“If that’s the case, you chose the right ship. I’m in a hurry myself.”
“Where are you …” Molly stopped herself. “Pardon me, I suppose that’s not my business. I would just like to know where I could get off next.”
“Oh, by all means, ask. It isn’t as though I’ll tell you the truth.” He grinned.
Molly’s smile became crooked. “Well then, my curiosity shouldn’t be a nuisance.”
“Not at all. For formality’s sake, my name is Thomas Crowe. I sail under my own flag, go where I please and do as I please when I get there. Sympathizers, well-wishers and friends—few in number—call me an adventurer, while the narrow-minded and antagonistic set refer to me as a pirate. Can you believe that? Personally, I prefer the term ‘tradesman.’ Traveling and buying and selling is my business. And you, miss?”
“Oh. I am Molly Bishop.” She decided to make her introduction not quite as detailed. “May I ask what you trade, Mr. Crowe?”
“It varies with my mood and current interests,” he answered plainly.
“I see.” She glanced down and clawed away the rind from her orange.
“You know, miss, you don’t look like the type of woman one would find out at sea or this far into contested waters.”
“Well, I guess I’m not, not until recently, anyway.”
“I see. The one thing that surprises me most is your reaction to my name. You see, when I meet new people, I can usually expect them to turn a pistol on me … or a sword or a knife or, well, I think you get the point. It is refreshing to have met a nice young lady who doesn’t shy away. Thank you for that.”
“I can’t see why I would. You seem pleasant enough, for a pirate, or …” Molly stopped short, choking on her words. “Oh! I didn’t mean to say it like that!” She blushed crimson, unable to finish her sentence and wondering whether the man would shoot her or cut off her head. Pirates…she thought, kicking herself…I’m out of the pan and into the fire!
“No, it’s all right.” Thomas smiled.
A man approached him from the left and waited until Tom saw him before speaking. “Captain, sir, the cannons on second deck need cleaning and we’re out of rags. Permission to go to the stores?”
“Yes, and check on the condition of the hull on the third deck if you’re going down below.” Tom handed him a ring of keys.
“Yes sir.” The man turned to leave.
“Mr. Bardow?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I’ll want a full inventory count by morning. We’ll be docking again soon. And this time, have one of the men accompany you.” Tom’s look suggested that he did not completely trust the man’s integrity.
“Aye, sir,” said Bardow as humbly as possible. He turned to leave again, glancing quickly from the captain to the strange girl standing by him. Tom didn’t like the way Bardow studied Molly, but he excused the man and turned his attention back to the young stowaway who was busily eating her orange.
“Miss … Bishop, was it? I’ll have a cabin prepared for you before the crew cleans up for the night.” He pointed to a door on deck. “That cabin there happens to be unoccupied at present. It’s adjacent to my own. It will be yours.”
“I appreciate it, Captain. Thank you again,” Molly said, wondering what had just transpired between Tom and Bardow. She knew there was something, but she didn’t understand it.
“While I’m on the subject of your living arrangements,” Tom continued, pausing to think for a moment, “you’ll need to serve some purpose. On a ship it is crucial that each and every man—or lady—contribute in some way. That is the way of life out here,” he explained. “But more than anything, I cannot afford to show any one person any favor, you understand. I can’t think of anything specific for you to do, unless you’re anything of a cook or seamstress. We’re shorthanded in both.”
“I have the basic skills, yes,” Molly replied. “I would be happy to help in some way. I did offer my services, after all.”
“Very well. Oh, and you’ll need one of these,” Tom added, taking a pistol from his belt and tossing it her way. “I can’t promise you’ll never need it. It’s better to be armed than to allow your fellow man the benefit of doubt, wouldn’t you agree?”
“That’s awfully cold, but yes, I suppose that’s also the ‘way of life’ here, as you put it, Captain. That’s why I keep two pistols of my own.” Molly revealed twin pistols concealed within her cloak. By their appearance, it was obvious they were crafted by a specialist, but not a gunsmith. The pearl setting in the grips was an instant giveaway.
