by Sara Donati
“Not much of a welcome, Pickering.”
He was a big man, more than a head taller than any of the men on the Isis. Over one broad shoulder he carried the boy like a sack. Stoker set him on his feet and he stood wobbling, looking about himself uncertainly.
“Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Stoker. What are you doing in these waters, and how come you to this lad?”
Stoker clucked his tongue. “And what should I be doin’ in these waters, but pursuin’ me line of work? Here I am out of the goodness of me heart with news you’ll be needing. And the lad, of course, unless you’re not wanting him. He calls himself Mungo.”
Hannah could barely withstand the urge to rush forward to shake news out of the boy, who stood squinting in the rain, pulling on the shock of blond hair that fell over his brow. There was dried blood on his ear.
“Mungo,” said Captain Pickering. “What happened?” The boy tugged harder on his hair. His mouth worked, but nothing came out.
Moncrieff thrust himself in front of the captain. “Give us your news, lad! What o’ your ship?”
Mungo flinched away, holding an arm up to his face.
“Addled,” said Stoker. “He won’t be talking much this day.”
Hakim Ibrahim said, “He has had a blow to the head. I need to examine him.” And without waiting for the captain’s approval he took Mungo by the arm and led him away.
“That’s too bad, but never mind,” said Stoker. “I can tell you what happened to the Osiris.”
Moncrieff whirled around to him. “Speak up!”
Stoker sucked in a cheek as he considered the smaller man. “And who might you be?”
“Angus Moncrieff. Factor and secretary to Earl o’ Carryck, the owner of the Osiris.”
“Ah,” said Stoker. He scratched the corner of his mouth thoughtfully. “Well, then, it’s bad news, I’m afraid. The Osiris is at the bottom of the sea.”
Hannah’s stomach rose into her gullet, pushing all her breath before it. Vaguely she felt Curiosity’s hand on her arm, holding her up and steering her to rest against the rail. There was a rushing in her ears so that she could hardly hear. She pressed her cheek to the cold, wet oak of the rail and closed her eyes, waiting for the world to right itself.
“… the Avignon. The captain meant to board her and take the cargo, but the gun crews were too enthusiastic in their work. She went down quick.”
“How quick?” Captain Pickering’s voice was hoarse.
“Before they could get much of the cargo or crew, that’s for certain.”
Hannah opened her eyes. Below her was the Jackdaw, rising and falling on the waves, grinding and nudging up against them like a stray dog that wants petting. Peeling paint, and gobs of tar leaking like clotting blood from the joints. A dirty porthole. She blinked the rain out of her eyes and looked hard: a face at the glass. A woman’s face, very old, grinned up at her. Her great-grandmother Made-of-Bones had had a grin like this one.
“Sir.” Giselle’s voice. It was enough of a surprise to make Hannah turn. “It is the American passengers who are of interest. What of them?”
He smirked. “Are you talking to me, sweetings?”
“Watch yourself, Stoker,” said the captain, frowning.
“Watch meself? The lady spoke to me first, did she not? Oh, but look, she’s in a snit now.”
One eyebrow lifted in a scornful arch. Giselle said, “This person wants to be paid for his information.”
“And keen eyed, too. Sure, and I’ve gone to some trouble and I’ve earned a coin or two. But tell me, darlin’, are the rumors about you true, then? You’re off to be married, they say. The Montréal garrison will be in mournin’ for a year to lose your custom of a Saturday night.”
Hannah could barely follow what happened next, for it all seemed to happen at once. The captain had grabbed the musket from Mr. Smythe even while the others rushed forward. Stoker tossed Moncrieff aside with a casual flick of his arm and did the same for the two sailors who came to Moncrieff’s aid. There was a wild scrambling and then a musket shot sounded. On the quarterdeck a sailor screamed and grabbed his leg.
In the sudden silence, both babies began to cry. Curiosity grabbed Hannah’s shoulder in a pinching grip meant to keep her just where she was.
When the black powder cloud had cleared, Mac Stoker stood with his back to the rail with Giselle Somerville held tight against his chest, a long knife held to her throat. The huge fist looked very dark against the white skin of her jaw and neck. Hannah thought that Giselle had swooned, but then she saw the blue eyes blink.
