Quintspinner

by Dianne Greenlay

  Now we have the makings of a real party. The officer took his cue from William and followed along, alternating from melody to harmony and back again. Once again under the guidance of a waxing moon overhead, with plenty of rum flowing freely in their veins, crew members gave in to the joyful trance of the music; it became invasive, soothing them and flowing over their rough edges, wearing away much of their harbored suspicions and hostile feelings.

  Lit almost entirely by moonlight alone, faces took on two-toned shadings of silver highlights and dark shadows, making most individuals in the gathered crowd identifiable only by their shapes and movements. Even so, William noted that the two ships’ crews began to mingle together. Captain was right. The man had a sense for such things. He was aloof, as an effective commander had to be, and a hard man to please, but William often found the captain’s thoughts to be wise and insightful. William abruptly abandoned his consideration of the man when a silhouette appeared directly across from where he stood.

  It was Tess.

  Alluring as he found her in the golden light of day, by moonlight she was breathtaking. Not so curvy as her darker sister, but plenty there to warm a body and cushion a fellow’s bones, he reckoned. Glancing down at Smith he saw that he was not the only one to be distracted by the girls’ arrival. His friend’s drumming took on a noticeable flourish, its steady rhythm morphing into a furious and showy display, leaving William and the fiddler hard pressed to keep up. It filled the assembled men with a deep primal recollection, and many sprang to their feet, their arms and legs flapping wildly, their bodies spinning and dancing with boisterous abandonment.

  Easily hidden in the merriment of the moment, William allowed himself a leisurely study of Tess. She was clapping her hands along in time, the rhythmic swish of her skirts giving proof of her hips swaying from side to side.

  And she was smiling.

  William was captivated. During her near constant companionship on the open deck by either Cassie, her father, or by Mr. Graham, he had not seen her show any emotion. Especially not towards him. In fact, day by day, her eyes had seemed increasingly glazed and vacant. But not now. Not tonight. He couldn’t help but wonder what she would be like if she were unfettered by her station in life.

  William scanned the bodies standing next to Tess. Cassie stood on her left, and sure enough, on her right stood Dr. Willoughby and Mrs. Hanley. Edward Graham seemed not to be in attendance for the moment. William had heard the man had suffered a serious wound earlier on. Probably counting his riches lying down in his elegant cabin while he recovers.

  William noticed with satisfaction, the unmistakable outline of his father in the crowd. John Robert stood a full head taller than most of the others, and it was easy to see his head bobbing in time to the music as his feet shuffled in a half-time step dance.

  The song ended with an explosive cheer from the crowd and just before the next tune could be started, a high pitched wail drifted above the sounds of the rum-soaked company. The doctor’s son. William noted that the doctor quickly bowed his head to speak with Mrs. Hanley and then retreated in the direction of his family’s cabin.

  “Hey there!” a drunken voice greeted William a little too loudly. It was the Mary Jane’s navigator, the man from whom Smith had been learning to plot and read the ship’s charts. The man’s breath was a fetid mix of rot, tobacco, and rum. Even in the dim light William could see a thick rivulet of tobacco juice drool exiting from the corner of his mouth.

  “What say ya’ let me have a go on that pipe of yers?” the man slurred. Without bothering to wait for an answer, he grabbed the flute out of William’s hands and held it up to his own slobbering mouth. Repulsed at the thought of ever putting it to his own lips again, William bade a silent and sudden good-bye to his only possession and made no attempt to retrieve it. Much to his surprise, the navigator could play and played reasonably well, given his state of inebriation.

  “Keep it,” William told the man with a false note of cheer in his voice. Seeing the look of surprise on the navigator’s face, he clapped the man heartily on the back. “My gift to you.”

  “Mr. Taylor!”

  William squinted to see the source of the call, although he recognized the voice. Mrs. Hanley waved a hand in a beckoning posture.

  “I need yer help, young Sir,” she explained, and grinning widely, she pointed to Mr. Lancaster. The carpenter had been sitting on a small box just behind her. A makeshift crutch lay across his lap.

