Other Oceans: Book Two of the Hook & Jill Saga

by Andrea Jones

  He closed the galley door and made his way aft, grudgingly conceding that the gypsy was probably right to allow the lady’s boarding. Any kind of adventure was good for Jill. She’d spent too many hours shut up in her quarters, writing. True to his promise to Hook, Smee watched her as attentively as ever, but from a distance. Nibs and Tom were banished, and Smee had a suspicion that, aside from Cecco’s demands, her stories were the only thing that took her mind off Hook’s demise. If only Smee could talk with her, he’d ask her to let him read one. Then he’d know the bent of her thoughts. The way he used to know, in the first days, when he’d cherished the pleasure of waiting on her. Alone together, behind the master’s door.

  Lost in his thinking, Smee startled to hear the sound again. It floated over the revelry of the galley. A haunting chink of metal, and a growl of a groan. Recalled to life, Smee’s attention focused again on the surgeon’s door, shadowy in the flicker of the lantern. He listened for movement in the middle cabin and heard nothing from there. Hanover must be resting. Peering around the gun deck, Smee found himself alone. He adjusted his spectacles, laid a hand on the knob of the starboard quarters, and opened it.

  The lanterns burned low, lending the place a stuffy warmth and a dim glow. The room seemed deserted. No one sat in its chairs. Its bed curtains were drawn. Yet, contrary to the chamber’s vacant appearance, the moment Smee set foot within it, a presence filled him. Such a presence as he hadn’t felt since he’d handed the rapier to its master. Smee’s sturdy heart jumped, and he tensed with hope.

  A familiar scent filled his nostrils. A masculine smell, but more concentrated than Smee had ever experienced it. It was a lusty, musty smell, and Smee understood immediately whence it originated. He also understood that the body from which it emanated was in trouble— had been in trouble— for days.

  Alive or dead, Hook was here.

  § § §

  Escorted by Mr. Mullins to the surgeon’s sickbed, LeCorbeau made himself at home. He closed the door, drew the chair to the bedside and perched, flipping the tails of his splendid embroidered coat out of the way. His buttons glittered like jewels.

  “Well, Doctor.”

  Hanover raised his head. “Have you come to mock me, Captain, or to relieve my anxiety?”

  “My dear Hanover, you grieve me! Would I mock a man so obviously in pain? No, no, I am not so heartless.” LeCorbeau peered over his large nose at the surgeon’s back. “Who cannot be touched by the extremes to which you go to procure the affections of your, eh, sweetheart?”

  “I assure you, LeCorbeau, this extreme may be attributed to my ‘sweetheart’s’ lover.”

  “Most men would stop at a simple tattoo, but you have always shown, perhaps, a tendency to overdo. Nevertheless, I perceive that you have executed your commission— pardon, a thoughtless expression, considering the fate of our friend Hook!— and I of course, am here to fulfill my own.”

  “Get me off this ship.”

  “Patience, Doctor. I savor the moment. It is so tasty a delight, to see the Roger captained by so worthy a man— most notably worthy in the respect that he is not Captain Hook. But also, I enjoy to see my partner winning the lady’s heart!” Once again he eyed the surgeon’s wounds, raising his handkerchief to his nose. Having satisfied his curiosity and refreshed his senses with scent, he lowered the cloth. “Yes, Hanover, I believe your unorthodox methods of courtship are vanquishing your rival. I observe that the woman resists this Cecco’s— eh, shall I call them ‘charms?’ And,” LeCorbeau reached in the outer pocket of his auburn coat. “I have received a letter from her even tonight, which you will excuse me as I examine now.” With a flourish, he pulled out a folded parchment, smiling. “Let us see how your suit has fared.”

  “A letter? Read it!”

  “It is addressed to me, but in the interest of saving the time, I shall read aloud.” The Frenchman spread the letter, cocked his head, and cleared his throat.

  “‘My dear Commandant~’ ”

  He stopped. “Alors, the woman has an excellent hand! I cannot fault her penmanship.”

  “Go on!” Grimacing, Hanover raised himself to his elbows.

  “Such impatience….

