“Where be the Capt’n?”
“Find him,” Tipkins cried. “He can’t be go’n far!”
It was then that the boom swung as though out of nowhere and crashed into the back of Tipkins’ head.
*** *** ***
Tipkins toppled forward and collapsed on top of me, though he didn’t remain there for long. Almost as soon as he fell, he was lifted up again and tossed away.
The crew stopped and stared, the rebels wisely sheathing their knives as they watched the captain throw Tipkins against the mast, and then again onto the side of the ship. The captain’s face was a mask of rage, his features barely recognizable, crimson and savage, and he beat the unconscious man mercilessly with his fists. Blood was everywhere, on Tipkins, on the captain, and on me, still lying on the deck where I fell.
“Get back!” Finley finally shouted at the men. They obeyed this time. His cutlass as well as his gun was drawn, and he held them high.
And then he turned to Tucker. “Captain. Captain. You’ll kill him, sir.”
But it was not enough. We both knew it was not enough. The captain seemed unaware of the blood, unaware of the pain he must be feeling in his hands. Did he even see the man himself as he hit him with his fists again and again?
“Captain. Captain, look! The girl! There’s so much blood. Heaven help us!”
The captain stopped, and Tipkins crumpled to the deck. He turned and looked at me.
He seemed surprised to find me there. He looked at me like I was a stranger, like he’d never seen me before. I felt like an intruder.
And then his eyes widened, his gaze, not on my face, but on my dress. I weakly looked down and saw what had caught his attention.
Blood was streaked across my dress, the dagger deep in my side.
*** *** ***
When I awoke, I was in bed again. The light was dim, the curtains closed, and a single candle burned. A small bead of wax dripped down the side of the candle and dropped onto the surface of the desk. The wood was dry and cracked. I’d never noticed that before.
I closed my eyes again. I closed them tightly to block out the sudden memory that assailed me. But it was too late, and I couldn’t stop it, and I whimpered.
I felt someone next to me, and I turned to see it was the captain. How old he seemed. There were flecks of grey in his hair that I’d never noticed before.
Water was brought to my lips, and when I moved to drink it, I felt pain in my side. I winced, and the water dripped down my chin. A kerchief quickly dabbed it up.
“How are you, Miss Madera?” he asked.
I choked and said, “I am such a fool,” as tears formed in my eyes.
“You could have been killed,” he answered tightly.
I would have nodded if I could have summoned up the energy, but the effort was beyond me. “I must confess. I must admit it now. I don’t belong here.”
“What?”
“F-fate is mistaken.”
“What do you mean?”
“I cannot do this. Do you understand?” I was looking at the ceiling. I was not speaking to the captain.
I had never felt so raw and weak in my life. Suddenly I was so small, and the weight I had been called to bear too great.
“You don’t have to do anything,” the captain told me. He seemed very sure.
I looked at him. “I don’t?”
He shook his head. He looked tired. “No. Just rest. Recover. Stay within the cabin.”
“You are sure?”
He nodded. His eyes were solemn, and I noticed that his nose was long and slightly crooked, as though it had once been broken. There were dark whiskers on his face, the beginnings of a beard, around his jaw line and up the wide planes of his cheeks. His dark eyes tilted downwards giving him a slightly sad expression, even when he was angry. Or serious, as he was now. Serious with a touch of melancholy.
I found myself caught in a strange, warm fog that kept me disoriented and jumbled, but it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation. It soothed me, and I didn’t bother to analyze why. I was so paralyzed by the warm, peaceful glow that all I could do was sigh and fall asleep.
Chapter Four
Note: Captain unexpectedly intriguing. Great asset as guide and colleague. Compelling case study. Suffered significant difficulties in childhood. Association with pirates a possibility.
A moan of real distress reached me deep in the bounds of sleep, and I opened my eyes quickly, finding the room dark.
In the shadows Captain Tucker lay on the floor with a single blanket. He struggled and moaned again, trapped in a sort of nightmare.
I pushed the covers off me, trembling with the cold that assailed my legs. I stood and knelt beside him on the icy floor. I tentatively touched his elbow. “Captain?”
The moonlight was dim, but I could see the hard planes of his face were moist and strained. He muttered, and it sounded like, “Fire.”
I took a hold of his arm. “Captain? Captain. Wake up.”
He opened his eyes and they were foggy and unclear. I realized that this was not simply a nightmare. Something was wrong with him. He was ill.
He looked at me and blinked, his face full of disbelief and tenderness. “Mother?” he whispered.
I released him and quickly stepped back.
He watched me, and then his eyes widened and suddenly became afraid.
Quickly, I moved forward again and yanked his arm with all my might. “Captain!”
He jerked awake and sat up with a start. He was damp with perspiration and trembling, finally waking from his dream. He put an unsteady hand on his head. I gently pushed him back against his pillow and pulled his blanket up over him. He submitted to me.
I moved stiffly, the wound at my side, though not serious, causing me pain. I gave him water, and he gulped down the liquid but didn’t seem satisfied. His hand was hot when he handed me the cup. He looked up.