  “Help him up, if ya’ would.”

  The craggy carpenter protested. “I don’t need any help. Wasn’t plannin’ on gettin’ up. Not goin’ anywheres, was I? ‘Course not. Not yet anyways.”

  “Help him to his feet, Mr. Taylor,” Mrs. Hanley persisted, “an’ catch him if he falls.” She turned to look down at Mr. Lancaster and smiled. “We’re havin’ a dance, Sir. Right here, right now.” Upon hearing this plan, the carpenter was stupefied.

  “Wha-? Dance?” He looked truly astonished. “I’ve lost me buggerin’ leg!” he sputtered. “An’ you’ve lost yer mind, woman!”

  “An’ it appears you have lost yer manners as well as yer foot!” she retorted. “A lady has asked ya’ to dance. An’ bein’ as how you’re so focused on yerself, it would be good practice fer yer balance. Well? Are ya’ goin’ to further insult me or are ya’ risin’ to dance?” She held out her hand to him. Mr. Lancaster stared up at her, his jaw sagging open in continued amazement.

  “But it’s not proper, a dance between a lady like yerself an’ plain ruffian the likes of me!”

  “Nonsense, Mr. Lancaster. As carpenter, you’re of Lieutenant rank, answering to the Captain, and I am house servant to the Doctor. None will object. Help him up, Mr. Taylor,” she repeated firmly.

  Supported from behind by William’s hands on his shoulder blades, and the crutch under one arm, Mr. Lancaster stood and appeared confused as to where to place his free hand. Mrs. Hanley had obviously already thought it out.

  “If ya’ was to hold tight near my waist, there’d be less risk of ya’ fallin’ down.”

  Surprised and himself made shy by her boldness, he nevertheless complied, tentatively placing his calloused hand ever so lightly on the thin material of her dress.

  “Ya’ may hang on as is necessary fer yer safety, Mr. Lancaster,” she instructed him. “You’ll find I’m built quite sturdy after all.”

  William watched in amusement and couldn’t decide. Was it fear of falling and making a fool of himself, or was Mr. Lancaster taking advantage of a situation that had literally been thrust into his hands? The carpenter had begun the dance with his hands barely in contact with Mrs. Hanley, and progressed to steadying himself by leaning heavily and comfortably into her shoulder and bosom. And perhaps it’s the rum, thought William, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

  He caught Tess’s eye and she smiled conspiratorially back at him, as if reading his own thoughts. Now that I’m relieved of music duty, maybe I could dance. He looked at the carpenter steadied in a warm embrace, then glanced at Tess. What an opportunity! Only I’d never be allowed to dance with her. He watched the carpenter swaying on his remaining foot while Mrs. Hanley steadied him. Maybe if I was her patient? If only my own ankle sprain hadn’t healed up so damned quickly!

  Edward’s survival of his wound was nothing short of amazing to all on board. It was, everyone agreed, a testament to the remarkable skills of Dr. Willoughby. Tess had attempted to resume her place as the primary caregiver in sick bay, but Mrs. Hanley had insisted on continuing to personally carry out her rehabilitation routine with Mr. Lancaster.

  “He’s too heavy fer the likes of yerself, Tess,” she scolded. “If he was to topple over, he’d squash ya’ right flat! An’ I’ve plenty of practice with tendin’ to boils an’ rashes an’ such fer these other gents.” She waved a hand in the general direction of the sick bay hammocks. “But that’s another story altogether. Besides,” she added with an approving nod of her head towards Edward’s cabin, “it’s only pro
per that ya’ be lookin’ after yer man in there.” She grinned at Tess as she concluded the suggestion with another one of her familiar declarations, “There’s always somethin’ what comes from somethin’,” and punctuated it with a wink.

  Edward had been moved to the privacy and comfort of his own cabin the morning after his injury. Dr. Willoughby had determined that bleeding from the wound had all but stopped by then, and Edward seemed to be running only a slight fever.

