Quintspinner (40 page)

He stood halfway in the doorway and whispered her name again.

“Tess?”

Tess peered at the silhouette and tightened her grip on the knife. Her palm was clammy and the handle felt slippery in her grasp. Frightened as she was, there was something familiar about the voice.

“–William?” she inquired. Neither of them had given much thought to the familiarity they had both fallen into, their mere acquaintance status having been accelerated by the force of the tension of their situation.

“Begging your pardon, but Mrs. Hanley sent me to fetch you to the galley. She needs some help.”

Wearily Tess pushed herself up from the narrow cot and stood, nearly toppling over as she did so. In a flash William dropped his crutch and wedged his good leg against the wooden frame of the cot. His arms shot out and steadied her as her bruised knees creaked in protest of bearing her weight.

William’s arms were strong, offering solid support; his touch and his nearness were more than comforting. Her stomach tightened as butterfly flutters flickered their way through her. She leaned into him, pressing against his chest as though thrown by the ship’s roll, and his arms reflexively tightened around her. She could feel his heart thudding softly from within the depths of his chest. His breath was husky and warm against her ear and as he exhaled against her skin, she felt a smoldering heat climb up her neck and sweep across her cheeks. For a long moment neither of them moved, preferring to pretend to the other that their stance together was purely accidental.

As they climbed down to the middle deck, the mouth watering smells grew stronger and Tess realized that they were coming from the two large iron pots hung over the galley’s fire. Her grandmother bustled around the heavy wooden table, alternating her efforts between rolling out dough and stirring the contents of the pots. She tucked a greasy strand of hair that fell into her eyes, behind one ear and stared at Tess.

“Why, you’ve not even changed outta’ that filthy sailor’s garb!” She clucked her tongue in disapproval. “Clean yerself up a bit an’ then give me a hand here!” Tess grabbed an apron hanging on a protruding nail in the wall beside her.

“What are you doing?” she asked, watching her grandmother incredulously. The woman seemed to have no end of stamina.

“Makin’ myself
needed.”
She looked pointedly at Tess and continued. “That devil captain made it quite clear that only those he found useful would be spared. You’ve showed them you’re a healer, and I’m provin’ that I can cook. An’ there’s no point to be savin’ all these wonderful spices an’ such fer our new life that’s never goin’ to happen, is there? So sprinkle a little cinnamon on the dough there.” Turning to William she ordered, “an’ some sugar, if any’s left, from stores if you please, Mr. Taylor. An’ if any gives you grief, tell them it’s fer their own supper. Yer leg’s well enough to get you there and back?” William nodded and caught Tess’s eye. His gaze held her as securely as his arms had moments ago. He gave her a wan smile before reluctantly hobbling back towards the open companionway.

“What’s in the pots?” Tess asked, her mouth watering.

“That one’s a hearty meat soup fer the devil captain an’ his own crew. Nothin’ will impress them more than full bellies.”

“What’s in it? Where did you find ingredients? It smells wonderful!”

“Don’t it just? There’s nothin’ that some dried onions and garlic can’t make turn tasty.”

“But … I thought there was only salted fish left in the galley stores,” Tess persisted.

“True enough. That’s what’s in the next pot. Fer us.” Her grandmother continued stirring the pots with a wooden ladle in each, not looking at Tess as she did so.

“You’re giving the meat soup to
the pirates
and we get left-over rancid fish?” Tess asked in disbelief.

“Just make the cinnamon buns an’ be leavin’ the soups to me,” Mrs. Hanley countered firmly and she poked at the fire’s embers, coaxing a little more heat out of the flames.

“I don’t understand! Where did you find meat–real meat–and then why would you prepare it for those
vultures!
” Tess kneaded the dough roughly and continued to gripe to herself loudly enough that she did not pay heed to the faint smile that crept across her grandmother’s face, nor did she hear her grandmother’s soft explanation.

“Well, you see, child, even a snake’ll often eat its own … an’ it seemed a shame to throw away all them lost limbs ….”

As violent as they were, members of pirate society operated by offering democratic votes on nearly every decision concerning the crew. Later that night, amid much praise and admiration for such tasty fare, Mrs. Hanley and Tess were voted to be the permanent cooks aboard the
Mary Jane by
a vote count of forty-seven to one.

The only dissenting voice came from the
Bloodhorn’s
cook–a filthy looking man with grimy hands and blackened fingernails nearly as dirty as his bare feet–who insisted on two details: that Mrs. Hanley’s remaining precious spices be divided in half between the two ships, so that he would have access to some for the fare he prepared aboard the
Bloodhorn,
and that Mrs. Hanley be ferried over to the
Bloodhorn
every second weekend to allow him an evening off from his own cooking duties, and whatever meal that was to be prepared on that night, was to be served to him as well.

