Other Oceans Page 5

  Uneven footsteps approached, and both men turned to watch as a small procession passed, Tom Tootles and Mr. Smee, escorting the sullen captive— persuading her, really— toward the stairs to see the mistress. The girl balked as they neared the companionway.

  Tom cajoled her, “Come along, Miss. The lady’s waiting to meet you. Don’t let her see you’re afraid.”

  The girl scowled at Tom, but when her eyes rolled toward Cecco and Yulunga, she shuffled closer to him.

  Smee pushed Tom aside. “Let me show you, Mr. Tootles, the way to do with reluctant prisoners.” He gave the girl’s backside one boost of his hand, and she opened her eyes and lifted her wrinkled brown skirt to scurry up the steps like a squirrel in a tree. Smee turned to Cecco and Yulunga, grinning. “And you two tell me I’ve no way with the ladies!”

  Tom, who had witnessed Smee’s winning way with the opposite sex, chortled and ran up the steps behind the indignant captive, to knock at his mother’s door.

  Yulunga slapped Smee on the back, and the beads at his neck nearly popped again as he laughed. “I know better, Mr. Smee. It’s Cecco here who doubts the skills of every man but himself.”

  “Aye, and on his back we can all plainly see the reward those skills have earned him.”

  Cecco smiled. “Others’ rewards are not so easily seen, Mr. Smee.” But once Smee bounded after the girl, Cecco corrected his friend, and his smile stiffened. “No. Mr. Smee seems to enjoy much success these days. And there is one other I do not doubt, mate.” He shot an envious glance up the steps. “Our captain.”

  “So that is the problem! The mistress.”

  “I do not think of her as a problem. And it won’t be long now before my good luck begins.”

  “Sooner or later you share everything with me, so that must mean good luck for myself, as well!” But Yulunga’s broad face creased a bit. “What’s the scheme, friend?”

  Mr. Cecco turned back to the helm and stared ahead at the sea as he anticipated the way it would happen. “The little girl will have realized by now that I have stolen her ring. She will ask for it back. And if she’s humble about it, the kind mistress will be generous enough to return it.”

  Yulunga raised his eyebrows. “Only…?”

  “Only the lady will have to request it from her devoted sailor, Mr. Cecco, first. And compensate him for it.”

  “Cecco, you are always thinking.”

  “Always. And I seize my opportunity. I kissed that little girl’s fingers, and plucked her ring like a peach from an orchard.” But this one was just bait, to catch a more exotic fruit. Mr. Cecco rubbed the lustrous surface of the pearls between his fingers and imagined they were the tender parts of a lady. The lady, pink and ripe.

  “Well, ‘devoted sailor,’ I look forward to the trouble you will cause. Hook keeps things too quiet on this ship. But you’d best be careful, mate.” Yulunga bore his own marks, carved into his hide by the master’s iron hook. “It may be a long time before the captain lets her loose.”

  Cecco pocketed the ring. “I have much time, my friend. Until then, I am not going anywhere.”

  “The gypsy, settling down at last?”

  “I will always be a wanderer, but my reckless days are over.” The dashing Italian gave his attention to the horizon then, cultivating his new habit of discipline, and concentrating on the compass. He had a goal to pursue.

  Yulunga observed Cecco’s determination. “You are changing since our last visit to the Island, and since your whipping. But I always enjoy stirring things up. Let me know if I can help you, if only to save your scarry skin!” He strolled away, shaking his head.

  Cecco attended his duty at the wheel, keeping the ship on course, and all the while another course mapped itself out in his mind. The most direct route to the master’s quarters, and it wasn’t as simple as the path he liked to imagine— up the steep steps of the companionway, through the door with its engraved brass plate, and into the cabin. All lit with candles and her beautiful face, and in the warm light, her red hand reaching out to him, to accept his pearls.

  § § §

  The pirate queen sat enthroned upon her couch, the crimson curtain that usually shielded it drawn aside to admit the girl to her presence. Rubies glowed on her throat, and both the matching scar above them and the glint in her eye hinted of the lady’s willingness to engage in the fray. These signs were not lost upon the girl, who, upon entering, was sufficiently moved to extend the courtesy of a curtsy.