“Ah, so I take it the lady does have some experience behind a trigger?” Tom was admittedly impressed.
“Not much experience, but I have the necessary knowledge and skill.”
“Well, I can’t say you look much like a pirate, but still, we may be able to make something indecent of you yet,” Tom joked.
“I’m not what one could ever consider to be a pirate.”
The captain released a mock gasp. “No?” His eyes widened as though in disbelief.
“What?” Molly pressed.
He paid her no mind. “Not a pirate?” He made a show of mumbling to himself and shaking his head.
“I don’t believe my upbringing prepared me for the lifestyle, no,” Molly repeated firmly. “That, and I rather dislike sailing,” she admitted. The sea breeze wafted between the pair, the edges of Molly’s muddy skirt folding in the wind. There was silence for a moment as Molly watched the clouds thin from the dark sky, her wavy dark brown hair flying about her face in the occasional gust. The captain kept his eyes on her for a long while.
“So what does that make you then?” he asked. “On this ship you’ll find nothing but others like me, you know. You’ll have to blend in with thieves and killers somehow.”
“Are you suggesting I exchange the position of a sophisticated young lady to that of a sailor, Captain?”
“Well there are always other options, miss,” he said curtly. He was standing against the railing, enjoying her with his eyes.
The captain’s remark piqued Molly’s interest. He seemed fond of wit and conversation. She could play those games. “And what would that be?” she asked. “I’m always open to other options if they are more reasonable than conversion to piracy. Unless of course you had something like a personal mistress in mind, in which case I’m afraid I’d have to throw myself overboard and trust my luck to the brine.”
Tom hesitated before explaining his meaning. “Well it’s a bit riskier than being a pirate. I don’t know if you could imagine yourself in the role,” he said quietly, gazing up at the moon, his eyes unreadable.
Molly wouldn’t be swayed by the gravity of his tone. “I may be capable,” she replied, her eyes intent on the man before her. “That’s why I left my old life, anyway—to seek, among other things, a purpose. A profession or forte, if you will.”
Tom tossed his head in laughter. “A forte, yes. If that’s what you want to call it.” He looked at Molly out of the corner of his dark eyes. They gleamed yellow, though Molly could have sworn they had been a deep blue a moment earlier.
“You think me incapable?” Molly huffed in aggravation.
“No, no, it’s just your curiosity.” The captain grinned, his white teeth shining at her. “That’s an awfully dangerous quality to have in my profession.” He shook his head. “I’m a little reluctant to elaborate now, is all.” He paused, chancing a peek at Molly’s chemise when the wind pressed it to her skin and it took on the contour of her figure. Molly was too busy wrangling her fluttering hair to notice. “Put it out of mind,” he said finally and with a dismissive wave of his hand, “We’ll put you ashore somewhere as soon as the wind favors it, and you can part without carrying my secrets with you.”
Molly turned her back to him. “You never really told me anything to begin with,” she complained. “There’s a reason I shouldn’t trust you, isn’t there? You said yourself that people—” Molly frowned and sighed as she heard th
e captain’s retreating footsteps. When she looked for him again, he was gone.
Molly wasn’t certain why she was suddenly so interested in the stranger Thomas Crowe. Perhaps it was his unexpected friendliness, the aggravatingly obscure and evasive way he spoke … or his deep blue eyes. Though she didn’t know exactly why, Molly felt as if she could place her trust in Captain Thomas Crowe for the time being. He offered an inexplicable comfort to the young lady—someone who was lost in the world and in desperate need of finding, or being found.
Tom paused as he opened his cabin door, looking back at Molly with unease. His eyes turned to his boots as he contemplated sharing his secret. There was something about Molly Bishop that made him want her to know everything about him, but he had no reason to share anything with a stranger. Maybe he’d just been alone for too long. Smacking a palm against his head, Tom reprimanded himself for wanting to be too honest.
He let the door slam behind him without going in. A sudden chilling gust blew across the main deck and clouds billowed across the face of the moon. Tom turned and saw Molly’s cloak fly from her arms, exposing her soft shoulders.
