He had found the deep channel, it seemed, the lead kept coming up clean, or with white sand at depth, and on the last call he brought her back to stand by his side.
‘All right, Clem?’ She nodded. ‘Enjoying yourself?’
Enjoying myself? Is he mad? We’re on a pirate ship captained by a homicidal maniac, sailing through a dangerous channel he’s never sailed before in the dead of night and he asks me if I’m enjoying myself? ‘Yes,’ Clemence said, realising it was true. For the moment she was one of this crew, with a role to play—that was part of it. And she was close to Nathan, watching him work, and that, overwhelmingly, was the whole of it.
‘Good. Pass me the sextant, will you, and find something to take notes.’ He began to take star sights, calling out figures for her to write in columns.
‘Where did you get your education, boy?’ Cutler, bent over to look, far too close at her shoulder.
‘School, sir. Spanish Town, before we lost our money, sir.’
‘Clem, those figures.’ Nathan put down the instrument and jerked his head. She came to stand at his side, holding the notebook flat while he ran his finger down the column. ‘Good, you’ve a clear script, boy.’
‘How much longer?’ she ventured, wanting to slip her hand into his, whether in gratitude at the praise or for giving her an excuse to move away from Cutler, or simply to touch him, she was not sure. But it was not hard, in this company, to resist the urge.
‘Soon.’ As he said it, the hand in the crow’s nest shouted down.
‘Open water dead ahead!’
‘I suggest we drop anchor, Captain.’ Nathan made a mark on the chart and turned it towards the man. ‘It will be dark soon, with moonset. I imagine you do not want to be in open water when the sun comes up, not without a chance to reconnoitre first. We won’t be the only craft seeking shelter in this group of islands.’
‘Aye.’ McTiernan looked down at the map, then up at Nathan. ‘It seems you’re as good as you say.’ He nodded sharply. ‘Make it so, Mr Cutler.’ Nathan snapped his fingers at Clemence and began to roll up his charts. She hurried to pick up the sextant and telescope, stuffing the notebook into the pocket in her waistcoat tails. ‘Where the hell do you think you’re going, Mr Stanier?’
‘To correct this chart and then to sleep, Captain.’ His voice was level, but Clemence caught the challenge under it and her heart began to pound. He waited, a long few seconds until McTiernan nodded again, before he deigned to explain. ‘If we need to bolt back up this channel in a hurry, I want this chart accurate, because it most certainly isn’t now.’
They were almost at the hatch before the captain spoke. ‘Five bells, Mr Stanier.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’
Clemence padded after Nathan, her arms full, yawning hugely, excitement and relived tension bubbling inside her. Inside the cabin she put her load on the table and turned, unable to suppress the broad smile that seemed to crack her face.
‘You were wonderful! So cool with that vulture watching every move, I couldn’t believe it. And there was so much wrong with the chart, I saw all those marks you were making, all the errors you found.’ She stared at him, admiration and something else she could not quite identify animating her. ‘It was marvellous.’
‘It was a bloody miracle.’ Nathan leaned back against the door and let his head rest against the panels, eyes closed. ‘I never, ever, want to have to do something like that again, so long as I live.’
‘But you made it look so easy,’ Clemence protested. He was tired, that was all, she told herself. All her security rested on this man being invincible. Nathan opened his eyes, met hers and then held out his right hand; it was shaking very slightly. He dropped his gaze to it, staring until the tremor stopped.
‘That, Clemence, is the trick. Never, ever, let them see you feel fear, never, in action, let yourself believe you are afraid.’
‘You get scared?’ she asked, disbelieving.
‘Only a fool does not feel fear. Listen to it, hear what the warning is, do what you can to prepare for the dangers and then, when it is time to act, put the fear aside.’
‘I thought I was weak, being frightened,’ she admitted.
‘No, sensible. And human.’ He had closed his eyes again, leaning back against the door as though too weary to move to the chair.
Clemence went and wrapped her arms around his waist, laid her cheek on his chest and hugged, hard.
‘Ough!’ Nathan huffed, half-laughing. ‘What are you doing?’ He made no move to escape her embrace, rather seemed to relax into it.
‘Hugging you. You need a hug. You deserve a hug—I don’t expect you get many.’ His chest moved, he was laughing, silently. Clemence felt her cheeks getting hot. ‘I don’t mean that; the sort of hugs you pay for. I mean friendly hugs.’ She unwrapped her arms and pulled out a chair, tugging at his sleeve. ‘Sit down, you are far too big to haul about. I suppose you’ll insist on doing that chart before you’ll sleep. I’ll go and get some coffee.’
When she got back with a beaker of the thick black liquid he was dead to the world, his head on his f
olded arms, the pencil fallen from his hand, his hair in his eyes.
Clemence set down the beaker and moved the pencil, resisting the impulse to smooth back the thick hair, play with the sun-bleached tips. Best to let him sleep. She climbed on to her bunk and sat watching him, feeling again the strapping of muscle over his ribs, the long back muscles where her palms had pressed, the heat of his tired body.