Other Oceans: Book Two of the Hook & Jill Saga (64 page)

All evening she had struggled to play her role, not knowing if this part of her lover was a sign of hope that he lived— or an omen of his death. No doubt the scheming surgeon was infuriated to find her sleeping last night. Perhaps he, who claimed to have knowledge of Hook’s whereabouts, ordained this haunting as a reminder of his power. A cruel reminder, and unnecessary. Jill was ready to fulfill any requirement to gather a single crumb of information, even tidings of Hook’s death. His too-likely death. She didn’t try to think it through any more. She knelt on the rug, head bowed over his relic, and wept. Pent up too long, her tears for her captain flowed freely.

Since his disappearance, Jill had felt Hook’s heartbeat, sure he would return. But when she beheld the hook in the setting sunlight, returned to its place by his bed, her own heart had stopped. Too numb, she hadn’t felt him since. In the last day something had changed. No— several things had changed. It was as if in imbibing the surgeon’s sleeping draught, Jill had put Hook to sleep, too, and he hadn’t awakened. Whatever the reason, Jill had lost touch with her love. She pressed her hand to her womb. The faint pulse she felt within, and which yesterday she would have attributed to Hook, no longer reassured her. Was he gone forever, or was Jill, caught up in her new adventure, past recognizing him?

There was one way to know. Jill had flown this afternoon. Although, obedient to Cecco’s order, she had held fast to the pulley, she found herself skimming across the water to the
Unity
, so full of a secret happiness she hadn’t summoned any particular thought to do it. Now she got to her feet, carried the hook to the window seat and set it down. She opened the casement, wide. With an uncertain step, she set her foot on the seat. The other followed. Lowering herself to the sill, she inhaled a breath of salty air and, gathering up the brace, closed her eyes. The smell of the sea and the scent of the leather between her fingers helped her to concentrate. She searched her soul, and then she found him.

She could see him. She heard him laughing. A wild music sprang from the stars, and she longed to dance with him again. In silky sibilance, her skirt whispered as she dropped his hook to the bench and slid from the sill, and when she opened her eyes, she was floating. The sea lay below her, the dollops of light on the waves sinking farther and farther from her feet. Her hair billowed in the breezes, and the lanterns of the
Roger
winked at her. Imitating the sails, she spread her wings, and soared.

The wind’s breath laughed with her as she remembered the night, not so long ago, when she and Hook tried to touch a star. There it was. That one, the star that shone so sharply between strands of warm, black cloud, reminding her of his earring. She shook the hair from her face and looked again, and now it was two stars. Two earrings. Two, like Captain Cecco’s pair. But where was Hook’s solitary ornament? Jill blinked to clear her vision, and the sky filled with gold, shimmering like her bracelets.

Turning her head, swirling in her gown like a swimmer treading water and searching for the shore, she looked for that single star again. It eluded her. Instead, the wide sky opened like a treasure chest and spilled its jewels all about her. Everywhere she saw diamonds, and pearls, and necklaces. Even when she stretched to fly, the gold on her arms sparkled like the heavens, and their beloved burden weighted her down. Rising to float nearer, deepening, the sea reached up to catch her. And she heard his laugh again, and this time it was a gypsy laugh, and the sky turned dusky. Drifting on the very same current that upheld her that afternoon— Cecco’s current— Jill turned toward the shore of her shipboard home. Her anchorage….Her captain.

When, much later, Captain Cecco’s boots took possession of his companionway, the hook would lie buried in the window seat. Jill would lie waiting in his bed. He would undress and stretch down beside his woman, and then he would turn his mutilated back to the wall from which, hours before, he ripped the hook’s mooring. Resting her head on his chest, Jill would close her eyes and listen. She would hear her captain’s heart beat, alive and constant. She would feel his kiss upon her lips. But she wouldn’t hear the phantom. It was gone, now. The
Roger
would croon her lullaby, and the starry night stay still.

The reminder of her first love lay at peace, in the seat beneath the captain’s window. She wasn’t afraid to touch it. It wasn’t the hook that frightened her.

It was the man who had wielded it. And his wrath.

Chapter 26

A Last Supper

B
ehind the open crack of his cabin door, Smee waited for the girl to leave her quarters. She’d found some excuse to get away from Yulunga at the party, but she hurried back to him. Almost before she disappeared into the galley, Smee was through her doorway, lugging a jug and a bag of hardtack biscuits. It was all he could snatch without raising questions. He tucked the jug under his arm to secure the door, and in hurried steps that betrayed his anxiety, he approached his captive master.

