Other Oceans: Book Two of the Hook & Jill Saga

by Andrea Jones

  As instructed earlier, Mr. Smee cleared his throat and interrupted the conversation. “Sir, the boats are ready to launch. The lads will be waiting in the hold.”

  “Of course, Mr. Smee. Be at ease, Doctor Hanover. Given your present attitude, I find it unnecessary to keep you shackled during our entire anchorage. Mr. Cecco has volunteered to release you and stand guard whenever appropriate.”

  Hanover heard the fateful clink of keys as Mr. Smee handed them over to Cecco. The surgeon’s face betrayed panic. His fist clenched on his walking stick, and only with difficulty did he conceal the full horror washing over him. “But, Sir. I— I have come to you this morning, fully prepared to submit to your command. I am ready to swear!”

  Hook smiled half-way. “No doubt you will swear, Hanover…but not to me this morning. You may be prepared, but I am not. I find that with the business of unloading our cargo and replenishing supplies, I am much too pressed to deal with you. When, in a few days’ time, we are back at sea, I will be at liberty to discuss our terms in depth, and then, in honor of your wise decision, we shall celebrate in grand style. Until that time, however…” He nodded to Cecco.

  With a respectful manner, Cecco stepped forward. “I regret, Doctor, that I must now escort you to your quarters. But as I have found this particular port not to my taste, I will be pleased to keep you company while our shipmates go ashore.”

  “But— but…” Hanover sent a desperate look to Jill. “After all this time, when I have swallowed my pride and…realized that my professional skills can be put to best use aboard the Roger…” The lady’s face remained clear, as if she didn’t comprehend his dilemma. Turning to Hook once again, the surgeon glared, his anger surfacing. “Captain, you can’t deny me—”

  “Shore leave? But you are very much at home aboard the Roger by now.” Hook’s eyes glittered, like his claw. “I perceive that you have found all you desire right here. Anything else you require, any tinctures from an apothecary, for instance, Mr. Yulunga will obtain for you. Make a list; you’ll have plenty of time. Now I must see to the doings in the hold. My love…” Taking Jill’s chin in his hand, Hook kissed her, and then he strode from the cabin, followed by Smee.

  Too surprised as yet for the outrage he would soon feel, the surgeon sank into a chair, his shoulders almost slumping. As he leaned forward on his walking stick, its ivory edges pressed into his hands. He ached to talk to Jill alone. But what could he tell her? Respecting the awkwardness of her position, he hadn’t confided the details of their escape to her. Her fluid measure of right and wrong seemed easily to accommodate his need to swear allegiance to Hook. She had, in fact, been pleased by the depths to which her virtuous suitor would sink to free her— indeed, it was this flaw in his character, rather than his integrity, that finally won her!

  For Hanover had lost the duel, but not the lady’s love. Jill had yielded suddenly, during the usual break in one of Liza’s lessons. After pledging to join her pirates, Hanover was astonished to feel Jill insinuate herself into his arms. Declining to hear the specifics of his design, she had promised that, if he found a way off the ship, she would follow him. Guided by LeCorbeau’s plan, Hanover intended to slip out of sight in town. L’Ormonde’s boat would find him later. Then, in the dark of night, LeCorbeau would watch for a signal from the starboard quarters and pluck Mr. Nibs and the ‘drowning’ females from the pirate ship. Hanover had outlined his instructions and sealed them in a secret letter for Jill to open in private as the Roger next weighed anchor— sans her surgeon.

  But, except for an unusually tender scene when Liza left the two lovers alone yesterday morning, Hanover hadn’t indicated to Jill that he would soon be absent. Now, in an instant, LeCorbeau’s grand scheme had gone up in smoke. Devastated, the usually self-possessed surgeon was at a loss as to what to do. And Jill had been quite correct. Hook was three steps ahead of him. Even in his current state of shock, Hanover realized her predictions had been accurate— and he almost admired the man!

  Watching him struggle, Jill disguised the fact that she had guessed his plan of escape and prevented it. Accordingly, she wouldn’t lift a finger to help him. The delicacy of her situation was eased by the fact that Hook had arranged for Mr. Cecco to stand guard. Cecco’s presence curtailed discussion of the surgeon’s dilemma. As ever, Jill had been strictly honest with Hanover. She fully intended he should belong to her. It was just that she had her own plans for the man. Now, she simply waited for her fiancé to recover, and trusted her instincts.

