The Voyage of the Sea Wolf (6 page)

“Thank you,” I said with as much dignity as I could summon.

Another gust of laughter followed me as I went quickly to the stern.

“Don't fall in,” he called.

There were indeed no seats. There was just a net with a hole in the middle that could swing out over the sea. It
looked precarious but I climbed into it and pushed away from the deck. Underneath me was moving black water with a topping of white foam. I was thrown this way and that in the net cradle as it creaked and scraped against the hull. Up and down, side to side at the mercy of the ship. It was a strange contraption but it sufficed. When I was ready I pulled myself back to safety using the wooden bar at the side.

The captain was not yet back in the cabin. She might have been attending to her duties or still sitting at the table with William. I told myself it did not concern me, but it did.

I took off my green pantaloons and rubbed my legs that were sore to the touch. I kneaded my fingertips. The bleeding on them had stopped but when I examined them under the lamp I saw small pink puncture wounds.

In the bundle of clothes we'd taken from the sea chest I found a red-striped jersey, stained and torn at one armpit but better than the one I wore, the one Jenks had given me when I first fell onto the deck of the
Sea Wolf
. Could it have been only this morning? Could it have been only last night that William and I were together, facing death on Pox Island? Do not think of this now, Catherine, I told myself. Do not.

Bent over I could step inside the cupboard to change
my shirt. The door to the cabin was open and I had no trust of the pirates on the
Sea Wolf
although the captain had given them such strong warnings to keep away from me. I changed my shirt, then took my flute and sat in the throne chair.

Softly I played, ignoring the stinging of my fingertips.

“Come home from the sea, my darlin', my dear,
Come home from the sea to me.”

My mother loved this plaintive, sorrowful song. She told me it was about a fisherman's wife waiting for him on the rocks while his fishing boat was caught in a storm. My mother's eyes would well with tears and I always knew that when she listened to it she was thinking not of that fisherman but of my father, off somewhere on the high seas in the
Reprisal
. Come home to me, my darling, my dear. My husband.

Foolish of me tonight to play a song so slow and sorrowful. I changed to another for myself. “Dancin' a jig at Mahoney's Pub.” It wanted to be loud and merry but I played it softly. No need to attract attention.

I eyed the books on the shelf, then got up and pulled out
The Tain.

Medb, Queen of Connacht, proud, imperious, strong,
confident. I turned page after page, fascinated by her likeness to Captain Medb Moriarity.

She came into the cabin.

Immediately I was uneasy.

“You are reading?” she asked.

“Aye.” I jumped up to replace the book on the shelf, wishing I had not taken such a liberty with her possessions.

“Sit ye down then and read aloud. It is a long time since my father read to me from
The Tain
. Read to me of Medb and the bull. He named me after her. He told me I would grow to be a woman like her, strong and fearless.”

I sat again in the chair, thankful that there was to be no recrimination. She closed the cabin door.

I kept my head bent over the book as I sensed her remove whatever garments she removed at night. I heard the lid being lifted off the commode and the unmistakable sounds of the captain relieving herself. Sebastian had said she was “one of us.” But it was apparent she did her most intimate toiletries here in her cabin. Not for her the rope swing with the well-placed hole.

She rummaged around on the long table and held up a key.

“I do not lock my door. There is not a man in my crew that would dare to come in here while I sleep. But ye
might decide to go out and see if ye can find him. Ye knows who I mean. I will not have that.”

She turned the key then placed it under the roll of clothing she had at the head of her bed.

There was a creaking as she lay down. “Read girl! Read!” she ordered.

I began at the beginning. “How Conchobor was begotten,” I read.

“Ye can leave that out. Get to the part about Queen Medb and the bull.”

I leafed through the pages.

“She wanted the bull,” the captain said. “They wouldn't sell it to her so she went to war to get it.”

“Aye,” I said, wondering if I should pay her full attention or continue to look for the chapters on the great warrior queen.

