Page 39 of The Sea Witch
After the ship took up position beside the cliff at the entrance to the cove, a strange, potent energy enveloped the vessel, shrouding it in mist.Magic.It pulsed beneath Ben’s skin, surging in his blood.
A small crimson chamber deep within him throbbed, awakened. An unknown core buried in the fibers of his self that blinked and roused, stretching itself, becoming aware.
Ben shook himself violently. Yet the sensation didn’t go away. It strengthened, blocking out nearly everything.
TheEdelsteensailed past theSea Witch, right into the inlet.
Some kind of glamour had been deployed by the witches of this ship. It worked, too, because Van der Meer had trapped himself, stuck between the beach and theSea Witch.
Gasping, Ben sank to the floor when the glamour suddenly dropped. It was as though he had been released from a chokehold, and he gulped down air.
He collected himself enough to stand. Van der Meer and his crew were close. If he could reach the ship, even merely spy from a better position, he could learn something.
Ben strode back and forth, but the window running the width of the captain’s quarters hemmed in his view. All he could see was the mouth of the cove, and the dark waters stretching behind it.
He paced the breadth of the cabin, his teeth clenched in frustration, his muscles tight and vibrating. Locked in these quarters, with no means of getting a decent vantage of theEdelsteen. Maddening.
He tucked the spyglass into his boot, then strode to the diamond-paned window and pushed it open. A startled laugh escaped him. It wasn’t locked. No one suspected he might attempt to slip free from his imprisonment this way. All he would be able to do was fall into the ocean and drown.
That was a very real possibility now, but there was no other alternative.
He clambered out the window to cling to the back of the ship—and slipped. Gripping the window sill, the muscles in his arms ached as he held on tightly. His feet dangled high above the water, and while the fall might not kill him if he managed to avoid slamming into the rudder, the weight of the manacles and having his hands and feet bound when sinking to the seafloor certainly would.
Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself up. Sweat slicked down his back as he managed to drag himself to perch on the window sill. On shaking legs, he rose to standing, then gripped the carved wooden ornaments that ran the length of the ship’s aft hull. The captain’s cabin was just below the quarterdeck, and he used all of the strength of his upper body to pull himself up to the quarterdeck’s rear balustrade.
Ben peered over the edge of the railing. One of the crew had her back to him, her attention fixed toward the beach. He wouldn’t be able to see much of theEdelsteenfrom the quarterdeck. He’d have to go higher.
Summoning another burst of strength, he hauled himself up to balance on the quarterdeck railing. He grabbed the main boom, sticking out from the mainmast, and pulled himself onto it. Surely the metallic clanking of his bindings would attract the crew woman’s notice. Yet whatever was happening on the beach had her full attention, with the tides against the ship’s hull hiding his sound. Beyond the ship’s bow, torches gathered on the sand.
Carefully, he edged himself along the boom, until he reached the mainmast itself. With years of experience climbing masts, he began to ascend. The ship’s deck beneath him grew smaller the higher he climbed, the stars above him shining down pitilessly as his whole body throbbed with the exertion of scaling the mainmast with his ankles and wrists fettered.
Finally, he reached the main top yard. With one more effort, he hauled himself onto the beam from which the sail hung. The deck of the ship was far below him, yet he was used to such dizzying heights. Instead, he focused on the other ship, swaying up and down on the cove’s tide. From his boot, he pulled out the spyglass, unfurled it, and brought it to his eye.
Through the thick lens, the lamps that lit theEdelsteen’s upper deck were bright flickers. Much of the crew stood at the railing that faced the beach.
Ben choked around his own pulse as his gaze raked over the pirate company. They were a grizzled lot, many bearing scars and wearing clothing that was a jumble of the rough and the refined, which was obviously stolen, though even the most lavish garments were frayed and stained from use. All of them bore the hardened expressions of men who seldom thought of consequences or compassion.
His attention bounced from buccaneer to buccaneer. Surelyoneof them had an object in their possession that placed them at his father’s murder—a trophy from the ship, like the engraved cutlass that Father had carried but was never recovered, or the ship’s bell, or, hell,anythingat all. He just neededsomething.
Ben turned toward the beach in search of Van der Meer. Flame red hair snared his attention. Some of theSea Witch’s crew surrounded Alys, but even with a spyglass he couldn’t make out their expressions.
She faced Van der Meer. A parley. Reaching an understanding about the fail-safe? Would they find it together, and use it as leverage against the navy?
Faint noises sounded below him. Shouts and yells. Commands. He paid them little attention as he watched the conference on the shore.
“Come down at once,” someone called up to him, “or we’ll use force get you down.”
The words were as meaningless as a fly’s buzz. Mentally, he swatted them away. He peered closer at the Dutchman. There had to be some sign on the pirate that marked him as his father’s murderer.
“What the hell?”
His body went rigid. A net of humming energy closed around him, binding his arms to his sides and making it impossible to move his legs. The spyglass slipped from his immobilized fingers to shatter against the upper deck. Ben struggled against his bonds, to no avail. Trapped. Without the proper use of his feetto maintain balance, he lurched off the yard, pitching into the open air.
He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the sickening vacuum of freefall and the inevitable impact of his body on the wooden planks. He’d seen men plunge from the rigging and crow’s nest before. Some survived the fall with broken arms or legs. Others broke their necks and never climbed again.
Ben braced his body for the crash. Then opened his eyes when it didn’t come. Instead, he lowered slowly down from the mainmast’s height, held by unseen hands.
Finally, he reached the upper deck. It wasn’t the most graceful landing—set down abruptly in an ungainly heap of limbs, like a marionette with its strings cut. The buzzing energy of the spell dropped away enough for him to get to his feet.
