There was laughter, and then it was quickly hushed. An arm stretched out from the human amoeba and jerked back down again. I realized they were playing dice.
The captain watched them for a few seconds, and when the laughter grew louder, he stepped forward, deliberately making his footfall audible.
I watched as the men stood and turned around, and when they saw who it was, they quickly removed their hats. The wind caught up their disheveled hair and teased it further.
“Are ye be comin’ to join the lot o’ us, Capt’n?” came a cheeky remark.
The captain said nothing, just silently held out his hand. The dice were obediently given to him.
“To whom do they belong?” he asked.
A man was ejected from the amoeba.
“A night in the hold,” he told him.
“Arg! Now wait thar jus’ a minute. Jus’ fer a set o’ dice?”
The solemn mouth became hard, and a certain ugly fire flashed in the captain’s eye. He took a step forward.
The other men quickly took a step back. One of them mumbled, “Don’t ye be mak’n it worse, Tip.”
Paying no heed to the others, the captain repeated, “A night in the hold, and no food tomorrow.”
“Ye scurvy dog! Ye be hav’n some nerve!”
The captain had an almost imperceptible change. His eyes became cooler, his jaw clenched, and his hands came out from inside his coat pockets. “You know the rules.”
“Rules,” Tip spat. “Aye, I be aware of yer rules. Thar be no drinkin’, no gamblin’. Nothin’! Other capt’ns don’t be havin’ such rules.”
“Other captains don’t have such crew,” the captain told him, his voice hard.
“What ye be mean’n by that?”
“If you don’t depart immediately for the hold, you’ll be flogged come morning.”
“Flogged! Just fer —”
“Immediately.”
“Why ye … ” the sailor began, and put his hand in his pocket, but he was suddenly caught up by the throat and lifted off his feet.
“Remove your hand, rascal! Remove it!” the captain shouted. His eyes were afire and his face crimson.
I pressed my face against the glass.
The other men shifted and backed up. “Please, Capt’n,’ one of them said, “’e be a sprog and don’t know no better. He don’t mean no ‘arm.”
“Aye! He bein’ a scallywag, is all,” another ventured. “No need to be keelhaul’n the poor devil.”
But the captain didn’t heed them. He only pinned the squirming sailor against the rail, unconcerned at how blue his face was becoming.
“I said remove your hand, swine!”
Tip removed his hand from his coat pocket, and clutched in it was a wicked looking dagger.
The captain wrenched it from his grip and tossed it overboard. He shoved the man onto the deck where he crumpled to his knees and coughed wretchedly.
“Take him down to the hold, Finley,” the captain said to someone approaching. “No food tomorrow. He’ll be flogged in the morning.”
Finley emerged, and I recognized him as the man who’d tended to me earlier. His soft white hair was too short for the wind to tease, and I noticed there was a heavy cross at his neck that he was fingering. He took the sailor away, seeming not at all surprised by his orders.
The captain dismissed the men and turned as though to enter the cabin I occupied. He stopped short, however, when a voice from behind said, “And ‘ow do ye find the lady, Capt’n?”
A crowd erupted into laughter.
I frowned.
The captain turned quickly. “However I choose. As for you men, all contact is forbidden. That’s an order.”
“Then it be true what they be say’n, Capt’n? We’ve a lassie aboard?”
“Fished out of the briny deep sea like carp she is.”
“A mermaid, more like!”
“A maid you say? You sure?”
“The capt’n’ll see to that!”
Laughter.
I snorted. Cavemen.
“Men!” The captain commanded. “As far as you’re concerned, there is no lady on board. Understood?”
There was silence, and I thought that the captain had finally reached them. But then a big sailor with a shaved head and a gold tooth licked his lips and gritted, “Ye be expect’n us to be eunuchs, like ye?”
“What was that?” the captain asked, his voice like ice.
There was a moment of silence, and then I could hear the captain say quietly, “Go. All of you. Tend to the ropes and pray to God you have the self control to keep your hands off her.”
