Just a wee warning- I have NO knowledge of surgery (let alone the 19th century kind) and not a whole lot of knowledge in the area of anatomy, so I probably got some stuff wrong in one of the scenes of this chapter. Please don't shoot me.
Chapter Four
A Timely Storm
in which there is some beating and tacking
Stephen woke not to the sound of the captain's haunting dream call, but to the unusual sound of a woman's voice.
"Doctor, Thompson has started bleeding again."
In instants Stephen was on his feet, following Cora out into the orlop. It was easy enough to bandage him, once Cora held him down to stop his thrashing. Sleep was already a distant memory, so he set to looking at the other patients.
He felt his heart sink a bit at the sight of one of them- Figgins, a man who'd just been released from his duty at Valparaiso when he saw the Surprise pull in. He had been all too eager to work his way back to England with them. He'd come to Stephen bleeding from his gut, apparently catching the wrong side of a bullet or flying wood. His tanned sailor's skin was a frightening shade of grey.
Stephen removed the bandage he put on the night before and studied the man's wound more closely. He cursed himself, realizing he hadn't seen the bits of shrapnel still in his wound the night before. Figgins had shooed him away, saying there were worse cases than his coming down.
It was clear what he needed to do, but he had no reason to cause Figgins alarm. It took only a moment for him to find Cora and then he took her aside. They stood in the entrance to his small cabin, mere inches apart. Her grey-blue eyes were hazier than normal, less determined and strong. The night hadn't been kind to her, and he tried to make up for it with the timbre of his voice.
"I'm going to need to operate on Figgins. I fear his wound is worse than I noticed and we'll need to get whatever penetrated him out."
Cora glanced over at the man in question. She attempted to smile at Stephen.
"It's just like my wound, only worse." The smile faltered. "Just like my wound."
"I never had a chance to look at your wound again. How have you been feeling?"
"Perfectly fine." Her voice faltered.
"Would you like me to look at it?" Stephen bit his tongue the moment he said the words. They'd simply slipped out. It was an embarrassing loss of control on his part; and what was he asking her in any case? She made it very clear to him when they first met that she was not a whore.
"Never mind what I've said. I didn't sleep well last night." He amended quickly.
"Yes, I could hear you. I know the sound of a restless hammock."
"You didn't sleep well either." He murmured in response.
Stephen was startled on two accounts: firstly, he himself hadn't known that he slept poorly. He had taken his usual dose of laudanum, after all. And secondly, it appeared that she was just as conscious of him as he was of her.
His mind whirled. He felt an instant longing for the narrow world of surgery.
"If we're both equal to the task I'd like to do the surgery now. I will be ready in a few minutes."
Stephen left without another word and then stood in his cabin with his eyes squeezed shut. He felt, as Jack would put it, like a terrible scrub. He shared an almost intimate moment with Cora, then turned cold without warning or explanation. It had been a long while since his humors were set so out of balance by a woman- a very long time.
Well, not so long, He reflect with a bitter twinge. The memories of days and nights with Sophie and Diana in Mapes were only worn by two years of time, really. It made him feel strangely old to think of it. Two years had taken a heavier toll on him than he had noticed.
When he returned with his apron on and his mind cleared, the table was already cleared. Cora had even poured sand on the floor, although the chances of spurting blood were low. She sat at Figgins' side, her face nearly as pale as his.
Stephen dosed him with laudanum and briefly considered dosing himself as well. The still-healing wound in his side was aching, along with older wounds that left no mark on his body.
While he waited for the medicine to plant its seeds and take hold, he set out his knives. Once five minutes had passed by his reckoning, Stephen selected his first knife and approached the wound. It was a series of holes in the man's left side, covering perhaps three inches of soft and vulnerable flesh. The skin yielded easily under his knife as he connected the holes with one cut. Figgins tensed up, but didn't cry out or struggle. Stephen saw other scars decorating his body, and it was clear that the man had been in surgery before.
"Swab."
After spreading the skin out of the way, Stephen saw the offending articles. One was a bullet, and the others were wicked splinters. He held out his hand for his forceps and removed each one slowly, setting it on the nearby tray. Cora swabbed faithfully the whole time, selecting his tools with remarkable intuition.
The last splinter was the worst. The others had gone in at a shallow angle, damaging only muscle and skin. This last one had gone straight in, and was long enough to have punctured the small intestine.
He removed the shard of wood and the outhouse smell of the intestines filled the orlop with surprising ease. Stephen remained unperturbed by it, but he could hear Cora's breath start to hitch.
"Through your mouth, Cora. It won't be so bad that way."
