Other Oceans: Book Two of the Hook & Jill Saga (84 page)

This time, Hook’s efforts to trip Hanover came to nothing. The doctor stepped carefully in his soft shoes, feeling for the rise of the hatches and treading with grace upon them. Sensing the column of the capstan looming, Hanover maneuvered so that Hook backed toward it. Leaping aside, Hook narrowly avoided it. Then subtly, surely, seeming to be drawn, he drew the doctor sternward. Hook had two birds to kill. One stone should do it.

Watching from the bow, Nibs spied his chance. He snatched the last standing cup from the table, then sidled down portside to join Jill.

Cecco spotted him. As the duelists neared, he urged Jill toward her son. At Cecco’s signals, the other men cleared the stern, and Nibs set his arm around his mother. She allowed him to pull her to the side. Turning back to Cecco, Jill saw him kiss his fingertips and release them toward her. Clearly, he felt his own trouble approaching. Cecco wanted his love well away from it.

Hanover pressed Hook toward the quarterdeck. Hook’s heel thumped against the lowest stair. Ascending backward, he fought on, moving within the confines of the banisters. With a grim smile, Hanover battled his way up the steps. At last, he held the pirate at a disadvantage.

But only for a moment. Hook swung his hook down and dug it into the rail. Supported now, he leaned out over the surgeon to rain blows upon him. Hanover’s arm was tiring. Hook’s too. Their grips were damp with perspiration, and each man’s breath labored. In a sudden move, Hanover flung back his rapier to circle it high, and then he heaved it down to the left.

Hook’s eyes flared. Buried in the wood of the railing, his hook trapped his arm. Hanover’s blade came whistling. Hook tugged, but couldn’t free himself. With a sickening thud, Hanover’s sword split the captain’s cuff, embedding itself in Hook’s arm.

Hanover watched, victorious. But the bloom of blood he expected never appeared. He had struck not flesh, but the wooden form of Hook’s harness.

Jarred by the blow, Hook’s wrist throbbed, the bone ached. Yet now it was Hanover whose weapon was caught; Hook’s rapier remained free. With one arm anchored to the rail, Hook made a vicious swipe— two, three. Hanover had to let go of his hilt and jump five steps backward, to land on the deck with a thump.

Hook stabbed his rapier into the stair. The weapon stood swaying as it waited by his side. His hand was free now to struggle with Hanover’s sword, wedged in his wooden wrist. The surgeon moved to snatch Hook’s rapier, but Hook aimed a kick, and Hanover backed away.

Searching for a weapon, Hanover quickly considered, then raced to portside. Although Jill’s blood pounded, she stood regal. She reached for the silver goblet in Nibs’ hand. Cecco watched from his post beside the stair, and drew his cutlass. Setting one foot forward, he braced, ready to come to Jill’s aid.

Hanover grasped her shoulders. He tossed a glance at Hook, who still strove to free himself from the stairway. Hanover pulled Jill close.

“My darling. When this nightmare is over, you will— you must— see the truth.”

“Johann, I have told you. You married a pirate.” Jill’s gaze was earnest. “And so did I.”

Cecco snorted at her words. Amused in spite of the circumstances, he flashed his gypsy smile. But it faded as he continued to observe.

“Yes. You are exactly the woman I want.” Hanover’s smile turned ironic. “My finest prize.”

Jill offered him the wedding cup, and with his fingers covering hers, Hanover drank. “Thank you, Madam. Just what I needed.” He slid Hook’s jeweled dagger from her sash. “And I need
this
to finish it.”

Cecco stepped closer. Jill gasped at the loss of her knife, but Hanover was in a hurry. He placed a kiss on her lips, then snatched a belaying pin from the rail, a slender but sturdy club. Wielding it and Hook’s own weapon, he left his wife, to slay her stubborn lover. Jill watched, raising one black glove to press her mouth. Cecco’s smoky gaze followed the surgeon. Silently, he tucked his cutlass back in his belt. He might not need it after all.

Left alone, Hook had loosed Hanover’s sword from his brace. He glanced about him. Seeing no danger to himself or to Jill, he strained to yank his claw from the banister, driven deeper by the force of the surgeon’s hit. With a grunt, he pried it free. Through the railing of the stair, he glimpsed brown, brooding eyes surveying him. As promised, Hook would test Mr. Cecco later. Or rather, his sword would do so.

Now, Hanover posed at the foot of the steps. Hook straightened to focus on his foe. Loose strands of hair escaped Hanover’s ribbon. His scar jagged crimson to his jaw, dwarfing the fresh horizontal cut on his other cheek. Above the beige waistcoat and once-white sleeves, those two dashes of violence on Hanover’s face, old and new, lent him color— along with the jewels held fast in his grip, glowing in a familiar hilt: Hook’s own dagger.