The men fell silent. And then one by one they began to snicker. “Didn’t know ye had it in ye, Capt’n.”
“She be a lucky lady, if I may say, Captain Tucker,” someone told him carefully.
I sighed as the men dispersed, expelling a breath I didn’t know I held. Tucker. So that was his name.
*** *** ***
There was a knock on the door, reverberating throughout the small cabin, even disturbing the glass of water that sat nearby.
“Come in,” I called.
The captain … Tucker … burst in, striding through at a gallop.
“Forgive me, miss, but ….” He stopped and jerked backwards, whacking his head on a hanging lantern. He cursed viciously. “What the blazes are you doing?”
I was bent over his desk, searching.
“You’re indecent! Get back into bed.”
I laughed. Finley’s nightshirt fell halfway down my legs. These puritans.
“Captain!” I hurried, hardly sparing him a glance. “A pencil, paper. It is urgent. Appropriate clothing. I must get started. There is so much to do.”
“Get some bloody clothes on,” he shouted. He went to a trunk located near the bed and opened it.
My hand emerged from a drawer holding a small, primitive pencil, simply a stick of graphite wrapped in string. I opened another drawer to continue looking for an obliging scrap of blank paper. “I have a number of important questions for you. First, what kind of ship is this? How large is your crew? What is your cargo? Are you – do you have a lick of paper in this desk?”
“What if I had been someone else?” he demanded, carefully keeping his gaze on the contents of the trunk as he rummaged through the clothing. “You didn’t bother asking who it was before you invited me in. What if it had been one of the crew? Don’t you realize how dangerous your position is?”
“Who are you commissioned by? Any perplexing problems aboard?”
He grounded his teeth. “How can I make you understand?”
“You don’t know how fortunate you are, Captain. Why, fate has chosen you to be my vessel. I am here for a grand purpose. We must discover what it is.”
Finding what he was looking for, the captain pulled out a long dress and tossed it behind him without looking. “There, put that on if you insist on being up. I shall take my instruments and leave. You are to lock the door behind me and stay inside. The storm is getting worse, and it is dangerous for you in so blasted many ways.”
“Oh, wonderful! A dress appropriate for the period! See? Everything falls into place.” Overhearing the men’s conversation had unnerved me momentarily, but I was sufficiently recovered. I was more than a match for any obstacles.
I went to the bed, and Tucker went to his desk and absently fingered some instruments. “There was something else I wanted to tell you,” he began, and he cleared his throat uncomfortably.
“George I is king of England,” I said while I inspected the dress.
“It’s about your position here.”
“As a result of Queen Anne dying childless.” There were beautiful buttons down the skirt.
“We are still four weeks from land.”
“He is the first of four Georges in a row. Funny, isn’t it?”
“My first mate suggested it – I wouldn’t have dreamed of it otherwise.”
“The king is German, though I u
nderstand he doesn’t like his new adopted country. Refuses to speak English just to spite people.” Which was the front of the dress and which was the back?
“But if we created a bit of fiction ….”
“I wonder if I shall meet him.”
“Between you and me ….”
“Handel is writing music.”
“The men might be better kept in line.”
“Novels by Defoe,” I murmured. The dress was pink. Hmm. I never usually wear pink.
“I’m afraid things have already been set in motion ....”
“Optics by Newton.”
“And it’s up to you, you understand, to agree when confronted, as no doubt you will be.”
Front or back, the buttons needed to be unbuttoned, so I unbuttoned them.
“Miss? Miss, are you listening? Did you hear what I said?”
“Oh! I know what that is.” I went to him and fingered the instrument he was holding. “A Davis Quadrant. Invented in the sixteenth century by a John Davis, I believe.”
My hand was on it, and when I tried to take it from him, Tucker spun around and wrenched the instrument away from me, nearly roaring as he did so. “Are you daft? Pay attention! Or so help me, I’ll invite the crew in myself.”
Goodness. He was more cantankerous than I realized. I must adjust my approach to him. I’ll be sure to make note of it.
