by Andrea Jones
Smee looked after the master and the mistress, then took stock of the deck. Mr. Cecco’s avid gaze had abandoned the shrinking merchantman, and trailed in the direction Smee’s had done.
The bo’sun muttered under his breath. “She’s your weakness, Cap’n. And every-bloody-body else’s!”
§ § §
As if the wind sensed the excitement, it rolled the ship along, in darkness. Wave after wave struck up against the hull, and the distant flickers of lanterns grew larger, outlining the shape of the Roger’s prey, first to port, then to starboard, as the ship tacked her way forward. The deck hands were ordered to silence in the rigging. Noodler had given the wheel over to Mullins, and the hulking shape of Starkey shadowed his charges as he and Smee readied the canvas bags.
Nibs hunched on top of a cannon, pulling at his boots. Tom shed his shirt and flexed his sore shoulders. His welts didn’t show in the weak, watery moonlight, but he felt them.
“I tell you, Nibs, I’m looking forward to the adventure, but not the sting of saltwater!”
Little levity accompanied Nib’s answer. “All part of the job, Tom. And it won’t trouble you long. The water will be cold enough to distract you from the sting.”
“Aye, I hope Mr. Smee’s ready with the hot toddy when it’s over.”
The young sailors were nearly floating already. It was long since they had stretched their wings, and, apprehensive as they were, they were eager.
Securing his dagger in his belt, Tom spoke more quietly. “I hope it all goes smoothly. I want to show the captain he can trust me again.”
“I want to get at that ship tomorrow, and haul in her riches.” Nibs’ voice was barbed as he anticipated the business to come, and then he waxed grim. “And when we get to port, we’ll spend it on some of those ladies Smee was talking about. The kind that understand a man’s duty.”
“There’s a happy thought! I’ve got to say, Nibs, what with my troubles lately, I was a bit worried I wouldn’t think of one. And we have to fly tonight. Captain’s orders.”
Nibs’ eyes sought Tom’s face in the night. “You know better, Tom. Between the two of us, we’ll always pull through. No matter what— or who— we’re up against.” His bare arm stretched through the darkness to find his brother’s. They clasped firmly, then the two sailors reported to Starkey for work.
§ § §
Close to midnight, Mr. Smee rapped on the captain’s door. He listened, and he rapped again, louder. Smee had learned patience over his years of service, and he didn’t begrudge the captain his contentment. The man had earned his pleasures. On occasion, he’d even shared them. After a respectable pause, Smee clicked the handle under his fingers, and a sliver of light spilled on the bo’sun’s face.
“Captain?…Sir?”
Smee stepped quickly over the threshold and closed the door to hide the light. “Ma’am?” Only the swishing of the sea answered as he cast his gaze around the comfortable cabin. Under its rich hangings, the bunk lay flat and empty, just as Miss made it up this morning. Stepping in further, Smee relaxed. The agreeable aroma of fine tobacco greeted him. One lantern was lit and hanging, and most of the curtains were closed to imprison its light. The captain’s boots stood by the bed, his shirt lay on the couch. His coat and waistcoat reposed over its back. A tapping startled Smee, and he swiveled toward the bunk again. The hook hung there, moored to the wall by its leather strappings. It was the only thing in the room, Smee acknowledged with a nod, not softened by the soft light.
The night was pleasant, but only one window was uncurtained. An aft window over the cushioned seat. Striding along the carpets, Smee stopped by the dining table to survey its remnants. The candles with their warm tallow drippings had been extinguished. Nearby, on the harpsichord bench, Jill’s dressing gown and the captain’s breeches were strewn. Smee pushed the chairs up to the table and tidied the dishes, placing them on the sideboard to show he’d been there. With a smile, he pocketed the cigar the captain left for him, already pierced, he guessed, by the lady’s hands. Then, picking up her new treasure, he cupped it in his palm and turned to search out the window. Lured by the pungent smell of the sea, Smee rested one knee on the window seat, bracing his elbow on the decorative ledge and leaning out to breathe. The newborn moon, not visible from here, was distant and dull.
It was a perfect night.
