Authors: Lightning
The sun was bright, and pounding down on the ship, and the sea was like glass, glittering with gold reflections, as the ship cut through the water at what was to Lauren a miraculous speed. She felt herself shiver in the heat. Socrates, as if understanding, crouched down next to her, his beady eyes gleaming.
She looked up and around. There was no flag flying now, and she knew the ship must be barely visible between the sea and the sky. Just as she tried to relax, to allow the brisk sea breeze to cool and soothe her, she heard a shout.
“Sail on starboard!”
Fear and exhilaration mixed in the pit of Lauren’s stomach as, almost immediately, she saw Adrian stride quickly on deck.
Although she knew he’d probably had no more than four hours’ sleep, he looked alert and wide awake despite the hint of stubble on his cheeks. He was wearing a white shirt he was now pushing into a black pair of trousers, and he had nothing on his feet.
Lauren didn’t know whether he saw her or not. He went directly to the wheel, and almost instantly there were two other men with him, one she recognized as the first officer and the other the pilot.
Dicken also appeared, sidling up to her protectively.
Lauren looked with amazement at the calm faces of the crew, although their steps were quick. She turned to Dicken. “You said the
Specter
could outrun anything.”
Then she heard a noise, like a muffled explosion, from a distance. She could barely make out smoke, much less the outline of a ship, and she marveled that the men on board had detected the ship so quickly.
“We can outrun the best of ‘em,” Dicken said, “but they’re signaling, meaning there’s more of ‘em out there. They’ll try to run us into a trap.”
Another boom sounded, and Lauren felt her skin tingle. There was another, then silence except for Adrian’s commands.
“Raise the flag,” she heard him say, and she watched as two men attached a flag to a pole that ran alongside the smokestack. “British,” she observed aloud.
“Won’t fool no one,” Dicken said. “They stop every ship.”
“Ship ahead,” came another call.
“Mr. Green.” It was Adrian’s voice, different from when she’d heard it before. Now it was authoritative, commanding.
Dicken hurried from her side and went to Adrian, talked to him for a moment, and then nearly ran back. “Capt’n says for you to go to the cabin.”
She shook her head.
“Capt’n said you wouldn’t want to. He said to tell you to take Socrates. Not that I would mind if something ‘appened to ‘im. Foul beast, he is.”
Lauren looked toward Adrian, and he grinned, his white teeth flashing in his tanned face, his chestnut hair blowing in the breeze. As usual when she saw him, her heart accelerated, but now it was racing double-time. Adrian Cabot looked so free, so totally in command. Nothing could happen as long as he was at the wheel. She knew that as well as she knew dusk would fall tonight.
And she didn’t want to go. She heard the orders being passed, felt the movement of the ship as it changed course, the thunder of faraway cannon, and she wanted to see it all, not cower in a dark room.
Socrates, however, was another matter. He was jumping up and down next to her, obviously frightened. She nodded, intending to leave the monkey in the cabin and return. Lauren leaned down and picked him up, feeling the coarse fur as he hugged close to her, his paws tightening round her neck.
She looked around. There was a dense cloud of smoke in another direction, and she looked again at Dicken, who shrugged. “They’re signaling with their guns, but the capt’n will outwit ‘em. ‘E always does.”
“Another sail, Capt’n.” Lauren heard the disembodied voice. She knew she should be pleased at a possible Union trap, but she looked at Adrian and knew again that terrible pull of loyalties.
Socrates chattered unhappily, and she made her way to the cabin. It was dark; she had already been told never to use the oil lamp when under attack. She wondered what cargo was in the hold, other than the cannon. Ammunition? Oil?
She heard another peal of what sounded like thunder, and it seemed louder, even where she was deep within the ship. Socrates had fled to his bed, where he sat like a little wizened old man, scolding angrily. Lauren felt a little like doing that herself, yet something stronger compelled her to leave, to go on deck. She couldn’t bear staying here, imagining the worst, locked in the airless, tight gloom of the cabin.
