Secrets of the Realm (9 page)

Doc fidgeted with a chess piece. "I apologize, Jonathan. It's just that given the lad's frail build and his tender age, I feel it better he remains with me."

 "I know you have grown fond of the lad, and I must admit, so have I, but if he is ever to become a true member of the crew, he needs to eat, work, and, yes, sleep with the men. You are not doing Andrés any favors by coddling him, Doc. He will never become a man if he stays with you." 

"Trust me, Jonathan, whether I coddle Andrés or not, that child will never become a man."

Captain Hawke drummed his fingers on the table. "Pray tell, why is that?"

 "I-I mean it won't be safe for him to stay in the fo'c'sle."

The captain's eyes narrowed. "Unless you can come up with a better reason, then Andrés sleeps in the fo'c'sle tonight."

Under his breath, Doc muttered, "Andrés is a girl."

"What did you say?" Captain Hawke gripped the table, his knuckles white.

"Andrés is a girl," Doc repeated.

"Did I hear you say…girl?"

"Yes, I said girl."

The captain's eye twitched. "How long have you known?"

"I've known since the first day she came on the Realm."

"You knew Andrés was a girl, and you kept this from me? Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?"

"And what would you have done? Put her off the ship?"

"You lied to me!" The captain swept his hand across the chessboard, scattering the playing pieces across the floor.

"I never lied. You wanted me to look the child over. I did. Her aunt had brutally whipped her. She had nowhere to go, Jonathan. What was I to do?"

"And what am I to do? Have you forgotten that sailors are a superstitious lot? When they find out there is a girl on board, I will have a mutiny on my hands."

"The sailors are not all superstitious," Doc said.

"Enough are, and it takes only one superstitious tar to discover that Andrés is a girl; then fear will spread like wildfire, and it will be Symington who stokes the flames. Her luck cannot last forever."

"Luck has nothing to do with it. How many times have you told me that Andrés is a tough one, a little scrapper? She has even stood up to Symington. If she stays with me, it is less likely the crew will never find out she is a girl. And from what she has told me, the men don't suspect a thing."

"Not true."

"What do you mean, not true?"

"Matthew has stopped rumors about Andrés being a girl. They started shortly after she first came aboard. How could I have been so stupid?" Captain Hawke looked Doc straight in the eye. "There is no way she can keep up this masquerade."

"With her chest bound, I believe she can," Doc said.

The captain's twitch returned. "You mean she…" Captain Hawke cupped his hands over his chest.

Doc nodded.

"How can that be? She is a mere child."

"She is a fifteen year old child, Jonathan."

Captain Hawke looked incredulous. "I thought she was twelve or perhaps thirteen."

 "I beg of you, Jonathan, don't send her away," Doc pleaded.

"I cannot very well put her adrift; now can I?" Captain Hawke's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"So, she stays?"

He bent over and scooped the queen off the carpet. "For now she stays."

"I suppose you will have to tell Matthew."

"Do you really expect me to tell my first mate that I was fooled by an imp of a girl hiding in plain sight? He would never let me live it down. Besides, the fewer people who know, the better." 

He ran the back of his hand across his chin. "What is her name? On second thought, don't tell me."

He looked at the queen in his palm before snapping his hand shut. "If this is to work, I must think of her only as Andrés."

CHAPTER TWENTY

"Who won?" Annie asked as Doc shuffled into the cabin.

"I believe I did."

"Unless it was a stalemate, either you won or you lost."

He thought a moment. "The captain won, but I did have him in check."

Eager to hear all the details, Annie urged him on. "Tell me about every move."

"Not tonight, Annie. I'm too tired."

"You had no one in sickbay today, and you played chess with the captain. How can you possibly be tired?

"Trust me, Annie, I am tired."

"You're tired." She folded her arms. "Well, I'm bored. The men sing and carry on in the fo'c'sle each night, and here I sit, either reading or listening to you snore."

"End of discussion, Annie," Doc said. 

"We didn't have any discussion," Annie complained. 

But Annie was determined to see for herself what went on in the men's quarters. If no one saw her, she thought, Doc would be none the wiser.

