Oceanswept

by Hays, Lara

  My jaw clamped shut. Black contorted everything I said. I wanted to scream. Logic and justice were impossible.

  “I apologize, sir,” I said, hoping that the contempt I felt did not manifest in my voice. “I came on deck during the…battle—” I hoped that was a less offensive word “—and was confronted by two members of the crew.”

  “Which members?”

  “One was Wrack. I do not know the other one.”

  “Who was with Wrack that day?” the captain asked the crowd.

  His question was met with silence.

  “Me thinks you lie,” he said in a playful tone. It made me sick to my stomach.

  “It’s the truth,” I insisted.

  “Anyone? Anyone admit to confronting Miss Monroe on this very deck during our latest mission?”

  No one moved.

  The captain resumed his cocky pacing around me.

  “It was Beck,” a clear voice from the crowd said.

  Nicholas.

  “Tell me about it,” the captain challenged.

  Nicholas did not step forward, did not stand any taller, just continued to slouch against the foremast, picking disinterestedly at his fingernails.

  “Beck and Wrack approached the girl. I knew she was meant for the captain only, and didn’t want any overzealous appetites to force them to break command. I simply reminded them of that, and they let ’er be.”

  “Beck!” the captain called.

  “Aye?” I recognized the burly pirate as he stepped forward.

  “Would that be the truth?”

  “Aye, for the most part,” he confirmed.

  Turning back to me the captain prompted me to continue.

  “I was sent to the brig.”

  “And who sent ye to the brig?”

  My eyes flickered to Nicholas. He lazily stood against the mast as if he were taking a break from the day’s labors. I could not read his posture or his face. “Th-the quartermaster,” I finally replied.

  “How long were ye in the brig?”

  The days and nights had all blurred together. “I do not know for certain.”

  Captain Black called for the ship’s log and examined the records. “A fortnight and a day. A right long time to be in such miserable circumstance. What did ye do to cause such punishment?”

  The image of Nicholas raising the cutlass at me flashed across my mind. I mimicked what he had said, “I insulted the quartermaster.”

  “How did you insult good ol’ Marks?”

  My heart faltered. I wrung my hands and tried to concoct a believable tale. What would it take to insult someone gravely enough to be locked in the brig for two weeks but wouldn’t make me appear more treacherous to these men?

  “She spat on me,” Nicholas called to the captain. “And she called me a naughty name,” his tone was jaunty and laughter pealed from the crowd. I was glad for his interjection but at the same time I felt rebuffed by his laughter. I glared at his lax figure.

  “Spitting on an officer. What an insolent little strumpet.”

  Captain Black paused and scanned the crowd. He stopped when he found what he was looking for and the corners of his mouth lifted in a devilish grin.

  “I understand you made a sort of friend, Miss Monroe,” Black sneered.

  I followed Black’s gaze to Skidmore.

  Sweet, quiet Skidmore. He seemed utterly incapable of telling a lie. Skidmore knew everything there was to know about me. About Nicholas. With the captain’s gaze locked on him, he looked terrified. There was no way he could remain collected under the captain’s scrutiny. He would break. He would tell of the mutiny. His testimony could put a noose around my neck.

  My hope plummeted as I heard the captain call him.

  “Mr. Skidmore. Please step forward.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Captain Black paced before me with delight.

  “Skidmore, tell the court about Miss Monroe’s behavior when you saw her in the brig.”

  Skidmore was standing near Nicholas. He shifted uneasily, pulling at his beard of straw. I silently begged him to defend me, save me.

  “Miss Monroe was mostly quiet.”

  “Mostly,” echoed the captain. “Did she or did she not act out aggressively when first placed in the brig?”

  I sighed dejectedly. Any hope of my friend defending me melted. The captain would get whatever he wanted out of Skidmore.

  Skidmore avoided my pleading stare. “She was upset.” His response was so quiet I wasn’t sure if I heard him correctly.

  “How did this upset girl act that day in the brig?”

  “She threw her furniture against the bars.”

