Steel

Jill spun to find Abe coming toward her.

“Emory should have a look at you,” the quartermaster said.

“No,” Jill said. “No, it’s fine, it’s just fine.” She covered the wound with her hand, but blood had already soaked through the bandage and was leaking down the arm. She couldn’t hide it.

Emory appeared at the top of the steps then, emerging from below like a creature rising up from underwater. He was wiping bloody hands with a soiled cloth. A red film covered his arms nearly to the elbows, and his shirt was stained with great patches of scarlet.

“Who’s next?” he said.

“Tadpole’s cut her arm,” Henry said.

“No, I’m okay, it’s okay.” Jill backed away.

“I’ll just have a look at it.” Emory gestured her forward.

“It’s only a scratch, don’t cut my arm off!”

The surgeon looked away, hiding a silent chuckle. “If it’s not broken or rotten, I promise you I won’t cut it off, and if you don’t let me stitch it up, it’ll grow rotten.”

With Abe on one side of her and Emory on the other, she was fairly sure she wouldn’t escape, but she didn’t much like the idea of the surgeon stitching the wound. Her arm throbbed thinking of it. But she remembered the gaping flesh and knew she probably needed stitches. Her shoulders slumped, and she started picking off the bandage.

“I’ll get my kit,” Emory said.

Ten minutes later, she was sitting on the deck, trying not to watch while Emory stitched the wound with a needle that didn’t seem sharp enough and thread that felt like it should have been used to mend sails. Henry had given her a mug of rum, and she’d drunk it. It didn’t dull the pain, but it made her not care so much.

“This isn’t so bad,” Emory said. “You’ll have a scar to tell stories about. Badge of honor.”

She slouched sullenly, trying not to think about how he hadn’t disinfected anything. She’d splash some of the rum on the wound later. And wouldn’t that hurt like anything?

“You’re glum,” Emory said, by way of distraction.

“I hate this,” she said.

“Well, what did you think was going to happen, signing articles on a ship like this?”

“I didn’t plan on this, I’m not supposed to be here. They said they were going to throw me overboard if I didn’t sign. What else was I supposed to do?”

“I’m sure you can explain it all to the judge before they hang you for piracy.”

Jill pulled away to look at him.

He looked back. “You see, when this ship is taken by the English, I’ll explain to them that I was a prisoner, taken against my will when my ship was captured, and that I’ve nothing to do with any of these folks. They’ll let me go. What will you do? How will you explain when they take the book and see your name written down? You’ll hang with the rest of the dogs. Unless you help me.”

His hard words belied the gentle way he tended her wound, holding the skin closed, making little stitches to seal it. She looked away again, unhappy at the way the blood and water dripped from his hands.

“We won’t be captured. That’s all,” she said.

“Of course we won’t,” he said with false cheer and an insincere grin.

RECOVER

They had spent that week onshore in Jamaica cleaning and repairing the Diana, and now they had to do it all over again, at sea.

No one had died, which amazed Jill. For all the blood and wreckage, death seemed the obvious outcome. But she was relieved. That was a close enough brush with death for her. A dozen of the crew, including her, had been injured, three of them seriously enough that they stayed belowdecks, under Emory’s watch. Two of those had splinters and shrapnel in their legs and torsos, had lost blood, and needed rest. Jenks had bandaged the cut on his forehead—the scrap of cloth was streaked with dried blood. Emory had amputated one arm, and Saul would need time to heal.

Jill almost felt like she’d doomed him by bringing him to Emory’s attention. Surely the arm could have been set, surely such drastic treatment could have been avoided. No one else seemed to think so, and the amputation was treated as a matter of course. She kept thinking that it didn’t have to happen—back home, it never would have happened.

All the other injuries were to the Diana herself, and the crew set about healing her. The supplies they’d stolen off the slave ship proved to be useful—they had fresh sail and rope to replace the destroyed rigging. Carpenters among the crew checked the masts and shored up the damaged areas, securing timbers to weakened parts, almost like splints.