* * *
That final night on the island, the air was balmy and breezeless. Paul built a fire, but he let it burn down as soon as their crow dinner had cooked. The evening was gorgeous anyway. They didn’t really need a fire. Besides, they had each other for warmth, although after a long day’s work ashore, Paul fell asleep before any real heat could be generated between them.
So it was that when morning came, Ravenna was shocked to hear the patter of rain above her head. When had the clouds rolled in? How had the temperature dropped so fast? She and Paul had slept in a tent, so getting drenched themselves wasn’t a problem, but what did disturb them was the fact that somehow, by some dreadful mistake, they’d left the roll of pictures outside.
She was certain she’d brought them in the night before. Paul swore he’d seen them propped against the seam of their tent in the lamplight. As his kisses had been so intoxicating, Ravenna was willing to admit that her recall might not have been the best that night, and yet the strange thing about it was this: They found that roll of watercolor sketches in the grass behind their canvas tent, just as if they’d been tossed aside.
Perhaps the wind, Ravenna thought.
However the drawings had gotten there, she dreaded going back to Discovery when the cutter came at the appointed time. They had no deer, no eggs or ducks. To show for their excursion, they had only a couple of auklets, twelve crows, a bucket of clams and crabs, and a packet of badly streaked watercolor pictures.
She prayed Vancouver was in good spirits as the cutter approached Discovery and maneuvered alongside the ship’s hull. When she saw Vancouver near the fo’c’sle, Ravenna knew even Paul’s prayers couldn’t help. The captain’s coat was soaked from the storm; the rain ran down his nose; worst of all, the scowl twisting his face could have made even Captain Bligh run for cover. From this, she gathered that Vancouver’s day so far hadn’t been the best, and she elected right then to keep the drawings’ fate a secret.
So with the bucket of clams and crabs in hand, she clambered up the side. Paul followed with the drawings wrapped in the tent. The rest of their things, the pans and such, were kindly brought up by the sailors in the cutter, and when the last of these men slipped over the railing and placed her mammoth tusk on the deck, Ravenna got a good look at Vancouver’s scowl—a genuine frown by this time. What have I done now? she wondered. Can’t I bring home a souvenir?
Fearful of another argument, she hid behind Paul, but it was Paul himself whom Vancouver addressed in striding across the rain-slicked deck. “Killiney, Sir,” he said, and although he hadn’t raised his voice, when the captain began peppering his salutations with “sirs,” everyone knew what was coming.
The sailors started to look at each other and shake their heads. James glanced at Paul warningly; caution, my friend, he seemed to say, but Paul never had the chance to speak.
“Lord Killiney, am I mistaken,” Vancouver asked, “or did I not issue you an order to procure venison for our larder?” The captain glared down at the deck beside Paul, at the mammoth tusk next to the pots and pans. He tapped it with his shoe. When this distracted Paul, Vancouver said calmly, “Answer the question, Sir. Didn’t I ask you to find meat for this ship?”
“I’d no idea there wasn’t a solitary deer on that—”
“Answer the question, my lord. All that’s required is a yes or no.”
The men lifting the cutter stopped what they were doing. All eyes were on Paul and from across the deck, Ravenna saw Mr. Puget meet his gaze, urge Paul with subtle gestures to concede.
“Yes,” Paul muttered, looking away.
“Then your orders were to supply this crew with venison?” Vancouver’s hooded eyes drilled into him. “Was that not why you were sent, my lord? With arms and supplies reserved for missions of import, to feed these men—these hardworking, tireless and loyal men who profess to be your friends?”
When grudgingly Paul nodded, Vancouver drew his foot back and kicked the mammoth tusk hard with his heel. “Then why do you bring me stones?” he asked. “Did you manage to acquire for these hungry men the slightest game to speak of?”
Paul hesitated. Then, feeling her moving behind him, he turned clumsily as Ravenna put the bags in his hand.
“My lord, I’m speaking to you, and I would have your—”
“Crows,” Paul said, and turning back to Vancouver’s impatience, he presented the bags resentfully. “I’ve twelve crows for you, some seabirds and some clams, as well.”
