Other Islands

by Andrea Jones

  Hook shoved his pistol in his belt, where a mother-of-pearl inlay glowed on the handle. He nodded to Jill, and she laid Cecco’s dagger on the table, then lit the lantern beside it. As its yellow beam changed the atmosphere of fantasy to actuality, she turned to encounter the men— the two very real men— she loved.

  “I’ll not waste time.” Hook eyed Captain Cecco. “This conduct reeks of mutiny.”

  The breath caught in Jill’s throat. “Commodore,” was all she could manage.

  “The captain struck my first officer. A direct affront to me.”

  Cecco did not flinch. “I do not deny it.”

  “No— Sir,” Jill kept her voice level. “Captain Cecco misunderstands the situation.”

  “Madam. No one misunderstands. The facts are clear to every man in my company. Bound by oath, Captain Cecco cannot challenge me; he fights my mate in my stead.”

  “Giovanni, I swear to you. I saw how you were provoked. But until this evening, Mr. Smee has acted respectfully.”

  Cecco crossed his arms over his chest. “With the exception of the commodore, I deal death to any man who thinks to touch you. As I warned you from the beginning.”

  “But this man—”

  “Will not be threatened again,” Hook finished. “Signora, I command you and Captain Cecco to come to terms. For the good of the company, no further incident shall occur.” He raised his voice to call, “Mr. Nibs.”

  A moment later, the door flap opened and, with a taut face, Nibs stooped to poke in his head. “Aye, Commodore.”

  “You will escort Red-Handed Jill and Captain Cecco to the boats. You and Flambard are to stand guard as they hold parley there.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir.”

  Relief eased Jill’s dread. Hook had every cause to execute the penalty for mutiny, yet he granted one last chance to redeem her husband— if only she could manage the task.

  With a flick of his claw, the commodore waved Nibs away. “Fetch me the hourglass.”

  Nibs plucked the timepiece from its post outside the pavilion. During the uproar, it had run out its hour, and the sand lay slack at the bottom. Hook grasped the brass casing. He held it poised over the table, next to the lantern. His ruby ring glowed.

  “Madam. Consider all ramifications. Then decide.”

  Jill met his eye.

  “Remain with me as my consort, or go with Captain Cecco, as his wife.”

  “Sir, I made that choice before we married.”

  But Hook stood adamant.

  “Captain Cecco deserves complete candor.” He turned the glass, and banged it down on the table, beside Cecco’s knife. “You have one hour.”

  The sand began its tumbling descent. Jill turned toward Cecco. A light of hope now burned in the depth of his eyes. With a jangle of his headdress, he inclined his head to Hook, then shouldered his way through the door. After a glance at the commodore, Nibs followed him.

  The night had grown chill with Jill’s apprehension. Shivering, she perceived that, in the conflict, some part of Hook’s mind had closed to her. She snatched up her wrap and tossed it over her shoulder. Uncertain but expectant, she drew herself upright, to stand in state before her pirate king. She bore his blood on her skin; she was Red-Handed Jill. Surely, she believed, he intuited her intention?

  Still stern, he opened his arms, and, mirroring her sense of ceremony, he beckoned her to his embrace. As his hold tightened round her, he granted her the security of his strength. Although his demeanor remained even, his corporeal being, like her own and like Cecco’s, pulsed at a rapid rate. Tracing the hidden straps of his harness, she smelled the dry, familiar scent of leather. She ran her fingers over his shoulders, then over his chest. His body responded to hers, and with his hook he lifted a loose curl of her hair, exposing her neck to the night.

  Her love for him swelled in her breast as she admired his features, and, even more, his mastery of the circumstances. His comportment was impeccable. Yet, oddly, instead of reassuring her, his self-possession left her troubled. Despite their proximity, Jill felt Hook’s presence as if one step removed.

  Hook studied her, too, while his claw held her hair from her face. His eyes were astute, conning her visage the way she’d seen him at the helm, studying the sea. But soon he bent his head to touch his lips to her neck. He brushed along the curve, his beard prickling her flesh, then roving along her jaw. When he arrived at her mouth he covered it, seeking for her kiss. No self-possession impeded him here. His embrace was heated and deep, a physical rite that embodied the totality of their time together.

