by C. K. Brooke
She picked up the glass and tilted it to examine her bust and the rest of her figure. Why, she was a woman, through and through, as plump and feminine as any of the dames her father’s men had sung chanties about or flirted with at port. No wonder Captain Morrow couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.
A knock at the door interrupted her vanity. She set the candle back onto the saucer with haste. “Enter,” Abi said.
The door creaked open. It was Mr. DuPont, holding a dainty floral teacup. Aside from a chip in the rim, it looked hardly used. “Cup o’ tea for you, miss.”
“For me?” Abi received it, appreciating the warmth between her hands. She noticed, as DuPont extended his arm to give it to her, a tattoo trailing up his inner forearm.
The sailor caught her peeking, and was quick to adjust his sleeve. “Cap’n wishes to know if you need anything else before you retire.”
Abi shook her head.
“Right, then. G’night.”
“Mr. DuPont?” Abi called him back. “Forgive me, but is that a tattoo on your wrist?”
He hesitated before confessing, “Aye.”
“Unless I’m mistaken,” she dropped her voice, “and I know I’m not—that means you were once a pirate?”
DuPont awarded her a small smile. “Guilty as charged. Truth be told, I was captured meself by these privateers, some time ago.”
Abi took in a breath. Had she found an ally?
“But,” he continued, “they’re good folk, and have taken fine care of me, given me honest work and wages, so I’ve since switched sides. And if you’re smart,” he gave her a nod, “you will too.”
Abi didn’t flinch. “I will never betray my father.”
“Suit yourself.” He leaned in. “Only, a word to the wise. If you really wish to protect your pa, then you’d best be treatin’ Captain Morrow with a smidgen more respect, m’dear. Might go a long way.” He backed out of her makeshift cabin. “Enjoy your tea,” he bade her pleasantly, closing the door.
Abi was left holding the teacup, mulling over DuPont’s advice. She pondered the day’s events and her every interaction with Captain Morrow, from spitting on his boot to slapping his hand, kneeing him between the legs, and slamming the door in his face. “Oh, dear,” Abi realized. But Mr. DuPont was right. That sort of behavior was no way to convince the captain to relent, calling the chase off of her father and setting her free.
Her eyes wandered back to the glass saucer. Catching a glimpse of her tanned skin in the plate’s rounded edges, an idea occurred to her. Perhaps another tactic would be in store for the supposedly ‘indomitable’ captain.
Chapter 5
It was just before dawn when the plodding of footfalls above and the frothy song of the sea awoke her. Abi rolled over on her mat and almost bumped her head on a shelf. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and tried to make out shapes in the dark little closet. A barely perceptible rim of light was just beginning to filter in through the bottom of the door.
She was startled by a knock. Why, was the rest of the crew unaware that she slept there? No, she quickly corrected herself, for they’d thought to knock. “Come in?” she croaked sleepily, her questioning tone giving away her curiosity for who the early caller might be.
The door opened. An older man, as well-dressed as the captain, glanced from wall to wall—which didn’t take long—before resting his focus upon Abi. Out from beneath his cap grew mouse-brown hair streaked with some gray, while his lined face appeared friendly. “Good morning, Miss Clear.”
“Morning,” replied Abi, who was still unused to being addressed as a ‘miss.’
“My name is Mr. Calahad. I am first mate of the ship. Captain Morrow sent me to inform you that there are fish and rolls in the galley. You’re welcome to break your fast whenever you wish.”
Abi thanked him, wondering why the crew had taken to treating her so well. “Erm…Mr. Calahad?”
He watched her patiently.
She wanted to inquire why Captain Morrow hadn’t come to inform her himself. But then, she recalled the previous night with embarrassment, and the answer became plain. What she ended up asking instead was, “Where is the captain having his breakfast?”
“At the helm, I believe. But best not to disturb him.” Calahad winked. “Busy man, you know.”
Abi nodded at the floor. “Quite.”
