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PART III

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JUNE 12, 1780
AMSTERDAM, HOLLAND

ELLIOTT STOOD AT the rail three days later once Smitty informed him the longboat carrying Celia, both physicians, and three crewmen was sighted loading up on the wharf. The surgeon’s mate, Gasparo, had not objected to this, but had insisted he be assisted in the endeavor of climbing through the hatch.

With the spyglass he had requested, he saw all six of them busily situating trunks, baggage, and brown-paper-wrapped packages into the boat. So. She had gone shopping whilst he lay abed aching and aching for her. His mouth tightened.

“Judas?” He turned to see Celia’s mother making her way to him. “You are well?” she asked as she came to a halt, then reached up to feel his forehead. It was a gesture his own mother had done so often, he did not question it.

“I have been injured thusly before without need of a mother’s care,” he said tightly, angry with her only because he was angry with Celia.

She blinked and stepped back, her expression having turned stony. “Very well,” she said, equally tightly.

It was only when he looked past her and saw the shocked faces of the crew that he realized he had just made an ass of himself. “I apologize, Officer Mary,” he murmured, attempting a bow, but stumbling slightly. No one came to his aid. “I am as yet unused to women aboard ship and would beg forgiveness.”

She glanced at him warily, but joined him at the rail, retrieving her own spyglass to watch her daughter’s progress.

“What is her malady, Mary?” he asked low.

She paused and cast her gaze down to the rail. “I don’t know,” she muttered, the anger in her voice revealing the truth of it. “She has not seen fit to inform me, though half the crew seems to know.”

That took the edge off Elliott’s anger a bit. If she would not confide in her mother …

“And what do we have here,” came an amused male voice from above. Elliott and the others on deck looked up at Kit, whose spyglass was pointed to the mouth of the harbor.

“Report,” Smitty said absently from where he stood, watching the activity on shore.

“Silver Shilling, Black Demon, and Mad Hangman.”

Smitty simply grunted. “Aye, so what. We expected ’em four days ago.”

“But not with the Iron Maiden leading the way.”

“WHAT?!” Mary screeched.

Everyone but Elliott scrambled to the larboard wale, hands over their foreheads to see into the western horizon, and Mary with her glass.

“Are ye sure?” Smitty barked.

“Scots lion under a scimitar, Sir.” Pause. “Harbormaster’s already directed Dunham to us, and has gone on to the rest of the fleet. Silver Shilling’s bringing up the rear. Looks like they’ve seen battle. They all need repairs and those are fresh damages.”

“Oh, that bastard!” Mary hissed.

“I doubt we’ll be goin’ anywhere anyway till Jack gets her feet again,” Smitty said absently, now also looking west.

“Leftenant,” Elliott said sharply, but low. “What in God’s name has she been doing?”

Smitty slid him a glance and muttered, “’Tis not mine to tell, nor anyone else aboard, so I suggest ye wait until she tells ye ’erself. If she tells you,” he added, giving a pointed glance at Mary.

Elliott’s mouth tightened. It was the same answer Bataar, Papadakos, and Gasparo had given him, all with the same measure of annoyance. George and Kit had both claimed not to know, but he doubted the veracity of that.

A sudden whiffling at his ear made him duck as a pigeon flew by and landed at a small wooden box on the fo’c’sle. He watched, curious, as a crewman jumped up, went to the box, and grasped the bird, who did not seem to object. Further, the man then picked at the bird’s leg, retrieved something from it, and gently put the bird in the box, where, Elliott saw, there resided another bird or two.

He looked around and saw everyone watching this, but not with curiosity—with anticipation. It wasn’t long before the man handed Smitty the object.

It was a tiny piece of foolscap that he unrolled and read. He cast a glance at Elliott. “Yer funeral was lovely.”

Elliott’s mouth dropped open. Certainly, he had heard rumors of such birds, but … Now that he was thinking about it, he realized that Celia and her crew had been able to send and receive messages far more quickly than could be expected.

“Rathbone’s resigned his post,” Smitty continued slowly, staring at the note and moving his lips silently for a while, then counting on his fingers. “He’s been ravin’ about destroyin’ Fury, Judas, an’ the Hollander, finding all his womenfolk, an’ avengin’ yer death.”

That did not surprise Elliott in the least bit. “Where did that bird come from?” he demanded.

“Jack’s bawdy house,” Smitty murmured. “’Tis not called the Dovecote fer nothin’.”

“The madam there is a spy?”

“Aye, but more’t the point, she owes Jack ’er life.”

Of course she did. Celia seemed to collect people and their loyalties as one would collect cockleburs on a long, lazy walk through the woods. “What if she’s caught?”

“She’ll hang,” he said flatly.

Elliott was quickly developing a megrim, and, he realized, he was again tired.

“You should be abed, Cap’n Ugly Old Man,” a girl said smartly from behind him. He grinned in spite of himself and cast a glance over his shoulder.

“Aye, I ’spose I should, George.”

She snickered and stood beside him to watch the longboat’s progress from shore. He watched her, thinking he wouldn’t mind having a daughter like her.

He shook his head and ceased to think that way. It was not possible, and he would have to adopt—

“Say, girl,” he said suddenly, “you know where we’re bound, do you not? I mean, our ultimate destination?”

She nodded.

“What would you and Kit think of coming with us?”

Her good cheer vanished. “I would,” she muttered, “but you’d have to ask Kit for himself, as he does not seem inclined to … permanence.”

Elliott’s mouth pursed and he did not pursue it. He understood that tone all too well. Meanwhile, Mary was in a rage behind them that finally faded away when she stormed off belowdecks and slammed her cabin door.

It was then he felt George’s hand on his arm. “Cap’n Ugly,” she said low. “You’re falling asleep on your feet. You should go below. I’ve cleaned the cabin and changed the sheets the way she likes.” Elliott, realizing that he really was that fatigued, did not object when she turned and bellowed, “RAXHAM!”

He was almost amused when Camille appeared from below and came running, forced to report to this girl five years her junior. “Go put your brother to bed, and no lip out of you!”

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Pirates!