Other Oceans: Book Two of the Hook & Jill Saga

by Andrea Jones

  “Madame! A welcome novelty. Just as I begin to believe I know this pirate king, he defies prediction and takes a queen! I had no idea your captain had acquired such a treasure.” He held out his hand to her.

  Jill condescended to smile. “And I had no idea my captain had such a compatriot. I can see that you, Sir, are a novelty yourself.” She raised her left hand to accept his, and as he bowed over it, his large nose inhaled an expensive scent. Hook kept her right hand within his own.

  Hook smiled half-way. “Yes, LeCorbeau, I have taken a…companion. Like you, I have ensured that my voyage will be not only profitable, but pleasurable.”

  “And the lady? She is also profiting from the pleasure…of the voyage?”

  Hook eyed him. The surgeon watched, too, and the hand on his cane went rigid.

  The lady spoke for herself. “Certainly. Captain Hook is a most generous man. He allows me to win at cards. But whether that is chivalry or the result of one-handed dealing, I cannot say.”

  “Heh! heh! Eh, bien, Madame! I see why Hook has chosen you to brighten up this hulk of a ship!”

  Jill indicated the privateer where she floated, trim and polished. “You may call her a hulk, Sir, but to my eyes the Roger and L’Ormonde are well matched.” She aimed a look at Hook under her eyelashes. “Perhaps perfectly matched.”

  “Like your captain, you have an eye for quality, Madame.” LeCorbeau addressed his host, “Sir, you seem to have increased your company significantly and most delightfully since last we met.” His glittering gaze darted once again to the youngest crewmen, who, with Gentleman Starkey, had taken up stations under the mizzenmast to guard the ship while her guests remained aboard. Tom stared openly at Liza’s blue dress while Nibs watched the guests with curiosity. The Frenchman’s focus sharpened upon Nibs.

  Hook noted LeCorbeau’s interest. “Indeed, I have increased my company. And I am not thinking of parting with any of them, LeCorbeau. Shall we adjourn to the galley? I perceive that you are…thirsty. Mr. Smee, if you would.”

  “Aye, Sir. This way, gentlemen, Lady.” Smee took the lead, and the party wended its way down and forward through the gun deck to the ship’s galley, already prepared with plentiful lanterns, mugs, and a corked cask. The room’s walls were lined with square, open gunports and barrels of all sizes, and it was furnished with benches. Its tables hung suspended upon ropes from the ceiling, to remain level as the sea swelled, and to be hauled up and out of the way when the deck must be cleared for action.

  Mr. Smee guided the visiting officers to a scrubbed and sanded table where he, Cecco, and Mullins hunkered down to join them. Renaud and Guillaume peered high up over their shoulders at Yulunga, who took up a position behind them, manning the cask and dispensing the ale into jugs.

  Hook hung his hat on a peg by the door and escorted Jill to a decorative table, obviously his own, in the center of the room, with comfortable, carved chairs. Here he seated Jill on his left and opposite the French captain. Hanover took a place not too close to LeCorbeau’s side, where he could observe them all. Hook had given permission for the Roger’s company to partake in moderation, and gradually the galley grew crowded with off-duty sailors sitting on benches, cannons and casks, even standing against the walls. Swinging yellow lanternlight replaced the sun as it faded from the gunports. The lady’s deep blue eyes glowed in it.

  Liza hung her mistress’ cloak on a peg. Peering around first, she spread her hand over the velvet of her master’s hat brim. Her fingers bumped over its gems, and then she held her fingertips to her lips before pressing forward to wade through the stream of voices. Her ears buzzed with the noise. The sailors turned their heads to watch as she stopped at the cask and reached out to Yulunga with expectant arms. He topped off the pitcher he was filling, and his smile swelled to intimidation as he looked down at her, murmuring, “You are getting bolder, little girl. Like your mistress. It is a pretty dress, too. Have you decided, as Lady did, that we are maybe not so bad after all?”

  Despite her fright, she tossed him a haughty look which she proved unable to sustain. He spoke again before letting her tug the pitcher from his hands. Only his eyes had ceased to smile.

  “Keep closer watch on your pearls, Miss. You don’t want to go tempting pirates again.”

