Indeed, meeting Thommo had felt a lot like the touch of Destiny—if Harry had believed in such things, anyway. She had no doubts about his loyalty and commitment to their shared cause, no fear that this ally would ever turn traitor. And Kai had seconded her opinion of him.
"His aura isn't pure," Kai had said after they were introduced. "I believe he is a man capable of great violence. But it isn't slick like oil, either. It isn't the aura of a man who lies or cheats. There is no malevolence in him."
"Do you know where Drew's hiding?" Thommo asked, looking rather like a hawk that has spotted its prey.
"No, not yet," Harry said regretfully. "But I've learned that he's looking for something. Have you ever heard of the Emerald of Tococo?"
"Of course I have," said Thommo, a scholar of great treasure if of nothing else, as so many pirates were. "It once belonged to a Mayan king. It was used in blood sacrifice rituals. Thought to be as big as a dragon's egg, and also thought to be lost forever. It went down with Willis the Bloody's ship, Maelstrom, a hundred years ago. Legend says the ship sank because of a massive whirlpool created by a kraken, but no one knows exactly where it happened."
"Don't you find it interesting that we know such things?" Harry asked. "All of these ships supposedly sinking with 'all hands on deck'—but someone must have survived to tell the story, right?"
"You have a point there. Well, legend also says that the Emerald has certain magical properties. That it can preserve its owner from all evil, for starters. Protect them from bad luck, physical attack, even the wrath of gods. The stories say that Tococo was a powerful king and undefeated warrior until he lost the Emerald—because he didn't treat it with enough respect, so it abandoned him."
"Willis the Bloody must've used it as a doorstop, then, if it made his ship sink," Harry said dryly.
Thommo asked, "Why is any of this relevant, Harry? It's all just stories."
"It's relevant because Wrath Drew apparently believes the stories. He's become obsessed with finding it, according to my source. It's part of the reason he's allied himself with mermaids and sirens."
"So they can scour trenches for him?" Thommo paused for thought. "It does make sense—but where are you getting this information?"
"Zora's girl, Tessa, wenches in Bogo. One of her regulars is on Wrath's crew, and the man's tongue gets awfully loose around her."
"Tessa of The Anne's Arms?" Thommo asked with a grin. He'd visited her once himself, on the recommendations of several men. She had most certainly lived up to her reputation. "Aye, I could believe that. That woman has a real gift for lowering a man's defenses. So, what are we to do with this knowledge, Harry?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Harry grinned. "We find the Emerald first, of course. And then we use it as bait."
*~*~*
"I could tell something was wrong from the tone," Hugh said. "And your hand was practically illegible. Are you surprised I was so concerned?"
"No, I just—I suppose I hadn't expected you to be so, well, demonstrative," Agnessa said. They were sitting a distance away from their crews, large mugs of tea in hand as rather a lot of unspoken communication happened between them. She was almost too aware of him, of the coiled tension still thrumming through his body, grounding itself in the smallest of gestures. The way his fingers tapped against his mug. The tightening of his jaw and the darting glances he cast on her.
"I apologize, again. I took a liberty and that was wrong of me."
"I've already forgiven you, Hugh."
Now that the first rush of elation and relief had passed, they were both feeling awkward and embarrassed. For several minutes, there was only silence between them, as they looked at the ground, the sky, their hands—anywhere but at each other. Agnessa finished her tea and cleared her throat nervously.
"Yes?"
Had his eyes always been so earnest and pleading when he looked at her? "Oh, um, nothing. I just had a... a tickle in my throat," she said lamely. "Socrates will be pleased to see you."
"Where is the feathered nag?"
"Probably hiding in a tree somewhere, avoiding Tazu. I had Wil give him strict orders not to eat him—that Tazu couldn't eat Socrates, I mean. But he still looks at him longingly," she paused, seeing a similar emotion on Hugh's face, and finished in a rush as her cheeks flushed red, "and Socrates doesn't like that one bit."
"No, I expect he wouldn't."
