Other Oceans

by Andrea Jones

  She was gazing at him, perceiving an aspect she’d never taken in before. “Our initials will be the same…but the name is not what I expected. Heinrich. Your true name is Heinrich.”

  “Yes. Like you, I have temporarily taken what you might call a pirate name. ‘Hanover’ is a pseudonym I adopted to pursue my endeavors at sea. There is nothing sinister about it, I assure you. I simply didn’t want to be traced on my travels from England. I intend to assume my proper name when we return to Europe. I am very proud of it.”

  “Of course you are. It isn’t surprising, then, that I should write it. We have become so close.”

  He squeezed her waist. “Closer every day, now.”

  “Why did you wish to hide your whereabouts?”

  “There was a slight misunderstanding about my experiments. Merely an unpleasantness as I sought to learn the proper dosage of my philter. I have since corrected the problem.”

  “I see.” Making use of the natural pause, Jill listened for approaching footsteps. “Well…I am hardly the one to fault you for taking a new name. And when we are married, we will both take the old one.”

  Her smile was irresistible, and Doctor Heinrich didn’t try to deny it. By now he had decided there were far more advantages to associating with pirates than he ever imagined. Neither he nor his fiancée paid the slightest heed as the parchment fluttered to the floor.

  After some moments the surgeon relented, allowing the lady to catch her breath. “Tell me, Madam. Have you any other documents hidden away?” His fingers strayed once again to the edge of her neckline.

  “We mustn’t chance it. Liza is late. She may return at any moment.” Jill pressed her hands flat against his chest, but her fiancé didn’t release her.

  “That never bothered you before, my darling.”

  “It doesn’t bother me now. But after finding us so fervently— engaged— yesterday, your daughter must be wondering about the situation.”

  “It is of no consequence. Liza never asks questions, and I have always impressed upon her the importance of discretion.”

  “You are in a very cheerful mood today! Considering the complications in port, I’m glad to see you so confident of our future.” Pushing herself from his arms at last, Jill began to pace the carpets, drawing closer to the entrance. “Still, I wonder where Liza has gone. She’s never stayed away more than ten minutes or so.” She shot a glance at the door.

  Hanover caught up to her and appropriated her hand. “How I should like to be ‘engaged’ with you again.” Raising her fingers to his lips, he kissed them tenderly. “I ought to be ashamed, being alone with you, behaving like such a rake. But I find I cannot regret it.”

  “Of course I find it pleasant, too…but the men will begin to take notice.” The anxiety in her voice, she found, was genuine. The door should have been flung open by now.

  Unworried, the surgeon detained her hand. “I know how to settle you. We will make plans. Tell me, what kind of ring shall I place upon this finger?”

  “Ring?” Every little noise distracted her; this sound was only her scarlet skirt brushing against the couch. But she should be hearing other noises. Where were the footsteps?

  The surgeon laughed. “Your wedding ring, of course. I propose a circle of diamonds, a sweet reminder of yesterday. Shall it be only diamonds, or shall we make it rich with other stones as well?”

  Forcing herself to pay attention, Jill renewed her smile and fingered her necklace. “Oh! I should like rubies, too, I think.” Deliberately, she moved herself back into his arms and took his handsome face between her hands. At last, she had heard steps on the stairs. She drew him toward her. Unhesitating, he wrapped his arms around her and accepted her embrace— a deep, passionate kiss, lent added ardor by her unrest.

  They both startled as a fist beat the door. Hanover released her immediately; Jill held on to his shoulders. Her lips parted, but when she said nothing, Hanover’s regard grew quizzical and the knock pounded again. Collecting herself, she backed away from her fiancé.

  “Come!”

  Mr. Smee opened the door. He cast a look around the cabin first, then stepped in and nodded. “Lady.” He cleared his throat.

  “Yes, Mr. Smee. Is it time for lunch already?” She turned her back to the doctor, her eyes urgent, questioning Smee.

  “Aye, Madam. Past time.” He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve come to ask if you’ve seen the captain?”

  “No, of course not. He never disturbs Liza’s lessons. No doubt we’ll find him in the galley.” Her face showed confusion as she surveyed Smee, but by the time she turned toward the surgeon, her expression was clear. “Shall we go?”

