Other Oceans: Book Two of the Hook & Jill Saga (7 page)

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!”

Tom sent a sly grin up to his brother. “I know. Next time we celebrate a prize, you’ll let
me
finish the bottle!” But these boys had grown up together, at the very same moment. “You’re welcome to her, Nibs, if you can get her. But after talking to her once, I think we’ll both have to wait for port call.”

“Aye, but Mr. Starkey warned me he’ll keep a sharp eye on us, first time ashore.”

“That’s just because he’s eager to get ashore, too. I’m not sure I’m ready for another of his lessons this afternoon.”

“Knife-fighting this time. Fancy the poor boys he used to teach at that school! No wonder he’s so scarred about the face.” Nibs nursed his swollen knuckles. “ ‘Gentleman’ Starkey sure packs a wallop with that ruler.”

“Better Mr. Starkey’s ruler than the captain’s cat-o’-nine-tails. What he teaches us is for our own good. I don’t want to fail my duty and find my back in shreds, like Mr. Cecco’s.”

“And all because of a woman! You realize, Tom, we’ve started down a slippery slope. It goes to show that better men than us have met their dooms over females like Jill.”

Tom looked up at his brother. They both smiled broadly. “Aye!”

Nibs rearranged his nether regions, and lay down again. Tom wondered idly, “Do you suppose she’s seen a knife-fight before?”

“She doesn’t look like she’s even seen a sailor before.”

“I get the feeling she’s seen plenty. She’s just not talking.” Tom sat up then, pulled the oiled rag from his pocket, and picked up his knife and whetstone. “Pass yours down, Nibs. I’ve got to get this energy worked off.”

The men of the
Roger
would often remark after this day that the newest crewmen had the sharpest and the brightest weapons aboard. Even if they didn’t use them very much yet.

§ § §

Liza’s tongue slipped between her lips as she tugged the lacing tighter. She wasn’t accustomed to waiting on a lady. She was used to being waited upon, if only by her nurse. She was too old for a nurse now, but her father had insisted the woman remain so that Liza should be properly chaperoned, the sailors on the
Julianne
being, in his estimation, exactly like sailors aboard any other vessel. Liza wasn’t very pretty yet, but what her sharp ears had overheard those sailors say was complimentary, if not polite. And her own lacings were feeling tighter every day.

Still, Liza didn’t fool herself. She owned too much of her father’s distaste for the ordinary to appeal to average men. It showed in her face as it did in his, something about the mouth that turned down instead of up, in spite of the generous lips. That same something about Jill’s mouth turned up, always, Liza noticed as she stole glances at Jill’s reflection in the glass. Even when the lady was displeased, as she was now, that something was alluring.

It made Liza want to please her, and she fought it.

“Don’t be distracted, Liza. It’s nearly time.” Liza’s fingers weren’t as nimble as Mr. Smee’s, but Jill observed that even so, the girl finished the lacing more quickly than he. Jill smiled to

herself, but continued in a strict tone. “Next time don’t discard my gown. It will wrinkle. You are to hang it in the wardrobe. Now fetch me the brush, please, and look after the dress.”

Liza followed her orders, fingering the rich red taffeta as she worked, and wondering how to ask about her father. His situation puzzled her. Was he to be courted, or forced? Earlier, the mistress had directed Liza to the sideboard, and they set the dinner table together. Amid cheery clinks and pings, they laid out silver, creamy china, and crystal. Liza thought she heard the table service laughing in anticipation of the evening to come. As she crumbled lavender into the fingerbowls, the aroma reminded her of a starched, formal dining room left behind in England, with stiff brocade curtains, and doors opening onto an immaculate garden. But the mistress, unlike Liza’s mother, was lighthearted, as if unafraid to seek pleasure rather than perfection. Liza’s father would surely not approve of this lady— but he would find her interesting.

Liza had moved on to polish the harpsichord, startled at first by its frank tones, then lingering over them, and then she had brushed the plush fabric of its stool. It seemed there was to be music as well, and the lady slid on a pair of black satin slippers stitched with silver, slippers that simply demanded to dance. Liza had helped her mistress into a black silk dress with puffed sleeves, a low, square neckline and a full flowing skirt. She loved the sighing sound of it as next, the mistress moved about the room, setting out candelabra into which Liza pushed smooth, waxy tapers. But Liza didn’t understand; the scene was set for a party, as if Liza’s frowning father were a colleague, rather than a captive like his daughter.

While decanting the wine, Liza spilled a crimson splash on the sideboard. She expected a reprimand, but Jill handed her a cloth to wipe it up and, astonishingly, that smile appeared, and the woman dipped her finger into the pool of wine and touched a drop to Liza’s lips. Liza’s tongue got it before her hands thought to use the cloth. It tasted warm and mellow, like burning apple wood. And Liza remembered flaming sails over the water, and only then did she recall that she stood on a pirate ship, and that the finger that had touched her mouth was scarlet, and she grimaced and spit into the cloth. But it was too late. The taste of redness lingered, like blood.