Moncrieff and Captain Pickering stood empty-handed before them. The captain had lost his hat and his wig; his short gray stubble stood up in peaks on his head. His chest heaved convulsively.
“Don’t be a fool, man.” His voice cracked and broke in an effort to keep it in control. “We will pound you to dust.”
“And let your lovely bride go to hell with only me for company?” Stoker ran his open hand up the front of Giselle’s bodice to pull her in tighter. She said nothing, but her eyes were very wide.
All the blood drained from Pickering’s face. “Unhand her immediately, do you hear me? Unhand her!”
Stoker pursed his lips. “ ‘Tis a sad thing for a man to be in the power of a woman, is it not? Now, if you’ll pardon us, we’ll be takin’ our leave.”
“Wait!” Moncrieff shouted. “What of the passengers on the Osiris? Did you see them board the Avignon?”
Pickering wheeled around to him. “What does that matter now?” he roared.
“It’s all that matters!” Moncrieff tried to push past him. In that moment Stoker simply twisted his upper body over the rail and dragged Giselle with him, where she hung, feet swinging freely.
“Lord Jesus,” whispered Curiosity.
“Do I have your attention again, boys?” Stoker asked in a conversational tone.
“Damn your liver and your eyes, Stoker! Let her go!”
“That’s just what I’ve got in mind, Horace me lad.” He laughed, and pulled Giselle up closer. “When I let you go, sweetings, I suggest you push hard for the deck below you. The water is damned cold.”
“No!” Pickering lurched forward, but it was too late. Giselle was already flying through the air, a strange butterfly with wings of emerald-green silk. Stoker vaulted the rail in a single movement and followed her, the knife in his hand catching the light as he went. The drop was no more than fifteen feet, but it seemed to take forever. The entire crew of the Isis rushed to the rail just as two solid thumps sounded, one after the other.
The babies were still wailing, and behind them the injured sailor groaned, but Hannah barely heard any of it. She stood looking at Mac Stoker, who had gathered Giselle Somerville to him again. He grinned up at them, his face streaming with rain. Giselle’s eyes were closed and her body hung limp against him. No man on board the Isis would dare aim a musket at Stoker for fear of hitting her.
“Stoker!” Captain Pickering roared. “Stoker, I’ll hound you to the ends of the world!”
“Och, never worry about that,” Stoker called back. “I won’t be goin’ anywhere until we’ve got what we came for. And if you’re eyeing me masts, then I’ll remind you that I like me knives sharp.” To prove his point he flicked his wrist and a bead of blood appeared on Giselle’s jaw.
Pickering’s voice broke. “Name your price!”
Stoker looked at Giselle with a thoughtful expression and then squinted up at Pickering. “Not so fast. I haven’t sampled the merchandise yet, have I?”
The noises that came from the captain were not quite human, but Stoker only laughed. “All right, then, man. My price is very reasonable. This pretty morsel in me arms for them—” And he pivoted and pointed with his knife at Hannah and Curiosity.
Shocked, Hannah stepped back from the railing. Curiosity drew in her breath sharply through her teeth.
“Christ, Pickering. You look like you swallowed your tongue, man. It’s simple enough
. I want the black woman and the three children. Hand them over and you can have this one back.”
Giselle moaned in his arms, twisting slightly.
Moncrieff let out a strangled laugh. “We will do no such thing!”
“No?” Stoker shrugged. “I’ll be sure to let the lady’s father know how well you protected and valued her.”
“I can pay you!” Pickering shouted. “What good are these children to you, Stoker?”
“No use at all.” From behind the longboat that took up a good portion of the main deck, a familiar voice. Hannah felt the jolt of it, even before she saw her grandfather’s long form unfolding. Hawkeye stood tall and straight, his hair fluttering in the rain and his rifle fixed on Moncrieff. “To him, at least. But I’m right fond of them. Surprised to see me, Angus?”
Moncrieff, struck dumb, took two steps back from the rail. Then he laughed. “Hell, yes. But come now, man. Even you couldn’t make that shot from a rolling deck.”
