Other Oceans: Book Two of the Hook & Jill Saga

by Andrea Jones

  “It’s no use. Come aboard! Hook isn’t there— he’s not there. Come aboard!”

  At last, no more could be done. The two exhausted sailors took hold of ropes their mates flung down, breathed hard for a few moments, then braced their feet against the slippery hull. They climbed, dripping, to be hauled to the deck. As he slid from the rail, Smee lowered his head. His eyes met Jill’s, but only just. His words fell soft.

  “I’m sorry, Ma’am. I’m sorry.…He’s gone.” From his sodden shoulder he dragged the captain’s coat. “From the lower aft cabin, Lady. Snagged on a splinter just out the window, or we’d have seen it before, from inside.”

  Now that the first shock was over, Jill felt strangely composed. “This coat means nothing, Mr. Smee. The captain is not drowned.” The men stared at her. Then they fidgeted, their gazes shifting from one to another. She ignored their doubts. “Thank you for your efforts.”

  “But Ma’am—”

  “We’ll have to seek him aboard the vessel. He can’t have drowned.” Fixing Smee with a meaningful stare, Jill persisted. “You know why. A man who has his…abilities…cannot drown.”

  Nibs and Tom understood immediately, then Smee’s face lit up. “Yes, Ma’am.…That’s right!” But his face clouded again. “Unless someone saw to it he was unconscious.”

  “No, Mr. Smee.” Turning to the men, Jill spoke with authority. “All of you. You understand that the captain and I share a rare bond. You must listen when I tell you: Hook is not dead. We will keep looking.”

  A low murmur spread among the men. Their gazes kept returning to the heap of red velvet drooping from Smee’s hands.

  Jill’s tone was firm, displaying the edge of her temper. “I want the ship searched, one more time, stem to stern. Now!”

  “Aye, aye!”

  “Yes, Madam.” If the lady’s aspect hadn’t held so regal, her sailors might have taken her optimism for hysteria. But they all knew Red-Handed Jill better than that, and wanting to believe her, they moved off, dividing into groups to do her bidding. She remained immobile until the men had gone their separate ways, and then she pivoted to face Smee, a sudden spark in her eye.

  “The armory! Has anyone checked there?”

  Smee sent a questioning look to Tom, who gaped, a glimmer of hope dawning on his face.

  “No, Ma’am!”

  Snatching up her skirts, Jill ran down the stairway and sped across the long deck toward the forecastle, the ends of her red scarf streaming in the wind. She flung open the armory door and surged inside. The door banged shut.

  The light here was dim. She waited, winded, for her eyes to adjust to it. As she stood panting, still holding her dress above her ankles and willing her own heart to sense another, her vision cleared. Though gloomy, the room was light enough to show her what she didn’t want to see.

  Except for the usual lethal contents hanging from its walls, the armory was empty. Jill dropped her skirts and focused on the tall cabinet to portside. In a moment, she had grasped the knobs and opened it. It was filled, as always, with rags, shot, grease, and oil. Slowly, she dropped her hands and turned to face the last possible place of concealment. The coffin-like bench at the bow. Jill’s feet steadied her against the motion of the waves, approaching the chest without her conscious guidance. Bending down, she placed her fingers under the lip of the lid. She listened to the hinges groan as she pulled it upward. Her heart banged against her ribs, and only when the bench was all the way open did she lower her gaze to absorb its contents.

  Gently, she lowered the lid. She sank down on it and caught her breath. Filled to the brim with cannonballs, the chest held only round, deadly iron. As she pulled herself together, Jill tried to collect her thoughts. Surrounded by cold metal and punishing leather, she felt that ache again, nagging in her stomach. It was a profound emptiness, like nothing she had ever felt before. The half of her that was Hook was hollow. Rocking on the bench, Jill told herself she must get up, she must keep searching the ship.

  But contrary to the feeling in her gut, common sense informed her there was no point. If her captain was aboard this ship, he would be standing at her side right now, victorious after a magnificent duel with the surgeon.

  Hook was gone.

