34. In which it has been four hundred and ninety-seven days, and Death and Misfortune are missing
IN WHICH IT HAS BEEN FOUR HUNDRED AND NINETY-SEVEN DAYS, AND DEATH AND MISFORTUNE ARE MISSING
She could barely hang on.
Hester fought against the tiller as the seas screamed and thrashed, the gale bearing them towards Elephant Island at long last, land so tantalizingly close. Salt spray hit her hard across the face, slap after slap of it.
Winston sat down next to her, his hands on hers as they tamed the Tempest against the battering wind.
The mainsail was stretched taut, flogging viciously every so often as they reared up into the wind.
Away to port lay the shore of Elephant Island.
Hester could sense Septimus behind them in the Misfortune, but had lost sight of the Thirteen and the Death in the heavy seas.
She threw up a prayer to whoever was listening.
A vicious wave broke over the side of the Tempest, freezing saltwater invading every part of her that wasn’t already drenched. Hester gasped a breath, horror coiling in her gut. The boat was filled almost to the gunwales with water. “Bail like Hell!”
The crew jumped into action, using buckets to scoop water. “Faster. We’ll tip over at the next one, and God only knows if we’d survive the rocks.”
She grimaced as Charlotte vomited over the side, then carried on bailing water, bucket after bucket.
Snowball and Marjorie whined and shook in the bow.
Her heart hurt for them. She and Charlotte had refused to let them be shot in the final cull of dogs, and Marjorie’s pups and Romeo were in with Fliss, Satan with Emlyn, but now she wasn’t sure it was such a kindness for them to be alive.
Septimus had been unable to let go of Sooty, either.
Septimus.
She tugged on the tether in her chest, feeling his answer as a soft tug back, relief washing over her just as fiercely as the waves.
They were coasting along a frowning line of rocky cliffs, along sheer glacier faces that glowed blue from within.
“I think we can aim for that beach. Do you see it?” Winston shouted above the roar of the wind and the waves. “But it’s risky. Lord knows what’s under the water on the approach.”
Hester nodded. They’d have to risk it. “Lower the sails. We’ll go steady. Blast this gale.” She had no magic left to quell it, even if she’d wanted to.
Winston and Peggy battled with the canvas, stripping it from the mast, and took to the oars.
“Keep a lookout for rocks under the surface,” Hester called, and Charlotte and Arnold gripped the sides of the boat and strained forwards.
Hester clung to the tiller as though life depended on it.
And it did.
She couldn’t believe they’d made it.
Charlotte staggered through the waves and onto the stony beach, the others behind her, dragging the Tempest out of the water.
Tears streamed down her face, and Marjorie and Snowball frolicked around her.
“Oh my God. Oh, I just—I can’t believe it.
” She sank to her knees on the pebbles and kissed the ground.
Hester smirked, elbowing Arnold in the ribs. “I’ll bet you wished she’d do that to your—”
Arnold cut her off. “Shut it, Captain.”
Charlotte only laughed and picked up handfuls of pebbles, letting them run through her fingers like gold coins. Around her, Winston and Peggy stumbled under armfuls of gear from the boat, setting it down and then wobbling about the shore like drunkards, their eyes wide with disbelief.
The island was grey and dismal, like the ocean surrounding it, with dark cliffs rising up, and no sign of plant life.
“What of the others?” Charlotte asked, rising to her feet and looking out to the tumultuous sea.
“Here comes the Thirteen now,” Hester said, her spyglass drawn and scanning the horizon.
The lifeboat helmed by Fliss appeared, and Hester whooped and hollered, waving her arms like a mad thing.
Before long, the Valour’s crew was reunited, Fliss, Mei, Valerie, Betty and Rufus limping onto the beach, and they set about making a camp up by the grey cliffs, drying clothes on boulders along the shore and setting up a galley.
Charlotte leant into Arnold’s side, sipping her first hot drink of milk in over a week, the heat of it travelling down to her belly. Nothing had ever tasted better.
She watched Hester, Snowball and Fliss standing at the shoreline in wait for the Intrepid’s crew. She turned to Arnold. “Do you think they saw where we headed?”
“Who knows,” he said over the howl of the gale. “They weren’t too far behind. Let’s hope so.”
A movement caught Charlotte’s eye. Seals. Delicious, plump seals lying on the shore. She breathed, “Arnold, look. Seals! If that isn’t a good omen, I don’t know what is. It feels like Christmas.”
“I’ll get the rifle. We’ll have seal steaks till we burst.”
Charlotte let him go, and then walked to stand by Hester’s side. The storm-grey seas crashed on the shore.
“They’ll be along any moment, you know,” Charlotte said, buoying her voice with certainty.
She looked sidelong at the captain, who had her hand over her chest, tapping her fingers over her heart, her spyglass hanging from the fingers of her other hand.
Hester’s face was drawn, but fierce. Fliss began pacing up and down behind them.
“Four hundred and ninety-seven,” Hester murmured.
“What’s that?” Charlotte asked.
“Days at sea. Four hundred and ninety-seven.”
“Gracious. Is it really?”
“Do you think it feels longer, or shorter than that?”
Charlotte considered it, turning the question over. “Shorter.”
Hester’s mouth tugged at the corners. “Same.”
Charlotte tucked an arm around Hester’s waist and pulled her close. “Would you do it again if you knew what would befall us?”
“In a heartbeat.”
“Me too.”
Septimus had still not arrived.