  “Madam.” Tom Tootles, who had recommended that curtsy, nodded to the mistress and backed out.

  The girl knew he was gone by the click of the door behind her, and by the sinking feeling that accompanied it. The little prisoner had disdained Tom’s companionship, but now acknowledged to herself that she missed it. Telling herself she didn’t care, she had nevertheless made an effort to gather her composure for this interview, smoothing the brown dress and pinning up her hair. She needn’t have bothered. Nothing would have steadied her. She stood squeezing her hands together, listening to the heavy tread on the carpet that told her that Smee, the big redheaded sailor, loomed behind her.

  The lady observed, waiting for the bo’sun to take his place before she spoke. She kept her hands laid flat on her taffeta lap. Her seat was a reclining couch, a divan, and the wooden swan carved on its back seemed to bow to her, frozen in the act of opening its wings.

  “I am Red-Handed Jill. What is your name, girl?” Her voice was clear and cool.

  The captive heard the question, but her eyes couldn’t say the word.

  “Very well. I shall call you Liza, after another servant girl I once knew.”

  The girl’s eyes widened with surprise. The lady guessed her name!

  Jill smiled, complacent. “You will find I know something of the story behind everyone who boards the Jolly Roger. So that is your name, after all?”

  Liza’s vehement nod confirmed it. Peering over her shoulder, she looked up to witness the smug smile on Mr. Smee’s face. But the lady commanded, “Pay attention, please,” and Liza’s head snapped back to face her.

  “I should regret to send you back to the brig. I’ve arranged for a nice, comfortable cabin to be ready for you…if you agree to my terms. Will you listen?”

  Liza’s curtsy consented, but her gaze now wandered the quarters, taking in the velvet and carving, the swords, crystal, and shining woodwork. Through the open windows, she heard the swish of water as the hull passed through on its way— where? Beyond the scent of the sea hung a trace of tobacco, interwoven with lavender. Behind Mr. Smee, the girl had glimpsed a glassed-in bookcase, and left of the mistress’ couch, starboard within the ship, stood an ornate wardrobe. Next, a sideboard and dining table in the corner; beyond that, and all along the stern, a cushioned recess basked under the windows. A harpsichord, a polished desk covered with maps and navigational instruments, and on the right, portside, an escritoire. Next to the escritoire posed the grandest piece in the place, the bunk, resplendent with silken coverlet, sculpted bedposts and tapestried curtains.

  The room was littered with Oriental carpets and illuminated by the sun, which blazed through mullioned windows to display the tasteful trappings. The light bounced off the sea onto the ceiling, and jumped around in playful pools above. Liza’s attention was drawn to the bunk again, and as her gaze lit on the treasure chest at its foot, all her preconceptions about pirates converged to settle at that point.

  Jill allowed the inspection, intuiting the effect a grounding of awe could have on a young servant. “By all means, acquaint yourself with my quarters, Liza. You will need to know your way around when you begin your duties.”

  Here Liza collected herself and studied the woman. This lady pirate would appear equally at home in a forest. Like some sylvan nymph from a fairy tale, she wore her hair long and loose, with strands of shorter hair overhanging her forehead. Her eyes were the deep, passionate blue of forget-me-nots. And she was impressive for one so petite, so slender. Her bearing, as Liza
witnessed on deck during the mayhem yesterday, was regal. Yet her smile, icy when it was useful to be so, was enticing, as if it longed to give and receive kisses. Liza squinted, trying to remember her mother’s smile, but the face in front of her interfered with her memory.

  For jewels, this woman wore only the ruby necklace and two golden rings of filigree piercing her ears. Upon examination, the lady’s unadorned arms seemed too free, as if they wished to bear the burden of bracelets. Now she waited, but before Liza’s curiosity was satisfied, Jill spoke again.

  “My proposal is this. I’m wanting an attendant, to look after my clothing and person. In exchange, you will be amply paid and provided room and board. And the protection of the captain.”

  The girl froze.

  Smee nudged her elbow. “Miss, do you heed?”

  Liza flinched at his touch, but nodded.

