Other Oceans

by Andrea Jones

  Hanover twisted within their grasps, feeling the fresh flow of blood as he struggled. Tightening his grip, Smee spoke sharply to Yulunga. “No, mate. We’re not to enter his quarters. Let’s be stowing him in his work room, and he can fend for himself.”

  Grateful for this stroke of luck, Hanover subsided as the men hauled him toward the spare cabin. His secret was safe— for the moment.

  “With a prize about, I’ll not be finding time to stitch him up.” Smee kicked the door open, and neither he nor Yulunga felt a need to be gentle as they dumped Hanover on the bunk. “Not that I’m inclined to lift a finger, mind.”

  Yulunga snorted. “Who’s to doctor the doctor?” But his black eyes found her, just outside the door.

  Like a wraith, Liza had followed. Now she hovered on the threshold, her hands kneading a lump of gray velvet. Men gathered on the gun deck behind her, stripping off their shirts and hauling on the tackle. Voices raised and boxes of shot grated along the floor. A certain savagery animated the girl’s eyes as she beheld her father, and even in her mauve dress with her hair tucked up in its net, Liza appeared not so very out of place among the pirates.

  Smee eyed her. “You’ll be needing some things, then.” As he exited, she backed from him. “Come along, and be quick about it.” He headed to his quarters to gather up his mending box. Liza launched a look at Yulunga, who squinted at her.

  “You’re to stay below.” His gaze scoured the girl from head to toe, and his smirk, when it formed, was rank with privilege. “We don’t want you damaged— until you’re ready.” He struck one of his earrings with a thumb. Liza saw it bob, but her gaze fastened on the manacle mark encircling his wrist. Yulunga grunted his amusement, then spared a glance for the surgeon.

  Prostrate and clutching at the blankets, the man looked daggers at the mate, but he lay on his stomach, unable to summon breath to object. Yulunga ducked under the doorway to tramp to his captain’s side.

  Smee met the girl at his door. “You’ll be finding what you’re needing here— needles, twine, a knife. Rags. Rum’s in the galley. Tell Cook I sent you for it.” Thrusting the box in her arms, he turned again to collect his weapons, and then he elbowed his way through the rowdy gunners as they primed and fed the cannons.

  Within minutes, the Roger was ready to attack. It took Liza a little longer to prepare herself to fix her father.

  § § §

  Under the emblem of the Union Jack, the resistance was disorganized. With her rudder shot away and her foremast in splinters, the prize was nearly secure. Cecco raised his boot and shoved his opponent, a merchant officer. The man dropped his sword, staggering away. Striding to starboard, the pirate captain kicked a knife from a smallish white hand, then he hunkered down and hauled the cabin boy from beneath a cannon barrel. Cecco faced the combatants, gripping the boy’s throat with one hand while flourishing his cutlass in the other. The clamor died down as the Unity surrendered, only to start up again with the clatter of swords hitting the deck, followed by hearty hurrahs from pirate throats. Over the shouting came a chopping sound. Then, fluttering downward, the colors of the Union Jack were struck.

  “Now tell me, my noble young man. Which of these gentlemen is your captain?”

  The youth trembled inside his uniform, but tried to hide it. “The cap—” His voice broke and he had to swallow first. “The captain’s abed, Sir, in his quarters.”

  “Under the covers? Has he better company than us?” Cecco’s men laughed with him. When the boy seemed unable to reply, the pirate shook him. The golden jewelry jangled.

  “He’s ill, Sir.”

  Cecco frowned. “Nothing catching, I hope?”

  “No, Sir. No quarantine. Pneumonia, says our surgeon.”

  “Ah! And is he alone?”

  “The surgeon wouldn’t allow him to fight, Sir. He’s tending to him.”

  “Good. You will take me to your captain.”

  The boy darted a look to his officers. To a man, they nodded at him, the most vigorous affirmative coming from the first mate, in the grip of a huge African wielding a boarding ax. Regret marked their defeated faces. The Unity’s officers found themselves in no position to protect the boy. He understood their dilemma. He was the captain’s nephew. As if fortified by the reminder, the boy squared his shoulders and met the pirate’s eyes. “This way, Captain.”

  Cecco smiled and released him. “Mr. Yulunga! Secure the prisoners and throw open the holds.” He turned to starboard and raised his hand to his mouth to whistle at the Roger, and at his shrill command the crewmen there fell to hoisting block and tackle.

