Other Oceans: Book Two of the Hook & Jill Saga (31 page)

“Mr. Cecco.”

“Excuse me, Doctor. I have been sent to say, will you enjoy an exhibition on deck?” As he regarded the surgeon, Cecco agreed with Mr. Smee; Doctor Hanover would not take kindly to the bo’sun’s presence here again. In recent conversations, Hanover made it clear to the sympathetic Italian that the Irishman offended him beyond endurance with the installation and application of the irons in his quarters. The observant Cecco saw also, although the surgeon didn’t discuss the lady, that, like he himself, the doctor resented Smee’s proximity to her. A strong and mutual antipathy had developed between Hanover and Smee, one on which Cecco had not been reluctant to play in order to gain the doctor’s confidence. And although Jill heeded Cecco’s threat, she had evidently not given her admirer the direct warning. It was just as well. Cecco gained greater advantage by employing the policy of keeping his enemy close. The gypsy found his gestures of friendship toward the doctor welcomed, and this afternoon Cecco volunteered when Smee went looking for someone to deliver the captain’s invitation.

“An exhibition on deck, as opposed to that in the galley?” Hanover’s stomach clenched again as he was reminded of Hook’s complete and public possession of Jill. His fist still gripped his cane.

Cecco remained friendly. “You are still new to the ship, Doctor. The rest of us have become used to the state of affairs, if you will pardon the expression.”

“I have never approved of open displays of— marital bliss.” His dueling scar had turned angry red again.

“Take some wisdom from my gypsy philosophy, my friend. It is not ours to approve or disapprove of the captain. All of us, including his mistress, follow him because he has shown himself to be the strongest man. Until this changes, the only objection from his crew is that we ourselves are not committing the offense.” He peered at the surgeon. “And I think, Sir, you are one of us in this matter. Yes?”

“Mr. Cecco, you have consistently shown me a deference I hadn’t expected, so I will not be offended, nor will I offer further comment regarding the lady. What is this exhibition of which you speak?”

“A rare event. The captain will be testing the young sailors on their skill with swords. Will you join us?”

“To watch Captain Hook show off? I hardly think so!” As if the matter were settled, Hanover hung his walking stick on the wall, turned away from the door, and threw open his book.

Cecco’s eyebrows rose. “Ah! But you may wish to seize the opportunity to show off yourself, Doctor.”

The surgeon stilled. After a moment, he closed the book. He removed his waistcoat and was on his way out when, as an afterthought, he stepped toward the bureau. Pulling a black ribbon from the top drawer, he smoothed his hair and tied it back in a neat, short bunch. He tugged his shirt collar into place and adjusted his cravat. He turned back to Cecco, who nodded pleasantly now, but had regarded the surgeon’s preparations with dark, narrowed eyes. Hanover snatched his foil from the wall. Thinking again, he also caught up his rapier.

“Very well, Mr. Cecco. As you say, Hook has shown himself to be the strongest man. Until that changes…”

“I see you are ambitious, Doctor Hanover. I am now interested in witnessing your swordsmanship.” But soon his even white teeth no longer smiled. “Be warned, however. There are many, like myself, standing between you and Captain Hook.”

Mr. Cecco led the way up to the deck, and Hanover followed, watching the muscles move beneath that hideously scarred back, unsure whether he had just been threatened— or accepted into some sort of buccaneer brotherhood.

§ § §

Starkey had the deck cleared of all moveable obstacles. The sea lay reasonably calm today, and full sails cast a pattern of alternating light and shadow under the yards. The
Roger
sailed among the abundant trading islands where her prey berthed and loaded, and the air was spiced with promise. Swooping and circling around the topsails, seagulls uttered their cries.

Nibs the Knife and Tom Tootles took another look at the cannons and the ropey web of shrouds extending from masts to rails. They checked the positions of the grilles and hatches underfoot. The brothers knew they hadn’t a chance to defeat the captain. They just wanted to avoid looking like fools, getting tangled up or tripping on some obvious stumbling block. Their fellow sailors surrounded the deck, some leaning over the quarterdeck and forecastle rails, still others clinging aloft for a better view. Everyone was watching. Even the ship creaked her attention.

Cecco and Hanover took up positions next to Yulunga on the perimeter of the action, aft of the mainmast, and the African smiled broadly to see the surgeon and his swords.

“So, Doctor. You have come prepared.” His massive black hand rested on the ax in his belt.

