The Devil's Luck Ch. 02

"Men!" the captain barked, his voice ringing out over the deck, his hands at his hips, "Mrs Collingwood here is our guest for this next leg of our route. Let's do our best to welcome her aboard The Devil's Luck."

This brought a roar of further cries and foul taunts from the crew, but they died down again as Blackburn continued.

"That being said, let me be clear: this pretty bird belongs to me. Feast your eyes as you will, mates, but your hands will be to yourselves. Do not let me hear that anyone has been at play, men, or you'll find yourself wishing you hadn't."

"Everyone back to work!" Till barked, when the crew continued to stand and gawk at the naked female in their midst. Men turned reluctantly back to their tasks at the sound of his command.

Tears burned in her eyes at this smallest measure of relief he'd offered. At least no one would be permitted to physically molest her. She wasn't sure she'd be able to retain any thread of sanity if that were to be allowed. Hannah hoped the same immunity would be afforded to her maid, wherever the poor woman found herself now.

He turned back to her then, a brisk nod approving his own handiwork. "Five hours, Mr Till," he set the time for her punishment and she blanched. "And see that they abide by my words. No one touches her. I should hope, for your sake, Mrs Collingwood, that once I set you loose from that mast you'll have a better understanding of what it means to stand still for me when I require it."

She swallowed at his words, wondering how she could manage to endure this treatment. Testing her bonds with an attempted wriggle and flex of her limbs, she saw that she would have no choice but to wait it out.

"Captain," she managed to choke out, "What will become of Brigit? Of my maid?" She had to hope that the woman was faring better than herself.

He turned back to her at her question, his expression indicating that he was very pleased with himself. "Oh worry not, Madam. I've no interest in the likes of her; not when I've already uncovered a greater prize." His eyes caressed her flesh as he continued, "No, I'm certain to find some use for one like her in the employ of our cook – from what I saw of her she looks suited to that manner of labour. Concern yourself instead, Mrs Collingwood, with what will become of you."

With that vague threat put in place, Edmund Blackburn moved on to his next matter of business.

"Graves!" the captain bellowed, turning from her with a hand to his eyes to reduce the glare from the sun.

Hannah followed his line of sight to the lanky man oozing along the deck toward them. She could tell from the cautious way he approached that he was expecting Blackburn's ire.

"Captain?" he acknowledged the summons with a nervous darting of tongue over lips, in what seemed to be a perpetual habit of his, she noted. The surgeon's beady eyes flickered to her, and for some reason, even more than before, she burned with a desire to cover herself.

"So, Mr Graves," the captain began, "what is your title aboard this vessel?"

"Surgeon, Sir," the leathery man replied, shifting his weight under the deadly calm of the captain's tone.

"Oh? It isn't 'Captain'?" Blackburn asked in feigned surprise.

"No, Sir."

"And how is it, then, that you decided, all on your own, to bring a woman – no, two women - aboard my ship? Mr Till," he turned to the man still standing behind her, "do you recall my giving permission for Mr Graves to pick out a bit of lace from the port to carry along on this journey?"

"I remember no such thing, Captain," came Till's rumbling reply.

"Of course you don't, Mr Till, because it never happened. You see Graves? I will choose who and what is allowed to come aboard this ship, and I alone. You're here to patch up my crew after a skirmish, Butcher, not to be choosing out passengers on a whim."

"I'm sorry, Captain, I weren't aware that this would be an offence," he cringed out his apology. "I was going to share them, Sir. I thought the crew might like a bit of sport along the way."

"We've found the source of your problem, Graves: I haven't taken you aboard to think. Let me remind you of the position you're in, Friend – it's only because your brother is Harbourmaster and has plenty of good coin to offer that you've been allowed to escape Bristol with your neck unbent."

Hannah forgot her nudity for a moment, her interest piqued by the sordid situation the captain was detailing before her. So Graves wasn't such a trusted crew member after all, it seemed...

"Captain, I didn't mean any –"

"Listen carefully, Graves, for I'm not fond of repeating myself. If it weren't for me you'd be stretched from the gallows by week's end, your stinking corpse food for the crows, right next to the bodies of those whores you played your sick little games with. You can thank your brother for bribing your way out of that port, and you can thank me for taking his purse and spiriting you away from the hands of the law."