Oh, this was ridiculous! She'd never had trouble speaking her mind before—why was she mumbling over such inanities? And she'd always known just what she wanted and didn't want—so why was she so confused on that score now?
"You are all right, aren't you, Agnessa?" Hugh asked quietly. He had listened to Harry unfold the last days' events for his crew, but sensed that there was something she'd left out. Something to do with the slim woman sitting in front of him. Something that had affected her in a significant way, because she seemed smaller and paler than he remembered. Older, even.
"My brother," she said. "My twin brother. Was on that boat."
"Good Lord." He swallowed. Reached out for her hand. "I'm so very sorry—"
"He's alive," she said, just before their fingers brushed. He froze instantly, forcing her to bridge the short gap. Her hand looked like a child's, or perhaps a fairy's, against his. Everything about Hugh was almost too big to be allowed, including his heart. "He'll be fine, with a lot of time and care. He's sleeping right now, on the other end of the beach, with the other survivors. His name is Alvar."
"I look forward to meeting him." He sounded oddly formal, as if they were sitting in a parlor in someone's townhouse. Perhaps because she'd slid her fingers between his and all of his focus was concentrated on the sensation of her skin pressing against his.
"You were trembling," she said.
"Pardon?"
"When you were holding me. When you kissed me. You were trembling all over."
"I...I was so relieved that you were alright," he stuttered. "My imagination had been cruel, had dreamt up all manner of horrors that might have befallen you. I was just so glad to see you. I know I was behaving irrationally—"
She leaned forward and kissed him. Just because she was curious to see if it would feel as good the second time, she told herself. Just because he was so embarrassed. Just because... she wanted to. She really wanted to kiss Hugh Dawkins, she finally admitted, and kiss him often.
It appeared they were of the same mind on that count. For the second time that day, he wrapped his arms around her. He held her as if nothing, not even a cannon, could separate them. And she half-believed it—the man was an unshakable titan.
Unless she was in danger. Then he suddenly became the most mortal of men, frail and breakable and liable to explode. He was shaking again, overwhelmed, and she put her arms around him as if she alone would be able to hold him together.
When his hands clenched around her shirt, and she found her fingers unknotting the handkerchief around his neck, she realized belatedly that this wasn't the best time nor place to lose her last inhibitions. It was midday, on an open beach, and by this point, no doubt, a dozen eyes were already avidly watching them with interest. She pulled away with an effort, lips bruised a bright red and hair wildly disheveled. "Wait, wait," she said, pushing against his chest. "Not here."
"Oh. Yes. Um." To the left, five of his mates were grinning at them, waggling their eyebrows and whistling encouragement. And to the right, Katherine and Zora sat like cats who had just swallowed extremely fat canaries.
"If you need any advice, Nessa, just ask!" Katherine called, to assorted laughter.
Agnessa was hastily re-buttoning her shirt, but she was grinning. Pleased rather than ashamed, he was grateful to realize. "Later," she said, making every one of his thoughts screech to a halt. He stared at her. "We can pick up where we left off. If you're still interested by then, of course."
"I can assure you, I will be," he said. "Uh... would now be a good time to meet your brother?"
"Why don't we go see?" She stoo
d and straightened her trousers. "Follow me."
"To the ends of the earth," he said, devoutly and mostly to himself.
*~*~*
All her life, Agnessa had been content to only read of love. She had never met a man who could kindle a spark in her breast; had, indeed, never exerted the effort to look for such a man. She'd had better things to do and didn't feel as if she were missing much. Besides, loving a man was dangerous and could lead to her greatest fear. She was more than willing to lead a celibate life and forgo any fleeting physical pleasure so long as it meant she would never swell with child.
Not for any amount of gold nor excitement would she ever be a mother. Thus, she reasoned, her bed would by necessity remain empty. And never would she marry, because men expected—nay, demanded—children of their wives. Or so she'd been taught and had always believed.
But two years at sea had been very enlightening. It turned out there were plenty of women in the world who shared her sentiments. There were men who cared nothing about securing heirs or accruing daughters who could later be sold to the highest bidder. And there were ways to lie with a man and still be assured that nothing but pleasure would come from the experience.
