The creak and sway of the bed cut through the fog of Samantha’s mind. As she opened her eyes, pain shot through her skull. She slammed them shut, groaning. Had Wessler beaten her again? No, she ran a cooling hand over her aching forehead. This was a different kind of pain.
Another sway of the bed had Samantha’s memory flooding back. She was aboard the Scarlet Night. Cautiously cranking open one eye confirmed she was still in the captain’s cabin. The slight roll of the ship echoed in her belly, and her head cursed at her, but still a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she shielded her eyes against the morning’s bright assault.
She was away from the devil named Damian Wessler and his feral spawn.
Samantha wasn’t ignorant to the fact that she was far from safe aboard this ship, but having escaped the hell she’d been in, made everything else pale in comparison.
Rolling to one side, she noticed things in the light of the new day, which she had missed last night.
A bank of diamond-paned windows across the back wall of the cabin sparkled in the sunlight and flooded the well-appointed room with a morning filled with blue skies and calm seas. Beyond, a wide frothy wake spread behind the ship like a fine lady’s train.
Tupper was still asleep in her chair behind the beautifully carved oak desk. Her hair unbound, its silvered streak fell in a shimmering wave from root to tip. Her bare feet poked out from beneath the rough wool blanket wrapped around her. She snored. Her ancient crow was awake, however, and pecked at the stale bread on her plate, glaring at Samantha with one glassy eye.
Empty bottles rolled against one another following the sway of the ship. How much had they drunk last night? With a slight groan, Samantha ran a hand over her face once more and pushed her fingers into her shockingly cropped hair. A quick frown creased her brow. The shortness of her hair was a ragged reminder of her current predicament.
Samantha recalled the sight of her dark tresses fluttering to the floor as Tupper cut them away. Spotting a looking glass secured to one wall, she rose. The image staring back made her gasp. Uneven dark hanks stuck out at odd angles. Their ends had started to curl in the humid sea air. She plucked at them in dismay.
Samantha ran her fingertips over her cheek and down her neck. How thin she appeared without her hair. Shadows stood out beneath her eyes and made her look haunted, drawn, beaten. Dark purple bruises along her jaw and cheek had begun to fade yellow at the edges. Her own family would not have recognized her. She couldn’t have looked further from the girl that left them a short time ago with high hopes and fanciful dreams. She’d been a fool to believe Wessler’s blatant lies and nearly paid for it with her life.
Perhaps she had. After all, Samantha Christian was no more. Her name…correction…his name was now Sam. Not waiting until morning, Sam Christian signed his name to the Ship’s Articles last night. Looking back in the mirror, it struck her again. Samantha was indeed gone.
Had it truly only been a few days since she’d spun in the arms of the handsome Captain Steele, her hair piled high upon her head? She looked down at her new breeches. Perhaps a puce gown had not been so ugly after all. Stop. Now was not the time for regrets or reconsiderations. What was done was done, and regardless of what was to come, it was better than dying by Wessler’s hand.
The pinch of tears behind her eyes threatened to undo her, but there was no place for tears now. Weeping was what weak women did. Men did not cry, and she was a man now…or at least a boy.
“Ye look like shite.” Tupper’s graveled voice sounded almost pleased. It startled Sam and made the crow fluster away from its stolen breakfast. Tupper coughed.“Ye need a bit of lamp black to dirty ye up a bit. Hide who ye be.” She scrubbed at her face before giving Sam another look and jerking a chin in her direction. “Make sure you keep those bindings on your chest good and snug.” Tupper began tipping empty bottles, one by one, to drip into her glass before tossing them aside. “We may just get away with this.”
“And if we don’t?”
Tupper gave her a bleary look. “You don’t want to know.” From a cupboard behind the desk, she retrieved another bottle. The cork squeaked on its way out of the bottle’s neck. Tupper splashed a measure into her glass. She held the bottle out to Sam. “A bit more shine on the ole’ cannon ball?”
“No.” Sam grimaced as her stomach rolled at the thought. “Thank you. And you’re mistaken. I do want to know.”