"Yes, thank you Sir, I –"

Blackburn didn't let the stammering apology interrupt him. "I expect you to make yourself useful and scarce on this trip, Graves. I have your brother's coin in hand now, and as you've yet to prove any sort of medical skill, which you claim to have, you're so far just as much use to me adrift in the Atlantic as you are on my decks. Do I make myself clear, Surgeon?"

"As clear as the day, Captain," Graves affirmed, stealing a quick angry glance at Hannah. What must be his first day aboard The Devil's Luck as well, and he, too, had earned Blackburn's irritation. He'd also been robbed of his prize, and this made her feel a new stirring of fear. She would need to avoid this man as best she could; he looked a vengeful type.

"See that it stays that way, Graves. Now out of my sight," the captain dismissed him and the surgeon slithered off, trying to move away from Blackburn's scrutiny as quickly as possible.

With a final glance for Hannah and Mr Till, he turned on his heel and strode away from her, calling orders to his crew as he went. "Hawke! Run and tell the cook I've need of a word with him, and fetch Mrs Collingwood's maid from below. Mr Osbourne! Gather those charts of yours and meet me in the council room. We'd best take a look at our heading."

Hannah watched his back as he receded, leaving her to the appraising eyes of his crew. The reality of her situation settled on her. She would stand here for five hours, her body wholly bared to the lustful gazes of passing sailors with no way to hide or cover herself from their scrutiny. The tears that had been building in her eyes began to spill over her cheeks at this humiliating injustice.

Till stepped around from behind and assessed her frankly. His eyes lingered for shorter time than she would expect on her jutting breasts and clenched thighs, though, and she thought she saw what might have been a look of sympathy ripple over his features. He gave a tight shake of his bald head, as though he privately did not agree with what had been done to her, but his duties aboard the ship called to him and he turned from her as well, moving off to attend them.

She stood there now – well, was held upright, really – against the mast, her pale flesh feeling sun and breeze where it had never known them. She noted that the coils of rope at her hips covered the downy folds of her sex from view, and she thanked the gods for small favours. Five hours was beginning to look like a very long time indeed.

Certainly some of the crew stopped to ogle her, and a few made further crude suggestions, to which she did not respond, but for the most part they went about their duties. As far as she could manage to turn her head she saw the men at their tasks. Needle and thread were at work mending torn clothing and sails. Decks were being scrubbed and lines tarred by the calloused hands of busy sailors.

Hannah let her gaze settle on the horizon and between the endless blue of the sea and sky, and the gentle rolling of the ship over the swells, she fell for a time into a sleepy trance. Her eyes were partially lidded as her mind blocked out all other sensations but the rise and fall of the waves and the scent of salt in the air as the Sun marked out time with its arc overhead.

A strange caress at her shins startled her out of her dreamy stupor and she let out a short gasp of surprise. None of the crew stood anywhere near her now, and she thought the Sun might be starting to affect her senses before she looked down to her ankles to see a robust ginger tabby cat grazing its chin against her.

If her circumstances hadn't been so lamentable, she would have laughed. A ship's cat, kept aboard to root out vermin. Here, at least, was one member of the crew who didn't care a whit for her nudity. The furry beast was probably wondering why she didn't crouch down to offer him a friendly scratch behind his ears.

"I see you, Puss," she intoned in a low voice, hoping to not attract attention her way. Perhaps she might have a single friend on this cursed ship, once the captain cut her down from the mast. There would certainly be no Mrs Hadley for company aboard this vessel.

The cat abruptly left off his rubbing at her shins and gave a hiss, arching his back. He ran off down the deck with a bristling tail and she wondered what had made him react that way.

Graves stepped around the mast from behind her.

His eyes painted lecherous strokes over her bare flesh and he all but salivated at her helpless form, prevented by the securely coiled lines from fleeing or striking out at him.

"Well," he mused, his voice slick with lewd intent, "I'd hoped the first time you made your way out of your fine clothes for me it would have been a bit more private, but I suppose this will have to do."

