The Pirate And The Thief Ch 04

Molly awoke at dawn, her head clear, her thoughts turned to her stomach which gave a growl on queue. She negotiated her way out of her hammock and straightened her hair and clothing. She made her way on deck and found a host of other pirates milling there too. Breakfast was been served and she helped herself to some food. She looked for someone she recognised but familiar faces were absent, then she spotted the quarter master. He was chatting with the boatswain. She popped the last bite of bread into her mouth before walking over. Both men stopped speaking as she approached. "You must be Molly," the taller of the two said, he was the quarter master. He was all walking muscle, his face was bearded and he sported an ugly scar down his left cheek.

"Yes sir," she said.

"Jack, this is Mahoney," he said pointing an over-sized thumb at the boatswain.

"I came to find out what you want me to do," she said, giving both men a nod.

"Mahoney, I'll leave that job to you," he said. Mahoney nodded and Jack strode off.

"Now lass," he said, "I need a new stitch of sail since out last apprentice had an accident with the railing on the last trip. How are you with thread?"

"I can do that," she said, "It's what I did before."

"Good. We'll see how you get along. I'm the sail maker as well so if you need to ask anything you come find me," he said, "Have you the equipment?"

"I have a few needles and some thread below," she said.

"Go get it lass and I'll show you what needs mending."

Molly did as she was asked with a smile and returned on deck as quick as she could. Mahoney was on the forecastle and she joined him there, at his feet was a large pile of pristine white canvas. "This needs to be reinforced so it can be made into new patches. It's the right size so you needn't worry about cutting it but the edges are still raw," he explained.

"I can do that," she said. She dropped down to the deck on her hands and knees and began plucking the canvas. Mahoney stood behind her for a long moment before walking away, she was barely aware he'd left. The fabric beneath her hands was the best she'd seen. It was pristine, perfect, so very different to the canvass she'd worked on the Red Plunder and these were just the small bits used for patching the main sails when needed. When the sheets were unfurled, they'd gleam in the sun. She dared not think how much it would have cost. The stitches had to be perfect. There was no way she was going to ruin such beautiful sails with sloppy stitching. She sat facing the bow, with her legs hanging between the railings. She folded the canvass over her lap, slipped her hand into the sail maker's palm that she'd been given and began her work. The canvass was thicker than she was used to but she soon found her rhythm. The triangular needle was perfect for this level of work and after completing the first hem, she found she could do it a lot quicker than she thought.

The morning passed without Molly realising where the time had gone. Mahoney drifted across midday and when she looked up, it was to see the island town of Nass receding into the distance. He praised her work on holding up one of the finished canvass patches. Molly couldn't keep the smile off her face when he nodded down at her. She took the moment to stand and stretch, arching her back and pushing her hands to the sky, "Go and get a dram of water lass," Mahoney said, "Don't you have a hat?" he asked as he fell in step behind her.

"I had a bandana but it flew off my head when I was aloft," she said. She paused at the water barrel and spooned a ladle; she drank her share before replacing the lid. It tasted a bit of oak but then, barreled water was never going to be perfect.

"Leave that with me, I'll see if we can't get you something to cover your head with," he said.

"I'd appreciate that," she said, "I'll go back now." Mahoney nodded and left her alone. She reclaimed her spot on the forecastle and resumed her work. The heat of the afternoon bore down on her as she worked the next set of canvass. Sweat beaded on her brow as she worked and it wasn't long before her cotton shirt sleeve was wet. Her back was drenched too; the only thing keeping her going was the fair wind, the cool breeze kept her from wilting too much. The sun followed its arc across the sky unnoticed by Molly; she was so focused on what she was doing. Her thoughts drifted over the events of the last few days and she found herself dwelling once more on the Captain. He was less infuriating now she was on his ship, less annoying, and yet somehow more distracting. She pushed the thought aside, she'd not let him get to her. She looked up from her stitching and saw him deep in conversation with the helmsman, whose name she had not yet learned. His black hair was tied at the nape of his neck, the wind picked and tugged at his knee length coat and the laugh on his lips transformed his face. She could hear it from where she sat.

On deck, crewmen worked to and fro, keeping the ship clean and in good shape. The helmsman studied the charts as he took his readings and shouted orders to the pirates, minor adjustments to the sails were made at his command, he was followed without question. Molly had no idea where they were going but she didn't care much either. The instruments he used looked interesting; they'd not had anything like it on the Red Plunder. She couldn't help ponder how that ship made it anywhere.

A familiar face strode up to her, it was John, "Hello," she said looking up from her work, "I didn't think you sailed anymore," she added.

"Aye, well, Captain's my friend and seems he had a need of me, besides I was getting fed up being ashore," he said.

"I'm glad to see a familiar face," she said setting the canvass on her lap for a moment.

"Glad you're here, I came here to tell you he'd like you're company this evening, find yourself to the quarterdeck at the eighth bell," John said with a smile.

"Any idea why?"