  He smirked at her discomfort as, conscious of both her neckline and her ring, Liza blushed but won the jug. Unsteadily, she lugged the vessel to the captain’s table. Standing between Hook and Jill, she waited for the only man in the galley who didn’t seem to see her to hold out his cup for her offering. Hook ignored her, but Jill was quick to accept the pitcher.

  “Thank you, Liza.” Jill set the jug on the table. Under the watchful eyes of the Frenchman, Hook picked it up and poured for his guests. He raised his glass, and Liza backed away, the corners of her mouth turning down again as she listened for one entrancing voice.

  “Shall we drink to old acquaintance, LeCorbeau?”

  “As good a reason as any, Sir! Old acquaintance, and recent acquisition.” He lifted his glass to Jill and smiled. The look he sent next, toward the doctor, was not as warm. They drank. LeCorbeau lowered his mug and with some delicacy settled it on the board, then laced and unlaced his fingers around it. “But you must tell me, my old friend, where did you happen upon such a jewel as this, eh, lady?”

  “On an island of intrigue, my dear ‘compatriot.’ Do not ask me to disclose its location. If you should beach a coracle there, you would find it Paradise, and never wish to leave it again. You would become a prisoner of your own device. Only my deep regard for you compels me to keep the secret.”

  “A port of Paradise? Intriguing indeed! And, eh, did you also discover your excellent doctor in this Paradise?” LeCorbeau fixed his gaze on the surgeon, squinting over his beak-like nose. “Or somewhere else, perhaps, not quite so mysterious?”

  With an air of negligence, Hook waved his claw. “The surgeon’s arrival was not mysterious at all. I discovered Mister Hanover aboard a prize. The doctor was persuaded to join me, and here he is.”

  Hanover searched for his watch. Suddenly animated, he took up the conversation. “Yes. I have found Captain Hook to be a most persuasive man, Sir.”

  The Frenchman leered. “Oui, the captain and his lady, I imagine! Who could resist jumping ship for the sake of such a vision— a veritable sea siren? Certainly not a man such as yourself, eh, doctor?”

  “I found I had very little choice in the matter, Sir. But of course, you are quite correct to pay the lady such a compliment. In any case, my career has taken a turn I did not expect, nor could have predicted a few days ago.”

  “A few days…Then you are new to the Jolly Roger! And are you new to the sea, also?”

  Hanover stirred uncomfortably, and took a bitter sip of ale.

  “Until I found him,” Hook answered, “Hanover was ship’s surgeon aboard a merchantman. An excellent vessel. I hope to meet up with her again one day.”

  LeCorbeau said, “Ah, as usual, you spared her. It is a daring game you play, mon ami.”

  “A profitable game, Captain. I take no risks without the prospect of proper compensation.”

  “Of course. But perhaps I know this ship. Did you leave her burning, a few days west of here? English?” He took another swallow and, seeming to enjoy it thoroughly, licked his lips.

  Hook raised an eyebrow, his instincts alert. “Yes. The Julianne. You saw her, then?”

  “But yes! She was in distress, so naturally I came to her aid—”

  “And were much put out to find her hold already relieved of cargo.”

  Coy, LeCorbeau smiled and looked down. “Well, yes, of course. But, eh, I was able to salvage a few items of value.”

  Hanover blinked. “But what could you have possibly found? Captain Hook and his crew, I believe, were quite thorough.”

  “I, too, take the risks only for proper compensation. I held a very interesting conversation with her captain, Doctor! He told me some most marvelous stories regarding the p
irate scum— eh, pardon, his words, not mine— who relieved him of his goods.”

  Jill’s laugh sparkled over the men’s. In his velvety voice, Hook, too, conveyed amusement. “All right, LeCorbeau, I’ll indulge you. What did the man say?”

  “Such stories…” He shrugged. “One can hardly believe them, but then, the man was distraught. He is not to be credited! These pirates, he said, seemed to sail out of nowhere, on a ship born of the morning mist. But even stranger— one minute they were tossing their grappling hooks, another, descending from his own rigging! Almost, he said, as if they had flown from one ship to the other, across the sea! Even the black devil of a captain himself! Heh, heh! Devils flying like angels, no?” Apparently much amused, LeCorbeau wheezed a laugh and pulled a lace handkerchief from his waistcoat. He dabbed his lips. “As I say, the man was beside himself. He was quite concerned about the situation of a young woman he feared you had kidnapped.”

