Quintspinner

by Dianne Greenlay

  “Begging your pardon, but Mrs. Hanley sent me to fetch you to the galley. She needs some help.”

  Wearily Tess pushed herself up from the narrow cot and stood, nearly toppling over as she did so. In a flash William dropped his crutch and wedged his good leg against the wooden frame of the cot. His arms shot out and steadied her as her bruised knees creaked in protest of bearing her weight.

  William’s arms were strong, offering solid support; his touch and his nearness were more than comforting. Her stomach tightened as butterfly flutters flickered their way through her. She leaned into him, pressing against his chest as though thrown by the ship’s roll, and his arms reflexively tightened around her. She could feel his heart thudding softly from within the depths of his chest. His breath was husky and warm against her ear and as he exhaled against her skin, she felt a smoldering heat climb up her neck and sweep across her cheeks. For a long moment neither of them moved, preferring to pretend to the other that their stance together was purely accidental.

  As they climbed down to the middle deck, the mouth watering smells grew stronger and Tess realized that they were coming from the two large iron pots hung over the galley’s fire. Her grandmother bustled around the heavy wooden table, alternating her efforts between rolling out dough and stirring the contents of the pots. She tucked a greasy strand of hair that fell into her eyes, behind one ear and stared at Tess.

  “Why, you’ve not even changed outta’ that filthy sailor’s garb!” She clucked her tongue in disapproval. “Clean yerself up a bit an’ then give me a hand here!” Tess grabbed an apron hanging on a protruding nail in the wall beside her.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, watching her grandmother incredulously. The woman seemed to have no end of stamina.

  “Makin’ myself needed.” She looked pointedly at Tess and continued. “That devil captain made it quite clear that only those he found useful would be spared. You’ve showed them you’re a healer, and I’m provin’ that I can cook. An’ there’s no point to be savin’ all these wonderful spices an’ such fer our new life that’s never goin’ to happen, is there? So sprinkle a little cinnamon on the dough there.” Turning to William she ordered, “an’ some sugar, if any’s left, from stores if you please, Mr. Taylor. An’ if any gives you grief, tell them it’s fer their own supper. Yer leg’s well enough to get you there and back?” William nodded and caught Tess’s eye. His gaze held her as securely as his arms had moments ago. He gave her a wan smile before reluctantly hobbling back towards the open companionway.

  “What’s in the pots?” Tess asked, her mouth watering.

  “That one’s a hearty meat soup fer the devil captain an’ his own crew. Nothin’ will impress them more than full bellies.”

  “What’s in it? Where did you find ingredients? It smells wonderful!”

  “Don’t it just? There’s nothin’ that some dried onions and garlic can’t make turn tasty.”

  “But … I thought there was only salted fish left in the galley stores,” Tess persisted.

  “True enough. That’s what’s in the next pot. Fer us.” Her grandmother continued stirring the pots with a wooden ladle in each, not looking at Tess as she did so.

  “You’re giving the meat soup to the pirates and we get left-over rancid fish?” Tess asked in disbelief.

  “Just make the cinnamon buns an’ be leavin’ the soups to me,” Mrs. Hanley countered firmly and she poked at the fire’s embers, coaxing a little more heat out of the flames.

  “I don’t understand! Where did you find meat–real meat–and then why would you prepare it for those vultures!” Tess kneaded the dough roughly and continued to gripe to herself loudly enough that she did not pay heed to the faint smile that crept across her grandmother’s face, nor did she hear her grandmother’s soft explanation.

  “Well, you see, child, even a snake’ll often eat its own … an’ it seemed a shame to throw away all them lost limbs ….”

  As violent as they were, members of pirate society operated by offering democratic votes on nearly every decision concerning the crew. Later that night, amid much praise and admiration for such tasty fare, Mrs. Hanley and Tess were voted to be the permanent cooks aboard the Mary Jane by a vote count of forty-seven to one.