She fought for what she wanted, as I do. She fought and killed as I have done.” There was a silence. I did not move, awaiting her pleasure. She waved her hand. “I am too tired to listen tonight. Tomorrow night ye will continue. You will read to me when I summon ye. While ye be's here,” she added. “It pleases me.”

“Aye, Captain.” I closed the book and put it back in its slot.

I would read. While I was here.

She shuttered the lantern.

A half moon peered in through the porthole.

I climbed into the hammock, feeling the sway of the ship under me. I was wearied but my mind was active. I heard the lantern swing with the movement, saw its dull shine. I could smell the unguent on my legs but it had not eased their aching.

In her bed Captain Moriarity snored, little puffy snores.

I was close to sleep when I heard the smallest of sounds.

I sat up, almost tipping myself onto the floor, peering through the darkness. Moonlight touched the handle of the cabin door. It was turned gently, turned again.

Someone, not aware of the lock, was trying to get in.

I watched, fascinated, thoughts tumbling around in my head.

Was it an emergency, one of the crew needing to get to the captain?

No, because there was no calling of her name, no heavy knock.

Or could it be William? My heart leaped. William!

I swung out of the hammock and tiptoed to the door through the path of moonlight. “William?”

From the captain's bed came the undisturbed snores, as even as breathing.

“William?” I whispered again.

But there was no answer. The doorknob was still.

I stood, staring at the painted wood of it. There was a drawing of a cross in the center, a cross with a faded green circle round the top. A Celtic cross. I had seen drawings of it before. Protection, I thought. Or superstition?

All was quiet. Whoever had been outside was gone.

I was up early with Sebastian, sewing on the sails, ready for the sunrise that didn't come. The sea and sky were covered with a gray fog that lay across the deck like a winding sheet. It was in my hair. It chilled my bones and I realized that my aches ached worse with the cold and wetness of it.

Around me the crew was already at work. The guns were polished and checked, the boards scrubbed, the railings rubbed.

“We keeps the
Sea Wolf
rubbed up even in fog,” Sebastian said.

“Seems like time wasted,” I said.

“We has our duties. If'n we slack, the cap'n'll be on us. There'll be punishment, ye can lay to that.”

I stole a glance at him. Skelly had told me that Sebastian liked to talk. I chanced a remark.

“I find it strange that a woman captain can control a crew as she does.”

“May be.” Sebastian pulled himself another strand of hemp and threaded his needle. “They respect her and fear her. Ye have not had time to see her in battle. She is a wild beast. Or when she is angry. I seen her chop off a finger when it went a place it should not have gone in her presence.” He paused. “There's not another captain can smell out a treasure like she does. There's greed in the crew. It's worth being ruled by a woman if'n the rewards are good. They be's grateful for that, and more.”

The sail I was stitching was fog damp and the needle slippery. I struggled with it. Sebastian leaned across me and gave it a last push through the wet canvas. He went on.

“Aye, they gots a lot to be grateful for. No other cap'n would have a one o' them. They be's half blind, half crippled, one handless, one footless. One can't talk, one can't hear and Gummer, he be's older than the ocean. And who but Captain Moriarity would a' taken me, me, a dwarf?” He gave a small chuckle. “I tole her a dwarf was lucky
on a ship. Good news for me that she be's superstitious. I tole her I had the Light of Foresight and she believed me. 'Twas true. I have. We be's all loyal to her. There's not a man would fail her.”

I peered in front of me.

A sailor was leaning overboard, lowering a leaded weight through the fog and into the water, calling out “three fathoms,” then “four fathoms,” then three again.

“We be's extra careful when the fog lies on the sea,” Sebastian said. “There be's hidden dangers hereabouts. Ye can run up on shoals or break yer hull on a sunk wreck. Like the
Isabella
.”

“She broke her hull?”

“Aye, but she made it to shore. Cap'n has informers. We know where she be's lyin' and what's aboard her.”

“The informers will be rewarded?” I asked tartly.

“Oh aye. Ye can be sure o' that.”

We sewed for a while without talking.

By noontime the fog lifted and the sun appeared.