  “And she screamed like a banshee,” the captain added triumphantly. “We all heard her.”

  Skidmore’s head bobbed slightly.

  “And we all saw Wrack after Miss Monroe finished with him. It takes a certain amount of…nerve to attack a man who was only bringing ye a bit o’ rum.”

  I shot to my feet. “He attacked me! He was not bringing me rum!”

  “Sit down, Miss Monroe,” Captain Black growled.

  I sat.

  “Did he or did he not bring you a jug o’ rum?”

  I sensed a trap. “He had a jug, but—”

  “And he let himself into the brig to deliver a generous amount of rum.”

  “He let himself in the brig to violate me!”

  The captain ignored my outburst. “The two of ye must have exchanged words. He must have stated his purpose of being down in said brig.”

  “He was down there to hurt me,” I seethed, my hands balling into fists at my sides.

  The captain stopped his pacing and stared directly at me, his hands clasped behind his back. “Did he tell ye that?”

  I did not know how to respond. Of course Wrack didn’t proclaim his intentions—what criminal would? My lips moved eagerly but no sound came out.

  “Answer the question, Miss Monroe. Did Wrack tell ye he came to the brig in the middle o’ the night to violate you?” He strung out the syllables of the word “violate,” as if it were a foul obscenity.

  “N-n-no,” I stammered.

  The captain leaned in towards me. His face was only inches from mine. His breath reeked and his scarlet eyes danced. “Did he say why he were there?”

  “He said he was there for refreshment,” I replied, mimicking his suggestive tone.

  The captain backed away and looked at the pirates.

  “See, men? Just a bit o’ rum in the wee hours of the night. Who of us has never enjoyed a bit o’ late-night refreshment?”

  The trial had turned in a direction that frightened me. I desperately needed to regain control. “He did not mean rum.” Trying to twist the captain’s words, I argued, “Who would come down to the brig in the middle of the night just to drink rum with a prisoner? A female prisoner? He said ‘refreshment.’ He meant me!”

  “So in yer opinion, when he said ‘refreshment’ he meant you?”

  “Yes,” I nodded emphatically.

  “What caused ye to form this opinion?”

  How could I explain that cold feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach when Wrack entered the hold that night? “The fact that he was there in the middle of the night. The way he looked at me.”

  I could tell I wasn’t convincing anyone. My head swam. I fumbled for any logical blow.

  “He ran the keys along the bars.” I mimed the movement.

  The captain’s cottony eyebrows shot up, surprise widening his eyes. “Solid evidence indeed!” His feigned look of surprise twisted into a look of ridicule. “Opinions and assumptions, miss. Opinions and assumptions.”

  I trembled from frustration. The captain already had his mind made up. This was all a game for him. He wouldn’t even listen. Yet as I sat there, replaying my answers in my mind, I knew that the things I said were somehow lacking. Even if the captain or the other pirates were listening, my story seemed hollow. Though the captain was toying with me, he was playing this
game by the rules I designated.

  If I couldn’t gain any footing, with all the rules I established, was it because I was wrong?

  Was the captain right?

  Wrack had never really declared his intentions. In truth, all he did was offer me rum, explaining that he needed to place it in the brig because it was too large to fit through the bars. And that was entirely legitimate. He must have done something—something that proved his intentions, something the others could agree with. I thought hard, remembering the series of events that night. Wrack came down the ladder. He was a bit sneaky, but that wasn’t a crime. He offered me the rum. He had keys to the brig. He explained that he needed to put it in the brig. Then he opened the door and…and I attacked him before he ever touched me. I attacked him.

  No.

  There was a threat. I knew it. I knew it then and I knew it now. I had not overreacted. His actions after I slammed the door into him were not brought on by my behavior. He was a predator. The fact that I tried to thwart him did not justify how he treated me.

  “He was drunk,” I argued with new determination.

  The captain waved dismissively. “Most of us are drunk right now,” he spread his arms wide to his audience like a fabulous entertainer. Cheers and whistles sounded.

