shivering in the wind as a new day trundled in from the east?
When had he remembered her? Realised her face was the one he had seen staring at him over the stern of the Christina Giselle ? She had carefully and deliberately blurred his memory, for her instinct had warned her it was too early for them to be together: she was too young, he needed his freedom. But oh! She did not want him to go! What – who – had reminded him? Something had triggered the connection while he had been talking to Captain Rogers. He had taken his leave in haste, the seaman’s natural roll obvious in his stride as he had hurried through the door and out into the street. Tiola had been waiting for him, sitting on the narrow flight of stairs where she could see the door to the private saloon, where no one could see her. Had darted after him, wanting to call out, to say he need not fear her, she would not betray him. But he had gone, disappearing into the labyrinth of alleyways. Why, why had she not said something to reassure him as he had walked with her?
Could she do something to stop him? She had always known how to weave simple tricks of sleight of hand, had discovered she possessed the other, older and deeper Craft when its use had been desperately needed – when her father had tried to rape her and her mother had killed him for it. Since that night there had been no necessity to test the full strength of her new-awakened power. Was this an opportunity to do so?
Chewing her lip Tiola considered. Could she force Jesamiah to stay? If the ship was damaged…Raising her hand she fashioned a subtle figure-of-eight motion with her splayed fingers, concentrated on the sails, the expanse of canvas. Think only of those sails. Clear the mind of all else, see only the sails.
Potent energy surged within her, along her spine through her shoulders. Down her arm to her fingers. A great force of controlling, dark, power swelling and expanding within her – and then another thought, one of alarm thundering into her head in an explosion of realisation. This was wrong! Wrong to cause something to happen for want of her own satisfaction. Wrong! She thrust her arm behind her back, her fingers crossed to ward off the stink of evil giggling its malevolence all around her.
Mermaid was ploughing forward, dipping and lifting through the sea as if she were the creature she was named for, half woman half fish – and a sharp, sudden, bang , like the discharge of a musket being fired in a confined space lurched across the bay, the sound darting off towards the indifferent gaze of Table Mountain. The lower corner of the Mermaid ’s fore topsail was flying loose, sending the entire sail writhing and flapping, tangling itself around the topmast forestay, yawing the boat off-balance and sending her askew.
A wild gasp sped from Tiola’s mouth. What had she done!
“Clew up! Move, you buggers!” Jesamiah’s voice, shouting, angry and urgent. “Ease the sheets! Ease them away there!”
A man’s shadow crossed Tiola’s own, stretching over the wet ripples where the sea had washed. “Cordage must have severed. Tops’l sheet worn through, I expect.”
Not seeing him arrive Tiola jumped as she realised he was standing beside her. “Master Dampier!” she gasped. “You startled me!” She looked up at the tall, middle-aged man, thankful that if she were to have a companion it was not the patronising Captain Rogers or the dour Mr Selkirk.
“My apologies Miss, that I did not intend to do.” He bowed, polite, smiled.
She liked Mr Dampier. He had sailed the world and seen things, people and places no other had seen, yet he was a modest man with a natural curiosity who never boasted of his cleverness. What he did was for science, not for himself.
Dampier gave a slight inclination to his head. “And I also beg pardon, Miss Oldstagh for using sailor’s jargon. A ‘sheet’ is the nautical term for the ropes used to trim, manoeuvre, the sails, though we never say
When had he remembered her? Realised her face was the one he had seen staring at him over the stern of the Christina Giselle ? She had carefully and deliberately blurred his memory, for her instinct had warned her it was too early for them to be together: she was too young, he needed his freedom. But oh! She did not want him to go! What – who – had reminded him? Something had triggered the connection while he had been talking to Captain Rogers. He had taken his leave in haste, the seaman’s natural roll obvious in his stride as he had hurried through the door and out into the street. Tiola had been waiting for him, sitting on the narrow flight of stairs where she could see the door to the private saloon, where no one could see her. Had darted after him, wanting to call out, to say he need not fear her, she would not betray him. But he had gone, disappearing into the labyrinth of alleyways. Why, why had she not said something to reassure him as he had walked with her?
Could she do something to stop him? She had always known how to weave simple tricks of sleight of hand, had discovered she possessed the other, older and deeper Craft when its use had been desperately needed – when her father had tried to rape her and her mother had killed him for it. Since that night there had been no necessity to test the full strength of her new-awakened power. Was this an opportunity to do so?
Chewing her lip Tiola considered. Could she force Jesamiah to stay? If the ship was damaged…Raising her hand she fashioned a subtle figure-of-eight motion with her splayed fingers, concentrated on the sails, the expanse of canvas. Think only of those sails. Clear the mind of all else, see only the sails.
Potent energy surged within her, along her spine through her shoulders. Down her arm to her fingers. A great force of controlling, dark, power swelling and expanding within her – and then another thought, one of alarm thundering into her head in an explosion of realisation. This was wrong! Wrong to cause something to happen for want of her own satisfaction. Wrong! She thrust her arm behind her back, her fingers crossed to ward off the stink of evil giggling its malevolence all around her.
Mermaid was ploughing forward, dipping and lifting through the sea as if she were the creature she was named for, half woman half fish – and a sharp, sudden, bang , like the discharge of a musket being fired in a confined space lurched across the bay, the sound darting off towards the indifferent gaze of Table Mountain. The lower corner of the Mermaid ’s fore topsail was flying loose, sending the entire sail writhing and flapping, tangling itself around the topmast forestay, yawing the boat off-balance and sending her askew.
A wild gasp sped from Tiola’s mouth. What had she done!
“Clew up! Move, you buggers!” Jesamiah’s voice, shouting, angry and urgent. “Ease the sheets! Ease them away there!”
A man’s shadow crossed Tiola’s own, stretching over the wet ripples where the sea had washed. “Cordage must have severed. Tops’l sheet worn through, I expect.”
Not seeing him arrive Tiola jumped as she realised he was standing beside her. “Master Dampier!” she gasped. “You startled me!” She looked up at the tall, middle-aged man, thankful that if she were to have a companion it was not the patronising Captain Rogers or the dour Mr Selkirk.
“My apologies Miss, that I did not intend to do.” He bowed, polite, smiled.
She liked Mr Dampier. He had sailed the world and seen things, people and places no other had seen, yet he was a modest man with a natural curiosity who never boasted of his cleverness. What he did was for science, not for himself.
Dampier gave a slight inclination to his head. “And I also beg pardon, Miss Oldstagh for using sailor’s jargon. A ‘sheet’ is the nautical term for the ropes used to trim, manoeuvre, the sails, though we never say
Similar Books