  The only dissenting voice came from the Bloodhorn’s cook–a filthy looking man with grimy hands and blackened fingernails nearly as dirty as his bare feet–who insisted on two details: that Mrs. Hanley’s remaining precious spices be divided in half between the two ships, so that he would have access to some for the fare he prepared aboard the Bloodhorn, and that Mrs. Hanley be ferried over to the Bloodhorn every second weekend to allow him an evening off from his own cooking duties, and whatever meal that was to be prepared on that night, was to be served to him as well.

  Life aboard the Mary Jane now was fraught with an increasing amount of tension and fatigue. Tess continued to tend to the wounded, her success rate earning her begrudged admiration from some and fearful respect from others.

  “She’s uncanny, she is,” a skeletal looking pirate stated, unaware that Tess stood just mere feet away from his post at the helm. It had taken no skill at all for Tess to have judged such a skinny man’s innards to be infested with worms and to have treated him with a strong tonic of Boneset that was both emetic and purgative.

  “Maybe so, but it ain’t right to have any woman on board. Especially a witchy one. That’s just sheer foolishness, letting the Devil’s handmaid bunk along with us,” his shipmate retorted.

  “Ha, you’ve a split tongue today, Cabe. I seen ya’ sittin’ there, meek as a blind pup, lettin’ her sew ya’ up. An’ ya’ didn’t look too upset to be havin’ her hands upon ya’ then!”

  “Still, this ship’ll be cursed and damned with her on it. Ya’ just wait an’ see if it ain’t.”

  “Is that a wash of yellow I see in yer eyes?”

  “Oh, say you so now, ya’ chunk of worm’s meat! I warrant you yerself don’t have the balls to rid us of her.”

  “Aye, you’ve pegged that right, for any bucko who was of such a mind would suffer, her being under the protection of Captain’s brother-in law, never mind the Devil’s as well!”

  Tess shifted her weight and stepped away, intending to return to the companionway. The creak in the floorboards underfoot drew the pirates’ attention.

  “Hell-fire! She appears out of nowhere! Upon my life, she’s an imp of Satan, that one!” The fear in the man’s voice was palpable. Tess was not quite out of ear shot when she heard, “She’ll have us scuttled an’ sunk, mark me!”

  For the time being, Tess did not mind having such a reputation. Such fears seemed to confer a temporary protection for her from what would otherwise have surely been brutal treatment from them.

  She had also been successful so far in keeping Edward from rising from his sick bed. During the times that he was awake, she fed him a thin gruel laced with enough laudanum to ensure he would slide back into uneasy dreams. Often he called out, but his words were slurred and incomprehensible. It was only when he attempted to hold his mug on his own for the first time, and spilled its contents that Tess took further notice of his overall condition.

  Looking closely she noted that one half of his face seemed to have sagged. She had just assumed that his mouth had turned down in a scowl at her presence but now upon closer inspection she observed that his eyelid was also heavy, giving him the appearance of one who was half asleep.

  You are safe for now, the strange voice in her head interrupted.

  Could it be? Excitement built with the thought flitting in her head. Attempting to draw him into a brief conversation confirmed her discovery.

  It was a common belated occurrence with many whose injuries left them bedridden. Edward had been robbed of strength of movement on one side of his body, and more importantly, robbed of his power of speech.

  The story of their scuffle could not, would not, be told. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was one less thing to plague her. She
would no longer have to keep such a rigorous schedule for Edward’s laudanum ministration. As soon as that thought vanished, it was replaced by a familiar jolt of panic.

  Can’t speak. Can’t move. All very well for now but what if he dies? What will happen to me–to all of us then? Once again Tess felt her safety slipping away. Anxiety gripped her chest. She needed to talk to her grandmother.

  It was also time to tell Edward’s other story–the one of which even he was unaware of its significance–to her grandmother. Upon hearing it, would her grandmother reach the same conclusion that Tess had? For what reasons had these strange circumstances brought her and Edward together, not only as a couple betrothed, but as uncle and niece? Tess thought her grandmother would be sure to have an opinion on that. Later that afternoon, Tess joined her grandmother, standing in the blistering heat of the fire which crackled before them in the galley’s hearth.

  Unlike her normally cheery self, Mrs. Hanley listened somberly to the details, and then sat silently brooding over their significance.