  She didn’t know how long she sat there, hurting. But the door wailed on its moorings at last, and a rectangle of sunlight fell across the floor. As she looked up, blinking, a shadow stretched from the boots standing in the doorway to her bare feet beneath the bench. She could see only his silhouette, black and muscular, but she knew who he was. One of the strongest men aboard.

  He stepped into the room.

  “Lady.”

  She knew why he had come. Her spirits sank, if possible, even lower. She bowed her head.

  “The time has come.” His presence brought Hook’s absence home to her, in a wave of devastation. Unmoving, she resisted it.

  He insisted. “The men are waiting.”

  She closed her eyes. But still she saw that huge, dark shadow, looming, coming closer. She smelled his familiar scent.

  “You must trust in me.”

  She shook her head.

  “I will protect you.”

  Her voice when it sounded was unnatural, strained. “It is far too late for that.”

  The shadow slid nearer. She watched it on the floor.

  “I will preserve the ship, then.” And as he held out his hand to her, she heard his customary sound. His bracelets chimed.

  At last she faced him. In the dim light of the armory porthole, she could see, gleaming like the pistols and swords surrounding her, the golden chains adorning his neck.

  “Aye…Mr. Cecco. Hook’s ship.”

  The line of his mouth softened, and then, ever so gently, he smiled. As if it were a gift, Mr. Cecco accepted the red hand she extended to him.

  When the pirate queen emerged on the arm of her devoted sailor, she stood straight and proud. All hands were on deck. The murmuring died down until everyone was quiet and their agitation ceased. Sunlight glinted here and there on the knives in their belts, and in the many eyes observing her so closely. The surgeon had joined the company. He stood stiff, his marked face mingling elation and alarm. Nibs and Smee, having combed the ship again in spite of their earlier exertions, stood weary, shedding drops of seawater around their feet. Smee still held the captain’s coat, a limp, crimson sham of itself.

  With a keen blue stare under her scarlet scarf, Red-Handed Jill dropped Cecco’s arm to look each man in the eye. She kept them waiting before she spoke. Timing was a tool.

  Her voice was clear, commanding.

  “We will remain under the provisions of the ship’s articles until a new regimen is established. I want this vessel in order within the hour. Mr. Smee, see to it. Mr. Nibs, Mr. Tootles. Wipe up this deck. Mr. Mullins, you will resume sailing on our previous course. If L’Ormonde comes alongside, put her off— and tell her nothing.” She paused. “I will now retire to my quarters. When I order the bell rung, we will assemble again and I shall inform you of our course of action. Any questions you may have will be answered at that time.” Looking straight ahead, she reached to the side and gestured. Reluctantly, Smee draped the captain’s coat on her arm. A captain’s burden.

  She assumed its weight. She didn’t look at it.

  “You are all dismissed. Get back to your posts.”

  The knot of men broke away to allow her passage. Not many noticed as Mr. Smee laid a weighty hand on the surgeon’s shoulder, restraining him, or the surgeon’s scowl. The attention of most of her sailors was riveted on Jill, and from the corner of her eye she perceived a new look on the men’s faces. A look of undisguised interest. Things were changing now, their eyes said. Possibilities had opened up. Jill returned their stares with a quelling look. She couldn’t afford to be afraid.

  Processing to her quarters, she heard Mr. Cecco’s boots behind her. As she exhibited no need for assistance on the steps of the companionway, he stopped there to watch her ascend.
Brashly, the shiny brass plate on the door boasted the name of its missing master. Upon entering the cabin, Jill chose not to look behind her before shutting the door. Silence had followed her thus far. She trusted that all her men were watching, and all were wondering.

  She would have to move quickly to fill the void of the captain’s absence.

  The door clicked shut.

  For Red-Handed Jill, first, last, and always, came the welfare of the ship. With many duties to perform, she had only a few minutes to spare for the tears. Sinking to her knees on the carpet, she clutched her captain’s coat to her breast, and as if to accommodate her lack of time, the hot tears came all in a rush.

