Quintspinner

by Dianne Greenlay

  In spite of all of these extra reassurances, Tess could not quell the building storm of anxiety that prickled inside of her. She had been avoiding Edward whenever she could since their family background chat, and it did not bother her to leave him wondering why. Now, however, he cornered her and she felt new dread as he began to speak to her. Much to her surprise, he did not refer to their most recent conversation.

  “You must remove your rings and store them safely out of sight. Come to my room and I will show you a hiding place for them.”

  A ploy to get me back into his room! And even if it isn’t, why should I remove the rings now after boldly wearing them for all this time?

  “Here,” Tess replied. “Take yours back if that’s what you want. I shall keep mine.”

  “No!” Edward’s tone seemed more insistent that it needed to be. “They must stay together. Let me store them within the secret compartment in my cabin.”

  “Why?”

  “To keep them safe. To ensure that they remain yours.”

  “But everyone on board has seen me wearing them. No one could steal them from me now, or they would suffer the Captain’s wrath.”

  Edward’s dark eyes bore into Tess’s and his jaw clenched as though holding back a furious retort.

  “You are feeling perfectly comfortable wearing them then?” he asked cautiously.

  “Of course!” Tess lied. The itch had intensified to a slow burning sensation over the past day and in fact she felt no sense of comfort at all. The building uneasiness she felt inside, was fueled in part, she was sure, by Edward’s annoying presence.

  Edward scanned her face as though trying to read her thoughts. Tess hoped that she was able to look impassive. Neither spoke for a long moment, and then the dangerous darkness of Edward’s eyes lifted, and the firm line of his mouth curved upward into a gentle smile.

  “Well, perhaps at least, I could show you the compartment?”

  A small bank of drawers, their faces built flush with the cabin’s wall, were situated at the foot of Edward’s cot. Their surfaces were ornately decorated in geometric patterns, fashioned from many inlays of different woods, stained and lacquered to a glossy finish. The pulls on each drawer had each been carved into a small five pointed star.

  “See here, Tess,” Edward explained as he pulled the second drawer open. “It looks like an ordinary drawer. But things are seldom what they appear on the surface. Watch.”

  Holding onto two of the tiny star’s points, Edward gave a sharp pull and the points lifted slightly away from the remaining three. Edward twisted the raised portion one half turn to the left. There was a soft click and then, to Tess’s amazement, the entire drawer front slid off the boxed frame. Turning the drawer front over in his hand, Edward slid the back open, revealing a small hollow space concealed within.

  Tess could not be sure but she thought she saw a momentary sparkle emitted from within the secret space.

  I shouldn’t be surprised that Edward would have even more valuables with him.

  It made sense that he would hide such items. She wondered if all of the drawer faces contained such hidden spots.

  “They would be safe in here,” Edward simply stated.

  A last effort to convince me to part with them. Well, the emeralds are his. But how would I ever get mine back from him?

  “Here. Take yours back but you’ll not have mine,” she asserted, as she twisted and pulled on the emerald spinner. The ring did not budge. Edward noticed her effort and spoke.

  “I doubt that you can remove only one. Now that they have been reunited, they will not be so easily parted.”

  “You may lose them by force, and lose not only the rings, if the vessel that shadows us proves to be hostile,” he continued with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

  Was he speaking truthfully to her? After a long pause Tess reluctantly held out her hand towards him. At least if I removed them both, she hoped, the damned itch and burning would stop.

  “Help me with their removal then,” she said, deeply sighing in resignation.

  Smith and William found themselves on the mid watch together. Just after midnight the ship had entered into a fog bank and by now even the overhead carpet of stars was obliterated. The ocean was relatively calm and the Mary Jane rocked her way gently onward through the inky blackness.

  “Eerie, ain’t it?” Smith remarked. “Not bein’ able to see any further than her bowsprit, I mean.”

  William squinted into darkness but could see nothing, could not even make out the usual rows of white foam on the cresting waves alongside.