She opened the door. The short, narrow corridor was clear. She quickly moved to the stairs leading up to the deck and opened the hatch door, moving to where one of the paddle wheels churned the water, and she tried to lose herself in its shadow.
It seemed to Lauren that each time the
Specter
darted in a new direction, a new call sounded, announcing the presence of yet another gunship. From the billows of smoke, she counted four, and the
Specter
was racing toward two of them now, the speed of the ship amazing to her after the Schooners she had taken from Maryland to England, and then England to Nassau. Mick, the engineer, had told her the
Specter
could reach eighteen knots and better, but she’d not really believed him till now.
The noise of laboring engines overwhelmed even the sound of the paddle wheels pushing against water. Wind caught the hair from the twist on the back of her head, and it whipped around her, as she tasted the salt of the sea spray. Never had she felt so alive.
As they approached the two Union ships, she realized suddenly what Adrian was planning. He was counting on the speed of the
Specter
to throw off the gunners until he ran between them, and then they couldn’t fire or they’d risk hitting each other. A technique he had used before, she thought bitterly.
She felt her fingers clutching her dress, remembering Phillips’s explanation of how Larry had died. And with it, she remembered the night she’d had the dream. A dream of fire and pain.
A cannon boomed, and water whirled up in a cloud in front of them. The ship moved suddenly to starboard but kept its speed, racing toward its tormenters. Another shot hit the water to the left of them, and then another behind. The ship zigzagged, the engines pounding.
Lauren felt the splash of cold water as a shot hit the water near her. She heard a loud curse. She looked toward Adrian, who glared at her before his attention went back to the ships ahead.
Soaked, she moved away from the railing of the ship, closer to the wheel, to him. She watched as his hands moved so easily on the giant wheel, twisting and turning. Both ships ahead were now firing, and shots splashed around them, but none found its mark, and then they were between the two ships, so close she could see the faces of the men. Enemies now. Enemies firing at her.
The
Specter
passed the Union ships, and Adrian made another sudden turn, moving to the left and behind one of the ships where there were no cannon. The other ship could not fire for fear of hitting his companion vessel.
Lauren saw the closest ship turn, but it was a sailing vessel, and the wind was still. By the time it was in a position to fire, the
Specter
had moved away, the splashes, from cannon shot falling farther and farther behind. There was a shout from the
Specter
’s deck, one of victory and mockery. Damning curses from the pursuing ships could be heard on the
Specter.
Trembling with the aftermath, Lauren felt like joining the triumphant chorus. Even with her limited knowledge, she knew she had witnessed a brilliant display of seamanship.
She looked up toward the sky. It was already late afternoon. The chase had taken hours, although it seemed like minutes. The silhouettes of the Union ships grew fainter and fainter, as the
Specter
plunged on through the sea.
Lauren felt her wet hair plaster itself against her cheek. Her soaked dress clung to her body, and yet she felt no discomfort, only the lingering of tingling nerves, a giddiness. She looked at Adrian, at the victorious smile on his face, at his lean form braced against the wind and the rich chestnut hair falling over his forehead as one hand left the wheel and pushed it back. His white shirt was billowing in the wind, the dark trousers molding those strong muscled legs, and his bare feet set solidly on the wood deck. Her emotions swelled with the magnificence of him, the pure power and freedom, the pride that radiated from the set of his body.
He had won, and he was enjoying every second of the victory.
Lauren’s own elation slowly faded. How much simpler if they had been stopped now! She dropped her gaze to the sea, now so deeply blue it was unfathomable. Like his eyes. Like everything about him.
She watched as Adrian turned over the wheel to his first officer and stalked toward her, his expression stern.
He stopped and glared at her. “If you were one of my men, I would throw you in irons.”
Despite herself, Lauren was intimidated. His eyes were dark, showing little but a frown that matched the expression on his lips.