  “It had to be him. There could not be two of the same with that mark ya’ carry,” she finally said. “But why?” She sat without speaking for another long time before continuing. “There’s always somethin’ what comes from somethin’ ….”

  Tess could tell the woman was lost in her thoughts, distant but still painful memories of everything and everyone who had been taken from her so many years ago. She gently laid her hand on her grandmother’s arm. “Are you alright?”

  “’Course I am,” her grandmother replied. Tess couldn’t help but notice the new similarity to Mr. Lancaster’s speech pattern. “I was just thinkin’ about all the changes what happened to us an’ wonderin’ why? Why was my little one attacked, I’m wonderin’, an’ then it comes to me–it was so’s I could have you. An’ why did we end up on this journey, mixed up with the likes of Edward Graham? An’ that, too, brings us the answer–it’s so’s he could fill ya’ in on yer family tree, an’ give ya’ details on yer destiny with them rings. Who else would have known such stuff?” Her grandmother nodded her head as if in complete agreement with herself. “Always somethin’ comes from somethin’ …” she repeated.

  “So do I tell Edward about this or not?” Tess had been pondering this for awhile.

  Her grandmother’s eyebrows pulled together in quick thought. “I think not. An engagement with the man can always be undone. A family blood tie cannot.”

  At the end of the first week, under heavy supervision, William and Mr. Lancaster were rowed over to the Bloodhorn to assess her damage from the battle and to oversee any needed repairs. Besides being on the lookout for Cassie, William wondered about the plight of Captain Crowell and of Tommy, both of whom had been forcibly removed to the Bloodhorn.

  Arriving on the pirate ship for the first visit of several that they would make, William was distressed to see a sailor squatted on the open deck, chained by one ankle to the main mast and dressed only in tattered remains of his former Mary Jane uniform. William recognized him as the officer to whom he had given his flute. The man seemed not to recognize William. In fact he seemed to have lost all sense of reality, as he clutched the well worn flute to his bare chest and rocked himself back and forth. His shoulders bore the evidence of numerous burns and vicious whippings. Some of the ravaging gashes were new–still open, bleeding and weeping–and some had barely scabbed over. His frame was already painfully thin and his eyes had a hollow starved look about them.

  “Ha ha! You like our music monkey?” Carlos’s voice rang out. Already his vocal cords seemed to be healing. His voice was strong again. “He tried to escape– only once, mind you–and had to be taught a lesson.” He lashed out at the man’s shoulder with a short quirt. Fresh slashes split the taut skin across the tortured man’s shoulders, and he cried out in agony. Carlos snorted in disgust at the man’s show of pain. “If we had had another decent musician, we might not have needed to keep this one alive.” William shuddered at the thought that had he not given up his flute, it might have been him chained to the mast, enduring the daily floggings from this demented captain.

  “Play!” Carlos roared at the chained sailor. “Play for our guests!”

  The flute’s notes were as sweet and clear as William remembered they could be, but the sailor’s melody was a haunting one. It was entirely fitting, William realized with a bolt of recognition.

  A simple English funeral largo.

  Because of the need for so many supplies to be brought back on board from shore, Carlos decreed that two jolly boats were to be made over, one to be in working shape for each of the mother ships. It was obvious that this would require that the two remaining, more heavily damaged boats be dismantled and their lumber be reused in the repairs.

  William’s knee injury had left him with a pronounced limp as the joint did not yet fully bend. Squatting down in the more crowded spaces inside decks was not an easy task; even Carlos had seen the practicality of assigning the jolly boat repairs on the open deck to William, while Mr. Lancaster would be responsible for all remaining main ship repairs.

  Returning from their first visit to the Bloodhorn, Mr. Lancaster murmured to William, “Them boats is the only way off the main ships. If a man could gradually store up a few essentials in, say … a secret compartment what was built into the jolly’s wall ….”

  William frowned. “I don’t think I understand. What–”

  “’Course ya’ do,” the old carpenter continued softly, looking straight ahead. “The opportunity’s there–nearly’s landed in yer nest, hasn’t it? ‘Course it has! But ya’ got to be brave and tricky enough to make such a situation work fer ya’ ….”

