Other Oceans: Book Two of the Hook & Jill Saga

by Andrea Jones

Cecco said, “She is still swayed by her father, of this I am sure. Jill and I put on a fine pretense for her just now.”

  “Once I have the charge of her, Sir, Miss will be mending her ways.”

  “You are speaking of a woman, my friend. The one thing of which a man can never be certain. Even my Jill remains a mystery to me. I cannot doubt her affection, but trust will come only with time.”

  “You hold the lady’s heart, Sir. I’m not so sure young Miss has one. On that score, we will make a good match.”

  “I have yet to meet a woman who has no heart, Mr. Yulunga.”

  The mate grinned. “Maybe so. But I find the heart will follow wherever the body leads.”

  “And speaking of this, where is our faithful Mr. Smee? He is usually on deck every morning, watching for my lady.”

  Mullins shifted his weight. “I saw him late last night, Captain. On deck.”

  “Yes?”

  “He made as if to pay a call to your quarters. But when he saw me standing guard, he stopped in his tracks and went back below. I haven’t seen him since, Sir.”

  Yulunga observed his captain’s expression as it darkened. “Sir, Smee was in the galley for breakfast. He stayed a long time. I thought he might be waiting for someone.”

  “Mr. Yulunga, you will keep an eye on him today.”

  “Aye, Sir. I’ll hunt him up.”

  Yulunga turned to go but waited as the lady emerged from her quarters. Liza held the door for her. Jill scanned the deck, then descended to join the captain.

  “Good morning, gentlemen.”

  “Ma’am.”

  But the lady remained distracted, her gaze roving the ship.

  “You have not breakfasted, Madam.”

  “No, Sir. I find I am not hungry after all.”

  “For whom do you search, lovely one? Our surgeon, perhaps, to see how he fares?”

  “No, no. I was rather wondering where our Mr. Smee has got to today. It isn’t like him to sleep in, even after a party.”

  Mullins cleared his throat and excused himself. “Ma’am. Sir, I’ll be getting to the charts then.”

  Yulunga, too, backed away. “And I will see to your order, Captain.” He glanced at Liza where she stood peeking through the captain’s doorway. Then he nodded to the lady, magnificent in her royal blue gown, with the shamrock twinkling at her bosom along with Cecco’s gold. Yulunga didn’t meet his captain’s eyes as he departed to slip below decks.

  Jill extended her arm to Cecco. “Shall we walk, then, Sir?”

  He accepted her hand, but his eyes were cool. “We shall walk. We shall walk as long as we need to walk, until you have explained to me why you allowed ‘our’ Mr. Smee to place his hands around your waist yesterday, even as I punished the doctor for a similar offense.”

  As Jill’s mouth opened in astonishment, Cecco ushered her up the deck, his own hands making their impression on his lady’s waist.

  Silently, the door of the captain’s quarters closed, and having garnered more information, the surgeon’s daughter executed his latest order.

  § § §

  Hanover didn’t have to wait long. “Show me what you have found, Liza.” He drew her into his cabin and pulled her close.

  She hung her head. Her cheeks were burning, but her hands felt cold.

  “Come, now. You are not stealing. It is a simple exchange, one jewel for another.” He coaxed, “Now let me have it.” Placing his hands on either side of her jaw, he raised her head and bent to kiss her. As he did so, she opened her mouth, and he reaped her harvest. One at a time with his kisses, three rich rings made their way between his teeth. He spit each of them out to jostle in his hand, smiling his approval. “You have done well, Liza. What else?”

  She loosened her hair net. As her hair cascaded, her father sifted it with his fingers, enjoying its luxuriance and gathering a handful of golden circlets, just the size of a lady’s wrist— extracted from Hook’s own coffer. “Ah! And so.”

  Under his interested regard, Liza led his hand to her pocket. When he withdrew it, his fingers were full of sparkling treasure. Bracelets, necklaces and a golden watch fob, all plundered from Captain Hook. Hanover’s eyes glowed as she emptied the other pocket and heaped another share into his grasp.

  “Yes! Yes, this is just as I had hoped. I will have it all— Hook’s fortune, Hook’s queen,” Hanover gazed into his daughter’s eyes. “Even Hook’s paramour. Liza. You are proving most satisfactory. I thank you.”

