Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

Callista woke and stretched, feeling sticky and sore in a very satisfactory way. The sun streaked across the floorboards heralding another perfect day, and she was very happy with her quartermaster. They would need to maintain a strict level of discretion; she felt a twinge of guilt about imposing a standard on the rest of the crew she was flouting herself in private. If she was honest, it didn’t feel right. But everything else about bedding Connor Mor felt right.

God, he could fuck, and she was sure there was more to explore, more fun to be had with him. She swung her legs over the side of her bunk and stood, stretching again. She felt marvellous, loose-limbed, a bit sore, but well worth it. And with a contented, happy feeling in her chest.

She washed and dressed and went to her desk. She needed to give him the stores register. An excuse to wake him up? She shrugged and grinned to herself, picking up the enormous book, a spare pen and ink pot. He needed the tools of his new trade after all.

She juggled her burden and opened her door. His was to the right of hers, taking up the other third of the stern of the ship. The other private cabins were in the prow, which was a good thing, or they would have been rumbled last night, they made so much damned noise. She suppressed a grin.

She knocked on his door and waited. There was no answer, so she opened the door. He wasn’t in his cabin. A twinge of disappointment twanged in her breast. Maybe she had fancied one more kiss before they began a day of pretending, they hadn’t tupped each other stupid last night. She deposited her burdens on his desk and left the cabin to do her rounds and hopefully find him in the process.

She did find him, on the poop deck with Chen, getting a briefing on the running of the ship. Good to see he was taking his job seriously.

“I’ve left the stores register on your desk Mr Mor,” she said, her pulse tripping oddly just at being in his proximity. Last night was something.

He was dressed in shirt and breeches, but her memory had him painted only in skin, with a raging cockstand she couldn’t wait to get her body round. Stop it!

“It will be your daily duty to check the stores and make sure we’ve not been robbed overnight by one of the crew.” Her tone was a little sharp, in an effort to suppress her body’s reaction to his nearness. Seriously Cal, control yourself!

He nodded, “Aye Captain.” He seemed cool as cucumber, much to her chagrin. But then her gaze dropped briefly to his breeches, and she fancied she could see a slight bulge. Her lips twitched, not so cool after all?

“Well, I won’t keep you from your instruction.” She suppressed another grin and turned on her heel. Lingering would be a bad idea, however an idea occurred to her, and she turned back, “Chen get Juana to give him a lesson at the wheel. He should know how to steer the ship as well.”

“Done Captain. Mr Mor will speak with Juana next.”

She nodded and walked away, heading for the brig to visit Mick.

She found him nursing a sore head and sour stomach.

Sitting on the visitors stool outside the bars of his cage, she passed him a cup of water through the bars and said, “I’m sorry about this Mick, but you left me no choice.”

“Aye I know,” he said wearily. He squinted at her in the gloom, there wasn’t a great deal of light down here and the smell was unpleasant, too. The stink of rotting seaweed and vomit. “Do I remember right? Was I halfway up the rigging singing a duet with the Irishman last night?”

“Aye you were, and a good pair you made too.” She wrinkled her nose at the stench. “Have they not emptied your waste bucket yet Mick?”

“Nay,” he rubbed his head as if it ached.

“I’ll get that done for you and see you have some more water. You’ll not get more than bread and water while you’re in there you know.”

“Aye,” he said listlessly.

“Mick you have to stop this. I can’t keep covering for you.”

He dropped his head in his hands, and she could see his shoulders shaking. He gulped on a sob. “I’m sorry to let you down girl.”

She put a hand through the bars and squeezed his shoulder. “You’re not letting me down exactly Mick. I just hate to see you so unhappy. You need a woman, man!”

He shook his head. “There’s no one for me but my Catherine.” He sniffed and wiped his face, and she handed him a handkerchief from her pocket.

He blew his nose loudly and winced.

“I suppose if you’re not over it now, you never will be.” She sighed. “All the same man you ought to try. When we put into port go visit a brothel, you’ll feel better if you get you wick wet, I guarantee it.”

“Your father wouldn’t approve of you speaking to me like that Callista.”

“It’s what he would say to you though, isn’t it?”

He sighed. “It is,” he said despondently. “I miss him too Cal.”

“Aye.” she swallowed. “We’ll avenge him, Mick. And I need you to stay sober so you can help me. I need my damned navigator!”