  “Yes. I must locate Liza. I will speak to her about this lapse. She is making good progress.” Smiling in his self-satisfied manner, Hanover tugged at his cuffs. “Such success shouldn’t be interrupted.”

  Jill returned his look, but as he collected his walking stick, she seized the arm Smee held out to her. They stepped over the threshold, and then she stopped abruptly. “Oh— Doctor, would you be so kind as to collect my letter? I believe I left it near the escritoire.”

  “Certainly, Madam.” Realizing their mistake, Hanover hurried to correct it, and Jill propelled Smee down the steps. She kept her voice low.

  “Why didn’t the captain come?”

  “I’m wondering that, myself! I waited outside your door and sent Tom at last to fetch him from the galley. The lad said he wasn’t there. I couldn’t let you go on any longer.”

  As a soft tread signaled the doctor’s approach, Jill straightened and spoke more clearly. “Very well, Mr. Smee. I’ll see to Liza later. Thank you, Doctor Hanover.” Absent-mindedly, she tucked the guilty parchment into the sash at her waist, where she usually kept her dagger. “Mr. Smee tells me he had a little task for your daughter to perform. Nothing to worry about after all. Next time, he won’t take her away from her lesson.”

  Smee touched his forehead. “Aye, Ma’am. I’m sorry.”

  “Will you join us for lunch, Doctor?”

  Everything was going splendidly for the surgeon. He was in too good a mood to spoil it by sharing his lady pirate with her shipmates. “I think not, Madam. I’ve some business to attend in my quarters.” He bowed. “Until later.”

  Jill held the sigh of relief until the surgeon, tapping his walking stick, strolled away toward the hatch. Her eyes searched the deck for her captain, and then the rigging.

  “It’s no good, Ma’am. He’s not topside, either.”

  She and Smee looked at one another. “Something has gone badly wrong.”

  “I have to be agreeing with you. It’s not at all like the captain to leave you with that bounder.”

  “Nor to miss a good fight! Hook would never willingly fail to carry out this scheme.”

  “Aye, something’s forced his hand. When I left him earlier this morning, he was more than ready to storm in and find you in the doctor’s arms—”

  “And challenge him! We went over the plan enough, it should have gone smoothly.” Jill grasped Smee’s elbow and towed him toward the hatch. “Mr. Smee. Check the spare quarters. He almost always works there when we’re holding Liza’s lessons. If you don’t find him, round up some of the men and search the ship.” She stopped and clutched at her stomach.

  “Are you all right, Lady?”

  She shuddered. “I’ve just had a terrible feeling. But don’t worry about me, we must see to the captain.”

  She made to go with him, but Smee laid a hand on her arm. “No, Lady. Until we know more, you’d best stay above so as not to call attention to the captain’s absence.”

  Jill’s first impulse was to rush to Hook’s aid, but she awoke now to the signal her presence below decks would send to the crew. Seeing the lady inspecting holds and hammocks would serve only to alert the men to a problem. “Yes, Mr. Smee. But check everywhere. The boats, the holds.”

  “Aye, Lady.” Smee set off, gesturing to a group of deckhands to follow.

 
; Frustrated by the impracticality of seeking Hook herself, Jill turned, her fist clenched over her belly, and stared into the roiling waters of the sea. As she clung to the rail, she leaned against a cannon and, suddenly, the ocean around her lost its color. Iron gray, like the cannon, the once welcoming horizon seemed only a menace. She fought the feeling but it persisted, as sure as her love for her captain. Casting for a sensation potent enough to dispel it, she focused on a memory, one of Hook’s violent embraces— the incendiary, savage kiss which, when provoked, left her reeling and in tears. Just such a kiss had set her off balance after Hook’s fencing match with the doctor. But the recollection only left her longing for him, and, as the empty minutes passed, she fell further into gray despond. Her honesty wouldn’t allow her to pretend, even to herself. Jill followed the truth, and it led her to paradise. And perdition.