My hair fell down around my face, swinging freely like a cape when I carefully bent down to take the cup from him. He caught a lock with his hand when it swept towards him, looking at it in his fingers as though he didn’t quite know what to make of it. He held it tenderly, feeling it between his fingers before letting it go. Silent and watchful, he seemed to be trying to make sense of his surroundings.
I gingerly sat on the edge of the warm bed. “Why do you sleep on the floor?”
He shook his head as though to clear it. “I am going mad,” he muttered under his breath. His eyes went to my bare feet, his face suddenly impassive. “There is no other option,” he answered.
“There’s not another cabin for you?” I asked. I was very, very interested.
“No, Miss Madera.” He said my name oddly, like he was assuring himself. He shifted as he became more awake, his voice slightly aggressive suddenly, “I won’t touch you if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I looked at him, examining him critically as I did specimens through a microscope. “I’m afraid I detected a fever. You should not be on the floor with a fever.”
He seemed surprised momentarily. I wondered why. He shook his head. “Forget it.”
“Really, Captain ….”
“Don’t let it concern you.”
“But ….”
“I told you there’s nowhere else.” All the tenderness and confusion might have never happened. He was back to normal. Angry.
I didn’t argue with him, though he looked at me as though he expected me to.
“Aren’t you at least worried I’ll try to take advantage of you?” he suddenly exclaimed.
I looked at him in surprise. “Should I be?”
“Any normal woman would be.”
“After all you’ve done to help me?”
“Maybe I was just saving you for myself.”
I watched him silently. “Why are you trying to make me afraid?”
“Why not? You ought to be. A young woman stuck on board a ship full of hardened sailors. You wake up in the middle of the night to find me in your
room. It is only the two of us, you know. And this is my cabin. If you scream, no one will come to help, I assure you. You ought to at least have the sense to be afraid.”
“I have been afraid,” I answered.
He did not respond and there was silence. Then he sighed. “Forgive me. Of course you have. I shouldn’t have said that.”
There were sounds in the distance, the scraping of metal on wood, the murmur of voices. There were always noises on the ship, I realized. It was never totally silent, always someone up, someone working, someone watching.
Understanding suddenly dawned. “Ah. The invented relationship. I see.”
“What?”
“You want everyone to believe we share a room. That’s why you’re here. Another cabin, though it may have an available bed, is not an option.”
“Brilliantly done. Even for a woman.” He began to roll over so he could go back to sleep.
“Then you should take the bed,” I told him. I began to rise.
“Stay where you are,” he demanded.
“But Captain ….”
“I said stay. Before you open up that gash and get it bleeding again.”
“But what about you?”
“I’m fine where I am,” he muttered.
I was quiet.
“Did you sleep there last night?” I asked suddenly.
He looked at me pointedly.
“That’s strange. I didn’t know it.”
“I came in after you were asleep. I left before you awoke.”
I watched him, my hands on either side of me as I perched on the edge of his small bed. “You are ….” I struggled for a word.
“What?”
I usually didn’t have to struggle to find the right words. “Perceptive. Sacrificing,” I finished, and then added with a soft, embarrassed laugh, “and yet that’s not it.”
I fingered the material of my nightdress, my nails short, my fingers unadorned. I reached up and brushed a lock of hair away from my face.
“You are a good man, Captain.”
He turned to me in surprise.
I frowned. “Is that the wrong term? The words are simple enough. Did it not translate?”
He shook his head impatiently and answered, “Of course I understood you.”
“Then what is the confusion?”
He muttered, “You are the strangest woman I’ve ever met. Everything a normal woman would do, you do the opposite. It makes you completely unpredictable and confusing and … dangerous.”
I shifted as though to rise. But I settled back into my seat, unsure of what to do. I continued to watch the captain.
I cannot describe the strange sensation that fluttered within me as I sat on the edge of my bed watching him. Something was different, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was. But I felt my relationship with the captain was somehow starting anew.
But I felt less confident, less self assured. I didn’t know why. For the first time, I wanted to talk to him, to discover him, not just for educational reasons, but for personal ones, too. But I didn’t know quite how to do it. Interviewing came to me easily. Surely conversing wasn’t much different.
I was quiet for a moment. “I envy you.”
“Why?”
“Because you belong here. You’re a perfect fit for your circumstances.”
He didn’t answer me, though he made a sound between amusement and disagreement.
“You have this ship ….”
“This ship,” he scoffed.
My eyes went to him in surprise. “Aren’t you a success, then?”
“Yes,” he told me, the single word sounding a little hard.
“How successful are you?”
“I am one of the leading mariners in Europe.” It would have sounded boastful if there had been any pleasure in the words.
“How did you get your start?”
“It was the sea that chose me, Miss Madera,” he tersely answered. “Not the other way around. And what about you?”
I realized he was changing the subject, but I let him. “Me? What do you mean?”
“What is your life like?”
“I have my work.”
“Work?”
“Yes. I teach. I open eyes and minds to new … possibilities.”
