Page 40 of The Sea Witch (Salt & Sorcery #1)

He rose and pulled the shutters closed. The sounds of the ship came as a low murmur, along with the lapping of the waves against

the hull. Dawn settled around the ship.

Later in the day, two bowls of hasty pudding were brought to the captain’s quarters. They were redolent with the smoky scent

of maple syrup, and sunset-hued slices of mango fanned over the tops. Ben eagerly took a seat at the table to break his fast.

He was careful not to look up from his bowl when Alys sat at the table, too. They silently ate together, spoons scraping against

wood as they consumed their breakfasts. It was almost peaceful.

“Did you sleep well?” Inwardly, Ben grimaced at the inane question.

She shrugged. “Well as anyone can hope.”

At the least, they hadn’t been in each other’s dreams. God knew what other secrets about him she might learn. But then, he

could discover more about her.

Dreams or no, he could still delve deeper when it came to the enigma that was Captain Alys Tanner.

“It’s a heavy burden you carry,” he said. “Seeing to the welfare of the women you rescued.”

“I didn’t rescue them. We only gave them a ride after they freed themselves.”

He took a drink of small beer. “The women you gave a ride to. Finding a ship for their leader.” Cautiously, he added, “Locating

the fail-safe.”

She said nothing.

“If you’re still looking for it,” he amended.

“Never left my mind.” She took a final bite of hasty pudding. “We’ll reach Domingo later today.”

He straightened. “Where the parish record is. It will tell us more about Sir Fenfield’s family.”

She raised her eyebrow. “ I’ll be tracking that down, yes.”

“Not alone,” he said at once. “You’ll have me as escort.”

Alys stood. From the floor, she picked up the shirt she had worn during the assault on the fortress. She pointed to the blood

that had left dark rusty stains across the fabric. “This didn’t belong to me. I’ve no need for anyone’s protection.”

“But you’ll need a bridegroom.” He collected their bowls and stacked them.

“The hell I will,” she shot back. “Been married once before. That’s a meal I don’t need to swallow again.”

“The best means of learning the identity of Sir Fenfield’s nephew’s cousin’s daughter’s son is to search the parish records

at the church. Posing as an engaged couple will get us the information we need. We’d review the record to ensure no consanguinity

prior to our marriage.”

She eyed him. “Been giving this some thought.”

“I give everything some thought.”

She straddled a chair and studied him. He held himself still under her examination. The more he pressed, the more she would

resist. When the matter at hand was something he wanted very much, the best strategy was cautious neutrality.

It wouldn’t be possible to fully disguise the fact that he did, in truth, fear for her safety.

“Be pretty,” she said at last. “That’s your only role. Talking’s my task.”

“Understood,” he answered, pleased with how indifferent he sounded.

“Now we go topside, Sailing Master.”

On the upper deck, the freed women were sitting and talking, or standing at the gunwale to watch dolphins leap through the waves alongside the ship.

They laughed at the sleek creatures’ antics.

Many of them seemed much more spirited than last night, and some even no longer needed bandages on their wounds.

More wary looks were thrown his way as he followed Alys to the quarterdeck. There, the plan on Domingo was outlined to the

second-in-command, who looked with suspicion at Ben. Yet she didn’t object.

Instead, Stasia went below, and then returned a quarter of an hour later with two tiny cups of something as thick and potent

as night. As she did this, Alys strode away.

To his astonishment, the quartermaster handed him one of the cups. He took a sip. It was as though someone had taken five

cups of coffee and boiled it for an hour, to reduce it to a thick liquid that could fell a titan.

She stared at him pointedly.

“It’s a wonder anything else has the temerity to call itself coffee,” he answered.

She gave a solemn nod. “I can tell your fortune in the grounds when you finish.”

“My thanks. I’d rather meet my future as it comes. Any attempt to circumvent fate inevitably meets with disaster.”

She didn’t smile at Ben, but she didn’t scowl at him, either. He’d take what victories he could. This test, at least, he’d

passed.

As he struggled to swallow his next sip, Alys reappeared on the quarterdeck.

Ben choked on his coffee. “Gown.”

What a prime specimen of eloquence he’d become.

Alys stared down at herself with an expression that bordered on revulsion. It was a relatively simple dress of printed calico,

with ruffles on the sleeves and down the stomacher pinned to the bodice. He’d seen far more revealing and ornate gowns on

many other women. Seeing this woman in such a garment made him stare. Particularly, he was fascinated by the freckle-dusted skin rising above the low square neckline, and the curves of her collarbones, and the hollow of her throat, and the swell of her breasts, and the—

She cleared her throat, and he dragged his gaze back up to her face.

