Mr. Vesco, in the face of the grim scowling evidence, was a good host. She was provided her rations, a facecloth, clean linens, and even the bed to go with them. It was more than she’d expected from a man that had met her twice and thrown a knife at her both times.
She tried the door while he was gone; clearly nothing. He’d locked it and taken the key. She’d never picked a lock before, and wasn’t sure how to try besides poking around with a hairpin, which she didn’t have anyway in her new short style. She tapped around a while, searching for hidden panels in the walls and floor, but she knew as much about finding them as she did about locks.
She curled up on the bed, thinking about the situation as hard as she could, but it only made her head hurt. There was nothing she could do. If she did escape, there was nowhere to go but overboard. Here, at least, there was a bed instead of a hammock and the faint aroma of aftershave instead of…whatever was below decks.
Mr. Vesco returned for good after dark. Susan had lit a candle, though she was admiring the moonlight on the water below the window. It was not full, but plenty bright. She turned as the door unlocked and Mr. Vesco came through, carrying a mug of something hot and a plate of rock-hard biscuits. He gave her an odd look as he set these down on the tiny desk.
“You weren’t waitin’ by the door to jump me,” he said. It was a question.
“Where would I go?”
He conceded this point with a nod and crossed the room to the basin and mirror. Susan slipped past him to examine the mug of, she now saw, tea.
“For me?” she asked.
“If you wan’ it,” he said. “Thought you might like somethin’ ‘fore bed.”
“Where did you get tea?”
“Stole it from Mr. Airedale,” he said factually. “He wants to let a lady aboard, the least he can do is offer her tea.”
She gave the pirate’s back a faint smile. She took the mug and biscuits and sat on the bed with them, leaving one to soak in the tea that she might actually get a tooth or two into it. Mr. Vesco kept busy at the basin, unrolling a shaving kit.
He reached into his sleeve and unhooked his tiny wrist sheath, knife and all, setting it down beside the basin. Its twin joined it from the other arm. He stood straight, and reached for the hem of his shirt. He pulled it half-off, revealing a trunk of muscle; then he remembered Susan, nibbling her biscuits on the end of the bed. He met her eye. He slowly slipped the shirt back on.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Used to boys only rules.”
“It’s alright,” said Susan. “Do what you’re comfortable with. I’m no stranger to men.”
He thought for a moment; then he stripped off the shirt and tossed it over the back of his desk chair. He slipped his eyepatch over his head and flicked it away in the same arc. Turning back to the mirror, he said:
“S’pose you wouldn’t have a kid if you were.” He smiled at her only briefly. She watched as he dissected his shaving kit, piece by piece, laying them out in a row by the basin. She didn’t know why, she didn’t know how it was possible, but she felt better. Just a little bit.
“Yeah,” she sighed, quietly. “At least one kid.”
Vesco raised his eyebrows, though he didn’t look up from his busywork.
“At least?”
Susan wondered why she had said it. She didn’t know this man. It was no business of his. Then again, it hardly mattered what he knew. He was a pair of ears in the middle of a dead, dark ocean. That was all she cared about.
“I don’t know. I might be due for another,” she admitted. “I can’t be sure yet.”
“Well, congratulations. Cartleblat’s again?”
“If it is an ‘again’…yes.”
He paused for a moment, as he began to spread the mousse he’d been working on over his face and neck.
“Now, I can’t say I know Cartleblat well,” he continued, “but it seems to me he isn’t the fatherly type.”
“He doesn’t think he is, either,” she said, “but, he really is. He loves Damian more than he knows.”
“Guess he wouldn’t be followin’ us around if he didn’t.”
Susan gave a small smile. She looked into her tea, worrying it with a biscuit. Mr. Vesco snapped open his straight razor and guided it along his jaw by the candlelight in the mirror.
“Damian, eh?” he murmured awkwardly around the blade. “Nice name for a little lad.”
The smile grew. “Thanks,” said Susan. “Mr. Vesco, I don’t suppose you know how Damian is doing, do you? He’s being looked after, right?”
The pirate didn’t speak again until the razor was clear of his face.
“He is. He’s keepin’ well.” He flicked the mess of stubble and foam into the basin and went in for another stroke. Susan couldn’t stop a sigh of relief. Not just because her son was safe, but because, after weeks of asking questions, she had finally heard a clear answer.
“He is on board, isn’t he?” she asked. “Did the captain drop him off somewhere?”
