Sea Witch (5 page)

Six

Aboard the
Mermaid
, men were slogging at the capstan, slowly winching the dripping anchor cable in and laboriously stowing it to dry on the slats raised above the bilge in the lower deck. Many pirates, Tiola had heard, did not bother; what did it matter if an anchor cable rotted? They could easily obtain another one. The crew of the
Mermaid
, however, appeared to take pride in their vessel. Was that
his
doing Tiola wondered as she shaded her eyes against the dazzle of the rising sun. Or did they have an exceptionally good captain?

Gulls were riding the swell of the sea, and waders were strung out along the length of the bay busy delving into the sand for shellfish, shrimps and small creatures left exposed by the ebbing tide. To the far side of the harbour men were preparing to take the fishing boats out, the red sails contrasting with the vivid blue of a new day’s clean-washed sky.

Clutching the rusting rail, she descended the weed-slimed stairway from the jetty and stepped on to the firm expanse of wet sand; walked, her head dipped against the bullying of the wind to where the surf was receding from the beach. Told herself she was a fool to be blinking away tears. Her cloak, gown and petticoats were flapping in the wind, the sea snagging at the hems, leaving them stained and sodden, making them a heavy weight about her ankles.

Hands were climbing the
Mermaid
’s rigging, running out along the yards and dropping to the footropes below, mindless of the possible danger of falling. Tiola heard his voice carried by the wind across the bay.

“Let fall fore tops’l.” A pause as the sail mid-way up the foremast spilt with a rumbling crackle. Then, “Fores’l!” and the lower sail fell.

They were leaving! She had not expected him to sail away!

As the great expanse of the lower sail on the forward mast unfolded majestically, it sagged a moment then filled, and the
Mermaid
, free of the restraint of her anchor was gliding forwards, the canvas catching the wind as she began to lie over and gather way. Thrusting effortlessly into it, she met the first roller and a burst of spray sent a shimmer of rainbow colour across the spar of the bowsprit pointing ahead of her like a finger. She looked beautiful with the first rays of the sun striking on her white hull, sparkling on the churning foam of her rapidly lengthening wake.

Tiola was not a seer, the as yet immature ability of Craft that she possessed did not bestow her with such talent, yet she knew Jesamiah was meant to be with her. Although if he was leaving, perhaps she was wrong? He was handsome – a charming rogue. Was her attraction towards him nothing more than a young girl’s idle fancy? At least, now, she knew his name. Jesamiah Acorne.

The
Mermaid
was leaving.
He
was leaving! Irrational disappointment swamped her.

Confusing images had tumbled through her mind during the night. Some as dreams, some as half-remembered thoughts, so that she did not know on fitfully waking, which was real which was nonsense. Was this all nonsense, standing here shivering in the wind as a new day trundled in from the east?

When had he remembered her? Realised her face was the one he had seen staring at him over the stern of the
Christina Giselle
? She had carefully and deliberately blurred his memory, for her instinct had warned her it was too early for them to be together: she was too young, he needed his freedom. But oh! She did not want him to go! What – who – had reminded him? Something had triggered the connection while he had been talking to Captain Rogers. He had taken his leave in haste, the seaman’s natural roll obvious in his stride as he had hurried through the door and out into the street. Tiola had been waiting for him, sitting on the narrow flight of stairs where she could see the door to the private saloon, where no one could see her. Had darted after him, wanting to call out, to say he need not fear her, she would not betray him. But he had gone, disappearing into the labyrinth of alleyways. Why, why had she not said something to reassure him as he had walked with her?

Could she do something to stop him? She had always known how to weave simple tricks of sleight of hand, had discovered she possessed the other, older and deeper Craft when its use had been desperately needed – when her father had tried to rape her and her mother had killed him for it. Since that night there had been no necessity to test the full strength of her new-awakened power. Was this an opportunity to do so?

Chewing her lip Tiola considered. Could she force Jesamiah to stay? If the ship was damaged…Raising her hand she fashioned a subtle figure-of-eight motion with her splayed fingers, concentrated on the sails, the expanse of canvas. Think only of those sails. Clear the mind of all else, see only the sails.