“Needs must,” she answered, disgusted.

“You look...”

She raised a brow.

“Careful, Sailing Master,” Stasia said under her breath. “The next few moments will determine the duration of your life.”

“Like a captain on an extremely important mission,” he finished.

Alys lifted her chin and sailed away.

He plucked at the grimy cuff of his coat. “Most bridegrooms don’t look like a half-drowned dog.”

“You look like a fully drowned dog,” the quartermaster said. “I shall see what our stores can provide. Now, I have duties that require my attendance.

Inés,” she called down to the woman in question, “you are to watch him.”

As Inés escorted him off the quarterdeck, he exhaled. At least he wasn’t being shut back up in the captain’s quarters. Perhaps

some progress was being made in his efforts to get the crew to trust him.

Even if he would betray them all.

The freed women gathered in small groups. A few played a dicing game with members of the crew, using a collection of objects

for betting, including coins of every origin and denomination, sparkling many-hued jewels, and strands of pearls. After the

newly freed women won seven rounds in a row, it became clear that the crew purposefully lost so their guests might take all

of the winnings.

One woman braided another’s hair. Another read a book aloud to a quartet of women, who listened with rapt attention, though

one had her head on her raised knee and her eyes closed, as if to imagine the scenes of adventure being described to her.

In the midst of this, Olachi sat calmly near the windlass.

Her comrades approached her frequently. Judging by the way Olachi listened, her head slightly tilted, her expression thoughtful, the women were posing questions, which were carefully answered.

As Olachi offered her counsel, the ship’s cook approached at regular intervals.

Josephine handed out cakes and fruit to the liberated women.

Yet she shyly presented Olachi with steaming fresh biscuits, wedges of golden cheese, and quartered guavas artfully arranged on wooden platters.

Only yesterday, they had been in chains. In no small part because of the Royal Navy. Because of men like him.

Ben rubbed his forehead. God above, the world was a complicated place.

A group of the crew practiced fencing. Some of the liberated captives had joined in. They moved back and forth across the

busy deck as they honed their swordsmanship. The familiars darted between their legs, mistaking the practice for play, until

they were corralled by Dorothea, who entertained the animals with a display of butterflies made of light.

Thérèse appeared, holding a coat. “Put this on.”

He held out his wrists, still encircled by manacles. When both Thérèse and Inés looked at him with wariness, he said levelly,

“I’m accompanying the captain ashore and playacting the role of her bridegroom. It might look a trifle irregular if I am chained.”

“Couples do all sorts of things to keep the bedroom interesting,” Thérèse replied.

Well. “I can’t change my coat with my hands bound like this.”

After a moment, Thérèse gestured in the air as green light danced along her fingers. The manacles’ lock sprang open.

Ben removed the manacles and rubbed his wrists.

His arms were suddenly lighter than feathers, and he almost believed he could take flight—although, after his last experience with flying at the waterfall, that option wasn’t particularly appealing.

Still, he exhaled to be free of the iron bands abrading his skin.

Inés took the manacles, but held them at the ready.

He shed his old coat, which Inés also took. What had once been his pride was now shabby and stained from being submerged in

seawater. Half the buttons were missing, the golden trim unraveling into filaments.

Exhaling, he pulled on the new coat. It was rather tight across the shoulders and arms, and too short, but it was clean and

had all its buttons and trim, and for that, he was grateful.

Striding by, Alys caught sight of him in his borrowed coat. “Been eating more beef? Someone had a growth spurt.”

“It was either this, or resemble the underside of a ship that hadn’t been careened in a decade.”

“Barnacles are so becoming on a man.”

“I’ve dueled men for lesser insults, and beaten them.” In truth, he’d only practiced his fencing with voluntary sparring partners,

though he did often win.

“You haven’t fought me yet.” She turned away in a rustle of skirts, her hair a satiny red curtain around her shoulders.

Shortly after two bells, the island appeared as a fringe of green on the horizon. The Sea Witch put in at an uninhabited stretch of sand a mile from the town’s harbor, and Ben and Alys rowed themselves ashore. They beached

the jolly boat before making their way through a forest, dense with gumbo-limbo and ironwood trees. The forest was welcome