  “Apparently, Mr. Smee, our little captive hears, but refuses to speak. We will humor her. There is no need for her to speak in order to serve me. I may even prefer it that way.” Jill scrutinized Liza. “You look to be…” She chose to flatter the girl. “Going on fifteen?”

  Another nod, and Liza felt an unexpected twinge of pleasure. She was going on fourteen.

  “I believe that, like me, you have been brought up in a genteel manner. You know how to behave yourself. If you do so, and if you follow my instructions, you’ll not regret your time here. I don’t expect to keep you forever. When the proper time comes, you will be released. And then, if we agree, you may decide whether you wish to stay on. So you see, I’m not looking for a companion. Nor for a slave.”

  Liza indicated understanding. She wondered if she would be given a choice.

  The lady’s blue eyes were penetrating. “I also believe you are missing your deceased mother.”

  Liza blinked, then looked down and unclasped her empty fingers, spreading them.

  “So I am correct in assuming you haven’t a home to which you may return, other than the ship from which we plucked you?”

  A lethargy overtook the girl. She shook her head. The lady lifted her eyes to Mr. Smee and regarded him for a few moments. Liza heard the man’s breathing quicken. He cleared his throat. The woman’s gaze dropped once again to Liza.

  “The alternative to this service, or the penalty for disobedience, is to be put ashore. We aren’t particular where. I should hope that if you cause such circumstances to arise, you won’t be particular, either.” She spoke casually, as if she had issued such threats a hundred times.

  “My men have collected your things from the Julianne and you may keep them, whatever you decide.” The lady raised her left hand to study her nails, then spoke again, seemingly in afterthought. “Oh, yes, we’ve taken your father aboard as well.” She raised her eyes.

  Liza startled.

  “It is our hope, the captain’s and mine, that Doctor Hanover will sign on as ship’s surgeon, in which case you will share quarters with him.”

  Liza’s face had become eager, relieved at the mention of her father, and in the space of a moment, it grew guarded, and the girl seemed to shrink.

  “I see the thought does not comfort you. A pity. What is your decision, Liza?”

  The girl in brown cast her eyes about the cabin, lifted her shoulders, and drew her eyebrows together.

  “You are afraid. Of the captain?”

  Plainly wondering how the woman guessed, Liza nodded, then aimed another look over her shoulder.

  Jill noted the direction of the girl’s glance, affirming Hook’s evaluation of Smee’s effect on children. She used it. “Mr. Smee. Kindly tell the girl what the captain expects of those who serve him.”

  “Aye, Madam. The captain demands that all hands follow orders, and that smartly. It’s smooth sailing for anyone who does his job and makes no noise about it.” He had a musical voice, the hypnotic lilt of an Irishman. Placing his heavy hand on the girl’s shoulder, he regarded her over his spectacles. She swallowed.

  “And stay below when there’s action. You’d best keep out of the way when we’re at work.”

  Liza’s face soured. She remembered the work these pirates had done aboard the Julianne.

  The lady collected her skirts and rose from the couch. “So there is nothing to fear if you do your duty. If you don’t, there is always another island to call your home.” She smiled. “What say you, girl? Shall you try the pirates’ life?”

  After only a moment’s hesitation, Liza held up her hands and twisted an imaginary ring on one finger. Her eyes questioned.

  The woman understood again, and raised a shapely eyebrow. “A ring was taken, by my men? Who?”

  Liza thought, then reached over her shoulder to pat her back. Holding up her fingers, she shaped them into claws that scraped the air.

  With a warm, indulgent smile, the lady nodded. “Mr. Cecco! Of course it was he. I might be inclined to see if he can be persuaded to give it up. Are you with me?”

  Liza smiled as nicely as she was capable of doing. She hadn’t had much practice.

  “Very well, Liza.” Her mistress extended her right hand. For the first time, the girl beheld the blood-red stain, palm to fingertips. Gasping, she drew back.

  The gaudy hand remained extended.

  “Liza.”

  Under the steely gaze of eyes that lost all likeness to flowers, the lady’s hand turned, palm downward. Clearly, the opportunity to shake it in a friendly fashion was past.

  Even Liza knew that only one course could be followed now. She took it. She reached her own hand out, touched the underside of the crimson fingers, and sank into a curtsy. As she looked down, she spied a slender foot peeping from beneath the lady’s skirts. Except for a silver ring round her middle toe, her foot was bare. This queen wore no slippers! Startled, Liza dropped her fingers.

