He laughed again. “I ain’t said. I be Finch, Miss. ’N these two be White an’ Summer. Wanted to meet ya, is all. We know what ye did fer Captain Steele. White’s workin’ on a song ’bout ya.” Finch hitched a nod in the direction of the grinning man. White’s face flamed as red as the sails.
“Mister Finch, Mister White, Mister Summer, it’s nice to meet you.” She nodded to each. “I don’t need a song, but I thank you.”
Finch burst out laughing and shoved against his companions. “Did ye hear lads? Misters we be now.”
Alice smiled at the trio. White stopped laughing and simply gaped at her. “We can drop all the formality then. Call me Alice.”
“Or Tupper?” Finch suggested. Summer agreed.
“Tupper.” She tested it on her tongue. She’d never had a nickname. Tupper. “I like it.”
Finch puffed like a china goose. “Then Tupper it be.”
A grizzly man shoved his way through the little welcoming group. “White, quit yer slobberin’. The rest of ye, git back te work.” He gave Alice a sharp side glance and sneered at the men. “Women aboard,” he grumbled. “Gonna be servin’ tea next?”
“Close yer hole, Jessup,” Finch snapped.
“She be ’ere less than a day and White be drooling on ’imself. Think he ne’er seen a pair o’ tits. Told ye she’d be nothing but trouble.” Jessup shoved White aside and moved on. White spun with his hand on the hilt of his knife. Finch grabbed at his arm.
“Let ’im pass. Ye ken the rules.” Finch spit in Jessup’s direction. “Best keep yer distance, Tupper. Be rotten clear te his backbone, that one.”
“I’ll remember.” She followed Jessup’s retreat, narrowing her gaze as he glared at her over his shoulder. “I should find Captain Quinn. I’m to report to him.”
“’Course, Miss…I mean, ’course Tupper. Capt’n, be forward on the Fo’c’sle checkin’ on those sick darks.”
“The slaves from the Delmar?”
“Aye. Some be in a bad way.”
Alice made her way from one end of the ship to another. Men stopped and watched her walk by, some glared as Jessup had. Most ignored her as they went about their work of securing sails and repairing the minor damage done by the Delmar. A tiny tread of fear tugged through her. Quinn had been right. She had to remember where she was. Their decision aside, she was still among a rugged band of pirates and needed to watch her back.
Climbing the ladder to the Fo’c’sle deck, Alice encountered the smell of unwashed bodies, sickness, and death. She put the back of her hand beneath her nose. This was the smell she couldn’t identify within Rasher’s cabin. It was the smell of suffering.
They’d turned the upper deck into something of an infirmary. Sailcloth stretched overhead to keep the heat of the sun off the wounded men. The bustle of activity hummed around her. Men came and went with practiced efficiency. Lugging this and toting that. At its hub was Quinn. His height and bright hair made him stand out on the sail-shaded deck.
Quinn was the very image of a captain in his navy wool justacorps with the wide cuffs and brass buttons. Against his white shirt, a black leather stock tied snug at this throat and a wide sash of red circled his waist. His baldric of cognac-colored leather held two pistols and his cutlass. He wore a second knife strapped to one thigh. Under the sail cover, he’d removed his distinctive hat and carried it under one arm. His hair pulled back, his skin golden from the sun. Captain Quinn cut a fine figure of a man.
He was deep in conversation with another man. Standing side by side, the contrast between the two was distinctive. Both tall and broad through the shoulders, but compared to Quinn, the other man appeared rough. More coarse. Black seemed his color of choice. Dark hair hung loose to his shoulders. A long scar split one cheek and disappeared into the scruff of his beard.
The young boy who’d come to Quinn’s quarters earlier was tucked tight to the captain’s side, his intent brown eyes taking in everything within his wide gaze. Quinn took a step, and then the boy took a step, as if he were his tiny shadow. While Quinn had yet to notice her, the child had. Alice smiled at him, but he ducked behind the captain only to steal a look at her again. What was he doing on a pirate ship? He looked far too young to be part of such a dangerous life.
Another young man approached Quinn. He was a gangly youth, all arms and legs waiting to grow into the tall man he was sure to become. There was something familiar in his comely face. Alice had seen it before. When he reached out and tapped the child on his shoulder, the boy nearly leapt out of his skin. Large eyes shot to him, and back at her. His reaction was somehow odd. The young seaman ushered the child toward the aft of the ship.
“Mistress Tupper, so nice of you to join us.” Captain Quinn’s condescending tone interrupted her musings. His gaze made a slow appraisal of her. She had a sudden urge to cover herself. Heat rushed to her cheeks. Regaining her composure, she removed her hat and stepped closer.
Quinn dismissed the other man with orders to set full sail after introducing him to Alice as his quartermaster, Thomas Bellamy.
“Follow me.” Quinn wasted no time with cordial pleasantries. “You’re to help with the worst of the Delmar slaves.”
She did her best to keep in step with his wide strides as he led her farther beneath the tented shade. The coolness under its cover was the only good she could find there. Men lay on low cots, sick and dying. Festering wounds and emaciated bodies. It was worse than she ever could have imagined.
The large dark man, Neo, stood when they approached. He wiped his hands. “Gonna lose two more ’fore the day be done.”
“Stay with them. Do your best. I believe they were lost days ago. Make their final hours as comfortable as you can.” Quinn slapped a hand on Alice’s shoulder. “Neo, this is Alice Tupper. She’s to work with you.”
Alice started to extend her hand in greeting, but the look on Neo’s face stopped her. “Aye, aye,” he grumbled as if he’d been given orders to braid the tails of the bilge rats. The side glance he gave her told her he was one of the tolerant—not by choice, by duty. “Come.”
She followed Neo through the makeshift infirmary. He pointed to the back corner. “Worst here.” Three men were laid out in close quarters. A fourth sat close to one. Alice could tell which two would not live to see the night.
“Bring them more water.” Neo pointed to a barrel.
Alice reeled. The smell was beyond anything she had ever experienced. She fought to keep from retching. Moving to the barrel, she clung to its rim to steady herself before finding the wooden dipper. The water tainted by the wood of the barrel was the color of weak tea. She crossed to the furthest man. Eyes no longer capable of sight stared past her as she lifted his head and tried to get the poor man to drink. Water ran down the side of his face soaking the cot beneath. She doubted any of the liquid managed to enter his mouth let alone slip down his throat.
Scanning the area, she spotted a small stock of dressing for wounds. She snatched one, tore the end of the clean strip, and returned to the man. Alice dipped the rag into the water and patiently squeezed water drop by drop between his dried, chapped lips. Silent in her concentration, she repeated the task more than a dozen times.
Alice began to hum softly to the dying man. Words filtered in, and she sang a favorite lullaby she had sung to dear wee James, Captain Steele and Annalise’s infant son. She’d traveled hundreds of miles from that sweet-smelling nursery. A world away from the small bundle of love and joy she’d held in her arms and rocked to sleep. As she remembered the babe so far away, her eyes filled.
The tender song slipped from her lips in words this man could surely not understand, but Alice hoped they somehow soothed him. Swiping away the useless