Secrets of the Realm (10 page)

*     *     *

Meanwhile in the crew's quarters, tempers flared.

"Agony, it is! Look at me 'ands. Blisters!"

"Quit your complaining, Symington. You have to take to the boats like the rest of the crew," Mr. Allan said.

"I'm a bloody carpenter!" Symington growled. "I should get blisters doing my work, not yours!"

Christopher jumped in. "What is the captain to do? He has a reputation to keep."

"Then let
'im
man the boats! Maybe the captain has forgotten 'oo 'e really is."

"Enough, Symington," Mr. Allan said. "Do not disrespect the captain!"

It was Smitty, not Mr. Allan, who silenced Symington's complaints. Smitty whispered in the carpenter's ear. 

Hiding in the passageway, Annie felt chills run down her spine as she watched Symington slowly nod his head, a sinister grin on his face. Smitty whispered to yet another sailor, then another. Except for the creaking and groaning of the ship, all was quiet. Annie relaxed once the whispering ceased and the playing cards were dealt.

While her arms ached from the day's rowing, Annie sat back listening to the off-key songs and tall tales. She patiently waited to hear Samuel Baggott's tenor voice. But no sooner had he begun to sing, Smitty and Symington rushed out of the fo'c'sle. Annie jumped to her feet, but it was too late. Trapped between the two sailors, she had nowhere to escape.

"What have we here?" Smitty gripped Annie around her neck, his boney fingers digging into her flesh. "Why don't you join us, lad?"

"Be our guest." Symington sneered.

"I need to get back to Doc's cabin." She pulled away from Smitty's grasp, only to have him grab her upper arm.

"But we do mind. You hurt our feelings turnin' down our invitation," Smitty said. As if he were genuinely offended, his lower lip curled up. He then threw back his head and laughed.

Symington scoffed. "Ain't we good enough for ye, boy?"

Stooping to avoid the low overhead, Smitty shoved Annie into the fo'c'sle while Symington walked unobstructed. Sailors rolled out of hammocks, others stood up from their cards. All crowded closer. 

Penned in, Annie gasped in the moist fetid air. She searched for a friendly face. The amicable Mr. Allan was nowhere to be found, but she saw Barrette. Since he had been a prisoner of the press gang, Annie believed he would understand her plight, but he avoided her gaze.

Seeing Christopher through a gap in the throng, Annie's spirits buoyed, but were quickly dashed. He, too, ignored her plight while he whittled a piece of wood with frenzied abandon.

Smitty pulled his sea chest out from under his hammock. "Have a seat, Andrés."

Annie's legs went limp before Smitty pushed her down onto his sea chest.

Symington bent down and hissed in her ear, "My little maggot, do ye know what we do to spies?"

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Defiant, Annie attempted to stand but Smitty shoved her back down.

"Spy? Who would I be spying for?"

"The captain, to tell him about our gamblin'."

"I wouldn't do that."

"Oh, wouldn't ye, now," Symington said. "Ye never liked me, much. Don't deny it"

"Half the crew doesn't like you, Symington." Annie looked around at the stunned faces staring back at her. "It's the truth," she said. "But I hold no grudge against any of you."

"Don't believe 'im," Symington said.

"Bet you told the captain about our fightin', too," Smitty said.

She had never seen any fighting. Pushing and shoving, maybe, but no real fighting. Some spy I am, she thought.

"Close yer eyes, boy!" Symington ordered.

"Wha—what?" Beads of perspiration soaked through Annie's shirt.

"Are ye deaf? Close yer eyes!"

She gawked at Symington and played her last card. "I don't have to do anything you tell me to do. I am Captain Hawke's cabin boy."

In a high pitch voice, Smitty repeated her words, "I am Captain Hawke's cabin boy."

The men broke out in laughter. Her heart sunk wondering if Christopher and Barrette had joined in.

Symington raised his hand to hush the rowdy crowd. He surveyed the fo'c'sle with jaundiced eyes. "Ye think being Cap'n 'awke's cabin boy means anything down 'ere?"

Courage drained from Annie's voice. "Aye?"

"Captain 'awke doesn't set foot in 'ere and we're not guests in 'is cabin. What goes on down 'ere is none o 'is business. And we want to keep it that way. Now, do as yer told. Close yer eyes, maggot."