“Captain, I’ve brought you some water.” A smell of medicine lingered, and Smee was relieved to see the blue eyes opening as he spoke. He set the things on the bunk and swung himself up. “You’re parched, I can see. Drink up, Sir, and then we’ll be talking.” His burly arms moved gently as he reached for his captain and helped him to sit upright.

Hook seized the jug as it neared, but Smee refused to trust it to his shaking hand. “Let me be helping you, Sir. You’ve gone without too long.”

Hook drank, and then he tilted his head back and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. Smee whipped a kerchief from his pocket and dabbed his master’s cracked lips, lightly, to prevent paining him. “That’s right, Sir. Take it slow now.”

Hook didn’t open his eyes, but he roused enough to inhale, and he murmured, “It is Jill.”

At a loss, Smee whirled to see the door. It was closed, and no one stood there. Turning back to his captain, Smee stared, wondering if Hook was delirious. And then he drew back, realizing what he’d done.

“Yes, Sir, it’s the lady’s.” Now he thought of it, he, too, could smell her perfume on the handkerchief. The scent was a welcome distraction in the fetid air of Hook’s prison. Smee could only guess at the emotion such a potent reminder of her evoked in his captain. And he realized the implications of carrying her belongings. He felt himself redden. He must have jerked, for weak as the man was, the captain’s eyes blazed suddenly upon him.

“You have kept her safe.” It wasn’t a question.

Smee opened his mouth, then closed it again. He made a business of tucking the handkerchief into his pocket, but he knew he took too long to answer. “As safe as I’ve been able. Sir.”

Hook registered the bo’sun’s discomfort, then wearily shut his eyes. His voice was nearly a whisper. “Never mind, Smee. I expected as much.”

“Sir?”

“She is Jill. What man can deny her?” Hook gestured with loose fingers, and Smee hastened to raise the jug for him. When Hook had downed some more, he ventured to speak again, and his speech came a trifle stronger.

“The
Roger?”

Smee nodded, glad to report good news. “Sound, Sir.”

Hook shivered, then looked pointedly at the biscuit in the bo’sun’s fingers. Smee had been soaking it. Now he raised it from the jug and offered it. “Take some vittles, Sir.” Hook’s dry lips parted to accept it. “I figure we’ve got a half hour or so before Miss comes back.”

Hook squinted as he swallowed. His throat worked as if it hurt him. With contempt, he uttered, “Miss.”

“Here, Sir, have another swallow.”

But Hook stopped the jug with his ringed hand. “Where is the surgeon?”

“Ah! Well you might ask, Sir. You’ll be pleased to be knowing he’s got a bit of his own back.” But Hook’s eyes glittered with impatience, and Smee said, “He’s laid up in the next cabin, Sir.”

Hook accepted the water. Searching for hopeful signs, Smee nodded encouragement as his fingers pushed pieces of nourishment between Hook’s lips. As tenderly as his big hands could manage, he brushed the crumbs from the black beard. Bit by bit, Smee fed his master the biscuit. He didn’t lack for courage, but for compassion’s sake, he balked at feeding his captain the truth.

The
Roger
rocked in the wind, keening, while strains of music drifted through the door, along with the sounds of revelry from the celebration. Hook listened, but made no comment. He listened, also, to the silence of his bo’sun. Unable to swallow any more, he shifted his body on the dirty mattress and lay down, his breath as he did so escaping in sighs.

Smee reached out and felt of the tangled hair. “I’ll be cleaning you up, Sir, just as soon as I’m able.” Lifting it off the captain’s face, he remembered how many times he had performed this service for his lady. As if the gesture communicated Smee’s thoughts, Hook spoke again, and much as Smee longed to hear his master’s voice, he dreaded the words his master would say. Even more, he dreaded the words fate forced him to reply. Smee could easily minister to the body. But to the spirit—

“Smee. You have not brought her to me.”

“No, Captain.”

“Nor the keys.”

“I can’t be doing that, Sir.”

Silence. Was it wrath— or exhaustion?

“Sir….The captain wouldn’t be allowing it.”

Hook raised one eyebrow. “The captain?”

