Other Oceans

  Other Oceans: Book Two of the Hook & Jill Saga

  Copyright © 2012 by Andrea Jones

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system— except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine or newspaper— without permission in writing from the publisher.

  The Reginetta Press

  www.reginettapress.com

  www.HookandJill.com

  Cover design by Erik Hollander

  www.HollanderDesignLab.com

  E-book design by Donnie Light

  www.ebook76.com

  LCCN: 2012900559

  Acclaim for the Hook & Jill Saga

  “Hook & Jill is a masterwork of enduring power.”

  —Satyros Phil Brucato, BBI Media

  “…unrelenting poetic beauty.…Read it, and let yourself be swept away to Neverland.”

  —Sylvia Shults, author of Price of Admission

  “Andrea Jones is a masterful storyteller, weaving a compelling tale.…You will be shocked. You will be thrilled. Whatever the outcome, you will be entertained.”

  —Bismarck Tribune

  “Hook & Jill is a fine spin on the classic, and very much recommended.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “Jones has created a fantastic companion piece to Sir J.M. Barrie’s Peter & Wendy. She reenters the Neverland, quite obviously knowing her way around.…Every twist and surprise is balanced by an exceptional use of the original.”

  —Peter Von Brown, author of Peter Pan’s Neverworld

  “Jill is most definitely a pirate lass worth reading about.”

  —Pirates Magazine

  The Hook & Jill Saga

  by Andrea Jones:

  Book One

  Hook & Jill

  Book Two

  Other Oceans

  For pirate lasses…

  part heaven, part heathen.

  Chapter 1

  A Disappointment

  After all his worries to the contrary, she was easy to find.

  She was burning.

  The smoke wrapped around the ship like a shroud, visible for miles. The stench of it crept across the waves. To LeCorbeau’s beaky nose it stank worse than death. It reeked of missed opportunity.

  He cursed. Some pirate had gotten to her first!

  “Raise the colors! Our own French flag! We will come to her, eh…aid.” He dropped his voice. “Maybe there is something left.” He cursed again, and paced in his small, quick steps, his hands locked together behind him. He eyed the smoke furling and unfurling like sails in the rigging. His own agile ship, the privateer L’Ormonde, glided closer.

  “Renaud, the spyglass!”

  Renaud, a model of his captain’s taste, more slim than tall, hastened to his master’s side to hand the instrument over. LeCorbeau yanked the spyglass from his mate, jerked it to its full length, and raised it to a beady eye. He made out men rushing about topside. The ship was burning, but only above. The deck and hull were untouched. Not a wisp of smoke bellied up from below decks.

  She was still seaworthy. LeCorbeau searched for the name to be sure. It was painted on the bulky bow: Julianne. She bobbed on the brine, her hold obviously empty. Slowly, he lowered the spyglass. Squinting now, Captain LeCorbeau formed a suspicion in his mind. It wasn’t difficult; he was a suspicious man.

  He spoke under his breath. “Who would attack her, and take such care to leave her floating?” Which scavenger of the sea would ensure that her crew lived to tell his story? “There is only one so arrogant.” LeCorbeau was too familiar with his methods. Only one captain was so self-assured. One pirate! LeCorbeau’s lip curled.

  “Hook!”

  He spat. Renaud hunched over and grasped the spyglass as it slammed into his skinny belly. His cocky captain stamped his foot while the first mate refilled his lungs and lifted the glass to scan the horizon. Renaud had an ache in his gut, and it wasn’t from the impact of the spyglass.

  “Monsieur, can your friend have survived this attack?” But he fell silent as he surveyed the Julianne and he, too, recognized the wreckage left by the legendary pirate. Knowing the tantrum that was building, Renaud backed to a prudent distance, but he didn’t dare desert the deck. LeCorbeau rounded on him.

  “We shall soon see if he is alive! Tell the men to stow their weapons. She’s an English merchantman, but we will approach as friends.”

  “Oui, Commandant!” Renaud hustled off, glad to escape. He adjusted his uniform and set about making the ship and her crew look respectable. If anything was left to salvage aboard the Julianne, they’d have to get it by guile. Hook’s pirates would have taken everything in plain sight.