  His reserve was banished; she wove her arms about him, and once again her soul filled with him. She kissed him as she always kissed him: eagerly as the very first time. Passionately, like the last.

  But she remembered the sand in the glass, sifting Cecco’s time away. She whispered, “Adieu, my love.”

  He smiled, half-way. In his velvety voice, furred with irony, he answered her.

  “Ciao, amore mia.”

  Blinking in surprise, she drew back to stare at him. She’d heard her lover’s own words, couched in her husband’s language. But in the next moment she smiled, absorbing through their own channel of communication the spirit of humor, pride, and promise that prompted this form of farewell.

  As she tried to slip from him, his hold tightened, and he kept her for one second longer, perhaps ten grains of time. When he raised his arms to release her, he freed her completely, his hand and his hook open, as if the hourglass had turned back to an earlier era, to an age before ever he’d touched her. Before he’d turned real for her: only a story.

  With the sense of unreality returning, she felt that, after all, James Hook contained strata so deep that, on certain levels, he might yet be a stranger. She remembered his warning: do not take our union for granted. She stole from his tent, almost relieved to depart.

  Surrounded by luxury in his hermitage, Hook turned down the lantern, so that the striped light of the pavilion scored his face. As the twitch at his lip signified, he was stirred by the passion of her parting. Always, physical intimacy with his woman overcame any hindrance. Wishing Jill’s verdict to be hers and hers alone, he had veiled himself, but now he re-attuned to her essence. Rich in Jill’s love, he could afford to be generous.

  But, Hook sensed, beyond doubt, the same could be said of Giovanni Cecco.

  He sat down— alone again— to observe the granules of sand as they competed to squeeze through their passage of glass.

  From the lowest level of his being, James Hook discerned what the ignorant sands did not. There was no need to compete; all contenders would arrive at the destinations designed for them. As decreed, by the Storyteller herself.

  CHAPTER 20

  Golden Trophies

  In Tom Tootle’s hands this time, the bo’sun’s pipe twittered and shrilled, and the new set of sentries hustled to their posts. Flambard remained where Hook had assigned him, close to the boats at the western end of the beach. He stood watch in his new blue jacket, gazing outward toward the woods or toward the water. Tactfully, he kept his back turned as Captain Cecco paced.

  The captain’s chest brimmed with joy at the prospect of even one hour in company with his wife. He felt that, at this more private spot, he could open his heart to her. The woods encroached upon the sea, with rocks and boulders cluttering the sand between them. The pirates’ boats lined the shore, most turned like turtles with their hulls to the sky. One remained upright, a skiff with oars shipped inside. A pair of Red Lady’s sailors could be seen rowing out to relieve their mates aboard, with orders from Cecco for the returning men to beach their craft closer to the fire. Cecco’s dim hope was brightening, and he’d ensured that his parley with Red-Handed Jill would not be disturbed.

  The revels on the other end of the beach remained subdued since the unpleasantness. Where Cecco walked, the woods sighed behind him. The moon’s arching road had led it farther west over the high, forested hill, and its light had grown distant, and cold.
As Jill approached, Cecco’s heart beat faster. Her garments appeared ghostly in the ebbing moonlight. Nibs, carrying cushions, had linked her arm in his. When they arrived, Nibs placed the pillows on a large, flat stone. He saluted Cecco. “Your knife, Sir,” he said, and he presented Cecco with his confiscated weapon. Tightening the orange kerchief about his forehead, Nibs backed off toward the woods, out of earshot, to stand guard as ordered.

  Cecco wasted not one speck of time. Quickly, he restored his knife to his belt, then he stood before Jill, his hand open. In his Mediterranean accent, so familiar to her, he said, “I welcome you, my Jill. My wife.”

  Jill’s manner was reserved, but she replied, “Under the circumstances, Captain, I won’t deny you this much.” She placed her crimson hand in his.

  He closed his fingers upon hers, and pulled her close. He pressed his lips to her fingertips. “Bellezza, how often, how ardently, I have longed for you.” He kissed her palm next, then the tender inside of her wrist, then his caresses wandered. Up the path of her arm he roamed, her shoulder, along her throat, and, finally, across her cheek.