“Five days I give you, and you reward me with crows?”
“I’ve done the best I could, considering there’s not a deer on that shaggin’ island.”
“How dare you suggest so to me,” Vancouver snarled. “I rely upon you, Sir, to employ your judgment in turning to advantage the hours and location assigned to you and you bring me game such as Mr. Manby could provide in a single afternoon’s leave?”
“Then send Manby next time.”
“I will not, Sir! I’ll send you, and should you return once more without eggs or fish, I shall have you dragged to the gratings to be flogged! As a member of my crew, you will work, my lord, not gather stones.”
Vancouver glowered triumphantly at Paul, but as he savored Paul’s embittered submission, Ravenna dared to lift her voice. “I can get you fish,” she said.
Paul elbowed her in the ribs. She ignored him and approached the captain anyway. “If it would help,” she said carefully, “we can take the cutter right now and go to a place on the mainland where I used to dive for lingcod and flounder. There might be rock fish, too, and halibut—”
“Might be?” Vancouver frowned. “Would that be similar to ‘there might be deer on that island, Captain’? Is this how your plot was fashioned, Killiney? Is this where your assurances, your promises of game and venison were born? From her unreliable and questionable foresight? Answer me, Sir! Did she contrive this episode?”
“She didn’t, no,” Paul said angrily, but Vancouver had shifted his attention to Ravenna.
“And I suppose you sullied no canvas with paint?” Vancouver stepped closer, trying to intimidate her with the tyranny of his tone. “Had you the slightest intention of fulfilling my orders? Or was this island expedition merely a holiday?”
The ferocity of his expression made Ravenna’s insides curl. She fought off the urge to swear. Just barely. “No, I—”
“Then show me the drawings!”
“You can’t see them, they’re—”
“I can’t see them? I’ve given you my leave to illegally participate in this voyage on the grounds you contribute your artistic abilities and now I can’t see the drawings?”
“You don’t understand, they’ve been—”
“No, it’s you without the capacity for understanding. I would see those sketches. Now!”
There seemed no choice but for Ravenna to comply. So with the entire ship’s complement watching, she unfolded the tent’s fabric and reluctantly handed over the watercolor pictures. Vancouver swiped them up. He marched across the deck, shouted an order for Mr. Laithwood and Mr. Manning to hold a sail between them as he unrolled the sketches beneath the canvas.
Ravenna looked at Paul, held her breath. They both knew what would greet his eyes from the top of that stack of coastal drawings—a portrait of Paul that had definitely not been commissioned by the Royal Navy.
In seconds the furious roar of the captain rose above the noise of the downpour. “I did not risk my career for the benefit of your copulation! I did not, Sir!”
“Look,” Paul said, raising his hands, “it’s only a bleedin’ picture, and I’d—”
“Vancouver Island, prescient insight…Now at last the truth becomes plain: You’ve lied unconscionably, my lord, and I tell you, I will listen no more! Private Millward! Come forward!”
One of the red-coated marines appeared.
“Put this woman below and under guard! I’ll not have her promiscuity loose upon my ship! Private Bonchin, Sir!”
Anothe
r marine pushed through the crowd.
“You’ll relieve Mr. Millward at eight bells, and then Private Glasspole will stand the midwatch! She’ll have no sustenance for two days, do you hear? She’ll be made to suffer as we do in the consequence of her lies, and she’ll see no one, utter no prophecies and distract no man from his work, so long as she remains aboard His Majesty’s ship!”
Bill Bonchin and Thomas Millward, both men notorious for rough behavior, nodded as they approached Ravenna with enthusiasm. John Glasspole had arms the size of Paul’s waist, and as he neared, he ordered Paul to step aside and give Ravenna up or suffer a beating.
Paul didn’t budge. His only move was to put his arm securely around her, and that arm tensed as his feet shuffled behind hers for better footing. “If she goes, I go as well,” Paul growled.
“If that’s how ye like it,” Private Glasspole answered, and grinning at Paul, the marine began to slip out of his scarlet jacket. “Don’t think our cap’n would mind one whit if me fist takes a likin’ to your ugly nose.”