Trembling in the cold and cursing the gales, Molly folded her arms for warmth and headed to her meager cabin to shield herself from the chill. It would give her shelter even though it had not yet been prepared for her. She would get no answers from Thomas, and maybe it was best not to go asking. She took one last look at the captain’s quarters before continuing on her way.
Molly awoke as first sunlight made its way through her window. She had changed from her muddy clothing, which lay in a heap on the floor. She would inquire of the captain where she could wash the soiled dress and cloak.
The sky had cleared considerably since the day before, and Molly was relieved to have awakened in one piece. She stretched as she got out of the cramped confinement of her bed, which in truth was a hammock, and walked out of her cabin. Most of the crew were already awake and working, not paying Molly much mind as she made her way down to the galley. She was sure the captain wouldn’t mind if she began her duties, so she set out to find something to prepare for breakfast.
Shouts coming from deck disturbed Tom but woke him only gradually. Once fully awake, without bothering to dress completely, he left his cabin to survey the progress of the crew and to figure out how long he’d been asleep. On the main deck the sun warmed his body. The hot, solar shower was inviting. Tom stretched and shook back his hair. Looking about, he rubbed his tired face and massaged the purple bags beneath his eyes. His fingers scratched the stubble on his cheeks and chin that shone like tiny sprigs of gold foil in the light. A man in his mid-twenties, Thomas could best be described as a fine woodcarving that had been misappropriated as an axe rest—his tight and muscular arms, legs and torso were marked by old scars that gave his otherwise strong and lean body a weathered appearance for someone so young. Tanned by tropical summers and tattooed by violence, his skin told tales as if it were a red oak etching of El Dorado or Shambhala.
Bardow met him outside the door and reported that the inventory, at least food stock, was high. He fidgeted when he handed Tom the ring of keys. His fingers showed streaks of grease—the kind meant for maintaining firearms. Tom nodded and excused Bardow, who headed below deck quietly. Tom made certain the helmsman had kept a steady course, and then gave him new orders before going below to the galley. Bardow hadn’t mentioned taking inventory in the armory and gun deck. Not expecting to see Molly, Tom found some plates and an old, dented pewter mug to collect a bit to eat.
The galley aides moved about with tireless speed, wiping their brows and picking up their tired feet like agitated pack animals. Tom’s presence encouraged them to work faster. The captain inspected their work, stirring a pot of stew, turning over a slab of pork and giving it a jab with his finger.
“I admit I’m impressed,” Tom said to Molly. “Usually I come down here expecting the worst.” Tom’s eyes swept over the meal with delight.
Molly grinned. “I’m glad it’s satisfactory.”
“So am I. I may have to consider assigning the duty of galley chef to you if you maintain this kind of productivity.” Tom turned to the kitchen aides. “Let the lady’s direction be your muse from now on, gentlemen. I’d like to see more meals like this.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Molly said gratefully, pleased with herself. Thomas’s blue eyes commended her in a way that his words couldn’t. She noticed this and felt giddy.
Tom plucked a potato from the chopping table and took a bite out of it. “Do let me know when everything’s ready. I’d like to be the first to try that pork.” He smiled again and returned to the deck to deliver strings of orders through mouthfuls of potato.
Molly watched the captain as he climbed the stairs and vanished from sight, wishing she were finished cooking so she might talk with him again.
Bardow had just left the powder store as he met Tom at the top of the main deck stairway. Nodding to the captain, he quickly headed down to the galley for his own breakfast before Tom could get a word out concerning the armory. Bardow spied Molly from the end of the corridor and walked into the room slowly.
“Oh, good day, Miss Bishop,” he called, a sly demeanor about him. His dirty blond hair shaded his eyes in a way that forced them back into his head, like two ferrets spying on her from inside their burrow.
Molly nodded to him politely, remaining silent as she collected dishes.
“Cap’n usually don’t see it fit to pick up strange travellers.” He continued to speak to her. “But I s’pose I can see why he let you onboard last night,” he added coolly, loitering near her with hungry eyes.