Again, he waited.
“No, the lad’s on board.” Flick flick flick. “Safe an’ sound. Cap’n didn’ want him too far out of his sight.”
Her heart trembled. He was close.
“Who’s looking after him?”
Vesco’s small chuckle could have meant just about anything.
“Someone very reliable, miss. Don’t you worry about that.” With a few more strokes, and a couple of careful touch-ups, he wiped the razor down for good and set it aside. He picked up his towel, looped it over his shoulders, and started to pat his face dry.
“Mr. Vesco, while we’re talking about my son, do you think you could…”
She paused to study his face as he looked over at her. Clean shaven, strands of hair in his face, with both dark eyes on her and his customary snarl replaced with kind attention, he looked young. Almost innocent. Handsome, she’d say, though only to herself.
“Could what?” he asked.
“I’d like to see him,” she said quietly. “I’ve missed him so much. These past few weeks have been a nightmare without him, especially not knowing he was safe. Is there any way I could say hello, at least?”
“At least?”
Susan looked down at her feet, suddenly shy. Vesco thought for a moment, stroking the towel.
“Miss, he ain’t my business, an’ you’re not s’posed to be seen. I can sure ask about it, but I can’t promise more’n that.”
“If you ask,” she said, looking up, “you’ll already be doing more than I could have hoped for.”
Vesco leaned in against the basin stand on one straight arm, the other cocked on his hip. The fingers on the stand drummed up and down as he scrutinized Susan.
“We’re dockin’ at Crownsmouth tomorrow,” he said, “an’ that’s where you’re gettin’ off. You’re gone as soon as that plank is down.”
“So, it would have to be tonight, then?”
Mr. Vesco continued to stare at her, thinking. It was nerve-wracking and awkward, but she stared right back, because he wasn’t saying no. He was thinking, and hard.
The quartermaster suddenly sprung into action. He traded his towel for his shirt, pulling it on over his head.
“Just wait here,” he murmured, as he turned to the door. He left without locking it. Susan, as instructed, waited there.
There was a knock at Tiller’s door that evening. He opened it onto a clean-shaven Vesco.
“Howzit,” said the quartermaster. He pointed his chin at the room behind Tiller. “There room in there for three?”
“Sure,” said Tiller, opening the door wider. “Just keep it a bit quiet. The boy’s gettin’ ready for bed.”
Sure enough, Damian was seated on the floor, playing with a handful of blocks. He was slowly, deliberately stacking them up. His eyelids were heavy, his movement sluggish. He didn’t pay Vesco much attention.
Tiller shut the door.
“On the thought of keepin’ it quiet in here, Tiller...the boy’s mum is on board.”
Tiller stared at him, silent, disbelieving. He glanced quickly over his shoulder at Damian, back again.
“This boy?”
“Yeah.”
“But, why? How?”
“She snuck on. Tryin’a find him..”
“Well, it’s good she did,” said Tiller. There was something strange in his voice. It wasn’t quite panic. It wasn’t quite sadness.
“Yeah, and she wants to see ‘im. Thing is, thing we gotta discuss is, she can’t be seen. I don’t want crew or captain gettin’ wind of her. Can you bring the boy to my quarters?”
“Right now? Well, I s’pose…”
“Not right now,” said Vesco. “But tonight. I’m kickin’ her off tomorrow morning at Crownsmouth, but I promised she could see the kid first. Before we move, I gotta find the cap’n and make sure he isn’t likely to bust down my door. You’re gonna get the boy ready for a little excursion and wait ’til I come to get you, alright?”
“Sure,” said Mr. Tiller, his throat dry. “Sure. We’ll be ready to go.”
“Thanks, Jerry.” Mr. Vesco gave him a nod, and left, closing the door behind him quietly. Tiller turned to look at the boy, endlessly building his tiny tower. He stayed there, frozen, watching, processing Mr. Vesco’s words. Mum. Wants to see him. Tonight. Bring the boy.
Kickin’ her off tomorrow.
Mr. Tiller relaxed a bit.
Susan jumped and turned from the window as Mr. Vesco came back. He shut the door behind him, but let his hand linger on the latch.
“Cap’n’s busy gettin’ drunk below,” he said quietly. “Even so, you’re stayin’ here. Just to be safe.”
She gazed up at him, confused but hopeful.
“Does that mean I can see him?” she whispered.
