Within A Captain's Power

by Lisa Olech

“Getting by a deaf man perhaps.” Sam gestured weakly toward the door.

  Tupper glared at her. “Bump may be deaf and dumb, but he is far from stupid.” Her anger was swift and heated.

  The reprimand stung. Sam rushed to explain her misjudgment. “I didn’t mean—”

  Tupper jabbed a sharp finger toward the door. “That man is the finest seaman on this ship. He’s been a member of this crew longer than I have, and he’s more intelligent than the rest of the lot put together. I’ll not have ye speak ill of him, not one word, or I’ll throw ye over the rails myself.”

  “I’m sorry. I take it back. I just thought—”

  Tupper’s voice rose. “I know what ye bloody well thought, and ye thought wrong.”

  Sam hurried to defend herself. “When he came in… It suddenly hit me how dangerous my situation is. I panicked.”

  “That’s a fine way to end up dead,” Tupper snapped. “And me with ye.” The crow squawked at her as well when Tupper shouted, flapping his wings in agitation.

  Sam held up her hands in defense. “I truly am sorry.”

  Tupper huffed. The crow flew awkwardly to her, as the room pulsed with tense anger. Samantha searched her mind for something to say. She was ashamed at her own rush to judgment. After a strained moment, she asked softly. “Is it hard for him? Being aboard ship and not being able to hear?” At Tupper’s glare, Sam was quick to continue. “I only mean, if it were me, I couldn’t imagine such an insurmountable challenge.”

  “Bump handles the challenges of this life as well as any man. He came aboard as a young child. He knows no other way.”

  “Is Bump a surname?”

  “He has no surname. His given name is William, but I’m sure I’m one of the few alive aboard to remember. He earned the nickname Bump his first days on the ship. He’s smart like I said, but it took him a bit to get used to things and develop a set of eyes in the back of his head. Couldn’t hear the warning shouts when a loose block got to swinging or when a boom went rogue. Had his head near cleaved in two a few times. Hence the name. But he’s a sixth sense about things now. There are those who looked out for him growing up, served as his ears. Sent him into the rigging when the fighting started. Taught him how to protect his back during a battle.”

  “What were you two doing with your hands?”

  “He uses a finger alphabet to spell words. We’ve adopted other gestures over the years to communicate. A Spanish monk put it all in a book.” Tupper moved to the built-in bookcase and slipped a well-worn tome from its slot, holding it aloft. “We…acquired a copy from a Spanish merchant ship.” Tupper met her gaze before opening the book and flipping through several dog-eared pages. “Lad learned it all. Faster than Gavin and I.”

  “Gavin?”

  Tupper returned the book to the shelf. “Captain Gavin Quinn. My late husband.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Tupper waved away her condolences. “I’ve no time for this chitchat. Last thing I need is some quaint sewing circle on board this ship. Ye’ll do well to remember I am neither your friend nor your mother. There’ll be no gossip sessions. No trading fashion tips or fussing with each other’s hair.” She swept the end of her braid back over her shoulder. “I’m the captain of this ship, and yer just another member of this crew.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good. Grab yerself a bite to eat and prepare te meet me on deck.” Tupper donned her hat and adjusted the wide leather belt over her chest before fitting two pistols into its holsters. “Be quick about it and…” Tupper notched her chin. “Good luck to us both.”

  Samantha’s stomach turned at the thought of food. Between sheer nerves and too much rum, she decided another morning without food wouldn’t kill her. Hell, had she not fled, there’d be no breakfast for days. She’d joked about missing Wessler, of course, but had she escaped one danger at Blackwater Plantation only to be in worse peril upon the Scarlet Night? There was one small difference, however. Death was a guarantee at Wessler’s hands. Here, death was merely a distinct possibility. That ribbon-thin scrap of hope was all she had to hang on to, but it was something.

  Sam pulled the glass chimney from a brass lamp, dirtied her face and neck with lampblack, then bound her chest as tightly as she could bear and practiced an angry set to her face. Overhead she could hear the footsteps and shouts of the crew as they began their day. Tupper was right, there was no turning back. Sam put a shaky hand on the door’s handle. Forcing herself to stop trembling, she took a deep breath and stepped out into the galley way heading toward the steps leading above deck.