  “And…exactly where are we?” Dazed, it was all the doctor could think to say.

  Standing behind him, Cecco shrugged, and Jill became suddenly alert. She watched the gypsy closely. His casual speech didn’t fool her.

  “A dismal place, of little importance. A tropical settlement founded long ago by Venetian merchants. From my own country.”

  Despondent, Hanover shook his head. “I am not familiar with these islands.” He had to gather information, pull himself together. Think of another way. “What…what is the name of the port?”

  Mr. Cecco turned to the lady, his disquieting eyes daring her to speak. Showing no sign of her apprehension, she returned Cecco’s stare and answered his challenge.

  “You may have heard of it, Mister Hanover. This place is known for its interesting history. And it is notorious also…for its prison.”

  In silent warning to change the subject, Cecco fingered the knife in his belt and aimed a black look, first at Jill, then at the surgeon’s back. Jill marked his motions, but refusing to be intimidated, she managed a smile for Hanover. “It is called…” Once again, her eyes met those of her dangerous, devoted sailor. She spoke softly. “Gao.”

  “Such courage.” Cecco, too, spoke softly, struck to the heart. She was his ideal woman! “I never thought I would enjoy to be reminded of this place, but your voice, Lady, gives it music. One day I will command my own ship, and I hope very much that a brave storyteller like yourself will join me.”

  Holding sway but still wary, she smiled again. “ ‘Captain Cecco?’ The name does have a pleasant ring.”

  “A ring, yes. A golden one! Waiting for the right hand to claim it.” With reluctance, Cecco pulled his gaze from Jill. “Now if you please, Doctor, Mr. Yulunga is waiting, and we must follow our captain’s orders.” He bowed to his lady. Only she heard the music in his own voice.

  “Bellezza.”

  Mr. Cecco’s magic this morning was a dark magic, yet, once again, he succeeded in distracting Jill. Finding she had given her demoralized fiancé hardly a thought as he left, she gathered her wits. She drew a folded parchment from its hiding place within her sleeve, picked up the captain’s dagger, and ripped open the seal, four days early. Settling into Hook’s chair, she rested her feet in their crocodile boots on the edge of the desk, and began to read her affianced husband’s itinerary for her ‘death’— and subsequent departure.

  And then her senses pricked as a bundle of gray velvet fell from a fold of the letter into her lap, and with a surge of pleasure, she smiled, and thought only of him as she unwrapped it. The heat of passion swept through her as the contents trickled like solid little raindrops into her crimson palm. A dozen perfect diamonds. Rich with sincerity, the surgeon’s pledge to his betrothed.

  Doctor Hanover had sworn his oath of loyalty this morning, after all.

  § § §

  The tantrum under the French flag that evening was ugly. As LeCorbeau stamped and railed at Renaud, Guillaume hid himself away under the canvas cover of L’Ormonde’s dinghy, to wait until the storm passed over. The skeleton crew of sailors not yet enjoying shore leave gave their captain a wide berth, looking forward to the morning, when their mates would return to duty and they could escape for a day.

  The Frenchman’s first impulse was to recall his men from port, up anchor and heave to, and blast the Roger until the surgeon was released. But, as usual, LeCorbeau’s sense of self-interest prevailed. Even with sober gunners and the advantage of surprise,
L’Ormonde commanded only twenty-four cannon. The Roger was a forty-gunner. And deep down inside, LeCorbeau suspected that Hook would not, in fact, be surprised at all.

  And so he swore, and he sweated. Conducting his business on shore each day, LeCorbeau feasted with his enemy in a sumptuous tavern each night, and laid his plans again. On the final evening, he insisted that Hook and all his officers dine aboard L’Ormonde. Guillaume was privately attended by the physician and his condition found unimproved— in need of more frequent professional attention.

  When DéDé LeCorbeau made his move this time, nothing would go wrong. James Hook would raise no objection as his surgeon, his servant, his step-son, and even his mistress paraded across to LeCorbeau’s ship. Hook wouldn’t be in a position to prevent them.

  He would lie at the bottom of the sea.