Potent energy surged within her, along her spine through her shoulders. Down her arm to her fingers. A great force of controlling, dark, power swelling and expanding within her – and then another thought, one of alarm thundering into her head in an explosion of realisation. This was wrong! Wrong to cause something to happen for want of her own satisfaction. Wrong! She thrust her arm behind her back, her fingers crossed to ward off the stink of evil giggling its malevolence all around her.

Mermaid
was ploughing forward, dipping and lifting through the sea as if she were the creature she was named for, half woman half fish – and a sharp, sudden,
bang
, like the discharge of a musket being fired in a confined space lurched across the bay, the sound darting off towards the indifferent gaze of Table Mountain. The lower corner of the
Mermaid
’s fore topsail was flying loose, sending the entire sail writhing and flapping, tangling itself around the topmast forestay, yawing the boat off-balance and sending her askew.

A wild gasp sped from Tiola’s mouth. What had she done!

“Clew up! Move, you buggers!” Jesamiah’s voice, shouting, angry and urgent. “Ease the sheets! Ease them away there!”

A man’s shadow crossed Tiola’s own, stretching over the wet ripples where the sea had washed. “Cordage must have severed. Tops’l sheet worn through, I expect.”

Not seeing him arrive Tiola jumped as she realised he was standing beside her. “Master Dampier!” she gasped. “You startled me!” She looked up at the tall, middle-aged man, thankful that if she were to have a companion it was not the patronising Captain Rogers or the dour Mr Selkirk.

“My apologies Miss, that I did not intend to do.” He bowed, polite, smiled.

She liked Mr Dampier. He had sailed the world and seen things, people and places no other had seen, yet he was a modest man with a natural curiosity who never boasted of his cleverness. What he did was for science, not for himself.

Dampier gave a slight inclination to his head. “And I also beg pardon, Miss Oldstagh for using sailor’s jargon. A ‘sheet’ is the nautical term for the ropes used to trim, manoeuvre, the sails, though we never say ‘rope’ aboard ship, but ‘rigging’ or ‘cordage’.”

She knew that, did not say so for it was kind of him to explain. Most men either did not bother or assumed because she was female and a child she would not be interested. She closed her eyes and let her held breath subside, a tear of relief meandering down her cheek. She was not responsible for the rope – sheet – snapping but had come so close to being so utterly stupid!

“There, look now, the crisis is almost over.” Mr Dampier indicated the
Mermaid
with his telescope. “They have the sail tamed; the topmen will soon fully sort the problem.” He smiled down at her and realised she was silently weeping. Immediately concerned he wiped at the wet trail of a tear with the pad of his thumb. “Do not fret yourself, puss, they were never in danger.”

“I caused it!” Tiola cried, her confused emotions bursting from her.

“You? How could you have caused it, Puss? No my dear, a faulty line that was all. Sheets, all cordage wears ragged where it chafes. It is a common problem, we are forever wrapping bandaging of one type or another, or splicing in new hemp if nothing more can be done.”

He did not understand her meaning, nor could she tell him there were laws by which she carried and used her Craft. Laws made outside time, at the dawn of time, which forbade her to do intentional harm. She had to say something, however, or her silence would lengthen into rudeness. His boots, she noticed, were grimed with sand and seawater had soaked his stockings. In his hand, as ever, he carried his notebook and brass telescope.

She forced brightness into her tone. “You are up early Mr Dampier. Have you been watching the birds?”

He chuckled. “I could say the same for you lass? Nay, I was observing Venus. That orb low on the horizon resembling a very bright star.”

Tiola turned her head to look where he pointed.

“Is it not a glorious sight? My hope,” he sighed wistfully, “is that one day man shall construct a telescope fine enough to see the six planets in all their full and wondrous detail. Alas, this poor apology of a specimen is all I possess.”

“Yet Surr, be it not better than your naked eye?” Tiola held her silence on saying more, for she could not be telling him there were not a mere six planets; that there were others beyond the giant of Jupiter.

“Aye lass, it is!” he answered with a laugh, brushing his hand fondly along the brass of his beloved instrument. “Would you care to observe Venus through it? Or perhaps that boat sailing away? See for yourself she is quite unharmed?”

