Page 68 of The Sea Witch
“I’ll step out...” Ben started to pull the door shut.
“Belay that, Sailing Master.” Alys didn’t open her eyes as she spoke. “Drop anchor.”
“You’re—”
“Balancing.”
“Ah. Yes. I see.” Ben didn’t see at all, but she’d commanded him to stay, and he wouldn’t disobey her.
He stood awkwardly in a corner, trying not to watch them, and yet unable to stop his gaze from wandering to the trio of women. A golden glow began emanating from the three witches. Dimly at first, surrounding their bodies in a soft haze, before strengthening. In gradual increments, the light gained potency, engulfing them in a brightness that forced Ben to shield his eyes from its intensity.
A single musical note rose up, the combination of their three voices in a low sweet tone. The music shivered through the air and along Ben’s skin, the hairs on his nape and forearms standing up as an unseen energy charged him.
And then they stepped apart. The light faded, yet that energy continued to reverberate throughout the cabin. The three witches stood taller, no longer strained and faded with weariness. Alys’s eyes were bright as she nodded at Stasia and Susannah, just as their gazes seemed sharper, clearer than he’d ever seen before.
Ben could only stare at them, mystified. Tingling danced along his skin. The quarters brimmed with energy, and invisible waves spilled from the open window to whirl across the sea. Where it would stop... there was no knowing. Out tothe farthest corners of the known world, perhaps even into the unknown world.
A tap sounded on the door and Luna the navigator as well as Polly poked their heads in when Alys bid them enter. They were followed by the crew member Faith and another woman with olive skin, braided brown hair, and capable hands, whose apron proclaimed her to be the ship’s cook.
“Gather round, little birds,” the cook urged as she and Faith set bowls brimming with stew on the table. They also laid out loaves of fresh crusty bread—a true luxury at sea—a plate laden with cheerful oranges, and bottles of rum and jugs of ale. The cook and her mate filed out, leaving them with a true feast.
Everyone collected around the table. His mouth watered at the sight and smell of so much hot food that carried the scent of browned meat combined with herbs, but Ben hesitated. Yet Alys tipped her head in his direction, indicating that he, too, should join them for the meal.
Wordlessly, ravenously, they began to eat. Cups were filled, drained, and filled again.
Though Ben was hungry, and the food proved once again that the ship’s cook was excellent, he ate slowly. To this point, all his meals had either been taken on his own or with only Alys for company. Yet here he was, breaking bread with members of a pirate crew.
Damn, more buttons were missing from the front of his coat. The remaining buttons had dulled, too. The cuffs were frayed and much of the braided trim was gone. Could he ask for a sewing needle to make a few repairs? The chain between his manacles swung every time he reached for his cup.
His coat wasn’t a sail that was necessary to make the ship function. No needle, then. Not unless he was supervised. And she wouldn’t spare a member of her crew to watch him mend his unravelling clothes.
His metal cup held his reflection, and he fought a grimace at the sight of his beard growing thickly on his jaw.
Not shipshape. Not by a league.
He maintained his rigid posture as he ate, while Alys, Stasia, and the other women hunched or leaned over their food. A few wiped their mouths on their sleeves. Crumbs were scattered and droplets of ale and rum landed on the table, soaking into the wood. Someone belched audibly. They would all have been disciplined by Admiral Strickland for lack of decorum.
As they ate and drank, Alys, Stasia, and Susannah grew even more alert and animated. It was as though the long exhausting and terrifying day on the island of the Weeping Princess had never happened. Impossible not to grow bolstered from Alys and her crew’s energy. Moments earlier, Ben had been certain he’d fall asleep the moment he climbed back into his hammock. Now, he felt he could climb the rigging and barely tire.
“No complaints about the quality of our food aboard a pirate ship, Sailing Master?” Alys asked.
He looked down at his hand, swiping a piece of bread through the last of the gravy at the bottom of his bowl.
The other women chuckled.
“Women aren’t much tolerated on naval ships,” he said, “but your cook would be welcome, and heartily.”
“Josephine would be flattered by such praise,” Alys answered, “to be so graciouslytolerated.”
She stood from the table and walked to the window running along the back of her quarters, where the dark sea rose and fell. Everyone’s attention was on her, and not the reflection of the moon upon the waves.
“A crafty scoundrel, that Little George,” she said thoughtfully. “Made us work to find what we sought.”
“A clue to the fail-safe,” Susannah said.
“?‘Find what you seek in the shelter of Sir Fenfield’s nephew’s cousin’s daughter’s son’s table,’?” Alys recited.
Looks were shared around the cabin.