  Chapter 16

  First, Last, and Always

  L’Ormonde had gained on the Roger, but Mullins’ skills got the pirate vessel underway again, and he managed to keep the privateer out of hailing distance. Having learned the disposition of her ship, Jill ordered the bell rung and listened to its jangling. She struck a pose on the companionway, framed within its splendid carving, and looked down at the company assembling before her. With a nod, she signaled Mr. Smee to join her. She would require more than Mr. Mullins’ skills to keep Hook’s ship on course. She must employ all her own abilities, and Mr. Smee’s as well.

  Although never far from the lady in the previous hour, Smee had felt it wise to leave her alone. From the day Jill came aboard, the captain charged his bo’sun with her welfare, cautioning him to guard her in all contingencies. Knowing she must now rely upon him without seeming to do so, Smee made sure the men would have no cause to claim he influenced Jill’s decisions. At her summons, he sprang up the stairs to stand erect, two steps from the top. A knife blazed in his belt as he clasped his hands behind his waist. His eyes scanned the crew.

  Jill began. “The captain left instructions to be followed in the event of his absence. As his partner, my first duty is to preserve order aboard the Jolly Roger.” She had used the little time she had wisely. After deliberating upon the situation, she washed away all evidence of tears and tended her appearance. Now her hair was bound again beneath the scarlet scarf around her forehead. Below her red skirt she wore her boots. Her pistol and Hook’s jeweled dagger hung at her waist, tucked within a golden sash. Her bare arms bore no bracelets. She wore no jewelry at all but her earrings, which swung in the breeze as she spoke, flashing in the late sunlight.

  As they surveyed her appearance, the men took heart. This was Red-Handed Jill. Alongside or apart from her king, she was their pirate queen. After one look at her, any question whether she might prove, under distress, to be a weaker woman was extinguished, and only Doctor Hanover showed signs of dismay.

  During her seclusion, he had hovered near the companionway, prevented from ascending to her by his shipmates— and by a consultation between those with whom he had formed a friendship. Observing his fiancée now, Hanover conceded with an unsettling honesty that she acted every inch a pirate. Yet, as he recalled the morning’s intimacies, he anticipated the end of the day, when he would pull away that kerchief to discover again the fascination beneath the façade. A woman free of entanglements. Exactly the woman he wanted.

  Now, like the surgeon, all the men listened, attentive to the confidence in her voice. “Once again I will assure you. Captain Hook is alive. Our ship’s articles, signed by all but one of the present company, remain intact. I put to you the following arrangements, to be in effect until such time as the captain returns to resume his position.

  “Mr. Smee. You will continue as ship’s bo’sun, maintaining the Roger’s physical condition, including that of the captain’s quarters. Mr. Mullins. I entrust to you the post of sailing master. You will chart our courses and keep our bearings. Mr. Yulunga, as my newly appointed duty officer, you will assign my sailors to their shifts, and maintain discipline.

  “Mr. Cecco.…You are promoted to first mate.” The men’s astonishment was audible, a ripple of inhalation. Jill disregarded it. “It will be your duty to make my orders known to my other officers and to my crew.” Her gaze remained on Cecco. Her voice stayed steady. “I charge you with my personal safety.”

  Cecco stood unmoving, his expression pleasant but noncommittal. As the sailors absorbed Jill’s words, they traded glances among themselves, but no one interrupted while she concluded.

  “Mister Hanover, you will decide today. After I and my officers discuss our terms with you, you may sign the articles and serve as ship’s surgeon— or you may buy your freedom.”

  Hanover’s posture didn’t compromise, but a brief, surprised smile crossed his face. Obviously the lady was angling for enough power to get them both off the ship. Still, he would take no chances. Her scheme might succeed. Without a doubt, his own design would.

  “My officers will meet first thing each morning to advise me…as I act in the captain’s place.”

  Murmurs broke out as the crewmen turned to one another to comment. Nibs and Tom shifted on their feet, bobbing their heads in support of Jill’s proposal, encouraging the others to approve it. Mullins tucked his beefy thumbs in his belt, considering. Hanover and Cecco exchanged significant looks, and Yulunga, looming behind the Italian, digested the lady’s words with a dark smile. Jill didn’t weaken her stance by seeking Smee’s support; she knew she had it. They both kept their eyes on the crew, unsmiling. She allowed only a moment to pass in indecision.