Hanover looked askance at the weapon. “I see you, too, are armed. But not for sport.”

“It depends how you look at it. This close to the islands, we may encounter another prize. Or the law. I like to be prepared.”

Cecco laughed, looking at the young men. “I think perhaps these lads would rather face the weapons of the Royal Navy than a mock battle with the captain’s cutlass. But they look in good spirits. Always those two have been ready for action.”

“And except for beatings, get too little of it!” Yulunga had spied Liza, aloof and inconspicuous in her mauve gown. She was halfway down the steps of the companionway, bearing a tray of wine. But Yulunga didn’t let the doctor see the direction of his comment.

Hanover was preoccupied in any case, his head high and his eyes scanning the crowded deck for the lady. Surely she wouldn’t miss her sons’ exhibition? But she was nowhere to be seen.

Cecco and Yulunga exchanged amused glances. She stood right behind him.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

Hanover spun around.

“Madam.” Cecco beat him to her. “A moment of trial for your sons.”

“Yes, we’ll see how they have progressed under Mr. Starkey’s instruction. They tell me you, too, have been generous with your advice, Mr. Cecco.” She gave him a pointed look. “It seems you have counseled my sons— in addition to counseling me.”

“Lady, I merely advise that there are more ways than one to use a blade.”

The surgeon frowned as the lady and the two sailors laughed. Jill was prepared for Cecco’s darker reference, had even invited it, and as she thought again of the bloody incident Cecco perpetrated at Gao, her laughter was tempered.

Gratified by her reserve, Cecco pushed further. “But I am happy to assist anyone who reaches out to me.” Again, his brown eyes clung to her form, and his gaze slid down her arm to her hand. A larger hand closed over hers, with rings sparkling in the sunlight.

“Gentlemen.” Hook’s stabbing stare returned Cecco’s.

“Sir.” Cecco and Yulunga nodded. Looking up at Hook, Jill smiled, and laid her other hand, which bore the rich emerald ring, on his chest. Hanover stood stiffly as the captain’s regard included him. Hook didn’t miss the rare absence of coat and waistcoat, nor the swords at the surgeon’s side. Appearing behind the captain, Smee carried a cutlass, a rapier, and a blunt foil.

Hook raised his head and called, “Mr. Starkey! Let us begin!” He reached out to command the cutlass from Smee. He bowed to his lady, then swept away to circle the mast, stretching his arms. He was dressed in simple breeches and a white shirt, his collar open. His filigreed earring glittered freely this afternoon, as his black hair was bound against his forehead, under a scarf of peacock blue. Watching him, Jill was grateful he scorned her further use of the corset. Had it trapped her breath, she would surely swoon in reality now.

The two youngest sailors looked the captain over, too. They hadn’t seen his hook so gleaming and treacherous since it raked a crimson furrow on a boy on the Island, not so very long ago.

Tom and Nibs had flipped a coin. Tom lost; he had to go first. Now he planted his feet on the deck before the mainmast and waited, a sinking feeling within his barrel chest as his fellows backed to make room. He felt of the scar at his temple, then, pulling his rag from his pocket, he dried his palms and got a fresh grip on the handle of his sword, which shone from this morning’s polishing. He forced his dry mouth into a grin of sorts, and shot a defiant glance toward the mauve dress and its contents. His defiance didn’t hurt, but it didn’t help, either. Starkey stood next to a cask as near as safety allowed, his old schoolroom ruler protruding from his pocket, and his kerchief dabbing at his neck. His nervous, scar-flecked face was hardly an encouraging image. Of more practical value was the look on Nibs— apprehensive, sober. And determined. Tom felt much better after that.

He had no time for further preparation. Without warning, Hook launched into the exercise. Confronted by his charging sword point, Tom jumped, raising his weapon and falling back just before falling to, with a will. Aloft and below, the seamen cheered.

Tom used every defense in his repertoire, three times at least. Keeping his eyes open and his boots light, he became aware that the captain wished to provoke and assess each different parry. Tom’s instincts kept him going, and after the shock wore off, he discovered he was holding his own. As the sweat oozed from his skin, he also recognized that in a real battle, he himself would have to do the attacking. At the next opportunity, Tom broke through the urge to simply preserve himself from slaughter, and lashed out at Hook. The young sailor held himself back at first, to avoid causing injury, then, realizing the captain felt no concern for his own safety, Tom went after him in earnest. It was at that point he knew he was succeeding— Hook began to smile.

