The Secret Journeys of Jack London, Book Two: The Sea Wolves Read online

  Demetrius rose shakily to his feet. One of his eyes was swollen shut, seeping blood and viscous fluid. Where his ear had been, only ragged flesh remained. Furrows had been clawed in his face and chest. And yet he grinned, and a low growl began deep in his chest. Despite his injuries, he still seemed stronger than his opponent.

  Finn limped to one side and then the other, looking for an opening. But he had only one useful arm and one good eye. Where the scars of his keelhauling had begun to heal, many had now been opened afresh. He seemed disoriented. It might have been exhaustion or some new strategy, but he waited for Demetrius to move, and eventually the fat Greek thundered toward him like a charging bull.

  Finn stepped deftly aside and snapped a kick at Demetrius’s leg, shattering his knee. The fat sailor screamed as Finn descended upon him, wrapping his good arm around his neck and dragging him toward the railing. Finn freed a rope that had been tied to a cleat and wrapped it around the Greek’s throat, then began to hoist him over the railing, meaning to hang him there until dead.

  Jack glanced at Sabine, but she had lowered her gaze at last. He could not stand and watch any longer. He touched her arm, a tender brush of fingers on silken skin that sent an electrical charge shuddering through him and reminded him of the courage at his core.

  “Captain,” he said, hurrying toward Ghost, “you can’t let this go on. Whatever happens, it’ll be murder, and you’ll be a party to it.”

  The Scandinavians shifted to block his access to the captain. Jack halted but kept his gaze fixed on Ghost until, at last, the pirate chief turned to look at him.

  “This isn’t your world, young Jack,” Ghost said, his voice low. He bared his teeth, but it was no smile. “You’ll come to learn that there is no place for civility or propriety here. The strongest eat first, and the runts go hungry. And some would rather die than be the runt.”

  Ghost turned away, his attention back on the fight. Jack wanted to appeal again, but the twins’ cold blue eyes fixed him in his place, their promise of violence and pain overt. He backed off a few steps, heard the splintering of wood; and when he looked, the tables had turned yet again. Demetrius had broken a post off the railing, and now he hammered at Finn, who warded off the first two impacts before catching a blow to the head. Finn moaned, no longer able to fight back or even lift a hand in defense.

  Demetrius roared in victory and grabbed a fistful of Finn’s hair. Jack watched in stunned horror as the Greek slammed his victim’s skull against the deck, then opened his jaws wide to clamp his teeth on Finn’s throat.

  “No,” Jack whispered. The fight had been savage, but this was inhuman.

  Ghost strode past the twins, the circle opening for him. He struck Demetrius a ferocious kick in the ribs, and the fat sailor went over onto his own back, just as submissive as the defeated Finn.

  “Enough,” Ghost said. “You’ve proved your point.”

  When Sabine touched his back, Jack almost shouted in surprise. All eyes were on Ghost now … all eyes but hers. She kept her hand on the small of his back, a small, secret intimacy that took his breath away. He knew instinctively that he had to be careful of sharing any intimacy at all with her. Ghost possessed her, just as he did this ship and its crew, and he would guard his possessions jealously.

  “They’ll come for you tonight,” she said, that awful sadness even deeper in her eyes, and an urgent caution as well. “We’ll be locked away together. Don’t fight them, Jack. Don’t argue, not even the slightest. Not tonight, of all nights.”

  Jack frowned. “What’s so special about tonight?”

  “I’m sorry,” Sabine whispered. Then she turned and hurried away, perhaps to her chart room, where she guided the pirates toward their next unsuspecting target. Jack glanced around and saw Mr. Johansen watching them, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  “Cooky!” Johansen shouted. “Help clear these fools off the deck, and do what you can to treat their wounds.”

  Jack strode over, gaze shifting from Johansen to Ghost to the injured men struggling to their feet without help from anyone else.

  “The rest of you, back to work!” Mr. Johansen shouted.