  § § §

  As he fastened her bracelet, Mr. Cecco’s hands were gentler that Smee’s. His smile was gentler, too, and when he looked at her, she felt interesting. But he didn’t look at her much. He talked to her father.

  Lying on her bunk with her wrist in iron jewelry, Liza watched the big gypsy sailor. He wasn’t as tall as Captain Hook. He was heavier, more compact, and his skin was darker. He smelled like an olive tree, or how Liza imagined such a tree might smell, growing in Italy, under the hot sun. When Mr. Cecco moved, his bracelets made melodious tones, similar to those of Liza’s chain. She remembered hearing those tones when he kissed her fingers and stole her ring that first day in the brig. She would know him in the dark, by his melody.

  Twisting the ring, she rolled over in her bed so that she wouldn’t be diverted. She had to be ready, maybe as soon as tomorrow, when the gently bobbing ship would leave port and head out to sea, when the crew’s regular routine would be reestablished. Ignoring the voices of the men— Cecco’s low accent and her father’s clipped responses— she went over her plans in detail, one more time.

  From her father’s improved temper during the days before mooring, Liza knew that the lady had at last accepted him. There was some setback here in port, but Liza didn’t worry about that. In his chains or in the company of Mr. Cecco, her father and his moods didn’t much affect her. And whether or not Jill’s feelings for Hanover were genuine, the fact remained; after the doctor and his medicine established control of the lady, Hook would need Liza.

  He didn’t know it yet, but she’d make him understand. With or without words, he would hear her. He’d follow a trail of treasure and come to that special place— and Jill would never get Hook back.

  § § §

  Hook would never get Jill back. Hanover was determined. His sense of honor no longer troubled him. As he told Jill once before, an oath to such a man meant nothing. But the ship left the port of Gao this evening, with L’Ormonde a short distance behind, and Hanover was no longer eager to pledge his loyalty. Nor did Hook seem inclined to demand it.

  The surgeon was only mildly surprised that his conscience didn’t nag him as he and the Frenchman designed the newest plan of escape— and added an element of revenge. Hanover’s only concern now was getting all parties off the ship before detection. It wouldn’t be easy, and LeCorbeau insisted that every detail be nailed into place this time. Nothing must go wrong.

  Mr. Cecco himself gave the doctor the idea in his remarks to Jill that first morning in port. It was a bold scheme. ‘Captain’ Cecco must have no reason to suspect the surgeon, and every reason to trust the privateer. For a short while, Jill would be distressed. How fortunate that her new husband would have just the right tonic to recover her spirits.

  Mrs. Heinrich would, in fact, discover she had nearly inexhaustible energy— but none to spare for mourning her pirate captain.

  § § §

  Relieved at last from his guard duty, Mr. Cecco leaned his elbows on the rail, eyeing the flickering lights of Gao in the distance. The first time he’d left this town, he hadn’t seen her lights. He’d been stowed away in the leaky hold of a broken-down tramp, an island-hopper, stinking of fish. An hour before, three of his brothers released him from his cage. They hadn’t seen him in six months, but there was no time for reunion. They’d handed him a knife and some gold pieces, and at great risk to their own freedom, stood guard while he conducted his business with the prison governor. Then they’d bundled Cecco into a cart, headed for the docks, and paid the mate to look the other way as Cecco, in his bloody prison shirt, slid over the side to conceal himself below. The boat pushed away from shore and, over time, the nightmare of Gao receded.

  It all happened so fast— gypsy, prisoner, pirate. With good fortune, he happened upon this ship off the next island. But Cecco had been lucky most of his life. The days of his youth were spent traveling the Italian countryside, tinkering, mending knives, watching his mother tuck coins in her sash as she read the white palms of ladies. His mother taught him to respect fine things. Her business proved profitable for her, and enlightening for her son. She understood these girls. When he was young, he watched how she flattered them, how she built suspense into their fortunes, milking the rich ones for a few more coins. And as he grew handsome, his mother got a glint in her eye, and always, after that, the boy of her predictions was dark, and persuasive, with a gold-colored ring on his finger and a shining smile. The girls emerging from her wagon had only to walk a few paces to meet him. For the sake of his pleasure, Cecco learned to put up with the giggling. But he never got used to the giddiness. Gypsy girls had much more sense. He had always intended to choose one. But fate intervened, and he hadn’t had time for that to happen. Giovanni the gypsy tangled with the wrong girl, a mayor’s daughter, and within hours of exchanging rings on a bed of pine needles, he lay bleeding on the cold stone floor of a cell. Cecco was never sure which had angered the mayor more, the exchange of passion, or the exchange of a brass ring for gold. In any case, the girl was shut in her room to see if she’d ripen, but the gypsy boy was shipped far away— to rot. Here, in Gao.