Hester raised the spyglass once again to scan the horizon. There was nothing but grey sky and foaming waves. Where was he? She knew he was not dead. Could feel him out there somewhere. But she wished he would hurry up and put her out of this misery.
As soon as she’d stepped foot on land, magic had seeped into Hester’s chest and settled along her bones, like her body was taking its first breath after holding it for too long.
She ground her teeth. Couldn’t let even the smallest scrap of magic go, afraid it would summon Orcus. And if he showed up now, while two boats were still out there…
She shivered, screwing her eyes shut.
Hester bound her magic up tight and kept her gaze fixed on the sea. She felt for the tether to Septimus, a comfort, her fingers tapping at her chest, like she might be able to grasp hold of the invisible rope and tug him ashore.
She began pacing the beach, along the edge of the water, hair blowing in the gale, whipping about her face. Salt stung her tongue, her eyes.
“There!” Winston shouted, pointing out at the waves. And he was right. Thank the Lord, he was right. In amongst the storm-tossed sea, two boats. Hester fell to her knees, crying out, and Fliss landed on top of her, shaking.
“Thank God. Oh, thank God,” Fliss moaned, grabbing Hester’s face. “They made it.”
Hester kissed Fliss’s cheeks all over and sagged. She would kill him for making her wait. Laughter bubbled in her throat, quietly at first, and then louder, wilder. “They made it. Everyone made it.”
Flanked by the rest of her crew, Hester ran into the waves to catch the Death and the Misfortune as they scudded up the beach. She barely noticed the biting cold.
Septimus jumped from the boat, the sea sucking around his knees, and strode towards her.
Her lips cracked anew as he thrust his hands under her ass and hauled her against him.
She wrapped her legs around his middle, crashing her mouth into his, running her fingers through his hair.
God, the taste of him. Disgustingly salty, but also familiar. He was here. Alive.
“You had me worried,” Hester said, her lips brushing against his. Worried was an understatement.
“I felt you, always.” His voice was hoarse. He buried his face into her hair, inhaling her, crushing her against him, and then he was carrying her, her legs still wrapped around him, out of the waves, across the beach, and behind a series of larger rocks where they couldn’t be seen.
He pressed her into the cliffside, claiming her mouth, his tongue brushing against hers over and over, her fingers tangled in his hair.
He was perfect. He was here.
“I need you, Orn. Right now,” he rasped.
Hell, yes. Hester’s knees, weak anyway, almost gave way entirely when she unwrapped her legs from him and set her feet on the stones. “Then have me. I’m all yours.”
He swayed, and she shucked off her coat, sitting him down on it, his back against the cliff.
“You wouldn’t rather have some food and water first?” she asked.
“You’re the only sustenance I need.”
Hester chuckled. It was as corny as any line she’d read in a novel.
“You needn’t lift a finger, my lord. Let me do the work,” she said, a coy smile lighting her face as she sat astride his lap, stroking a hand over his straining breeches.
She leant to whisper in his ear, “I really ought to punish you for keeping me waiting.”
Septimus huffed and grasped her chin, drawing her close, fixing her with his sapphire eyes. “Do your worst.”
“Challenge accepted.” She unfastened his breeches, stroking him up and down. He closed his eyes, leant his head back against the cliff.
“Perhaps I should make you wait, too.” Hester lowered her mouth to his length, teasing him with light licks of her tongue, then grimacing at the salt.
He speared his fingers into her hair, drawing her mouth onto him, groaning as she laughed, mouth full of him. “I don’t want to wait for you again. I don’t want to be parted from you again.”
Hester’s stomach dropped. She had a plan. A plan that he would not like. She crossed her fingers behind her back and sat up. “Me neither.”
Despite the cold, she stripped off her breeches, laying them out on a rock to dry, and sat astride his thighs once more.
“I can wait no longer. Sit on me.” Septimus tugged her forwards, kissing her swollen mouth.
She slid onto his length, fractured groans coming from both of them.
She rocked against him, gripping the bulk of his shoulders to find more purchase, grinding into him. He felt perfect, so perfect inside her.
He reached a hand down, stroking her most sensitive spot, and she bucked her hips into him. She’d taught him exactly what she liked, the pressure, the place, the oh—
White-hot pleasure crept its way along her thighs.
“Don’t stop,” she begged.
“How do you ask nicely?”
“Don’t fucking stop.”
Septimus huffed a laugh, the sound rumbling through her. He grasped her ass, rocking her harder into him. She could lose herself to him so easily. But now she was full of magic. Couldn’t totally let go. The tether between them brightened, flaring, just as her climax built.
“Let go, little witch. You’re safe.”
She sank into him, crying out as she found her release, giving her body over to the waves of pleasure. Her magic spilled out, calming the winds that howled between gaps in the cliff. She gasped, her body going rigid as she slammed her power back inside. She stilled on him, her eyes wide.
Shit.
She had not meant for that to happen.
“What is it? Hester?”
“He’ll find us. If he senses my magic. He’ll come for us.”
She scrambled off him, her legs shaking, and pulled on her breeches, dragged her coat back on. Septimus rose slowly to his feet, fastening himself up. He grasped her shoulders. “You can’t shy away from your magic, Hester. You can’t fear it, or him.”
She closed her eyes, sucking in the frigid air, squashing the flickering flame of power deep down inside. Embrace your fears, her mother had said. But she couldn’t, she wouldn’t risk him, risk her crew. Not when they had overcome so many obstacles. Not ever.
Septimus tried to lock eyes with her. “If he comes, we’ll face him together.”
Hester crossed her fingers behind her back once more and nodded, eyes cast down.