Solemnly he held the telescope out to her. Tiola hesitated, then with a shy smile took it, extended the interlacing tubes to its full length and held the end to her eye.

Jesamiah was at the helm, steering the
Mermaid
into the waves, steadying her into her course as the rest of her canvas was spread to catch the wind. Not just the rescued topsail and the foresail now, the mainsail was filled and the triangular jib sails at the bow, all set and trimmed with efficient speed.

“She is a fine vessel,” Dampier remarked at Tiola’s shoulder. “You have some special interest in her?”

“Not particularly,” Tiola murmured with a false shrug. How could she explain to a stranger the love she felt for someone she did not know? She was certain, now, her soul had brushed against this pirate at some time in his past. Its reason, its happening, the why and the where not yet ready to reveal itself to her. But a little bit of her had stayed with him, although not enough for him to return these same feelings. Not yet.

Her initial instinct while aboard the
Christina Giselle
, and then yesterday evening in the streets here in Cape Town, had been right. She was a witch of the White Craft, she ought to trust her own knowing and accept that the serpentine path of their lives had once again crossed, but this was not the occasion for them to become permanently entwined. Would she discover the circumstances of their first meeting? Maybe, maybe not. It could have occurred during any one of their souls’ many disguises. For now she would need content herself that there would be another coming together, for once a soul touched with another the two were attracted. Like a compass swings always towards north, their inner spirits would seek each other and meet again. In a few weeks or many years, or in another lifetime. But not here, not this moment.

Even knowing all this, the disappointment washed through her; she was vulnerable and lonely, had lost everyone she loved and now she was losing him too. The child she was wanted to cry, the adult – ah, to be honest, the adult part of her wanted to weep as well. Loneliness was such a solitary, desperate emotion.

“They had to sail,” Dampier said looking down at her with a sideways glance. “A pirate craft can never linger in harbour for she may be too easily recognised.”

Tiola turned to gaze at him. How had he known?

Taking the glass from her, he raised it to his own eye to watch the
Mermaid
, nodding approvingly as she began to heel out into the open Atlantic. “I will grant he knows his business, that young man.” Dampier lowered the telescope. “A fine mariner. A pity he is on the wrong side of what is legal and what is not.”

“How do you know he is a pirate?” Tiola asked with an indrawn breath, realising she was not betraying a confidence to one who already, somehow, knew the truth.

“Oh, I guessed the set of his sail the moment I met him.” Dampier smiled, winked at her. “There is too much of the pirate adventurer set dormant in me to not recognise it. He has the smell of freedom clinging to him, the freedom to do what and go where he wants.” He sighed heavily. “I envy him.”

“Yet you said nothing to Captain Rogers?”

Mr Dampier stood on the rapidly drying sand next to her, observing a crab burrowing its way downwards. “Neither did you, I notice. There would be many a young lass, like yourself, who would be eager to shout wolf in the fold and gain reward of praise for it.”

As she gazed across the sparkle of the sea, Tiola was thoughtful. “I have only seen pictures, is the wolf not a handsome beast with his sleek coat and intelligent eyes? A hunter, hunted to extinction in England by those who do not care for things that matter?”

In turn, Mr Dampier was also thoughtful as he regarded the thin-faced girl teetering on the verge of womanhood. “For a young lass you have a wise head on your shoulders, Puss. But you should not be shedding tears for a man, not yet; not at your innocent age.” He eased the crick of aching muscles from his lower back and said with a teasing chuckle, “And most certainly not for a man who is a scoundrel and a pirate!”

He tucked away a strand of her hair, said, “You must beware of pirates my lady, for danger lurks behind their smiles.”

Tiola stared across the sea, at the
Mermaid
growing rapidly smaller as she gathered way. “I wanted to tell him he has no need to fear me. I would not have him thinking ill of me. I wish I knew if I will meet him again soon.”

Dampier doubted the rascal sailing away so hurriedly would remember this girl for long beyond the forenoon, but said nothing. She was young to be experiencing the first pangs of a passing infatuation, but she was also a sharp, clever girl with a mind and intelligence older than her years and he had to admit, had chosen a most handsome fellow to be smitten with. Ah, innocence. If only he were young again!