Page 39 of The Sea Witch (Salt & Sorcery #1)

“Look lively!” Dorothea snapped.

Ben stepped to the side, out of her path, as she quickly carried blankets toward the freed women.

On the Jupiter , he understood the routine. He wasn’t in the way, familiar with how the ship operated and what was expected of him.

Now, activity bustled around him, and he’d no idea where to be or what he was required to do. The ship’s surgeon moved from

patient to patient, women either sitting or lying. Fatima was methodical, precise, yet she murmured calming words to her patient

as she labored.

He’d witnessed the aftermath of battle before. Dr. Glynne would work his imprecise art, stemming the flow of blood as it spattered

across the deck, hastily sewing up wounds or digging out bullets as men screamed and clutched at the cups of rum they were

given to try to dull the pain. The deck always reeked of iron and gunpowder, with shit and sweat stinking beneath. Warne,

the Jupiter ’s mage, would assist, sprinkling caustic potions on those that were most severely injured, muttering incantations over others.

Yet Warne always looked irritated by his labors, as if he had other more important matters to attend to besides injured marines

and seamen.

On the Sea Witch , Fatima saw the injured first, cleaning lacerations and providing sutures or bandages. Then, half a dozen witches stepped

in. They placed their hands upon the patients’ wounds, and golden light flowed from the witch into the injury. As they did

this, the wounded women’s expressions eased. They sighed in relief and nodded thanks to their healers.

Cora rose from healing one of the captive women, and went to the railing near Ben. She stretched her sturdy arms and groaned

in relief.

“The mage on our ship,” Ben said. “He only treats officers’ wounds. The rest is left to our surgeon.”

“Ah, well, mage magic is important magic,” Cora said with a shrug. “Only the finest of injuries for them. I suppose I’m not

high up enough to warrant being picky about whose blood I’m staunchin’.”

“There’s a spell, then, for healing?”

“Don’t know about specific spells. No one ever showed me how to mend anyone. We witches, we don’t get much in the way of proper

learnin’. I suppose you’d call it trial and error.”

She went to a bucket and lifted the dipper to her lips. Water dribbled into her mouth, yet there was a tightness to her expression

and her skin was pallid. Until Faith, the cook’s mate, appeared with a sugared cake and handed it to Cora, who devoured it

in two bites.

Some color filled Cora’s cheeks and she exhaled. “Not a full balancing, but it’ll do for now.”

“Then how do you do it? Fashion a healing spell, I mean.”

“If it’s a cut, I think about how the oriole weaves its nest. Bringin’ all these little bits together until it’s all safe

and secure. I do that with the cut flesh, weavin’ it together. Might not always be pretty. It can leave a beauty of a scar.”

“A scar is better than blood everywhere and disease seeping into the flesh,” Thérèse threw in wearily. Golden light drifted around her fingers, fading as she took one of the cakes offered by Faith. “Step aside, monsieur le navigateur. We are still working.”

Ben hung back, keeping to the railing. He had no place here, yet no one took him down to the captain’s quarters. In truth,

almost no one paid him any attention at all.

Alys glanced in his direction every now and again, her expression opaque, just as it had been when he’d given her ale.

Well, it made sense that he’d see to her. As captain of this ship, his fate was in her hands, and she was the key to hunting

down the fail-safe. Once he had that, he’d carry out his duty. Yes, that was exactly why his worried attention kept drifting

back to her.

Like Dorothea, several members of the ship’s crew circulated with blankets. They draped them over the newly freed women. Bony

shoulders poked up from their ragged clothing, and cheekbones stood in stark relief on their faces. Josephine handed round

mugs of steaming soup, which were consumed in eager gulps before being quickly replenished.

The liberated captives shot him cautious glances, their attention ricocheting between his threadbare naval coat and the manacles

at his wrists. He offered them nods, which were not returned.

Some of the women looked weary. A trio of them gathered at the gunwale to stare at the waves and excitedly point toward the

horizon. Red angry flesh encircled their ankles from where shackles had chafed, but those were now gone. Two of the escaped

women laughed, while the other leaned against one of her comrades, a contemplative expression in her eyes.

They had been captives, goods to be sold.

That was what the navy worked with Kinnear to preserve. What Alys and her crew now fought against. What Ben had supported

by not doing anything to stop it, as the Sea Witch had.

A quartet of the freed captives took their blankets and made pallets upon the deck. They rested their heads on each other’s bellies as they looked up at the sky. One by one, they fell asleep.

The sky lightened with the coming of dawn. The stars winked out.