  Nest? Captain Crowell’s cryptic proverb came back to William.

  The wily carpenter was on to something! The chance was there. But was William willing to act upon it? That night as he lay sleepless in his hammock, his tormented mind alternated between composing a list of things that he would need to survive if they ever made it to a shore, and presenting the unbidden picture of an agonized, tortured soul–the result of a failed escape–chained to a mast, dying a little bit at a time, while playing out the miserable remainder of his abbreviated future.

  If life as a passenger on a merchant ship had been unfamiliar and boringly repetitive, life as a prisoner on a pirate ship for Tess was continually unnerving and full of dreadful apprehension. Skirmishes with other vessels took place on a regular basis and it fell to her to continue to mend the crews after such assaults.

  Carlos and his two crews overtook, pilfered, and on occasion, destroyed any smaller vessels within their sights. Having no destination to call home, the Bloodhorn spent all of her time cruising the warm shallow waters of the islands, pursuing merchant ships laden with riches–coins, sugar, coffee, tobacco, rot-resistant cedar wood–that had been intended to be sent back to European ports.

  Such ships and their crews were generally easy prey, unfortunate enough to be using the same waterways, but usually intelligent enough to give up all of their cargo without much of a struggle, in exchange for their lives being spared. Resistance from their quarry was rare. The pirates’ fierce appearances and reputation for barbaric and merciless treatment of those who gave resistance continued to be all that was needed to subdue the overtaken vessels.

  There came the day, however, that a lucky merchant ship outran the Bloodhorn. The Bloodhorn’s outer skin had become roughened and thickened in places with barnacles, and slimy in others with the weedy growth of the tropical waters, increasing the drag, making her slow and difficult to steer. It was time to careen her.

  The ships were sailed into the privacy of a cay of a small island, and for the first time since the pirates’ attack on them, those crew members and prisoners of the Mary Jane who had resided aboard the Bloodhorn, were rowed over to the merchant ship.

  “That’s likely so none can escape on land,” Tess’s grandmother had observed. “He’s a careful scumbag, that Captain. Wily as they come, but still a
scumbag.”

  Tess awaited the arrival of the Bloodhorn’s jolly boat with a mixture of excitement and fear. She had grilled William for details about Cassie on each of his returns from the Bloodhorn, but he had not seen Cassie on the open deck even once. His only news had been that Captain Crowell was a chained prisoner and Tommy had been forced to become a cabin boy to Captain Carlos. Tess played nervously with her rings and tried to focus on the broken bits of images which flickered through her thoughts.

  Cassie is alive.

  Tess felt certain of that, but an uncomfortable wariness flooded her thoughts of her sister. Was Cassie sick or injured? What had these months of Carlos’s treatment done to her? Tess’s unease grew.

  And why should things be right? she chided herself. William’s description of the horrid treatment of the flute player had continued to haunt her.

  More ominously, Cassie had been Carlos’s captive for nearly three months.

  Tess shielded her eyes against the glare of the sun and squinted in the direction of the oncoming yawl. Captain Crowell’s fair hair was easy enough to distinguish. There had been no encounter with another navy warship in which his usefulness as a captive to ransom would be proven, yet still the pirates had kept him alive. Tess skimmed past the faces of the others in the small boat and gasped.

  There. At the stern of the jolly boat. Cassie’s black hair hung loosely down, like a thick cape over her shoulders and back. She sat upright, her spine stiff, and her mouth was set in a determined flat line.

  “Cassie!” Tess cried, as Cassie was helped over the railing onto the Mary Jane’s deck. She hugged her sister firmly to her, and felt Cassie’s arms automatically encircle her. Cassie made no sound but clung fiercely to Tess and buried her face in Tess’s neck and hair. Silent shudders rocked her frame and Tess felt her neck become wet with Cassie’s tears. “Oh God, Cass, I have worried about you!” Tess pulled back from Cassie and tried to see her face but Cassie clung to her even more determinedly.