Other Oceans: Book Two of the Hook & Jill Saga

by Andrea Jones

  “I should say so, yes.” LeCorbeau’s manner was dry as a desert. He reached out a hand to Renaud for his chocolate.

  Tom produced a crooked grin. “It’s a failing of mine, Sir. Mr. Cecco’s said as much, time and again. I mean Captain Cecco, Captain—”

  “Enough of this absurdity! Monsieur Tootles, you will kindly curb your tongue—”

  “Aye, aye, Sir.”

  At Tom’s interruption, LeCorbeau cleared his throat to signify displeasure, then proceeded, “…so that I may get on with the business at hand.” He glared at Tom, as if daring him to open his mouth again. When silence reigned, he settled back. “Now, eh, where was I? Ah, oui. It has come to my attention that an item of value is missing from my quarters.” LeCorbeau watched Tom for a reaction. Tom waited, then interpreted LeCorbeau’s pause as an opening to answer. He kept it short.

  “I’m sorry, Sir.”

  “It would seem that my finest bottle of cognac has been purloined. What might you know of this?”

  “Sir, I might know all about it.”

  All three of the men facing Tom registered surprise.

  “But as it happens— I don’t.”

  LeCorbeau snapped, “It is too early in the morning, Monsieur, for riddles. The bottle disappeared while I and my officers attended the festivities aboard the Jolly Roger. You were seen on deck last evening, according to the night watch.”

  “I was the night watch, Sir.”

  LeCorbeau tossed his head. His head regretted the motion. He sighed. “Yes, yes, I know it. The other men report that when your shift expired, your brother went below.”

  “The lads are dead-on, Sir. That’s just how it happened.”

  “And you were remarked loitering in the vicinity of my door.”

  “I don’t doubt it, Sir. I was in the vicinity.”

  “And?”

  “And if I was of a mind to pinch a bottle, I could easily have done it, Sir.”

  LeCorbeau raised his eyes to the heavens. “Of course. But, eh,” his cuff agitated impatiently, “did you?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “And you have no inkling what might have become of this bottle?”

  “None at all, Sir.”

  “Ah.”

  “Unless you mean the bottle behind Monsieur Guillaume’s pillow, Sir.”

  For a frozen moment, stillness ruled. Then Guillaume blushed, stuttered, and sputtered a protest. “Mon Commandant! I— I—”

  LeCorbeau threw up his arm, lace and all, to silence him. He leaned toward Tom. “Young man, what do you indicate?”

  “Oh, nothing Sir. It’s just that you asked me, and—”

  “Mon Dieu, quel imbécile! Tell me what you mean by this insinuation!”

  “I surely don’t mean to insinuate anything, Monsieur.”

  “Do you accuse your superior? Or do you not?”

  “No, Sir! I’d never accuse an officer.”

  “Very well, then—”

  “Any more than I’d expect an officer to accuse me.”

  The look emanating from above the captain’s beaky nose waxed shrewd. LeCorbeau studied Tom, memorizing every line of his face. Lazily, he raised his finger to point at Tom’s head. When he spoke, his words were not those Tom expected.

  “From whom did you receive that nasty scar, my boy?”

  Involuntarily, Tom raised his fingers to touch it. “From Mr. Starkey, Sir. Aboard the Roger.”

  “Yes, Mr. Starkey. Such a man….No subtlety of any kind.”

  “Yes, Sir. Very different from your own officers.”

  LeCorbeau narrowed his beady eyes. “If it meets with your approval, Monsieur, I will be the judge of my officers.”

  “Oh, aye, Sir.”

  “And for what reason did Mr. Starkey administer this blow?”

  “Begging your pardon, Sir— pardonnez-moi, I mean— he gave me plenty more than one blow. I was black and blue for a month! Nibs can testify to that. Mr. Smee had to piece me together. I came crawling to him, and let me tell you, he was generous with the rum that night! I was wishing for one of those wet towels next morning. Between the stitching and the headache, I still don’t know which hurt worse. As you say, Monsieur, Mr. Starkey is anything but subtle.”

  By the end of Tom’s speech, the captain’s expression was glacial. “Young man, answer my question.”

  “Willingly, Monsieur.” He stood blinking, his open face obedient.