  Her senses reawakened to him, and her resistance dwindled. By the time he reached her lips, she was eager to accommodate him, seduced, once again, by the force of his passion. An ache gnawed her heart, and she felt a visceral quickening at her center. She had not forgotten this man’s effect upon her; she had forgotten to prepare for it. Her body remembered how she enjoyed his embrace. And she indulged in him now, sliding her hands into his hair to pull him nearer, returning his kiss without shame. After all, she thought, once this hour was over, he would not hold her again. He would hold only this memory.

  But they each bore in mind that time was short, and the situation called for decorum. Gratified by her response, Cecco relented, then led her to the cushions on the boulder. Here they sat down, side by side. The sea lapped lazily some yards before them, kissing the beach and caressing the rocks, then sliding back to its bed. Jill rested her bare feet in the soft, cool sand. As she moved, the diamonds at her throat made sparks of the starlight. Cecco still clasped her hand, now that she had tendered it. Like Hook, he took nothing for granted. She might never offer so much again.

  Jill drew one measured breath, then, in her clear voice, she opened the parley. “The commodore warned me, even before this trouble arose: I hold your life in my hand.”

  “This has always been true.”

  “I do not take your well-being lightly. For the sake of your survival, I insist that we honor our initial accord. We vowed to be one, but only until Hook’s return.”

  “Lady, we know what Commodore Hook wishes. As for me, from the first moment I saw you, I looked to husband you; my wish was granted.” Cecco was guided by Lily’s counsel. “Now I ask, what wish lies deepest within your heart?”

  “As before, I desire harmony among the three of us.” She shook her head. “But now we have only this hour to achieve it.”

  “I seem to have driven your hope away. I myself had hope enough, once, to ask the commodore if we three could reach some kind of peace.”

  “What was his answer?”

  “He does not feel it necessary to divide his soul with me. He is too proud to compromise.”

  “You are more alike than either of you cares to admit. I came to terms with that notion long ago.”

  Jill heard Nibs cough behind her. When she glanced his way through the darkness, she made out his shape among the shadows. He was watching the woods, his hand resting on his dagger.

  Cecco said, “Perhaps your hope will be restored, when I say that I apologize to you, for my outburst tonight.”

  “Thank you, Captain. Mistakes are powerful allies, our best tutors. The commodore knows it, and that is why he granted this parley.” Her solemn look emphasized her advice. “Giovanni, you must erase this mark of mutiny— it is an egregious offense, in Hook’s eyes, and in our men’s opinions, too.”

  “This first point is agreed. If you wish it, I shall offer my regrets to the commodore.”

  “Do let it be so.”

  “And, under certain conditions, I will make amends to your Smee.”

  Jill’s anxiety relaxed a little. “By all means. What conditions do you suggest?”

  “You swore that Smee respects you. But it is obvious to everyone— even to Lily— that he feels a much stronger emotion for you. He, too, adores you.”

  “I swear it again: I do not allow him the commodore’s prerogatives.”

  Cecco nodded once, emphatically, and his medallions chimed. “And so, the second point is agreed.”

  “I am relieved,” Jill said. “Yet Mr. Smee will retain all three of his offices, including that of steward of the commodore’s cabin. My own stipulation is that you accept that fact.”

  “He will be your steward only if you remain aboard the flagship. Bellezza, be my wife in more than name.” He smiled, warmly. “I propose to you, this time, and beg that you come to live with me, upon our Red Lady.”

  “My dear, even before we discuss my feelings about your proposal, I decline, on the grounds of the consequences. Hook commanded me to consider all ramifications. The first is that if I joined you aboard the Red Lady, would not the commodore lose face?”

  “On the contrary, the men will respect his magnanimity. It will add to his legend.”

  “And add to his losses. As you said, I am his soul. You know how monstrous a man he became when alone. And this difficulty leads to the next. Not one of our crewmen will support a move that returns Commodore Hook to that vicious state of solitude.”

  “You underestimate your power. You have changed him.”

  “My presence changes him, Giovanni. My absence might cause disaster.”