  Her new mistress condescended to smile. “Very good. You have been warned. Serve me properly— and above all, keep out of the captain’s way. Then all will be well with you. Tom Tootles will show you to your quarters now. Settle in, and Mr. Smee will instruct him to escort you to me before dinner. Your father will be dining with us, and we must prepare for a formal occasion.” Jill turned away. “You may go.”

  Liza stood staring as the woman glided to the escritoire, seated herself, and picked up a quill, then the girl yielded to the pressure of Mr. Smee’s hand.

  “Come along now, Miss Liza.” She preceded him from the room. Smee turned at the door and tipped his head to the lady. “Madam.” Liza heard a smile in his voice.

  As she picked her way down the steps, Liza was happy in a way. She’d get her ring back, her link to her mother. But at what price? Liza looked around her at the sailors on the deck, so big and rough and wild. Servitude, among all these strange people and their raucous voices, their demands. Her demands. The pirate queen.

  And Liza had yet to meet the king. She shuddered to think of him. He must be horrible! Probably scarred and leering, bellowing orders, maybe missing an eye or a leg. Liza still couldn’t remember her mother’s smile, but she knew the mistress was like her, and yet not like her. She felt Mr. Smee’s hand steering her shoulder. Soon it would be her father’s again, the manicured hand for which she had longed while imprisoned, and yet from which she felt oddly free for a time, there in her cage.

  The mistress was like her mother. Could the master be worse than her father?

  § § §

  “I can’t figure her out, Nibs. She’s nothing like Jill or the Indian ladies.” Tom reclined on his hammock, just under his brother’s, at the end of a long line of hammocks and sea chests below decks. Dusty daylight filtered through a porthole behind him. Having swabbed the deck beneath them, the newest sailors aboard the Jolly Roger kept their voices low to avoid disturbing the others at rest, those who guided the ship through the night.

  “Well, that’s it, isn’t it? They’re ladies. She’s just a girl.” Nibs the Knife had chosen the upper bunk, as his wiry frame was most at home high up in a tree, or nowadays, in the
rigging. But Tom preferred to plant his ample feet on the ground— with one unusual exception. These young men were new to professional piracy, yet they commanded a talent most people, pirates included, would envy. The men of the Roger knew their secret, but the captain had instructed the ship’s company to keep it quiet.

  These youths could fly. Just a pleasant thought and a twist of the shoulders, and up they’d go, thanks to the magic of fairy dust and a childhood spent on the island of the Neverland with the wonderful boy as their chief. Ironically, it was that boy— Hook’s enemy— whose training made them fit for piracy in the first place. By the time Hook got his claw into Nibs and Tom, they were eager to sign on. The more so upon discovering his ship’s figurehead to be carved in the likeness of their mother, Wendy, now called by her pirate name, Red-Handed Jill. And only her captain and her sons knew for certain that she still took to the air as well. Hook was a wily man. They all trusted his judgment in the matter, and kept mum.

  Tom locked his fingers together behind his head and listened to the creaking of the ship as she flew over the water. He liked her constant chatter. He was beginning to understand it. The ship and her men had a natural connection, but getting to know the girl would be more challenging. “Maybe I don’t need to understand her. Maybe I just want to kiss her again.”

  Nibs sat up and goggled between his dangling feet. “Again? You never! Already?”

  Tom smiled up crookedly, pleased with himself. “Well, I did.”

  “She’s a proper girl! And just kidnapped by pirates.” He smiled. “She slap you?” Nibs tightened the knot of the orange kerchief round his head, always his habit when concentrating. His swarthy countenance lit up as he beamed on his brother.

  “Funny thing, she didn’t! I fully expected her to.”

  Nibs leaned precariously farther, or it would have been precarious, had he not used his secret talent to balance on his perch. “Well?”

  “She just stood there. I got the feeling she expected worse.”

  “Sure, but Jill’s got her pegged for service. Better keep hands off until Jill says go.” Nibs’ smile contorted itself and his real objection bared its chest. “Dammit, Tom, you beat me to her!”