  A heavyset bald man carrying a small barrel under his arm strode toward her, knocking her into the wall as he passed. “Out of me way, whelp.”

  Sam gripped at the rough wood behind her as she watched him move on. Her heart threatened to break out of her chest, but she straightened and continued on. “One down…fifty-four more to go.”

  Chapter 5

  Samantha shielded her eyes as she stepped into the bright sunlight upon the gently swaying deck. She had the distinct feeling of being a fat steak tossed into a pack of rabid wolves. Any moment she expected someone to turn her way, point a fated finger, and begin screaming “Woman!” With the charade over, the feeding frenzy would begin.

  Blood rushed in her ears as she moved through the crowd of coarse-edged pirates going about their duties. Eyes down, sneaking furtive glances, she made her way toward the bow of the ship in her quest to find Tupper.

  Moving along the deck, Sam passed a small orchestra playing a lively tune. A group of men mended sails. Others coiled rope and polished rails. Men bathed, some cleaned their weapons, sharpened blades, and several played a game with bone dice. The organized chaos on deck was impressive. Even more impressive, Sam felt practically invisible. No one stopped her or gave her much notice at all. Occasionally, she was told to move or watch out, but none gave her even a second glance. Maybe the sharks would have to look elsewhere for their dinner today.

  * * * *

  From high on the quarterdeck, Tupper watched Samantha wade through a sea of pirates. Tupper scanned the crew for even the slightest sign of curiosity. To her relief, there was none.

  What had she done? She could almost hear Gavin’s reprimands. He never would have tried to deceive his crew. They may have voted her in as captain after Gavin’s death, but she was not arrogant enough to believe she was a worthy replacement. In fact, she had doubted the sanity of their decision on more than a few occasions. Still, the girl needed help. Gavin would have wanted Tupper to go to her aid. He hated slavery on any level, and from what Isabelle had written in her note, Samantha was as much a slave as those working Blackwater’s tobacco fields. But her lot included Wessler’s personal attention. The thought made Tupper’s jaw tighten. She’d crossed paths with men like Wessler before. Most saw the blade of her cutlass. It was a mistake bringing Sam aboard, but it was an equal mistake leaving the bastard alive. Maybe she was getting soft in her old age? Tupper hoped it wouldn’t bite her in the end.

  “There be the Queen of the May. Are ye receiving homage from the lowly peasants this morn?” The Scarlet Night’s gunnery master, Malcolm MacTavish, scowled at her from under his grand bush of eyebrows. These days, there was more gray than red in his braided beard.

  MacTavish had been a member of the crew when Tupper first came aboard. Crusty as week-old bread and a right pain in her arse, but they’d seen each other through more than their share. He’d been there when Gavin died. A good man. He knew every kind of weapon ever made, and could fully arm a cannon single-handed and sharpen a blade that could split a hair. MacTavish held the secret of the Scarlet’s red smoke that plumed from their cannons when they attacked. It was a secret he only shared with one other. Her.

  “What are ye spouting off about now, old man?”

  “Ye leave us with our kilt flappin’ in the night’s breeze while ye run off te find some green-eared lad te shine yer boots? Do ye ken the risk
ye tuk?”

  Tupper watched the “lad” in question skirt past the men laying a fresh coat of tar on the rigging. “Of course I knew the risk.” Tupper spread her arms. “We’re away, aren’t we?”

  “Weel,” MacTavish crossed his arms and cocked his head. “while ye were dashin’ off into the dark, we had ourselves a wee visit.”

  She glared at him. “Why am I just hearing this now? Who?”

  MacTavish huffed. “Yer ladyship didn’t stay on deck long enough te give ye the news. It was Jefferies. Skull’s Cross. ”

  “Lying sack of shite.” Tupper brushed off the name with a wave. “Always scheming to fill his pockets. What was he trying to sell ye now?”

  “Weren’t sellin’ nothin.’ Came te warn us.”

  “The last time we took a warning from Jefferies, we ended up sailing into a bloody hurricane. Bastard doesn’t know east from his arsehole.”