Molly swallowed a knot in her throat, keeping her head low. Trying to maintain an easy composure, she walked quickly past him to place the dishes into the immense wash basin.
“Quite fortunate, if you ask me. But if I was you, I wouldn’t get too close to Cap’n. For your own good.” Bardow collected his breakfast and left.
The dishes ceased their clatter as he left the room. Molly stared down into the basin, contemplating Bardow’s words with a mix of concern and fear. Suddenly aware her hands were gripping the lip of the basin uncomfortably hard, she relaxed. What reason did she have to be cautious? The captain had been hospitable, allowing her safe passage on the ship. Yet something about Bardow’s words and the captain’s own unwillingness to speak with her at length was unsettling. She tried her best to brush off the feeling, and set her mind to the dishes.
By late afternoon Tom had left the crew to their work and headed to the quarterdeck to enjoy the coming sunset. That wish was thwarted by a cluster of large, dark clouds blocking his view. A storm would be upon them some time after nightfall. Displeased and disappointed, Tom walked to the railing overlooking the main deck.
“All hands, secure rigging and sails! Let’s not be caught off-guard!”
The helmsman looked at the captain. “Sir, what bearing do we keep?”
“Keep this course, Mr. Hobbs. This ship’s been through much worse.”
“Aye, sir.”
Tom walked about the deck impatiently as the crew prepared for the approaching storm. For the second day in a row, Bardow was missing from his post. Tom searched the lower decks for him. Bardow and several other men were sitting in the galley, chatting quietly amongst themselves. The captain stepped into the room and leaned across the table. The men looked up uneasily.
“Gentlemen, we are but a few hours away from some nasty weather. If it’s no burden, do you think you could lend your fellows a hand?” Tom shouted, slamming a fist onto the table and spilling three full mugs. “All of you! On deck, now!” he raged. As the men jumped from their seats to leave, Tom turned to Bardow.
“Mr. Bardow, you have the first watch tonight. Do try to be punctual.”
Bardow sneered as he followed the other men out.
“Mr. Bardow,” Tom added, returning the scowl with one of his own, “If you leave your post for any reason tonight and you do not announce
the decision, expect to go another month without pay.” Bardow paused, almost speaking, but decided against it and stormed away. Tom went to the ship’s bow and rested against the railing, suspicion growing in his mind like algae.
“You have yet to relieve my curiosity,” Molly said quietly. She’d come upon him without letting him know. “Perhaps it’s gauche, and I shouldn’t pry, but what were you about to tell me the other night? Mr. Bardow told me I ought not to get too close to you, Mr. Crowe. What’s that mean, exactly? I’d like to know, whether we part ways next we see a shore and never meet again.”
“Henry Bardow’s secret is the same as mine, and between us he’s the devil you ought not to be close to,” said Tom, cutting his eyes at her. “Here, this is silver.” He held out his hand and dropped a small, round ball in hers. “You still have those pistols, yes?”
“Of course, in my cabin,” she answered, furrowing her brow, “But why do I need this?” More conclusions cluttered her mind than she let on.
“If you ever need to turn those pistols on Henry Bardow, use that silver ball, understand?” The captain turned away again. “It’s a nice evening, isn’t it?” he said, just as before. “It won’t last.”
“Is something going to happen?” Molly tried to stop him as he turned away.
“You should go to bed early. Just try to sleep. Stay inside during the storm, and don’t open the door for anyone unless it’s my voice that asks you, yes?”
“What’s going to happen?” Molly took the warning to heart, but demanded an explanation. “Captain!” she raised her voice as he left her.
“If all goes well, by tomorrow you’ll have no need for that bullet. Trust me.”
“I will see you in the morning, then?” she persisted. She began to realize how much, in her current predicament, she depended upon the young man. If anything happened to him, she wouldn’t have a friend on the ship. She’d be adrift and in the midst of several dozen miscreants whose lecherous gazes she drew like flies to honey, and if her suspicions were correct, some of them were not human.
The Lore Series (Box Set): All 3 Books In One Volume Page 2