  “Yeah,” he remarked to his friend, “it does feel funny–kinda’ like being suddenly blind.”

  “Well,” Smith reassured him, “it’ll be dawn soon. The sun’ll burn this off. You’ll see.”

  Being devoid of one of his senses while on lookout duty left William feeling nervous however, and he strained to listen to the sounds of the ocean around them. His ears picked up the usual creaks and familiar groans of the ship’s wooden structure, and the soft rustle of the canvases strung up high overhead–he had come to think of such noises as the ship’s pulse and breathing–and then he thought he heard a faint new rhythm. As quickly as it had pricked his senses it was gone ….

  William cocked his head and leaned over the railing trying in vain to see past the impenetrable wall of fog that enveloped them. “Did you hear anything?” he asked Smith in a low voice.

  Smith too, leaned over the railing and listened. He shook his head and looked questioningly at William.

  There it is again! A rhythmical splash, not unlike the ocean’s melody, a soft regular swish as their ship sliced through its surface, but this sound lagged ever so slightly, as though it were a half a beat behind their own.

  And then it hit him. At first it was just an uncertain whiff. A faint tendril of pernicious stench, full of human decay, rot, and unwashed flesh. His nostrils flared involuntarily and he swallowed back his stomach’s attempt to empty.

  William’s heart began to pound so hard in his chest that it felt as though it was knocking the air right out of him. He whirled on Smith. “Sound the alarm!” he hissed.

  “What? What’s wrong?” Smith asked bewilderedly.

  William’s eyes were wide with panic. “Do you not smell that?”

  Smith inhaled deeply then exhaled. “Smell what? I smell nothin’.” He frowned, his deepening unease etching worry lines in his face. “C’mon Taylor, this isn’t funny. You’ll spook us all!”

  William inhaled again. “Holy friggin’ Christ!” he whispered, paralyzed. “They’re here! There’s a friggin’ ship right behind us! I smell them.”

  Captain Crowell stood beside William and peered into the moist gray curtain which still wrapped itself around their ship. He turned and stared into William’s face. He himself smelled nothing, heard nothing out of the ordinary, but he had recognized the intense look of fear in another man’s face many times in his life and at this moment, it was staring back at him.

  “Mr. Smith! As smartly as you can!” the captain suddenly demanded. “Pass my commands thusly with speed to all, Mr. Smith: Stir yourselves, down to the last man. All hands on deck, clear for action. Show no lights. Man the larboard battery and open the ports. Make stealth in all that you do.” He quickly returned his look to William. “And may we all be saved by your warning, Mr. Taylor. Although I have no proof of your claims, I’ll not send luck away.”

  As he grasped the handle of the sword that hung from his scabbard, he added, “As for your orders, Mr. Taylor, I fear I have a desperate job ahead for you ….”

  William pounded on the Willoughby’s cabin door, torn between waiting appropriately for the doctor to open it, and wanting to burst in, saving precious time, maybe even saving their lives. He did not have to make the choice as Dr. Willoughby wrenched the door open, snarling, “I’m coming! What in God’s name is it?” He blinked uncomprehendingly at William standing there.

  “We’re under attac
k Sir! The Captain has ordered that the women be taken below and concealed.”

  “Under attack?” The doctor looked skeptical. “Under attack?” he repeated.

  “Yessir! We’re being overtaken from behind. There’s little time, Sir! The women must be taken off deck immediately!”

  William noted that the doctor continued to scowl, being unconvinced of any truth in William’s words and gave a sudden push on the cabin’s door to shut it.

  William made a last frustrated attempt. Jamming his foot in the doorway, he shouted “Captain says they’ll likely die if they stay on deck!”

  “Take your dresses off!” William’s face was flushed with embarrassment but his mouth was set in a grim line of determination.

  “I beg your pardon?” Tess wondered if she had misheard.