He smiled wryly and nodded. “I’ll stay sober ‘till we get Perez, I’ll promise you that. After that, I’m not sure what’ll do.”

She nodded and patted his arm. Rising she said, “I’ll see you’re attended to. I’ll come see you again in a bit.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Cal.”

She had turned away when he said, “Did the Irishman please you?”

She felt her ears go red. “What do you mean?” she said keeping her back to him.

He chuckled. “I’ll keep your secret girl. I just hope you know what you’re doing. The last man you took to your bed, it didn’t turn our well.”

“I know. You don’t have to worry about me Mick. I’m not a girl anymore. You can’t break what’s already broken.”

“You’re too young to say that Cal,” he said roughly.

She shrugged and continued to the ladder that would take her back to the upper decks.

Conor spentthe morning getting lessons from Chen and Juana, and the afternoon checking the stores and updating the register. He authorised the disbursement to the cook of today’s rations of food, grog, wood and water. And spent an hour talking to Coats about the division of the crew into gunnery teams for a new set of drills that would start tomorrow. He requested two more barrels from Miss Wade and bailed up Furness for a discussion of the running repairs to the ship.

These were constant, ensuring that the vessel was checked daily for possible leaks and wear and tear. There were many spare parts in the hold as well as timber that could be used for repairs. Furness was surly at first, but thawed a bit when Connor got him talking on his subject.

Connor thanked him for his work and was turning to leave the workshop when Furness said softly, “When do you plan to do it?”

Connor’s skin prickled. He knew what Furness meant; it was useless to deny it. “Have patience man, I’ve only just got me foot in the door.”

“Don’t wait too long Irish or you’ll find it done for you.”

Connor shook his head. “Ye haven’t the numbers to go up against me Fury.”

“Not yet I don’t, but if you tary too long I will. Watch your back Irish.”

Connor’s shoulder blades twitched, and he considered taking the other man out before he could cause any more trouble. Problem was they needed his skills, and he was undeniably good at his job.

“Don’t threaten me Fury, ye’ll end up with more than yer cods missing. If ye think ye can take me down in a fight yer wrong. I was raised in St Giles; I could scrap almost before I could walk. Ye and yer boys won’t stand a chance.”

“So you say.”

“Ye want to try me, now, here?” Connor advanced on him, the knife he kept in his boot in his hand, quicker than Fury could blink. “Come on then.” He spread his arms, beckoning with his hands.

Jenni Wade walked in carrying a basket on her hip and said, “I got those chocks ye asked for Fury, where d ye want ‘em?”

Furness straightened and smiled at her. “On the workbench Jen. Mr Mor was just leaving.”

Connor nodded to Jenni, gave Fury one more eyeballing, flipped his knife into his boot and left. He must keep his door bolted at night and put a lock on the outside during the day, Furness was not to be trusted.

He didn’t see Callista for the rest of the day. How she managed to avoid him on a ship this size he didn’t know, but he found a twist of paper pushed under his door after supper.

My cabin, ten bells.

He smiled and destroyed the note. Good she hadn’t had enough of him yet. Because he sure as hell hadn’t had enough of her. In between his work he found his mind wandering to last night and thoughts of what he would do to her when he next got the chance.

Washed and dressed neatly, he was about to open his door and make the dash from his cabin to hers, when he heard the sounds of feet clattering down the ladder from the upper deck and in the next instant, a thunderous knock on the captain’s cabin door.

“Captain!” It was one of the men, but he wasn’t sure who. What now? Then he noticed the list and heave in the ship, indicating a sudden increase in swell. He went to open his door just as the captain’s door opened and Callista stood there, with her hair loose, wrapped in a gold and green brocade banyan. My God, she’d been going to greet him like that. And instead...

“What is it Petey?” she asked.

“Storm off the starboard bow Captain, the swells up and there’s lightening, it looks a like big ‘un.”

“Thank you Petey, ring the bell to rouse everyone, I’ll be on deck in a couple of minutes.” She glanced over at Connor and said, “Mr Mor see that Mick Harper is let out of the brig and find Chen, she’ll direct the men to pull in the sails. And fetch Mr Coats, he will know what to do in case of lightening.”

“Aye Captain,” he hesitated fractionally as she went to close her door.

“Lightening is dangerous Mr Mor; it could set fire to the ship.”