  Hook treasured her. Since the day of the battle that marked her throat, he undertook to ensure that no harm befell her— from any quarter. A forceful man from whom even the most tender passions might erupt, yet he never raised his hand against her. From the moment Jill joined Hook, she felt his protection constantly, surrounding her like his ship. And in recent days, while working toward the culmination of their ploy, Hook was adamant. He made it clear as he watched and guarded his Jill— her safety was the only point on which he would not bend. Hook would never fail her at the critical moment.

  He was in trouble.

  It seemed an eternity before Smee awakened her from her nightmare, laying a gentle arm around her shoulders. But the dregs of the dream lingered, because, like the sea around her, the bo’sun’s face had lost color, too. He was pale with concern.

  “I’m sorry to frighten you, Lady, but the lads and I have done the job. Twice. We found no sign of the captain, but…” Reluctantly, Smee showed her what he held. “We did find this.”

  Hook’s sword, in its scabbard. Jill’s hand flew to her mouth, and she stared. This was the weapon Hook intended to employ as he staged his challenge to the surgeon. Both eager and hesitant, she asked, “Where?”

  “In the spare quarters, Ma’am. On the desk, lying there with his charts. But he’s not about.”

  “Then look again! Smee, he has to be somewhere.”

  “Aye, Ma’am. Of course we will. But it isn’t good, the way things are looking. I want you to be bracing yourself.” He pulled her gently, encouraging her toward the companionway. “Will you be in your quarters, then?”

  Halting, she balked. “No! I’ll have Mullins furl sails, and then I’ll question the deck gang. They might have seen something from above.”

  “Stop sailing? I didn’t want to suggest it.” Only then, when he knew she understood the gravity of the situation, did Smee allow his apprehension to show. The color returned to his face in full. “You’re thinking the same way I am, then. It’s that serious.”

  As she pressed her hands over the ache in her abdomen, her voice came low, vibrant. “I know it is.”

  Smee considered for only a moment. “Then better have Mullins drop anchor, too.”

  “Aye, I will.”

  “I’m off, then, Madam. Watch yourself.” Smee sped away and hurtled down the steps.

  “Mr. Mullins!”

  “Yes, Ma’am!” The call came from the wheel.

  Commandingly, Jill shouted out her first order. “Furl sails!”

  Mullins didn’t question it. “Aye, aye. Away aloft, lads, furl sails!”

  With a sense of relief, Jill watched the men above her scuttle to do her bidding. She strode to the helm and spoke more quietly. “We’ll be dropping anchor next, Mr. Mullins. See to it.” As calmly as she could manage, she snatched up the spyglass and crossed to port to scale the steps to the quarterdeck, balancing herself with a grip on the ornate banister. Fighting a wave of panic, she resisted ringing the ship’s bell as she passed it, and when she reached the taffrail, she pulled the glass to its fullest extent and lifted it to her eye.

  The wind beat her skirt against her legs. Her hair whipped around her face. Impatient, she set down the glass to tug at the knot of her scarlet sash. As it came loose, the parchment she had tucked into it was stolen by the breeze. It winged its way off the stern to freedom— and a watery grave. ‘Mrs. Johann Heinrich’ was now, and always had been, just another story. Without a thought for the tragedy of that lady’s ending, Jill lifted her face to the wind and bound the sash around her head. Having tamed her hair, she raised the glass again.

  L’Ormonde was there. As Smee informed the captain this morning, she had moved toward the Roger in the night and dropped back at sunrise, slightly to starboard. She was close, but no closer, still trailing within range of the spyglass. Jill didn’t yet know if the presence of another ship this far at sea was a comfort or a calamity. Hook never trusted LeCorbeau, and upon learning the extent of the Frenchman’s partnership with the surgeon, his suspicions were confirmed. Yet, as the worst offense of which Hook could accuse the commandant was an unwillingness to share the profits of the doctor’s business, Hook shrugged it off, reasoning that any venturer would do as LeCorbeau had done. Similarly, Hook himself had no intention of dividing the doctor’s diamonds with the privateer. Nor did he intend to share Jill with the doctor. Not after this morning.

  The men combined their strength to work together. Lowering the glass, Jill heard their commotion at the capstan, and watched as the aft anchor splashed into the sea and the heavy cable paid out from deep in the hold. As if raked from the ocean floor by the flukes of the anchor, all her fears, submerged under Hook’s protection, rose rippling to the surface.