So that night, Agnessa stepped into a tent with the first man who had ever made her burn, more excited than nervous, with a pocket full of pills from Hope's little chest and a smile on her lips. A smile that remained as Hugh undressed himself, then her, and pressed his mouth to her body. A smile that lasted as their bodies aligned and slid and rocked. A smile that only slipped when she sighed, and moaned, and cried out at the end.
"So you ran away to the sea," Hugh said later, as they talked about their pasts, rolling over beside her. His hand lay heavy and warm on one of her thighs and it felt unexpectedly natural. "Because you didn't want an arranged marriage—one arranged by your father purely for his own benefit."
"Precisely," she confirmed.
Hugh laughed, and her forehead wrinkled with confusion. "What about that amuses you?" she demanded.
"That's precisely why I joined the Navy," he explained. "My father talked constantly of how I was of an age when I should be turning my thoughts towards matrimony. And didn't he just have the perfect young lady picked out for me—it was her first season, she was already a beauty at eighteen, such masterful needlework, what an adornment she'd be for the house in Town, think of what pretty children she'd deliver with her blue-blooded pedigree. It was revolting. The way he talked—as if a flesh-and-blood human woman was comparable to a hunting dog, or a porcelain vase to be put on display. It angered and disgusted me, and finally I lost my patience. So I signed my oath, took the Queen's shilling, and sailed away as quickly as I could."
"Really? Truly?"
"Really and truly," he swore.
"I never suspected that men were similarly pressured," she said thoughtfully. "Father never tried to force Alvar into a marriage, but then, perhaps there was no young lady suitable enough and he was simply waiting for one to appear."
"From what you've said, I suspect our paters would be bosom friends," Hugh said dryly. "Though, it is somewhat ironic, isn't it?"
"Hmm?"
"My father's a lord. Your father's extremely wealthy. If circumstances had been different, if you'd come to London or I'd gone to Stockholm, our families might have thought us a suitable match."
She had to laugh at that. "Quite. And if they had tried to arrange it, both of us would have been obstinate and hated each other on sight to spite them."
"Choked on the bit and dug our heels in like recalcitrant horses."
"They would have had to physically drag us down the aisle."
"And then, after five or ten years, we would have unbent enough to actually get to know the other and found that we rather liked each other."
"Sounds like novel fodder," Agnessa said. "For a really purple romance."
"We should write it," he suggested. "And sell it to a publisher for an outrageous sum. It would shock the ton and make us notorious."
"We're already notorious," she pointed out. "Lord, if my Father could see me now, he'd swallow his own tongue."
"I'd rather not imagine your disapproving Papa peering in on us right now," Hugh said, kissing her for the fortieth time. "I'd rather resume our debate..."
"I have always found our discussions very stimulating," Agnessa sighed against his cheek in the darkness.
*~*~*
The Greek fire was ready by mid-afternoon the following day. Jo took The Sappho out with a skeleton crew and five pots full of the mixture, carefully sealed and strapped to the deck. Lizzie's catapult was attached to a pulley system and lifted out of the hold. Once the range had been accurately determined with barrels, the first pot was loaded into the basket.
"Do you wish to say anything before we fire?" Jo asked Alvar.
He stood at the railing and leaned heavily on his sister, his face the color of curdled milk. Agnessa had tried to convince him to stay on the shore but he had held firm: he needed to witness the immolation. He owed his dead crewmates that much.
"I said everything I needed to say the last time I was on that deck," he said quietly. "God's already heard it all."
Jo nodded and pulled the lever without another word.
It only took three of the five pots; Miss Euphemia's recipe proved to be a powerful one. Once the ship was fully alight, Jo signaled to Agnessa to pull The Sappho back further. They couldn't chance a gust of wind sending any embers into their sails.
Then they stood in a line at the railing, a collection of faces in a variety of hues and shapes and size, all sharing the same somber expression. They watched for close to an hour, and then The Princess Ilsa and her ill-fated crew was gone, the last flickering bits of wood sinking beneath the water with a hiss.