“He’ll be by in a few minutes,” said Vesco. “Told Tiller to give us a headstart. He’s gonna be the next one through this door, with the baby. I’m gonna keep watch in the office just in case we have unexpected company. Remember - no pokin’ your nose out this door, no matter what.”
“No matter what,” she agreed, her voice buzzing with excitement. “Thank you, Mr. Vesco. Thank you for doing this.”
“Yeah,” he said gruffly. He slipped back out the door, hardly making a sound. Susan waited the longest wait of her life, sitting straight as a board. It hurt physically, having to wait to see her son again when he was so close.
Her next visitor was so quiet, when the bedroom door opened, she jolted in fright. The first and only thing she had eyes for was her beautiful baby. She riveted on him immediately, checking every superficial detail she could pick out in the dim candlelight. Without a word, she rushed forward, her arms out to take back her son. He stirred slightly in his sleep as she pulled him onto her shoulder.
The pain, the worry, both vanished in an instant. She was holding her son again. He was breathing against her neck, alive and well. She hadn’t felt so wonderful since she’d held him the first time. She could have hugged him for a minute or an hour; she had no idea. Elation was all she felt.
With a small sigh, Damian raised his head, squinting sleepily at her. Her heart burst at the sight. She stroked his hair, her smile trembling.
“Hi, baby,” she whispered. “You sleepy? It’s okay, you go back to bed. Mumma’s here.”
She cuddled his head against her shoulder, breathed him in. It was like they had never been apart.
Susan took a deep breath, and opened her eyes. She finally allowed herself to wake up to of the rest of her surroundings. Of course, she was aware that someone had handed Damian to her, but who that someone was and what species they were couldn’t have mattered less until she knew her baby was still happy and healthy.
The someone turned out to be a thin man about her age. He had a red kerchief on his head, and an eyepatch flipped up on top of that. Ready for action, any time of day.
“You must be Mr. Tiller,” she said, smiling. A faint, trembling smile flashed across his own face, and was gone.
“Yeah, that’s, uh, that’s me.” He looked down at his shoes. “I, uh…I’ll leave you two alone.”
He glanced briefly at the boy, and away again. He hardly looked at Susan. He turned and strode towards the door, head down.
“Wait!” breathed Susan. “You can’t just go like that!”
He turned to her, startled. She grabbed his hand and entwined their fingers together.
“Mr. Vesco said you’d been looking after Damian. Is that right?”
The pirate seemed speechless, almost sad.
“Damian,” he said, with a cough. “Is that the little lad’s name?”
Susan assured him it was. Mr. Tiller tried his best to smile at her.
“It’sa good one,” he said. “Very nice. Say, I’ll leave you alone,” he said, pulling out of her grasp.
“You don’t have to!” insisted Susan. “Please, I want to thank you! Really, truly, Mr. Tiller…thank you. I’ve spent weeks wondering if Damian was safe. You don’t know how much it means to me to find out he was, all along.”
“Yeah, well,” murmured the pirate. “It was nothin’. No problem.”
He turned away quickly and strode towards the door, head down. Susan wanted to call out to him again, but Damian beat her to it.
“Bye bye Tir,” he said quietly.
Mr. Tiller stopped in his tracks. His hands clenched into fists. When he looked back, over his shoulder, the shine in his eyes was very plain, his face twisted in sorrow.
“Sweetie,” gasped Susan, “you talked! I thought you’d never start.” She gave him another kiss on the forehead as he snuggled against her. Then she looked at Tiller, a soft sympathetic smile on her face.
“Are you sure it was nothing?” she asked quietly.
They sat on Vesco’s bunk together. It would be hours before either of them made a move to go. Damian fell asleep in his mother’s arms. She didn’t care; his mere presence was enough to keep her high the whole time.
She told Tiller about her journey across the sea. About her life in Port Victor. He was a good listener, hanging on her every word. He was a good speaker as well, when he finally had the chance to be; he told her what he and Damian had been up to. How they’d met, how the tiny specks of knowledge he’d gleaned from his mother’s midwifery had suddenly become hugely important in his life.
“Good sleeper, this one,” said Mr. Tiller. He took Damian’s hand in his, stroking it gently with his thumb. “Hardly any trouble gettin’ him down. Naps like a champion.”
“Ever since he was born,” said Susan. She laughed a bit. “Maybe even before that. I remember checking a few times to make sure he was still in there.”
Tiller gave his own polite laugh at this.
