by Andrea Jones
He pitched his voice discreetly so that none of the men might hear him. “Liza! Take that tray to the galley and get to our quarters. We have matters to discuss. And for God’s sake, girl, pin up your hair! You look like a strumpet.” He thumped the tip of his cane on the deck for emphasis and strode toward the hatch without its assistance. For all his temper, he moved with grace, swiftly descending below.
Liza didn’t know she hadn’t moved until Tom was there in his yellow shirt, taking the tray from her hands and bending his head to look into her eyes.
“You go on, Miss. I’ll take care of this tray for you.” Tom stole a glance at Mr. Starkey, who stood glowering with a cutlass in his hand and a sturdy schoolroom ruler protruding from his pocket.
Tom turned back to the girl. “Here, then.” Balancing the tray in one hand, he pulled out his polishing cloth. His dagger gleamed, sharp and secure in the grip of his belt. He snapped the rag loose. Dabbing at the tear swelling in each of her eyes, he was careful to keep his distance.
“Just to touch you would fetch any of us a beating— the captain’s especial order— so I’m not allowed to kiss you again. However much you want me to.” He smiled at her indignation. “Ah, Miss, I can see you’re disappointed!”
He had guessed correctly; his banter was just what the girl needed.
Shoving his hand and his rag away, she glared at him, then stalked off toward the hatch, her brown skirts swishing, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. No sailor lad would pity Liza Hanover! She was a queen’s lady. When she chose to be.
Tom nodded at her angry backside and stowed the rag. Tucking a thumb in his belt, he swaggered over to his mates, who eyed him with raised eyebrows and new respect.
“Well,” said Mr. Starkey, his head at an angle. “Aren’t we the gentleman, now! You’re learning Mr. Smee’s way with the ladies, aren’t you— Sir?” His scarry face soured. “I won’t warn you again. Now pick up your sword and show me what else you’ve learned, you randy billy goat!”
Tom just had time to seize his weapon. The tea tray smashed on the boards as yet another fencing lesson began, accompanied by the howls and laughter of Red-Handed Jill’s lusty gentlemen.
§ § §
At the change of shift, Mr. Cecco knocked just below the polished brass plate bearing his captain’s name. Like all shining metals, it drew his eye. He wondered if he heard or if he imagined the song of his lady’s skirts, and then the door opened.
Jill inclined her head. He bowed, taking in her beauty as he did so. He didn’t have to speak his appreciation. His dusky eyes said it for him.
“Madam. You wished to see me.” His smile flashed like his bracelets.
She stepped onto the companionway. “Yes, Mr. Cecco. Concerning a ring belonging to the girl.”
“Ah, yes! The pink pearls.”
“Liza has asked for its return, and as a gesture of good faith at the beginning of her service…”
“Of course. I have no attachment to it. Like the girl, it is only a trinket compared to the magnificence of her mistress.”
Jill smiled, but made light of the compliment. “Then why did you take it?”
“Madam, like you, I am much attracted to beautiful things. Nor do I have to look far to find them.” He stopped smiling and stared directly into her eyes. “When something lovely becomes available to me, I take it.”
Jill felt herself pulled, like metal to a magnet. But, regaining her poise, she laughed, and put him in his place. “Right off the finger of a girl!”
Cecco shrugged. “A girl today. Perhaps tomorrow, a woman.”
The lady was not unmoved, but she was shrewd. She returned to business. “What will you require in exchange for this ‘trinket,’ Mr. Cecco? I wish to be fair.”
“I wish only for you to think well of me, Lady. Or simply to think of me. That is all. A fair price, yes?”
“It is no price at all, yet I will honor it.”
“The next time your little girl comes to you, she will receive her pearls. May they make her as happy as they have made me.” Cecco slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out the ring. He held it up between the supple finger and thumb of his right hand and, cordially, he offered it to the lady.
“Thank you.”
He had anticipated this moment, imagined it many times. It played out just as he had hoped. Cecco watched avidly, savoring it.
Jill raised her forearm. Her hand turned upward. Her scarlet fingers banded together to accept the little object. She reached out to him…and he touched her.