  The crew scattered across the ship, some climbing into the rigging and others going below. Tree and Vukovich helped the fighters stagger back to their quarters in the forecastle, and soon Jack stood alone, save for Ghost and the twins.

  “Do they have names?” Jack asked suddenly, nodding toward the Scandinavians.

  Ghost arched an eyebrow. “I believe the first mate just gave you an order, young Jack.”

  “So he did. Though after seeing Finn’s condition before the fight and after his keelhauling, I’m not sure what help I can be.”

  “Set Finn’s broken arm and Demetrius’s smashed knee,” Ghost replied, gazing at where the distant horizon had begun to darken with storm. “Wrap them tightly. That should be enough.”

  “Enough for what?” Jack asked.

  “To last the night.”

  To last through what? Jack thought. But Ghost’s tone was curt, and Jack could see his temper rising, the tension in the muscles of his neck and shoulders and the way his fists opened and closed, as if the fight on deck had left him hungry for a little violence of his own. Now was not the time to ask more questions. And Ghost was right; Mr. Johansen had given him an order.

  He started toward the forecastle.

  “Huginn and Muninn,” Ghost said.

  Jack paused and turned, frowning until he realized the captain had answered his question. Ghost nodded toward the Scandinavians, who seemed uninterested in the conversation, though they must know it was about them … considering Ghost had just spoken their names.

  “Are those the names their mother gave them?” Jack asked.

  “They were mine to name, Jack. Are you familiar with those names? Huginn and Muninn?”

  Jack nodded. “From Norse myth. They were Odin’s ravens. His eyes and ears, in all the places Odin couldn’t be.”

  “The names mean ‘thought’ and ‘memory,’” Ghost said. “It’s interesting to have an educated man on board. Stimulating.” The captain stepped in close so that Jack could smell the musky stink of him. “But don’t think for a moment that your life is worth anything to me.”

  Jack forced a nervous smile, staring at the captain’s jagged teeth. “I wouldn’t dream of it. The only life you deem precious is your own.”

  “Just so,” Ghost said. “I’m glad we understand each other. Now go and see to Finn and Demetrius, but take care, young Jack. An animal is most dangerous when it’s wounded.”

  With that, he turned and descended the steps into the cabin where Sabine awaited, leaving Jack with much on his mind. Despite the brutality simmering within the captain and his crew, they seemed excited, almost giddy. Maurilio and Louis were already at work repairing the railing that Demetrius had broken, and they sang together in dueling French and Spanish, laughing almost drunkenly.

  Seeing them so happy, Jack ought to have been intrigued by whatever secret awaited revealing. Instead, he felt nothing but dread.

  They’ll come for you tonight, Sabine had said. Don’t fight them, Jack. Not tonight, of all nights. How could he simply surrender himself, let them lock him up? But if he fought, it wasn’t just his own life he was taking in his hands, but the lives of the other prisoners. And what of Sabine? She seemed like the ship’s version of the lady of the manor, but he could feel the sadness and loneliness in her. Did she love Ghost, or did she also dream of escape? Whenever and however he managed to escape Ghost and his pirates, Jack knew that he would try to persuade Sabine to go with him. But considering what her gifts meant for Ghost, it would take a miracle for him to let her go.

  His mind went back to her unsettling words. They would come for him tonight. So be it. He would trust in her. And there had been her other comment, as well. We’ll be locked away together. That, at least, held promise.

  Very little went to waste aboard a ship. Fruit and meat on the verge of rotting�
�but not quite rotten—would still make its way into the crew’s diet. Jack had managed to get Ghost’s permission to bring scraps from the galley to the handful of prisoners from the Umatilla who were locked in that room in the hold, but he had not been thinking properly about what the captain would define as “scraps.” In the end, the best he could do for those poor souls was a thin stew made from the snippings off the ends of carrots, a handful of moldy potatoes, two cans of beans he found in what he assumed was some private stock belonging to the former cook, and the bones of the pelican. Some meat remained on those bones, and it sloughed off as he boiled the stew, but it was barely enough to add a bit of texture to the meal. He spiced it as best he was able, giving it a bit of flavor. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.