  Her father was relieved, almost overjoyed, it seemed to Tess, that her financial security and social position had been resurrected with Edward’s escape from a shadowy death. At her father’s insistence, Tess spent most of her daytime hours at Edward’s bedside, occasionally assisting him with changing position in bed, taking a few steps around the room, and helping him with his meals. In between these activities, Edward slept, and at such times, Tess quietly reflected on her predicament.

  Her discovery of the odd looking brand on his left upper chest had initially shocked her; its similarity to the shape of her own birthmark was eerie. Intuitively she knew there could be no coincidence. She stared at the delicate braided bands of sky-blue jewels already adorning her left hand and then studied the details of the new ring which nestled by its side.

  The emerald spinner.

  A broad band of gold inset with a spinning band of silver encircled her fourth finger. Within the silver band, which could be made to spin around in its golden track, were glistening emeralds, themselves secured within tiny clasps of gold fashioned into the shapes of oak leaves.

  Edward had said the ring could heal. In the few days that it had adorned her fourth finger, the swelling in the knuckle of her sprained fifth finger seemed to have lessened. Her first ring, with the wavy strands of glowing blue jewels, now nestled comfortably around her finger without too much tightness at the joint.

  Coincidence. Surely it was just a matter of time. It would have healed anyway. She studied the new ring.

  Edward Graham had had a spinner ring! Tess recalled the Crone’s words of warning about the power of such a ring used for the wrong reasons. In the hands of the wrong person.

  And Edward Graham is certainly the wrong person! Tess sullenly admitted to herself that he hadn’t actually killed the Crone–she had died from hitting her head on the ground when she fell off her stool.

  Not fell. She was pushed. Had to have been. By either Edward or his companion on that day, she corrected herself. And Edward attacked her, maiming her intentionally! Tess felt a cold shiver rush up her spine as the unbidden image of the severed fingers flooded her mind.

  Why then, did I save his life?

  Tess realized with alarm that she already believed that she had done the impossible. Had she really influenced Edward’s survival? She studied the rings again.

  And if I did, then why?

  He was a danger to her.

  She did not love him. Could never love him.

  And if he lived–and it certainly appeared that he was going to–she would have to marry him.

  Had she sacrificed her future to save his? What had she seen of his inner being in those few seconds when he had pleaded with her to use the rings’ powers to save him?

  Remember the Crone. No matter what you saw momentarily in him, no matter how attractive he seems, he has proven himself to be a cold-blooded killer, she chided herself. The realization weighed heavily on her.

  She searched her thoughts for a reason for her actions, grasping for any explanation. She held her hand up to the cabin’s tiny window, as a beam of murky sunlight bored its way into the room through the pane, and marveled at the intricate construction of the rings’ settings. In spite of the dullness of the light bathing them, their gems sparkled, staying true to their own colors.

  Her thoughts wandered and for a moment Edward’s face swam into her mind’s eye. His eyes were darkened, black pits of danger and his hands seemed to be dripping blood. Abruptly repulsed, Tess felt dizzy and light-headed. As she felt herself falling backwards, Edward’s image held out his hand, slick with blood, catching her own in mid-fall. Disgusted with this unbidden flight of fancy, she shook her head, confused.

  Where on earth did I conjure up that little scenario from? The implied violence of it sickened her. What was I thinking?

  Suddenly the room seemed too close, the air too stale. Seeing Edward’s chest rise and fall, and hearing his soft snore, Tess carefully rose to her feet and tiptoed out of the room.

  I need some fresh air out on the open deck. Perhaps now would be a good time for another lesson from William.

  Thunk! The tiny knife had catapulted neatly three times, creating a shrill whistle as it sped unerringly towards its target. Its tip bit deeply into an old piece of board upon which a horde of rats had hastily been drawn with a lump of charcoal scavenged from the ember pan of the kitchen’s galley hearth.

  “Now you try it,” William nodded towards Tess.