  How could she bear it if Hook never came back to her? Her whole life had been lived moving toward him. While waiting to know one another, she conjured stories about him, and he dreamed of her as his mermaid. Partners in every sense of the word, Hook and Jill completed each other. But the discovery of this truth was too recent. Even as the pirate queen, Jill was as yet dependent upon her captain. She had mastered the basics of sailing, but there was much to learn that only experience could teach her— experience that almost all the pirates under her command owned in abundance.

  Standing here among these buccaneers without Hook at her side, Jill felt alone, as Hook used to feel before she came to him— but far more vulnerable. She had been careful to maintain cordiality between herself and the men. Now, with the captain hurt or missing, that strategy would be put to the test. With another twist of her insides, Jill realized how precariously her position teetered without Hook’s iron fist to steady it. In his absence, whether temporary or permanent, the more ambitious men would not easily be denied. They were sure to seek his power, by any available means— including the possession of his mistress— and one of them would take it. Only one.

  The strongest man aboard.

  But surely, Jill rationalized, shivering as the chill crept up her spine, surely all her worries were for nothing. Mr. Smee was on guard, and the captain would be found before L’Ormonde caught up to the Roger. There were only so many places he could be on this ship, and all of them friendly. Only an unfortunate circumstance would keep Hook from executing a scheme such as he planned for today, especially such a lucrative one, and he would never leave his Jill for long in the amorous arms of the surgeon. Some accident must have occurred. Something serious, but certainly not disastrous. Smee would find him, and then this ache inside would be allayed. Hook wasn’t gone for good. She would sense it if…if he were dead.…Hook and Jill were too closely connected not to feel each other’s heart beating. He must be feeling her heart struggling now.

  No, Hook was alive.…But where?

  Jill’s thoughts were disturbed by the sound of boots. Mr. Smee, Nibs and Tom, and many others moved toward her. Emerging from the hatch, they scattered across the deck, and, Jill noticed, began to gravitate toward the gunwales. A sudden fear stabbed her, reversing the certainty she had labored to achieve.

  “No!”

  The grim look on Smee’s face afflicted her, and she backed
to the balustrade. Casting a wild look about the decks, she saw that everywhere men were bending over the rails. Some climbed to the forecastle to peer down from the bow, some leaned out from the shrouds. All were searching the sea.

  The sea!

  Nibs, Tom, and Smee scaled the quarterdeck stairs. Their steps slowed as they approached her. Smee was shaking his head. “We’ve not found a sign of him, Ma’am. We looked everywhere.”

  “No, you couldn’t have. He’s here!”

  Tom moved to her side and, bending down, looked into her eyes. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. He’s vanished.”

  Assaulted by a rush of pain, Jill jerked around to clutch at the rail. Sickened, she leaned over it, nearly losing her balance. Tom and Nibs seized her arms to support her. It was just as well. If they hadn’t held her, she’d have jumped. For below her, Jill spied a terrible sight— crimson cloth, flapping in the breeze. Under the ornamental windows of her own cabin, it protruded from the aft porthole, two decks below. A fine-tailored banner of red velvet, its sleeves groping at the sea, the wide, embroidered cuffs empty of hand or hook.

  The captain’s coat.

  “Hook!”

  “No, Ma’am! Don’t you think of diving in! We’ll do it. Nibs, hold her!”

  But Nibs was already hopping on one foot, tugging his boot off. Smee’s flesh had turned a mottled red, and he quickly shed his keys, knife, and boots. He whisked off his spectacles and threw them down, too, then vaulted over the rail, plunging feet first into the water. The splash as he entered the waves was followed immediately by Nibs’. Held securely by Tom, Jill leaned over and watched. As she gripped the balustrade, her fingers dug into its gilded wood.

  “Hook!…Hook!”

  Alerted by her shouts, the crewmen abandoned their look-outs and rallied to her. But as the mass of men behind her swelled, Jill’s hopes diminished. Smee and Nibs dove again and again, coming up spluttering, each time with empty arms. Shaking water from their faces, they gulped for air and submerged again. With an awful fascination, Jill watched their efforts, and, as they tired, she called to them.