  A night creature interrupted, its claws scraping as it scrambled up a tree. Some leaves shook, then the animal chirred to its nest mates. Jill took advantage of the interlude to ground her emotions, inhaling the Island’s scents, the smells she so cherished. Pine needles, the mulch of the forest floor, the musty aroma of bark, all mixed with the scent of the sea. Strains of the sailors’ music reached her, but faintly. She wondered how much sand remained in the hourglass, and, noting the hope on Cecco’s face, she resumed her reasoning.

  “But let us look farther. Were I so close but so absent from him, Hook might no longer wish the Red Lady to keep company with the Roger. Separate and unescorted, both vessels would lose their protection, and their mutual advantage against enemies.”

  “Aye.” Cecco angled his head, considering. “Yet our ships are swift, our sailors competent, and both companies are used to sailing independently.”

  “But,” Jill said, “consider a worse contingency. If, soon or late, Hook takes active offense at my desertion, what then? If he should disband the fleet with animosity, how many men would remain to us?”

  Cecco looked grave. “I have not thought that my men might be forced to choose between two captains.”

  “The situation could turn more ruinous still. The Red Lady will become the Roger’s prey. We might be taken. I’d be restored to Hook; you would be destroyed.”

  “I fear no man. And Hook takes no woman by force.” One look at Jill, though, banished any thought of coercion. “Of course. This event can hold no dread for you.”

  “Only for your sake, my dear.”

  “But, my Jill, it is your safety that is my concern. Let us look to that matter now.”

  “My safety? Surely you don’t believe that Hook might cause me harm?”

  “Lovely one,” comforting, he brushed her temple with his knuckles. “I do not fault you for evading the subject. We all know what menace is looming. I will never cease striving to guard you…from Doctor Hanover.”

  The sea air blew in Jill’s face, biting, like the fear that Cecco’s words uncaged. She drew her scarf tighter against it. She heard Flambard wheezing, and her imagination magnified the sound to something sinister. She and Cecco turned toward the lookout. Although his silhouette was all they perceived in the dimness,
they saw that he’d simply knelt down. Nibs now hunkered near him.

  Cecco wrapped his arms around Jill’s shoulders, for warmth, and for protection. He explained, “Hanover believes you to be sailing aboard the Roger, as Hook’s consort. No doubt he thinks me dead. But, we will outfox him. When the time for our rendezvous comes, I will sail away with you. Far away. Even Hook must approve of this plan.”

  Jill regained her composure, and assumed a resolute expression. “I will confront that danger when it arises. We are talking of our marriage, not of strategy against a foe.”

  “Do not fool yourself; Hanover will hold to his marriage. But I have learned of a further protection.”

  Puzzled, Jill listened.

  “The boy. David. He is more valuable than you may suppose.”

  With a derisive huff, she countered, “A boy cannot protect me against a man. I learned that lesson long ago.”

  “We have not time to discuss David now. But you may trust in my claim about him. Come to me, live with me, and I will do all in my power to ensure that you remain there, safe within my arms.” With a melodious ring of his bracelets, he placed his fingers under her chin to kiss her, gently. “Amore.”

  She accepted his kiss, drawing in his tenderness, then she pulled back.

  “As I told you,” she said, “we had first to discuss the practical side of the situation. We have done so, and I maintain that a change in our original accord is too hazardous. But I feel it necessary, now, that we consider our hearts.”

  Cecco read the affection in her eyes, still lingering after his kiss, and he seized his moment. “You know, lovely one, how much more I offer than strategy. I bring you love. Love to last all your lifetime. I bring pure devotion, with no complications. I am a whole man— whole, that is, when you are by my side. I have nothing to prove to the world, no debt to pay, no vengeance to collect. I have no legend to uphold. I am strong, I am ardent and amiable, and I am yours without reservation.” Again, he took her hand in his. “My family is lost to me; your people live far over the sea. The sons you raised are grown. And yet, together we may begin anew. Do you not wish for children, my Jill, for babies? You told me of your delight as a girl, fashioning a cradle to hang in the old hideout here on the Island. You spoke of how you doted upon the little ones. Your sons are going their own ways, now. A daughter, perhaps, might come to us, as beautiful as yourself, to listen to your stories, and grow to womanhood under our guidance. This, Bellezza, is the fondest dream of my heart. I suspect that you dream of it, too.”