  At the base of the Roger’s mainmast, a lady waited. Her fair hair blew in the breezes and her emerald skirt clung to her. A flush of excitement adorned her cheeks.

  Cecco shouted across the chasm. “Permission to board.”

  Jill came forward and Mason handed her a pulley. He opened the gangway and steadied her as she stepped to the edge. Then, smiling, she shoved off to sail over the water with her green skirt rippling behind her.

  The vanquished crew of the Unity gawked at the apparition. Even the most seasoned of her sailors had never witnessed such a sight. A flesh-and-blood angel soared toward them, almost flying, to be caught up in the swarthy brigand’s embrace. Her laugh played like music as he circled her around, joy strange to hear at the gloomy end of a battle. Yet only as she opened her hand to release the pulley did they fully realize she wasn’t the pirate’s hostage, nor did she seek freedom aboard their vessel.

  She must be his partner. After all, however elegant the lady appeared, only a lady pirate would sport such a dagger, or such a pistol. Or that blood-stained hand.

  “Lovely one. At last you have the pleasure to board a prize.”

  “Sir, you grant my every wish.” As Cecco released her waist, she turned to study the boy. “But who is this?”

  “Our guide, Madam.”

  “And just a boy.” She smiled at him. “About the age I was when I ventured to the Island. And now,” she offered Cecco her scarlet hand, “a new adventure, Captain, into the future. Shall we?”

  “You have heard the queen, young man. Lead the way.”

  The cabin boy sought his power of speech and found it, and as he stared at this goddess, he prayed his voice wouldn’t crack this time. “Aye, aye, Sir!” He backed into a cannon, and then he took his eyes from her face and marched his brass-buckled shoes to the master’s quarters.

  Two minutes later, the Unity’s crew sat corralled on the forecastle; most of the pirates were descending into the holds. The master’s door cracked open and the cabin boy scrambled up from the steps to stand at attention. His uncle’s voice, weakened from his ailment, issued from the doorway. “David, you’re to come in, lad, and—” he broke off, coughing. When the fit abated, he continued, his words muffled in a handkerchief. “You’re to come in, David, and uncork a bottle for us.”

  The lady’s laugh glittered over the gloom again, and David hopped to his duty.

  § § §

  Liza pulled the leather strap from her father’s teeth. It had helped him conceal his agony. Now he opened his mouth to test his jaw before he spoke. His teeth ached, but his back bristled with sharp, shooting pains. His voice gathered strength as he used it. “You have done surprisingly well, Liza. Now get to our cabin and take care of the other business. The men will be returning soon, and I thought I could hear— it.”

  She rose, observing the first word her father had taught her to read, splayed across his back: ‘JILL.’ It was bloody, embroidered with Liza’s own stitching— and inscribed by Captain Cecco’s knife on the most deserving of parchments.

  Liza shoved her sleeves up over her elbows again and collected Mr. Smee’s belongings, replacing them in their box. A heap of red-stained scraps lay piled by the door. Liza had hoped her father would lapse into oblivion so she could slip a hand in his pocket for the keys, but he had not succumbed. On the contrary, he had refused his own medication and maintained a stoic awarenes
s, even guiding her through the stitching process.

  Yet Liza was unsure what she would do with the keys if she recovered them. Hook had rejected her, three times. He wasn’t likely to open his arms to her again. Far from it. Liza doubted that Hook was able even to lift his arms; his breaths barely raised his chest. He was dying, and by Liza’s own hand. To reveal Hook’s whereabouts to ship’s company at this point must condemn not only Liza’s father, but Liza herself. And Captain Cecco held the power now. With Hook so very weakened, Cecco couldn’t be expected to relinquish the captaincy to him. Nor was anything to be gained on that front by appealing to Yulunga. At least, not from a direct appeal. He was Cecco’s man. And Liza knew Mr. Smee would be no help. These days the bo’sun strode about with Hook’s rapier at his waist. If she trusted Smee with the secret, he’d probably take one look at his master and run Liza through. No. It was better if everyone believed her to be the surgeon’s tool. The keys were best left in her father’s charge.

  Hanover sighed as he prepared his tormented body for rest, but he wasn’t ready to surrender yet. He kept his voice low.

