Page 77 of The Sea Witch
“That’s between yourself and your own beliefs.” She was already striding away, heading toward her second-in-command and calling for a council in her quarters. Her purpose and determination glinted like knives.
The kite opened one eye and regarded him warily.
He held up his hands. “In this, I’m merely an observer. A very mystified observer.”
“Come on, navy man.” Cora approached with a spiky glowing ball of magic dancing on her fingers. “Back to the captain’s quarters. She doesn’t want you topside.”
Ben followed her down the companionway, his head whirling with everything he’d learned. Alys and her crew... today they had become more than pirates in his eyes. There was far more to them than he’d ever believed.
Yet he was still a prisoner. That, at least, hadn’t changed.
That evening, after he’d been fed, Ben was taken above for a turn around the deck and some air. Dorothea was the crew member assigned to watch him. Gray shot through her sandy hair, and she had an elaborately embroidered eye patch. As she escorted Ben, she kept up a slow melodious tune in German. Yet her hand rested on the butt of her pistol and she insisted Ben walk ahead of her.
“All right, Jüngling,” she said with a jerk of her head. “Back into your cage.”
They headed toward Alys’s quarters, yet when he and Dorothea got to the door, the second-in-command opened it before he could. Stasia stood with her hand braced on the doorframe, her arm barring him entrance. Just beyond her, he could see Alys and several members of her crew standing around the table, a sheet of parchment spread before them. Someone had drawna diagram of a walled coastal fortress. The kite perched on the back of a chair, occasionally crying out, with the women all listening attentively to it. The air was thick with tension, and the women all wore serious, focused expressions. No one glanced in his direction, not even Alys.
“Find somewhere else for him to be, Dorothea,” the quartermaster said curtly.
“I’m a sailing master,” he offered, then raised his voice so Alys could hear, “but I know something of strategy.”
“We will keep that under advisement,” Stasia said in a voice that indicated she would do nothing of the sort. “Take him to the brig until the morning.”
“Can I not at least sleep on the top deck?” Ben hated the imploring note in his words, but the idea of being confined again made his body taut as a lute string.
“And waste a member of our crew to guard you?”
“Someone guards me, anyway,” he protested.
“He can sleep on the top deck,” came Alys’s flat command. “Guarded.”
Stasia’s look of displeasure couldn’t stifle Ben’s happiness at the prospect of a few hours beneath the stars. The second-in-command shut the door in his face.
Dorothea took him back topside.
“You will sleep here.” She kicked a coil of rope toward him. “And that is your pillow.”
His only companionship that night came from Dorothea guarding him, the other women on watch, and the span of stars arching overhead. Through the night, he sensed Alys’s resolve.
Busy footfalls awoke him before dawn. As he rubbed grit from his eyes, he watched one of the crew paint a symbol onto a cannonball. The symbol itself looked like a lightning bolt with a few additional lines surrounding it. The crew member gave no explanation when she caught Ben observing her. Instead, she marched away with the heavy shot in her hands.
His guard had been replaced, Inés for Dorothea. The Latin woman’s expression was stoic as she pushed a bowl of porridge into his hands. As he ate, the company raced back and forth across the top deck. Judging by the winds, they were soon approaching land.
Alys appeared, deep in consultation with Stasia. She looked every inch the captain, her gaze clear and resolute as she issued orders that her crew quickly obeyed. If anyone ever doubted that a woman could command a ship with authority, they had only to see Alys Tanner directing her crew in the moments before battle.
The kite and the magpie took flight. Shielding her eyes against the sun, the quartermaster watched them go, until they disappeared.
Later, at dusk, two members of the company approached Stasia with drawn cutlasses. Ben recognized the narrow-framed woman as Jane, who moved now with none of the wariness she’d shown when he had spoken to her before. It was easy to recollect Thérèse’s tattoos and extraordinary hair. Stasia closed her eyes and gripped Jane’s blade between her palms. A green glow shimmered to life, enveloping the metal. There was a scent like the air after a lightning strike. The same process was repeated for Thérèse.
Jane presented the second-in-command with a handful of bullets. She laid her hand over them, eyes still closed, until the projectiles also emanated green light. After Jane and Thérèse took the bullets back, they charged their weapons with gunpowder. They each loaded their pistols with glowing bullets and packed them down with ramrods.
Jane left, and then Alys wrapped her arms around Stasia, with Thérèse embracing both of them. They all leaned against one another, eyes closed. The same radiance from the other night surrounded the three women. It grew brighter and brighter, forcing Ben to train his gaze elsewhere. By the time the glow diminished and Ben could look again, Alys, Stasia, and Thérèse had stepped back and were again brusque and efficient.
Just after nightfall, the magpie returned. It perched on the quartermaster’s shoulder and twittered excitedly into her ear.
“All has been made ready,” the second-in-command said to Alys. “When the moon reaches its zenith, they will begin.”
Alys looked up at the sky, as did Ben and Stasia. The moon hung low over the horizon. It would reach its high point in an hour. Whatever it was that Alys and her crew had planned, timing would be critical.