  Her smile looked unsure.

  “Do not be anxious about anything, my darling. Your father will arrange it all. A few more days of plundering Hook’s treasure chest, and we will have enough to get clear of this ship and everything we have suffered here. You may keep his key. Use it at every opportunity. Soon I will have another task for you. No, no, don’t be concerned. A simple undertaking. Now open my sea chest. I have fashioned a false bottom that should hide our secrets long enough for our escape.”

  Liza nodded, then moved to the chest at the foot of their bed. Hanover had piled its contents beside it, Hook’s boots among the other items. They stood stiff and still, but empty, like a phantom sentry. When Liza opened the lid, she saw the clever hiding place her father had devised, padded with remnants of his gray suit. And in it, already, two pieces of treasure lay twinkling up at her from the velvet. Liza squeezed her eyes shut, and then she opened them to look to her father.

  He wore his arrogant smile. “Yes, Liza. I, too, have gone gleaning. Like the spoils in his coffer, those are baubles he won’t be needing anymore.”

  She rested her hands on the wooden rim of the chest. How many times, as she lay with her captain, had she done the same thing her father had done? But always, she had given them back. With the greatest difficulty, she restrained her hands from snatching the bounty her father had stolen from Hook— stolen right off his body. The two great rings, empty now of fingers. Tears filled her eyes, so that as he buried Hook’s rings under his swag, the pile in the chest wavered and shone like the mirage of some cave of wonders.

  “Come, Liza. You mustn’t take on so.” Her father knelt on the floor beside her. “Look, this one is a pretty piece. Let me put it on you. You may wear it for an hour.”

  She tried to blink away her tears.

  “I will like to see you in it. And after all…I promised not to neglect you.” His hands, so warm and competent, served his daughter. Then his regard, equally warm, attended her. “Yes, Liza. You look quite lovely.”

  At first the chain lay cold against her neck.

  “You look breathtaking, in fact.”

  Before the end of the hour, the chain was burning.

  § § §

  Guillaume carried the lantern and followed Tom deep into L’Ormonde’s stern. The two men made their way to the most lethal location in the ship. The powder magazine, paneled in copper, where measured bags of gunpowder lay in wait for the next battle. Tom laid a hand on the door knob and turned to his companion, who, realizing his destination, backed off with the lantern.

  Tom cocked his head toward the door. “In here, mate. I gambled it’d be quiet today. Would have been a nasty shock if we’d had cause to fire off the cannon.”

  “Monsieur Tootles— are you mad?” Seeing the undaunted look on Tom’s face, Guillaume drew away to slip toward the window between the magazine and the aft compartments. “I will light you.” Hanging the lantern on a peg, he directed its rays through the glass into the magazine. Tom stood inside now. Flashing a smile at Guillaume first, he squinted into the shelves full of deadly contents. Guillaume watched Tom’s dagger gleam in the light as the sailor moved to reach a high shelf. He lifted a half empty bag and withdrew a brown bottle. Victorious, he held it up for Guillaume to see. The mate was not smiling.

  As Tom secured the door and strode around the outside of the room, he grinned. “Nothing to it, Mr. Guillaume. I learned a thing or two growing up with a bunch of greedy boys. If you want to hide something, only two places will do. In pla
in sight, or in the most threatening location you can find.”

  Guillaume was pale, but recovering. “Monsieur Tootles— Mr. Tootles. You speak as if you had lived in an interesting story.”

  Tom shrugged. “I was just a boy. But I learned a lot.”

  “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps you have a good deal to teach me. Now, where is this perfect place you found to hide us? Inside a cannon, maybe?” Guillaume unbent enough to smile.

  “Have you brought your keys?”

  “Of course. But the brig is hardly a festive location. I hope always to avoid its hospitality.”

  “Very wise. But I don’t intend to take up residence in the brig. Not until it becomes absolutely necessary.”

  “You are very strange, Mr. Tootles. Why should it become necessary?”

  “It shouldn’t. Unless you push me too far.”

  “As the commandant has indicated, you are full of riddles. Show me this mysterious place.”

  “Aye, aye. This way.” Tom snatched up the lantern and led Guillaume to starboard, where the shadows lurking near a dark door leapt away from the light. “Here we are. I’ll bet there’s a comfortable little space in there, nice and quiet, with no witnesses to the destiny of this cognac.”