Calahad departed without closing the door, and Abi knew it was time to arise. With her fingers, she combed out her red tresses. She wouldn’t go after the captain so early in the day. But she had a plan in mind.
***
The sun was hot and high as Abi strolled along the main deck, hoping for a glimpse of Captain Morrow. She’d been biding her time all morning, awaiting the perfect moment to conveniently bump into him. Only thing was, she couldn’t be too obvious. Just how she saw through the man’s attempts at kindness, he might become skeptical if her change in demeanor was too drastic.
Amidships, she recognized the bearded sailor called Shellig sitting cross-legged. He appeared to be sewing a patch for the mainsail. He ran the needle and thread quite capably. Abi noticed an old white sheet beside him, which he’d been slicing with his knife, from which to borrow material. “Ahoy, Mr. Shellig,” she greeted, making her way over.
“Why, hallo, Miz Clear.”
She indicated the sheet. “Might you have a stretch of fabric to spare?”
“Well, sure.” He squinted up at her. “How long d’ye need?”
“Long enough for a shawl.” Abi wasn’t very well going to continue parading about the ship with her breasts bubbling out, was she? And if she wasn’t permitted to dress as a man, then she would find a passable solution to regain her modesty.
Shellig went to work, measuring and cutting a strip from the cloth that could wrap around her. Abi knelt and took up a spare needle and some of his thread to assist him. Every ship, even pirate ones, needed hands that knew sewing for the care of the masts and sails. Abi had learned how, long ago, from her father’s men on the many listless and uneventful days at sea.
It was noon when Abi and Mr. Shellig had come up with something simple and satisfactory, its edges neatly folded and sewn down to hide the jagged hew of the sailor’s knife. Abi draped it across her shoulders. Bringing the bottom ends together in front, she tied them loosely so that it wouldn’t slide off. At last, her bosom was adequately concealed. Beaming, she thanked him.
“Time to break.” Shellig rose eagerly, tipping his hat at Abi. Curious, she followed him up to the quarterdeck, where the murmur of voices and conversation grew louder. But one voice was prevailing above all—a tougher, deeper one. As Abi listened, drawing nearer, she noticed something rather musical about its essence today.
“They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters…”
Shellig had already broken from her side to join his fellows. Abi kept moving, her eyes resting on the back of the one who stood reading from a worn, leather-bound book. Meanwhile, the others worked, casting out fishing lines and mending nets on the slimy floor.
“…His wonders in the deep. For He commandeth, and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the waves thereof. They mount up to the heaven, they go down again to the depths.”
Abi stopped behind him, intrigued. She had never heard such verse—though she suspected his powerful voice could make even the dullest of correspondences sound like a song.
“They reel to and fro,” Captain Morrow read, his voice crisp and eloquent, twisting the sentences in that poetic accent of his, “and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wit’s end. Then they cry unto the Lord…He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still.”
He paused after this, and Abi couldn’t help but remark, “That was most lovely, Captain.”
The man turned, clearly surprised. Seeing Abi, he closed the book abruptly, a spurt of dust lifting from the pages as they clamped back together.
She furrowed her brow. “No—keep going. I’d like to hea
r more.”
Morrow did not acknowledge her, only nodded at his men. “That’ll do fer today, gen’lemen. Now, go an’ eat. Ye deserve a break.”
The sailors saluted their captain as he strode away, happiness overtaking their sunburnt faces at the prospect of a warm meal. Abi found DuPont among them, and touched his sleeve. “What was the captain reading?” she asked.
“’Tis Sunday,” he replied. “And every Sunday, Captain Morrow reads to us from the Book of Psalms.”
“Psalms?” Abi recognized the word. “As in, from the Holy Book?”
“Aye. He says it’s good for our character.”
Abi almost snorted, but bridled herself. All of that psalm-reading, beautiful as it may have sounded, had obviously done nothing to improve upon James Morrow’s unruly person.
She could still make out his prominent shape receding down to the main deck, and did not want to miss her opportunity. Excusing herself from Mr. DuPont, she wove through the sailors breaking for mealtime, and skipped across the planks to reach the captain.