He swallowed and nodded. “Aye Captain.” Petey was already up the ladder and out of earshot.

“Other dangers include taking on excessive water and damage to the masts and hull.”

He must have looked odd because she said reassuringly. “The Sea Devil has weathered many storms, Irish, she’ll no doubt weather this one too, but it pays to be vigilant. A loss of focus can result in a loss of life.”

“Aye Captain,” he said again and left to do her bidding. There was no doubt in this situation she was the experienced hand, he was just the muscle. By the time he’d found Chen and Coats and got Harper out of the Brig, Callista was on deck and issuing orders left and right. The wind had picked up fiercely and the ship was rolling and pitching.

Lightening cracked and thunder rolled loudly towards them from out of the dark. It was spooky up here in the half light of the few lanterns swinging madly from the yards, with a storm louring off their bow. The brightness of the lightening illuminated everything for a second, as clear as midday, then everything when dark again, leaving an after image behind the eyes. He blinked.

There were men on the halyards and in the rigging, furling the mainsails and figures flew to and fro across the deck, tying down anything that might roll off or blow away. That included the carronades, which Mr Coats was attending to with Mrs Harwood and two of the men.

Were the cannons below deck secured sufficiently? He must assume so.

The wind picked up further and the rain began, big heavy drops at first and then rapidly it was coming down in sheets and the deck was awash. The sea had risen now, and water was spilling over the sides onto the deck also. The roar of wind, water and intermittent thunder was chaotically loud, and the cold rain almost blinded him as the wind drove it in his face.

The men had the sails furled, and he turned to see Mick manning the wheel, trying to keep the ship steady into the waves to prevent them being rolled. Callista came up to him, moving hand over hand along the rail. “We’re going to try to head out of its path, it came up quicker than we hoped it would.” She shouted in his ear over the screaming wind and the almost constant roll of thunder. Another massive crack of lightening lit up the sea to their right and Connor couldn’t control his involuntary start.

“Help Mick with the wheel,” she said. “It will take some muscle to hold us on course through this and get a rope to tie yourself to something, so you don’t get swept overboard. Can you swim?”

He shook his head, clutching the balustrade as he staggered with the pitch of the ship. His stomach lurched as sea spray and the scent of lightening and fear grabbed him by the throat. His heart raced.

“I’ll teach you when we get out of this!” the wind almost snatched her words away.

“Be careful!” he said, feeling helpless to protect her from a tempest that seemed to be threatening to drag them all down into the deep. To say he was terrified was probably to put it mildly.

She laughed and turned away and something in his chest wrenched. She was so fearless! Her experience must tell her that this storm was manageable, not a real threat, no matter how horrendous it seemed to him. Her confidence boosted his and a flood of warmth in his chest towards her made him falter as he turned to find his footing on the steps up to the quarterdeck. He looked back over his shoulder at her, a shadowy outline in the dark, and it was in that moment that the sky lit up with an almighty crack and a shock went through his body that threw him backwards off the steps.

The smell of burning wood assailed his nostrils as he shook his head to clear it and the shouts and movement of others penetrated his woolly head. He had been thrown to the deck and had landed awkwardly on his shoulder; apart from that, he was unhurt. The rain was still coming down in sheets, the ship was pitching, and the wind was wild.

He looked up to the quarterdeck but could make out little in the dark, except the leap of flames up in the air. One of the sails was alight, ignited by the lightning strike, he supposed. Shadows moved and shouted, and the ship pitched and tossed violently.

He clambered to his feet and staggered towards the steps to the quarterdeck. Someone had a lantern. In its meagre light, the source of the chaos was abundantly clear. That lightning strike had hit the mizzenmast and cracked it clean in two. Splinters of wood covered the deck. The force of the blast that had thrown him across the deck, had flattened Mick Harper and the ships wheel was spinning out of control, which explained the violent lurching of the ship.

Hauling himself up the steps he staggered to the wheel and grabbed it. Behind him people were attending to Harper. He hoped the man was unharmed, but he didn’t have time to check. His whole focus was on fighting with the wheel and trying to bring the ship into a position that would minimise the tossing. Remembering his lessons from Juana, he fought to get the prow pointed into the waves, if he failed, they were likely to capsize with the size of the waves spilling over the bow.