  Rage never suited LeCorbeau. He motioned Renaud to vent it.

  Renaud raised his voice, but not enough to offend his captain’s sensibilities. “Well, Monsieur Tootles? What is your answer?”

  Tom stood hesitating. His features struggled to strike the proper expression as the three men leaned closer. “Sorry, Sirs….Seems I’ve forgot the question.”

  “Idiot!” The first mate had to search his own memory first. “Why were you beaten?”

  “Oh.” Tom shrugged. “It was a punishment.”

  LeCorbeau’s eyebrows rose. “A punishment? But your Mister— eh, you foul boy!— your Captain Cecco never mentioned this.”

  “Well, Sir. You’ve seen Captain Cecco’s back.” Tom angled his head. “I guess my little scar doesn’t impress him very much.”

  The black eyes shone. “Yes, well, eh, one day I hope to hear that story….” Tom opened his mouth, but LeCorbeau flung up a hand to shut him up before the raconteur might erupt again. “No! Vraiment! You are as full of tales as your mother! We are speaking of you this morning. So, am I now to discover you have been known as a troublemaker among Hook’s crew?”

  “No, Sir! I disobeyed orders once, is all.”

  “Once?”

  “Once was enough. Sir.”

  “Exactly. And once is all I will tolerate from you. You will guard yourself from now on. Your belongings will be searched. You will be watched. If I find reason to implicate you in this or any other offense, you will find yourself breakfasting in my brig.”

  “Aye, Sir. Better make it a double ration, though.”

  LeCorbeau’s eyes closed and he wilted against his chair, signaling to Renaud, who hastily replaced the damp towel on his brow. “And why, I am afraid to ask, do you make such a statement? Be quick! I am fading.”

  “Because, with all due respect, Sir, when I’m hauled into the brig, I’ll be bringing company.” Tom didn’t look at Guillaume. He didn’t have to. He had LeCorbeau’s second mate in his pocket. It would be fun to see how soon his tight-fitting uniform streaked toward his quarters.

  They’d drink to that. Tonight, in that last locked cabin— with a fine, aged bottle of cognac.

  § § §

  Breakfast began later than usual. The Roger’s galley was scarcely tidied from last evening’s merrymaking when the crewmen started to trickle in. Mr. Smee was there when the first shift departed to up anchor and drop sails. He ate his porridge. He was there when the ship got underway and the next round of breakfasters came and went. Smee filled his bowl again. He was there, still, when the surgeon and his daughter appeared, and then he was gone— with his porridge.

  Mr. Yulunga waited there also. He straddled a bench and lounged against the wall not far from the porridge pot, his arms folded and a splinter of wood between his teeth. His obsidian eyes watched every move Liza made. She wore her blue dress, entering the galley as her father held the door for her. Devoid of formal attire today, Doctor Hanover looked younger, sporting soft velvet breeches and a shirt that hung loose around his body, no doubt to avoid chafing his back. He moved stiffly, but with a grace surprising to those who had witnessed his punishment.

  Yulunga wasn’t the only man keeping an eye on the surgeon. All the hands were curious, and the several sailors dotting the galley loitered a little longer than necessary. The rumor had spread that Yulunga’s pleasures were interrupted last night, by the object of his pleasure’s sire, and they, too, waited, to see what either man might do next.

  As Liza entered, her gaze had flown immediately to Yulunga, then she looked awa
y. Her lowered eyes shifted toward her father, who led her to the captain’s table. Hanover chose her seat, positioning her at an angle to Yulunga, and held the chair for her. The doctor went so far as to fetch Liza’s porridge from the pot himself, due perhaps, to its proximity to the mate. In his brusque manner, Hanover nodded to Yulunga. He chose the seat next to Liza and, as he ate, he watched the man who watched his daughter.

  She appeared smaller and paler than she’d looked the previous evening. Yulunga noted that Liza took only a few tastes of her food, but upon encouragement by her father, she was persuaded to finish the serving. The surgeon spoke to her in low tones. Not moving his back, he bent his head toward her, and once, he smiled into her eyes. Rarer still, she smiled in return. But it was a tentative thing, as fleeting as the woman she had been last night.