  No matter how hard she wished for it to be successful, her throw continued to fall short of the charcoaled rats. Her knife twirled in a crazy, lopsided spin and skidded on the decking with a loud clatter. Increasingly embarrassed, Tess was grateful that her father had requested an order from both of the captains that crew were to avert their eyes during Tess’s daily lesson. She could not ever remember having been so frustrated by an inability to gain a new skill.

  “Bloody hell!” she hissed under her breath, not really caring how unladylike it sounded. She bent over and scooped up the disagreeable little weapon.

  “You will obey me!” she commanded the knife, as though talking to an unruly servant. Today’s practice fed her increasing tension. The tropical heat, crowded conditions, and progressive shortages of food and drink fueled a growing surliness inside.

  William chuckled. Throwing had come naturally to him. Without any formal instruction and very little practice, his skill level had quickly become far greater than just the mild proficiency shown by his brother and friends back home.

  “You need to hold it in your hand, just so,” he advised her. “Feel the weight–really feel it–and adjust the power you give to it.”

  Tess held the knife, with her arm stiffly extended and quickly launched it underhand again. This time the knife flew straight and steady. Straight up, that is, before flipping one hundred and eighty degrees and quickly imbedding its pointed tip deep into the flooring of the deck at her feet.

  William stared, completely at a loss. She had no feel for the tiny blade, no sense of its balancing point. None at all. He sighed. She needed a connection. A true feel for its potential. And that would require a slower concentration from Tess, centering on the ballistic feel of her weapon.

  There was only one way to show her. Only one way for her to learn it.

  Retrieving the dirk from its landing place in the plank, William held it in his hand.

  “May I have your permission to help you?” he inquired.

  A look of annoyance flashed across Tess’s face. “Of course!” she retorted. “That’s what you’re supposed to be doing!”

  “Then come here,” he commanded and pointed to his feet.

  A moment of defiance flared between them before she took a calming breath and stepped towards him.

  “Do I have permission to guide your hand?” William thought it was best to be clear about that before he made physical contact with her.

  Tess flushed, then visibly relaxed. “Yes, of course,” she assured William. “Teach by whatever means are necessary.” She stared into his clear blue eyes and took another step closer. A small smile tugged at her mouth. “Is this close enough?”

  “Not quite,” he replied, a tiny grin spreading across his own mouth. “Here, turn around and take your knife in your own hand.” William reached around her from behind, encircling her with his arms, and enclosed his hand over hers holding the knife. This close, heat from her body seeped into his, encompassing him, and his heart hammered like thunder in his chest. Her scent hovered in front of him, filling h
is nostrils. Mildly salty, a delicious womanly musk, and, he thought, a bit of … cinnamon? He felt a heaviness grow in his groin. Concentrate on the throw! he chided himself, irritated with his body’s unruly response to her presence.

  “Hold it lightly,” he said, “and now close your eyes. Just concentrate on the feel of it in your hand. Relax and breathe as I do.”

  Tess closed her eyes and leaned slightly back into William’s body. He felt her shiver slightly at the physical connection, and hoped that she could feel his body heat radiating back to her through the thin linen tunic he wore. His chest expanded and fell with a perfect, even rhythm as his arms corralled her. She nestled her head back against him, just under his chin. He was surprised, then pleased, at how perfectly they seemed to mold into one another. This is madness. She’s in your arms in broad daylight! He focused on her knife. The next throw would have to be perfect. To provide life-saving justification for this dangerous physical embrace.

  For a brief moment she stood still, absolutely lost in the sensation that being this close again to William created. His nearness was exquisite in a way that she had never experienced, certainly had felt nothing even close to this when she was with Edward. Edward smelled of rancid tobacco and often of the sticky sweetness of brandy. William smelled of–what was it? Just himself and nothing else. She wanted to melt into him, wanted to turn and feel his lips on hers, to embrace him–the vision was so real that she felt dizzy and her own heart galloped in her chest.

  Stop it! she scolded herself. I am promised to Edward! To be even this close to William is probably suicidal for us both. Get it under control!