Chapter Twelve
Being a cabin boy was hard.
Correction: being a cabin boy was one of the worst ideas Josephine had ever come up with.
Her back ached from lugging buckets of water and scrubbing the already polished deck on her hands and knees.
Her nose burned from cleaning the head, where not one, but three men had taken a piss in front of her.
And her eyes still stung from spending an hour chopping onions in the galley—at least she could use that as an excuse if anyone asked why they watered now.
She shielded said eyes from the sun as she stared high up into the rigging, where she was expected to go up and replace a line that had come loose from its pulley.
Easy, the sailor next to her had said. Just climb up to the topmast yard and put it back.
Never mind the pitch of the ship on the swells along with the whipping wind or that the pulley was at the very end of the yardarm.
She scowled. Jack hadn’t mentioned this particular part of the job.
“Any day now, boy.” The sailor untied a clewline and gave it a slap. “Can’t adjust the sail until it’s fixed. Wind’s changing and the lieutenant won’t be happy if we waste time.”
Her eyes darted to the quarterdeck where Lieutenant Caldwell and his first officer stood at the wheel.
If she delayed much longer, he might come down to investigate.
With a deep breath, she set a hand on the shroud and pulled herself up.
Hand over hand, she ascended using the ratlines, trying to ignore the wind pushing against her.
After what seemed an eternity, she passed the main yard.
A few more minutes of careful climbing and she reached the topmast yard. The Tempest tipped down a swell and her heart leaped into her throat. She kept her face averted, but her body still went tense.
The wind hummed through the rigging around her and she tightened her grip.
From this angle, she couldn’t even find the pulley amidst the maze of ropes.
Which one was the clewline? The sailor below shouted something, but the rushing air blurred his words.
He slapped the line again and she followed its length to where it came to the yard.
There. It flopped against an empty pulley.
Her gut twisted. How in heaven’s name was she supposed to reach it?
Earlier, she’d watched sailors unfurl the sails after they climbed out on narrow footropes swinging below the yards to release the sheets.
With a swallow, she reached out to grab a guide rope and slowly extended a foot.
She had to swing herself off the ratline and her stomach hit the yardarm with a solid thump.
Once both feet balanced on the footrope, she began edging out.
She had made it a few steps out when a strong gust of wind whipped against her and swung her feet out, nearly making her lose her grip on the yardarm. Don’t look down. Don’t Look down.
She looked down.
Her stomach gave a violent lurch and she wrapped her arms around the yardarm. She’d never been this high above anything in her life. Tears sprung to the corners of her eyes, pinpoints of wet heat that dissipated almost instantly in the wind. She couldn’t do this. Damn what anyone below said.
Though steps away, the mainmast seemed impossibly far.
Panic clawed at her gut and everything around her began to spin.
She took one small unsteady step toward the mast. Another.
Her hand slid along the top of the yardarm, reaching for the next handhold of rope just beyond reach.
She blinked to try and steady her swirling vision.
The ship shuddered as it crashed down a swell, the impact vibrating through the wood beneath her fingers, and she lunged for the rope.
Her fingers closed around thin air. For an agonizing second, her nails dug into the yardarm, trying to stop her wild movement. But the smooth wood didn’t yield and her hand slipped free.
A scream wrenched from her throat as she pitched backward.
With arms flailing, she fell, the world around her flipping upside down.
A horrible dizziness filled her as she plummeted.
She pressed her eyes shut, but her body jerked to a stop when her ankle somehow twisted in the footline, the thick strands of the rope biting into her flesh.
She swayed with the movement of the ship, muffled shouts from the deck barely registering in her mind. Her foot began to slip and she whimpered. She was going to die.
“Hold still!” A commanding voice floated above the roar in her ears.
Lieutenant Caldwell.
As if she could do anything other than hang, helpless. Would he curse her name when he examined her broken body? She bent her neck to find him and her foot slipped even more. With a squeak, she held her breath as pain radiated through her leg. Any second now—there’d be no saving herself.
“Quickly. Grab ahold.”
She blinked as a rope fell in front of her face. How had the lieutenant climbed so fast?
With blood pounding in her head, Josephine wrapped her fingers around the oiled cords, and he began pulling her up.