  Throughout the meal, Liza looked to Yulunga only one time, when Hanover left her to refill his cup. Her eyes were wary, as if she feared to face him, but it was enough for Yulunga. He hauled his body from the bench, stepped past her father, and stood before her, his bulging arms dangling and the splinter of wood rolling between his fingers. The men who ranged around the room perked up their ears and sat up straighter.

  “Miss.”

  With swift, silent footsteps, Hanover returned. “Mr. Yulunga.”

  “Doctor.”

  “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “I am still waiting to see if Miss Liza wants to tell me something. She didn’t say good night. Perhaps she’d like to try good morning?”

  But today, Liza’s lips remained closed.

  Yulunga smiled and raised a questioning eyebrow. “No?”

  She lifted her shoulders a fraction, giving the merest shrug, and then her father’s hand settled on her shoulder. She turned her head to see it. Hanover squeezed her shoulder once, then he sat down. Yulunga didn’t budge. Looking up, Hanover acknowledged his presence again, with less courtesy than before.

  “Well. I see no reason to keep you, Sir.”

  “The mistress wants me to bring you, Miss, as soon as you’ve finished your breakfast. I’ll wait.” Yulunga turned toward his bench again, but stopped as the surgeon called after him.

  “There is no need for you to trouble yourself. I will escort her.”

  “Lady’s orders, Mister Hanover. And I don’t think you want to get too near the captain’s woman again.” Yulunga smirked and returned to hunker down in his place by the porridge pot. Watching.

  Hanover ignored him. Upon finishing his breakfast, he folded his handkerchief, studied Liza, and leaned forward. With unsuspected gentleness, he dabbed his daughter’s lips. Immediately, her cheeks were suffused with color, exactly as they appeared last night when Yulunga’s hands had finally taken hold of her. Her father touched the handkerchief to his own mouth and prepared his damaged body to stand.

  Shoving off from the bench, Yulunga manifested his considerable presence by the captain’s table. Liza’s gaze slid between the two men, and for a moment she sat undecided. Then she rose on her father’s arm, pressed it, and before either man could speak, she turned her back on both of them. Darting away, she slipped out the door to run to her duty, leaving her would-be escorts staring after her. Neither man was happy. And both men smiled.

  “Well, Doctor. What do you think?”

  Hanover’s wisp of a smile dissipated. “I think you have done enough damage, Sir. Further than this, I have no intention of discussing my daughter with you.”

  “Then there is no problem. Discussion is the last thing on my mind.” Yulunga grinned his ominous grin and rumbled from the galley, slamming the door behind him. But once away, he relaxed his shoulders. The splinter of wood bobbed up and down between his teeth as he strolled toward the stairs to take up his post— not too far from the master’s quarters.

  He liked her when she defied him. Even more when she defied her father. After months of silence, Yulunga was sure she’d almost spoken to him last night— at the exact moment he didn’t want to talk at all. He’d give the girl that dress he’d found for her. And he’d give her a bit of time. Most likely, she had some new bruises she was ashamed to show. But that swan-white skin would hide no secrets. Not from Yulunga. Not for long.

  As Yulunga’s feet disappeared up the hatch, Smee emerged, in a hurry, from the surgeon’s quarters. He clutched a bowl in one hand. Hook’s rapier banged against his leg as he staggered toward his cabin. Once within its privacy, he shut his door, flung the bowl on the table and listened to the crash of it. He yanked off the rapier and his spectacles, too, and threw them after. His soul gaped with a near-mortal wound. He knew only one way to deal with it.

  Instinctively, he lurched toward his cabinet, where he scrabbled through his mending box until his fist closed on a hunk of leather scrap. Smee hurled himself on his bunk, on his back, and jammed the strap between his teeth. With his face red and his knuckles white, Mr. Smee lay writhing, grinding at the leather, blocking the curses from his mouth, but screaming them in his mind.

  Bloody bastard! Bloody stinking bastard! Foulest scum of the earth— and your dear, dainty daughter’s a fit companion for you. Devil’s spawn! You’ve no business breathing, either of you! Bloody hell— I’ll be murdering you both!

  Mr. Smee still lay there when the crewmen began trickling into the galley for lunch.

  § § §

  “Have you forgotten my tea, Liza?”