He stepped toward her and her heart began hammering in her chest. They were not supposed to touch her! And him most of all, she'd gathered from the captain's earlier chastisement. His dirty fingers came to the pale flesh at her waist and she squeezed her eyes shut in denial. Dare she cry out? How long before the captain returned to enforce his orders? Would the other men stand by and do nothing? Or worse, join in?

"Such a pretty little dove," he cooed sickeningly at her, "So soft. So delicate." He snaked his hand over her ribs to bring his thumb over her nipple. "Oh yes, the things we'll get up to..." A rough tweak at the tender pink bud brought tears to her eyes.

He brought his other filthy hand to her throat, drinking up her terror and pain. "I wonder," he mused, as though he were contemplating the addition of sugar to his tea, "if I should snap your pretty neck before or after I've sampled this lovely cunt of yours?"

A sob choked out of her as the hand torturing her nipple slid down her belly and over the ropes at her hips. His fingers were trying to work their way into the gap below the rope that hid her most intimate areas from view. She thrashed her head from side to side and whimpered in the only pathetic form of protest she had left.

As if in answer to her silent prayer, a heavy hand thumped down on the knobby shoulder of Mr Graves and he was jerked bodily away from Hannah. Her vision no longer filled by the yellow smile and rapacious eyes of the surgeon, she saw Mr Till towering over Graves, his features stern and disapproving.

"Did you not hear the captain's orders, man? I believe we both stood not ten feet from this spot when he said 'hands off'." Till had not released the surgeon from his grip, which Hannah now knew firsthand was near unbreakable.

"She's just a hole for the captain's knob, Till. Ought to be loosened up a bit, if you ask me," he replied, hawking a gob of spit onto the deck.

"I didn't ask you, Graves. No one did. Now go find Adams and see if the cooper has any more work for you, seeing as no one is dead or dying at the moment as needs your attention." He shoved the surgeon with a powerful thrust away along the deck, and the scrawny man careened against a wooden crate from his momentum. Graves sneered at the both of them and, massaging his bruised shoulder, turned to march away.

"And Graves!" Till called after him, "I'll be reporting this to the captain." Graves have him a final snort of disgust and disappeared into the swirl of sailors moving about on deck.

At the departure of the surgeon, Hannah felt some unnamable barrier break within her and she burst into great racking sobs. Hot tears burned down her face and she cried until she coughed and choked. The accumulation of events had finally become too much. The captain's hands on her in the stateroom, her body exposed to Heaven knew how many strange men, the repulsive attentions of Graves... How could she possibly bear any further indignity?

She felt a new hand on her face now and she grimaced, her eyes still clenched shut against the reality before her. But the touch was light and a gentle thumb wiped the scalding tears from her cheek. Her eyes opened at this unexpected contact and she was surprised to see Mr Till's tattooed arm lifted in front of her. He brushed away the wetness on the other side with the same care as he'd done the first.

"Ah, look, Mrs Collingwood," he said quietly, a caring in his eyes that did not match his intimidating appearance, "now I've gone against the captain's orders myself."

Hannah sniffled dumbly at his gesture of kindness, not sure if she should respond at all. His gaze assessed her before looking about himself, appearing to make some decision.

"You're most of the way through it now," he pointed out, as if trying to encourage her to bravery. "And Graves won't be back."

Till turned to put his back to the mast alongside her and he slid down the length of the wood until he came to sit on the deck, his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle. He produced a curved dagger that looked much like the captain's and set about cleaning from under his fingernails. Hannah realised what he was doing: he was guarding her from further harm.

"Thank you, Mr Till," she said in a voice low enough that only he would hear. She was not certain whether she held more wonder that at least one man aboard this ship was not set on injuring her, or that she had thanked a man who not long ago had held her in place to be molested and aided in stripping her out of her clothes.

As Hannah sagged into her bonds, exhausted from the day's events, she thought as she drifted once again into her trance that the world was a much larger and stranger place than anything the pages of her books could have possibly led her to imagine.

