Other Oceans: Book Two of the Hook & Jill Saga (37 page)

“No!”

The grim look on Smee’s face afflicted her, and she backed to the balustrade. Casting a wild look about the decks, she saw that everywhere men were bending over the rails. Some climbed to the forecastle to peer down from the bow, some leaned out from the shrouds. All were searching the sea.

The sea!

Nibs, Tom, and Smee scaled the quarterdeck stairs. Their steps slowed as they approached her. Smee was shaking his head. “We’ve not found a sign of him, Ma’am. We looked everywhere.”

“No, you couldn’t have. He’s here!”

Tom moved to her side and, bending down, looked into her eyes. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. He’s vanished.”

Assaulted by a rush of pain, Jill jerked around to clutch at the rail. Sickened, she leaned over it, nearly losing her balance. Tom and Nibs seized her arms to support her. It was just as well. If they hadn’t held her, she’d have jumped. For below her, Jill spied a terrible sight— crimson cloth, flapping in the breeze. Under the ornamental windows of her own cabin, it protruded from the aft porthole, two decks below. A fine-tailored banner of red velvet, its sleeves groping at the sea, the wide, embroidered cuffs empty of hand or hook.

The captain’s coat.

“Hook!”

“No, Ma’am! Don’t you think of diving in! We’ll do it. Nibs, hold her!”

But Nibs was already hopping on one foot, tugging his boot off. Smee’s flesh had turned a mottled red, and he quickly shed his keys, knife, and boots. He whisked off his spectacles and threw them down, too, then vaulted over the rail, plunging feet first into the water. The splash as he entered the waves was followed immediately by Nibs’. Held securely by Tom, Jill leaned over and watched. As she gripped the balustrade, her fingers dug into its gilded wood.

“Hook!…Hook!”

Alerted by her shouts, the crewmen abandoned their look-outs and rallied to her. But as the mass of men behind her swelled, Jill’s hopes diminished. Smee and Nibs dove again and again, coming up spluttering, each time with empty arms. Shaking water from their faces, they gulped for air and submerged again. With an awful fascination, Jill watched their efforts, and, as they tired, she called to them.

“It’s no use. Come aboard! Hook isn’t there— he’s not there. Come aboard!”

At last, no more could be done. The two exhausted sailors took hold of ropes their mates flung down, breathed hard for a few moments, then braced their feet against the slippery hull. They climbed, dripping, to be hauled to the deck. As he slid from the rail, Smee lowered his head. His eyes met Jill’s, but only just. His words fell soft.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am. I’m sorry.…He’s gone.” From his sodden shoulder he dragged the captain’s coat. “From the lower aft cabin, Lady. Snagged on a splinter just out the window, or we’d have seen it before, from inside.”

Now that the first shock was over, Jill felt strangely composed. “This coat means nothing, Mr. Smee. The captain is not drowned.” The men stared at her. Then they fidgeted, their gazes shifting from one to another. She ignored their doubts. “Thank you for your efforts.”

“But Ma’am—”

“We’ll have to seek him aboard the vessel. He can’t have drowned.” Fixing Smee with a meaningful stare, Jill persisted. “You know why. A man who has his…abilities…cannot drown.”

Nibs and Tom understood immediately, then Smee’s face lit up. “Yes, Ma’am.…That’s right!” But his face clouded again. “Unless someone saw to it he was unconscious.”

“No, Mr. Smee.” Turning to the men, Jill spoke with authority. “All of you. You understand that the captain and I share a rare bond. You must listen when I tell you: Hook is not dead. We will keep looking.”

A low murmur spread among the men. Their gazes kept returning to the heap of red velvet drooping from Smee’s hands.

Jill’s tone was firm, displaying the edge of her temper. “I want the ship searched, one more time, stem to stern. Now!”

“Aye, aye!”

“Yes, Madam.” If the lady’s aspect hadn’t held so regal, her sailors might have taken her optimism for hysteria. But they all knew Red-Handed Jill better than that, and wanting to believe her, they moved off, dividing into groups to do her bidding. She remained immobile until the men had gone their separate ways, and then she pivoted to face Smee, a sudden spark in her eye.

“The armory! Has anyone checked there?”

Smee sent a questioning look to Tom, who gaped, a glimmer of hope dawning on his face.

