Page 147 of The Sea Witch
To be certain, Ben fluttered a white cloth over his head, ensuring that even if they didn’t recognize him from a distance and with his appearance so altered, someone aboard the ship would realize that he meant them no harm.
Soon, he drew up beside theJupiter. He stood to squint up at the crew gaping down at him.
“That’s the sailing master,” someone exclaimed.
“Can’t be him,” came the reply. “That bloke looks half feral, and Priestley ain’t wild.”
A bewigged head poked over the railing. “The devil? Is that you, Mr. Priestley?”
“Aye, Mr. Oliver,” Ben called up to the second-in-command.
“Thought you were dead.” Oliver sounded slightly disappointed.
“I’m indeed alive. And ready to rejoin my ship. Sir,” he added belatedly. The wordsirsat like a square of metal upon his tongue.
“Get him aboard,” Oliver commanded the nearby seamen.
A ladder was lowered, and in short order Ben climbed up and once again stood upon the deck of theJupiter, the ship that had been his home for the past five years. Everything was the same, and its very sameness pressed between his shoulder blades. Order and consistency were the enduring characteristics of the Royal Navy, ensuring their nation’s supremacy on the sea. What Ben had once loved most about the navy now was a bitter poison. There was no room for dissention, or freedom of thought: you were inserted into an existing machine and did what you were ordered to do. Otherwise, you were flogged.
Seamen gathered around him in a wary, awed circle, whispering amongst themselves. Ben stared back. Even when Captain Gray arrived, Ben remained silent. He would reveal nothing. Not until—
“Mr. Priestley.”
Ben stiffened at the sound of Strickland’s voice. When the admiral strode forward, looking every bit as commanding and domineering as when Ben had last seen him, Ben forced himself to salute rather than slam his fist into Strickland’s red craggy face.
“Sir.” The word came out of him sharp and edged as a dagger. He struggled to breathe, making his inhalations and exhalations as long and slow as possible.
Standing in front of Ben was the man who had murdered his father. And just behind Strickland loomed Warne, the mage who was complicit in the killing.
Never had Ben drawn upon more self-control than he did at that moment, his heart pounding, his muscles aching with the force he exerted to keep from wrapping his hands aroundStrickland’s neck and squeezing until all life left the admiral’s body and his soul shot straight to hell.
“Last we saw of you, Mr. Priestley,” Strickland said, “you’d dived overboard to chase after that witch whore Tanner.”
Ben’s jaw throbbed from the pressure he exerted on it. “I was in pursuit of Captain Tanner, sir. That is true. I found myself aboard her ship—”
“The one full of witches,” a seaman exclaimed.
Mutters and curses rose up from the assembled men, some spitting upon the deck and others crossing themselves.
“Sir,” Ben ground out, “if I may request that we continue this debriefing somewhere that affords us more privacy.”
“My quarters,” Strickland answered.
“Dismissed,” Oliver shouted at the crew. “Make yourselves useful. Anyone lollygagging or found lingering at keyholes will receive ten lashes. Twenty if you don’t disperse immediately.”
Sailors hurried in every direction, attempting to show the quartermaster that they were occupied with their duties. Once they had gone, Ben followed Strickland, Gray, Oliver, and Warne down the companionway to the admiral’s quarters.
The ship that had been his home swallowed him like a prison. He longed to run back topside, jump overboard, and sail the cutter back to theSea Witch. Yet he had a mission to carry out, and he’d be utterly useless to Alys if he failed in that objective.
Merely bringing her to mind made his back straighten and his steps decisive. This was for her. Everything was for her. Hazy as their connection was, it still burned within him.
Strickland strode into his quarters and leaned against his desk, arms folded across his chest, as Ben stood before him. Gray, Warne, and Oliver positioned themselves nearby. Long ago, Ben had stood in the exact same place, arguing that he should join Oliver on St. Gertrude. What deity could have possibly foreseen where that decision would take him?
“Give us your account, Mr. Priestley,” Strickland commanded.
“I did follow Captain Tanner to her ship, theSea Witch,” Ben said. “Hubris, perhaps, to think that I could capture her aboard her own vessel, but duty impelled me, especially after she destroyed my charts and maps.”
His words tasted acrid, speaking of Alys this way, yet in order to protect her, he had to continue.