On the way out of the cabin, Smee dropped her ruby necklace into the drawer in the wardrobe. It sprawled next to the opals on the velvet lining, and he spent some minutes under the swaying lanternlight arranging them both into the delicate shape of her neck. Smee knew every inch of that throat, and the velvet under his fingers wasn’t nearly as soft. He positioned the jewelry with the catches toward him, as if she stood before him and he were looking down on her beauty again, with her hair just catching his beard. He rubbed the back of his fingers to his whiskers as he stepped back to admire his handiwork. For a woman so precious, that drawer should overflow with baubles. But there was plenty of room for more loot. And plenty of time to win it.
If he were the captain, he’d give her a bracelet next. Solid gold, and soon.
No, if Smee were the captain, she’d be wearing it now. On that soft skin.
He slid the drawer closed.
Casting one last glance around the room, the bo’sun left. He’d just have to tell the lads to wait. They’d have to learn, as Smee had done. It wasn’t easy for an Irishman, but he’d learned it, that first night he ever laid eyes on the captain— patience paid off. Patience, and loyalty.
To those he trusted, James Hook could be a generous man.
§ § §
With their bags slung over their shoulders, two hearty pirates bent their knees and shoved off at last. Soaring upward, Nibs and Tom laughed quietly to feel the freedom of the air, even more heady than the freedom of the sea. Looping and spiraling, they held the bags close, and then they darted toward the lights of the ship bobbing ahead, all unsuspecting of their coming.
The night air rushed warm against their skins, and they rolled and flew higher— high enough to avoid watchful eyes in the merchantman’s crow’s nest. Circling the vessel, they spotted a tricolor flag flapping, and a spyglass beneath a foreign-shaped hat, scanning the waters. Glimpsed between her square sails, her night crew stood dim on the yardarms and deck. Nibs and Tom fell behind and let the ship outdistance them, then they dropped below the level of her taffrail and opened their bags.
The curved wooden wedges were heavy, sturdy enough to hold all night. Nibs shot starboard, Tom angled to port, and they met in the middle, below the lowest aft windows. They flattened their hands against the damp, slippery paint of the stern, and worked their way downwards, until they felt the big wing of the rudder spring up between them. Nibs dipped his feet, then his legs, into the water, careful not to let the current suck any part of him into the crack for which he searched. Tom did the same on the port side, and each took a wedge from his bag, fitted it into the crack, and pushed it tight between the stern and the rudder. As quickly as their cold, wet hands allowed, the young men pulled out another triangle each, and taking full breaths, sank under the waterline, hanging on, and feeling their way down the stern with one hand, clasping the wedges to their chests with the other.
Relieved of their loads, the canvas bags floated and swirled above the divers, and through frigid water, the two men already heard the moans of straining chain. Directed by the steering wheel at the helm, the merchantman’s rudder was trying to turn. As the cables complained, Nibs and Tom inched their triangles into place, then threw their weight behind their elbows, shoving as forcefully as strength allowed. Bouncing up for air, they thrashed in the waves, kicking hard to rise and dangle their feet above the surface. Airborne again, they caught up with the stern, located the upper wedges, and struck with their heels this time, to ensure the wooden pieces were securely lodged.
Chilled and dripping, the two sailors drifted up and away from the ship. This was the worrisome part; the Roger burne
d no lights. They hung low, but kept close behind the illuminated merchantman until enough time passed for their captain to deem it safe to show himself. Within minutes, a torch flared on the Roger’s deck, and Tom grasped Nibs’ arm and pointed. The brothers sped home, worn, wet, and satisfied. In the distance, shouts of distress came from the quarterdeck of the prize as the man at the wheel sought to steer a rudder that refused to obey, and among foreign swear words and rising panic, the rich, laden ship under the tricolor flag nosed slowly, but absolutely, off her master’s course.
The torch aboard the Roger hissed in a bucket, doused. And off to the east, the merchantman’s sails were hauled up and furled, her anchors splashed into the sea. More men roused and lanterns were lit, but there was nowhere she could go, and nothing she could do.