He had no idea where Callista was in the chaos and hoped fervently that she had been clear of the effects of the blast. His head was still ringing with the impact. He fought with the wheel, straining his muscles and using all of his weight.

Would Callista still think this was a minor storm after it brought down the mizzenmast? He supposed it could have been worse, it could have hit the main mast. Where is she? Is she alright? His thoughts chased themselves round his head and he hauled on the wheel. Was he making any progress? He couldn’t tell. But at least he’d stopped the wheel spinning freely.

The next crack of lightning and thunder was further away, behind them, so perhaps they were through the worst of it? He kept applying pressure to the wheel and fancied the ship was rolling less, more of a cresting and dumping motion now, which suggested he had succeeded in getting it across the waves instead of sideways to.

The wind had dropped marginally, and the rain was easing a fraction. Still torrential, but not quite as blinding. He held the wheel steady, his heart still thudding and skipping from the blast. He ventured a look behind him to Mick Harper, where he still lay spreadeagled on the deck. Figures bent over him. He turned back at the sensation of a tug on his sodden sleeve. It was Callista. Relief flooded his system and he smiled.

“You alright?” she asked raising her voice above the noise of the wind and rain.

He nodded. “Ye?”

“Fine. The fires out, thank the sea gods!” she pointed upward, and he saw that the flames had been extinguished by the heavy rain. “It’s Mick I’m worried about. He’s alive but out cold. Good job, keep her steady,” she said patting the wheel and turned away towards Harper.

Another one of those warm rushes filled his chest and he applied himself to keeping the wheel steady. Who’d have thought one word from her could make him feel so good? Was he so starved of praise he would take it wherever he found it? Garmon had been stingy with his compliments, but he realised he’d worked hard to win the few he got. Perhaps that was why he was always so generous with his own praise, it’s what he craved in return?

The rain and wind continued to lash them. Connor kept the Sea Devil turned into the waves, his muscles straining to hold her steady. It seemed a long time before the eye of the storm passed over. He was soaked and frozen, his hands almost numb, his body strained with the effort of holding the ship on course and peering through the dark and the relentless rain on his face.

But gradually he became aware that the eye of the storm was passing. The rain eased, gradually he could see a little better without it driving straight into his face. As he glanced around, he felt, more than saw, that the rain was lessening further now, and the wind had dropped to a strong breeze. His work to hold the ship steady was paying off and people were moving about the deck more freely, with more lanterns to see by. He glanced behind again and made out the shape of the shattered top half of the mizzenmast lying in a tangle of yards, sails and ropes on the deck. What were they going to do with a broken mast?

With the lessening of the wind and rain the crew began the process of cleaning up. A stretcher was fetched from below, and Connor was able to hand the wheel off to Juana so that he could help them move Mick onto the stretcher and get him below to sick bay. Connor stayed with him while Doctor Liang looked him over. The man was white as a sheet with bloody scratches where he’d been peppered with shrapnel from the exploding of the mast.

He was lucky he didn’t get a splinter in the eye.

He came round while Liang was treating him and Windy stepped forward to hold him with Connor, while she removed the last to the splinters.

“He has concussion, keep him awake, he needs to be watched,” she said addressing Connor. “If he falls asleep, he could go into a coma and die.”

She turned her attention back to Mick, who had flinched at her blunt words. “If you feel nauseous or faint, I need to know. I don’t know what damage you may have done inside your skull. Understand?”

Mick nodded. “Aye doctor.”

“I’ll find someone to watch him,” said Connor.

“I’ll do it,” said Pat, one of the female crew who had helped bring him down, she had been hovering in the doorway watching the proceedings.

Liang nodded. “Very good, you sit here and talk to him. Call me if anything changes.”

Connor worked alongside the rest of the crew through the night. There was a strong sense of belonging there, that fed something inside him he didn’t know was missing. He had to acknowledge too that Callista did a fine job showing leadership to the crew throughout. Could he do any better? When he took the ship? He could lead a rebellion, but could he sail and command a ship? He shook his head to clear it of the doubts that niggled at him. They all wanted to go home, this mission of hers...

He caught sight of Mr Adebayo bringing food and drink to the men and the story he’d told of his family and what they had suffered at Perez’ hands came back with blinding force. It gave him pause. Freeing the slaves. That was a mission worth pursuing, he couldn’t deny that.