She was lost for air when she finally caught up with him. But he didn’t slow for her. “Captain Morrow,” she said, perhaps too firmly. She immediately plastered on a smile when he glanced indifferently at her. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you all day.”
He only kept walking. So Abi hastened her pace.
“I wish to apologize for my rudeness last night.” She wanted to offer a sweet bat of her lashes, but he didn’t seem to be paying much attention. “I was shaken, is all. Can you blame me?” She laughed uncomfortably. “I mean, I’d been kidnapped, locked in your brig, and forced to bathe in cold water. Not to mention, you then tried to—”
Morrow wove around a corner, cutting her off. Abi hurried again to his side. Something told her he was trying to lose her. He acted as though he hadn’t heard a word she said.
Growing frustrated, she stepped in front of him, barring his way. He finally stopped. “Look, Captain,” she appealed with sincerity, “can we please just put an end to all of this nonsense between us?”
“What is it you want?” the man growled.
Abi bit her lip. “I’m just a girl, sir, and of no real value to you. Honestly,” she begged, when he only scowled at her. “Why not simply set me free at the nearest port?” Her tone was pleading. “I’ll return to the Colonies and keep my head down from here on, I vow it.”
Abi was disappointed when a mocking smirk stretched its way up the captain’s close-shaven lips. “Oh, but I believe you’re of value,” he insisted, his voice disconcertingly quiet. “And I intend to keep ye, until you’ve relayed every last, little detail about yer scoundrel father and where I shall find him.” With that, he resumed on his way.
Abi gripped his arm to keep up. “What is your obsession with my father, anyway?”
He looked on. “Oh, our enmity goes back some years.”
“That’s doubtful,” said Abi, “because I’d never even heard your name before yesterday. And I know the names of all his enemies,” she boasted, “and what their flags look like. Papa taught me, so that I would recognize if one of them attacked.”
“What else did he teach you?” grunted Morrow. “How to spit and kick and curse?”
Abi was somewhat abashed at this. “I told you, I’m sorry about last night. But in fact, I was never permitted to curse aboard The Succubus,” she informed him. “Though I heard plenty from his crew, Papa didn’t think it proper for a girl to repeat it.”
“Yet he deemed it proper that you wear men’s attire and dwell amongst the most vulgar of them in his den of thieves?” retorted Morrow coolly.
It was no use, she realized. Abi wasn’t getting through to him. Giving up, she released his arm.
She wasn’t expecting it when his voice lifted behind her. “Abigail?”
She halted, and cautiously turned back. They watched each other an arm’s length apart, Abi anxious for whatever he should want to say.
“If you’ll agree to keep things civil—as will I,” the captain spoke carefully, “then I’d like to invite you to dine with me again this evening.”
The fine hair on her arms tingled.
“And maybe,” he went on, brown eyes surveying her, “I’ll read more to ye, alone…if you want.”
He had barely finished speaking when Abi blurted, “Absolutely!”
He didn’t return her grin before facing his back to her again and descending to his quarters. But that was no matter for Abi, who clasped her hands together in delight. Though he had refused her direct request, she seemed to be making progress!
Mr. DuPont had been right, she thought. She was glad to have minded his advice. She stepped up to the wooden rail, where she could feel the briny wind in her hair, and paused to look out upon the shimmering ocean. Mayhap, if she was respectful enough to Captain Morrow, he would ultimately decide against pursuing her father, and at some point let her go. It was a big mayhap.
But it was worth trying.
***
James Morrow reclined at his bureau, raising a flask to his lips. He’d finished his midday meal and had placed the empty dishes outside of his door for Cook to gather. In the meantime, the captain did not wish to be disturbed.
He tried to study the map in front of him, but his mind kept wandering. At last, he pushed the scroll aside. Abigail, he thought, drawing another sip. He coughed on the harsh liquid. It seemed he’d been successful, in that she was now pursuing his attention. Although it was only in the interest of her freedom. And the change, he sensed, felt a little sudden, hadn’t it? Had one of his crew had a word with her?