  “‘I write to you, hoping you will find it in your interest to assist me.’”

  The captain smiled. “Ah, the female is shrewd! To appeal to my self-interest rather than my nobler instincts. One can see the woman was tutored by Hook himself.”

  “Spare the remarks, LeCorbeau.”

  “You would have me reduce my enjoyment? Quel dommage….But I continue.

  “‘Already, you have been generous enough to remove my sons from difficulty. I hesitate to beg further favor of you, yet this is exactly what I am compelled to do. Doctor Hanover has confided to me the facts regarding your partnership. I am forbidden to communicate with him, and so entrust this letter to his daughter—’

  “Eh, you should have seen your little girl, Hanover! Brazen as Jezebel, pressing the parchment to my pocket as if she had been passing love-notes all of her life!” LeCorbeau watched the surgeon’s teeth clench, then returned his inspection to the letter. “But where was I? Ah, yes.

  “‘…entrust this letter to his daughter to deliver to the one man powerful enough to help us.’”

  With a suspicious smile, LeCorbeau paused. “How she flatters me.” He breathed in, then continued.

  “‘My situation is dramatically changed~ you must know by now how completely~ and I wish to avail myself of Mister Hanover’s gallant offer of protection.’”

  LeCorbeau waved the letter. “Mon Dieu, Hanover! But why bother to marry this concubine? She is desperate!…All right, all right, I go on:

  “‘However my heart leads, circumstances force me to accept whatever my captain proposes.’”

  LeCorbeau raised his handkerchief again and wheezed merrily into it. Hanover’s stare bored into him. Upon regaining breath, LeCorbeau licked his lips and went on.

  “‘But I conceive a situation which might content us all. Doctor Hanover’s cache of riches intrigues my master. As our captain, he is bound by honor to return it. Yet if I continue to oppose him as I have done since Captain Hook’s disappearance, it may come to pass that Captain Cecco will weary of me, and become agreeable to a distraction.

  “‘Monsieur, you must prevail upon the doctor to make a generous offer for my freedom. He must do this in the presence of our officers. Once his men hear of the riches to be had, Captain Cecco will not long be able to refuse.’

  “But, Hanover, the vixen is a veritable schemer! You will do well to keep a tight rein on this female, my friend.”

  The scar along the surgeon’s cheek tightened. “You need not concern yourself, LeCorbeau. Read on.”

  LeCorbeau shrugged. “Very well.

  “‘Then, if we act quickly, I shall have opportunity to carry through with Mister Hanover’s original plan~ that is, to board your ship, undergo a marriage ceremony, and escape, thus restoring you and your partner to your profitable business, and me to my liberty.’

  “Ah, Hanover! Like the bride, you blush with pleasure!”

  “By God, LeCorbeau! It is all transpiring as I hoped.”

  “With, perhaps, one uncomfortable setback?”

  Dismissive, Hanover shook his head and, giving a grunt, shifted on the bunk. “One I should have foreseen. But if such a display of brutality inclines the lady to turn against Captain Cecco, it was worth it.”

  “Bravely spoken, Sir! And now, may I pass you the smelling salts?”

  “You may jest, but our escape is certain now.”

  “So the captain’s woman would have you believe.”

  “And of course, Liza will accompany her mistress. I see only one flaw in Jill’s thinking, easily rectified. She is an intelligent woman, but naturally, she fails to take into account the power of her allure. As my own experience attests, the more she resists, the more desirable she becomes. Captain Cecco will need another reason to part with her. I will find it.” />
  “In what form, if I may ask?”

  The sting of Hanover’s back began to fade as his mind sought salve for his pride. “Perhaps I can kill two birds with one stone. That Irishman needs to be taken down a peg. He may prove useful to me, at last…as might Captain Cecco’s famous knife.”

  “As I have remarked before, Hanover, you are thorough with your enemies! My observations demonstrate to me that you have chosen a mate to match you. I wait with the bated breath to witness the outcome of your collective handiwork.”

  Hanover gestured to the letter. “Is there more?”

  “Is this not enough? But, eh, yes, to continue.” His beady black eyes scanned the missive. “Ah, always, there is the catch!