  As the ship neared its wounded sister, the stink of burning canvas thickened, assaulting the nostrils of her crew. Cries of alarm reached their ears, and panic pounded the merchant’s deck. L’Ormonde’s sailors assembled along her elegant rail, grimacing. Fire was one enemy they were loathe to face. It could eat the boards out from under their feet and leave the sailors alive to be eaten themselves, by fish or by flame. But they had faith in their captain. He was like a rooster, strutting and pecking, but he knew the sea, and he knew his job. It was rare that his temper or his taste got in the way of business.

  Their faith was well placed. The distress of the English ship made little impression on Captain LeCorbeau. With a wave of his hand, he slowed L’Ormonde’s progress until he was sure no sparks would jump from the flaming sails to his own. He watched the Julianne’s crew chopping the masts like trees, then shoving them overboard to hiss and steam in the sea. Her captain shouted orders and her sailors let down buckets to dip in the water. They hauled them up, thumping against the hull, and sloshed seawater over the deck, dousing renegade embers.

  Only when the mopping up began did the French privateer allow his vessel to drift close. Then he cupped his shapely hands and shouted in English through a heavy accent and his most heroic tone, “Ahoy! Mes amis! We have come to assist you! Let us board, and we will see to your needs.”

  The English captain lifted his weary gray head, and shrugged. He’d lost his hat. His hair was thin, but wrinkles lay thick on his brow. His uniform was tattered and smudged with ash. He called back, his voice slumping like his shoulders. “We have nothing left to lose. You are welcome to board, Sir, if your intention is to help us.” He signaled, and as L’Ormonde’s deck hands grappled the Julianne, his men brought out planking to bridge the ships. Dispirited, they stood back and watched as the French captain in his well-cut coat promenaded across with a party of officers. The group of privateers carried few visible weapons, but after losing masts and sails, cargo and personnel, the crew of the crippled vessel didn’t care either way. They were dead in the water. It would be a long row to the nearest land.

  The Julianne’s commander welcomed this set of boarders very differently from the first. Swords and pistols not stolen were set aside now. The watchdog cannons sat silent, unable to bark without ammunition. Looking as empty as his ship, the old man extended his hand, and his voice was hoarse and tired. “I am Captain Whyte. You are well met, Sir.”

  “DéDé LeCorbeau, Captain of L’Ormonde.” Seeping solicitude, LeCorbeau kept Captain Whyte’s hand in his own. “What do you require?”

  “We’ll need water, of course. A few of the lads lost their heads when the pumps failed, and our supply has gone in fighting the blaze. And have you a surgeon aboard? Some of my men are wounded.”

  LeCorbeau dropped Whyte’s hand, taken aback. “Eh— yes…water, of course, naturally…but— surely you have a surgeon of your own?”

  “We had a surgeon.”

>   The French captain tensed. “You mean to say he was murdered?”

  Whyte released a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry to report that he was taken by the pirates who left us burning. Very fortunate for us that the fire was limited to the rigging!”

  The privateer’s face twisted. “Very fortunate. But your doctor?”

  “Dragged away. Most irregular! I expect to lose cargo to such scum, but not my officers.”

  LeCorbeau pivoted toward his mate. “Renaud!” He shouted orders to disguise his shock. His face was ashen, but his anger soon erupted. “Don’t just stand there, idiot! You heard the gentleman! Send for water for our friends, and also…” Closing his eyes, LeCorbeau paused to force his features under control. He turned to Whyte and bowed, the image of courtesy. “You shall have better than that. We will also provide you with a cask or two of wine. We must revive the sagging spirits of your crew.” Restraining Renaud, he waved his second officer away instead. “Go, Guillaume! Quickly! And bring medical supplies as well.”

  “Really, you are most kind. Yes, we could use some cheer just now. We’re all rather parched. Please, come to my quarters, Sir, while your officers and mine inspect the damage and do what they can.”