Tupper stowed the bottle. “They’d kill us both. And not quick, mind ya.”
“But you’re their captain. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“Not here.” Tupper began plaiting her hair. The gold ring on her right hand caught the light with each turn of her wrist. “Things don’t work like that aboard a pirate ship. Every member of this crew has a say and a vote. We’ve a crew of fifty-five at present. They may look motley, but you would be wise not to underestimate them. They are the most feared crew on the Atlantic and get paid highly for their skills. Happy when their pockets are full and the rum ain’t watered.” She lifted her glass and drained it in one swallow.
“They adhere to strict rules, and if broken, they see ye pay the consequence. It’s as simple as that. I’ve lied to my crew by bringing you aboard. It’s not something I’ve dared do before now. They don’t take kindly to deceit. A broken trust is never forgiven. I doubt their loyalty to me would prevent them from issuing swift justice. ‘Course, they could be in a good mood and only maroon me on some Godforsaken island with no water and a loaded pistol.”
Tupper shrugged. “More likely they’d hang my head from the bowsprit and toss the rest over the rail to feed the sharks.”
She fit a wide belt about her waist. “And you…. Well, I’m afraid there are many unpleasant ways to kill a man…or a woman. The woman parts of ye may humor them for a bit, but its fair te say we’d both be begging to die at the end.”
Samantha’s head went light as all the blood seemed to leave her brain. She dropped to the side of the bed. “Didn’t think it possible, but you’ve made me rather miss Damian Wessler.”
“Too late to be missing the bastard now. There ain’t no turning back from here. That’s why ye’re to do as I say. Keep yer head down and yer mouth shut.” Tupper slipped her feet into tall boots before pointing a finger at her. “Folks see what they expect te see. Play yer part well, and we’ll both live to tell the tale.”
Sam let out a great breath. “I’ll try.”
“Ye better do more than try,” Tupper warned. “Keep to yerself. Work on becoming invisible. I’ve still got to figure where you should quarter. Can’t be putting you in with the men. There’s a sliver of space in one of the holds, but if I put you in there it would arouse suspicion. For now we’ll just ride the tide. Hell, they could figure you from the start and we won’t live long enough to worry about where ye’ll be sleeping tonight.”
A knock sounded at the door. The crow gave a halfhearted sweep to his perch. In the light of day he looked more moth-eaten than he had last night. How old was he? Tupper adjusted her baldric. “Come.”
Sam crossed her arms over her chest and fixed her gaze on the wide floorboards. When no one entered, she shot a nervous glance toward Tupper.
“It be Bump.” She stomped on the floor sharply with her heel. “He’s deaf.”
Sam hid her surprise as a tall, bronze-skinned man entered the quarters with a trencher of bread and cheese, and what she suspected was a pitcher of ale. His hair was fashioned in thick dark twists that hung oddly past his broad shoulders. It reminded Sam of long wool roving. When he turned intense pale eyes in her direction, she ducked her chin. He faced Tupper and jerked his head back toward her.
“New boy. Sam.” As Tupper spoke, she made several odd gestures with her hands.
Sam held her breath and prayed to be inconspicuous. Everything seemed impossible all of a sudden. They’d never get away with fooling the crew into believing she was a cabin boy. Bet the sharks have already begun circling the ship.
To her staggering relief, the man called Bump simply nodded, before gathering a few discarded things from Tupper’s desk and leaving.
“I’ll never survive.” The words left her in a rush. “We’ll never get away with this.”
“You did fine.” Tupper tore the end off the loaf of bread and tossed it to Leviticus, who nearly fell from his perch to catch it midair in his wide black beak.
“Getting by a deaf man perhaps.” Sam gestured weakly toward the door.
Tupper glared at her. “Bump may be deaf and dumb, but he is far from stupid.” Her anger was swift and heated.
The reprimand stung. Sam rushed to explain her misjudgment. “I didn’t mean—”
Tupper jabbed a sharp finger toward the door. “That man is the finest seaman on this ship. He’s been a member of this crew longer than I have, and he’s more intelligent than the rest of the lot put together. I’ll not have ye speak ill of him, not one word, or I’ll throw ye over the rails myself.”
