They all looked up through the open hatch cover at the sound of Bos’n’s whistle.
“I’m needed up top,” she said in a rush. She grabbed her coat off a hook by the hay net and shrugged into it as she rushed from the hold.
Zach watched her go with a fond smile. “She’s magnificent, isn’t she?” He dusted himself off and shrugged into his coat. “Quick student.”
“Student?” Nick’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, furious at the idea some other man had his hands on Harriet. Even if, or especially if, that man was Zach.
Zach went over to the horses and checked the level of water in each stallion’s barrel. Satisfied, he began stroking Tesoro, and offered pats to Button when he nudged Zach’s shoulder. “If she’s going to dress like a man, I thought she should be able to defend herself like one. You should see her punch and kick.” He proudly pointed at a canvas sheet with a rough outline of a man drawn on it. “Glad it’s him on the receiving end, and not me.”
Nick’s jaw worked but he couldn’t get any words out.
Zach went into each stall to check that the slings were in the correct place and had the right tension—low enough they didn’t apply any pressure, yet high enough the horse could lean down into it for added stability when the seas were rough—murmuring to them about keeping them safe in the coming storm. He turned to address Nick while still petting Tesoro. “I’m in love, lad, like never before.” He rested his forehead against the Andalusian’s neck. “I’m going to make Harry an offer she can’t refuse.”
Chapter 22
Before Nick could process Zach’s declaration and respond, Bos’n whistled again, and the ship’s bell rang in the pattern calling all hands to the deck. Fat raindrops began falling through the open hatch, pattering on the straw.
Nick pointed a finger at Zach. “We’ll discuss this later.” He spun on his heel, had to grab the canvas-covered net full of straw for a moment while the hold tilted crazily, then hurried up top.
The wind almost knocked Nick back below deck when he tried to emerge from the hatch. He buttoned his coat all the way and tossed his hat down the ladder, then closed the hatch cover behind him. Jonesy and Bos’n each had a safety rope tied around their waists and were working the tiller together to keep the ship on course. Dense, dark clouds swiftly headed their way off the port bow, their passage accompanied by a wall of rain and twenty-foot swells. The rain already pelting the deck was just a prelude.
“Batten down the hatches,” Nick called unnecessarily, as Flynn and Luigi were already moving to do just that, starting with the center hold.
Nick made his way up to the tiller, hand over hand on the rail, bent almost double against the punishing wind. As he expected of his experienced crew, they had already furled the gaff sail and secured the boom. “Strike everything but the mains’l and forecourse,” he shouted over the roar of the wind as he accepted the safety rope from Bos’n and tied it around his waist.
Jonesy saluted in acknowledgment, saving his voice to call to the crew. Bos’n went down to the deck.
Soon Flynn and Dieter were aloft reefing the fore t’gallant, and Smitty and Big Jim were reefing the tops’l. Bos’n directed Jack and Harriet to slack the mains’l weather braces while Tucker and Zach hauled the lee, easing pressure on the mast, and then went to help Chang and Luigi strike the main t’gallant.
As the crew trimmed the sails, Nick and Jonesy were able to steer west-northwest, keeping the bow angled at the oncoming storm. As long as Nick and the crew did their parts, he was confident Wind Dancer would live up to her name and dance atop the crashing waves. The cargo of wine in the holds, assuming it was all properly stowed, would help balance the ship, keep her rudder in the water, and let him steer instead of the ship being at the mercy of the tempest.
He had never lost a crew member in a storm—he was skilled enough as a mariner to know luck played a big part in that—though there had certainly been injuries over the years. Luigi had lost his grip in a summer squall earlier this year and fallen sixty feet to the deck. His bones had knitted but his shoulder had not been the same since.
They needed to stow canvas faster, before the freshening wind snapped a yardarm, or they were dismasted. Hauled-up sails flapped and snapped on the fore in the strengthening wind. They were going to tear if they weren’t furled quickly. Wind buffeted the white-capped waves, making them look like jagged snow-topped mountain ranges, constantly in motion. Nick and Jonesy kept steering into the storm so the ship wouldn’t roll and capsize. Waves now crashed over the bow at the bottom of each trough and washed across the stern as they climbed.
Only the safety line and his grip on the tiller kept Nick on his feet. Bile rose up and he desperately wished he could close his eyes against the conflicting information between what he saw and what his currently unreliable sense of balance said was happening. He steered another point to port, keeping the ship in a safe place in the still-strengthening wind while the topmen were aloft.
Chang and Tucker scrambled up the mainmast port rigging to furl the t’gallant, and Jack went up the starboard shrouds. Harriet finished belaying a line and saw Luigi grab the ratline and start to follow Jack. He only got a couple rungs up before he fell to the deck. He clutched his left shoulder as he staggered to his feet, his face twisted in pain.
Harriet helped him to the aft hatch.
Good. Go below, Nick silently commanded her. Go below! Already the wind was strong enough he and Jonesy had to shout to hear each other as close as they stood, the gale whipping Nick’s greatcoat around his legs. Salt spray stung his eyes.
The mainmast shuddered, under pressure from too much sail in this wind. They had only minutes, if they were lucky, before they were dismasted. And God help anyone who was aloft when it fell.
Luigi closed the hatch after himself. Harriet was still on the deck, her head tilted back, looking at Jack alone high up on the starboard t’gallant footrope, at the canvas getting beat in the wind. She looked at how far the top of the mast swayed, how close it dipped toward the white-capped swells with each pitch, each roll of the ship.
No, Nick silently screamed at her. Go below!
Zach had been hauling on a line with Bos’n and let go with one hand, his intent to climb in Luigi’s place clear. But Bos’n glanced at Harriet and stayed Zach with a hand on Zach’s shoulder and a shake of his head.
Harriet climbed.
Eyes squinted nearly closed against the pelting rain, Nick aged ten years watching her climb the rigging, step off to the footrope, slide along several steps, and bend over the yardarm to reef the sail.
Her feet slipped out from under her.
Nick thought his heart actually stopped, watching in helpless horror as she hung eighty feet above the pitching deck, suspended only by the crook of her right arm hooked over the yardarm. She struggled to get a grip with her left hand, but her fingers slipped off the rain-slicked wood. The ship was climbing a swell, swinging her legs and torso well aft of the footrope.
