CHAPTER FIVE
The sea began to turn choppy shortly before dawn. The previous day’s glorious blue sky was obscured by a fast-moving ceiling of gray and green-bellied clouds. Wind spun across the surface of the water, feathering the crests of the whitecaps, sending sprays of mist as high as the upper deck of the Endurance. The threat of the impending squall had Dante clearing the decks and ensuring the guns were securely lashed. As the heavy ship began to roll and dip with the taller waves, the crew began to grumble that it was a sign. A sure sign they had made the wrong choice in rescuing the witch-girl from the death ship.
Sixty feet behind the Endurance, Eva was under the tented canvas, holding onto the gunwales for dear life. Being towed through the wake of the massive ship had been terrifying enough. Buffeted now with gusts of wind and spray as the little wooden boat jumped from peak to trough had her clenching her teeth so hard she feared they would snap off at the gums. The water was ankle deep in the bottom and filling more with each wave that flung spume over the side. In desperation, she had emptied a cask of drinking water and was using it to bail, but a week without food had seriously depleted her strength and she simply could not keep up.
The camphor oil she had rubbed on her skin and hair ran down into her eyes, stinging them so badly she could not keep them open. The temperature of the air plunged and the cold sucked the breath from her lungs. When the sheeting wall of rain engulfed the little boat, she crawled back under the canvas and prayed to a God who, she was all but certain now, had forsaken her.
~~
Gabriel Dante stood with his long legs braced apart and welcomed the sweet rain on his battered face. He had ordered all the mainsails taken in so that they would ride the squall using only the top sheets for stability. In spite of having sailed many galleons under a prize flag, he was never sure how one would behave in heavy winds, and the Endurance carried more weight in armaments than most.
"I thank the devil we are nowhere near the Dragon’s Teeth," he shouted to Stubs. "We'd be hard-pressed to keep this sow from being gutted on the reef."
He said this through a flash of even white teeth, grinning in the face of the storm. While he respected the absolute power of the wind and the sea, he also drew strength from its awesome might. Nature was the one thing man could not control and must bow to whether a king or a common sailor. Twenty years earlier it had been the storms in the English Channel that had caused more damage to the fearsome Spanish Armada than the undermanned, poorly armed ships of the English navy. Not a single galleon or galleyass had been hulled by English shot, yet dozens upon dozens had been crushed against rocks or swamped by treacherous currents and enormous seas.
Few places on earth could boast storms more savage, more destructive than those that formed in the tropical waters of the Spanish Main. Hurricanes could level islands and wash entire towns and villages into the sea. Ships weighing hundreds of tons could be tossed about like a child’s toy in waves high enough to block out the sky.
This was no hurricane, but a tropical squall that could be equally sharp and vicious. Gabriel knew the sun would be out an hour from now, and the rigging would be shedding water droplets like diamonds, but at the moment the rain was falling in a deluge and the decks were ankle deep in rushing water. Men who had to be out in the open were clinging to anything solid to keep themselves from being swept away.
Something white, flapping loose, caught Gabriel's eye and he squinted into the blurring haze of rain. It was a sheet of canvas half sucked through the rails that surrounded the aftercastle. He looked up but could not see any yards that were missing sails. He was about to dismiss it when a sudden thought occurred and he ran to the rail and looked down over the ships wake.
"Damn it all to hell!"
Stubs came up beside him and followed his gaze. The cable attached to the jolly boat was pulled taut but the boat at the end of the umbilical was twisting and careening through the wash. The canvas Dante had seen had been torn free of its lashings on the jolly boat and, through the sheets of rain, the two men could see the girl curled tight against the stern, the belly of the craft half-filled with water that would soon swamp the vessel and drag it under.
Dante cursed again and vaulted over the rail to the deck below. He shed his doublet and boots as he ran toward the gangway. Stubs was a step behind, shouting for men to go below and winch the boat closer. At the same time he snatched up a line and tied it around Gabriel's waist, mumbling and spitting oaths about drowning kittens.