The woman who appeared to be their leader moved from cluster to cluster of freed women, speaking lowly to them. Ben heard

one of her comrades call her Olachi. Alys approached, with Stasia and the first mate beside her, before the trio broke away

to stand near the capstan.

Ben slowly drifted nearer. When no one stopped him, he moved closer.

“We have been held for nearly a month,” Olachi was explaining. Circles of exhaustion surrounded her deep sable brown eyes,

yet she seemed resolute to remain awake. Anwuli perched on her shoulder, nuzzling her with her beak. “Some were taken from

their homes, others, like me, from ships bound for the Caribbean and the Americas.”

“Anything you want,” Alys said at once, “you and the others can have it. We’ve stockpiles of gold at the ready. We can take

you to any port in the Caribbean, and from there, you can sail wherever you want.”

“There are some of us who will gladly accept your offer,” Olachi answered.

“What is it you desire?” Stasia asked.

“A ship for myself,” Olachi replied immediately. “Not so long ago, I was stolen from my home. I had been council to the Omu,

advising her as she governed women’s concerns. I knew nothing of combat, or how to make my magic a weapon. Mediation and peacekeeping,

that was what I knew. But that was taken from me. Everything was taken from me.”

Ben’s gut clenched. Yet he wouldn’t back away, making himself listen.

“With my own ship,” Olachi continued, “I will find other vessels laden with those bound for enslavement and free them. And destroy anyone who profits from the sale of human beings. If they think there is anywhere safe for them, they will find themselves quite mistaken.”

“We can get you a ship,” Alys answered firmly. “It’ll take some doing, and it might not be possible right away, but we can

do it. I have to ask... why did you send Anwuli to us? We’re only pirates.”

“You are more than that,” Olachi said. “And it was a risk, but I thought, if anyone might listen to us, it would be a ship

of women.”

Alys tipped her head. “We’re honored. I’m honored to have such faith put in me.”

Olachi nodded, then struggled to suppress a yawn. Her kite also yawned.

“I have been planning our escape for weeks,” she explained. “Have hardly slept for... I cannot remember when I last let

myself dream.”

“You’ve been shouldering a great weight for a long time,” Alys noted.

“The other women who were captive with me,” Olachi said, “they relied upon me. They rely upon me still.”

“Who do you rely upon?” Polly asked.

Olachi gave a faint smile. “Myself, but I must admit, it is rather nice to have someone at my back, fighting with me.”

“You don’t have to fight on your own,” Alys vowed. “Now it’s time to rest.”

At Alys’s look, Polly held out a hand. “Come, I’ll find you both somewhere to sleep. I can give you my berth.”

“I will sleep here, with the others.”

“We’ll discuss more later in the day,” Alys said.

Olachi placed her hand on Alys’s shoulder, her gaze abundant with solemn significance, then let Polly lead her toward an empty part of the top deck, where more blankets were piled.

Together, Polly and Olachi made a pallet and then Olachi lay down.

Her kite settled on her chest as Polly slipped a rolled-up blanket beneath Olachi’s head.

She waited until it was clear that Olachi was asleep before drifting toward the quarterdeck to confer with the helmswoman.

Alys jerked her chin toward the companionway. “My quarters.” She grabbed the chain between Ben’s manacles and tugged. “You,

too, Sailing Master.”

He walked between Alys and Stasia, careful not to step too loudly upon the upper deck lest he wake the sleeping women.

Once they were back in her cabin, Alys slumped in a chair, seemingly weary beyond imagining.

“This was a good night,” the quartermaster said, pouring herself and Alys a mug of ale.

Ben went to decant himself a mug. The second-in-command didn’t stop him, her gaze impassive, so he filled his cup, and then

drank.

“It doesn’t seem like enough,” Alys exhaled.

“It is not,” Stasia agreed.

“But perhaps, it’s a beginning,” Alys said.

“Where will you find a ship for them?” Ben asked.

“Concern yourself with yourself.” Alys said this without heat. Unlike Olachi, she couldn’t smother a large yawn. After draining

her mug, she got to her feet. “Stasia, find your own berth and rest. That’s an order.”

“Aye, Captain.” Stasia slipped from the cabin, but not before giving Ben a meaningful glance. Then she was gone.

Alys pulled off her boots and threw them to the floor. Then she reached for the fastenings that ran up the front of her breeches.

Ben turned away. He strode to his hammock and clambered in. Last night, sleep was impossible. He ought to try it now.

“My magic’s too exhausted for me to shutter the windows,” she grumbled.