The Pirate Captain (32 page)

“What are you looking for?” she asked when astonishment finally gave way to curiosity.

“A looking glass; I thought I saw one down here. Thought you might fancy one.”

Coming from the far side of the pile, his voice was somewhat muffled. She followed his progress by the glow of his lantern, a warm pool of light amid the darkness, reflecting off the pile.

“I thought those were bad luck.”

He straightened to peer at her over the pile. “Whatever put that in your head?”

“I don’t know. It seems like everything else is.”

Nathan grunted and muttered something that sounded like one of his favorite oaths, including a vaguely derogatory reference to women. There was a loud rattle, and then a cascading, metallic crash, resembling a tinker’s cart overturning.

“Damn!”

Holding the lantern higher, she squinted into the surrounding tomb-like darkness. “Are you all right?”

“Fine. Pinched me finger, is all.” Nathan's voice echoed dully over the clatter of his rummaging.

The bone-soaking blackness aside, Cate was struck by something far more overpowering than the muggishness of things gone wet far too long, a revolting odor that assaulted her nose to eye-watering effect.

“What’s that smell?”

The racket stopped and Nathan’s head appeared. Tilting it, he sniffed and frowned. “Bilges, I expect.” He disappeared once more.

“Haven’t you ever considered cleaning them?” she asked through her hand pressed over her mouth and nose.

He stood with a barely tolerant look. “Darling, not everything in this bloody world has to be cleaned.” Shaking his head in dismayed wonderment, he bent back to his quest.

“It smells like someone died down here.”

Halting again, he looked around, considering. “I think someone did.” Eyes rolling in thought, he gave a definitive nod. “Aye! About twelve years ago.”

Nearly gagging, she cleared her throat, trying not to cough lest she stir the thickened air further. “It smells like he’s still down here.”

“Only those froggish French bury their dead in the ballasts. Although it has been a while since the sweet cocks were opened,” he said as an afterthought. “Damned lot o’ pumping, what with all that water pouring in, but if it will abate your delicate sensibilities…” A lift of the shoulders finished his thought.

He returned to his search, his chuckling drowned by the noise of his rootling about. Blinking her watering eyes, Cate surveyed the chaotic collection.

“Has anyone ever considered organizing all this?” she asked, idly kicking at a silver epergne with her toe.

“Organize?”

“Yes, pile things up; put things away. Put the silver with the silver, the crystal with the crystal…At the least then, you would know what you have down here. Some of this is going to be ruined,” she warned, eyeing the water splashing up between the planks with each roll of the ship.

“Plenty more of where it came from,” he said through a suppressed amusement. “We’ve a book. We know everything what’s here.”

“Why haven’t you taken more of this for yourself?” Lantern on high, she surveyed trunks of every size, boiling over with velvets, tapestries, and silks. She had thought Nathan’s quarters to be modest in its appointments, but now in light of all this lavishness so near to hand, it was positively Spartan. The light reflected off the shiny surfaces, shooting apparition-like glows on the walls.

“With all this, you could be living like a king.”

“Naa!” It was a throaty sound from somewhere in the gloom. “I’ve the clothes on me back and me ship.” Nathan popped up next to her, startling her. “There’s nothing I lack of.”

And then he moved away.

“What are you going to do with all this?”

“Sell it,” he replied, barely audible above the clamor.

“And then what?”

“Spend it.” He straightened again, now far down the pile and scowled. “What else would I do with it?”

“Save it?”

He gave her a wary look, as if strongly suspecting a trick question was involved somewhere. “And to what purpose would that be?”

Cate shrugged, scanning the pile. She was beginning to get the feel of this rummaging. “I don’t know; your old age?”

Nathan's hearty laugh echoed dully, a skeptical snort ending it. “Blessed little sense to be found in that: I’ll be long dead.”

It gave her a bit of a chill to think about the possibilities of such a prediction. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’ve been a pirate long enough to know that pirating will be the death of me, luv,” he said, still fizzing. “Damn!”

“Now what?” she called, squinting toward the glow of his lantern.