As soon as his grip closed around her wrist, her muscles went slack.
He guided her hand to the yardarm and it took her a moment to make her fingers work enough to grasp the rope handhold.
She sucked in several deep breaths, willing her racing heart to slow as he bent to untangle her foot.
“You’re lucky, Jack.”
He hadn’t recognized her.
Yet.
A few expert twists of his hand and her throbbing foot slipped free. She shimmied to the mainmast, keeping her face turned from him. “Thank you,” she mumbled, twisting to grab the shroud.
“Wait.”
She ignored his order and started down, sending up silent thanks her pins had somehow held her hat in place.
Faster than she could have thought possible, she scrambled down the ratlines, missing a few and burning her hands on the ropes.
When her feet hit the deck, a tendril of hair fell from her hat alongside her face.
“Boy!” The lieutenant’s voice sliced through the air only a few feet above her.
Oh no. She couldn’t face him, not on the main deck.
Spinning, she ignored the stabs of pain shooting up her leg and darted toward the main hatch.
Sailors stared from their cannons as she flew by and flung herself down the ladder to the berth deck.
She didn’t make it far before a loud thump announced the lieutenant’s arrival.
“Stop!”
She grimaced but obeyed his shout as he strode over in several long strides. “What happened up there?”
With her face down, she shook her head. What happened indeed. She wasn’t even sure. The panic she’d felt earlier began to return as a vision of the deck swaying far below flashed across her mind.
“On shore, you assured me you had experience. It’s clear you were lying. By doing so, you put more than just yourself at risk.”
She nodded.
“Look at me and give me a proper answer. This is a naval ship and you will behave accordingly.” He barked his words out, each one laced with authority.
With a swallow, she lifted her head until his face became visible beneath the brim of her hat. “Yes, sir.”
“That’s better. Now…” His voice trailed off and his eyes narrowed as a flash of recognition crossed his face. “So help me God.”
Josephine took a step back as he reached for her.
Another. Her back bumped into the wall and she spun to flee.
Strong fingers clasped her arm, yanking her to a stop.
Drat. She’d hoped to make it until nightfall before revealing her identity.
Surely, he wouldn’t turn back now though.
Not with the information he had on Thorne’s attack propelling the ships forward at breakneck speed.
He grabbed her hat and threw it to the floor, the pins finally meeting their match.
She swallowed as a flurry of different emotions ran across his face in quick succession—lips parted in shock, furrowed brow of confusion, then the ice of anger coloring his eyes.
“God’s blood.” He pressed his lips together and stared hard at her. “Where is Jack?”
“I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re asking.” Josephine mustered a shaky smile. “Please don’t be angry.”
He blinked. Opened his mouth. Closed it when a strangled laugh bubbled forth. “Oh, don’t worry, Miss Montclair, I’m not angry.”
Despite knowing better, lightness filled her chest. “You’re not?”
“No.” His fingers tightened around her arm. “I’m furious.”
Understandable. “I’m really sorry—”
“Sorry? You nearly killed yourself!”
She winced. “I didn’t mean to.”
He pulled his hat free and dragged his fingers through his hair, an incredulous look etched onto his face. “I highly doubt anyone goes up into the rigging meaning to die.”
She chewed on her bottom lip, trying to find something to say that would soothe his temper.
“Why?” He pressed two fingers to his temple. “Why are you here?”
Josephine retrieved her hat and pulled out the pins holding her hair up. “I wanted to join your adventure.”
His gaze burned like a brand, unblinking and cold. “Adventure? You think that’s what this is? It’s a naval mission. A dangerous one with no room for civilians—something I thought I made abundantly clear the other night.”
“I promise I’ll stay out of the way. You won’t even know I’m here.”
He shook his head. “You’re right. Because you’re going over to the Red Siren. Now. And you will stay there until Christian and Samantha can take you home.”
“But—”
He lifted a hand. “Don’t say another word. I’m in no mood to argue right now, Miss Montclair. Get your things.”
She retrieved her rolled up hammock and followed him up to the main deck where he barked orders to his shocked first officer to call the Siren over.
Minutes stretched by as curious crew gathered round.
She pushed her hair behind an ear and refused to make eye contact with anyone, especially the man standing rigid next to her.