“I’m so glad he kept it up for you,” said Susan. “Has he behaved himself? He can be a fussy eater sometimes.”
“Not more’n any other kid I ever met,” said Tiller with a shrug. “Doesn’t care much for sardines. I disagree, but I see his point. He eats his fruit an’ veg so I let it slide.”
Susan smiled down at her son. Mr. Tiller’s thumb still dragged slowly over his hand.
“Gonna be a good sailor, too,” said the boatswain. “Got his sea legs right quick. Y’know he called out a storm before the crow’s nest?”
“He did?” breathed Susan.
“Pointed right at it. Knew the rain was comin’ and told us so.” Tiller beamed at the boy. “He’ll be hittin’ the waves just like his dad, for sure.”
She was silent. Tiller looked up at her after a pause. Her eyes were glistening, though no tears fell. She was smiling, so radiantly that she rivalled the candle burning short on the desk. Slow and careful, Mr. Tiller moved his hand back to his own lap, looking to the floor.
“I’m sorry, miss. I shouldn’ be tellin’ you that. Ain’t my call what your boy gets up to.”
Susan touched his arm. He looked up at her, sheepishly.
“Don’t apologize,” she whispered. “I think you’re right.”
Tiller hunched up a bit more, but he didn’t try to pull away. He averted his gaze once more.
“Could be. It still ain’t proper,” he sighed. “I shoulda let you have your time alone. A man my age has no business bein’ round kids what aren’t his.”
“Why not?”
“Y’know. Lots o’people don’t think it’s right. They’d think I’m a creep.”
“I don’t,” said Susan. “Damian certainly doesn’t. And I know for fact that Adam wouldn’t. If none of us mind, why should you?”
There were three rivals now: the candle, Susan’s loving smile, and Tiller’s hopeful grin. The competition was interrupted by the slow, careful opening of the door. Mr. Vesco poked his head around it. His eyes were half-closed.
“Sorry to butt in,” he yawned. “Don’t have to stop, just askin’ how much longer you’ll be. I’m wonderin’ if I need coffee or not.”
Susan looked from him to her sleeping son, and back at Tiller.
“I guess it is getting late, isn’t it?” she sighed. She brushed her hand over Damian’s forehead, flipping aside a few errant curls, and kissed him there. The boatswain shied back a bit as she offered the boy to him. Then, carefully, he lifted Damian out of her arms and held him against his chest. Susan set her hand upon Tiller’s shoulder, and kissed him chastely on the cheek.
“Thank you, Mr. Tiller,” she whispered.
“No problem,” said the boatswain. “Uh…” But, he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He stood and started for the door, Damian dead asleep on his shoulder. Susan waved to her son as he faded into the dark.
“Bye, baby,” she whispered, smiling. Tiller and Vesco traded places at the door, then Vesco closed it behind him. He looked to Susan with peaked curiosity. She had continued to smile at him, even as Mr. Tiller disappeared.
“You look happy,” he said suspiciously.
“I am,” she assured. “Damian’s safe.”
Vesco had seen smiles like that before, but never without an opium pipe sticking out of them. He cleared his throat.
“Look, uh, we’re dockin’ in the morning at Crownsmouth.”
She knew what he meant. The smile faded a bit. She looked away at the candle on the desk. Mr. Vesco came forward, leaning his hand against the back of the chair.
“I know I said you’d have to go, but…I was thinkin’ out there, y’know, it’s a ways from Port Victor. I don’t wanna put y’off so far from home with no money or nothin’. So maybe, y’know, I’ll wait a while. ’Til we turn back closer to home. Just so it goes a bit easier for you. An’ you can have some more time with the boy - just to say goodbye, mind you.”
Susan stood. Vesco tensed as she lunged at him, but it was only to wrap his shoulders in a hug. He patted her on the back a couple of times, unsure.
“Thank you, Mr. Vesco. You don’t know how much that means to me.”
“Well, y’know,” he said, as she pushed away. “Just thinkin’ practically. You still gotta hide, mind. Still can’t have the captain sniffin’ around.”
“Of course,” she agreed.
“Good.” Mr. Vesco yawned suddenly. “Speakin’ of practicality, it’s past my bedtime.”
“Mine too.”
She fell asleep as soon as she snuffed her bedside candle. With the feeling of her baby lingering in her arms, and Vesco keeping guard in his little office den, she slept more at peace than she had in weeks.
Next...
Next...