He sewed up the tiny cut in the leathery walls of the intestine as quick he could, then cleaned the wound and sewed him up. He congratulated Figgins on a smooth surgery and directed him to sleep off the rest of the laudanum, and then allowed a small measure of satisfaction to run through his system. Then he felt an unmistakable presence at his back.
She was standing just behind him, her eyes unusually wide. Her hands were white-knuckled where they gripped her arms.
"Will you take me on deck?"
"Right now."
"Yes. I have to go. Please."
Stephen took in her shaking hands and grey skin.
"If you're going to be sick-"
"No, I won't. I just..." She made a small sound of frustration. "I just need to see the ocean. Please, take me on deck."
What could he do but say yes?
The minute they were on deck Cora uncoiled. She went to the rail and tipped her head back and closed her eyes, and all of the tension melted out of her. Stephen waited quietly behind her. The crew was staring at them; even Jack, who was at the helm, had paused in his conversation with Bonden to look at them.
"I'm sorry for making you rush up like that, I just... I had to get out. I can't stand being caged," She smiled sheepishly. "It's a bit of a pirate thing, I'm told."
"It's quite alright. Not everyone has the constitution for surgery."
She nodded in response, and resumed her study of the sea. Stephen stood a foot or so back, to give her privacy- and also to keep himself from repeating the embarrassing episode before the surgery. His distance made it all the easier for Mr. Blakeney to approach him out of Cora's sight.
"Doctor, the captain would like to see you. He's up at the helm." He nodded in the direction of said object. "He said I'm to watch the prisoner while you're gone."
"Cora," He said. "Her name is Cora."
"Yes, sir."
Stephen crossed the deck easily, and found himself relatively alone with Jack in no time at all.
"What happened? She seemed distressed." Jack's question was in a low voice nonetheless.
"She assisted me in a surgery. I believe it unnerved her to see all the wounded men; she feels most terribly about them. She seems to think it's her fault."
Jack absorbed this, looking out over the bow. The wind was very strong that day, and several gusts nearly tore Jack's hat from his head before he resumed their conversation.
"I know I shouldn't tell you how to sail your ship, as it were, but this just might be the advantage we need. We've got her by the stern- where she's most vulnerable. If you can strike while she's still this upset, we might find out why she's here. I'm aware that I've pressed you on this matter but I hate chasing this frigate without knowing what she's up to."
"I know you're fond of your naval analogies, Jack, but you've carried this one too far. This is a human being we're talking about, not a ship. You wouldn't kick a man when he was lying in the gutter, and that same principle should apply here."
"We've been down this road before, Stephen. The safety of my ship and my men comes before all else, and if we don't find out what she's playing at she might take all of us down."
Stephen sighed and rubbed his eyes and prayed there would be no more surgeries for the day. He wanted nothing more than to lay in his cabin and let the sea rock him back to sleep.
"I will do what I can." He said at last.
Jack smiled, putting his hand on Stephen's shoulder. "You're a damn good man, Stephen. I know I don't tell you that enough."
As Stephen walked away, he felt no ill will towards Jack. It wasn't just because of his parting words; it was just the peculiar nature of their relationship. Jack had done any number of things that Stephen faulted him for and would never stop adding more to the list. But the anger he felt at them was always a fleeting thing; even when he considered Jack's broken Galapagos promise now it brought only a vague twinge of regret. It was without reason or rhyme, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Jack was his greatest friend and would remain so until his death.
Ironically, Cora had moved to the stern. She and Blakeney were talking about wind and sails, and gesturing at the canvas above them.
"Mr. Blakeney, I believe you may return to your duties." Stephen said, a little surprised the midshipman was so open with the pirate captive.
"It was a pleasure, Miss Turner." Blakeney grinned and tipped his hat, then headed off.
"I don't know why it's such a crime to be called by my first name." Cora chuckled. "You seemed to have no quarrel with it, though." She smiled and shook her head, glancing at the sky. "I was just telling Mr. Blakeney that your captain should start rethinking his sails. I think that squall I promised you in Georgetown is finally on its way."
"Cora-" Stephen began the question but forgot it in instants.
The wind had picked up again and now it tore the bandana from Cora's head at last. She snatched at it in time to catch it, but not before her glorious hair spilled out into the open. It was a thick, wavy mass with the occasional curl, a rich deep brown shot through with the occasional streak of gold. Every moment of wondering, even the vague excuses he'd come up with in his mind for why she hid herself beneath the faded blue fabric, faded suddenly from his mind in the face of reality. When her grey-blue eyes met his once more, Stephen realized for the first time that she was in fact a beautiful woman.