  As the lights on shore receded, Cecco wondered if, there in Gao, the prison governor still lived. If so, the name of the hot-tempered young ‘thief of a gypsy’ he had so loved to bait would still be etched in scars on the man’s back. He’d been robust for a bureaucrat, a man with not enough feeling and too much power. He’d made it his mission to beat the spirit from the dirty wanderer who’d had the gall to dally with decent girls. Duty demanded he teach the gypsy a lesson. The lessons Cecco learned, however, were of a more practical nature, and by the time he got his knife and his opportunity, the man’s clothing was the only impediment to justice. Cecco shook his head as he remembered. He still regretted that, in his hurry, he’d had to tear that shirt away. It had been a fine material.

  Thanks to his luck and his brothers, Cecco made his way aboard this ship. She wasn’t as pretty then, but she, too, was in a hurry to sail out of these waters, and having lost some men in dealings with the Royal Navy, her bow-legged captain welcomed a new rogue to his ranks. With a notorious name and a bounty on his head, Cecco found himself respected by his fellows. Two years later, no richer except in experience, Cecco was the first to approach the newest man— a huge, unruly runaway slave— feeling that this one was a kindred spirit. And mere months after that, while berthed in a European port, their captain was surprised in the dead of night by a moody, black-haired gentleman and a brawny Irishman. Deliberately, the entire crew was roused by the intruders. Right there in front of his men, the captain, gripped at his scruffy neck by a hand bearing impressive rings, was offered his choice between giving up the ship or a knife in his throat. Two minutes later, his pockets were empty and he was floating face down, and no doubt the authorities buried him in an anonymous grave. No one else felt inclined to challenge the newcomer after that. True to his threat, the new captain made the men work. But true to his promise, he made them rich. That was when the gypsy became a pirate in earnest.

  Appreciating his change in fortune, Cecco often wondered where his brothers were now. After their brave show of loyalty, did they
find a way back home? Such courage. Courage and loyalty, and a healthy disregard for the law. Gypsy virtues. He had never thought to find that combination again, so far from his people. And then, in the hidden bay of a secret island, a lady flew from the darkness and into his hand, and her face in the lanternlight was perfect above the red seam on her throat. Never again would Giovanni Cecco look farther for his desires. He’d have waited far longer for her to turn to him, but now, waiting wouldn’t be necessary. He had read her future in her blood-stained palm. He could feel it in the wind; the change was coming. Like Mr. Cecco, it was sailing out of Gao.

  Under the stars of the open sea now, anything seemed possible aboard the Roger. After all, a drifting gypsy had become a shrewd buccaneer, and the moody newcomer was the famed sea captain of legend. With luck, the ship for Captain Cecco would fall into his hands as easily as she had fallen into Hook’s. Already, he knew what he would rename her.

  She would be his very own…Red Lady.

  § § §

  Behind Capt. Jas. Hook’s brass-plated door, lessons resumed. Hanover hardly waited for it to shut behind Liza as the girl went off on another errand.

  “My darling, how I have missed you!”

  He seized Jill’s shoulders and spun her around, eager to collect the kisses he’d lost over his four days’ confinement. But as he leaned toward her, she backed away, wrenching her shoulders from his hands. Before he had time to blink, she drew back her hand and dealt a blow to his marked cheek that left it burning. Her eyes blazed.

  “You dare to touch me!”

  “My dear…I do. I have! Why should I not?” The surgeon held his hand over his face, and even in her anger she saw that he had removed his wedding ring.

  “You claimed to respect me. I see you have lied, in that and in other things.”

  “Of course I respect you. I am going to marry you! I had thought that once you agreed to be my wife, you would hardly stand upon ceremony any longer, making me plead with you.” Never had he seen her so magnificent as in this fury. He had to touch her. “But if it will make you happy, I will ask. Madam, may I kiss you?”