Once Annie knew Doc had fallen asleep, she opened the door. She stopped when the hinges squeaked. Hearing his snoring resume, she edged into the passageway.

She tiptoed to the fo'c'sle and peered inside. The world she saw was more captivating than anything she could have imagined.

Standing in the shadows, Annie winced as Rodrigues pricked a Jerusalem cross onto Perry's forearm. When he rubbed gunpowder into the bloody tattoo, she bit her lip.

She listened to Symington's colorful tale, this one about ships being lured to their doom by sea nymphs. After he finished his story, Annie watched Mr. Allan and Carter duel with their fiddles. Bows flew across strings while the crew joined in boisterous singing. Smitty tapped rhythms on anything he could beat his hands on, including Ainsworth's bald head. Barrette threw down a losing hand of cards to join a group of sailors dancing a jig.

Annie dove behind a water barrel when she heard scurrying sounds. She saw it was only the ship's cat chasing a rat. Relieved no one was coming off his watch, she softly tapped her foot to the lively music.

When a hush came over the fo'c'sle, she caught her foot in mid-tap. Annie left her hiding place. All eyes were on Samuel Baggott, the young sailor with the tight red curls and boyish good looks. He rose slowly from his sea chest and closed his eyes. His haunting melody of sailors lost at sea wafted through the musty air.

Annie crept back to her hiding place. Her eyelids heavy, she hugged her knees close to her chest. His song reached the depths of her soul. Not anxious to return to Doc's quarters, she murmured, "I will stay until the last note is sung."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Annie stretched her arms high into the air. "Doc, I had the most wonderful dream."

"Oh, did you, now? Want to tell me about it?"

Annie's eyes flew open. She found herself enveloped in a hammock. "Barrette, how did I get here?"

She peered over the edge of the canvass before throwing her legs over the side and tumbled out.

"When I got off the middle watch, I saw your foot sticking out from behind a barrel. I tried to wake you, but you are a sound sleeper," he said. "You mumbled somethin' about 'the last note sung', whatever that means. Anyways, I put you in the empty hammock.

"This morning, I overheard the captain and Mr. Allan talking about you and it wasn't good. I thought you should know."

"I can only imagine how angry Captain Hawke and Mr. Allan must be with me. They must be wondering where I am. I had better go topside."

"Angry? Did I hear you say I must be angry with you?"

Startled, Annie turned quickly to the voice in the passageway. There he stood, the captain—tall, his hands hidden behind his back. A less than happy expression graced his face.

"Captain," she said. "I am truly sorry I didn't bring you your breakfast this morning. It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't happen again, and you are late in reporting to Mr. Allan. He is less than pleased with you." Captain Hawke's furrowed brow underscored his irritation. "And since when do you bunk in the fo'c'sle?"

"It is all a misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding or not, you will assist Mr. Waverly today."

"But Mr. Allan wants me to mend sails."

"That is not a request Mr. de la Cruz. That is an order."

Annie twisted the button on her shirt, almost ripping it off. "I said I was sorry."

The captain's left eyebrow shot up significantly higher than the other. "Keep a civil tongue, boy, or maybe you would prefer I confine you to quarters and I mean Doc's quarters, not the fo'c'sle!"

"That won't be necessary, Captain."

"You will work in the galley all day. Is that understood?"

"Aye, aye, Captain."

"Carry on!"

As Captain Hawke stormed off, Barrette made an observation. "The captain's got a bee in his breeches this morning, now doesn't he? But I think he is more angry because you slept here, than not bringing him his breakfast or mending sails. What do you think?"

Annie shrugged her shoulders and proceeded to the passageway. But Barrette was right, she thought. Her having slept in the fo'c'sle did bother the captain. It made no sense. After all, she knew the captain wanted her to sleep in the men's quarters. Like Mr. Montgomery, Captain Hawke was proving to be a paradox, as well.

"I am not the only one who questions it," Barrette hollered after her.

"Question what?" Annie said over her shoulder.

"Why you don't sleep in the men's quarters."

"I have injuries, infected, I am. Doc needs to tend to them," Annie quickly responded.

"You look mighty healthy to me. Besides, Carter's knee still bothers him and it's been said that Ainsworth has a flaming rash on his privates." Barrette shivered as if he were in a cold draft. "They're not all sleeping in Doc's cabin; now, are they?"

