11. The Dance of the Depraved
The Dance of the Depraved
W endy’s heart pounded as the steady creak of the ship’s hull whispered through the dim cabin, each forceful beat shaking her to the core. Over the salt air, she smelled the sweet scent of pipe smoke. She tried not to panic as she waited for her bath and what might be her last meal.
Her nose pressed to the leather lapel of her jacket, the buttery scent of broken-in leather a strange comfort to her wild mind. The same smell hung in the air whenever the captain came close.
The door opened, and two crew members entered, carrying a broad copper tub.
She curled her shoulders inward and crossed her legs, sheltering her body from view as much as possible.
They moved as if commanded not to look at her, setting the tub in the center of the room facing the hearth.
A third and fourth man entered, each carrying buckets of steaming water.
They filled the tub, taking trips to collect more water until soft tendrils of steam curled into the air. Her body ached to submerge in that balmy heat, but she feared bathing in the presence of men.
She couldn’t recall another time she suffered so many deeply conflicting desires. But she had a sense that this would not be the last. If this was her fortune in life, her future was about to become impossibly challenging. Nothing in her background remotely prepared her for what was coming.
The men left the captain’s quarters—save one. The lingering crew member looked different from the others. His moth-eaten clothes were higher quality, but dulled from sun and time. Still, she recognized the shadow of a gentleman in his stare.
He did not leer or approach her in a threatening manner. On the contrary, he moved with measured dignity, eyes downcast as he fetched a cloth and revealed a heavy, ornate key.
“I’ll spare you the indignity of bathing while bound.” His voice, though polite, carried a hint of roughness as if worn from years at sea.
Was he going to unchain her? Was that allowed? She only slightly flinched when he lifted her wrist. His gaze remained focused on the cuffs and never strayed.
The moment the heavy metal fell to the floor, she pulled her hands protectively to her chest, rubbing the chafed skin.
“I’ll turn my back while you slip into the tub, Miss.” He set the towel on her lap and looked away.
She rose on stiff legs. “Thank you.”
How strange to thank those who held her captive, yet she was inexplicably overwhelmed at the moment with gratitude for the bath and his regard for her modesty.
She moved to the tub before removing her coat and nightgown.
The man kept his back turned, as promised, giving her the necessary time to test the temperature of the water and strip out of her clothes.
She draped the coat over the back of a chair and paused before setting it beside the captain’s.
Her brow furrowed as she noticed the same intricate stitching in the lapels, confirming that this was indeed Black Jack.
“Where did the captain buy his coat?”
The man cleared his throat but didn’t turn. “The crew makes them, miss.”
“Where did they learn the design?” The intricate work had to come from a skilled seamstress on the islands.
“The designs are the captain’s.”
Leaning forward, she sniffed the collar, finding the same soothing scent clinging to the soft leather. What did it say about her that she liked how her captor smelled? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
Her nightgown was in tatters, so there was no point hanging it up. Letting it fall to the floor, she stepped over the lip of the tub and submerged her body in the warm water, clumsily sloshing the water over the sides.
The man kept his gaze averted but settled into the empty chair. “The water is warm enough for you, miss?”
Why was he being so nice to her? “Yes, thank you.”
He didn’t break the silence for a long time, and her sense of peace slowly transformed into unease. What if he was one of the last people she ever spoke to?
“Will you tell me your name?”
“Name’s Gideon Star.”
She didn’t know what to say next. She wouldn’t lie and say it was nice to meet him, so she asked, “Do you like the captain?”
“Never gave it much thought. A crew obeys their captain. Whether one likes him or not is irrelevant.”
Curling her shoulders inward, she pushed the water over her skin. “But do you like him?”
He was quiet for a long moment. “Well enough, I suppose.”
She looked about the lavish quarters, wondering if part of the captain craved a different life.
She glanced over her shoulder, but the man wasn’t watching her.
She sensed humanity in him. If she ignored his purpose here and the worn appearance of his clothes, she could imagine him as one of her father’s peers.
“You weren’t always a pirate, were you?”
He stood and cleared the table, never letting his gaze stray toward the tub. “No, I once owned property and inherited a small fortune, but that was a very long time ago, and fortunes come and go.”