Slouched over, she closed her eyes so tight they hurt. Water lapping against the ship's hull contrasted sharply with the blood Annie heard surging in her ears.

"Let's throw him overboard," Smitty said.

"Too quick. I say we keelhaul 'im. If yer lucky, my little maggot, ye will drown before the barnacles on the bottom of the ship rip ye to pieces," Symington said. "Ye might even survive, but I guess ye'd be missing a limb or two. We will be real quiet while ye make up yer mind."

Annie shook her head. This can't be happening, she thought, but she wasn't giving up. Annie opened her eyes and stared Symington in the face. "You will never get away with this."

 "The more I think about it, throwing you overboard is the best idea," Symington said. "Sailors fall overboard all the time. The cap'n will think it was just a terrible accident. Now, close yer eyes or I'll close them for ye."

The fo'c'sle became deathly silent once more. Her eyes shut tight, Annie waited—and wondered. Why did she have to keep her eyes closed? Why didn't Symington and his cohorts simply get the ugly deed over with? Was it to torture her? That must be it, she thought, and they were doing a grand job of it.

When she thought she could no longer endure the wait, she heard two sets of footsteps coming toward her. She stiffened, but could tell it wasn't Symington or Smitty. One pair of footsteps was uneven, the other, strong and confident. Christopher? Barrette?

"Andrés, open your eyes."

Annie trusted no one, not even Christopher. Besides, if he had come to her rescue, he did not stand a chance against her shipmates, now her enemies.

Christopher's request turned into a chant. One by one, the sailors joined in. "Open your eyes!"

The chorus grew more insistent to a full crescendo. "Open your eyes! Open your eyes!"

Close your eyes. Open your eyes. Why can't they make up their minds? Like the tears she choked back when her family died, Annie refused to succumb to the scream building in her throat. She then felt a warm breath on the nape of her neck.

"Open your eyes, Andrés. I promise no one will harm you."

First Christopher, now Barrette, Annie relaxed her shoulders. Maybe she was to receive a stay of execution. She was in no great hurry to find out. Afraid of what she might see, Annie took her time opening her eyes.

Several feet in front of her, Christopher and Barrette stood on either side of Mr. Allan. They looked at her sympathetically, while Mr. Allan's cheery grin caught Annie completely off guard.

"Don't be frightened, lad," he told her.

Only seconds before, she was to meet a horrible death. Now she was told not to be frightened. She wondered if she were going mad.

Her gaze fell to the bosun's hands. He held out a knife belt. A carved ivory monkey peeked above its leather sheath.

"Do you remember this?" he asked.

Annie's head bobbed up and down. "It is Captain Hawke's lucky knife."

"Wasn't lucky for old Mason Rain," muttered Smitty.

"It is
your
knife, Andrés, the one the captain promised you." Mr. Allan said. "He knew you couldn't have a blade as fine as this one without a proper knife belt."

He motioned for her to stand. Her legs still wobbly, Annie complied.

Symington thumped her on the back of the head. "Scared ye spitless, didn't we?"

Wanting so badly to punch him, Annie balled her hands into fists, but she restrained herself.

Mr. Allan motioned for Annie to raise her arms as he wrapped the belt around her slender waist. He admired his handiwork. "Ah, a splendid fit."

The crew burst into cheers of, "Huzzah!"

"It is quite handsome, sir." Confused, she scanned the faces of what now appeared to be friendly shipmates. "I don't understand what just happened."

Mr. Allan explained. "Nothing gets past the captain. He told me to give it to you during one of your nightly visits."

"Yer spying," said Symington.

Annie got in his face. "No—my
visits
, that's what Captain Hawke called them."

Mr. Allan chuckled. "The men needed something to amuse themselves, been some long days."

Annie thought a moment. "So, I was nothing more than the crew's entertainment for the evening. Well, I hope I satisfied you." 

Annie glared at the men. Some looked away while others shuffled their feet. "Maybe next time you could simply ask me to sing a song or dance a jig for you. Oh, I know something even better. Maybe you could ask me to punch Symington in the face. Now, that would be entertaining."

"I would like to see ye try," Symington said.

"Now, now, we don't want to have any hard feelings," Mr. Allan said as he wedged himself between Annie and Symington. "You do know, Andrés, you are always welcome here in the fo'c'sle. Why don't you find yourself a hammock?"