“No, Ma’am!”

Snatching up her skirts, Jill ran down the stairway and sped across the long deck toward the forecastle, the ends of her red scarf streaming in the wind. She flung open the armory door and surged inside. The door banged shut.

The light here was dim. She waited, winded, for her eyes to adjust to it. As she stood panting, still holding her dress above her ankles and willing her own heart to sense another, her vision cleared. Though gloomy, the room was light enough to show her what she didn’t want to see.

Except for the usual lethal contents hanging from its walls, the armory was empty. Jill dropped her skirts and focused on the tall cabinet to portside. In a moment, she had grasped the knobs and opened it. It was filled, as always, with rags, shot, grease, and oil. Slowly, she dropped her hands and turned to face the last possible place of concealment. The coffin-like bench at the bow. Jill’s feet steadied her against the motion of the waves, approaching the chest without her conscious guidance. Bending down, she placed her fingers under the lip of the lid. She listened to the hinges groan as she pulled it upward. Her heart banged against her ribs, and only when the bench was all the way open did she lower her gaze to absorb its contents.

Gently, she lowered the lid. She sank down on it and caught her breath. Filled to the brim with cannonballs, the chest held only round, deadly iron. As she pulled herself together, Jill tried to collect her thoughts. Surrounded by cold metal and punishing leather, she felt that ache again, nagging in her stomach. It was a profound emptiness, like nothing she had ever felt before. The half of her that was Hook was hollow. Rocking on the bench, Jill told herself she must get up, she must keep searching the ship.

But contrary to the feeling in her gut, common sense informed her there was no point. If her captain was aboard this ship, he would be standing at her side right now, victorious after a magnificent duel with the surgeon.

Hook was gone.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, hurting. But the door wailed on its moorings at last, and a rectangle of sunlight fell across the floor. As she looked up, blinking, a shadow stretched from the boots standing in the doorway to her bare feet beneath the bench. She could see only his silhouette, black and muscular, but she knew who he was. One of the strongest men aboard.

He stepped into the room.

“Lady.”

She knew why he had come. Her spirits sank, if possible, even lower. She bowed her head.

“The time has come.” His presence brought Hook’s absence home to her, in a wave of devastation. Unmoving, she resisted it.

He insisted. “The men are waiting.”

She closed her eyes. But still she saw that huge, dark shadow, looming, coming closer. She smelled his familiar scent.

“You must trust in me.”

She shook her head.

“I will protect you.”

Her voice when it sounded was unnatural, strained. “It is far too late for that.”

The shadow slid nearer. She watched it on the floor.

“I will preserve the ship, then.” And as he held out his hand to her, she heard his customary sound. His bracelets chimed.

At last she faced him. In the dim light of the armory porthole, she could see, gleaming like the pistols and swords surrounding her, the golden chains adorning his neck.

“Aye…Mr. Cecco. Hook’s ship.”

The line of his mouth softened, and then, ever so gently, he smiled. As if it were a gift, Mr. Cecco accepted the red hand she extended to him.

When the pirate queen emerged on the arm of her devoted sailor, she stood straight and proud. All hands were on deck. The murmuring died down until everyone was quiet and their agitation ceased. Sunlight glinted here and there on the knives in their belts, and in the many eyes observing her so closely. The surgeon had joined the company. He stood stiff, his marked face mingling elation and alarm. Nibs and Smee, having combed the ship again in spite of their earlier exertions, stood weary, shedding drops of seawater around their feet. Smee still held the captain’s coat, a limp, crimson sham of itself.

With a keen blue stare under her scarlet scarf, Red-Handed Jill dropped Cecco’s arm to look each man in the eye. She kept them waiting before she spoke. Timing was a tool.

Her voice was clear, commanding.

“We will remain under the provisions of the ship’s articles until a new regimen is established. I want this vessel in order within the hour. Mr. Smee, see to it. Mr. Nibs, Mr. Tootles. Wipe up this deck. Mr. Mullins, you will resume sailing on our previous course. If
L’Ormonde
comes alongside, put her off— and tell her nothing
.
” She paused. “I will now retire to my quarters. When I order the bell rung, we will assemble again and I shall inform you of our course of action. Any questions you may have will be answered at that time.” Looking straight ahead, she reached to the side and gestured. Reluctantly, Smee draped the captain’s coat on her arm. A captain’s burden.

