The Jezebel (Taskill Witches 3)

When she returned to the deck, the men who had been tending Adam had disappeared, taking him with them. The hatch at the far end of the deck, where the men emerged when they came up for their watches, stood open. Without a second thought, she hurried over and clambered down the ladder, clutching her bundle as she went.

The ladder was longer than the one that led to the captain’s quarters, taking her deeper into the ship. She found herself in a dark and crowded place, where the air was stifling and wooden bunks were stacked one upon the other on the walls. It took her a moment to become accustomed to the gloom, and when she did she saw that the slots acted as beds for the men.

Beyond them, she saw hammocks lined up at the far end of the space, as well. There were only a couple of lanterns here and there to light the way, and she stepped carefully around piles of clothing, goods and boots littering the floor.

As she passed, a man stuck out his head from one of the slots and she jumped.

He gave her a grin and settled to watch her, apparently amused by her appearance in their quarters. She was just about to ask the man where to find Adam when she heard a frightful scream from beyond. Whatever they were doing to him, it was not good. She hurried on.

Half a dozen men surrounded the spot where they had Adam stretched out on the floorboards. His head was propped up on one man’s knee while another poured rum down his throat. The liquid spilled everywhere, staining Adam’s shirt and making him cough.

Maisie grumbled to herself when she saw that his hand appeared to be in worse condition than the last time she’d seen it. Marching over, she quickly instructed the men to leave him alone. “I will see to him. Leave the task to me.”

A couple seemed dubious, but one of them was agreeable and he took charge. “His hand needs to be strapped tight.” He gestured at a pile of tattered fabric beside Adam’s body. “His fingers must be made straight now, or they never will be again.”

Maisie nodded. “Have you a small splint I can use?”

The men mumbled amongst themselves and one walked off and returned a few moments later with some spliced pieces of wood to offer her.

“Thank you.” She stared at them, waiting for them to leave.

“If he gives you any trouble,” the man in charge added, “call out for us and we will feed him more rum.”

Rum was their answer to everything, or so it seemed. Maisie Taskill had more than that to help his recovery, though, but it was important they did not observe her. She jerked her head, indicating they could go.

When the men left Adam’s side, she peered around the gloomy corners of the place and saw that there were other men about. Some were resting, some were watching her. Sighing inwardly, she realized she’d gone down there without even thinking about her own safety, but there was nothing else to do now but proceed. And even if she’d thought about it beforehand she would still have come to his aid. Cautiously.

Kneeling at Adam’s side, she took a moment to calm him, stroking his forehead. He blinked and looked at her with unseeing eyes a moment, then offered a weak smile when he recognized her. “It is Maisie from Scotland,” he whispered.

“It is me, yes, and I will tend you.” She cupped the elbow of his injured arm in her palm, allowing him to get used to her touch before she began her task. “That is the first time you have called me by my name.”

“It’s what the captain called you, when he asked me if I would look after you.”

Maisie from Scotland. It touched her deeply to think that Roderick called her that to the men, when he had been so doubtful of her origins on first hearing her voice.

“You looked after me well, Adam. And now I must look after you.”

She saw a troubled, pleading expression in his young eyes. “It is going to hurt a lot, isn’t it?”

“I will be as gentle as I can, I promise.” He was sure to hear her enchantment, and she knew many pairs of eyes were observing from the dark shadows all around, so she had to find a reason for it. “I will sing you an old Scottish song to soothe you while I see to it. Rest back now.”

She began to hum a tune about the lochs and the mountains in springtime as she examined his hand, and after a few moments she whispered a soothing enchantment amidst the song. It worked instantly, and with a much greater effect than she was expecting. The lad visibly slumped on the floor, and looked as if he was asleep.

Startled, Maisie realized it must be due to her enhanced ability. It pleased her, but she also knew she would have to be more cautious than ever, and especially so if she made magic in fear or anger, for the results would be far more than she had previously been able to achieve. It was difficult for her to gauge how forceful it was without some time alone to explore her newfound levels of ability.

“That rum surely is potent stuff,” she commented as if to herself, but loud enough for the benefit of the onlookers, and shook her head.

There was a bunched garment beneath Adam’s head, so she made a show of plumping it up to make him comfortable. Then she continued with her song.

The flesh around the dislocated joints was already swollen, and the fingers badly distorted. In the state the lad was in, barely conscious as he was, he would not feel much pain. Realigning bones in a person was not something she had experience of, but she wasn’t afraid. Under Cyrus’s guidance and encouragement she’d healed sick and injured birds and animals in order to test her magic. Moreover, there were many healers in her family line, and it was a particular skill of her mother’s. Maisie had always wanted to heal, and working on small animals had given her the deepest satisfaction.

Inhaling slowly, she tentatively felt her way around the first dislocation. When she had the measure of it, she quickly shifted the bones back into place, and used one of the straightest bits of wood they had given her to support the finger, then aligned the second finger against the splint. When the second joint cracked into place, Adam rolled his head and murmured, roused from his sleep, and she was glad of that much for her audience. Hurriedly, she crouched over her patient to obscure the view any of the men might have of her, and pulled the dried agrimony from her bundle. She laid several precious leaves within the bandages that had been left for her to use, covering the grazed knuckles and swollen joints with them. The plant had healing properties and would also protect the torn skin from infection.

Resting back a moment, she studied her patient. “Poor lad, I think he has passed out with the pain.”

She stroked his head and shuffled the makeshift pillow beneath his head again. Then she arranged his arm across his chest, so that the hand was supported there.

It was when she was rising to her feet that she heard whispers that unsettled her. Sharpening her hearing, she distinguished their hushed words from the creaks and groans of the ship and the other distant voices and sounds. Two of the men had seen her retrieving something from her bundle, and were speculating about the contents therein. One of them called it the devi