Chapter 2: The Captain’s Wife

I flood with incongruous temperatures. My palms sweat as my face pales and my blood freezes. So this man, this handsome, flirtatious, multi-faceted performer, is the Captain Zechariah.

The captain shouts at his announcer, but I couldn’t tell you what he says. His words, and the chaos they incite, drown to a hum behind the rushing blood in my ears.

Captain Zechariah outranks Sir Cartwright on this vessel, and I have just shown him my entire hand!

There’s a gentle pressure around my arm.

I shake my head to clear another bout of ringing from my ears.

“Ah, there you are, son,” Cartwright murmurs, “Did the captain speak to you about your duties on the ship?”

“No, sir?”

“Excellent. Don’t believe him. I’ve arranged for you to meet with the doctor. He’ll talk the captain out of it. I know what men of science truly crave.”

I try to pop my ears, hiding a yawn with a well-timed shading of the afternoon sun.

“Wealth,” Cartwright nods, continuing his soliloquy without the input he’s never required, “Wealth and renown. You’ll have time to mend between your duties to House Cartwright.”

“I truly don’t mind, sir,” I respond. “You know I’m best able to ply my trade when I’m allowed to mingle.”

“Of course, son, but if you are to aid me in elevating our family again, you need to be in tip-top condition!”

How can Cartwright speak of family like a criminal fraternity and still be a respected businessman?

“Ah, good,” the captain calls, much closer than I expected. He’s stealthy. “I assume Sir Cartwright has filled you in on your duties?”

Well, someone had better tell me what I’m doing here.

“I was just speaking with him, captain.”

“Time is of the essence, so I’ll conclude. Walsh.”

His direct attention casts a spell over me. My mouth goes dry and all I can think is that the brilliant strategist who turned the tide in the battle at Quiberon Bay is speaking directly to me. “Yes?” I ask, as my tongue turns to sandpaper.

“You will address me as Captain.”

This…charismatic creature was once Sir Cartwright’s neighbor and friend.

“Yes, Captain?”

“I take it you’ve never stepped foot upon a vessel?”

“No, Captain…” I wish I could force my voice to approximate normalcy.

“As I suspected. You will aid with cleaning, hauling ropes, distributing gun powder during battle, and any other laborious tasks that are…beneath the skilled sailors.”

I sense a prickle of wounded pride under my distraction. This cheeky navigator who just transformed into my commanding officer is insulting me.

“I told him of your ailment, son,” Cartwright’s worried murmur reassures.

“Of course. I will have my doctor confirm or deny your claims of your sickly valet’s debilitating illness.”

Good lord, this man is making fun of me. No one’s teased me like this since I had a nanny!

What a breath of fresh air!

“Brogan, visit the doctor while I brief the rest of my new crew.” He turns without another word and marches to the crowd assembling in haphazard rows on the deck.

“You’ll have your time to mend.”

“Sir,” I say, at last able to shake off Captain Zechariah’s spell and the ridiculous smile that accompanied it, “According to Robert Burton’s research on the matter, meaningful work is another potential cure for malaise.”

“I’ve already paid the doctor,” Cartwright concludes, marching away with his sartorial ruffles displaced like an angry hawk.

As I blink against the light, I realize that the ship is already well under way.

When I’d glimpsed that mast in Blackpool, there was an entire row of vendors and merchants between me and the waters. When we’d boarded in Bristol, that dockside market had somehow smelled even stronger.

Yet I could smell that salt on the air. It’s the scent of Life and Death, married at last. After all, don’t the myths cite the seas as the beginning and end of all things?

Now that I stand surrounded by the unobstructed ocean, its heady perfume is intoxicating.

I head back into the vessel when I’m damned well ready to do so, thankyouverymuch.

Dr. Francis Johnson is the ship’s physician, and no one is treated so well as he. For starters, he’s one of only two permanent members of the crew to have their own quarters.

So I’ve read during my preparation for our voyage, at least.