“Nothing. Stubbed me toe.”

“You’ve never considered the possibility of growing old?”

“Got it!” came a victorious cry.

With a metallic crescendo, he came around with a gold-filigree mirror so large it barely fitted under his arm.

“You mean grow old and gray on the porch rocking, with me grandchildren on me knee? No, never considered it, because it’s never going to happen.”

Nathan cast a loving look toward the beams and bulkheads. “There’ll come a day when time will be up for me and this ol’ girl, and down we’ll go together. Did you find anything you fancy? If there’s something you like, ’tis at your pleasure.”

She stood back, hesitant. “Is it all yours?”

“Strike me buttons, no. Shares, remember?”

Even once divided among the six score of men, there was still enough in any single share to provide one to live out their days in more-than-modest comfort. And yet few did; not even the ancient Millbridge or the impaired Billings or Stubbs.

“No worries, luv. You’re part of the crew now. You’ve a share coming.”

Bent looking, Cate abruptly straightened. “Since when am I a part of the crew?”

“Since the night you told your story on deck.” He hunched one shoulder. “They voted; it's settled.”

A share of all of that was overwhelming. Jewelry, silks, china, and lace were hardly the stuff of her existence. She balked at the prospect of selecting something. Possessions had been limited for so long to the small meal bag, lost on the
Constancy.
And before that, she had never been one to indulge in privilege, let alone such riches.

“I could use a footstool, for while I’m stitching.” Picking up the search, she swung the lantern about trying to cast a broader light.

“Wouldn’t you like something else?” Nathan said, following at her elbow. “Something a little more…nice? I just thought maybe you might desire…Well, it just strikes me you should have something nice, that’s all.”

Cate looked back at him through the dim and smiled. “No, it’s very well, Nathan. I already have what I want.”

She did indeed, standing right there before her and all around, for that matter: being needed and belonging, a home. All that, plus a knight in shining armor, albeit slightly tarnished.

Cate’s foot struck something and she looked down to a small trunk half-buried in the riches.

“Here it is.” She tugged the trunk free and tipped it into the light to inspect more closely. Ornate but simple, it had tooled leather straps and detailed silver corner pieces. “Perfect.”

Nathan came around to take a closer look. “Doesn’t look like much.”

“It’s perfect,” she beamed in the face of his patent disapproval. “It’s just the right height for my feet, and has space to store my threads and such.”

Nathan ran his eyes once again over the pile. Ultimately he came back around to the trunk and gave it a scornful glare.

“Very well,” he grumbled in barely contained disappointment.

Stalking off toward the door, he muttered another oath, this one definitely involving females and several other creatures.

###

Cate stood before the new looking glass, admiring it. The addition was an improvement, its reflection already brightening the cabin.

With the gilt frame under his arm, Nathan had carried it with purpose up to the Great Cabin, but had shied just short of the curtain.

“I’ll pass the word for Chips,” he declared and ducked away.

With a few raps from the carpenter’s mate’s hammer, the new glass was affixed on the wall above the washstand. The old one, dim and crackled, had been barely the size of a dinner plate. This one was considerably larger, but still only reached to mid-chest. To see herself entirely would have meant to shove the curtain aside and back out into the salon.

Cate was touched by Nathan’s thoughtfulness, although at the same time was a bit befuddled. He had dismissed her thanks with a casual wave, but she was sure she had seen a deepening of color about his collar. To see the reflection of another being made her feel not so alone, but at the same time, it gave her the disconcerting sensation of being watched.

It had been a long time since she had seen herself to such an extent. Among her possessions had been a piece of glass, so small no more than one feature at a time could be seen. It, along with everything else in that small bag, had been lost when the
Constancy
had sailed away. It took her a few moments to garner the courage to take an honest look.

The last time she had seen herself—in the mantua-maker’s shop where she had worked in London—she had looked like something for the knacker’s. She had gained enough weight that her collarbone to no longer jutted under her skin and the hollows under her eyes were gone. With the added weight, a bit of softness to her face had returned to her face, but her jaw was still bold, too much so by her mother’s judgment. Her mother had often bemoaned her shoulders, as well, too wide and square to be considered either feminine or fashionable. The corners of her mouth still curved on their own volition. The trait had been often assumed to be impertinence and had brought many a rebuke from her seniors. Her father’s brows and nose were still there, the brow a softer, her nose not quite so turned up at the end.