Happily the galleon was not moving fast, so that when Gabriel dove into the sea, he was sheltered from the gusting wind until he swam out from behind the bulbous stern of the ship. By then the jolly boat had been winched close enough for a score of powerful strokes to bring him abreast. There was almost no difference between the level of the sea and the level of water inside the gig and he dared not risk trying to pull himself on board. Instead he moved hand over hand along the side until he saw the girl curled in the green seawater.
She looked dead already. Her skin was as white as her shirt, her lips were blue. Her hair was fanned out in wide, wet waves that tangled around his hand as he reached over the side and grabbed her arm.
"Noooooo!" She screamed and jerked out of his grasp. "Let me die! Just let me die! I can't save him! I tried, but I can't save him!"
A wave slapped across the side of the boat and Gabriel shook the seawater out of his eyes. He rose up and grabbed at her arm again, this time putting all of his strength into hauling her out of the boat and into the sea. The added weight as he tipped the side to drag her out was enough to fill the remaining inch of space and the jolly boat sank below the surface.
The girl was coughing, choking, kicking. She was covered in camphor oil and slippery as an eel. Her hair covered his face in a yellow smear, blinding what little sight he had. Once, she almost slipped out of his grasp, but he roared an oath to Neptune and wrapped an arm under her neck, signaling with his free hand for Stubs to pull them back on board. He felt the rope bite into his waist and had to struggle to keep both their heads above the waves. Halfway back to the gangway ladder, she stopped fighting and went limp in his arms.
Stubs reeled them in hand over fist. Rain was driving down like spikes and blurring the surface of the water, but as Gabriel came closer to the hull, he coughed and spluttered an order for Stubs to get himself clear. Fighting the sea and maneuvering the girl's limp weight took an exhausting toll on his battered muscles, but he caught the bottom rung of the ladder and slung her over his shoulder, thankful Stubs and Rowly used the rope to help haul him up the steep side of the ship.
He staggered over the last rung and spilled his burden onto the deck. He unslung the rope from his waist and swayed a moment on all fours. The lashmarks on his back were on fire from the salt water, so much so he could barely catch his breath. When he did, he glanced at the girl and noticed she had still not moved, and there was water trickling from her lips.
"No you don't, goddamnit," he snarled, hauling himself closer. He rolled her onto her side then did the first thing that came to mind: he slapped her hard across the ass to startle her back into breathing.
A second slap and a thump between her shoulder blades was rewarded by choking sounds of salt water being ejected from her lungs. Her hands groped empty air for a moment, then spread flat on the deck as she coughed and gulped and vomited sea water onto the planks.
Dante heaved himself upright, shaking water out of his hair and eyes. What few men had ventured onto the deck had moved well back and were alternately staring aghast at the girl, then at their captain for bringing her on board.
As for the girl herself, the choking sounds had stopped. She was still panting hard, trying to fight through the burning sensation in her lungs and throat. Huge green eyes searched the deck around her and came to an abrupt halt when she saw Gabriel Dante waiting patiently for her to focus through the rain.
"Can you stand?"
Her chin was shivering so hard he could hear her te
eth chattering as she tried to answer but failed.
Cursing again, he slipped his arms beneath her knees and shoulders to scoop her off the deck, then carried her through the hatch. He ducked down the wooden steps and went straight to his cabin, shouting a warning ahead to any crewmen who might be taking shelter in the companionway.
Inside the great-cabin, he looked for a place to deposit the quivering burden and settled upon a chair near the gallery windows.
He set her down then backed away half a dozen steps. He had broken his own damned rule about going near her until the threat of disease was passed. He had acted out of instinct and while it had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, he was at a loss what to do now. She was blue. Her clothes were plastered to her skin, dripping seawater and rain into a large puddle on the floor.
He swore under his breath and raked the excess water out of his hair, pushing it back off his forehead as he snatched a blanket off the berth and tossed it onto the chair beside her.
