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Authors: Jane Feather
Tags: Fiction
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her earlobe. “You do me too much honor,” she declared, but she was rather pleased nevertheless at this clear indication of the bird’s acceptance.
She climbed the companionway and emerged on deck, where the last bustle of furling sails and dropping anchor was almost finished. The light was fading fast now and the evening star shone low in the sky, a three-quarter moon climbing just over the horizon. She stayed at the top of the companionway, unwilling to thread her way to the quarterdeck until it was clear all activity on deck had ceased. Gus showed no such restraint. He took off from her shoulder and swooped towards the lowered boom. He walked along it as delicately as if it were a balance beam and then swooped down onto the quarterdeck.
Meg could see Cosimo at the helm, directing operations in a calm but carrying voice. His cloak hung loosely from his shoulders as he stood braced on the deck, and the evening breeze ruffled the long auburn hair that curled loosely around his ears and flopped over his forehead. There was something almost raffish about him, she thought. An air of careless competence that she knew in her heart of hearts could be her downfall.
His assessing gaze swept his little floating empire and then fell upon Meg in the companionway. He raised a hand in greeting and then gestured imperatively that she should come to him.
Meg obeyed the gesture and climbed up to the quarterdeck.
“Come over here,” he called softly. She stepped up beside him at the wheel. He called to the fresh-faced young officer, “Mr. Fisher, summon all hands, if you please.”
“Aye, Captain.” The young man left his position at the stern rail where he was directing the stowing of the mizzen topsail and came to the front of the quarterdeck. He took a whistle from his pocket and blew a shrill piercing note.
Men poured onto the mid-deck in a jostling yet orderly throng. They fell silent looking up at their captain and the rest of the little group on the quarterdeck. It was a curious rather than an anxious silence, Meg felt. And there was a touch of anticipation in the air as if they were waiting to hear something that would please them.
Cosimo spoke in what seemed like his ordinary voice but the words carried easily. “Gentlemen, as you know we’re waiting to make harbor on Sark. We shall be there a day or two. Miss Barratt will be our guest.” He put a hand on Meg’s shoulder and drew her in front of him. “You will, I know, do her every courtesy. Any questions? Yes, Bosun.” He pointed at a thickset man with a deeply lined face and a thick crop of iron gray hair.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Cap’n, but where will we be going after Sark?” A faint stir among the men greeted the question and their air of anticipation grew sharper.
Cosimo laughed, the easy laugh of a man among trusted companions. “My friends, you will know that when I do.”
A knowing chuckle greeted this and many of them shook their heads in resignation. The bosun grinned. “Didn’t expect nothin’ else, sir.”
“No, I don’t expect you did,” Cosimo agreed. “We sail with the dawn tide, until then stand down. We’ve meat aplenty for a decent dinner, and a hogshead of ale.”
A cheer went up, and a couple of caps waved in the air. Cosimo raised a hand in dismissal and turned to Mr. Fisher, who stood ready with another young man who could almost be his twin, Meg thought. The same pink cheeks, still with a hint of puppy fat, the same wide mouth and the same brown eyes. Cosimo said, “Post a crow’s nest watch, Mr. Fisher. Let’s not forget we’re in French waters. And Mr. Graves, check the navigation chart and plot me a course that will take us through those rocks and not onto them.”
“Aye, sir.” It was said in unison.
Cosimo smiled, “Miss Barratt, allow me to introduce my lieutenants. Mr. Fisher and Mr. Graves.”
The two young men bowed. “Pleasure to have you aboard, ma’am,” Mr. Fisher said.
“Yes, indeed,
She climbed the companionway and emerged on deck, where the last bustle of furling sails and dropping anchor was almost finished. The light was fading fast now and the evening star shone low in the sky, a three-quarter moon climbing just over the horizon. She stayed at the top of the companionway, unwilling to thread her way to the quarterdeck until it was clear all activity on deck had ceased. Gus showed no such restraint. He took off from her shoulder and swooped towards the lowered boom. He walked along it as delicately as if it were a balance beam and then swooped down onto the quarterdeck.
Meg could see Cosimo at the helm, directing operations in a calm but carrying voice. His cloak hung loosely from his shoulders as he stood braced on the deck, and the evening breeze ruffled the long auburn hair that curled loosely around his ears and flopped over his forehead. There was something almost raffish about him, she thought. An air of careless competence that she knew in her heart of hearts could be her downfall.
His assessing gaze swept his little floating empire and then fell upon Meg in the companionway. He raised a hand in greeting and then gestured imperatively that she should come to him.
Meg obeyed the gesture and climbed up to the quarterdeck.
“Come over here,” he called softly. She stepped up beside him at the wheel. He called to the fresh-faced young officer, “Mr. Fisher, summon all hands, if you please.”
“Aye, Captain.” The young man left his position at the stern rail where he was directing the stowing of the mizzen topsail and came to the front of the quarterdeck. He took a whistle from his pocket and blew a shrill piercing note.
Men poured onto the mid-deck in a jostling yet orderly throng. They fell silent looking up at their captain and the rest of the little group on the quarterdeck. It was a curious rather than an anxious silence, Meg felt. And there was a touch of anticipation in the air as if they were waiting to hear something that would please them.
Cosimo spoke in what seemed like his ordinary voice but the words carried easily. “Gentlemen, as you know we’re waiting to make harbor on Sark. We shall be there a day or two. Miss Barratt will be our guest.” He put a hand on Meg’s shoulder and drew her in front of him. “You will, I know, do her every courtesy. Any questions? Yes, Bosun.” He pointed at a thickset man with a deeply lined face and a thick crop of iron gray hair.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Cap’n, but where will we be going after Sark?” A faint stir among the men greeted the question and their air of anticipation grew sharper.
Cosimo laughed, the easy laugh of a man among trusted companions. “My friends, you will know that when I do.”
A knowing chuckle greeted this and many of them shook their heads in resignation. The bosun grinned. “Didn’t expect nothin’ else, sir.”
“No, I don’t expect you did,” Cosimo agreed. “We sail with the dawn tide, until then stand down. We’ve meat aplenty for a decent dinner, and a hogshead of ale.”
A cheer went up, and a couple of caps waved in the air. Cosimo raised a hand in dismissal and turned to Mr. Fisher, who stood ready with another young man who could almost be his twin, Meg thought. The same pink cheeks, still with a hint of puppy fat, the same wide mouth and the same brown eyes. Cosimo said, “Post a crow’s nest watch, Mr. Fisher. Let’s not forget we’re in French waters. And Mr. Graves, check the navigation chart and plot me a course that will take us through those rocks and not onto them.”
“Aye, sir.” It was said in unison.
Cosimo smiled, “Miss Barratt, allow me to introduce my lieutenants. Mr. Fisher and Mr. Graves.”
The two young men bowed. “Pleasure to have you aboard, ma’am,” Mr. Fisher said.
“Yes, indeed,
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