She assumed its weight. She didn’t look at it.

“You are all dismissed. Get back to your posts.”

The knot of men broke away to allow her passage. Not many noticed as Mr. Smee laid a weighty hand on the surgeon’s shoulder, restraining him, or the surgeon’s scowl. The attention of most of her sailors was riveted on Jill, and from the corner of her eye she perceived a new look on the men’s faces. A look of undisguised interest. Things were changing now, their eyes said. Possibilities had opened up. Jill returned their stares with a quelling look. She couldn’t afford to be afraid.

Processing to her quarters, she heard Mr. Cecco’s boots behind her. As she exhibited no need for assistance on the steps of the companionway, he stopped there to watch her ascend. Brashly, the shiny brass plate on the door boasted the name of its missing master. Upon entering the cabin, Jill chose not to look behind her before shutting the door. Silence had followed her thus far. She trusted that all her men were watching, and all were wondering.

She would have to move quickly to fill the void of the captain’s absence.

The door clicked shut.

For Red-Handed Jill, first, last, and always, came the welfare of the ship. With many duties to perform, she had only a few minutes to spare for the tears. Sinking to her knees on the carpet, she clutched her captain’s coat to her breast, and as if to accommodate her lack of time, the hot tears came all in a rush.

Chapter 16

First, Last, and Always

L
’Ormonde
had gained on the
Roger
, but Mullins’ skills got the pirate vessel underway again, and he managed to keep the privateer out of hailing distance. Having learned the disposition of her ship, Jill ordered the bell rung and listened to its jangling. She struck a pose on the companionway, framed within its splendid carving, and looked down at the company assembling before her. With a nod, she signaled Mr. Smee to join her. She would require more than Mr. Mullins’ skills to keep Hook’s ship on course. She must employ all her own abilities, and Mr. Smee’s as well.

Although never far from the lady in the previous hour, Smee had felt it wise to leave her alone. From the day Jill came aboard, the captain charged his bo’sun with her welfare, cautioning him to guard her in all contingencies. Knowing she must now rely upon him without seeming to do so, Smee made sure the men would have no cause to claim he influenced Jill’s decisions. At her summons, he sprang up the stairs to stand erect, two steps from the top. A knife blazed in his belt as he clasped his hands behind his waist. His eyes scanned the crew.

Jill began. “The captain left instructions to be followed in the event of his absence. As his partner, my first duty is to preserve order aboard the
Jolly Roger
.” She had used the little time she had wisely. After deliberating upon the situation, she washed away all evidence of tears and tended her appearance. Now her hair was bound again beneath the scarlet scarf around her forehead. Below her red skirt she wore her boots. Her pistol and Hook’s jeweled dagger hung at her waist, tucked within a golden sash. Her bare arms bore no bracelets. She wore no jewelry at all but her earrings, which swung in the breeze as she spoke, flashing in the late sunlight.

As they surveyed her appearance, the men took heart. This was Red-Handed Jill. Alongside or apart from her king, she was their pirate queen. After one look at her, any question whether she might prove, under distress, to be a weaker woman was extinguished, and only Doctor Hanover showed signs of dismay.

During her seclusion, he had hovered near the companionway, prevented from ascending to her by his shipmates— and by a consultation between those with whom he had formed a friendship. Observing his fiancée now, Hanover conceded with an unsettling honesty that she acted every inch a pirate. Yet, as he recalled the morning’s intimacies, he anticipated the end of the day, when he would pull away that kerchief to discover again the fascination beneath the façade. A woman free of entanglements. Exactly the woman he wanted.

Now, like the surgeon, all the men listened, attentive to the confidence in her voice. “Once again I will assure you. Captain Hook is alive. Our ship’s articles, signed by all but one of the present company, remain intact. I put to you the following arrangements, to be in effect until such time as the captain returns to resume his position.

“Mr. Smee. You will continue as ship’s bo’sun, maintaining the
Roger
’s physical condition, including that of the captain’s quarters. Mr. Mullins. I entrust to you the post of sailing master. You will chart our courses and keep our bearings. Mr. Yulunga, as my newly appointed duty officer, you will assign my sailors to their shifts, and maintain discipline.