  “We shall put it to the vote.”

  All gazes turned toward Jill. She was about to call for ayes when Yulunga stepped forward.

  “Lady.” He hardly had to lift his head to her as she rested her hands on the majestic rail. “I will be happy to take the job of duty master— if my shipmates agree. Yours is one suggestion. But there are other angles to consider.” He swung around to face the crew. “All of us worked hard under Captain Hook’s regime. We found success, turning our labors to gain. We’re most of us seasoned sailors. Don’t we want a leader who can hunt down the prizes and prod us like the captain’s claw?” In answer, the men nodded. “The lady assures us of Hook’s return. But is her assurance enough to profit us?”

  Smee took one step down. “It is for me! Red-Handed Jill knows us. She’s made a wise plan to be going on with, and I say, let’s follow it. If we slack off, it’ll be our own faults if we’re not raking in the treasure.”

  Several of the men hollered, “Aye!” and Nibs and Tom were the loudest among them.

  Yulunga shrugged his bulky shoulders. “Let us consider another proposal.” He raised his gaze to Jill. “With all respect, Lady. We men have waited a long time for the privileges Captain Hook used to claim. Why shouldn’t at least one of us benefit? I say that until our old master returns, a new man should serve as captain.”

  A gust of enthusiasm blew up from the crowd. As Jill had foreseen, plenty of her men had enough ambition to favor the election of a new captain. To preserve Hook’s authority for him, she had tried to head those ambitions off before discussion. Her apprehension increased when Yulunga finished his thought.

  “I only say what everyone’s thinking. A new man in the captain’s quarters would serve also to keep the lady from feeling lonely.”

  With sly exclamations, a number of men approved. Jill sought Mr. Cecco’s expression. By appointing him her protector, she hoped to curtail such aspirations. Not surprisingly, like those of several others, Cecco’s eyes smoldered at the opportunity to seize not only the captain’s command, but the captain’s lady. As she expected, these hearty men possessed more than ambition. They wielded a more dangerous combination— a mix of two sure ways to rent the company’s unity. Lust, and a hunger for power. Already, Smee was bristling, and Nibs and Tom fingered their weapons. The surgeon, however, merely observed, unruffled, and toyed with his watch. His detachment made Jill more uneasy than Yulunga’s proposition.

  With undisguised desire, Yulunga turned to her, his tone calculated to sustain the eagerness of the men, and to instill panic in Jill. He gestured toward his mates. “You see, Lady. Choose or
be chosen! We all want what the captain owned.”

  Smee balled his fists, barely holding himself back as he waited for Jill’s response. Crossing her arms, Jill looked Yulunga up and down. She leered as he had done, assessing his physical assets as if he were back on the auction block. Then, as the crewmen smiled, she spoke again. “Neither of us is for sale to the highest bidder. You came aboard the Roger to escape slavery. You know better than any of us,” she shook her head, once. “No one on this ship is owned.”

  Smee and the others settled, their tension easing. Yulunga waited for the chance to stir the men up again.

  “Yes, Lady. Point taken. But the fact remains. You are no longer only one man’s woman.”

  Placing her hand on her dagger, Jill stood firm. “I am as I have always been. My own woman.” She raised her face to the others and said brusquely, “I see no reason to delay my duty any longer. I’m ready to take charge of Hook’s ship.”

  “But Lady, you aren’t the only one who is ready to take charge.”

  The moment had come. As the men agitated, Jill proved equal to it. Her sapphire stare, so like the captain’s, pierced the massive man. Unflinching under his intimidation, she waited for silence, and then she aimed her words with precision. “I am the only one the captain commanded to take charge. Don’t forget who spoke your name…Mr. Yulunga.”

  Squinting, the African nodded. The murmur rumbled once more, and Jill allowed it to swell. With a grim smile, Smee approved the respect in the men’s eyes. His fists relaxed as Jill seized the moment.

  “All right then. No more discussion. There’s a cask of ale in the galley, and our next prize may be waiting on the horizon.” Again, her blue eyes blazed like Hook’s. “Give me your agreement, and we’ll get on with it!”