  Guillaume’s brow furrowed. “This room? But this is nothing. Let us go to my quarters.”

  “And have Renaud spoil our fun? No, Sir!”

  “Monsieur Renaud is attending the commandant tonight. Your brother is dining with them.”

  “All the more reason to avoid your cabin. The captain wants to get Nibs alone.” Tom’s eyes bored into his companion’s. “Doesn’t he?”

  “Still, this is not a fit place—”

  “Fit for what? We have a good bottle to enjoy. And good reason to keep it quiet.”

  Reluctant still, Guillaume frowned. “This compartment is strictly off limits.”

  “And so is this cognac.”

  “If the commandant were to discover I had allowed you to see…”

  Tom’s pulse quickened. He tried to keep the eagerness from escaping. “What’s to see? It’s just storage, isn’t it? Or, maybe…quarters for prisoners?”

  “Yes. But the cargo within is most precious. I am not certain what it is. The commandant discusses it only with Renaud.”

  “A mystery, then.”

  “All I know is it has taken months for the commandant to secure it.”

  “I’ll just bet it has.”

  “The crewmen, too, know nothing of this cargo. It is very important they remain in ignorance.” Guillaume shuddered. “I believe the contents of that room are as volatile as those of the magazine.”

  “So LeCorbeau’s hiding something too. Not in plain sight, but in a scary place. He’s a wily man.”

  “Wily, yes. And unpleasant when crossed. I do not wish to risk his displeasure.”

  “Mr. Guillaume, believe me. I won’t tell a soul. And aren’t you just the least bit curious?”

  “Other men are curious. I am cautious.”

  “Then we’ll balance each other out. Hand over the keys.” Tom offered Guillaume the bottle. Guillaume stared at it, looked at Tom, and then accepted it. Tom helped himself to the key ring that dangled from the man’s waist.

  “Monsieur, I—”

  Tom had already turned his back on the mate, and he inserted the key in the lock. “Keep quiet, Guillaume.”

  Guillaume pulled back, but at that moment his mind didn’t dwell on enforcing discipline. He found Tom’s off-hand insolence to be provocative. It made the officer’s blood rise and his scalp prickle. And somewhere beyond his caution, Guillaume realized the two of them were conspirators, entering into an adventure. “Monsieur Tom—”

  The lock clicked open. Without bothering to look at him, Tom tossed the keys to Guillaume. He gripped the door’s handle and raised up his lantern. Before his heart jumped into his throat, he inhaled a deep breath. The door squawked as if angry to be disturbed, opening only with reluctance. It was a bad sign, Tom thought. No one had entered this room in quite some time.

  A sweet, sickly smell leaked into Tom’s nostrils, setting off his imagination. Horrified by what that odor might indicate, he hesitated, but, as in any crisis, his boldness took over. He plunged into the room. The light of the lantern swung into it, and the shadows fled once more to reveal a small space nearly filled with three wooden crates— and nothing else. Not a window. No bunk tossed with rumpled blankets. No refuse from a meager meal. No chains restraining a withered arm.

  No Captain Hook.

  Caught up in his thoughts, Tom forgot his companion. Disappointment choked him, and he stood staring. His stomach clenched with the cloying fragrance, and he remembered his lady mother’s warning. She had been right. This was a fool’s errand. He and Nibs had marched blithely into the fire, and in an instant Tom was certain they wouldn’t retreat without scorch marks.

  Guillaume followed Tom in and stood looking about. “Well, it is not much of a place, but we will have plenty of privacy here. What is that smell?”

  Recalled to the present, Tom lowered the lantern to examine the nearest crate. Black paint marks snaked across it in some kind of oriental script. It looked like the notes in one of Hook’s sheets of harpsichord music. Tom blinked, but couldn’t bring himself to comment.

  “Mr. Tom?” Guillaume moved closer. He studied the writing, and he studied Tom’s face. “These are the crates we picked up when we met the ship from Alexandria.”

  Tom hung the lantern and ripped off his jacket. “Give me a hand.” Tugging at the lid, he wrenched at it. The splinters dug under his fingernails until Guillaume set down the bottle and hastened to lay his hands on Tom’s arm.

  “No! You will do more damage to yourself than to that crate.”