  “Said there be a whole new storm a’brewing. Royals be out in force. Makin’ it so crews be clawing for scraps these days. Plus, King’s tired of waitin’ fer us to come in flyin’ the white flag. There’s a new hunt and our name be on the list of prey.”

  Tupper shook her head and scoffed. “What else is new? We’ve been hearing the same tale for months. They’ve always been thick patrolling the coast. Now’s no worse than before.”

  “That’s where ye be wrong.” MacTavish leaned closer, lowering his voice. He smelled of sulfur and smoked herring. “According to Jefferies, they’ve unleashed the HMS Lion te move in fer the kill. Ship’s a monster. Outguns us six te one. Full crew. Three hundred men or more.”

  “So? It’s a tub. You worry like an old woman.”

  Bump’s arrival momentarily blocked Tupper’s view of Sam. He’d be waiting for her to order a new heading. Tupper still hadn’t decided in which direction they should set course. Sam’s rescue put them a hundred miles away from where they’d planned. Time to study the charts with Bump and make another plan. She slapped MacTavish on the shoulder and moved to leave. “We can outrun any ship the navy sends our way.”

  “Not this one,” MacTavish called after her. “New hull. Beast’s got enough canvas to wrap the Scarlet Night like a Christmas gift fer the king.”

  She stopped and scowled over her shoulder at the big Scotsman. “And where did Jefferies say they were headed?”

  MacTavish lifted a meaty hand. “Said they were doing a sweep to catch those bloggers heading south te put up for the winter months.”

  Tupper held his gaze for a moment, considering. This could be another one of Jefferies tall tales, but if it were true…. She cocked her head. Her crew could fight better than any they’d ever crossed, but six-to-one were odds too steep even for them. Tupper figured they had one clear option.

  She looked back over the ship. Sam had reached the ladder way without a single notice. Tupper would be on high alert with her aboard. The girl might be tough, but she was no pirate. Even if she had made her mark on the Articles. Never would be. That was plain to see. There were too many risks. The sooner she got her off the ship, the better. Like it or not, the best place for Samantha Christian was back with her family in England. She’d deal with their shame far better than she’d deal with cannon fire and British patrols.

  Tupper nodded toward MacTavish. “Ye’ve given me a grand idea. Maybe we should forget sunning our decks this year and consider a late crossing to the north. Get the Night into port before the harbors freeze over. Curl up by a nice peat fire and feast on lamb and ale stew. Fine whiskey instead of rum. I could finish up a bit of unexpected business. After, ye could hang up yer fightin’ kilt once and for all.”

  MacTavish’s eyebrows brushed toward his hairline. “Ye be setting me off ship? Takin’ me home? Te Scotland?”

  “Why not? Yer older than dirt now. Ye’ve filled yer pockets with enough gold to see ye through more years than ye got left. Should have sent you ashore ages ago.”

  He smoothed a hand over his beard and beat on his chest. “’Cept ye couldn’t stand the thought of not seein’ me purty face every day.”

  Tupper scoffed. “Nay, it was more the smell of ye kept the rats away.”

  She nodded again as the plan fully formed in her mind. Best idea all the way ‘round. Drop the girl and take the Scarlet Night to tuck in up north. “Those navy bastards would never think we’d dare head in that direction. Not this late in the season. The Lion can chase its tail all it wants through the Caribbean. They’ll never find us.”

  “Home. Te me bonny Scotland.” MacTavish laid a wide, gnarled hand over his heart.

  Bump watched them intently, as was his way. Tupper would have to explain things to him...well, not everything. Sam came up behind him as Tupper jerked her chin to send him on to her cabin.

  Turning, Bump clipped Sam and knocked her to one side. He caught her by the scruff of her neck and glared into her face. Sam flinched and cowered under his stare.

  MacTavish laughed. “Need to teach the lad he can’t be coming up on Bump’s blind side. He’ll end up getting’ knocked on his scrawny arse.”

  Bump didn’t release Sam. Instead, he turned a heated gaze on Tupper. Her stomach dropped into her boots. Dammit all to hell…he knew.

  Tupper stood her ground as Bump’s anger pinned her to the spot. He let go of Sam’s collar. She righted her blouse and took a step closer to Tupper, eyes as wide as cannon barrels.