Barrette broke in, "Mr. Allan, if I had a choice to sleep in the surgeon's cabin or in the fo'c'sle with a bunch of sweaty tars, I know which one I would choose."

Barrette to the rescue, again, Annie thought.

"A point well taken, Barrette." Mr. Allan slapped Annie on the back, almost knocking her off her feet. "Off with you, now, Andrés."

The sailors made a path for Annie as she made her way to the passageway. Symington's parting words resounded in her ears. "Scared 'im so bad, I am surprised the little maggot's 'eart is still beating."

*     *     *

Annie felt her way through the darkened cabin to where her blankets should have been. She patted the deck. They weren't there. Slightly lifting her head, Annie's forehead bumped into what felt like canvas.

A candle sputtered to life in Doc's hand. "Do you like it?"

"Oh, my!" Annie faced a hammock just her size. "Is it mine?"

"It certainly is."

She quickly removed the knife belt, placed it on the desk and pulled herself into the canvas. "Doc, it is perfect. Thank you so much."

"Don't thank me. Captain Hawke had Baggot and Carter set it up."

"The captain always expected me to move into the fo'c'sle. Now I have a hammock and we both know what that means. This is permanent, Doc. I get to stay here. But I don't understand. The captain had been so adamant about me moving into the fo'c'sle."

"Apparently, he changed his mind."

"Just like that," Annie snapped her fingers. "There must be a reason."

 "The important thing is you can stay here with me."

 Annie took off her cap and tossed it on the table. "Did you know I had been going to the fo'c'sle at night?"

"Yes, Captain Hawke informed me. You are a spirited one, just like my Emily was. Now go to sleep."

"Doc…"

"Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow—too much excitement for one night."

As Doc extinguished the light, Annie ran her fingers through her damp hair. "I have the forenoon watch tomorrow."

"No more talking. Good night," Doc said.

Annie remembered something Symington had said that troubled her. "Earlier this evening, Doc, Symington said something about the captain forgetting who he really is. Do you know what he meant by that?"

"No, I don't, and I suggest you don't worry about it. Now, go to sleep."

Annie knew it would be fruitless to pursue the subject further. "Good night, Doc," Annie said as the hammock hugged her into a contented sleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Annie woke to the sound of eight bells. She poured herself out of the hammock. "That was the best sleep I have ever had."

"Last night, did you say something about the forenoon watch?" Doc said as he stirred his tea.

"Uh huh."

"Well, if you have the forenoon watch, you are late. The morning watch just ended."

"Just ended! I thought it just started. How could you have let me sleep in?"

"You looked so peaceful. I did not wish to wake you," Doc said between sips of tea. "Don't worry. You won't be flogged for not bringing the captain his breakfast."

"It is not his breakfast I am worried about. I am to be a lookout today, or at least I was supposed to be. Do you have any idea how important that is? This might be my last chance to prove that I am a sailor."

Annie grabbed her cap off the table, and then slung the knife belt over her shoulder as she bounded for the door.

"Stow your hammock," Doc called after her.

"No time!" Annie said as she ran out of the cabin.

*     *     *

As Annie poked her head through the opened hatch, Captain Hawke waved his hand in the air. "Look men, Mr. de la Cruz has decided to join us this fine morning."

There goes that eyebrow again
,
Annie thought as she climbed out onto the deck. She finished buckling her belt.

"Take Christopher's place. Now!"

"Aye, aye, Captain."

Relieved she was still going to be a lookout, she made her way up the shrouds with the spyglass tucked in at her waist. Annie passed Christopher on his way down. "Good luck, mate," he said.

Annie gave him a weak smile.

*     *     *

Two bells sounded. It was an hour into the forenoon watch. With the wind stinging her cheeks and the sails snapping below her, Annie scanned the sea with her spyglass.

Four bells. Perched high on the lookout platform, she watched a whale breach the surface before plunging below the sea. "It is amazing up here."

Six bells. She saw no more whales. The ocean stretched endlessly in every direction. Whether she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her legs cramped.

Seven bells sounded. For what seemed like the hundredth time, Annie lifted her arm. With the spyglass to her eye, she saw a smattering of clouds on the horizon. Then she saw it, a two-masted ship. She admired it a moment then moved the glass lower. She saw yet another vessel. Annie studied this one longer than the first.