She wouldn’t know until dawn that she’d already been attacked by pirates. Two tired but hearty pirates, with stinging eyes and chattering teeth, who, under an approving nod from their tall, dark captain, were mantled in blankets by a smiling queen.
§ § §
After the eerie quiet aboard the Roger last night, the surgeon was startled early by a knock at his door. He dropped his coat over the chair and, hoping perhaps to impress a lady, smoothed his hair before pulling the door open. Looking up into the business-like faces of Smee and Yulunga, Hanover instantly understood why they’d come. He stiffened and stepped back.
“Sorry, Doctor, but we’ve got to be putting your bracelets on.” Smee tried not to gloat.
Hastening toward the window, Hanover snapped the curtains all the way open. “So, it is another victim. Dutch this time.”
“Aye, and she’s waiting for us. If you’ll please sit down, we’ll be getting on with it.” Smee stepped into the cabin, his ring of keys jangling as he pulled it from his belt, where a pistol and a cutlass also lodged. Yulunga entered, too, on silent bare feet, his big arms dangling and the boarding ax stowed at his waist, close to hand. Blocking access to the surgeon’s hanging swords, he stooped under the ceiling and watched— regretfully, Hanover believed. Behind the African, Liza slipped in. With her eyes properly downcast, she avoided the pirates’ glances, and crept to the table to set a breakfast tray there.
Unable to bear the sight of Smee, Hanover focused on the nearing ship. “How is it she allows us within such proximity? Her sails are furled— she is not even firing at us!”
“Well, now, it may have something to do with the flag. It seems we joined the Dutch nation during the night. But you’ll hear plenty of noise once we’ve raised the Jolly Roger.”
Yulunga was diplomatic, but insistent. “That will be soon, Doctor. We had better do our job.” He didn’t move, but the surgeon understood. Yulunga would use force if he had to. Hanover eyed Yulunga with dignity and regret, but the look he sent Smee was filled with resentment.
“Very well. I see I have no choice.” He seized a large, leather-bound volume from the desk, and tossed it on his bunk. “You will have the courtesy to allow me to watch over my daughter’s imprisonment first.”
Yulunga nodded. “Certainly. Miss?”
Reluctantly, Liza came forward, then remembered the tray. She backtracked to pick it up, and set it on the foot of her father’s bunk before scrambling into her own. No one offered to assist her; her father didn’t appear to think it necessary, and the sailors were under strict orders. Tucking her legs under her skirt, she made herself inconspicuous while Smee stepped up and dragged the chain from under her pillow. He had soon clamped the band around her little wrist and locked it with his key. The iron was cool, Smee’s hands were warm, and as he pulled the chain to check that it was secured to the bedpost, the tug on her wrist made her think of Mr. Cecco’s golden bracelets. She closed her eyes, then, and listened to the soft stirring of cloth and the hard clink of metal as her father retreated into his bunk and, grudgingly, submitted to his shackling. He expelled an irritable breath.
Smee attempted to reassure them. “Not to worry, it won’t be taking us long to work this vessel. We’ll be off and away, and you’ll be free again by lunchtime.”
Yulunga grunted his agreement, and the two pirates ducked under the doorway and closed it. Smee’s footfalls resounded on the gun deck as they strode away.
The surgeon was silent for some minutes, then Liza heard him stir on the blanket. With a rattle of chains, he punched his pillow and threw himself down on it. Liza settled herself, and found some amusement in bumping her fingers along the cold iron links.
“Liza.”
She turned her head toward him.
“Has the sailor boy left you alone since the incident?”
Her silence indicated the affirmative.
“And all the others?”
Silence, again.
The scrape of wood on the tray told her he was examining his breakfast.
“You have neglected to bring me a spoon, Liza.”
She studied the beams across the ceiling.
Very soon, the flick of pages in the bunk below was superseded by hailing shouts tossed back and forth between vessels, and then the sounds of many men congregating on the deck. The merchantman must be close enough, now. Surprised exclamations and moans of dread became audible next; the Dutch colors must have been struck, and the black flag raised. Liza heard the bite of grappling hooks, and the boarding plank slapped down. Intimidating, the hollers of the Roger’s crew swelled, unbearable, and then came the surge of many boots. After that, it was all a jumble as the hold began to fill, and later, more goods were stacked between the rows of cannon in the gun deck, just outside her door. Chickens squawked as they were carried to the galley, and there seemed to be plenty of them.