Not likely, he decided—for to whom would she listen? The girl was a renegade, heeded no one. Trying to force compliance out of her was like pulling a dog’s teeth. The man’s suspicion mounted. She couldn’t really be warming up to him so soon. It was only a sweetening act, in hopes for her liberation.
He’d simply have to be on his guard that evening, Morrow decided, fastening the lid back onto the flask. He couldn’t permit things to move too quickly. Not until he was sure he’d really stolen her loyalty. The lassie might have no trouble swallowing her pride and making peace with him, if she thought it would fool him. But she wasn’t going to relinquish her well-kept virtue unless Morrow had truly won her over.
And that would be his job, for now, to be taken slowly. He would build up her faith, her trust…and then he would test the waters again, in time.
Chapter 6
Abi ascertained once more that her shawl was smoothly folded over her front. One of the crew had loaned her a spare bone comb, and she ran it through her hair a final time. After examining herself in the little saucer mirror, she deemed it time, and slipped out of her makeshift cabin.
The young woman found her way to the captain’s quarters, going by memory from the previous night. She was savvy with navigating a ship, having lived on one for most of her life. Certainly, she’d spent more of her years on a ship than off of one.
She was about to reach the captain’s door when the tall form of Mr. Calahad bustled past. Spotting Abi, he stopped mid-step. “Good evening, Miss Clear. May I help you with something?”
“Captain Morrow invited me to dine with him tonight.” She indicated the closed door, imagining the man behind it, possibly seated at his impressive table, expecting her. “Is he ready for me?”
Calahad chuckled. “Oh, failed to tell you, did he?”
“Tell me what?” said Abi, as Calahad offered the crook of his arm. Bemused, she took it.
He guided her up the companionway and out to the warm night. “You’ll be taking your supper at the prow.”
Indeed, when they reached the forecastle, a small table awaited at the end of the bow, draped in white cloth and set for two. Someone had lit a candle and placed it in a filmy green glass jar. The little flame rippled with the movement of the ship. Abi blinked, taking it in. Beneath the cloudless, starry sky, it felt almost…romantic.
Mr. Calahad pulled out her chair. A
bi gave him a cautious glance before sitting. He neatly tucked her in. No one had ever held open doors and pulled out chairs for her before her internment on The Indomitable. Abi couldn’t determine what to make of it.
“Enjoy.” With a bow, Calahad departed, leaving her alone in the soft candlelight.
The young woman peered over the edge of the ship, watching the deep, black waves shifting and parting far beneath her. She had learned as a child that, if she stared down long enough, she could lose herself in the ocean’s rhythm. Her life, name, and body…all of it would vaporize on the wind, until she was one with the sea.
The moon was half-full that night, its reflection warping over the moving waters. She gazed into its gentle, fluid light, losing track of time.
After what must have been the better part of an hour, she realized she was still alone, still waiting. The moonlit ocean’s spell was broken as she turned away at last, gazing up the forecastle in search of a sign of the captain. Had he forgotten her? Or else, had he deliberately slighted her? Was that the point, to make a fool of her?
Abi was preparing to go and find her own supper when she heard someone approaching. She relaxed in her chair, discerning a familiar shape heading in her direction.
“Evening.” He lifted a hand in salutation.
“You decided to show up after all,” she remarked.
“Excuse my tardiness.” The captain came into view, and something in Abi’s stomach leapt like a land-bound fish. And yet, she noticed he was wearing that awful hat again—the one with the sewed-on hair.
She sighed. “Why do you wear that, Captain?” she asked, before she could stop herself. But for some reason, the more he wore it, the less tolerable she found it. Why not just be himself? Why the disguise?
“Wear what?” He stroked his waistcoat, as though that was what she’d meant.
“The hat,” Abi clarified. “I much prefer you without it.” As soon as she delivered the statement, she reddened. It had sounded quite more forward aloud than intended.