Cora tried to secure the bandana again, but the wind was simply too strong.
"The captain might want to start rethinking those sails about now."
As if in response to her low voice, the topmen ran aloft. Jack was approaching them rapidly from the other side of the ship.
"Doctor, Miss Turner, you might want to consider going below deck. We're in for a nasty storm. Nothing we can't weather, but I don't want you in harm's way. We both know the odds of you finding a way to fall overboard, Doctor."
"You could use my help, Captain." Cora called over the rising howl. Rain began to fall. "You're missing a topman. I grew up in these waters, I could help with the sails."
"I can't have the hazard of you up there, Miss Turner, it simply wouldn't be-"
"I just want to help! Give me this chance!"
Jack looked up at the sails and watched the unusually slow work. Topmen were the most skilled sailors on a ship, valued for their ability to run up the rigging to the highest sails in any weather, and they'd never quite found someone to replace Warley. The wind was picking up and a soaking rain was already pouring from the heavens. He couldn't send just anyone up there.
"Very well then. Hurry up and start by helping Mr. Andersen raise that main topgallant."
In a flash, she was gone. Just before she disappeared like lightening- or smoke and oakum as Jack would say -into the forest of ropes, Stephen saw her tighten her bandana over her drenched hair once more.
"You'd best go down to your orlop, Stephen," Jack said. "You know how many landsmen we have and I'll be damned if one or two don't manage to fall."
Stephen wondered if, for once, surgery wouldn't be the haven he was used to. As he headed down to prepare he was certain that all he'd be able to focus on was Cora's conspicuous absence.
After the main topgallant was raised, Cora and her counterpart clung to the mast and rode out the choppy surf and tearing wind. Cora found herself more calm than she had been in days. Being up there, so removed from the rest of the world, with nothing more to worry about than which sail was to be raised next, had a sort of centering effect on her. For the first time since she landed aboard the Surprise, she could clear her head and truly judge the situation.
It was more precarious than ever before. Their ruse had never been so close to being discovered, and she had never been closer to disclosing it. Every time she looked into the doctor's pale eyes, she found it bubbling up inside her. She was sick of lying.
Her peaceful moment was shattered when she heard Mr. Andersen's call. His foot was tangled in some of the lines and he was rapidly slipping from the mast. Without pausing to think, Cora ran across the spar perpendicular to the mast and dropped down beside him, her legs wrapped tightly around the spar.
"Take my hand."
Andersen struggled to reach for it, but then the line snapped and he plunged towards the water.
Cora reacted before she thought. She seized the broken line and tied it around her waist, and dove after him.
She was too late to catch him while he was still in the air, but not too late to dive into the sea after him. The warm water embraced her, the line tugging at her middle, as she struggled to keep her eyes open. She finally surfaced, hearing shouted orders of 'man overboard.' She ignored them all.
"Swim to me, Mr. Andersen!" She shouted. "Over here!"
The floundering man heard her call over the others, and finally managed to find her in the water. He clung to her and nearly pulled her down with his weight. They both came up choking on seawater.
"Mr. Andersen-"
Another swell, another lung full of water. Sparks danced in her eyes.
"You have to swim back. Just hold onto my hand, I've got the rope." She gasped when they surfaced.
Andersen nodded, clutching her hand in his right one and swimming with his other. Cora kept up her grip on the line with her own right hand, pulling them closer while the waves slapped their faces, each a separate accusation.
Do you think saving his life will make up for what you'll do? It doesn't make up for what you feel now. It isn't the doctor's life you're saving. He's the one whose eyes make you want to betray everything you've ever known- Would you rather betray him or your family?
They were finally hauled aboard the pitching deck and lay there like landed fish for a moment before they were pulled to their feet and given blankets.
"Thank you," Mr. Andersen's voice was hoarse and fervent as he continued to clasp her hand. "Thank you."
Cora nodded and smiled at him, then noticed the stares of the officers around her. They looked at her as if she were some unknown dog, and they weren't quite sure if she'd bite or not.
"Mr. Andersen, if you're recovered I suggest you return to your duties." The captain said, breaking the spell. "Miss Turner."
"I still want to be up there. This storm isn't over yet."
The captain nodded and stood out of her way. Cora spared one last glance for the assembly around her before she began to ascend the rigging once more.
Look around you, Coraline Jacqueline Turner, Her mind sneered. Will you bleed for these men? Because that's what will happen if you tell them why you're here. Mummy dearest will make sure of it.