  LeCorbeau had mastered his emotion. He was already adjusting his original scheme to straighten this nasty turn. As he flourished his hands in gestures of sympathy, the lace cuffs flounced at his wrists. “Oui, by all means! You must tell me about this most terrible experience with these pirates.” He shot more orders to his men, quick but emphatic. “Search the ship for wounded. No one must be left suffering! Check every deck, every hiding place.”

  His officers understood. Fixed on their purpose, they stepped along the wet, salty deck toward the hatch while the disordered crew of the Julianne made way. Under the guise of rescuers, L’Ormonde’s men would be thorough while the captains were closeted together. Nothing of value would be left behind on this ship. The privateers smirked as their esteem for their quirky captain rose again. Hook and his pirates would steal the blame along with the booty!

  “And Renaud—”

  Renaud halted to stand at attention.

  “You will personally visit the doctor’s quarters. Look there for anything the injured might need.” LeCorbeau leveled a stare at his mate. “You know what we are looking for.”

  Renaud bobbed his head, a glint in his eye. “Oui, Commandant!” He hurried below, his boots tapping on the stairs.

  LeCorbeau supported Captain Whyte as the man turned his dragging steps toward his cabin. The privateer clucked and fussed over him. “Allow me to help you, Sir. Such a horrid state of affairs!”

  Dazed and puzzled, the Englishman pondered the problem. “I can’t think why they’d take my surgeon. He seems a man of good character, a modest man. He’d no wealth to sue for ransom. None, at least, of which I am aware.”

  “Eh, who can understand these buccaneers? It is the mission of my government to wipe them out.”

  “Now that I think of it, I really don’t know much about our doctor, after all. Very close-mouthed. Foreigner. He seems to have no family, except for his daughter. I do hope she is safe. I must send a man to her quarters to see about her.” He shook his head. “Poor girl!”

  LeCorbeau spoke through gritted teeth. “It is to be hoped she is not now an orphan, Monsieur.”

  “Perish the thought!”

  “Yes, yes, but something tells me it is not yet this man’s time to die. I am afraid that in circumstances like these, your surgeon will suffer much before death.” There would be no doubt of it, if LeCorbeau had any say in the matter; he was a suspicious man. He managed to keep the vitriol out of his voice. “But these vile, eh…kidnappers— they cannot have left you long ago?”

  Whyte leaned more heavily on the captain’s sympathetic arm and squinted to check the position of the sun. “No, only an hour or so. It seems longer!” The hard-earned calm dissolved in a woman’s scream. Whyte blanched as fresh alarm etched his face. He wheeled toward the hatch. “What is it? What’s happened now?”

  One of LeCorbeau’s men hauled the woman up the steps. She quivered in her dressing gown, weeping and clutching his uniform. Locks of graying hair tumbled from her nightcap as she shook her head, still shrieking. The French officer tugged her toward his captain, raising his voice to be heard above the cacophony.

  “I found her hiding in a bunk below, Commandant. She is hysterical!”

  Captain Whyte corrected his sagging posture, and his frailty left him. He held out his arm, every inch a gentleman now that a lady was in distress. “My dear, hush! You are quite safe now.”

  Released, she staggered toward him and turned to point at her former captor. “Pirates! Oh, Captain, help me!”

  Whyte placed his arm around her shoulders and patted her elbow. “No, no, the pirates have gone. These men are our saviors! Calm yourself, Madam. The attack is over.”

  But the woman cried, “Gone? Oh, no! No, they can’t have gone!”

  Unable to follow her reasoning, the captain of the Julianne said, “You are beside yourself. Come, come, you must sit down. Something to drink, perhaps.”

  LeCorbeau eyed the middle-aged spinster with distaste. “This is surely not the doctor’s daughter, Captain?”

  “No, indeed. She is her nurse.”

  The nurse’s cries burst forth anew. She clamped her hands over her mouth, and Whyte was hard-pressed to comfort her. Long in the habit of discipline, he appealed to her sense of duty. “Please, you must collect yourself for your young charge. She mustn’t see you so upset.”