  “Dresses off! Put these on, all of you!” William tossed a smelly bundle of hastily gathered men’s trousers and shirts at each of them.

  “What’s the meanin’ of this, Mr. Taylor?” Mrs. Hanley’s voice was strident with indignation.

  “Begging your pardon Ma’am, but we’re being closed upon by a hostile ship. There can be no good come of a vessel that sails so close to another. We’ll soon be under attack and it will be safer for you if you were to be overlooked as part of the crew.”

  “But who would attack?” Tess’s mother stepped forward. Tess was surprised to see her so steady. Motivation. Even fear could be the right stuff.

  “Captain says the lookout yesterday couldn’t be sure but he thought the sail he sighted was a frigate’s, one that’d been made flush. With her top taken down like that, she’d travel faster than most could. We’d never be able to outrun them.” William looked at his unwilling brood standing before him, and took a big breath before continuing.

  “Captain says that flushing a vessel’s a favorite thing of pirates to do. And he says another favorite thing of theirs is to torture and ra- uh, assault female captives.” William nodded at the bundles lying at their feet. “Change your clothes now. Please. And hurry. It’ll go better for you if we’re boarded and they think you’re just crew.”

  At that moment a high pitched wail drowned out his words and the milky sweet odor of baby poop filled the air around them.

  “And what about my child?” Elizabeth glared at William challenging him for a solution.

  Ma’am, you being the good doctor’s wife–you must know of something to calm the child. Give him something to put him to sleep.”

  “We’ll need to go back up on deck to change him. I’m sure you can smell the truth in that!” Mrs. Hanley snorted. William turned his gaze to Tess and Mrs. Hanley, and he was about to speak when a voice carried out of the gloom behind him.

  “Captain’s orders are fer all of ya’ to stay down here. None of ya’ goes back up on deck. Only us two.” Smith pointed at William and himself.

  “But what about his dirty nappy?” Mrs. Hanley pleaded. “What am I to do with that?”

  Smith looked at William, whose embarrassed gaze dropped to the bucket Smith held. “Uh, well … it’d be best if you’d smear a bit of it on yerselves after you’ve changed outta’ them dresses.”

  The women stood in shocked silence, their mouths agape.

  “Well, it’s either his, or that what comes from the chickens’ enders what’s gonna complete yer disguises.” Tess and the women around her stood as if frozen, not comprehending his intention. “See, it’s desperate measures, ya’ understand,” he continued, as though working up to an apologetic explanation. “We have to make ya’ as unattractive as possible, and fer some,” he said, looking directly at Cassie, “that will be a difficult thing to do.”

  The baby’s shrieks were growing in volume. Smith looked down at the bundle in Mrs. Hanley’s arms, into the small purple face whose eyes were pinched shut but whose mouth was twisted open in a furious howl.

  “Ya’ have to quiet him! Ya’ just have to!”

  He and William turned their backs on the women while they changed, all the while hastening the ladies’ efforts with the procedure by issuing the threat of turning around to gather up the discarded dresses. With the women’s garb almost complete, Smith nodded at the newly transformed crew members standing awkwardly before him. Holding up the shit pot and wooden spatula he quickly asked, “Now then, what’s it gonna be? The wee lad’s or the birds’?”

  “You can’t be serious!” Elizabeth gasped.

  Smith simply held the bucket and spatula out towards her.

  Elizabeth drew herself up as straight as her weakened state would permit and announced, “I shan’t! I cannot–”

  A strange tearing shriek cut off her words. It was followed almost immediately by a thunderous crack which caused the very floorboards under their feet to shake. William leapt up the stairs in the companionway far enough to see the cause.

  “God help us all!” he yelled. “The main sail and mast are hit! They’re down!”

  “Forgive me, Miss!” Smith cried, and heaved the shitpot towards Cassie, its contents slurping over the edge and sloshing down the front of her shirt and breeches. He spun on his heel and emptied the dregs of the bucket onto Tess’s shoulders before Cassie’s outraged scream was finished.