Even up at the top of their stormy world, where there should've been nothing else to occupy her mind, Cora could find no satisfactory answer.
Jack's prediction came true- Stephen saw two landsmen under his care before the storm was weathered. As the waves lulled and he ceased to fear that at any moment the ship would capsize, he wondered whether or not the captain deserved some sort of gift for his foresight. Perhaps he could let him keep that insect he'd become so fond of after the battle with the Acheron, the phasmid. He was always picking up its little cage when he was in Stephen's cabin, hoping it might yield another brilliant strategy.
For now Stephen was getting ready to go to bed. He hadn't slept for an entire day, he wagered. It was difficult to judge the passage of time during a storm, but he felt that bone-deep weariness that said he'd been on his feet for far too long, unable to sleep on the storm-tossed sea. He was just heading towards his cabin when she came down the steps.
She was still completely drenched and her footsteps dragged more than usual, but her eyes were bright and alert. Stephen was arrested by their gaze.
Cora smiled at him and raised the bottle she held in her hand.
"Which it is pure rum." She said in a curious imitation of a familiar steward. "I saved one of Killick's chickens from going overboard. Care to share?"
"Only a little. I'm certain I have a pair of cups around here somewhere."
Cora shook her head, pulling out the cork in the bottle. She sat on the steps and patted the space beside her.
"Come, sit." She said, waiting for him to obey before continuing. "If there's one thing I've learned from being a pirate, it's that rum tastes better straight out of the bottle."
She tilted her head back and took a deep swig, then handed the bottle to Stephen. He hesitated for a moment, then copied her action. The rum burned all the way down, leaving a pleasing warmth in his stomach. He handed the bottle back to her and she took another swig, passing it back.
"If we keep this up, we'll be drunk." He mused. Cora laughed.
"Now don't think, Doctor Maturin, that you can get me drunk and force me to spill all my secrets. I was scarcely off my mother's breast when I was handed my first bottle of that stuff, and I hold my liquor very, very well." She snorted and took another drink, but didn't hand him the bottle this time. It remained dangling from her hand. She stared at the floor before her.
"But isn't that the whole point of becoming intoxicated?" Stephen asked. "Wild abandon?"
Cora didn't speak for a moment, then turned to look him straight in the eye. They hadn't been drinking for long, but Stephen could already feel the pleasant buzz of alcohol filling his whole being. He could smell the rum in the air, although he was hard pressed to say whether it was on his breath or hers. While she looked at him her mouth was half open, and he found himself with the insane desire to kiss her before she spoke and shattered the moment.
"I want to tell you, Stephen. Believe me, I do. But you don't know my mother. Our last name may be Turner, but her maiden name was Starre. It is the name of our... clan, if you will. And our clan has a saying: a Starre is always fixed in its course." She sighed and closed her eyes. "No matter which way I go, bloodshed will follow. It will either be on this ship or the one I was born on. You see, one of the few admirable qualities I've inherited from my mother is that resoluteness. When I choose my course, I remain on it."
"And is your course to deceive me?" His words were a whisper.
"I haven't got my course yet." She breathed back. "Believe me, you'll be the first to know when I have."
Stephen had no idea where the moment would've gone from there, but in the end it went nowhere. There was a heavy tread on the steps above them, and they froze and turned to see Mr. Mowett standing there.
"Beg pardon sir," He paused and blushed. "Ma'am. The captain would like to request the honor of your presence at his table this evening."
Cora stared at him. "Both of us?"
"That was his request."
"What time is it, in any case?" Stephen asked.
"Oh, you have at least a couple watches to go before dinner time. Enough time for some much needed sleep, I say." Stephen could've wept with joy at the words.
"Then we accept your invitation." He said instead.
Mr. Mowett touched his hat to both of them, and then left.
Cora and Stephen sat in silence on the steps for a few more moments before he spoke again.
"You know, it wouldn't do to be drunk at the captain's table." He spoke with more than a little reproach. Well nigh half of the bottle was gone.
"I told you," Cora grinned, taking another, deeper swig. "I'm very good at holding my liquor."
Stephen smiled and held his hand out for the bottle.
A/N-- Next chapter we'll see more of Jack, whom I feel I've been neglecting. Reviews keep me alive! (thanks to FuchsiaII once more.)
I'm particularly curious to know how everyone feels the romance is progressing... I'm trying not to make it a typical 'romantic' attraction, like a love at first sight, but something that neither of them can avoid, an insistent pull in their gut that they don't quite understand. Am I anywhere close to accomplishing that? They're kind of freaking me out right now. I can't tell if it's working.