  “Were ye angry with him for his midnight visit?” he continued, still putting on a show.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you admit to assaulting Mr. Wrack?”

  “I was defending—”

  “Miss Monroe, do you admit that you assaulted Mr. Wrack?”

  “He was threaten—”

  “Miss Monroe, one more time. Did you or did you not assault Mr. Wrack?”

  Captain Black towered over me, his crimson eyes boring into mine.

  “Yes.” My voice was feeble.

  “How did the aforementioned scuffle end?” He spun away, his duster whirling dramatically.

  “Mr. Skidmore and Mr. Nicholas pulled him from me,” I said.

  The captain spun on the heels of his boots. “Mr. Nicholas,” he said mockingly, “tell us what happened.”

  Nicholas had not moved an inch. It was infuriating to look at him, lounging easily against the mast.

  “My keys were missin’. Wrack was missin’. I heard screams from the hold and thought to investigate in case there be trouble,” Nicholas replied absently. “We discovered that Wrack had locked himself in the brig with the young lass. He looked to be forcing himself upon her. I shot the lock on the door and we removed him from the temptation.”

  “Fair enough.” The captain slyly looked at me. “And if I may ask, what was the temptation wearin’ that night?”

  The question blindsided me. I didn’t answer.

  “Skidmore! What was Miss Monroe wearing that night?”

  “A dressing robe.” His voice cracked.

  “And nothin’ else?”

  Skidmore looked down and shook his head ever so slightly.

  “Miss Monroe, tell us what happened after Mr. Wrack was removed from the hold.”

  I cleared my throat. “I was taken to the quartermaster’s room where I recovered from my injuries.”

  “Were ye alone during that time?”

  “I slept a lot.”

  “Certainly. But that’s not what I asked. Who was with ye?”

  “The quartermaster, mostly.” This turn in questioning confused me. I couldn’t decipher Captain Black’s motives or anticipate his next question.

  “Who else?”

  “Mr. Skidmore.”

  “Now I know I have personally seen the quartermaster and Mr. Skidmore working their watches for the past three days. So I know they did not keep you company every moment. Marks, Skidmore, can you confirm that Miss Monroe had time by herself when she was recovering?”

  Skidmore’s eyes caught mine briefly, then he stared at the ground. Reluctantly, he affirmed. “Aye.”

  Nicholas stood taller against the mast and crossed his arms over his chest. He seemed defiant when he said, “For brief moments.”

  The sudden change in his demeanor meant two things to me. First, it meant that Nicholas was defending me. I had not been abandoned. Second, it meant that the direction the trial had taken was much worse than I anticipated. Nicholas was exposing himself now…for me.

  “And now for me own bit o’ testimony.” The captain addressed the crowd. “This very mornin’ when I informed Miss Monroe and our noble quartermaster that Thomas Wrack had given up the ghost, this lady’s exact words were ‘I’m sorry.’” He rocked on his toes then slammed his heels down victoriously. “She apologized!”

  The crowd of pirates erupted with gasps and shouts.

  “I did not!”

  “Do ye deny what ye said?”

  I thought very hard, remembering exactly what had happened during that conversation. The captain told me that Wrack had died of a fever. He implied that I knew about it.

  “The words were not an apology, they were for clarification,” I disputed.

  “Oh. To clarify what exactly?”

  “You seemed to be accusing me. I was unsure of what you meant.”

  The red eyes grinned at me. “Seems awfully strange to apologize to me when I be the one accusin’ ye of a crime.”

  “It was not an apology!”

  He held a hand up to me, halting any further rebuttals.

  “After that, Miss Monroe was taken to the brig to await trial. That brings us to the current time.”

  This was not going well at all.

  He could not be serious. I stared at Captain Black in complete disbelief, my jaw slack. But I no longer saw the playfulness, the enjoyment in his demeanor that was there before. Somehow, this situation had turned very grave.