  “First day,” Tupper reminded MacTavish as her breathing kicked up a notch. “He’ll learn.” Her mind scrambled with what to do. Would Bump betray her? How the hell had he figured it out? “Are we primed and ready for a fight in case things turn to shite?” She directed her words once again toward MacTavish, even though she held tight to Bump’s glare.

  “We’ve enough powder and shot to blow ourselves to Kingdom Come twice over if need be.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” She jerked her chin once more in the direction of her quarters. Bump didn’t hesitate, pushing several aside as he marched down the ladder way and along the crowded deck. To Sam, Tupper snapped, “You come with me.”

  “Did I do something wrong?” Sam fell into step and hurried to keep up with Tupper’s stride.

  “No, I did.” Tupper followed in Bump’s wake.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We’ll discuss it in my quarters.”

  * * * *

  Bump waited large and angry in the middle of the room and jerked a sharply angled hand in front of his mouth. ‘Lie!’

  Tupper held up her hands in surrender. “I had to.”

  Bump shook his head and slapped his chest with the palm of his hand, ‘Not to me.’

  Behind her, Sam gasped. “He knows.”

  Tupper put her hands together in front of her and twisted them outward, making the question. “How did you guess?”

  Bump tapped his nose before rubbing his fingers together, shaking his head.

  “Son of a bitch,” muttered Tupper. “Only you would notice such a thing.”

  Sam looked back and forth between the two of them. “What? What did he say?”

  Tupper sighed. “He says you don’t smell as dirty as ye look.”

  Sam raised her sleeve and sniffed before lifting wide eyes to her. “Oh, God. We’re done for. I-I don’t want to die.”

  “No one’s dying. Not yet.”

  “But he’ll tell the rest of the crew.”

  “If you hadn’t noticed, he’s not a big talker.” Tupper put a fist to her heart and drew a circle. “I’m sorry.”

  Bump set his jaw and glared. She repeated the motion and apologized again. Through the hand gestures they both knew, Tupper tried to explain. Bump was furious. She’d never lied to him before. She needed him to understand she did it to protect him. If the rest of the crew discovered the secret of Sam’s identity, she didn’t want his neck on the chopping block as well.

  “Maybe it’s a good thing you know the truth.” Tupper put her fis
t in the palm of the other hand and lifted them both. Help. “You can help.”

  Bump narrowed his eyes.

  Tupper’s hands relayed her words. “With the patrols coming down hard, even changing our track won’t keep us out of trouble for long. This time of year, a northern cross will be rough. Storms will be rolling off the north African coast. Watch her back. Keep her out of harm’s way. Just until we reach England.”

  Sam followed the exchange intently, focusing on their hands. She lifted startled eyes to Tupper. “England?”

  “Our next stop. You’re going back to your family.”

  “But—”

  “I know you said you didn’t want to go to them, but I’m making the decisions here. Unless you’d like to swim back to that Wessler bastard in Virginia, where do you suppose I’m to drop you? You aren’t staying aboard this ship one second longer than necessary. If it means you swallow your pride and return to your family, too damn bad. Least you have a family to go home to.”

  Tupper rubbed a hand over her aching forehead. “If it makes you feel any better, there’s a good chance none of us will survive getting there.” She snatched at a fresh bottle of rum, and squeaked the cork from its neck with her teeth before spitting it to the floor. “Here’s hoping.” She took a pull straight from the bottle.

  Sam opened her mouth, but shut it again.

  “Good. We’ll scrape you a dry corner of the forward hold. I want you to limit your time on deck, and stay out of sight as much as possible. Not hidden away, as they’ve all seen ye, just not under any other keen noses like this one.” She jerked a thumb in Bump’s direction. “And you,” she pointed to the charts littering her desk, “we need to be findin’ a route to keep us away from the claws of a bloody Lion.”

  Chapter 6

  Sam tucked her knees to her chest and tried to still the racing of her heart. Tupper and Bump were bent over their maps and sea charts. Every few minutes, they would exchange the odd motions of their hands in a silent conversation. She wished she understood what they were saying. For all Sam knew, they were devising a plan to hoist her naked up the flagpole.