I found myself secretly examining every pirate that passed us by. Who was it who'd tried to get in the captain's cabin last night? Had it been that one with the limping leg? Or this one, with the pustules, red and oozing on his cheeks? Should I tell Sebastian? No, he'd likely report to the captain and who knew what she might do.

Now and then I'd stretch my legs to ease them. Once Sebastian said, “Stand up, Mistress. Take a step or two. There's no need for ye to cripple yerself.”

I stood gratefully.

Mr. Forthinggale came upon me as I stood, bending my back, stamping my feet to flow blood into them. “Get back to work,” he said. “You're not on board for yer pleasure.” Before I could answer Sebastian said, “I tole her to stand, Quarter. She be's no good to me if she's squirmin' around like an eel on a hot rock.”

The quartermaster humphed, then strode away.

William, where are you? If only I could talk to you, tell you my fears, ask you. Ask you what the captain says to you when I am not there.

I saw no sign of him, not all the morning long nor when we stopped for maggoty hardtack and dried beef in the middle of the day. There were limes and we each took one.

“Suck on it,” Sebastian said. “ 'Twill keep away the scurvy. 'Tis a new and remarkable discovery. Have ye seen scurvy, girl? If'n ye did ye'd chew that lime, skin an' all. 'Tis worth a bit o' sourness in yer mouth.”

I took a bite and felt my eyes water and my throat curl up. Sebastian began to tell me about scurvy, how it makes your gums go black and your teeth fall out. How it rashes
you all over your body and how you go out of your mind at the end and see mermaids in the rigging and Davy Jones inviting you down to the depths to sup with him.

I could not keep my mind steady, nor my heart that longed for William.

Sebastian stopped talking and looked closely at me with those green knowing eyes. “He be's in the wheel-house with the cap'n; Finnegan says she's learnin' him how to measure the distance sailed from day to day and how to chart the ship's position.”

I nodded. My throat stung and I didn't know if it was with tears or with the bitter juice of the lime. Captains did not teach ordinary seamen, or cabin boys, unless it was for a reason. Unless they had future hopes for them. Unless they were keeping them.

The ship moved sluggishly, the sails empty.

“The fog eats the wind,” Sebastian said. “No wind, no speed.”

We sewed all day. My fingers were raw. I sucked them and did not complain.

The rip I was working on was almost closed.

“Am I useful to you?” I asked Sebastian.

“Aye,” he said. “You be's as useful as Blunt was. He was a grand worker afore a shell from the Barbary Blue blew out his belly. He lay on the deck here wi' his guts squeezin'
through his fingers. 'Twas good for me that I got a replacement.” He looked slyly at me, then said, “Aye ye're useful. I'll be tellin' the cap'n.”

I did not see William. He was not at the table when we went for food at sunset. I did not see the captain either.

There was soup with potatoes in it and a scrap or two of yesterday's fish. There was ale and water.

I ate little.

There was no reading to the captain that night. When she came in the cabin she took the key from the pocket of her trousers and locked the door. I feigned sleep as she took care of her needs, laid her hand on the Celtic cross, got into bed. She was humming a tune that was unknown to me. I wondered what she was thinking and of whom, and what it was that had put her in such high spirits. I thought I knew, but the thought hurt too much and I let go of it. At least she wasn't with him now and I could be thankful for that. Soon her humming changed to her small fat snores and I knew she slept.

I ached all over. The unguent did not help.

But I, too, slept at last. And if someone tried to get into our locked cabin I did not hear it.

Morning came. I worked all that day and the day after that. Nights I read aloud from
The Tain
.

On the third day we passed at a distance from a bare rock that rose out of the sea like a monstrous sleeping whale.

“Turtle Island,” Sebastian said. “You'll not be marooned on that one, Cate.” He had come to calling me Cate in a friendly way which made our work together more tolerable.

I gazed at Turtle Island, my heart beating too fast. Would I ever again hear the word island without this breath-stopping panic?

William passed by one time, rolling a barrel of water. I thought quickly. “I never see my friend William,” I said to Sebastian in my most carrying voice. “I miss him every day.”