took from the Spaniards’ table. A fine show o’ pastries and some of that there manchega cheese.”
“Then we’ll dine in an hour. My Sleeping Beauty should be awake by now.” He nodded at Adam and left the quarterdeck.
Adam shook his head. His master was so many different men, and it astonished Adam how he was able to keep them all separate, each in its own compartment.
It had much to do with his growing, Adam knew, but it still chilled him even through the deep love he felt for the man he’d nurtured and served since Anthony had entered the world on that demon-ridden night twenty-eight years earlier.
Three
O LIVIA AWOKE REFRESHED from a dreamless nap and was for a moment disoriented, then she heard the cry of a seagull and smelled the fresh salt tang on the air and remembered. She smiled slowly at the renewed prickle of excitement that crept over her skin. Fatigue had caused her to question the magic that now embraced her. But she was no longer tired and this strange new world was filled with wonder. Lord Granville’s daughter was the aider and abettor of pirates. Of course, one could say that she’d been kidnapped by a pirate and was held captive on his ship on the high seas. One could say that. And it would be the perfect truth. Except that she had no desire to be anywhere else, and it seemed she had acquired a shockingly keen desire for further adventuring. Her appetite for piracy had merely been whetted by the encounter with the Spanish galleon.
She had more in common with Portia than she’d realized, Olivia thought with a soft chuckle. Her father’s illegitimate niece had a penchant for soldiering and had been married on a battlefield in britches with a sword at her hip. Olivia was beginning to see the appeal in such wildly unconventional behavior. Hitherto she’d simply assumedthat Portia was unique, a law unto herself. What Portia did had no relevance to what ordinary people did. But maybe not. Or maybe her uniqueness was rubbing off on her friends. Or maybe Olivia herself was not ordinary either, she just hadn’t known it until now.
Grinning to herself, Olivia pushed aside the coverlet and sat up, sniffing hungrily. The most wonderful scents of roasting meat were coming from somewhere, setting her juices running. She glanced curiously around the cabin, wondering what it could tell her of
Wind Dancer
’s master.
Not for a moment did it occur to her that she might be invading his privacy as she began to explore. There were charts on the table, with a sextant and compasses. She peered at the calculations written in the same bold hand that had drawn the lines of her back. The calculations fascinated her mathematician’s mind, although to understand them would take some study.
She examined the books on the shelves set into the bulwarks. An interesting assortment. Poetry, philosophy, some of her own favorite classical texts. The ship’s master had an intellectual mind, it seemed. She looked at the chessboard set out on a small table under the window. It looked as if he was in the middle of a game, unless it was a chess problem he was working on.
Olivia bent over the pieces, frowning. She moved the white bishop to king four, and stood frowning at the board. Then she gave a little nod of satisfaction. She’d been right. It was inevitable that white would now mate in two moves. Not a particularly difficult problem, she thought.
Humming to herself, Olivia turned back to the chart table. Idly she opened a drawer beneath the tabletop. There were papers, a thick pile of them, facedown in the drawer. She took them out and laid them on the table.
They were drawings, pencil sketches. It seemed the master of
Wind Dancer
was a draftsman who found objects for his talent wherever he looked. These seemed to be entirely of his crew.
She gazed fascinated at the series of sketches. Some of the faces she recognized from the time she’d spent above decks. Jethro, the helmsman, appeared several times. In some of
“Then we’ll dine in an hour. My Sleeping Beauty should be awake by now.” He nodded at Adam and left the quarterdeck.
Adam shook his head. His master was so many different men, and it astonished Adam how he was able to keep them all separate, each in its own compartment.
It had much to do with his growing, Adam knew, but it still chilled him even through the deep love he felt for the man he’d nurtured and served since Anthony had entered the world on that demon-ridden night twenty-eight years earlier.
Three
O LIVIA AWOKE REFRESHED from a dreamless nap and was for a moment disoriented, then she heard the cry of a seagull and smelled the fresh salt tang on the air and remembered. She smiled slowly at the renewed prickle of excitement that crept over her skin. Fatigue had caused her to question the magic that now embraced her. But she was no longer tired and this strange new world was filled with wonder. Lord Granville’s daughter was the aider and abettor of pirates. Of course, one could say that she’d been kidnapped by a pirate and was held captive on his ship on the high seas. One could say that. And it would be the perfect truth. Except that she had no desire to be anywhere else, and it seemed she had acquired a shockingly keen desire for further adventuring. Her appetite for piracy had merely been whetted by the encounter with the Spanish galleon.
She had more in common with Portia than she’d realized, Olivia thought with a soft chuckle. Her father’s illegitimate niece had a penchant for soldiering and had been married on a battlefield in britches with a sword at her hip. Olivia was beginning to see the appeal in such wildly unconventional behavior. Hitherto she’d simply assumedthat Portia was unique, a law unto herself. What Portia did had no relevance to what ordinary people did. But maybe not. Or maybe her uniqueness was rubbing off on her friends. Or maybe Olivia herself was not ordinary either, she just hadn’t known it until now.
Grinning to herself, Olivia pushed aside the coverlet and sat up, sniffing hungrily. The most wonderful scents of roasting meat were coming from somewhere, setting her juices running. She glanced curiously around the cabin, wondering what it could tell her of
Wind Dancer
’s master.
Not for a moment did it occur to her that she might be invading his privacy as she began to explore. There were charts on the table, with a sextant and compasses. She peered at the calculations written in the same bold hand that had drawn the lines of her back. The calculations fascinated her mathematician’s mind, although to understand them would take some study.
She examined the books on the shelves set into the bulwarks. An interesting assortment. Poetry, philosophy, some of her own favorite classical texts. The ship’s master had an intellectual mind, it seemed. She looked at the chessboard set out on a small table under the window. It looked as if he was in the middle of a game, unless it was a chess problem he was working on.
Olivia bent over the pieces, frowning. She moved the white bishop to king four, and stood frowning at the board. Then she gave a little nod of satisfaction. She’d been right. It was inevitable that white would now mate in two moves. Not a particularly difficult problem, she thought.
Humming to herself, Olivia turned back to the chart table. Idly she opened a drawer beneath the tabletop. There were papers, a thick pile of them, facedown in the drawer. She took them out and laid them on the table.
They were drawings, pencil sketches. It seemed the master of
Wind Dancer
was a draftsman who found objects for his talent wherever he looked. These seemed to be entirely of his crew.
She gazed fascinated at the series of sketches. Some of the faces she recognized from the time she’d spent above decks. Jethro, the helmsman, appeared several times. In some of
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