Chapter Three
Notes: Territory bewildering. Culture unfamiliar and unnerving. Preparatory education inadequate and useless. Discouraged and duly humbled.
Aid from the captain essential. Exceptionally shrewd and daring. And there is something else. Behavior is forbearing, generous.
After a late night scratching notes onto a piece of paper aided only with a small, pitiful candle, I fell asleep rather quickly and slept soundly until I was awakened the next morning by the sound of voices.
Outside I heard commotion, many footsteps on the upper deck. The men were gathering. As quickly as I could, I threw on my dress, collected a pencil and some paper, and hurried out the door and up the steps.
A hundred men, it seemed, had gathered together, perhaps the entire crew, all their attention on something located at the mast of the ship.
I began to elbow my way into the crowd. It was not difficult to do, my small stature allowing me to duck under their arms. But also, I found that when I did touch the men, and as soon as they set eyes on me, they would practically shrink away from me, sometimes lifting their hats politely.
Quickly I stopped short and silently gaped at what I saw, shock and horror rendering me immobile and suddenly nauseous.
Before me was a man stripped naked to the waist, his hands bound around the mast, his back facing me. I recognized him from yesterday. The man with the dice.
Behind him was a man I did not recognize, and he was holding a long, black, wicked whip up over his head, ready to bring it down onto the exposed back of the poor, helpless soul.
I was horrified. I wanted to look away, but I found myself walking closer. I had never seen anything so barbaric in my life and my stomach churned and tightened in protest. I rushed towards the captain, knocking shoulders along my way, heedless of my direction, creating quite a ruckus. In my stumbling progress I fell, and felt a small gust of wind at my cheek. The gust was so slight, yet the powerful CRACK that accompanied it was almost deafening. I closed my eyes instinctively, realizing what was about to happen.
But it never did. When I opened my eyes I saw the whip lying on the floor between the flogger and myself. The man was pale, and his knees seemed unsteady. He swore and put a hand to his forehead. “Thunder an’ turf! Are ye crazy, lass? I could ha’ killed ye!”
My eyes found the captain behind him. He too, looked shocked. His eyes were wide, and a set of gloves lay at his feet as though he’d been holding them at his side and they slipped from his hand. He took a step towards me and I rushed the rest of the way to him. By the time I was next to him, every gaze rested on us.
“What is the meaning of this, Captain? This is barbaric!”
Finley stepped out from the crowd to address me. “Miss Madera, you should not be here. It is no place for a woman.”
“That is insulting, sir!”
“And you know nothing of the circumstances,” he finished as though I hadn’t spoken.
The captain said nothing. He simply stood very still and watched me while his henchman cautiously picked up his whip.
“Then explain them to me.” My gaze did not waver from the captain’s stern countenance.
Again, Finley answered. “Tipkins is being brought to justice.”
“Justice?” I shook my head. “Captain,” I said accusatorily. Surely he should know better. “Justice requires court, testimony, and then judgment. He requires a proper hearing.”
Finally the captain spoke. “It is unnecessary. Step back.”
“How can it be unnecessary? It is the mark of a civilized society. If we cannot have justice, what do we have?”
“Move aside,” the captain told me, his voice like ice. He told his henchman to ready the whip. I stayed where I was, not out of active disobedience, but more because I was too disappointed to move. Though, looking back, I see the fault in my action.
The men began to murmur, and the large, still crowd started to move.
“Miss, please! Step out of the way,” Finley begged.
“Miss Madera!” The captain’s hard voice shook me out of my disappointed stupor. Oh, I did think more of him than to allow such injustice to occur on his own ship, but what could I do? I turned to go, passing closely by the accused.
Tipkins, whom no one had been paying attention to, had somehow freed his hands and to my horror grabbed me as I passed him.
And he had unaccountably acquired a dagger.
I cried out in surprise and pain when, with little effort he twisted my arm behind my back and held the deadly dagger to my throat. He held me close to him, his face next to mine, his breath at my ear. “Ye bilge-sucking fool. What ye be do’n now, Capt’n?” He laughed.