Although he moved about the chambers, he never dared to look at her. She watched him as he spread a cloth across the table, smoothing the creases with care.
“You lost your fortune.”
“The one I had at that time, yes. It only takes a few poor choices to change a man’s entire world.”
“Or a few wise ones.”
“Touché.” He set out a new bottle of wine and clean glasses. “That’s something Hook might say.”
“Hook?”
“The captain,” he explained. “Captain James Hook. He’s an exacting man, but not a cruel one. Not unless he has to be.”
“They don’t call him Black Jack?”
Gideon stilled from polishing the silver cutlery. The fine pieces glinted in the flickering lamplight as he carefully inspected each one before laying it down. “Those who value their lives don’t.”
What if this wasn’t the pirate the Lost Boys spoke of?
She considered the matching coats. It had to be the same person. Peter had told her that people went by any name they wanted in the Never Lands. Perhaps Captain James Hook went by two names, and his enemies called him Black Jack.
Gideon set the table with fine bone china adorned with delicate gilded edges. Even the goblets appeared to be crystal. Why such opulence?
She looked at the candlelight. The ambiance confused her. The captain said she would have a light snack, but Gideon appeared to be setting a scene for a luxurious feast for two.
Was this a practiced act? His men seemed to know the dance so well.
“Does he make a habit of feeding the women he kidnaps?”
“I’m afraid we’re not in the habit of kidnapping women.” He looked back, finally meeting her eyes as if to show his sincerity as he softly warned, “Careful, dear. There are ears everywhere.”
What did that mean? When he said nothing more, she reached for the washcloth and crude lump of soap.
The sharp scent of bergamot filled the air as she silently washed her body. It was another scent she smelled on the captain, and she strangely liked it when it should have made her sick.
Gideon arranged a small vase of flowers. Nothing about this situation was normal.
Did they know what the captain planned to do to her?
She flushed at the memory of him shoving his finger inside of her. How mortifying and dehumanizing. Yet, here she was, preparing herself for more. There was definitely something wrong with her.
“The captain’s not without his compassion,” he said as if sensing her worry.
She thought of the sultan who married a new Arabian wife every night, only to order her death by the following dawn. It wasn’t until one particular woman held his interest that the murders stopped.
“What does the captain like?” If she wanted to survive, she would have to play the game.
“He values loyalty above all else. Cross him, and it will be the last thing you ever do.”
Her shiver of fear only galvanized her determination. “You said his name is James?”
“Aye, but I wouldn’t call him that if I were you. Best to stick to Sir or Captain.”
Using his name could create a sense of intimacy. If she treated him like a respectable gentleman, he might meet her with similar respect.
The elegant table created a romantic scene that mocked the true nature of her predicament. She sensed him preparing to leave and panicked at the moving of time.
“Is there anything else you can tell me, Gideon?” She purposely used his name to establish a sense of trust. She needed whatever help she could get.
“Do as he says and don’t complain. That’s my advice.” He moved to the door. “I’ll lock the door but leave the chains off. Prove yourself trustworthy, and he’ll be pleased. Try anything conniving, and he’ll see that you’re punished. Don’t make me regret my kindness, miss.”
He had been kind, but she was a captive. She didn’t know if she would keep her word. Still, she nodded anyway. “Thank you.”
“Stay safe, miss.” He bowed and backed out of the room, the heavy latch turning and locking from the other side.
As lovely as the warm water felt, she couldn’t waste time sitting there passively waiting for the future to unfold. Climbing out of the bath, she wrapped her body in the towel. Her heart thundered as she scanned the room.
She rushed to the table and snatched up a silver knife when footsteps approached. The cold metal was heavy in her hand, and she spun just as the door opened.
Captain James Hook stilled at the threshold, his dark gaze dropping to the knife in her hand. “So you’ve chosen violence.”
The heavy silver clattered to the floor in shameful surrender. “No.”
He shut the door, apparently unthreatened by her access to the sharp cutlery. “I assume your bath was pleasant?”
She recalled his earlier orders about gratitude. “Yes. Thank you…James.”
He paused from removing his boots and looked at her. “Careful, darling. No one calls me by my first name.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“That’s better.” He slid his leather boots off and tossed them aside.