“I couldn’t stay down there,” she defended herself.
“I had a man die a week ago because he was on deck, Lauren. I didn’t want to bring you, but when I did, I expected you to obey my orders, just as my men do. You agreed.”
Lauren wanted to feel anger at his sudden arbitrary harshness, but she could only think of the grief in his voice that afternoon in the garden, when he spoke of losing a man. His anger, she realized, was fear. Fear for her.
The same kind she’d felt for him those nights he was gone, and again minutes ago.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes meeting his.
His hand went to her shoulder, and she felt the tension in his fingers. “I shouldn’t have … brought you. If anything happens to you …”
You could have surrendered,
something whispered inside her mind. But then she remembered how he had looked at the wheel. Surrender wasn’t possible for him. It would never be possible for him. Not even for her. Not for anything. Not if he thought he had the slightest chance.
And if he didn’t have even that chance?
Would he still defy the odds?
But her gloomy thoughts scattered like seed to the wind when his hand touched her wet hair. “You’re soaked, Miss Bradley.” His smile was wry as he looked down at his own clothes. “And I need some dry clothes, not to mention a few more of them.”
Adrian looked to the sun dipping toward the flat blue horizon. “And I’m as hungry as a whale.” He grinned suddenly, his face lighting up with that blinding smile. “Why don’t we both go below, and I’ll order some dinner for your cabin?”
She nodded, mesmerized as always by his smile. She couldn’t have demurred if she’d wanted. And she didn’t want to. God help her, she didn’t.
Adrian was apologetic about the sparseness of the meal, but he treated her as if she were a queen about to sit down to a banquet.
“We don’t have a cook as such,” he explained dryly as he uncovered a dish of stew, some biscuits that looked as flat as stones, and a bowl of fruit. “But,” he added with relish, “we do have fine wine.”
He poured them each a glass and then placed a plate of fruit on the floor for Socrates. He had fetched Socrates right after the confrontation with the Union ships and taken him to his cabin. Both had appeared wearing a clean set of britches.
Socrates started to reach for a banana, and Adrian, with an engaging smile, stopped him with a word. “Say grace, Socrates.” Adrian’s eyes turned expectantly to Lauren as Socrates clapped his hands together and bent his head.
Lauren couldn’t stop the delight flooding her. Socrates peeked up from his hands as if asking whether his prayer had been long enough, like a small boy in church.
“Does he know other tricks?”
“He can play dead,” Adrian said, as Socrates quickly gobbled down his banana. “Sometimes he cooperates, and sometimes he doesn’t.”
“And when he plays dead?”
“He’s absolutely still,” Adrian said. “Then you can touch him on the arm, and he’ll slowly start to move. But … then, sometimes he decides he doesn’t want any part of it and pays no attention at all.”
“Did you teach him?”
Adrian shook his head. “He already knew a lot. I discovered his tricks one by one. Somehow the word ‘dead’ came up in a conversation, and he just flopped over. I started experimenting after that, testing words and watching him. I’m sure he has tricks I don’t know about.”
“How did you find him?” Lauren was fascinated, both with Socrates and with the way Adrian’s face opened up when he talked about him.
“His owner was beating him. I don’t think he was the original owner because I doubt whether Socrates would have learned any tricks with someone cruel to him. He can be … stubborn at times, especially when he feels mistreated.”
“And the name?”
“Mine,” Adrian admitted wryly. “When I first brought him to the ship, he sat in the chair where you’re sitting, looking like a wise, sad old man. My crew has a few other names for him.”
Lauren tipped her head. “Why? He always seems well behaved.”
Adrian laughed, a full deep-throated laugh that filled the room. “He likes you. And for some odd reason, he seems to behave when you’re around. But the day I met you, he’d just about destroyed this cabin, and he has bitten nearly every member of the crew. He’s damned independent, and a bit of a rogue. Perhaps that’s why we get along.”