On paper, the doctor is an intimidating specimen, with a longer naval career than Captain Zechariah, followed by an extended period spent tending to the underprivileged in the London Underground.

He has recommendations on file from both the church who funded his hospital, and the canting king who ran his block, curious enough.

As I stand before the diminutive specimen crouched over his book, I wonder why he’s been called a rakish chap by many a fine woman fanning herself.

Despite the wear to his roughened skin, fine dress, and reputation of expertise, he looks more like an overgrown child than a man.

“Are you Dr. Johnson?”

“I wondered when you would speak.”

“Beg pardon, sir?”

“You don’t exactly have a light step, Walsh.”

“You know me, sir?”

“Multiple people on this tub have described you in excruciating detail. I understand you wish to be deemed unfit for service aboard our ship?”

“Cartwright certainly wishes it.”

“What was that?” The doctor looks up from his book.

I feel the blood rush from my cheeks. What was that? I blink a time or two, feeling somehow lighter after the confession. I chuckle. “Aye. I don’t care a farthing. Truth be told, I prefer a hard day's work. I’m able-bodied and happy to be set to use.”

The doctor cocks his head, folding his hands under his chin. “You know, your master came in here and paid me a tremendous amount to tell the captain that you’re an invalid.”

“He didn’t mention the amount, but he mentioned the deed.”

“And you don’t even want to play along?”

“I don’t see the point. If you were an honest man, you wouldn’t have taken the bribe. If you accepted it, you’re dishonest and will lie for me no matter what I say. So if it makes no difference at all, why not admit that I’d rather learn the ropes?”

“You’re complicit in bribery now. Does that not bother you?”

“That would certainly be the worst and only crime I’ve committed in the service of a powerful knight.”

Dr. Johnson smiles. “My, my, the audacity of you! It seems you’re on the wrong side of both households today. Your desires aren’t in line with the knight and your actions aren’t in line with the captain. What if I make one or both of them aware of your treachery?”

“What treachery? I stated a preference for labor over respite and assured you I’ve never committed a crime for my master. If you convinced Cartwright I said those words with treacherous intent, I doubt the captain would allow my execution for asking to be put to use.”

The doctor laughs out loud. “You are a fiery shit, aren’t you?”

I smile. Now that I’m on the ship and my fate is sealed, I care far less for the rules of the House. “What’d the old cuss say I have?”

“Syphilis and melancholia.”

“Ah yes, a moment with Venus and a lifetime with Mercury. He hasn’t spread that story for a while. Interesting.” 

Nay, my end will be much swifter than that.

“Very good. A moment.”

He stands and leaves with such speed that his bright powdered wig leaves a cloud of dust to trail in the room’s yellow light. I lean against a thick pillar and watch them waft through the air.

I’m picking debris from my teeth when Dr. Johnson returns, followed by a woman in trousers and a lean sailor.

“Walsh, this is Henrietta and Creed. Henrietta will get you acquainted with the ship and your role during your stay here.”

“And Creed?”

“Hmm? Oh, Creed works the rigging. You won’t see much of him. However, someone must report to the captain, and I’m far too busy.”

“You’re a common gossip!” I clear my throat. “…Sir.”

“I believe that’s what I just said, yes.” He turns his attention to the sailor, waving toward me. “He said since I took the bribe, I am dishonest.”

“He weren’t wrong.”

“Not about the personality trait, no. More about its expression.”

“Ye goin’ splitsies with me this time?”

“Of course not. These are my earnings!”

“At least buy the first round at dock.”

“You’re not telling the captain I’m unfit?” I ask, discovering my tongue is right where I left it.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re healthy as a horse. Why would I do that?”

“Because you took Cartwright’s bribe?”

Dr. Johnson grins. “I did, yes.”

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“You’re not going through with it?”

“Of course not. Now I have my medical integrity and pocket change.”

“Hoy, Walsh.” Henrietta shoves my shoulder. “Come on then. Let’s get yer berth.”