"Captain's thoughts are his own Moll, won't be for much I doubt," he said. The quarter master rang the bell for six and Molly put her canvass aside. She pushed herself to her feet and put her sail making equipment away. John helped her pick up the heavy canvass and together they put it back where it was kept below deck. Once done, John left her with the advice not to eat anything as they'd all be dining together. Molly decided it would be a good idea to get herself tidied up if she was going to be dining at the Captain's table that evening. It wasn't something that had ever been done on her other ship so she didn't really know what to expect. She lay back in her hammock for a while, clearing her thoughts and letting her eyes drift shut, although she hadn't done that much, she felt tired all the same, concentrating on canvass was more tiring than she thought it could be.

The pitch of the ship threw her out of her hammock and onto the deck with a thud. She staggered to her feet, the deck rolled and Molly was forced to grab hold of one of the beams. There was a flash followed by a crack so loud the sky must have been torn asunder. She forced her way through the forecastle and out onto the deck. Wind snatched her breath and a wave washed over her, soaking her through. She glanced up and saw most of the sail had been reefed successfully, except one, which had been torn loose. Several men were struggling to get the flying rope under control. Without thinking, Molly strode forwards, altering her steps to fit the lurching of the deck. Another flash illuminated the now dark deck.

Molly joined the three men struggling to hold down the wayward section of rigging. She gripped the thick rope and saw that it had frayed through and snapped. It wasn't the section they'd noticed the night before was it? She didn't have much more time to think about that as the wind tried to snatch the wet rope from her hands. She set her weight against and heaved along with the others. A giant wave washed the deck once more and she spat saltwater. She screwed her eyes shut and threw a prayer to Maylan to stop his wrath. She heaved on the rope again, hoping that someone would be able to tie the rope off to the bulwark. The ghost of an order caught her ear over the roar of the wind. She opened her eyes and saw the Captain and Helmsman wrestling with the wheel. Both were soaked, she blinked, a flash lit the deck and she saw the broad outline of the Captain's body. There was some power in the muscles, that much was clear, the way he was wrestling with the wheel... She dismissed the thought; there were more important things to worry about right now! A flash of lightning illuminated the deck; the bark of thunder that followed was right above them. She felt a couple of swift pats on her back and she gave the pirate a smile; it was Bart.

Then the rain broke, stinging biting spats of water pelted the deck, Molly rubbed her eyes and mourned the loss of her bandana once more. Her hair whipped her face as the wind tugged at it. She glanced around deck, more pirates were tacking down rigging, some were just hanging on and others were making sure the ropes would hold. Another wave pounded over Molly and she shivered the temperature had dropped and it was downright cold. A thunderous crack sounded above, drawing her attention. One of the top ropes on the mizzen mast had come loose and was fluttering around like a piece of paper, battering one of the sails, threatening to tear it. Worse, it could strike the mast and cause lasting damage. She didn't think, she strode forward and hauled herself onto the shroud and began the climb.

The wind threatened to tear her from the rigging as she clung on; her knuckles were white as she gripped the rope. The gusts made her soaked shirt cling to her back, it was like being pelted with sheets of ice yet still she forced herself to climb upwards. She'd be damned if the sail was going to be damaged on her first night on board. A flash of light lit up the deck, already below her and the thunder threatened to pry her off with its sheer presence. Molly swallowed and willed her legs to stop shaking, if she thought about what she was doing, there was no way she'd be able to do it. She could hear the faint cries of her crew mates far below but she couldn't hear their words, just their encouragement. Finally, she reached the top yard and swung onto the piece of wood. She stopped and took a deep breath, preparing for the next task. The reefed canvass was slippery beneath her and she tensed her thighs as hard as she could, not wanting to fall. She pulled the knife from her boot, put it between her teeth and began inching her way along the yard to where the rope had got caught.

Molly saw the problem; one of the wooden sections of a winch had come away, causing the sail to come free. The yard was leaning dangerously towards the sea, causing the mast to bend. There was no choice but to cut it away, it could be repaired after the storm. She found the point where the rope joined the yard and began sawing with her knife. The wind threatened to batter her from where she was perched and she clung on with her thighs. The rain lashed her back and the only thunder she could hear was the pounding in her ears. She was nearly through, almost complete in her task, when a huge gust of wind caught her. She slipped, dropping her knife. It vanished into the outraged sea below. Her weight was thrown forward and she clung with her arms and legs to the yard.

Wind buffeted Molly as she gripped the yard with everything she had. The burning in her arms was unbearable as a strong blast hit her. She wrapped the nearly severed rope around her hand and once more prayed to Maylan. If the rope had been weakened enough this might just work. She moved her other hand and held on tight. The next gust of wind broke the grip her legs had and she tumbled off the yard. The rope unraveled, sending her catapulting to the deck below, it should have broken her fall just before she hit the deck, she braced herself for the tremendous yank her arms were about to feel. The rope was not quite the right length. The wind picked her up and threw her roughly towards the main mast. The impact drove the air from her lungs, the fall to the deck and white pain was the last thing she remembered.