“Maybe not,” said Hawkeye. “But then I expect one of us might get lucky.”
And the hatch opened, and gave Hannah another surprise: her father, and just behind him, Elizabeth.
Elizabeth was trembling, frozen to the spot, terrified and overjoyed. She stood on the deck of the Jackdaw and looked up. Hannah. Curiosity. And the babies, both of them. Curiosity pulled open her cape so she could see them, blinking in the misting rain, curls floating around faces flushed pink in the cool air. Her vision blurred; she dashed the rain and the tears from her face. With some part of her mind she was aware of the others: Giselle Somerville struggling weakly in Stoker’s arms, Hawkeye with his rifle sights on Moncrieff, and Pickering beside him. They were arguing loudly.
Nathaniel shouted, “Send them down now and nothing will happen to Miss Somerville.”
Pickering began to give the order, but Moncrieff cut him off with a chop of his hand. “No. The earl’s instructions are clear.”
“Angus, it’s the daughter of the lieutenant governor he’s got there! How will you explain it if we arrive in Scotland without her?”
Moncrieff stood with both arms stemmed against the rail. His voice carried on the wind, clear as the air itself. “Do ye think Carryck cares aught for her, or for any of us, for that matter? It’s his heir that he wants. Think, man! If we sail on now, the Jackdaw will follow us anyway.”
“Maybe so,” interrupted Hawkeye. “But you won’t see that shore again yourself, Moncrieff. I’ve got you in my sights, and I ain’t about to let you make off with my grandchildren again.”
Moncrieff’s face was a mask, his tone as cold as the rain on their faces. “Go on and shoot me, if ye must. The Isis will still sail for Scotland wi’ the bairns and you’ll still follow. And that’s all that matters.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Hawkeye. “I’d wager that Pickering will hand them over for the woman. Once you’re dead, o’ course.”
Moncrieff’s mouth turned down at one corner. “A noble plan, Hawkeye. And it would work, no doubt, but you dinna ken Pickering’s situation. He can ill afford the earl’s wrath. Ask him yourself. Horace, and were I deid, would you hand over the bairns? Think carefully now, before you answer.”
The captain’s expression stilled suddenly. He looked at Giselle, at Curiosity where she stood with the babies, at Moncrieff. He began to speak, and then stopped.
“Do you see?” said Moncrieff. “Shoot me if you must, but the Isis sails for the Solway Firth, and your bairns wi’ her.”
Robbie had hung back belowdecks, but now he rose out of the hatch in a fury. “Angus Moncrieff, ye bluidy dog. Ye’ll beg tae die should I get ma hands on ye, man!”
Elizabeth saw something flutter across Moncrieff’s long face. Regret? Doubt? But it was gone as quickly as it came, and he only shrugged. “You o’ all people should understand what’s at stake, MacLachlan.”
“I understand weel enough. I understand that we sat in that hole o’ a gaol for weeks because ye arranged for it! Ye abused our trust and friendship, Moncrieff. Ye’re naught bu’ a bairn-snatcher, a common thief, and a damned liar.” Robbie spat over the rail in disgust.
Elizabeth drew in as much air as she could hold, and let it go in a rush. “Give me back my children!”
Moncrieff’s head swiveled toward her. “Mrs. Bonner, you may come to your children,” he said. “You alone. Sail on with us, in comfort.”
Nathaniel turned his head and met her eye, and in his expression was failure, and regret, and a deep, abiding fury. They had risked this, and lost. Giselle was not enough to move Moncrieff; his own life was not so important to him as this errand for Carryck.
He touched her face, and swallowed so that the column of muscles in his throat worked hard. “Go on.”
She caught his hand. “I will not go without you!” And she turned her face back up to Moncrieff. “All of us! All four of us must board!”
But Moncrieff was shaking his head. “I’m no’ so verra soft in the heid, Mrs. Bonner, as to invite three men on board who want nothing better than to slit my throat. Come and care for the bairns, and you’ll see your menfolk in Scotland.”
Hannah leaned into Curiosity, who rocked all three children against her.