I follow in silence, turning my attention to the trousered matron before me. The sun has baked her face to redness and her figure, both strong and round, splits the difference between a champion sea-wolf and a wet nurse. She’s undeniably female, but has the bearing of authority carried by the captain himself.

“Ye ain’t never been on a tub afore, have ye?”

“No ma’am.”

She hums as we ascend the stairs back to the open air. “At least ye’ve manners. Me gaffer had ta tell most’a yer mates ta pay me mind.”

“My…mates? Ah, of course, the servants. Don’t hold it against them. Lady Cartwright only has a few servants at her disposal.”

“The lady’a yer house only has a few servants?”

“Most answer to Sir Cartwright alone.”

“That ain’t…normal, is it?”

“I couldn’t say for certain. It’s the only estate I’ve served.”

Henrietta sucks her teeth. “Queer cove, that.”

“Aye.”

“Well, no more’a that. Ye’ve much ta learn.” She flings her arms wide. “This is tha Dead Reckoning and she’s the benat boat to bless the waters.”

“The name sounds like an ill-omen.”

Henrietta chuckles. “Nay, dead reckoning’s a means ta stag yer place in the sea.”

“It’s…a means of navigation?”

“Aye. If ye ken where ye been an’ how long ye been sailing what way, ye ken where ye be.”

“Oh, that’s reasonable. That’s dead reckoning?”

“Aye.”

“Rather on the nose for a ship's name.”

She points overhead. “Them’s tha fore, main, and mizzen masts.” There isn’t a breath of pause in her monologue as she proceeds to the hull. “Beak, bowsprit, forecastle — ah, ye likely won’t know these. Starboard side, larboard side. Stern and bow.”

“Up there, is that Poseidon?”

Henrietta gives him a blank look. “Ye really are a posh tosser, ain’t ye? Aye, that’s our figurehead. Keeps tha waves calm fer us.”

Poseidon holds his trident like a scepter, hand stretched over the water before them. Were it not for his wild beard, the neatly trimmed Captain Zechariah would be his spitting image.

All at once, I realize that Henrietta is reciting the names of various sails. “Ye’ve tha topsail, course, and bonnet — and fer each ye’ve tha fore an’ main. Up there’s the spiritsail and in tha back’s tha mizzen. Ah!”

She points at a tall man, more limb than torso, scrabbling through the web of ropes overhead. “Ye’ve met Captain and tha doctor. Spider there is first mate.”

In spite of being the highest-ranking officer on the tub apart from the captain, Spider’s naked torso glistens with the sweat of hard labor.

“Hoy, Spider! He’s flash to the rigging, that one. Cap’n’s right hand and tha toughest blade in England.”

I can see how he’s earned the nickname ‘Spider,’ fitted as he is, with great arms and legs that seem to have more joints than they should. The arachnid descends with precision, rapidity, and grace, landing before us with nary a sound.

“Hoy, Retta. Should I be introduced?”

“Nay, he ain’t worth a turd. Just another scrub from tha hog in armor.”

“Oh aye? We got a few, ain’t we?”

“Aye, the rhino brought ‘is family.”

I shift my smile away and hope they don’t notice. She says the word with the same smacking of criminality as Cartwright. Whatever her role onboard, Henrietta is perceptive. I cast my gaze to the figurehead in hopes they might forget I’m here.

It doesn’t work.

“Walsh, is it?” Spider asks.

“Aye?”

“I’m ta keep ye out’a trouble while Retta has a piss.”

“He ain’t in need’a tha details, ye mongrel!” she yells over her shoulder.

Spider looks entirely too pleased with himself as he turns to me. “Yer one’a tha knight’s favorites, ain’t ye?”

“So they tell me.”

“How’d ye manage that?”

“Most assume I’m either Sir Cartwright’s illegitimate son or his lover. Those with a penchant for ribaldry claim I’m both. I’m curious what version you’ve heard.”

“Come now, Walsh. Tha cap’n’s wife can’t hear. Tell me straight.”