He looked surprised. “Is that what women do in the Americas?”
“Why shouldn’t it be?”
“What about family?”
I grew thoughtful again, looking past him into the darkness. “I’m no different than a man. Family and friends are unimportant to me,” I answered firmly. “Those things distract from one’s work. I never found it worthwhile to cultivate those aspects of the human experience.”
“Cultivate those aspects of the …. You speak like you’re from another world,” he answered crossly. “And I wonder why you didn’t stay there, as satisfied as you were. A woman does not belong on a ship. Do you believe me now? You are all alone and unprotected.”
I became very still.
Those were the last words spoken for the night. He turned to his side and fell asleep, though I stayed awake and troubled for a long time. On a different scale, I felt much like I did after I had my dream and lost my life’s work. It was torn from me, and I didn’t belong anywhere anymore. I thought … I was so sure that I finally had a place, a purpose. And no reason, no study, nothing seemed to give me the answer now.
*** *** ***
I awoke and carefully stretched, testing the wound at my side. I gingerly touched it with my fingers, though I didn’t look at it. I did not want to know what it looked like, even though it might have been educational.
For the first time in my life, my mind did not demand occupation and exertion. I just wanted to be still. Safe and quiet under my warm blanket, in my warm bed, in my cool, dark room with the door safely closed.
How I longed for home. My small, tidy dorm room, my little desk seemed terribly precious to me then. What a fool I’d been to pursue this work. Headstrong and arrogant and shortsighted. I hated this place. There was nothing for me here.
I turned and found to my surprise the captain still on the floor. I’d assumed he would have already been up and working, an eighteenth century ship a stern task master. But there he was on his side facing me.
His angled, chiseled face was flushed and he trembled through the blanket slightly, and when he moved, he coughed. I rose stiffly, pain stabbing at my side if I wasn’t careful, and I made my way to him. I touched his brow. “You’re on fire!”
He watched me with wide, open eyes, looking oddly like a child, his gaze distant and glazed. He touched the white gown I wore. “Mother?” he whispered.
I stilled, a chill going through me. Not again. “I told you, I’m not your mother,” I said slowly.
He looked past me at something through the window, his face fearful. “He is coming.”
I turned. “But there’s no one there, Captain.”
The door suddenly opened and Finley hurried in carrying a basin of water and a small vial, seeming not at all surprised to find the great Captain in this condition.
I began to go to him, but the captain snatched my arm and pulled me close, and I stumbled onto him. It jarred my wound and I cried out in pain.
“Captain! Let me go.” I tried to pull away, but he held firm.
He leaned forward and whispered, “He’s coming. He is coming. Hide with me.”
“Who? Who is coming?”
“You won’t let him kill you, Mother. Please! Father’s coming.”
I stilled in horror at his words. And I looked at Finley in desperation.
He was busy measuring the liquid into the vial, and then he put it into a small glass and added water. At first I didn’t think he had heard what the captain had said, but when he turned back to me, something in his face told me that he had.
He bent and wordlessly pried the captain’s fingers from my arm, and then half carried, half dragged the large man to the bed. I backed up, bumping in
to a table behind me, and my wound screamed at me again. I cried out and pressed against my abdomen. I found a chair and collapsed into it. Finley looked up at me and our eyes met.
“Are you alright?” he asked. “If you need to lie down I can find another cabin for you if you’ll just give me a minute.”
“I’m fine where I am. I would prefer not to leave the captain. You … you don’t seem surprised to see him like this.”
“No, miss. He be prone to fevers, unfortunately.”
I looked at the captain, and he was sound asleep again. Whatever Finley administered had quickly taken effect. “He will sleep now,” the first mate said. “But he’ll need to be watched for the next few days. He needs to be cooled and he needs water.”
“I can do that,” I said quickly.
He looked uncertain. “But you’re wounded.”
“It’s really not that serious. I just need to keep quiet. Please let me help you. He’s done so much for me and I’d like to … to help him, too, if I can.”
“Very well. It will help … and call me John, miss,” the old man said. And he did look like an old man, stooped and tired but always with that edge of nervousness. “I can’t stay long. We don’t like the crew to know of his condition. As long as I’m out there, it will appear more normal.”
“Feel free, please. I’ll watch him. Show me the medicine and tell me the dose. I’ll follow your instructions perfectly, I assure you. I’m a quick study.”
So he did just that. I nodded as he spoke, absorbing everything. I would be sure not to make a single mistake.
I fingered the bottle in my hand and said quietly, “Last night the captain thought I was his mother. And then again this morning.”
“I’m not surprised. He often hallucinates with his fevers.” His voice was subdued.
I hesitated. It really was none of my business, but I couldn’t help myself. “John … did you know his mother?”
“Yes. His father, too. He was an excellent man.”
“They’re deceased?”
“Yes. The dream, the memory the captain relives, comes from their deaths.”
“How did they die?”
“Their ship was attacked and taken by pirates.”
“How awful. And they were killed by the pirates?”
The Dreamer (The Fall Series) Page 3