“I’m sorry. I take it back. I just thought—”
Tupper’s voice rose. “I know what ye bloody well thought, and ye thought wrong.”
Sam hurried to defend herself. “When he came in… It suddenly hit me how dangerous my situation is. I panicked.”
“That’s a fine way to end up dead,” Tupper snapped. “And me with ye.” The crow squawked at her as well when Tupper shouted, flapping his wings in agitation.
Sam held up her hands in defense. “I truly am sorry.”
Tupper huffed. The crow flew awkwardly to her, as the room pulsed with tense anger. Samantha searched her mind for something to say. She was ashamed at her own rush to judgment. After a strained moment, she asked softly. “Is it hard for him? Being aboard ship and not being able to hear?” At Tupper’s glare, Sam was quick to continue. “I only mean, if it were me, I couldn’t imagine such an insurmountable challenge.”
“Bump handles the challenges of this life as well as any man. He came aboard as a young child. He knows no other way.”
“Is Bump a surname?”
“He has no surname. His given name is William, but I’m sure I’m one of the few alive aboard to remember. He earned the nickname Bump his first days on the ship. He’s smart like I said, but it took him a bit to get used to things and develop a set of eyes in the back of his head. Couldn’t hear the warning shouts when a loose block got to swinging or when a boom went rogue. Had his head near cleaved in two a few times. Hence the name. But he’s a sixth sense about things now. There are those who looked out for him growing up, served as his ears. Sent him into the rigging when the fighting started. Taught him how to protect his back during a battle.”
“What were you two doing with your hands?”
“He uses a finger alphabet to spell words. We’ve adopted other gestures over the years to communicate. A Spanish monk put it all in a book.” Tupper moved to the built-in bookcase and slipped a well-worn tome from its slot, holding it aloft. “We…acquired a copy from a Spanish merchant ship.” Tupper met her gaze before opening the book and flipping through several dog-eared pages. “Lad learned it all. Faster than Gavin and I.”
“Gavin?”
Tupper returned the book to the shelf. “Captain Gavin Quinn. My late husband.”
“I’m sorry.”
Tupper waved away her condolences. “I’ve no time for this chitchat. Last thing I need is some quaint sewing circle on board this ship. Ye’ll do well to remember I am neither your friend nor your mother. There’ll be no gossip sessions. No trading fashion tips or fussing with each other’s hair.” She swept the end of her braid back over her shoulder. “I’m the captain of this ship, and yer just another member of this crew.”
“I understand.”
“Good. Grab yerself a bite to eat and prepare te meet me on deck.” Tupper donned her hat and adjusted the wide leather belt over her chest before fitting two pistols into its holsters. “Be quick about it and…” Tupper notched her chin. “Good luck to us both.”
Samantha’s stomach turned at the thought of food. Between sheer nerves and too much rum, she decided another morning without food wouldn’t kill her. Hell, had she not fled, there’d be no breakfast for days. She’d joked about missing Wessler, of course, but had she escaped one danger at Blackwater Plantation only to be in worse peril upon the Scarlet Night? There was one small difference, however. Death was a guarantee at Wessler’s hands. Here, death was merely a distinct possibility. That ribbon-thin scrap of hope was all she had to hang on to, but it was something.
Sam pulled the glass chimney from a brass lamp, dirtied her face and neck with lampblack, then bound her chest as tightly as she could bear and practiced an angry set to her face. Overhead she could hear the footsteps and shouts of the crew as they began their day. Tupper was right, there was no turning back. Sam put a shaky hand on the door’s handle. Forcing herself to stop trembling, she took a deep breath and stepped out into the galley way heading toward the steps leading above deck.
A heavyset bald man carrying a small barrel under his arm strode toward her, knocking her into the wall as he passed. “Out of me way, whelp.”
Sam gripped at the rough wood behind her as she watched him move on. Her heart threatened to break out of her chest, but she straightened and continued on. “One down…fifty-four more to go.”