  “What we have here,” the captain pointed a bone-white finger at me, “is a girl who is the sole survivor of a hurricane. A girl insolent enough to insult a ship’s officer and spit upon him. A girl who admittedly assaulted a member of the crew without good reason—”

  “I had reason!”

  “Quiet!” he bellowed. The captain seemed more dangerous than ever. A shiver cascaded down my spine.

  “…without good reason,” Captain Black reiterated. “A girl who wore nothin’ more than a scant robe until this very day. A girl who admits to bein’ very angry with Mr. Wrack for his visit. A girl who, as a prisoner, attacked a crewmember simply because she assumed his intentions were ill. A girl who had enough time alone to put a black spot upon a sailor who was in perfect health the prior day!

  “Ye have heard the testimonies, men. And as requested, this trial cannot take any assumptions or opinions into consideration, only honest testimony and proof.”

  He paused dramatically. He had an undeniable charisma, and I hated him all the more for the way he spun webs around my words.

  “I may be judge and hangman upon this vessel,” he said to me. “But I do not presume to be the jury too. Men, sound off if ye find Miss Monroe guilty.”

  A thunderous chorus of “Aye! Aye!” and the stomping of feet on the deck sealed my fate.

  Captain Black turned to me gleefully, his red eyes burning. “Tessa Monroe,” he said over the commotion of the cheering pirates, “ye be found guilty of witchcraft and the resulting death of Thomas Wrack.”

  This was utterly unfathomable. I was completely aghast. This entire charade had been a complete mockery. I could not believe that there was any seriousness in any of it. My indignation kept me from being as frightened as I should have been.

  “Fetch some rope and tie a noose! That witch be dancing the hempen jig from the yardarm and we won’t be missin’ that!”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Anarchy broke out on the main deck. Hollers and cheers sounded all around. I sat like stone in the center of the deck while raucous figures hurried past me in all directions. I was a world apart, stilled by denial and foreboding, while those around me were spurred on by the bloodlust of my pending execution.

  Was it true? Was I just pronounced gu
ilty of witchcraft and sentenced to be hanged?

  In that moment I realized I must already be dead and stuck in Hell. How else could I explain all the impossible things that had happened? I had been waiting and hoping for death to save me from my fate on this ship, but that would never happen because I was already dead and in a never-ending purgatory.

  Sounds were distant and my eyes unfocused. This was not real. No thought of fight or flight came to me. I was paralyzed.

  The piercing sound of a gunshot tore me from my daze. I jerked towards the noise and saw a dozen pirates standing on the quarterdeck looking onto the chaos below. Nicholas stood at the head of the group, his pistol still pointing into the air.

  “Avast!” he hollered. “Black Jack, come forward to hear your peers.”

  Captain Black looked menacingly at the pirates assembled on the deck a few steps above him. His indignation was obvious—but was I also sensing a hint of worry?

  Nicholas placed his hands on the railing and leaned forward, looking down upon the captain. “Since we be votin’ on things, some of the boys, along with myself, thought it might be time to vote upon your captaincy.”

  “What is this?” fumed the captain.

  “We call it democracy. Though someone such as yourself might call it mutiny.” Nicholas exuded a playful confidence.

  A new feeling washed over me. It elevated my breathing and quickened my pulse.

  It was hope.

  Captain Black stared at the mutineers one by one, his eyes alive with malice. When they settled on Nicholas, they changed. I knew what he was feeling. I had felt it at Nicholas’s hands before. Hurt…shock…disappointment. It was the look of absolute betrayal.

  I felt a twinge of pity for the man.

  The captain recovered from his shock. “I have been captain o’ the Banshee nigh on four years—”

  “Aye, and we think that be long enough.”

  Captain Black drew a long, slender sword from its sheath as if to attack someone. “And how do ye think you will go about effectin’ this change?”

  “By a simple vote,” Nicholas responded as if the answer were stupidly obvious. “The crew voted to make you captain and, according to the articles of this ship, which we all signed and conduct ourselves by, the crew can vote you down.”