Liza curled up on her bunk and coiled the chain around her arm. When the links were as warm as her skin, she fell asleep.
Her father’s curt command intruded into her dreams.
“Liza. You will practice your letters while we are detained. At our next lesson, I want you to impress the lady with your mastery of the alphabet.”
Obediently, Liza roused herself, rising up on one elbow. She practiced. As she drew the alphabet on the bedclothes, at length she felt the little ring slip around the wrong way so that the pearls caught between her finger and the fleshy part below it. Trailing her fingertip on the blanket, she spelled the new words to herself.
F— a— t— h— e— r.
M— o— t— h— e— r.
She thought some more, and worked another word out in her head. When she was sure she had it right, she didn’t entrust it even to the blank slate of the blanket. She rubbed her fingers idly, back and forth across the bed, and wrote it only in her head. A word to fit between ‘Father’ and ‘Mother.’ A word that rhymed with ‘Jill.’ A deadly sentence, carried out on the terrible night Liza claimed her mother’s ring.
Father— kill— Mother.
Knowing she would never, ever speak it, Liza imagined how her sentence would impress the lady, and with a smile on her lips, she drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 12
Guilty Parties
“Ah, mon ami, you should have seen the faces when my valiant Guillaume rose bubbling to the surface! First, the amazement, and then the applause! In his two hands he is holding yet another wedge, pried away from the rudder. Now the mystery is solved, and my Guillaume is the hero of the day.”
Night was falling, the Roger’s lanterns brightly burned, and the sailors of L’Ormonde were scattered among her own, all across the deck. Chairs and benches had been hauled up from the galley, and the feasting and drinking had begun, courtesy of the stores of the Dutch merchantman, left long ago with a token blaze on her bowsprit, but otherwise unharmed in their dual wakes. The captains’ circle included Mr. Smee, Nibs and Tom, Renaud and Guillaume in their smart red and blue uniforms, and the Roger’s reluctant surgeon. Yulunga, Cecco, and Mullins assumed duty once again, participating moderately while vigilant of the visitors, whose abilities to revel were proving a match to those of their hosts. Song, laughter, and watered w
ine abounded.
Hook’s carved chair was placed before the wheel, and Jill sat close at his left side. He stretched his legs out comfortably in front of him. After the day’s successes, he found himself enjoying the company of his old rival.
He said, “And as I predicted, the Dutchmen themselves didn’t think to look below the waterline.”
“No, no! Who would believe it could be done, to secretly cripple the steering of a vessel the size of this prize? And a good thing, too. L’Ormonde might not have come upon her in time, had you not so thoroughly bewildered her master with this clever scheme. As it was, we were able to come to the aid of the good captain. We quenched the little fire, and were much fêted. After, eh, a necessary ‘inspection’ to see that no other sabotage was worked within the ship. The captain felt himself lucky that DéDé LeCorbeau and his pirate-hunters came upon the scene! And then we scurried away to chase after the foul perpetrators of the crime.”
Jill smiled. “And to stow your own prizes, before they were missed.”
“Of course, Madame, but once I explained our mission of running down such rascals as yourselves, there were no suspicions. The Dutchmen are convinced you are to blame, and confident we were of excellent service to them.”
“Their confidence in you is well attested by my percentage…partner.” Inclining his head, Hook raised a handsome ebony baton with which LeCorbeau had presented him, previously the pride of the Dutch captain.
“Yes, well, eh, you might have left a little more to my men, one of whom after all has risked his life to secure it.”
“Like the two of my own who risked theirs. But, as a matter of fact, we took time to locate only the obvious, knowing you would tidy up the hiding places. I find our arrangement to be most beneficial for all, LeCorbeau. I wonder I didn’t think of it myself.” He admired the baton once more, then laid it across his lap.