  And with a look of horror, the woman uncovered her mouth to speak the dreadful words. “Captain! That’s just it! Those horrible men— I couldn’t stop them! I couldn’t do a thing! They took all her belongings, and—”

  “Yes, yes, it’s all very disturbing. But belongings can be replaced—”

  “Captain.” LeCorbeau put up a hand. His shrewd black eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the nurse. “Excuse me, Monsieur, I think the lady has a more serious concern?” He pressed his lips together.

  She took a deep breath.

  “They took all her things, and…and…they took Miss Hanover, too!” She wailed, “She’s gone!”

  Whyte reeled. Letting go of the woman’s shoulders, he stumbled against LeCorbeau. “No. Oh, no…”

  LeCorbeau caught the old man, and his face contorted. “Mon Dieu! It is worse even than I believed!” Livid now, he steered his charge none too gently toward the cabin, abandoning the female to the officer.

  “Here is my handkerchief, Sir— no, no, I insist!” They mounted the stairs in measured steps. “Guillaume! Bring that wine!…There is no end to the infamy of these sea rats! At least, Monsieur, the father and daughter are together. There may be some hope they will be ransomed, after all.”

  Whyte was shaking now. “But what those brutes will do to her! A young, innocent girl. And she was under my protection. The poor girl will be ruined— if she lives!”

  The French privateer didn’t care a fig for the girl’s virginity. More precious valuables lay at stake. “You cannot be blamed, Sir. Here, lean on me.” Compelled by the bantam captain’s energy, the two men paced the companionway.

  LeCorbeau talked. He soothed. He commiserated until he wore the older man’s shock away. And when he judged the moment to be ripe, he smiled most ingratiatingly; he could do so when the need arose.

  “But tell me, Captain Whyte. Did you happen to notice— so difficult in alarming conditions, I understand— but you are a seasoned seaman, it would be natural for you to observe. These pirates, when they left you…”

  LeCorbeau halted to fix the merchant captain with his greedy, glittering eyes.

  “Which way did they sail?”

  Chapter 2

  Captain’s Treasure

  Hook’s Jill was his own share of plunder from the Roger’s recent foray to the Neverland. Captain’s treasure. Once she was Peter Pan’s Wendy, and Hook had pursued her as an enemy to be hunted do
wn. But the moment he beheld her face he changed course, determining instead to take her. She was his Beauty, his dream come alive. Since that day, her valor had been tested many times.

  So far, she hadn’t disappointed him.

  Yesterday at dawn, the pirate crew of the Jolly Roger sighted a merchant vessel and took its first prize since sailing out of Neverbay. By noon the captain was dividing the booty according to the terms of the ship’s articles, and after stowing it they spent the rest of the day and night carousing, celebrating their victory and quaffing the newly won wine. The captured ship had been a bountiful one, a good omen at the start of their adventures, and the mood was high. Buoyed up all around the feast was music, and song, and the men had called for the storyteller to spin them a tale, but in the midst of the revelry, the captain dampened the company’s cheer by dragging his Jill away.

  Only the bo’sun, Mr. Smee, had entered the master’s cabin since, and then briefly, to inform the captain of the ship’s disposition.

  Smee had seen it, then. The captain’s coffer, opened, and spilling its lustrous contents in the lanternlight, all around the rug. The beard on Smee’s rugged face had spread in a smile. He’d attended the mistress the first time she sampled the captain’s bounty. His own big hands had fastened the necklace about her throat, and he’d looked down at her reflection in the captain’s mirror. He’d caught the lust in her honest eyes. Treasure-lust. It must be shining a hundredfold by today!

  But neither Smee nor anyone else had seen her this morning. Jill had been detained, forcibly, in the captain’s quarters.

  James Hook was a ruthless man. Disregarding the appeal in her dark blue eyes, he had taken pleasure in denying her requests, and he prevented her flight. Those eyes of hers matched his own, and he possessed the power to read her heart. He had long since found and claimed her hidden kisses. Now he knew what she was thinking. She was watching the two brass keys that unlocked his door and his coffer. They hung against his chest as he advanced upon her, smirking.