Quintspinner (20 page)

The doctor locked William in his gaze for a moment while stifling a small smile. “Well it seems that you are rather skilled with your hands. What is your name, should I find the need to call upon you for assistance again?”

“William Taylor, Sir.”

“Mr. Taylor. Very well then. Clean these quarters with haste and diligence as I’ve no doubt there will be others requiring our true medical care. May I present Miss Willoughby, my daughter. You will be working alongside of us both. Perhaps she could apply a wrap to that ankle of yours.”

William nodded his head in introduction.
Miss Willoughby. Tess.
She was still smiling at him.

A loud crash from outside the cabin on the deck brought William out of his reverie. He bolted out the door, unheeding of his ankle pain as he recognized the panicked bleating mixed in with loud shouting and the heavy slaps of many feet.

The goat!
His Da’s goat! Out on the deck men were bunched up, their bodies creating a thick wall in front of William. He could hear the terrorized animal and realized from the laughter that the little she-goat was somehow the focus of it all. In a panic, he pushed and tore at the arms and bodies in front of him, working his way through the crowd. Tiny hoofed legs flailed helplessly in the air above the heads and shoulders of the men in the front of the gathered mass.
They’re throwing her in the air!

“Stop it, you
bloody bastards! Stop!
” William screamed, his voice only diluting in with the rest.

Amid the shouts and laughter, William realized the
Mary Jane’s
sailors were jeering and hurling insults at something else. William listened. No, not something.
Someone.

“Hey! You! Ya’ Lame Brain! They shoulda’ left ya’ bobbin’ in the sea! Christ! Ya’ look like a sea monster anyhow! What’s the matter, huh? Ya’ son of a sea cook! Ya’ still got a water-logged brain? Ya’’ want this goat? Let’s see ya’ come an’ get her then! Over here, boys! Catch!”

“Na-o-ogh!”

William froze for just a heartbeat. In the next moment, he was crashing through the wall of bodies, a roar of outrage exploding from him, the bloodied surgical tools still in his grasp. Mindlessly, he slashed and hacked at those around him, slicing through the air with the amputation knife in one hand and the bone saw in the other, immediately clearing a path to the centre of the melee.

“Da’?
” William gasped for breath, the pain in his ankle forgotten, blocked by the surge of hope coursing through him. William watched as the sodden, rumpled giant in the centre of the crowd grabbed Gerta from the hands of an equally large and fierce looking sailor. Clutching her to his chest, he slowly turned around in an awkward, swaying pirouette.

“Wee-um!” John Robert smiled his lopsided grin.

Initially caught off guard, the sailors had widened their circle, but they quickly recovered and like a pack of wolves sensing easy prey before them in the form of a disabled man with an armful of young goat and an unknown young man looking back at him wide-eyed in confused disbelief, they began to close in on the pair.

“Get back,
you goddamn scabs!
Get back, or I’ll open you from stem to stern, I swear to Christ,
I will!
” William brandished both weapons in slow deliberate passes in front of him. From the corner of his eye he saw an arm move, saw a pistol–or was it a knife?–being unsheathed from a belt. Instinct took over and in a flash, William spun on his good foot and sent the amputation knife whizzing through the air. A scream from the target told William that the wickedly curved blade had found its mark, pinning the would-be assailant’s forearm with a solid thunk to the mast behind the man. William heard a loud gasp from beside him.

“He’s got the Devil’s Hand!” a horrified sailor shouted.

“The Devil’s Hand!” A second shout confirmed the observation. “Leave them be, the both!”

William looked down at his hands, and then understood. He had thrown the knife with his left hand. His webbed hand.

Superstition was a powerful force among men of the sea, William had come to realize, and the mere mention of the dark force was enough to sprawl the men backward on one another in a deep seated panic.

“What disorderly conduct plagues this crew?” A strange voice boomed out from behind the men.

“It’s him, Captain Raleigh! It’s him! He’s got the Devil’s Hand!”

“Do not spout such foolishness on board my vessel!” the merchant ship’s captain warned. “Or are you intending to stir up the dangerous imaginations of those who can ill afford to carry more than a single thought in their heads at one time?”

“But Captain, it’s true! And look how the two of them keep the cloven beastie! I saw it following that one myself!” The sailor pointed to John Robert. “It spotted him when he appeared over the side of the
Mary Jane
from the jolly boat, an’ it come a’ runnin’ straight to him! Practically jumped into his arms, it did! ‘Taint natural fer a dumb animal to cling to a man like that!”

“Natural behavior? Is that a topic in which you are well schooled?” the captain asked. “Well, tell me, then, is it natural, for grown and hardy men such as yourselves, men who tackle and win their fight daily with the sea and all of the possible deaths she has to offer you, is it at all
natural
for you to fear one small goat and a half-wit?”

Having had their manhood and egos called into question with the captain’s veiled compliment of their courage, the
Mary Jane’s
sailors muttered to themselves, but began to disperse to resume their duties. William felt like a small child all over again, wanting with all of his heart to hug his father in the sheer joy at finding him alive. Acutely aware of the scrutiny the two of them were under however, he restrained his initial impulse, and instead clapped his hand on his father’s shoulder in a hearty greeting.