* * * *



Edmund strolled back to his stateroom, hands clasped behind his back, deep in thought. They had not been aware of it, caught up as they were in the events of the moment, but he'd been headed to the foremast to check on the bound and lovely Mrs Collingwood, and had come into view just in time to watch Till rip that snake of a surgeon away from her.

He sighed to himself as he made his way back below deck. Something would have to be done about Graves, and it would probably end with a dagger sticking out the back of the man's grimy neck. But his thoughts were not on his newest and most irksome crew member at the moment.

Benjamin Till, Quartermaster aboard The Devil's Luck, had merely been carrying out his orders as his role dictated when he put a stop to Graves' pawing at Mrs Collingwood. When he'd wiped her tears and sat watch to ward off any further mischief, however, that had been purely Benjamin his friend, and not the second in authority aboard his ship. Edmund had seen that Benjamin had matters well in hand, as he always did, and so he'd turned unnoticed to go back to his cabin.

As a boy, Edmund had spent a great deal of his free time exploring the streets of Kingston, messing about as young boys are wont to do. Whenever he could escape from his lessons and the host of various other duties that were expected of him as the son of a moneyed household, he would trip down to the harbour to watch the ships meander in and out and generally make the sort of mischief that is the speciality of a boy by himself.

When he'd met Benjamin, the town had not been quite as busy as it was now. He'd only been eight years old, and the earthquake that destroyed Port Royal in 1692, bringing the bulk of the trade business onto the island proper and into Kingston itself, was still four years off.

Edmund had been a rather solitary individual as a boy. With no siblings, a distant father, and a mother he didn't know at all, the lion's share of his companions existed in books. The place he went nearly every time he tired from wandering the streets of Kingston was Mr Ivey's tiny bookstore.

There were more than books there, of course. One could buy maps, and pamphlets, and really any other thing that came through the port with the printed word on it. His father would occasionally allow him some small coin to spend in the shop, but even when he had none, Edmund would loiter there, at the indulgence of Mr Ivey, pulling books from the shelves and getting lost in the adventures of others.

It had been on one such afternoon that young Edmund had his first fateful encounter with Benjamin Till.

Edmund looked up from the illustration of a Portuguese sailing ship he was admiring in time to see out the filmy window, where a fat wool merchant was being relieved of his purse by the deft hands of a roughly clothed boy.

The thief darted away from his mark and a second later the door to the bookseller's cracked open just wide and long enough to admit the same crouching young man, not much older than Edmund himself. The blonde boy ducked below the ledge of the window, clearly attempting to avoid discovery. Once the merchant wandered off, unaware still that he was lighter by a few coins, the little cutpurse's face split in a grin.

The other boy turned to stand and Edmund was there to meet his eyes.

"I saw what you did," Edmund pointed out, his tone noncommittal. He was not yet sure whether he would expose the thief by calling Mr Ivey from the back room or not. He knew of stealing, he wasn't that naïve, but he'd never seen it done in front of him, aside from the dogs at his father's table when no one was looking.

"Shhh," the boy put a grubby finger to his lips, mischief in his clear green eyes.

"Why did you take that man's purse?" whispered Edmund, stepping closer to the other youth so he wouldn't have to speak so loudly.

"There isn't so much to go around at the monastery, Friend. We all of us boys lift a bit of coin and the like. 'Specially us older lads. The young ones haven't got a chance, elsewise."

The little burglar gave Edmund a sly wink and, as fast as he'd arrived, slid back out through the door into the street again, disappearing off into the bustle of bodies and carts just before Mr Ivey returned from the back room with his meal.

The monastery. Yes, that made sense. Many a babe was left at its gates in the night, and the monks would do their best to bring up the abandoned boys until they were old enough to learn a trade. There was hardly enough in the coffers for the monks themselves, and Edmund imagined that what the other boy had said was so: there would be little to go around.

The very next day Edmund found himself not at the harbour, his usual haunt, but peeking around the open edge of the monastery gate, trying to catch a glimpse of the activity inside. He was not entirely sure why he'd bothered to come to this place, but the events of the previous day had sparked something in him he could not quite name.

"Well that didn't take long."