  “You’ve no choice now but to use the wee chigger’s nappy!” Smith shouted at Mrs. Hanley and Elizabeth, as he scrambled up the ladder behind William. Looking back over his shoulder one last time, he screamed a warning, “Do it now!” before disappearing into the mayhem above.

  The roar of the confusion which greeted their ears topside was deafening. William stared. All about him the crew’s hours of tedious rehearsal were being put to the ultimate test. Men streamed about the deck, participants in a well choreographed battle dance. Voices screamed above the deafening blasts of the deadly cannons. Orders were trilled out on a shrill silver whistle, whose tones pierced through the hullabaloo of their voices.

  Still present, the heavy fog was illuminated slightly by a faint pink glow that announced an imminent sunrise on the eastern horizon. William’s nose told him that not all the denseness of the air was fog however; there was a burning, acrid smell of ignited gunpowder in the thick clouds of smoke which belched from the mouths of their own cannons. The attack was clearly from their larboard side and although the attackers’ vessel remained hidden from clear view, her position in the semi-darkness was given away as flashes of yellow and orange spat from her side.

  The broken mast lay on the deck, its massive end splintered and entangled in a trap of fallen and chaotic mounds of rigging. Around the edge of the ship, men worked furiously at their battle stations, plunging their wetted sponge rods down the hot smoking barrels and then reloading the cannons with another round of deadly iron balls and links of chain shot. The gun captain charged up and down the deck, running from cannon to cannon, hammer and spikes in hand, wedging his beloved cannons’ barrels into a variety of positions.

  “Take out the bastards’ sails an’ riggin’ with this beauty!” he roared, leaving the gun’s barrel aiming high. “And send them all to hell with these darlin’s!” he screamed as he drove a wedge under each of the barrels of the next three, leveling them to sight at a height even with the attackers’ estimated broadside.

  “Fer those aimed high, fire on the uproll!” he screeched. “An’ fer those aimed low, fire at will! Let’s blow those friggin’ arse-lickers into holy kingdom come, me lads!”

  The concussive blasts from the cannons’ firings slammed hard into the men’s bodies, and the great guns hurled themselves back against their restraining tackles, their carriages rolling with the recoil. Each time, the barrels were sponged again. The heat within them that had been produced by their artillery explosions sent clouds of steam sizzling upward, as the wet cloths wadded around the sponge rods made contact with their inner surfaces. William spun around, disoriented and not knowing how to help, not knowing where to start.

  Powder monkeys, the smallest and youngest crew members, frantically raced up to the cannons from
the ammunition room below, the gunpowder magazine being situated in the hold two decks beneath the guns. Tommy, and three other young boys not much older than him, delivered round after round of deadly armfuls of gunpowder cartridges which were wrapped in dampened coats and pieces of wet canvas to keep them from exploding prematurely. Two of these young sailors charged past William, then suddenly fell to the deck in a blast of flesh and blood as an incoming cannonball made a direct hit upon them. Instinctively, William dove to his knees and reached out for the boy nearest him.

  “They’re already dead to us!” the gunner bellowed. “Leave them and get yer ass up an’ hand their cartridges over to the guns!” William scrambled to find the dropped ammunition, frantically searching along the deck which was now slippery with blood, vomit, and entrails.

  Where is Smith?

  “Load and stay steady, just the same now, boys!” the gun captain screamed, his voice straining to be heard above the fracas. “There’s a wind a stirrin’, but she’ll do us no good–we’ve no sail left to hold her with. There’s no choice but to outfight them bastardly scugs! Ready … an’ fire!”

  Just then the gunner froze.

  Out of the dark and mist came the other vessel, her bow rising menacingly, appearing above the Mary Jane’s side like an evil specter about to swallow them.

  “Her bow’s loaded with chase guns! She’s showing no broadside fer us to hit!” he wailed.