Fire kindled in Hook’s eyes. He advanced, one step downward. The surgeon’s rapier shone in Hook’s one good hand. The moment he had awaited approached.

Hook brandished his enemy’s weapon. Hanover tensed, ready to evade it. But instead of lashing out, the captain flung Hanover’s rapier backward, sending it soaring over the quarterdeck. It landed with a crash and rattled to the rail.

Hanover exclaimed, but before Hook could regain his stance, the surgeon rushed for the stairs, leading with his dagger. Hook freed his own rapier from the step. Hanover slashed his knife sideways, swiping at Hook’s ankles. Hook leapt up and backward, and his sword swooped to stop the knife. Hanover hoisted the belaying pin. As wood chips flew, the pin halted Hook’s blade.

Cruelly, Hanover sliced again, one step higher and aiming for Hook’s knees. Hook jerked backward, upward. Again his steel carved wood from the belaying pin. On the next step, Hanover swung the knife a third time. Hook backed higher to dodge it. More fragments scattered. The next pass sliced within a fraction of Hook’s thigh. The blow Hook delivered exploded the remains of the belaying pin. A chip struck sharp on Hanover’s forehead. He shook himself. Hook loomed at the top of the stairs.

Hanover dove, flinging himself under Hook’s arm. Stretched out on the quarterdeck, he rolled, leapt up, and with all his strength, hurled Hook’s dagger at its master’s heart.

Hook threw himself to the side, smashing on the quarterdeck, and heard the knife cut the air. The next instant, it thunked in the mizzenmast. As Hook bounded up, Hanover dashed to the taffrail to snatch up his rapier.

The air rang with the sound of their swords. But evenly matched, they were evenly tiring. Mindful of the damage wrought by his captivity, Hook had paced himself. It was time to end the game. This was the point he’d left off on that fateful day, the day of his capture. His rapier, so lovingly tended by Smee, felt perfect in his hand. Hook anticipated its next move with pleasure. Polished and primed, its tip was honed to the finest point, eager for just this moment.

Hook thrust out and downward. A long, slender gash opened on the doctor’s face. Crimson liquid leaked, then began to stream from the wound.

Too surprised to feel anything, Hanover slapped a hand over the cut. Blood oozed between his fingers, trickling down to stain his cuff, his cravat, his waistcoat. Incredulous, he pulled his hand away and stared at it. When the pain set in, he clasped his face again, gritting his teeth.

“Damn you, Hook!”

A slow smile spread upon Hook’s face. It grew wide to express his satisfaction. The score was settled, Hook’s vengeance complete.

“Well, Doctor. We have had our duel.”

“It isn’t finished.” Hanover’s palm muffled his voice.

Hook spoke loudly enough for captains, crewmen, and officers to hear, across the decks and up in the rigging. “But it
is
finished. We have dueled to the death— of your fine reputation.”

Hanover’s breath escaped in a hiss. His face bled, stinging with pain. He clutched his cheek, his eyes wandering among the men as he attended their restiveness.

Hook said, “You’ve less claim to the title of ‘gentleman’ than the lowest swab aboard. And now you bear the mark I have awarded you.” Hook savored his words. “A complete victory.” He raised his sapphire eyes and surveyed the company.

The silence burst like a wave, the ship suddenly awash in celebration. Huzzahs arose from every quarter. The men shook their weapons and thrust their fists in the air. Smee’s red face beamed. Jill’s eyes flamed as she beheld her lover, and then she lowered them. As the deck vibrated with jubilation, Liza leaned against Yulunga, her loyalties torn.

Even
L’Ormonde
’s men exulted, for the famed Captain Hook lived. With his final stroke, his legend enlarged. Yet, as he’d warned the doctor, Hook wasn’t the same. The sailors could see it in his stance, in his glittering eye, the unkempt blur of his beard. Hook’s ordeal had changed him.

He was stronger.

As the cacophony swelled around him, Hanover seethed. “Your ‘victory’ isn’t quite complete.” His grimace turned to a one-sided sneer. He still tasted the bridal wine. “I have won the woman.” He dropped his bloody hand and thrust again.

Again, the two blades crossed. Hook backed to the stairway, then he lowered his shoulders and barreled into the surgeon. Slammed backward, Hanover tumbled to the deck.