Tom scarcely heard the whistles and calls of his mates. His ears were full of the clashing of blades. His face glowed with effort and adventure. He saw the captain’s sapphire eyes upon him, the hook looming nearby, behaving but menacing, and he felt the strike of each blow in his bones. Tom’s arm ached from tension he hadn’t felt since his earliest bouts with Starkey, and he only just had time to breathe. The only security he knew was the feel of the boards under his feet, and ultimately, the mast at his back. Tom’s eyes opened wide, then clamped shut as he dove for the deck. Hook embedded his cutlass in the mainmast, exactly where Tom’s neck had been a moment before. The sailors were wild, stomping and yelling, the deck trembled with the vibration, and they were shouting Tom’s name. Clutching his head with one hand, he felt along the planks with the other. He grabbed his weapon and rolled— the wrong way— and Hook reached down between his boots, seized him by the scruff of the neck, and hoisted him to his feet as if Tootles hadn’t been the beefiest boy on the Island. The hook stared the new sailor in the face.

“Well, Mr. Tootles,” the claw seemed to say in a well-oiled voice. Tom blinked and realized Hook himself was speaking. “You’ve given a good account of yourself. Kindly lower your cutlass and send me your brother.”

Becoming aware that he was holding the point of his sword poised under the captain’s jaw, Tom Tootles grinned. He was released to the applause of his shipmates, who hooted some more and pounded his back. Mr. Starkey handed him a mug of ale, and Jill wiped his face with her own kerchief. “Well done, Sir!” Her eyes and her smile shone for him. Standing next to her mistress, Liza stared at Tom with those charcoal eyes. He didn’t feel equal to comment. He drank.

Disengaging the captain’s cutlass, Smee made a mental note to caulk the mast. Hook tidied his throat with a handkerchief as Jill offered a cup of wine from Liza’s tray. After drinking and returning it, the captain moved close and looked down upon her.

“It seems, Madam, that our boy has grown up.”

Jill’s eyes reflected her surprise. “ ‘Our’ boy? Do you think of him that way?”

“It is not a matter of how I think of him.” He bent to murmur into her ear. “It is how I think of
you
. All you hold dear belongs to me.” Abruptly, he turned away and confronted Nibs. Forgetting to breathe, Jill pressed the cup to her bodice.

Nibs had the advantage of witnessing Hook’s approach to Tom. He was determined not to be surprised, and therefore hurled himself at Hook as soon as the captain gripped his weapon. Hook allowed Nibs to show his attack strategies first. He then beat his young sailor back, evoking the defensive measures with which Tom had begun. This bout ranged up the deck toward the bow. Nibs nearly lost his footing as he backed toward the hatch to the hold, a good six inches off the floor, but he stepped up just in time, and kept fighting. The match ended when at length Hook’s blade enveloped Nibs’, yanking it from his grip. The sword sailed away and clanged onto the deck, skidding to the gunwale. Instead of diving from the captain’s final cut like Tom, Nibs chose to jump away. He bounded so easily up and backward that he seemed for a second to fly. When his feet stood solidly on the deck once again, he looked defensively around himself, then lifted his chin and rubbed his wrist. Shouting, the men exclaimed their approval. The captain squinted at him.

“My compliments, Mr. Nibs. But have a care to keep your talents secret. The element of surprise is one’s sharpest weapon.”

Nibs’ swarthy face became darker. “Aye, aye, Sir.” As Hook dismissed him, Nibs scooped up his sword and dodged into the crowd to join his brother. Tom and Jill congratulated him. His orange kerchief was soaked with perspiration, and he tucked his cutlass into his belt, downed an ale from Starkey, and asked for more.

Hook strolled back from the bow. “Thank you, Mr. Smee.” He handed the bo’sun his cutlass. “An excellent display, Mr. Tootles, Mr. Nibs. Next time, you may use knives, and we will exercise my hook as well. Mr. Starkey, you have done a fine job of instructing these young men. It is time, I believe, to put that ruler to rest.”

Starkey looked as damp and happy as if he’d just jumped out of hell and into a cool bath. “Thank you, Sir.” He stowed his kerchief and submerged his upper lip in a cup of ale.

Laughing with relief, Tom and Nibs toasted each other, clapping their mugs together. Then they ganged up on Starkey and toasted him, too, a generous portion of their drinks ending up on their tutor, who snarled, “Keep that up and you’ll be swabbing the deck again!”