I’m unduly irritated to discover that the dashing navigator-turned-captain is married. Thus it’s with an uncomplimentary tone that I reply, “I’m no one’s nanny. There will always be idle speculation when commoners are elevated to advisors of noblemen.”

Spider cracks a smile. “Tha doctor weren’t lyin’. Yer a hell-cat, ain’t ye?”

“Never heard of a hell-cat but I do like the sound of it. How have you come to hear of me already? I was with the doctor mere moments ago.”

The limby tar jerks his thumb over his shoulder. There’s a silhouetted figure high in the ropes. “Ship ain’t big and riggers buzz.”

“I understand this is a large ship.”

“Oh, aye, but ain’t no ship that big. Ye tickled tha doctor.”

“Is that a feat?”

“Aye. He’s a surly cuss.” Spider crushes his arms across his chest. With a smile and a furrow to his brow he asks, “You noble-born then?”

“No.”

“You’ve an awful…genteel way about ye, if’n you don’t mind me sayin’.”

“I don’t know why I’d have an issue with being considered noble-born or genteel.”

“What’s’e then? Glimmerer? Filcher?” Henrietta asks, smoothing out her trousers as she posts by Spider’s elbow.

“Sweetener or tongue-pad by my reckoning.”

“Can’t I be both?”

“I’m sure yer a sweet honey.” There are too many associations for me to be certain what Henrietta means by calling me honey, but her tone implies I’m not in on a joke.

“Oh he ain’t,” Spider corrects with a grin, “Swore he ain’t no man’s he-whore.”

Ah, that one I should have guessed.

“Oh aye? So what’d’ye do fer tha knight if ye ain’t blowin’ off ‘is loose corns?”

It surprises me to discover that I’m not scandalized by the captain’s wife slanging like a sailor. I reply, “I’m clever.”

“Humble too.”

“I see little point in diluting fact with false modesty.”

“Ooh-hoo! Ain’t we a high-flyer?”

“I understand your incredulity, and I aim to absolve it. My worth to the knight isn’t the result of any accident. I’ve earned everything in my life.”

“Like yer nickname?”

I roll my eyes, “Ah, yes, The Nightingale. The servants think they’re rather clever for that one. In recent years, it’s come to mean traitor, but it still carries the traditional prostitute baggage.”

Henrietta crosses her arms. “Ye ain’t earned that then?”

“As I told Spider, I’m no one’s nanny. I’ve done Justice Child, but that only makes me a traitor to those who incorrectly assumed where my loyalties lie. If I’m to be thrust into your world, then I aim to be recognized as a skilled and clever man.”

“Well then. Get your working boots on, little bird. Ye ain’t no cot aboard this vessel. Ye best be gettin’ back, Spider. We’ve taken enough’a yer time.”

He’s halfway to the main sail before Henrietta finishes speaking. She smiles and shakes her head. The captain catches her eye from the half-deck and they share a friendly nod.

It’s far less expressive than her interaction with Spider. Are they cuckolding the captain, I wonder? “How long have you and the captain been married?”

Oh, I do hope I stir up the entertaining sort of trouble.

She spins on her heel, yelling up the mainmast, “Samuel Boyle, ya miserable cokir! Stop dishin’ smoke to the greenhorns! I’ll get a reputation!”

Spider throws his head back and cackles from on high. “Sorry chucky, ye telled me I can’t flam and I’m honor-bound ta prove meself!”

Henrietta rolls her eyes and tries to suppress a smile, grumbling without venom, “Hang yer tongue, ya blackguard.” She catches my eye and jerks her chin toward the half-deck. “Captain ain’t me gaffer.”

“Is he unwed then?”

She arches an eyebrow. “Who’s askin’?” Without waiting for a reply, she says, “Ask anyone and they’ll say his better half is either tha boat or tha sea, dependin’ on tha day. But since ye asked me, I’ll tell ye real honest-like: It’s that Poseidon out front.” She cackles and its tuneless melody echoes Spider’s.

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