  Still reckoning how to manage the two strong men she’d just eluded, Liza stood before Jill, her face flushed with her hurry, and squeezing her hands together. Only half aware of the fact, she found the pearls on her finger staying put. On this hand, the one on which her father had chosen to place it, the ring fit properly.

  Jill herself wore several new rings on her fingers this morning, and a silver shamrock dangled from a chain about her neck. “Help me to dress— the blue gown today— then you can fetch a cup of tea and bring me some breakfast. Or perhaps I’ll visit the galley myself.”

  Cecco turned from his shaving mirror, wiping his neck with a towel. Jill had already tended his other needs, and after a late rising this morning, Cecco found it expedient to take charge of the shaving himself. “I am pleased to find your appetite returned, lovely one. And what will you be doing today?”

  “I have a story I must set down. But first I’ll take the air. With you, Captain, if you’ll have me.”

  “As I have demonstrated, I will never refuse your propositions.” Smiling, Cecco drew on his vest. “But I insist you dress first. You will find me on deck. I must speak to Mullins about our course.”

  “Aye, Sir. I won’t be long.”

  The captain turned to Liza, surprising her with his notice. “I hear you have doctored the surgeon. Tell me, Miss. How is your father bearing his wounds?” His tone was anything but solicitous. “Well enough, I understand, to defend your honor last evening?”

  Looking down, Liza nodded. She felt suddenly queasy.

  “You may tell your foolish father what I say. Red-Handed Jill is the only reason he still breathes.”

  Liza met Cecco’s gaze, and came alive under its force. The dark depths of his eyes displayed the same ruthlessness now that she witnessed when her father lay pinned under his knee.

  “My lady begged me, on her knees, to show him mercy. He will do well to repay her consideration by keeping his distance.” Illustrating his point, Cecco snatched up his knife and thrust it in his belt. He strode to face Jill, taking her chin in his fingers. Jill quickly grasped his wrist, as if to protect herself. Then, seeming to think better of her action, she relaxed her body and stroked his arm. Cecco exhaled an amused breath, then he released her and strolled to the door, where he halted to face the women. “Now get moving, both of you. The surgeon’s punishment is over, and the men expect to see you going about your business.” Pressing his fingertips to his lips, he gazed intently at Jill and released them, and then he left.

  Liza turned to watch Jill, her father’s promised wife. The lady’s eyes
remained on the door, as if she could still see Cecco through it. Liza wondered if Jill was thinking the same thoughts she was thinking— remembering the night Hanover risked everything to climb to the lady’s chamber, and the secret letter the mistress had pressed on Liza to deliver to the Frenchman. Captain Cecco was a handsome man, a man who exuded raw power. But Liza understood, now, as she had never understood before, how very persuasive a gentleman her father could be.

  Studying Jill this morning, Liza saw a reflection of herself. She almost pitied the woman. Hook, the pirate king whose features and refinement had commanded both women’s hearts, was gone. Other men had come forward to advance their claims. Which master would Jill serve in the end? The choice she faced was a difficult one. Liza knew. She herself faced the very same choice. But when the moment came, Liza had little doubt the decision would be made for both women, and skillfully— by her forceful father.

  Jill’s face showed only a hint of her dilemma now, in a wrinkling of her brow. But her words betrayed her heart. “Liza.” Jill smiled and ran her fingers through her hair, as if not considering her words at all. “Doesn’t your father favor blue? And see, we shall both be wearing blue today.” She turned, becoming brisk, and her new rings flashed as she indicated the wardrobe. “Hurry, now. We must follow the captain’s orders.”

  Liza obeyed. But as she did so, she held her head a little more erect than she used to do. In a few more days, she wouldn’t have to wait on a lady again. She would be concerned only with pleasing one person. The cost was dear, but somehow Liza had achieved her goal after all. She had, at last, secured the interest of a very strong man.

  § § §

  “Well, Mr. Yulunga, I see that for your sake I should have made a deeper impression on the surgeon.”

  Gauging Yulunga’s mood first, Mr. Mullins grinned. “Aye, Captain! And for the girl’s sake. She looked near as royal as the lady last night, prancing down the companionway on our mate’s arm. Not so sure of herself this morning, though. I wonder what that man did to her after he caught her with Mr. Yulunga?”

  Yulunga shrugged. “Nothing she cannot handle.”