"We'll be heading out in the morning, then," said Thommo, that evening at supper. Socrates was perched on his crossed knee and taking hunks of meat from the man's fingers. Everyone was sprawled around the fire and enjoying a stew full of crab, lobster, and whitefish. "We'll take the Swedes to London—won't be hard for them to get back home from there."
Unlike The Sappho, The Corinthian Curse could sail openly into English ports because Captain Thomas Grey was, in British eyes, a privateer. Out in these waters, he was considered a pirate just like Harry, but back home, he was a national hero with official standing.
"Then we'll meet up again at Bonefish Cove," said Harry. "That'll give us some time to do a bit of research."
"Research?" Miss Euphemia and Wil echoed with interest.
"Yes, ladies, just the task for you—and Nessa, too. Poring through dusty, old books."
"What fun," Zora said sarcastically.
"It's the sort of research that'll lead us to treasure," Harry added, which recaptured the others' interest. "Treasure and revenge, if we're lucky."
"Only my favorite combination," Katherine said.
"Pardon, but Captain Grey? Captain Roberts?"
The two turned as one to stare at the only person on the island who rivaled Katherine in size. "Yes, Mr. Dawkins?"
"I think I would be of more use to Captain Roberts at this juncture," he said firmly, meeting his captain's eyes steadily. "I was hoping to be given leave to sail with The Sappho for the time being."
"I've no problem with that," Thommo said easily. "Harry, what do you think? Got enough room on your tub for Mr. Dawkins?"
"I'm sure we can find the space," Harry said, catching Agnessa's eye. "Only temporarily, of course. Wouldn't want to steal one of your best and brightest, Thommo."
"And me," Alvar said suddenly, surfacing from the image of a burning ship. "Do you have room for me as well, Harry?"
That request did make her pause, and seemed to take his twin by surprise as well. "Are you sure about that?" Harry said. "You've been through hell, Alvar, and you've more than earned the right to go home. Back to an easier, quieter life. Sailing with us, nothing's ever easy or quiet."
"I can't go home," Alvar said in a stu
mbling rush. "Not right now. Not after what I've seen. I can't go back to that big, empty house and listen to my father yell about unimportant things. He'll expect me to be the way I was before, and I'm not that boy any more. I'm never going to be that boy again. But he won't understand, and he'll push and pry and make demands... I can't face that, Captain."
"In that case—you do realize you don't have to go home?" Harry said gently. "Thommo can take you anywhere you like. You can stay in London, or go somewhere quiet out in the countryside. We'll give you enough to make a new life for yourself."
"Or I could make a new life here, with you," he said. His jaw was set. He was already resolved. "With my sister, who I understand better now than I ever did before. If you'll give me a bit more time to recover, I'll prove myself a hardy seaman, Captain. I swear it."
Everyone looked from the young man still disturbingly marked by sickness and tragedy to the pale and thoughtful captain—everyone but Tazu, who took the moment of distraction to stretch out a clawed hand and tweak the albatross Socrates' tail feathers. The bird shrieked like a banshee and took off with a thunder of buffeting wings, shattering the serious moment and leaving Thommo cursing and bandaging a leg sliced by talons.
"I've never been one to deny someone so earnest and decided," Harry said when peace had been mostly reclaimed. "If you're sure you want to sail with us, Alvar, then I welcome you to the crew. For at least the next three months. You're on probation, same as any who signs on. We'll decide how permanent your position is after that."
"I wouldn't worry, mate," Franky confided, shaking his hand with a grin. "She gave me the same line, and she made up her mind not even a month later. I'm sure you'll do just fine."
Glamour
He had seen them for the first time when they'd all come ashore at the Whitehaven Harbor. His own family had grown too familiar and rather boring. Always the same things: one ritual or dance after another, tricks played on humans, time spent speaking about their long family history.
After three or four centuries, it got tedious.
The Search for Aveline Page 18