My arm shot out for a blow to his ribs but with ease Tipkins caught my hand and forced it down against my side again. I struggled and strained, every muscle bursting in attempt at escape, but with no use. He held me still with one arm around my middle, binding my arms to my side, his other hand occupied with the knife that was pressed to my throat. He nuzzled my ear and sneered, “Aye, a feisty lass, ain’t ye? I be havin’ some fun wi’ ye yet.”
Nothing in my life before could compare to this terrifying sensation of helplessness and danger. My eyes frantically searched for the captain.
The captain stood, looking not at me, but at Tipkins, his eyes cool, calculating. Finley begged, “Let her go, Charles.”
He laughed again. “No, I don’t be thinkin’ I will.”
“What are you going to do? You have nowhere to go. And you’re far outnumbered,” the first mate told him.
“Well, what ye be sayin’ bout the first point, I don’t be argu’n wi’, Fin. But the last – well, we just be seein’ ‘bout that.”
Captain Tucker took a step forward, and Tips increased the pressure of the knife on my throat, slightly piercing my skin. I felt the sting as well as the bead of blood that escaped and trickled down the neck of my new dress. The captain stilled, a muscle moved in his jaw.
Tipkins turned to the sailors and addressed them. His grip on me changed, too, becoming less firm and more caressing, his fingers spreading apart, their pressure changing. Bile raised in my throat.
“What say ye, me buckos? Is Finny here right? Am I to be outnumbered by ye?” He smiled confidently. “Are you really the patsy pudd’ns he say ye be? I tell ye this, boys. I ain’t be hav’n quarlms ‘bout sharin’ the wench now wi’ ye if ye do be tak’n my side.”
The crowd of men began to murmur.
“What are you suggesting?” Finley asked, shocked. “Charles, you wouldn’t. Don’t make things worse for yourself.”
“Pre
tty, ain’t she,” Tipkins continued, turning his face towards me and taking a deep breath. “The Capt’n’s wench. He always be savin’ the best for hisself, don’t he?”
“Tip, leave her alone,” Finley pleaded again.
Tipkins said, “This ain’t be no ship. We be in a prison here, mates. Always he be tellin’ us where to go and what to be doin’. Argh! Be we men? Or be we animals?”
“We be danc’n wi’ Jack Ketch soon as we reach port if we be go’n gains’t the Capt’n,” a disembodied voice called from the crowd, though others moved forward, tempted by his offer.
“’Ave our necks stretched for a bit of fun?” another voice from the rear called. “Yer crazy to be thinkn’ so, Piney!”
“You’re talking mutiny, Tip!” Finley exclaimed.
“Mutiny,” Tipkins scoffed. “We be standin’ up under oppression, more like. We won’t be hanged for defendin’ ourselves.” He leaned down to kiss me. “And enjoyin’ the spoils.” He brought the dagger down a fraction and flicked it on the top of those pretty buttons of my dress.
The button went flying and dropped quietly on the deck at my feet, but the sound seemed very loud to me, as loud as the church bells across the street from my apartment building. The next button quickly followed, exposing my neck and the beginning swell of my bosom. The world darkened, my heart racing and I nearly swooned.
“P-Please don’t ….” I whimpered, looking at the hungry gaze of some of the men.
“She be a sweet, round wench, ain’t she?” another man called.
“Sweet as nectar.”
“Leave her be! Ye’ll be keelhauled for a spot o’ fun,” came another voice.
Tipkins caressed my neck. Some of the men began to push forward, their hands on their cutlasses, their eyes on me. Finley let them pass.
How could he let them pass? He put his hand on the hilt of his cutlass, as though to draw it, and I prayed he might. But it remained where it was, and he let them pass, and they knocked his shoulders as they went, the heavy cross bouncing against his ribs.
But as they looked for the captain, he was nowhere in sight.
The Dreamer (The Fall Series) Page 2