He placed the fingers of his left hand under hers. He bent his head to her hand, and he kissed her ruby palm. Startled, Jill pulled back, her smile frozen. His lips pressed warm upon her skin, and then he removed his fingers from hers.
She didn’t want to obey the urge to look at his face. She looked at her hand. The smile slipped from her lips, and she stared as she comprehended what she held. A little golden ring with two pink pearls, nestling in her palm. His right hand, which seemed not to have moved, was empty.
Cecco, her devoted sailor, smiled a secret smile, all the way from his lips to his eyes. His voice entered her ear, intimate. “I thank you…Bellezza.”
Jill didn’t see him stride down the steps to take the helm. She didn’t see Yulunga turning back to the wheel, grinning. She was gazing into her palm, trying to understand what had happened.
Yulunga could have told her.
It was gypsy magic. And not the last of it.
Chapter 6
Old Acquaintance
It was late afternoon and the captain was at the wheel when the call came from the crow’s nest. Jill stood before him, learning the feel of it, the pulse of his ship. The first things she’d noticed were the scars on the wheel, wherever her right hand settled. His hook had left its signature in sharp, dry cuts within the spokes and on the handles. Now, standing with her arms just below his, Jill was learning the names of the sails, and the manners of the winds, and how best the two should meet. She was still new to sailing, and Hook was teaching her with words, to begin. The rest she’d have to learn from the sea’s lessons, on the voyages that lay ahead.
Jill looked up at the surging canvas, rising in layers of elegant tiers. She sensed Hook following her gaze. If this ship could fly, these sails would be her wings. She was a bird of prey, stretching out white and borne on the wind, but she flew in her own way, skimming over the sea. Jill had seen her from above, a master-crafted gem set in the ocean, her decks and her crew worth more to Hook, perhaps, than all his other treasure combined.
Hook read her thoughts. He leaned close to her ear so that his whiskers brushed her. She closed her eyes to feel him speak to her.
“Perhaps tonight, if all is quiet—”
“Sail ho! To portside, Sir!” Jukes’ voice sang out from above. The deck hands rushed to the rail, and Hook turned sharply to port. Jill could see a speck on the water some leagues away.
“Take the helm.” He left her, snatching up a spyglass and striding to the side. He supported the glass in the crook of his hook, and watched in silence. The sailors surrounding him caught his tension. They were suddenly alert, excitement coursing through their veins, and more men soon assembled though the bell on the quarterdeck had not yet summoned them. Smee materialized at his captain’s right.
“Sir? The lads are ready.”
“Thank you, Mr. Smee.” The breeze buffeted the feathers on the broad hat brim, but otherwise the captain was still. Nibs, standing with the rest, quickly tired of waiting and shoved away from the gunwale to leap up the ratlines to the crow’s nest. He swung his lanky limbs over its rail and hopped down next to Jukes.
“Have a look, Mr. Nibs, and see if you can spot her flag before the captain does. Look sharp!”
Nibs grasped the glass and focused. The speck, magnified, became a ship, and the ship inched nearer, rounding to bear straight for the Roger. “She’s—”
“She’s French! We know her.”
Nibs l
owered the glass and shrugged at Jukes. Jukes’ tattoos contracted as he winked, taking the instrument back.
Hook handed his spyglass to Smee and squinted at the horizon while Jukes confirmed the captain’s words.
“It’s L’Ormonde, Sir! Still flying the French colors!”
“No need to hide ours, then. Run up the Roger!” As soon as the black flag unfurled to grin in sunshine, a puff of white smoke erupted from the starboard side of the oncoming ship. Several seconds later the shot was heard, a peal of distant thunder. Hook exchanged a significant glance with his bo’sun.
“She has business with us.”
Smee snorted. “What business would that little rooster be having with us, I’m wondering?”
“Something important to him, otherwise he’d never cross my path.”
“Shall we finish it once and for all, Sir?”
“I think not, Mr. Smee. He amuses me. More importantly, his ship rides high in the water.”
Smee spied through the glass. “Aye, nothing there to be bothering with.”
“Furl sails, and fire an answering shot.”
“Aye, Sir.” The bo’sun turned to the men. “Away aloft! Furl sails!” The deck gang swarmed up the ratlines and manned the yardarms to clip the Roger’s wings. Smee picked out Starkey in the crowd. “Fire one shot off the bow!”
