Dunham

Chapter 11

11

Elliott jerked awake, sweating, casting about wildly in the dark to ascertain from whence the screech had come. He knew exactly where he was, but this noise was not normal for any ship. Another screech, just through the bulkhead. A thump. A spate of giggles. A scandalously delighted squeal: "Kit, no! 'Tis wicked."

Elliott couldn't make out what the boy said in return, but it was of no consequence. He released a great breath and relaxed into the mattress. He scrubbed at his face with both hands and listened to the sounds of this most unusual night, simply grateful he was not again three and twenty and not chained in the hold of the HMS Ocean.

Faint music drifted to him from the Silver Shilling's fo'c'sle, some one hundred yards away. Then he heard the foot stomps of dancers, musicians, and people simply keeping time. Both ships' beams and masts creaked, and their hulls scraped where they were bound together. The Thunderstorm's bell rang four times. Two of the clock. There was intermittent shouting coming from the officer's quarters on the Silver Shilling, and Elliott considered joining them at their dice.

Water barely lapped at the hull just below Fury's stern windows, which were slightly open despite the cold. She liked to sleep in the cold, she'd told him, whilst buried deep in a pile of blankets. It made for a rude awakening, but it was a price she was willing to pay.

The faintest sound of sea chanteys and rowing reached him and he supposed the Mad Hangman would be grappled to the starboard side of the Thunderstorm by morning. It would take the Hollander's crew the rest of the night to tow her the remainder of the six miles that had lain between them.

Dindi lay curled up next to his ear, the tip of her tail against his cheek, after having encroached upon his pillow space until he had but a sliver. She was snoring, but the minute he put his hand to her head to scratch it, she began to purr.

George was shrieking again, laughing breathlessly. Another cabin door opened, then a fist pounded on Kit's cabin door. "Settle down, you two," barked Fury's lieutenant, "or find another berth. Some of us're tryna sleep."

"Aye, Sir," Kit called, but then George giggled again.

Lieutenant Smith grumbled and slammed his own door. Elliott finally grinned. He knew for a fact that "Smitty" and Fury's bo'sun had, but an hour ago, been engaged thusly. And upon remembering, Elliott had to admit a great deal of admiration for a tar of his years to have caught the eye of a young woman that beautiful without benefit of an arrangement.

He reached out a hand under the blankets to feel for the woman next to him. Her ridged skin was warm and her breathing slow, shallow, and even. He declined to awaken her, as they had spent the day together touring each other's ships, meeting each other's officers and crewmen, tending to tasks upon their respective ships that only they could do, establishing rules for the merrymaking, rearranging duties, and assigning watches.

Elliott, Fury, and both ships' officers had gathered in the Silver Shilling's dining salon to partake in a normal Thursday evening supper for the Thunderstorm, prepared by its cooks, but a treat for his officers, who ate no better than Elliott did.

The Arab, Solomon, whose unofficial position aboard the ship was as the women's physician, was taciturn, but not unfriendly. He had seemed to be assessing Elliott for his fitness as Fury's lover, but Elliott had no idea if he had met with the man's approval or not. Elliott didn't suppose it mattered, as Solomon had decamped to his own cabin as soon as he had finished his meal.

Even though it had been, to Elliott, one of the most wonderful days he had had in years, it had been a long one and they were both fatigued. Yet they had managed to love once after attaining her bunk. He could not get enough of her and, happily, it seemed she felt the same for him. Now, lying beside her, touching her, feeling her kindred spirit, he dreaded more than ever the mantle he must take up once he arrived home.