Life aboard the
Mary Jane
now was fraught with an increasing amount of tension and fatigue. Tess continued to tend to the wounded, her success rate earning her begrudged admiration from some and fearful respect from others.

“She’s uncanny, she is,” a skeletal looking pirate stated, unaware that Tess stood just mere feet away from his post at the helm. It had taken no skill at all for Tess to have judged such a skinny man’s innards to be infested with worms and to have treated him with a strong tonic of Boneset that was both emetic and purgative.

“Maybe so, but it ain’t right to have any woman on board. Especially a witchy one. That’s just sheer foolishness, letting the Devil’s handmaid bunk along with us,” his shipmate retorted.

“Ha, you’ve a split tongue today, Cabe. I seen ya’ sittin’ there, meek as a blind pup, lettin’ her sew ya’ up. An’ ya’ didn’t look too upset to be havin’ her hands upon ya’ then!”

“Still, this ship’ll be cursed and damned with her on it. Ya’ just wait an’ see if it ain’t.”

“Is that a wash of yellow I see in yer eyes?”

“Oh, say you so now, ya’ chunk of worm’s meat! I warrant you yerself don’t have the balls to rid us of her.”

“Aye, you’ve pegged that right, for any bucko who was of such a mind would suffer, her being under the protection of Captain’s brother-in law, never mind the Devil’s as well!”

Tess shifted her weight and stepped away, intending to return to the companionway. The creak in the floorboards underfoot drew the pirates’ attention.

“Hell-fire! She appears out of nowhere! Upon my life, she’s an imp of Satan, that one!” The fear in the man’s voice was palpable. Tess was not quite out of ear shot when she heard, “She’ll have us scuttled an’ sunk, mark me!”

For the time being, Tess did not mind having such a reputation. Such fears seemed to confer a temporary protection for her from what would otherwise have surely been brutal treatment from them.

She had also been successful so far in keeping Edward from rising from his sick bed. During the times that he was awake, she fed him a thin gruel laced with enough laudanum to ensure he would slide back into uneasy dreams. Often he called out, but his words were slurred and incomprehensible. It was only when he attempted to hold his mug on his own for the first time, and spilled its contents that Tess took further notice of his overall condition.

Looking closely she noted that one half of his face seemed to have sagged. She had just assumed that his mouth had turned down in a scowl at her presence but now upon closer inspection she observed that his eyelid was also heavy, giving him the appearance of one who was half asleep.

You are safe for now,
the strange voice in her head interrupted.

Could it be?
Excitement built with the thought flitting in her head. Attempting to draw him into a brief conversation confirmed her discovery.

It was a common belated occurrence with many whose injuries left them bedridden. Edward had been robbed of strength of movement on one side of his body, and more importantly, robbed of his power of speech.

The story of their scuffle could not, would not, be told. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was one less thing to plague her. She would no longer have to keep such a rigorous schedule for Edward’s laudanum ministration. As soon as that thought vanished, it was replaced by a familiar jolt of panic.

Can’t speak. Can’t move. All very well for now but what if he dies? What will happen to me–to all of us then?
Once again Tess felt her safety slipping away. Anxiety gripped her chest. She needed to talk to her grandmother.

It was also time to tell Edward’s other story–the one of which even he was unaware of its significance–to her grandmother. Upon hearing it, would her grandmother reach the same conclusion that Tess had? For what reasons had these strange circumstances brought her and Edward together, not only as a couple betrothed, but as uncle and niece? Tess thought her grandmother would be sure to have an opinion on that. Later that afternoon, Tess joined her grandmother, standing in the blistering heat of the fire which crackled before them in the galley’s hearth.

Unlike her normally cheery self, Mrs. Hanley listened somberly to the details, and then sat silently brooding over their significance.

“It had to be him. There could not be two of the same with that mark ya’ carry,” she finally said. “But why?” She sat without speaking for another long time before continuing. “There’s always somethin’ what comes from somethin’ ….”

Tess could tell the woman was lost in her thoughts, distant but still painful memories of everything and everyone who had been taken from her so many years ago. She gently laid her hand on her grandmother’s arm. “Are you alright?”

“’Course I am,” her grandmother replied. Tess couldn’t help but notice the new similarity to Mr. Lancaster’s speech pattern. “I was just thinkin’ about all the changes what happened to us an’ wonderin’ why? Why was my little one attacked, I’m wonderin’, an’ then it comes to me–it was so’s I could have
you.
An’ why did we end up on this journey, mixed up with the likes of Edward Graham? An’ that, too, brings us the answer–it’s so’s he could fill ya’ in on yer family tree, an’ give ya’ details on yer destiny with them rings. Who else would have known such stuff?” Her grandmother nodded her head as if in complete agreement with herself. “Always somethin’ comes from somethin’ …” she repeated.