“I can’t believe you’re standing here in front of me!” William could not keep the smile off his face. “I also can’t wait to hear how you managed to escape that cannon in the hold,” he grinned at his father. “I know you’ll try your best to tell me, and if I can’t get the whole story pieced together directly from you, I just hope that someone will be able to fill in the rest for me.”

That someone turned out to be a small but fervent admirer of John Robert.

Between his father’s grunts, semi-syllables, and many hand gestures, William was able to piece together parts of his father’s story. From the time that William had struggled up the companionway with Mr. Lancaster, John Robert had continued to try to dislodge himself out from under the massive weight of the cannon. As the sea water had begun to flood in, the
HMS Argus
had slowly shifted on her side, with the cannon sliding further into and through the hole in the ship’s side that it had made for itself.

William’s interpretation of his father’s story of his survival of the sinking fell apart however, when his father gestured that someone had put something under his arms and around his chest, and then apparently had left him there alone with the cannon and chest deep with the rising sea water.

“Da-ar!” his father pointed excitedly when the young boy–the powder monkey, Smith had called him–appeared on the deck.

“Hey! You there! Powder monkey!” William called to the boy.
What was his name?
William searched his memory.
Tommy! Yes, that’s it. Tommy Jones.
“Tommy! What do you know of this man’s rescue from the
Argus
?”

The boy approached William and his father uncertainly, his eyes downcast. “Sir?”

“Did you have something to do with this man’s escape from the ship?” William tried to keep his voice friendly, tried to keep from sounding impatient, as the child’s nervousness was apparent.

The boy shot a quick look up at John Robert, but remained silent.

“Well did you?” William could no longer keep the impatience out of his voice.

Tommy’s shoulders hunched and a stifled sob escaped him. William blinked in confusion. Tears began to stream down the boy’s cheeks and landed on the deck in great wet plops.

“What? What’s wrong?” William crouched down and grabbed Tommy by the shoulders.

“Oh, please Sir!” the boy begged, his large brown eyes brimming with tears. “Please don’ tell no one! I don’ want no lashin’ fer what I did but I couldn’t leave him there to drown! I just couldn’t!”

“Hey now,” William soothed, “it’s alright. What do you mean? Lashing for what? You did something, didn’t you?”

The child nodded miserably, and gave a loud noisy snuffle of his runny nose. “I was down there, sent by Cap’n to rescue as much of the full ammo bags as I could carry ‘afore she sank, when I see’d him trapped there.” He sniffed again and inhaled a loud shuddering breath.

“And then?” William gently tipped the child’s chin up with his hand to meet his own gaze. “What did you do?”

“I tossed the ammo outta’ the waxy bags an’ onto the floor an’ blew them back up with me own breaths, then tied them all together as best I could. Then I wrapped them round him,” he nodded at John Robert, and continued, “an’ I hoped they’d float him up, after the cannon sucked him through the hole an’ into the sea with it.” He drew in another long shuddering breath and continued in explanation. “Them bags, they’re special coated with somethin’ to keep water from getting’ in and wettin’ the ammo powder. But I dinna’ have time to pick up the ammo….” His lower lip quivered and his face crumpled again.

“Oh-h please! Please!” he sobbed anew, “don’ tell no one ‘bout the ammo! They’d whip me fer sure if they was to ever hear ‘bout how I throwed it out an’ left it like that! I lost it all!”

“Tommy? Tommy!” William said firmly, and then softened his voice. “That was a brave and gallant thing that you did. Do you hear me? It’ll be our secret. Yours and mine.” Tommy continued to sob with shuddering gasps. “And Tommy? Because you were truthful and brave enough to share your secret with me, I’ll share one of mine with you.” Tommy looked up at William, his tear-brimmed eyes wide.

“This man you rescued? He’s my father. Now that’ll be our secret.”

His preliminary intention of sharing the news of her betrothal with his daughter was lost in the chaos of rescuing the crew of the
HMS Argus.
Dr. Willoughby had anticipated that his head strong daughter would be initially resistant to the idea, and as he spent the next few days assessing the general health and specific injuries of the
Argus
survivors, he formulated a plan.

Tess had continued to be distant and marginally hostile towards him since the day he had caught her up in her atrociously concocted story about the marketplace. He was certain however, that she would come round to the idea of this marriage, after she had had time to consider the benefits of such a fortunate situation.

Edward Graham was a man of power and royal connections. Any wife of his would have a life of comfort and luxury. She would command nearly as much respect from the commoners around her as her husband. Edward was a handsome man in appearance and the fact that he appeared to be a decade older than Tess was of no consequence. He would need the advantages of age and experience to control such a wife as Tess. And best of all, wealthy in his own right, Edward Graham had not insisted on a wedding dowry of any size, declaring that Tess’s beauty and family’s good name would be gifts enough to keep him content.

And the ring.