As Paul let go to roll up his sleeves, frantically Ravenna searched the men’s faces. The shouting had reached a level near mutiny. The sailors pressed in, choosing sides between Paul and Private Glasspole while beyond, above the din, she could hear James railing, “Does she look like a seaman to you? She’s a woman, Vancouver. Can’t you see this is madness?”
“I’ve sense enough to have you flogged the very same if you don’t stand aside, Sir, and leave me alone.”
“But you’re irrational. You’ve taken ill at the expense of your judgment and I won’t tolerate harm coming to my—”
“I have not taken ill! Do you tempt me, Wolvesfield? Then stand aside! Sergeant Flynn, Sir! There will be order on this ship, or you will all be spreadeagled at the gratings, do you hear?”
With this threat, Sergeant Flynn reined in Private Glasspole’s first swing at Paul with an obligatory shout. The other two marines promptly fell in beside the private, and together they surrounded Paul, against his fists and will. As they started to drag him away, Mr. Whidbey demanded all hands to assemble near the stern while above the pandemonium, Vancouver issued his resonant commands with an eager and righteous vengeance. “Take Killiney aft, Private Millward! And Mr. Barnes, collect your drum! For his defiance, we shall have two lashes for my lord before Lady Elizabeth is confined to quarters and then we shall ask what punishment befits liars, confessing his deception of captain and crew or two more?”
“No!” Ravenna cried, pushing Private Millward as hard as she could. “We didn’t lie to you! Paul’s done nothing to deserve this, he’s—”
“Sergeant Flynn!” Vancouver yelled. The sergeant approached her, his face tensed as he reached out to grab her.
“No,” she pleaded, “I’ll prove we didn’t lie to you, just give me the chance to—”
The sergeant’s fingers closed around her collar, but with all the strength she could muster, she pulled away. The linen tore as she twisted and fought in the sergeant’s grasp until somehow, before he’d found another hold, she escaped. She rushed across the deck, seeing the blur of men yammering in encouragement, seeing Paul out of the corner of her eye as she made for Vancouver near the quarterdeck rail with all she had in her, shouting, “Let him go, please, leave him alone and I’ll tell you the future!”
Vancouver’s small frame bent with rage. “Your future is worthless!”
“Please, I’m not lying, I can help you,” she said, and drawing nearer to the captain, unhindered by the sailors or the remaining marines, she begged him, tried to bribe him. “I can tell you where to find the Northwest Passage. I know what’s around Point Wilson in Admiralty Inlet, in Puget Sound, please just give me a chart and I’ll show you.”
“Sergeant Flynn, do you defy my command?”
But Ravenna had reached Vancouver’s side now. “This voyage is killing you,” she told him urgently. “We all know you’re sick, we all saw it in the Sandwich Islands, even your officers will tell you that! You’re tired all the time, you work too hard and you don’t eat, we’ve all seen the—”
“Sergeant Flynn!” He contorted with the force of his shout; the marine came running, and still Ravenna didn’t back down.
“You’ll be dead in less than ten years, is that what you want? That’s the future, and you’re dragging everyone down with you! You’re getting worse all the time, and if you have Paul beaten, it’ll only prove—”
“I am not insane!” Vancouver turned fiercely toward the marines. “Will you truss up Killiney and get on with it? Get on with it! I’d see him bleed before nightfall.”
But every man had heard Ravenna’s words. And every man stared at Vancouver, knowing in their own minds from what they’d witnessed, from rumor and speculation, that what she’d said was true. She stepped nearer to Vancouver, knowing the sea of faces was to her advantage, that he had to listen now. “Please don’t have Paul beaten,” she whispered. “I’ll do my best to keep you healthy and we’ll follow your orders, I swear we will.”
And trying to reassure him, she laid her hand bravely upon his arm.
In an instant, she felt herself shoved backwards. The force of it, only meant to push her away, was still hard enough to send her over the railing where the cutter still rode at the main chains; the men had abandoned it in favor of brawling and now, in the fall, her head met the bow.
She felt pain, then icy salt water. She felt the weight of her clothes dragging her down, and then she felt no more.