  “You are to administer only enough liquid to maintain unconsciousness. I prefer you to use the ether. Every half hour.”

  Disconcerted, she turned an ear toward him to verify what she’d heard.

  “This is my order. No food. No liquid.”

  Liza’s gray eyes rebelled, but even from his prostrate posture, the surgeon’s hand flared out to seize her arm.

  “Do not dare to cross me, Liza. Sooner than you think, I will be walking. Even if I have to use my cane.”

  She shrank from his threat, and when he released her arm, his finger marks were clearly visible, first white, then red. Tomorrow they would be purple.

  Liza shook her sleeve down over her forearm. And then she left, to conceal another of her father’s secrets.

  § § §

  The wind rose during the afternoon. The Roger groaned under it. As the day progressed, her swaying had caused the men to brace their legs and reach to secure the swinging goods from the pulley hooks. Now the hooks were stowed, the hatches battened, and hungry sailors held fast to the banisters, descending to the galley. Having gotten the ship under sail, the men in the rigging cheered their captain as, disregarding the pitch of his ship, he carried his lady along the companionway. He conveyed her over the threshold and into his quarters, an exultant smile shining across his face.

  “Now, my Jill, we have captured our first prize, and the hold is filled to bursting with swag.”

  “Aye, Captain. I feel I’ve captured a prize, too.” She laughed as she held up a shiny silver charm in the shape of a shamrock. “And to add to it, young David was most generous to present me with his lucky piece. All in all, a good day’s work! The men will be pleased with their choice— as I assure you, I am pleased with mine.”

  He kissed her before he set her down, and then he moved to the aft windows to spy out L’Ormonde. “I see the ‘rescuers’ approaching already. LeCorbeau, too, will be pleased. He will glean much, I think, from his encounter with the Unity.”

  Kneeling beside him on the window seat, Jill said, “More than he bargained for! No doubt we’ll enjoy an interesting party tonight after he learns of our ‘adventure’ aboard the Unity. But may we host the celebration here, Sir? I’ve had quite enough of visiting other—” She stopped, and she looked alarmed.

  “Jill? What is it, my—” But Cecco heard it, too, in the interval between the Roger’s moanings. He reached to support her as the ship pitched again.

  Her blue eyes widened, questioning. “You can hear it?”

  He shrugged. “It is just the wind, rising as the sun sets.”

  “No.” Jill gazed at Cecco, and her eyes seemed suddenly not to see him. She listened. In a moment, she heard it again.

  Cecco brushed the stray strand of hair from her face. “Hush, my lovely one. All is well.”

  But although her gaze didn’t leave him, her face turned, ever so slowly, away. Toward the bunk. Unwilling to abandon the comforting sight of Cecco, she indicated the port wall.

  Her lover turned to look himself. His eyes searched the cabin for a moment and then stopped, riveted on a sunlit patch where the light streamed in. By the bed. His brow contracted, his brown eyes filled with disbelief. He breathed the words.

  “Madre de Dio…!”

  Jill watched as he blanched in horror, and then with his fingers he worked his gypsy banishing gesture, down from his forehead and across his breast. Quickly, he reached for Jill’s chin, to turn her face away. But it was too late. She had heard it; now she saw it. Like a slow poison, the cold of it crept its way through her veins. The Roger wailed.

  Hanging loose against the wall, swinging with the ship’s movement, it tapped. The phantom that haunted her each night, that she believed she heard as she slept, and which she always woke to find an illusion, had returned. This time, it shone in the sinking sunlight, reflecting a bloody orange flame in its curving surface. Swinging and tapping.

  The hook.

  § § §

  Nibs and Tom were not allowed to attend the party. They didn’t mind. Assigned to the watch manning the ship, they welcomed the chance to come together. They hung over the rail, shoulders hunched against the wind, but sure their words would be whipped away from those who shouldn’t hear. Before them, the Roger bounded up and down at anchor, in tandem with L’Ormonde. Her lights were a reassuring sight.

  “No luck in the holds, Nibs. All quiet except for the pumps.”

  “I had a good look round this morning. I found two of those wedges we used to cripple the Dutch merchantman, but nothing suspicious anywhere.”

  “Did you find that locked cabin, in the aft section, near the powder magazine?”

  “Near the magazine? No. Might be officers’ privy.”

  “No, I’ve seen that. And they don’t keep it locked.”