Starkey bobbed his head. “Aye, aye! Mr. Nibs, Mr. Tootles! You heard the order.” Tom looked up at Nibs, who swung easily down from the crow’s nest, and under the direction of their tutor and the master gunner, the new sailors applied themselves to the forwardmost cannon.
Smee turned back to his captain. “We’ll make him welcome, then, and see what he’s about?”
“Yes, a cask in the galley. I’ll allow a small party to board. But set some men on watch. These privateers have light fingers.” The Roger’s gun exploded with a boom that lodged in the chests of all aboard. Erupting from a shroud of smoke, the iron ball arced, whistling far across the waves, and, having served its purpose, plunked into the sea. The gun backed off like a stubborn mule, bouncing against its breechings. Smiling, Tom dusted his hands on his britches and Nibs whipped his orange kerchief off his head to beat it against his thigh. He waved it at Jill before tying it on again, and she saluted them from behind the wheel.
Always on guard for the mistress, Smee saw her. He asked the captain, “And Sir,” he cocked an eye toward the helm, “What about the lady?”
Hook raised his chin. “Nothing to fear there, Mr. Smee. Captain LeCorbeau is impervious to feminine charm. But I’ll attend to her; you watch the ship. Assign someone to the helm. My lady and I must lay our plans. You may report to me in our quarters.”
Smee nodded and tramped up the deck, calling and gesturing. “Mullins! Cecco! And you, mate…” He spotted Yulunga and jerked his head to avoid speaking the ill-omened name. “You’re to keep strict watch on these Frenchmen. Cap’n’s wanting to show them his hospitality, but not too much of it.”
Hook returned to Jill at the wheel. “My love, it seems we must prepare for visitors. An old acquaintance. Will you join us in the galley?”
“Of course. But who is it?”
“DéDé LeCorbeau. A privateer. More accurately, a pirate, with papers to prove it.”
“I see. A rival?”
“He flatters himself so.”
“French?”
“With all the name implies.”
“I’ll see that Liza hides away, then.”
“No need. More to the point, keep an eye on your sons. The man is like a magpie. He’ll steal anything that catches his fancy.”
Jill raised one eyebrow. “Indeed? I have been warned.”
“I will join you in our quarters shortly, Madam. We shall map out the evening’s events.”
“Aye, Captain.” She turned away, leaving the helm to Hook and nearly colliding with the surgeon.
“My apologies, Madam.” Hanover steadied her, then, catching her eye, grew conscious of his touch. He let go of her. “What is the commotion about? And the cannon fire?”
Looking past him, Jill saw Liza standing, watching, by the hatch. The girl had pinned her hair up and changed into a more attractive dress, blue trimmed with white lace that suggested a lower neckline. The bodice laced tight in front and the skirt rippled in the wind. Liza stood awkwardly, leaning her weight on one leg.
“Doctor. Those were hailing shots. A ship has been sighted, a French privateer with which the captain is familiar. We will welcome her commandant and a few of her sailors aboard. You may join us if you wish.”
Immediately, Doctor Hanover’s attention shifted to the approaching vessel. “Excuse me.” He marched to the rail and stared at the approaching ship. Jill noted the rigid line of his back, and his face paling beneath his scar. He stood for some moments as if rooted to the deck, then his posture relaxed and he took a long breath. He reached for his watch, and, abruptly, he called to his daughter.
“Liza!”
She looked to her mistress, who consented, and then she hastened to her father’s side. Jill thought the girl lurched a little. She didn’t seem as steady on her feet as she had been that morning.
“Fetch me my cane, and then you are to stay well away from these brigands, do you hear?” Having dismissed his daughter, Hanover turned away to study the progress of the privateer.
Again, Liza glanced at the lady, then slid silently away.
As Jill watched the doctor, she felt her attention drawn toward Hook. He was standing tall behind the wheel, his earring gleaming in the slanting sunlight, regarding her with a question in his eyes. He, too, had caught the surgeon’s reaction to the sight of L’Ormonde. The three figures stood motionless beneath the activity in the rigging.
And then, amid the shouts and the shufflings of canvas, the doctor surprised them.