  “‘I would warn the surgeon, however, to prepare to bid for his own liberty, as well as mine.’”

  The captain declared, “An expensive dish, this lady— as I perceived from the inception. To conclude….

  “‘I beg you to convey my message, and find a way to communicate your answer indirectly, to prevent placing my dear doctor’s life at further risk. For I confess~ his welfare is more precious to me than he may imagine.’”

  LeCorbeau raised his eyes from the parchment to behold the surgeon’s expression. “I see the dart has hit its mark.”

  “Yes….My aim is true.”

  “Your aim?” The Frenchman’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his hair. “Mon ami, if you but knew—”

  “Now we have only to complete the arrangements.”

  Dryly, the Frenchman said as he folded the letter, “I think, Monsieur, the arrangements have been completed for us.” He stowed the parchment away. “But no matter. All is working in our favor. I give you a few days to regain your, eh, agility. Then I will make an offer— to be repaid from your own fortune, of course— to hire you away from this Captain Cecco. No?”

  The smile Hanover bestowed upon his partner revealed a satisfaction unwitnessed since the early days of their alliance. “Yes.” Energized by success, Hanover turned to lean on his side. “I give you leave to bargain the price as high as necessary.” He delved in his pocket, and as his smile grew smug, he drew out Hook’s brass ring of keys. Access to the captain’s quarters, the shackles…and a sea chest. “I will recoup my losses.”

  The greedy light flared in LeCorbeau’s eyes. “Hanover— my partner! What does this mean?”

  “Very simply, it means Jill is not the only jewel I shall pluck from the Roger.”

  § § §

  “Captain.” Smee spoke softly after closing the door, conscious of the surgeon lying in the cabin beyond the wall. Pressing the rapier to his side, he leaned over the desk to turn up the lanterns. Then he set his feet in motion, each step as if it might be his last. He didn’t bother with the lower bunk. Smee sensed where his master rested. But he listened to the silence, and he dreaded it. He might have come too late. Some hideous sight might lie in wait for him. Hoping against hope to set eyes on the beloved figure of his master, yet he feared a vision to haunt his dreams.

  Upon reaching the bedside, he stood staring at the curtain, unsure whether its motion might be due to a wave— or a specter.

  “Captain.”

  Smee reached out. He grasped the canvas. Pulling it aside, he searched the shadows, and as his eyes adjusted they were drawn toward a patch of white. A face. The chain rattled, and the face disappeared behind a ringed hand. A moment passed, then the hand lowered. Barely audible, an unfamiliar voice croaked.

  “Smee.”

  “Aye, Captain. Aye….I’m here.” Hardly able to breathe, Smee stepped on the lower bunk. It creaked as he hiked himself up to settle beside his captain. He leaned forward and spoke again, tenderly, like a father to a little lost child. “I’ve found you, then.” Smee’s breast swelled with emotion. Relief, blessed relief— and more. Behind his spectacles, he blinked the moisture away.

  Hook lolled to his side and labored to hitch himself up on an elbow. His head hung unsteadily. Smee’s heart near burst to look upon him. His captain lay chained, hand and foot. He languished on a blue-striped mattress stripped of linens, stained and reeking. His sleek black waves were unrecognizable now, wild, tangled, his face gaunt, his fine features blurred with whiskers. His lips were dry and shriveled, but his eyes— his eyes remained the same. Deep blue, and sharp as jewels.

  Burdened by his chain, Hook held out his hand. Smee grasped it. It was hot, and dry. The two men clung together, each assuring himself of the other’s reality. Then, not letting go, Hook turned his wrist upward under his shackle and issued a command, rasped but firm.

  “Free me.”

  In one horrid instant, Smee’s elation plunged to despair. “Sir,” he said. “…Sir.”

  His gaze forsook his captain and fell to the bed, and it was Smee, now, who was a lost child. As their hands sank to the mattress, Smee listened to the tinkle of the chain. He breathed hard in the filthy air. Then he dragged his gaze to the dying man’s face, to confess.

