Chapter 10 The Compass Rose
Was there a point at which someone reached a peak of shocking events, a limit of how much a human could endure before their mind short-circuited and drifted off into la-la land?
La-la land. Wherever that was, it sounded like heaven compared to what Desi had witnessed these past days.
She couldn’t make sense of one crazy happening before another one came along, sending her heart and soul into a tailspin from which she had no escape.
The disappearing rats were the crest on the tidal wave of insanity that washed over her.
Chuckling, she lowered to her cot and hoisted her skirts.
Bloody bites cut into her feet and ankles and sliced across her arms. Numb with shock, she hardly felt the pain.
What she did feel was an odd sense of admiration for the captain—Caleb.
Not only the way he’d handled the ship during battle, but all while fending off an army of rats.
He’d been calm, commanding, decisive…and he’d protected her, brought her on deck at first and then later covered her with his body, enduring the bites and nips meant for her.
Of all the strange happenings, his chivalrous actions baffled her…
confused her. Warmed her. She couldn’t imagine anyone she’d dated behaving with even half the gallantry this man—pirate—had shown her these past few days.
In fact, she doubted any man would subject himself to even the slightest injury in order to save her.
Not that she wasn’t a modern woman who couldn’t take care of herself.
Yet, even though she was embarrassed to admit it—and she never would to any of her friends—she loved the idea of a man being the protector, the defender, a hero who honored and treated women with respect.
Not in a degrading way, but in a way that celebrated the differences between them.
The kind of men she read about in romance novels and longed to write about in one of her own.
She just never expected to meet one in person.
Dropping her head in her hands, she sighed. Stop dreaming, Des. She didn’t know Caleb. No doubt his true character would emerge sooner or later.
A knock on the door sent a jolt of fear through her, but also expectation. Before she could respond, it opened and the doctor entered, a large satchel in his hand. “Let’s see to your wounds, Miss,” he said as another pirate remained in the entryway, arms crossed over his chest.
Pulling a stool from the corner, he perched on it before her and opened the leather pouch. Inside were all manner of bottles, corked jars, bandages, and several archaic instruments she’d rather not know the purpose of.
“Lift your skirts, if you please,” he ordered.
Desi’s pulse raced. “What are you going to do?”
His eyes met hers. Deep brown, inquisitive, intelligent, but not evil.
A wrinkle formed on his wide brow, adding to the ones at the corners of his eyes and the thick lines framing his mouth.
Desi would guess him to be in his fifties at least. Additional bottles and implements peeked at her from several pockets on the brown apron he wore around his rather chunky frame.
An odd scent of rum, herbs, and the sting of blood drifted about the man.
“I’m dressing your wounds, Miss, as the captain ordered. Now lift your skirts, or I’ll lift them for you.”
She complied. Not that she was shy or even terribly modest. For goodness sakes, how often had she worn a bikini on the beach or even on her boat? Yet things seemed different in this time.
“Humph.” He examined the wounds. “Not as bad as some of the men, but the little varmints had a fair feast here.” After rummaging through various bottles, he pulled out a large one, uncorked it, and poured a dab onto a cloth. The distinct smell of rum bit her nose.
Before she could protest, he dabbed it on her feet. Searing pain shot up her legs while an unavoidable screech howled from her lips. She jerked from his grasp.
“Sorry, Miss. Has to be done.” He forced her legs back and continued his torturous work.
You’re being a baby, Des. Stop it. Clenching her jaw, she did her best to keep her cries to a minimum.
“You said you were trained at Cambridge,” she asked, hoping to distract herself from the pain.
From what little she knew of history, Cambridge was already a prestigious university at the time.
She also knew most ship’s surgeons were just glorified barbers.
She braced herself as he moved to smear rum on the bites on her arms. “How did you end up here?” she ground out, trying not to jerk from his touch.
He huffed, patting the wounds, then finally corked the bottle and returned it. “Long story, that, Miss. One that does me no credit.”
Pain still radiated from every wound as he searched through the bag for another bottle. Great. He wasn’t done. “I’d say this ship is privileged to have such a well-trained physician on board.”
At that, he gave a cynical chuckle. “A well-trained physician who killed a nobleman’s son.” He opened the bottle and thankfully, no foul odor emerged. Just a sweet, pleasing scent.
“You murdered a man?”