Eva reached for it with blue-tipped fingers and dragged it around her shoulders. "That was p-probably God’s way of saying you sh-should have let me die on the Eliza Jane," she managed to whisper.
Dante smirked. "God is not the captain of this ship, Madam. I am. And there will be no dying here today."
He strode to his sea chest and shook out one of his long linen shirts and a pair of moleskin breeches.
"Get yourself out of those wet clothes," he ordered. "We'll not be able to light a fire in the brazier until the ship stops pitching around like a cork, but there are plenty more blankets on the berth. Change and wrap yourself to stay warm."
He began to shed his own sopping garments without any concern for Eva’s presence or modesty. The shirt was peeled over his head, revealing the latticework of welts and lashmarks across his shoulders and back, many of them red-raw and only partially healed. He hooked his thumbs into the waist of his breeches and started to push them down. Something made him glance over to where Eva stood staring, and he paused, one hip bare and the fabric an inch away from revealing more of what she had only glimpsed on the balcony the previous day.
"Do you need help stripping down?"
Eva was startled into looking up at his face, and shrank further into the shadowy niche. His face was heavily bearded, his one eye was puffed and blue-black. She had seen the lashmarks on his back, the bruising across his shoulders, his chest, even his hips.
Dante noted the horror in her eyes and touched a finger to his eye. “We had a little trouble before we came across your ship.”
“Did you win or lose?” she asked through a shiver.
“As it happens, we won. Now… get out of those wet clothes. We can talk more when your teeth stop rattling.”
Eva turned and used the blanket as a shield. Her fingers were cramped like claws and shook so badly it took three attempts before she was able to unlace her shirt and wriggle out of it. The breeches were easier for they were the loose-fitting canvas galligaskins worn by the sailors; they all but fell down around her ankles when she loosened the rope she had used as a belt.
As the galligaskins fell, she stole a glance at the captain again, her cheeks burning at the thought he might be completely naked and waiting for her to strip so he could rape her senseless.
But he was paying her no attention whatsoever. He had donned a clean dry shirt and snug black breeches. By the time she managed to pull on the clothing he had tossed her, he was slipping his arms into a sleeveless doublet and stamping his feet into tall leather boots.
Her hair was stuck to her back in a long, heavy, wet mass that instantly soaked through the new shirt. A small sob caught in her throat as she tried to lift it free so she could wrap the blanket around her shoulders, but the effort to dress had taken the last of her strength.
She froze again as she felt hands at the back of her neck. Dante stood behind her and gathered up the dripping yellow mass, holding it away from the shirt as he draped a fresh dry quilt around her shoulders. When she was warmly bundled, he stepped back and wiped his hands repeatedly on his thighs as if he had touched something unpleasant.
"Th-thank you, Captain," she stammered, gathering the quilt closer.
"Whether you are welcome or not is yet to be seen, Mistress—?"
"Mrs," she said quickly. It was a small lie, hopefully forgivable under the circumstances. As a married woman she might have a modicum more protection on board a ship full of men. "Mrs. William Chandler."
Stubs appeared in the doorway, a grim look on his face. "When the rain lets up, the crew won't be happy to see she didn’t drown with the jolly boat."
"Well dammit, man, we couldn't just stand by and do nothing." Stubs arched a gnarly eyebrow and Dante amended his declaration with a grudging scowl. "All right... I could not just stand by and do nothing."
"Sure as I've got two eyes, two ears, and an' arsehole,” Stubs declared, “there will be them who think you should’ve left her there. They’re already grumblin’ 'bout how she’s a witch an’ all."
"Because a squall blew up?"
“Because they don’t want to be pukin’ up their guts and shootin’ their bowels across the deck.”
Dante scowled and finished buttoning his doublet. “Ease their minds. Inform the crew my cabin door will stay locked and the girl and I will remain confined here until Podd sees fit to release us. According to what she said, the fever spread quickly and if touching her has infected me, I should show signs by morning. In any case, you will have the helm for the next few days."