  “I have your rapier. Right here, Sir, at my side.” He shook his head, slowly, as if pronouncing sentence upon a condemned man. “But Captain—” His voice failed him.

  Under the black brow, Hook’s piercing eyes stabbed him, silent. A vision to haunt his dreams.

  “Begging your pardon, Sir. But I don’t have the key.”

  § § §

  At first Jill was afraid to touch it. Its gleaming edge appeared as sinister as the day she first beheld it. So long ago, it seemed, on the Island. But after all, it wasn’t the hook— had never been the hook— that frightened her. It was the man who wielded it. The powerful pirate, in his dashing black velvet, with piercing eyes beneath his jeweled hat. He had commanded her attention, and then her obedience, and finally, her love. She had been afraid to touch him, too, in the beginning.

  But she had touched him. Now she drew a deep breath and laid a finger on his metal hand. Cold. It lay on the floor of the captain’s quarters where Cecco, his eyes ferocious with gypsy superstition, had thrown it, to land with a hollow thud on the carpet. The same sound it had made when Hook dropped it, the first time Jill released him from his brace. So long ago. Just yesterday.

  Gingerly, she took the hook between her fingers and raised it up. She held it by the wooden form, the piece that seated his wrist. The leather harness dragged against her skirt, and she shivered with emotion. But the spasm pumped a flow of warmth into her muscles and, strengthened, she laid her cheek against the metal. She kept it there until the heat of her face seeped into the hook.

  All evening she had struggled to play her role, not knowing if this part of her lover was a sign of hope that he lived— or an omen of his death. No doubt the scheming surgeon was infuriated to find her sleeping last night. Perhaps he, who claimed to have knowledge of Hook’s whereabouts, ordained this haunting as a reminder of his power. A cruel reminder, and unnecessary. Jill was ready to fulfill any requirement to gather a single crumb of information, even tidings of Hook’s death. His too-likely death. She didn’t try to think it through any more. She knelt on the rug, head bowed over his relic, and wept. Pent up too long, her tears for her captain flowed freely.

  Since his disappearance, Jill had felt Hook’s heartbeat, sure he would return. But when she beheld the hook in the setting sunlight, returned to its place by his bed, her own heart had stopped. Too numb, she hadn’t felt him since. In the last day something had changed. No— several things had changed. It was as if in imbibing the surgeon’s sleeping draught, Jill had put Hook to sleep, too, and he hadn’t awakened. Whatever the reason, Jill had lost touch with her love. She pressed her hand to her womb. The faint pulse she felt within, and which yesterday she would have attributed to Hook, no longer reassured her. Was he gone forever, or was Jill, caught up in her new adventure, past recognizing him?

  There was one way to know. Jill had flown this afternoon. Although, obedient to Cecco’s order, she had held fast to the pulley, she found herself skimming across the water to the Unity, so full of a secret happi
ness she hadn’t summoned any particular thought to do it. Now she got to her feet, carried the hook to the window seat and set it down. She opened the casement, wide. With an uncertain step, she set her foot on the seat. The other followed. Lowering herself to the sill, she inhaled a breath of salty air and, gathering up the brace, closed her eyes. The smell of the sea and the scent of the leather between her fingers helped her to concentrate. She searched her soul, and then she found him.

  She could see him. She heard him laughing. A wild music sprang from the stars, and she longed to dance with him again. In silky sibilance, her skirt whispered as she dropped his hook to the bench and slid from the sill, and when she opened her eyes, she was floating. The sea lay below her, the dollops of light on the waves sinking farther and farther from her feet. Her hair billowed in the breezes, and the lanterns of the Roger winked at her. Imitating the sails, she spread her wings, and soared.

  The wind’s breath laughed with her as she remembered the night, not so long ago, when she and Hook tried to touch a star. There it was. That one, the star that shone so sharply between strands of warm, black cloud, reminding her of his earring. She shook the hair from her face and looked again, and now it was two stars. Two earrings. Two, like Captain Cecco’s pair. But where was Hook’s solitary ornament? Jill blinked to clear her vision, and the sky filled with gold, shimmering like her bracelets.