Her skin was now tanned, not as deeply as Nathan’s and ruddier than his bronze. She was accustomed to the color of her eyes, but they were a bit of a shock then. Her darkened skin intensified them, the jade—their current color—almost glowing. Nathan’s reference to an idol that had sought to curse him was understandable. Her eyes could change, as he and many before him had noted. With no rhyme or reason that she could discern, they shift into colors similar to those seen in the local shallows and reefs.

It was a surprise to see how much her natural mahogany had lightened. She had been able to see the ends enough to know that they had gone almost tawny. But now she could see she looked as if she wore a copper crown.

Cate picked her brush from the top of the stand and began brushing the “maddening tangle” as Nathan referred to it. A lifetime of wrestling with it had been fruitless: braids, tails, pins, and ribbons were flung off with equality. While living in the Highlands, a haven to the concept of proper, she had been urged to wear a cap, as did all gentlewomen. After failing time and again to keep it in place, Brian had ceremoniously flung it out the window. On the
Constancy
, she had tried a headscarf, which seemed to serve everyone else well. After several furtive tries, securing it so tightly as to cause her head to ache, the cloth had been last seen floating in the ship’s wake.

She had come to envy the pigtails of Hodder, Heap, and many of the crew, most particularly the forecastlemen. Their hair had been secured in the time-honored mariner’s way of a pigtail—most well down the length of the backs—and then tarred, head, tail and all. There had been one day, as she had eyed one such seaman, when Nathan had divined her thoughts.

“Wretched waste of tar.” Nathan cast a skeptical look at her billowing mass and scowled. “Not sure there’s enough aboard.”

A few steps away, he paused at a slush bucket. Tugging the paddle free, he considered the tallow-based, malodorous ooze used to lubricate the masts, and then directed a speculative look toward Cate’s hair. For the briefest of moments, she had harbored a sinking sensation he mightn’t be jesting.

Shaking his head in a jangle of bells, he had shoved the paddle back in place. “It would appear mankind has not yet made the discovery.”

Given sufficient attention, her hair could be coaxed into orderliness, hanging in smooth coils about her shoulders. The first touch of breeze, however, and it would be back to the “maddening tangle.”

Sighing—for there was little to be gained—Cate put the brush away and left.

She had become enough of a mariner to notice the moment she stepped outside that the wind had shifted. More astern now, it meant the
Morganse
was “running free,” moving with the wind. It rendered the decks quite airless. The forecastle would be the only hope of any relief. Cate arrived there to find Hermione had taken up residence on her seat. It required being more stubborn than the goat, but eventually Cate shooed her away, Hermione casting a complaining bleat cast over her shoulder as she clopped down the steps.

Cate was barely situated before the cry of “On deck there!” came from the lookout straight overhead on the foremast.

Pryce and Nathan, glasses in hand, met at Cate’s either side.

“Where away?” Nathan threw to the foretop.

“Hull up ’n one point free to larboard.”

The men peered with great interest at the speck of white pricking the horizon, dead ahead, visible only on the rise of the swell.

“Do you see what I see, Mr. Pryce?” asked Nathan over her head. A piece of jerked meat was tucked into the corner of his mouth.

“Aye! A fowl fittin’ to be plucked.”

“Something about this one not to my liking,” Nathan said after some moments.

Nathan arranged Cate at a kevel and handed her the spyglass. “Hold this and watch that.”

“What should I watch it do?”

The corner of his mouth quivered. “Just watch.”

Several rounds of bell, changing of the watch and aching arms later, Nathan came up behind Cate. He peered interestedly over her shoulder, the ship now hull up regardless of the swell.

“Well?”

“Nothing,” she sighed. Her hopes had soared at the prospect of having something of significance to report, so that she might appear seaworthy just once.