  “I told you to help me.”

  Guillaume gaped at Tom, who still tore at the wood, then he slipped away. Intent on his task, Tom didn’t realize Guillaume was gone until the man returned with a handspike. Silently he presented it to Tom, and together the two men pried the lid loose. It raised up with a ferocious groan. The sweet smell intensified. Tom dropped the spike, and Guillaume caught it before it could batter the floor. Snatching the lantern, Tom lifted the wood high enough to peer in. He shook his head, dropping the lid. It crashed, and he jerked his jaw to indicate the next crate. Guillaume obeyed him, and, in succession, the remaining crates were wrenched open, inspected, and abandoned.

  Guillaume clutched the spike, resting against the last crate. “You look disappointed, Monsieur. Tell me this story.”

  Tom tossed his head. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  The mate raised a lid and, reaching in, extracted a white piece of the contents from its nest between sheets of papyrus. He fingered its fragile texture. “Earlier today you said you were concerned with a matter of life and death.”

  “You should know by now. I don’t mean half of what I say.”

  Guillaume moved forward a step, determined to manage this unpredictable sailor, and sensing he must do so carefully. “Mr. Tom. These boxes hold only the remains of flowers packed in Egyptian paper. What did you think to find here?”

  Tom straightened up. “Something a bit more worthy of a fine old bottle of cognac.” He seized it and pulled the cork. His voice was bitter. “Let’s get to it. I’m ready.”

  A light kindled in the mate’s eye. He tossed the petal. “Certainly. And how shall we decide who begins the teaching first?”

  “I’ve had enough lessons tonight. Let’s just drink.”

  Guillaume vaulted onto a crate and settled himself. His tight-fitting jacket relaxed as he unbuttoned it. “Yes. We must be rid of the evidence against us.” Guillaume reached for the bottle. “Salut!” Catching up with Tom’s intake, he took the first of many sips. “But this bottle is already half gone!”

  “Don’t get worked up.” Tom yanked a flask from his back pocket. “I poured some out for safe-keeping, in case it was found.” He gulped some down.

  “Trul
y, you are an ingenious man.” This facile sailor fascinated Guillaume. First ebullient, then absorbed. Now, within the close confines of the private compartment, he watched Tom lean against the crate and slide down to settle on the floor by the lantern, just plain moody. Like the captain. That was no problem for Guillaume. He had learned very well how to handle his captain, and good cognac never failed to assist in the effort. Guillaume leaned over the edge of his crate. Smiling, he touched the bottle to Tom’s flask.

  “Let us drink to the captain’s health, mon ami.”

  “Aye.” Tom yanked the bottle from his companion and brought it to his lips. “Here’s health— to a dead man.” He drank.

  “Ah, I see you are riddling again.” Guillaume studied Tom’s face to find it suddenly resembling his brother’s, dark and brooding. The scar on Tom’s temple puckered as he scowled. With his heart in his boots, Guillaume dared to finger it. “Will you at least finish this story for me?”

  Tom brushed Guillaume’s hand away. “When I know the ending, I’ll tell it to you, mate.” His fingers fell to stroking his knife.

  Attempting to dispel his companion’s gloom, Guillaume joked as they shared the cognac. The warm, lingering taste of aged oak on the tongue was delightful. “Tom Tootles, when you begin to make sense to me, you may use that knife.”

  “Don’t think I won’t, Guillaume.”

  Guillaume disregarded the warning. He shed his jacket and oiled his way to the floor. The scent of the flowers remained strong, mixing with the quality of the drink. But Guillaume felt himself overpowered by something else. Something stronger.

  “No, Mr. Tom. Now I know your secret.”

  Tom smirked. “My secret?” He drank again, deeply. Guillaume waited for his companion to satisfy his thirst.

  “You told me yourself.” Judging his time, Guillaume scooted closer. “You don’t mean half of what you say.”

  “Don’t let the stink of those flowers befuddle you, mate. I’m not like you.”

  Again, Guillaume ignored Tom’s implication. “All men like the same thing, Mr. Tom.”

  “Do you like a knife in your gut?”

  Guillaume laughed. “Come, Mr. Tom. It is your brother who is known as ‘Nibs the Knife.’ But where did you get such an appellation as ‘Tootles?’”