Hook turned away to stride to the railing. Leaning over it, he saw Cecco gazing up at him, one hand on the hilt of his knife. Hook poised his sword, tip down, and dropped it. The gypsy’s jewelry rang as he jerked backward. The sword delved into the deck. Next moment, Hook hurdled the rail. The men leaned forward, exclaiming, but the heavy thump they expected never came. Seeming to slow as he fell, Hook landed lightly, on his feet.

Hanover, on his legs again, rushed to clutch the rail and peer down. Hook pried the sword from the floor. He flourished it, smiling, and saluted the surgeon.

Watching the rivals fight for her, Jill found that her fingers had nearly indented the silver cup. Now, as the hostilities ceased, she drew a deep breath of relief.

And then she froze as she heard Hook’s final words.

“Come join me, Hanover, and we’ll determine who will win the woman.”

Hanover dashed down the steps. He spun around the post, to corner Hook at last. With the stairway on one side and the wooden wall behind him, Hook waited. On his other side, Cecco backed to make room, his eager eyes darting between the antagonists. From the surgeon’s sword, Hook had no escape.

Hanover sprang.

But Hook’s next move shocked him, and every other soul who saw it. Hook struck the doctor’s blade, whirled— and tossed his sword away. Coming full circle, he planted his legs and presented himself to Hanover, flinging his arms wide.

With a look of disbelief, Cecco caught the rapier. He stared at Hook. The captain stood smiling, unarmed— a willing target.

Hanover didn’t hesitate. He aimed his weapon at Hook’s heart, and he lunged.

Jill screamed, Smee hollered, “No, Captain!” As the company watched, appalled, time slowed to an agonized eternity.

Then another sound broke through. A musical sound. A tinkling of bracelets. Bearing Hook’s own sword, Captain Cecco strode toward him. As always, he had been watching for his moment. With a dangerous glint in his eye, he seized his opportunity.

In one mighty stroke, Cecco beat down the doctor’s blade. He plunged between Hook and Hanover, establishing himself. A solid, menacing mass— shielding his captain.

Cecco waited only long enough for Hanover to register his outrage. Then he struck. Clenched in Cecco’s fist, the hilt of Hook’s rapier rose up and descended to deal a blow to the surgeon’s temple. In a bloody huddle, Hanover crumpled to his knees.

Captain Cecco looked down on the doctor, and felt his own fortunes fading with him. In one instinctive stroke, Cecco’s dream had ended. When it came, the iron ice of the hook on his flesh made the situation plain: Captain Hook had returned.

With a vengeance.

Chapter 36

Treasures Returned

A
t the cold touch of the hook, Cecco lowered the rapier. He relinquished it. With a clink, the handle caught to dangle in the curve of Hook’s claw.

“Thank you, Mr. Cecco.” Hook draped his words in his treacherous courtesy. Cecco stepped back. Already Smee stood guard beside him. He’d handed the torch to Tom and drawn his cutlass.

Hook’s gaze pierced Cecco. The gypsy stood solemn, unapologetic. Finally, Hook turned to look down upon his conquest.

Hanover knelt at Hook’s boots, his head hanging. One hand clutched his rapier, one pressed his temple. Hook tapped the tip of his sword beneath the surgeon’s chin, forcing his head high. Hanover’s eyes smoldered as he stared up at the victor. On the left side of his face, the old scar ran in its crimson line. On the right, the new mark matched the first in near perfect symmetry. The nick from Jill’s knife joined the new cut at the top, to form the shape of a seven. Even in defeat, the surgeon sketched a formidable figure.

“You have caused enough havoc, Hanover. I am finished with you.”

“But
I
am not.”

Hook looked up. With a swirl of silk, Jill emerged from the crowd. Nibs followed bearing the silver cup.

In Hook’s eyes, the sight of his lady was more welcome than ever before. She hadn’t ventured near enough earlier, but at this moment, with a surge of emotion, he caught the exotic scent of her perfume. He had never desired anything more urgently than to touch her, right now.

Jill looked at Hook as if her eyes couldn’t drink her fill. But she moved toward the surgeon. She knelt beside him and, at last, her gaze left her lover to behold her new husband.

Her forehead creased. She reached out to him. With tender fingers, she smoothed his loose hair, pushing it back. She found her handkerchief and gently pressed his wounds. As he drew breath to speak, she shook her head. “No, my dear. I know what you’ll say.” She dabbed at the blood. “But if you get yourself killed, you will be of no use to me.” He twitched the rapier in his hand, as if eager to fight again. Signaling to Nibs, Jill received the goblet. “A drink, now, Johann. To cool you.” She held the wine to his lips. Looking up at her, he swallowed gratefully. His hand enveloped her fingers, and even through her glove, Jill felt his fervor.