“Wait.” She gestured toward the bottle. “What is that?”
“’Tis honey. And I might as well have. I couldn’t cure him. He died under my care.” Deep agonizing sorrow stung his voice as he applied the honey to her wounds.
“Physicians are not miracle workers. You can’t cure everyone.”
At that, his eyes met hers, both skepticism and an odd yearning within them.
“You are kind, Miss.” He finished applying the honey and corked the bottle. “But many have died at my hand since then.”
“Because you work on a pirate ship! Certainly, that’s to be expected.”
Frowning, he pulled out strips of cloth and wrapped them around the worst of the cuts.
“Tell that to the dozens of men who died under my knife, Miss.” He gestured to her tattoo. “An odd mark for a woman.” He didn’t wait for an answer, nor did he seem to want one, along with further conversation, as he packed up his things and left, slamming the door behind him.
She didn’t even get a chance to thank him.
?
“I almost lost the Sentinel!” Caleb fumed, pacing his cabin. “And every life aboard with it.”
“But you didn’t.” Alden stood by the door, arms crossed over his chest.
Rays from a rising sun pierced the stern windows, shifting over deck and bulkhead and stabbing shadows away as they went.
“I should have known that ship we spotted would return. Should have anticipated it. Especially after all the troubles we’ve encountered of late.”
Alden slanted his lips. “Perhaps, but you could never have anticipated the rats.”
Halting, Caleb stared at his friend, his quartermaster. “True. What in the name of all that is holy….?”
“There was naught holy about them.” Alden moved to sit in a chair. “Quit your pacing, Caleb. Rest. ’Tis been a long night.”
But Caleb couldn’t rest. Too much was at stake, and he couldn’t afford another mistake.
Halting, he turned and stared out the stern windows.
Glittering gold feathered atop rolling waves, making it seem all was well with the world.
On his desk, Patches licked her wounds, seemingly faring better than most of his crew.
“You are right, my friend. Those rats were not of this world.”
“Nay.” Alden leaned forward on his knees. “Something evil lurks on this ship. From whence I do not know.”
“I’d suspect the lady if not that our troubles began before she arrived.” As his thoughts drifted to Miss Starr, he wondered how she fared. He’d asked Brandt to tend to her wounds. “Who knows”—he gripped the edge of his desk—“perhaps the entire journey is cursed.”
“You know that is not true. You are on a mission to rid the world of evil. ’Tis expected that the powers of darkness would do their best to hinder your success.”
Caleb only nodded. Had his father not warned him he’d face opposition?
Son, whenever we are doing God’s will and battling evil, the enemy will come like a flood against you. But, he had added, the Spirit of the Lord shall lift up a standard against him.
Caleb closed his eyes, listening to the creak and groan of timbers and the purl of water against the hull, sounds that always becalmed his nerves.
“You did the right thing, Caleb.” Alden stroked the cross around his neck. “You called on the only One who can defeat such evil. Hence, the rats had no recourse but to leave.”
Caleb fingered the Ring, sunlight setting the red jewel in the center aglow.
Yet when he’d first put it on, hadn’t it glowed on its own?
A sign he was meant to use it? For good and not evil.
Yet, how could he tell his friend that ’twas the Ring that sent the rats away, not his prayer, not his command in the name of Jesus?
Guilt raked over him. How could he have relied on anything over Almighty God? He knew better.
He faced Alden, admiring the man’s ever-present confidence and faith. “In truth, ’twas the Ring that saved us.” He held up his hand, fluttering his fingers, revealing the artifact to his friend. “Or the power within it.”
Alden’s expression soured, like a cloud passing over the sun, stealing all warmth and joy from his face.
Instead of shouting, berating Caleb, or castigating him for his actions.
Instead of reminding him of his promise to his father not to use the Ring, Alden merely released a heavy sigh and said, “Now why would you do that?”
Gripping the hilt of his blade, Caleb ground his teeth. “You were there. The rats were overwhelming us. They would have eaten us alive within minutes. And that ghost ship”—he waved toward the sea outside the window—“they were on their way to sinking us. I had to do something.”
“You were doing something. You showed more skill, wisdom, quick thinking, and composure than most men. But the Ring?” Alden rubbed the scar on his cheek, a look of disappointment sinking his features. “When you knew a better way.”