“So,” he remarked as he addressed Hook and Jill in his most cordial tone. Unnecessarily, he tugged his irreproachable waistcoat into place. “It is to be another party tonight, with privateers! I wonder. Are we raising our standards, Madam, or lowering them?” He regarded Jill quizzically, and she saw the smile break through his generous lips, and then the doctor loosed his quick gust of a laugh.
Jill looked sly. “It is as I told you, Sir. We are reinventing them.”
Hook smiled shrewdly. “An interesting question. I will leave the final assessment up to you, Hanover. You are a man of science. Like the rest of us, you should enjoy the experiment.”
§ § §
On board the Jolly Roger at last, Captain LeCorbeau cut a jerky bow, smiling. “Alors, mon ami! It has been long since we have shared the pleasure of a meeting.” His hair was tied back with black ribbon, the shorter hairs in front spilling over his forehead. He was dressed in his splendid best, an embroidered coat of auburn and brown, iridescent like a cock’s tail, with shining brass buttons. Supervised by Mr. Starkey, Nibs and Tom were stowing the planking. Mason had joined Jukes in the crow’s nest to keep an eye on L’Ormonde, which floated to a safe distance to await her captain’s return. She had watchers of her own on guard; her sailors lined the rail, weapons discreetly but handily near. Both ships had furled their sails and now lay bobbing at anchor, at the whim of the sea.
Flanked by the musculature of Cecco and Mullins, Hook stepped toward his three guests. Beneath his gem-studded hat, his sleek black hair fell like a lion’s mane. “LeCorbeau. I was thinking the very same thing. To what twist of fate do we owe today’s fortune?”
LeCorbeau pulled his attention from the two young men working by the gunwale, his lace cuffs fluttering as he answered. “Eh, merely a happy accident. So kind of you to invite us aboard for a taste of Hook’s famous hospitality.” He stole another quick glance along the deck, then, “Sir, may I present my first officer, Monsieur Renaud. My second, Monsieur Guillaume. Mes hommes, the legendary Captain Hook!”
Renaud and Guillaume, dressed in uniforms of red and blue and brushed to perfection, bowed formally, but remained silent. They were
under strict orders.
Hook inspected the two dapper officers with an indulgent smile. Any one of his men could snap these gentlemen in two. As he gestured, his hook flashed in the late sunlight. “May I present my bo’sun, Mr. Smee, whom you already know, LeCorbeau. You are also familiar with Mr. Cecco and Mr. Mullins… and I would have you know my ship’s surgeon, Doctor Hanover.…Monsieur le Commandant.”
The surgeon’s gray eyes met the French captain’s beady ones, and he bowed, a model of courtesy. “Sir.”
Pleasantly, LeCorbeau smiled. “Why, Captain! A new addition to your officers? I have often thought of hiring on a surgeon, myself.” His voice took on the least bit of an edge. “But it seems not likely at this point.” The little captain bestowed a brief nod in Hanover’s direction. “Sir.”
Jill’s bare feet moved silently over the boards. It was the tread of Yulunga walking behind her that caught the notice of the two captains and their men. The black man’s enormous frame accentuated her elegance. Liza followed them, almost invisible even in her pretty blue dress. Captain Hook acknowledged Yulunga, but his gaze swept past the girl, whose eyes fixed hungrily on his handsome face. As Jill approached, he reached out to her, his rings sparkling. “Madam, you have arrived.” In gold taffeta and tawny brown velvet, they presented a well-matched pair to the company.
“Allow me to introduce our guests. Captain DéDé LeCorbeau; first and second officers Renaud and Guillaume of L’Ormonde…my lady, Jill Red-Hand.”
LeCorbeau registered the bulk and height of the African sailor and the slight little girl in his wake with her mistress’ cape draped over her arm, but during Hook’s introduction his eyebrows rose to disappear under his hair. It wasn’t the presence of a fancy-woman that surprised him. It was her demeanor. He managed to look the lady up and down without offending etiquette, then took three quick steps toward her, his deportment gracious.
“Madame! A welcome novelty. Just as I begin to believe I know this pirate king, he defies prediction and takes a queen! I had no idea your captain had acquired such a treasure.” He held out his hand to her.