza inhaled a sharp breath as the shirt landed near his other garments, but on the floor— at Liza’s feet. She lowered her eyes to see it. When she spied in the mirror again, Jill was reaching up to free him of his harness.

  The woman rolled toward the wall to hang the leather strap on its hook, while the man flexed his shoulders and breathed deeply of his new freedom. Liza couldn’t see his empty wrist. It moved on the side of him farthest from her, and he soon hid it within the folds of Jill’s nightdress.

  Jill helped him slip her garment off, then lay back on the bed. She reached to bring down the cup of water, offering it to her lover. He took it; he sipped, then tipped it up and drained it as he knelt over her, with his back straight and, Liza discovered with a sudden tightening of her throat, his beautiful body primed for its purpose. The girl nearly reeled.

  The blood drained from her head. She felt faint, dizzy. Clutching the cane, she employed it for its proper purpose, leaning on it for support. She could no longer control her breathing— she made far too much noise. But she must breathe or swoon, and either way, she was sure he would hear her.

  But she couldn’t hear him! She heard the clap of the cup on the shelf as he replaced it, but she didn’t hear his voice. He hadn’t spoken the words Liza craved! He wouldn’t speak them. Not now. As she gripped the stick, tighter every moment, her eyes feasted on the heady sights within the mirror. The magnificent man leaned down, and, without a word, commenced making love to his splendid mistress. And Liza watched.