  When the meager meal was ready, he tracked down Louis, who already had his orders from Ghost and the keys to the prisoners’ hold. Ogre came along, a knife in a scabbard at his hip.

  Riding the swells of the sea, Jack followed Louis through that small door and down the few steps into the gangway belowdecks, carrying the steaming pot. Louis had been at sea much longer, and seemed almost unaffected by the rolling of the ship. Jack could not help reeling a bit, staggering right and left, but he managed not to spill more than a few ounces of stew. The ladle clacked against the rim with every sway of the vessel.

  Ogre came behind Jack, perhaps to be sure he didn’t try anything rash. But the true purpose of his presence was to menace the prisoners once the door was open, in case they attempted to escape. Jack thought the precaution foolish. These people could not overpower the entire crew, and even if they did, where would they go? He doubted the people Ghost had imprisoned were sailors.

  “Don’t talk to them,” Louis said, keys jangling as he led the way past the padlocked door, then the hold containing the food stores, and approached the prisoners’ hold.

  “I’d like them to know they’re not alone,” Jack said.

  Key in the first lock, Louis glanced at Ogre, and then at Jack. “You’ve got your orders from the captain. I am amazed he’s indulging you even this far. Don’t push him, Jack.”

  Jack heard the voices beyond the door, sensed the fear and the hope in that room, and decided Louis was right. They would know just from seeing him that they had an ally outside their prison. He had wanted to apologize for not bringing them bowls, for them all having to share the ladle, but he told himself they would see such sympathies in his eyes.

  Louis finished unlocking the door. He threw it open and stepped back, hand on the hilt of his knife. Ogre did the same but drew his blade, an eager glint in his eye. It seemed he hoped someone would try to escape, and he would get the chance to draw blood. Jack found his expression chilling.

  The pleas began instantly. A thin, balding man wearing broken spectacles begged for his life, while a gray-haired matron demanded to know what the pirates intended to do with them. There were eight people in the hold, including a burly, bearded trapper, two young men, a pale and lovely woman in a torn but expensive dress, and a middle-aged black man who stood at the back of the room, studying the pirates with wary intelligence, obviously contemplating some plan of action. The eighth, and last, was a girl of perhaps fourteen. She still had a bow in her hair.

  Jack searched their faces. They had all been on board the Umatilla with him, sailing from Alaska to San Francisco, but none of them looked familiar to him. They were strangers, but they were his fellow captives, and he racked his brain for some way he could help them. But on a ship of bloodthirsty pirates, in the middle of the sea—at least for the moment—the stew was the best he could do.

  It seemed so little, but as he carried the pot into the room, they moved in eagerly. Some of them seemed to realize that he was not one of the pirates, for they began to question him. Jack felt ashamed that he could not respond.

  “Hurry it up, Cooky,” Louis said, though not unkindly.

  Regretfully, Jack left the pot and retreated to the door. As Louis began to haul it shut, the trapper gave a roar and lunged for him, but Louis was too quick. He clouted the big man across the temple with a small fist. Somehow, though the trapper was twice his size, Louis had knocked him down with a single blow. Disoriented, the trapper tried to scramble to his feet for another attempt, but Ogre stepped in and kicked him in the chest, sending the man crashing into the lady in the torn dress.

  Jack found himself locking eyes with the bald man in the broken spectacles. “I’m sorry,” he said as the door slammed.

  Some of them cried out, but moments later they fell silent, and he knew they must be gathered ravenously around the stewpot.

  He felt sure he would see their faces in his dreams tonight.

  As Louis fastened all the locks, Jack began to turn away, headed back along the gangway toward the galley, but Ogre blocked his path.

  “What?” Jack demanded, his frustration overriding his fear of the quiet sailor.

  It was Louis who answered. “You’re not done.” He gestured toward the middle door in the hold. “Go into the food stores. The captain’s got a private stock in there. You’ll find it easily enough. Make a plate of fruit and cheese, the best there is, and fetch a bottle of the finest wine.”