  “I’ve noticed keys on both mates. Maybe we can slip in and pinch a set while they’re asleep tonight.”

  “They won’t sleep tonight. At least, not so’s we’d want to get at them.”

  Reminded of his predicament, Nibs scowled. “We’ve got to get in that cabin, Tom. And if Hook isn’t there, we’ve got to keep right on searching.”

  “I’m thinking this ship isn’t all that big.”

  “She’s big enough to hold a secret.”

  “Maybe.” Tom rubbed the scar at his temple. “I’ve been watching the men, too, to see who goes where. One advantage of being aloft all morning.”

  “I’m longing for the rigging, Tom. Lucky we met that prize today. LeCorbeau was teaching me words I never wanted to know— in French or any other language.” Nibs pulled his kerchief tighter against the wind.

  “I’m with you, mate. That Guillaume’s taken a fancy to me. He shadowed me today. Thought he caught me once, down in the bilges. I was glad to hear the bell calling us to board the Unity, too. But I’ll think of a reason to make him open that last cabin.”

  “You be careful, Tom.” Nibs frowned, and the crease between his eyebrows deepened. “I might not be able to protect you if LeCorbeau turns nasty.”

  “I’ve got my knife, and I’m double Guillaume’s breadth. But let me tell you, Nibs. It makes me think. One day aboard, and you and I have been all over this vessel. Not only is there no place to hide anyone— there’s no place for anyone to hide.”

  The young sailors looked at one another in the flickering light of their home ship’s lanterns. A light that, at this distance, cast more doubt than it dispelled.

  § § §

  Smee had troubles, but with repairs to the Roger and wounds to wrap, a chance to relieve his mind took a long time coming. He felt bound to appear at the celebrations, if only for the lady’s sake, but at last he forced his way aft through the crowded galley. The lads were loud tonight, exhilarated by a full hold from the new captain’s prize, and the merriment had redoubled when L’Ormonde’s company boarded, toting the Roger’s share of th
eir takings. The ensuing hubbub was just what Smee needed to cover his venture to the Hanover cabin. Smee knew it was vacant; the surgeon still stretched on the bunk in the spare quarters…and Miss was at the party.

  Smee wasn’t the only one seizing his chances. He’d heard Yulunga’s oily voice promise the girl a present if she sat with him. She’d changed out of her blood-stained mauve into her blue dress, and not long after, her pearl ring found its way from Yulunga’s pocket to her finger. Yulunga had stood with his head bent against the beams, pressing his big hands on the ceiling, and amid the raised eyebrows of their shipmates, ordered her to fetch it out herself. Smee surmised she hadn’t minded, for although she slipped away a few minutes ago, she returned. And as she did, her gray eyes surveyed the company from the doorway. Yulunga jerked his head at her, and she picked her way through the noise to rejoin him, passing right in front of the Frenchman. Perhaps, Smee thought, with her father out of commission, she felt drawn to the next man who offered to command her. She didn’t smile, but tonight, somehow, Yulunga had gotten permission to touch her. And— to all appearances— not only from his captain.

  Before leaving the galley, Smee turned to check on the lady again. She sat caught between the captains. Smee was especially concerned for her tonight. She had to keep up the play-acting for LeCorbeau, pretending to struggle against Cecco’s domination. But she looked genuinely tired tonight, almost wan. It was lucky she hadn’t come to harm this afternoon aboard the Unity. Smee’s angry gaze settled on the captain, who, under LeCorbeau’s beady eye, sat enthroned on Hook’s own chair and pulled Jill’s hand through the crook of his elbow. Obediently, she leaned against Cecco, but she engaged the French captain with her furtive glances.

  Smee couldn’t imagine what possessed the gypsy to allow her to board a prize today, and so soon after surrender. Hook had expressly forbidden it. But Jill could handle herself, and although she seemed distracted now, Smee had seen that this afternoon’s change of scene made her happy, if only for a little while. It put a bit of color in her cheeks after the carving she’d witnessed this morning. Smee’s only regret concerning that incident was that he hadn’t cut the bloody bastard personally. The surgeon had gotten his comeuppance, at the hands of the only man aboard more contemptible than himself. Hanover, at any rate, had yet to commit mutiny. The bo’sun felt the weight of Hook’s sword at his side, and with another glare for Cecco, he patted it. Smee’s opportunity would come.