“I give you my word that I won’t raise a hand to you!” Nathaniel shouted.
Moncrieff stood there, stone-faced. Pickering was talking in a low voice into his ear, but Moncrieff’s gaze was unfocused, set on something on the horizon that they could not see, or even imagine. Her children were nothing to him but a problem to be solved. Elizabeth flushed hot; she could feel the anger pushing at her, pushing her forward.
“Coward!” She screamed it, and the word spiraled up to him and hit him full in the face; she saw him flinch as if she had slapped him. Somehow Elizabeth had found the right weapon: she had shamed him by calling his courage into question.
He blinked. “Your husband can come on board, if he comes unarmed.”
“Done.” Nathaniel’s voice was hoarse with effort.
“The wind is picking up,” shouted Pickering. “There’s no time to lose!”
Elizabeth took leave of Robbie and Hawkeye, who stood grim faced, their weapons still at the ready. She touched her cheek to their bristled ones, but they spoke little. What was there to say, after all? They were bound for Scotland; Moncrieff would have his way. She might try to convince them to go home now, but she knew that it was no good: they would follow, and if Moncrieff led them to China. Hawkeye could no more turn away and leave his son and his son’s family to their fate than he could put a gun to Nathaniel’s head. And Moncrieff knew it. She could see that certainty on his face: he would keep Nathaniel and Daniel close by, and Hawkeye would follow.
Elizabeth left the Jackdaw without a backward glance. Nathaniel followed her up the rope net with the carry bag slung over his shoulder. Halfway between the two decks, she paused to look back at Hawkeye and Robbie.
Nathaniel read her mind, as he did so often. “We’re not beat yet,” he said quietly. “Don’t give up hope.”
She nodded, wiped her face against her sleeve, and went up to claim her children.
There was a knot in Nathaniel’s belly, a twist of pure anger and relief. The sight of his children whole and unharmed was one part of it; Moncrieff was another. He had given his word and he would do his best to keep it, but it wouldn’t be easy unless the man kept his distance.
The babies were howling in confusion or joy; he could not tell which. Even Squirrel wept openly. “We can’t leave Grandfather and Robbie,” she wailed in Kahnyen’kehàka. And then she said it again, yelled it down over the rail. Hawkeye raised a hand and touched his fingers to his mouth.
Nathaniel did not wipe her tears away; she had earned them, after all. But he put an arm around her and held her, felt the tension in her that matched his own.
“We will get through this, all of us.” It was the most he could offer her.
Elizabeth was caught in a tangle with Curiosity, the squirming babies held between th
em. Curiosity said, “We was expectin’ you on the Osiris,” she said, laughing and scowling all at once. “And here you show up on a pirate ship.”
“The captain of the Osiris didn’t like the idea, either,” Nathaniel said, reaching for Daniel. “He must have had a spy on our tails, because they set out after the Jackdaw as soon as we weighed anchor.”
Elizabeth shook her head in irritation. “This discussion must wait,” she said, her voice hoarse and tears running freely. “I want to get these children out of the rain.”
“Wait.” Curiosity twisted to look down at the deck of the Jackdaw. “We ain’t quite done yet.”
“Miss Somerville interests me not at all,” Elizabeth said sharply, her chin going up at that angle Nathaniel knew too well, when her anger had the better of her. “She may go to the devil, for all I care. I wish she would, if it meant she will no longer interfere in our affairs.”
“That’s one wish you may just get,” Curiosity said dryly.
“Will you hurry with those manropes!” barked Pickering.
“Never mind your manropes,” Stoker shouted, putting Giselle on her feet and patting her rear in a familiar way. “We’re pushing off. Move smart, lads! Jib aft!”
“Stoker!” roared Pickering. “What is the meaning of this!”
But it was Giselle who answered him. She stood there with a strange half-smile on her face, but her voice carried strong. “I am so sorry, Horace! But I should have made a very poor wife. We are both better off this way!”
Pickering stood, swaying slightly, like a man who takes a bullet but doesn’t have the sense to fall down. Below him, Giselle spread out her hands in a gesture that might have been regret.