  Hanover stopped rubbing his watch, to grip it tightly. Deliberately, he kept his gaze averted from Liza, hoping the Frenchman would not make the connection between father and daughter. He watched LeCorbeau intently as the little captain’s regard bored into him, and finally, LeCorbeau turned an ingratiating smile on Jill.

  “I see now that the gentleman must have meant you, Madame. And I also see he need not have worried. I am confident your captain defends your virtue. Such a relief to a man of conscience!”

  Hook rejoined, “Which excludes all present company, LeCorbeau! What an interesting story. I see my legend has grown, even sprouted wings! How very gratifying. And all I sought was the plunder.” Captain Hook leaned back and laughed. His sailors joined in, hoisting their glasses to toast him. The crowded galley swelled to full capacity with the merriment of the Roger’s men.

  Taking advantage of the sailors’ distraction, Liza slid her hands from her ears, pulled the pins from her hair and tucked them in her pocket. Smoothing her hair, she crept forward once more. She lifted the jug from the captain’s table and moved to LeCorbeau’s side. Pouring for the stranger, she avoided her father and his disapproving eyes, and worked her way toward her master, topping off Jill’s glass and stepping around the couple to offer her service to Captain Hook. As if oblivious, he turned his back to her and wound his arm around his mistress. Liza jumped as he struck his hook into the surface of the table in front of her. She looked down to discover she had spilled on herself. Her bodice clung to her ribs in a damp patch.

  “Jill, my love, do you have a tale to match LeCorbeau’s?”

  The men raised their voices in a cheer. “Aye, Madam, spin us a yarn!”

  “A tale from Red-Handed Jill!”

  The Frenchman flourished his handkerchief. “But Madame, do you tell the stories?”

  “Yes, Monsieur, it is a habit of mine.” She regarded Hook, considering her repertoire. “But I cannot top the story you just told about my captain. I think I must settle for another sailor’s story.”

  It was what the men had hoped to hear. Alert and listening, they set their tankards on the tables and leaned forward on their elbows. Hanover stared at them, astonished at the respectful silence that reigned. LeCorbeau shot him a glance, then looked past the doctor to the neglected daughter. With a benign expression, he replaced his handkerchief in its pocket, and he, too, regarded the lady. His men, who had relaxed during the preceding banter, watched their captain and emulated him.

  Quietly, Liza set the jug down at Hook’s elbow, hesitating as his gaze scraped over her, then, barely able to breathe, retired to stand leaning on one foot against the doorjamb, her hands clasped together over the clammy stain on her bodice. Only after her heart calmed could she listen as attentively as the men.

  Jill’s clear voice broke into the hush. “But I will leave it up to our guest to choose. Commandant, of which of our sailors shall I speak?”

  LeCorbeau cast his gaze about the galley, moving in little jerks. His attention fastened on Yulunga, whose head bent to graze the beams of the ceiling. “Surely, Madame, the tallest tale would be the one of the tallest man! Why not speak to us of your fierce African warrior? Eh,” he addressed Yulunga, “What is your name, Monsieur?”

  No one spoke. In the silence, only the moans of the Roger sounded warning. Under the hostile stare of the black man, LeCorbeau looked about himself, his eyebrows rising. Jill sat up straighter.

  “Almost no one speaks the name, Commandant. And with good reason.” She turned inquiringly to Hook. “With your permission, Sir?” He assented, then she looked to Yulunga, still looming by the cask. She drew a breath. “My friend, may I tell your story tonight?”

  Yulunga’s face creased into an ominous smile, and in his low, liquid voice he said, “I have no objection. But I won’t be responsible if you frighten anyone, Lady!” He and Cecco, who sat before him with the two polished Frenchmen, exchanged a look of amusement, and then Yulunga’s colorful beads bounced on his throat as he laughed, malevolent.

  But Jill gestured her thanks to him, and her face grew serious as she sat back and concentrated on a far-away place.

  The story came to her, like water from a well.