Looking away, Smee collected the jug and biscuits. Careful not to jar the invalid further, he set them aside.

“Jill is not in command?”

Smee felt the full force of his blunder weighing him down. “No, Sir. And I take the blame.”

“Belay that. Tell me.”

As Smee responded to the rasped command, he began slowly, then rolled the story off his tongue. It felt good to get it out, at last. “She was handling everything, Sir. More than ready to assume her duty, she was. You’d have been right proud of her, Captain. She stood there on the companionway, Red-Handed Jill, bold as brass. She was winning the men’s confidence, they were that ready to follow her. And then the three of them— well, Sir, the three of them conspired together to work it their way. Forced her to give up the captaincy, they did. And I had to give up my keys. To the first mate.”

“Three of them.” Hook’s eyes narrowed. “Hanover. And who else?”

“It’s Yulunga, Sir. He’s the mate. I don’t dare let on to him you’re found. No telling what he’d do at this point. He’s liking things the way they are. Even young Miss is coming round to his way of thinking, tonight.”

Hook’s lip twitched in a spasm, then he controlled it. “But Jill has eluded the surgeon.”

“Oh, aye, Sir. He tries to cover it, but the man’s fit to be tied.”

“I gather the outcome was not what he planned.”

“No, Captain. Hanover made a deal with the devil. And he’s paying for it now!”

Hook took in the bo’sun’s vehemence, considering, and then he stated as coolly as if he sat secure behind his polished desk, “And this devil, Smee. He has taken Jill.”

“I should have followed her lead, Sir. She knew what he was about.”

“I’ve not been sleeping. Nor has she.”

“It’s only too plain to everyone, Sir.”

In the wake of Hook’s hand, his chain snaked along the bed. He closed his fingers on his bo’sun’s arm, and borrowing Smee’s strength, he pulled himself up on one elbow. Once stabilized, he retained his grip, and it was firmer than his deprivation might decree.

“Smee.” At last the cadaverous face came to life, and his voice regained its velvet edge. “Whom do I have to kill?”

Smee steadied himself with a deep breath. “It’s the gypsy, Sir.”

“Cecco.” Hook said it delicately, as if he were tasting the name.

“Aye. He outfoxed us all.”

The scarry stump of Hook’s arm jerked in a gesture both confirming and dismissive. “I would have guessed it, given time. Like Jill, the man is obsessed with jewelry.”

The line of Smee’s mouth was grim. “Not anymore, Sir.”

Hook’s focus sharpened on the eyes behind Smee’s spectacles, and just as Smee had known would happen, he sounded the depth of the regret there. “I see. And my lady?”

“Covered in gold, Captain. With a heart to match.”

“Speak plainly, or do not speak at all.”

“Aye, Sir, begging your pardon. You’ll not be wanting to hear it, but you’re needing to.” Straightening his spine, Smee forged ahead. “Captain, the lady followed your orders, right down the line. She did what she had to do to secure the ship. But Sir, you’re knowing women’s ways. When a powerful man is kind and generous, and she’s missing the one she loves— well, Sir…you might say she’s partial to him.”

The pause was brief. “You say the man is powerful?”

“Aye, Captain. He’s been watching you these many years. He’s seeming more like yourself than I care to admit.” Smee leaned forward to emphasize his words. “However that may be, Captain, I know the lady will be overjoyed when I tell her—”

“You will tell her nothing.”

“…Sir?”

“The lady carries enough of a burden. You will not endanger her with the truth.”

“She has to be told!”

“No, Smee. I forbid it.”

“But—”

“No one must know. The doctor’s daughter is inexperienced with his ether. I will feign to be drugged. You will provide me with sustenance, and hunt down my hook. Until I am strong enough to challenge this ‘captain,’ I shall remain hidden.”

“Captain, that Hanover could murder you at any moment! He must know that if one of the crew should discover you here in his chains, he’s a dead man. I’m boiling to kill him myself! And the gypsy, too, if he’s linked to him.”

“The men, Smee. They follow Mr. Cecco?” His breathing was unsteady now, his body weakening.

“Aye, Sir. He’s taken over your own schemes— squeezed every diamond out of Hanover— and just today he captured us a prize. Your disappearance is the last loose end to knot up before he holds both the lady and the
Roger
for good and all. It’s a wonder he hasn’t ordered your death already.”