  Louis and Ogre waited in the gangway while Jack did as he was told. Sabine had said the two of them would be locked away together tonight, so he presumed this small repast from Ghost’s private reserve must be some celebration for the captain, but he couldn’t imagine what the occasion might be. Along with the captain’s private stock, he found a stack of china plates and quickly arranged the requested food upon one of them.

  A bottle of wine under one arm, he emerged from the stores, but once again Ogre blocked his attempt to leave the hold.

  “Wait a moment,” Louis said, and he went to the triple-padlocked room that had so piqued Jack’s curiosity, unlocked it, and opened the door.

  The first thing Jack noticed was that there were locks on the inside as well.

  “Put them on the table,” Louis instructed him.

  Confused, Jack nevertheless complied. He entered that room and was stunned by what he found. He could make no sense of the room. Here in the dingy hold was a chamber more richly appointed than any other on the ship, complete with a cot covered in a thick, woven spread, a love seat, oil lamps, and a shelf of leather-bound books. The wooden planks gleamed as though they had just been cleaned.

  “What is this?” he asked, turning to Louis. “It’s a cabin? But for whom?”

  “No questions,” Louis replied. “The captain’s given his orders.”

  Burning with curiosity, but knowing he would get no answers from these pirates, Jack set the wine and the plate of cheese and fruit onto the table. For several long seconds he studied the room, until Ogre grew restless and seemed about to come in after him. Jack retreated from the room, wondering what other secrets the Larsen was hiding.

  The storm started as a few urgent gusts, as if the wind were testing them, toying with them. The black clouds drifted in from the south, enveloping them in premature darkness, the sun vanishing as though in the hands of some celestial stage magician. The moon would be full tonight, but Jack knew he would not see it. The moon and stars would be swallowed.

  As he cleaned the galley after dinner, Jack was troubled by the amount of food the crew had left in their bowls. He had tasted it, as he tasted everything he cooked, and though he had no affection for cabbage, he thought the beef stew had come out quite flavorful. You don’t want to see this crew if they’re not fed properly, Ghost had said. There had been an uneasy silence in the mess; calm before a storm.

  It was particularly frustrating that they had left so much uneaten, considering the trouble he had gone to earlier to put together a meal for the prisoners. But perhaps Ghost would allow him to give the seven captives in the hold another meal—after all, the crew had abandoned the scrapings in their bowls.

  Jack collected the uneaten stew in a large pot, trying to decide how best to frame the request. The ra
in began pummeling the deck above him as he cleaned and stored the bowls, and he set about washing the rest of the pots and the cooking surface. Finn seemed to have shown little interest in cleanliness during his time as cook, and Jack felt as though he could scrub the galley three times a day for a month and still not strip all of the filth away. Still, it was good to keep busy. To keep distracted. All day Sabine’s words had been echoing in his mind. With the storm darkening the sky, it would be impossible for him to know when night had truly arrived, so he tried his best not to think about it. The predictable result was that he could think of nothing else. He didn’t like the idea of being locked away, but if Sabine and he were together, it would give him the opportunity to learn more about Ghost and his crew.

  Every creak of the planks above his head, or rustle beyond the galley door that might be a footfall, made him go rigid with worried anticipation. The ship rose and fell on the heavy swell, but the roll and pitch did not trouble him. He had other concerns.

  When they came, it was without stealth or caution. Boots tromped upon the stairs outside the galley, and Ogre ducked his massive head to step inside, with Louis behind him.

  “Evening, Jack,” Louis said, smiling his gold-glinting smile.

  “Louis,” Jack said with a nod. Neither of them acknowledged the hulking, intimidating presence of Ogre in the galley with them.

  “You won’t be sleeping in here tonight,” Louis said, his French accent somehow stronger. He twitched, as though he had a desperate itch he had no wish to scratch where others might see.

  “No?” Jack asked lightly, keeping his breathing steady, his heart calm. “Back to the forecastle, then?”