  § § §

  “There is a place, in the heart of Africa. A long, deep river set into a valley lush with green growth and piping birds. The air is heavy there, so heavy it presses against the spirit, beating on it like a drum. Only the strongest of peoples live along this water, tribes with stature, and the endurance of trees. Few travel this river, for these tribes are known for their ferocity. With moaning songs and rattlings, the dusky people warn strangers away. Only newcomers, greedy and overconfident, journey between this river’s banks, looking to feed off their fellow man, seeking treasure in dark human form.

  “The son of a powerful chieftain was born by the river. His mother worked deep magic, exchanging her own life for his, so that the boy inherited all the strength of his ancestors, and stature beyond even that of his forefathers. But with no woman to guide him and too strong for his age, the son used his body to assert his supremacy long before it was time to take his father’s power. As the boy formed into a young man, the people grew to fear him, and begged his father to send him away from their valley so that he might grow in wisdom before he should return to become their chief.

  “But having sacrificed his woman in the bearing of his son, the father was unwilling to part with him. Proud of the boy, he kept him near, and turned a deaf ear to the pleas of the people. And at every turn of the moon, the boy grew in strength and in selfishness. Soon, there was not a man living along the riverbank whose bones were not crushed or broken. There was not a girl who dared to refuse him. The younger children ran from his sight, to bury their faces in the bright-colored cloth of their mothers’ laps, and the mothers trembled, too, for they knew that one day the old chieftain would pass on, abandoning the river and his people, and this giant would become their tyrant.

  “Weary of living in fear, the elders of the village banded together and approached their leader. Their painted faces showed also the markings of despair. ‘You have been wise and just,’ they said, ‘but your son does not follow you. You must send him away, or bone by bone he will destroy our people.’

  “Still, the father refused. ‘Go,’ he told them, ‘tend to your families and I will tend to mine.’ But the same markings of despair lined the father’s face, and proud as he was of his boy, he, also, had come to fear him. The truth was that he did not know how to harness the young man’s strength, and failing that, how to be rid of him. A sad day, for not-knowing is the sign that a chieftain must step aside in favor of a son.

  “But not this son.

  “The old men of the village understood. They met together in the secret light of torches, and all agreed. Another sacrifice must be made. And instead of chasing the strangers away with wailing and jangling, this time they hailed the newcomers who next paddled a boat between the fertile banks of their river. The people wanted no part of the struggle, but told the strangers where and when to find th
e old chieftain’s son. They accepted the silver that the strangers poured into their hands, and they sent an offering, a young woman, to the giant, to make sure of the place he would be. And there he was when the newcomers came upon him. He lay naked and, she saw to it, unarmed.

  “Even with the snare around his neck, it was a task to seal the chains on his wrists and on his ankles. It took many pale men, and none of them unharmed. The young woman ran away and crouched watching in the green brush at the edge of the river. She bit her lip so deeply that her blood flowed to drip upon the riverbank. Here, it is said, her red blood marks the place of sacrifice. And it was to this spot the girl returned months later, bearing and burdened by bracelets made of beaten silver money, to deliver the grandson of the chieftain, who one day, it was to be hoped, would rule the tribe, justly and wisely.

  “The slave ship bore the strongest man away from his people and his place. In darkness and in bondage he traveled far over the water. No one speaks the name anymore, in fear of calling him back to his rightful position. In his absence, the name itself carries forth his terror, for even as they bound him, he swore his revenge upon his people. His curses echo along the riverbank still, in the heavy air pressing against the spirit, beating like a drum and laden further now— with silver, and with betrayal.

  “Only the strongest of peoples live along this river, tribes with stature, and the endurance of trees.

  “Amid the lush green growth along this water, where the piping birds nest, the question hangs forever, like strangling vines among the branches: who is betrayer, and who, betrayed? And the answer is unspeakable, a name the bravest dare not pronounce…

  “Yulunga.”

  § § §

  He stood in the silence, staring, as did everyone else, at the storyteller, his powerful arms dangling at their unrestful angle.

  The lady had spoken his name.

  She was looking at him, too, as if seeing him for the first time. Only Hook’s face bore the trace of a smile as he attended his Jill. Once again, she had proven her valor. She had never disappointed him.