Despite the reddening of her cheeks, Annie giggled. "On his privates, you say?"

"You find that amusing?"

"I was thinking about all of us crowded in Doc's cabin. Doc, me, Carter, Ainsworth…his rash."

Not being able to contain herself, she convulsed in laughter.

"It's not funny!" Barrette couldn't contain himself either. He bent over, his hands on his muscular thighs and joined Annie in a moment of hilarity, but it was only a moment. He straightened, the broad grin erased from his face. "Why don't you sleep in the fo'c'sle?" He asked a second time.

"I told you," Annie said.

"I don't believe you."

"It is my age. Doc says I am too young," she blurted out.

"So, which is it, your injuries or your age?"

While Barrette's steady gaze drilled through her, Annie stared right back at him. "My age, definitely my age."

"What are you, twelve? I heard you might even be fourteen. You are old enough to sleep in the fo'c'sle if you ask me."

"I don't recall asking you anything, Barrette."

"There's also been talk that you might be a girl."

"A girl? Nonsense!" Annie turned on her heels and charged Barrette. Her fist rebounded off his firm stomach.

Undaunted, Barrette continued, "Symington calls it nonsense, too."

Annie's eyes narrowed at Barrette. "Symington would never say that. He would be the first one to spread lies about me."

Barrette shook his head. "You are wrong. When he overheard Smitty tell Ainsworth, 'Andrés walks like a bloody girl', Symington cuffed him about his ears and said, loud enough for everyone to hear, 'None of that nonsense; ye 'ear me?'"

"You are good at imitating Symington, Barrette. But I absolutely cannot believe he defended me." She couldn't help but think that made even less sense than Captain Hawke being angry with her because she slept in the fo'c'sle.

"Defending you has nothing to do with it."

"But you said…"

"He is a superstitious old sea dog; that's what Symington is. He says if you were a girl, this ship would be at the bottom of the sea by now." Barrette cleared his throat, again imitating Symington. In a raspy voice an octave lower, he said, "Mind ye, I 'ave no use for the little maggot, but the boy is what 'e is—short, puny, but I wager 'e's tougher than the lot of ye."

"I am flattered to have such an unlikely ally," Annie said. She then glowered at the broad-shouldered sailor standing before her. "You Barrette, what do you say?"

"Me? I suppose I agree with Symington," Barrette said as he absently brushed a strand of ebony hair dangling across Annie's forehead. 

"You suppose?"

As if singed by a hot flame, Barrette yanked his hand away from her face.

Annie pushed the errant strand back under her cap. "Would you like me to drop my trousers to prove I am a boy?"

"I am waiting."

"I was joking," Annie said.

Smiling, Barrette replied, "I'm not."

Annie ran her thumbs along the inside of the waistband. "Remember this, Ambrose Barrette; if any tars come in here, it was your idea. Sailors gossip like silly old ladies at afternoon tea. I can see their tongues wagging now. Doesn't bother me, though. It is
you
who sleeps in the fo'c'sle, not I." Hoping she had called his bluff, Annie gripped her waistband. "Here goes."

To her relief, Barrette shouted. "Wait! That won't be necessary. I agree with Symington. You are no lady."

She grabbed the hammock's rope to steady herself as she watched Barrette rush out of the fo'c'sle. "That was close," she said to the cat sashaying against her leg. "I will be more careful next time and not fall asleep."

For the next week, Annie successfully eavesdropped on her shipmates. She returned each night to Doc's quarters after the last note was sung.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The Realm sat dead in the water, not a breeze to fill her sails. Captain Hawke made an unpopular decision. All the sailors, except for the gunners and Mr. Waverly, took turns manning the longboats. For two days, the crew hauled the ship through calm waters like ancient Greeks pulling a Trojan horse.

After going over the day's events with the captain, Mr. Montgomery said, "You are riding the men too hard. They cannot spend another day rowing."

"And what do you suggest, Matthew?"

"We wait. The winds will pick up."

"We both know that boredom can be the worst enemy at sea. The men need to stay busy. Keeps them out of mischief."