Stubs rolled his tongue from one cheek to the other. "Might not be enough to calm them."
Dante's eyes flashed. "It will have to be enough. I am still the captain and this is still my damned ship and any of the superstitious fools who disagree are free to lower away a boat and seek their luck elsewhere."
"Aye, Cap'n." Stubs gave a wry cackle. "But ye won’t mind if I take along a blunderbuss when I tell 'em that?"
After a final glance in Eva’s direction, Stubs backed out of the cabin and pulled the door closed behind him. Gabriel stared at the carved arch for a long moment then went to the sideboard and uncorked a tall green bottle filled with rum. He poured some into a silver goblet, hesitated, then filled a second goblet and set it on the desk within Eva’s reach.
"Drink," he ordered. "It will help warm you until we can light the brazier."
He was right. The rum was strong and sweet and sent a rush of much-needed heat flaring through her belly. Her chin lifted slightly as the warmth spread. By the time she drained the cup, her teeth stopped chattering and her fingers had lost some of their blue tinge.
"I truly am sorry to be the cause of so much trouble, Captain," she said softly.
Dante snorted. "There will only be trouble, Madam, if I break out in pustules tonight and spit blood come morning."
She flushed at his bluntness but then sighed, realizing he was right. She set her empty goblet carefully back onto the desk before clasping her hands tightly on her lap.
Dante's eyes narrowed. Something about the way she sat, with her back straight and her ankles touching, made him think of noble English estates and courtly manners. Her hair was an oily stinking mess at the moment and her face was gaunt from the ordeal on board the Eliza Jane, but her skin was clear and smooth. Whoever she was, she was no common sailor's wife.
He poured more rum into both of their goblets then set the bottle down on the desktop. "Since we are to be in close company the next few days, it behoves me to ask what business brings you here to the tropics?"
"I came to find my fa—my husband, William Chandler."
"To find him? He is lost?"
"Missing."
Gabriel tilted his head. "How long has he been... missing?"
"He set sail from Portsmouth four years ago."
"Four years? You've had no word from him since?"
"I had letters from him three years ago, and was shown proof that he was alive as recently as this Christmas past."
> "What kind of proof?"
"He was mentioned in another letter, by name. It was written by someone who was travelling with him. In it he said they were in New Providence arranging for supplies."
"Supplies for what?"
She shook her head, her answer guarded. "That was all the letter said. I was hoping to find out more when we arrived at New Providence."
"I gather that was where the Eliza Jane was bound?"
"Captain Fitch inquired after him when we stopped in Fox Town, but no one recognized his name."
Dante chuckled. "My dear lady, even if your husband had been standing ten paces away playing a game of dice, no one would have admitted seeing or knowing him. No one has names on these islands; it is safer that way."
"He would be a difficult man to overlook. Very tall, with yellow hair and... and only one eye now according to the most recent account."
Dante touched a fingertip self-consciously to his own left eye. The swelling had gone down enough that he could keep it open a squint to see but the lid was still bulbous and discolored, and he was just vain enough to wonder how he must look to someone who drank tea out of tiny porcelain cups. "Men with one eye, one arm, one leg are all men who have paid the butcher’s bill, Madam, lost a limb or an eye or a nose to a cannon ball or sword or pistol shot. They’re as common as gulls throughout the Main."
"I see. And are there an equal number of very tall blond-haired men scattered throughout the islands?"
Dante’s mouth curved. "About as many as there are tall yellow-haired women."
Something about the way his gaze roamed her hair, then her neck, then the ill-concealed shape of her breasts and waist made her belly take a slow, sliding roll end over end. It reminded her, quite starkly, that she was a woman alone on a ship full of strange men accustomed to taking what they wanted without asking. "I am not particularly tall, Captain," she murmured, gathering the blanket closer around her shoulders.
"Compared to the Arawak natives and Spanish senoritas, you are. But tell me, what do you intend to do when you find this man who is obviously not in any hurry to be found?"
Pirate Wolf Trilogy Page 74
