Knacker, doffing his hat. “The Cleaver’s grown wings and we are flying ’cross the Serpentine!”
“Good morning,” Molly said without her customary cheer, continuing ahead as though he were a stranger. She registered the hurt in Mr. Knacker’s falling features but she longed to be alone and couldn’t risk conversation, not with Mr. Fen assuming she’d accuse him.
The gleaming sea, luscious green with rippling sun and white-capped waves, was too alive and colorful to look upon today. Molly sat below the rail against a weatherworn barrel, found a short length of rope, and practiced a knot she had learned from one of the midshipmen. It was an octopus knot, named for its appearance and extraordinary hold, and she tied and untied it dozens of times as various members of the crew discovered her there, and greeted her, and asked whether she was well.
“Yes,” she said to each without looking up.
The wizened second mate approached her and said, “Beg pardon, Mrs. Smith, but there’s a large pod of mourningfish racing off the bow. They’re marvelous quick and sad. It’s said their great intelligence causes them to grieve.”
He invited her to watch. Molly sullenly declined, and when the second mate returned to the crew with news of her indifference, the sailors were so concerned—she could see them in a huddle, speaking lowly, glancing over—they themselves lost interest in the mourningfish and went about their work, serious and quiet.
She had been sitting alone for an hour when a shadow moved beside her. Molly recognized his boots and how they planted on the deck, but she didn’t acknowledge his presence when he loomed there above her, studying the ocean with his customary glower.
“You’ve done it wrong,” Captain Veer eventually said without looking down, as though he sensed a faulty knot just by standing in its presence.
He was right. She had been tying it incorrectly every time, but when she double-checked her loops and turns, she couldn’t spot her error. She loosened the rope and tried again, concentrating fiercely. He followed her attempt out of the corner of his eye. She failed and tried again, fumbling and annoyed, until he turned and said, “There. Pull the bight through the left.”
“Yes, of course,” Molly said, admiring the difference.
“The other way appeared to be correct,” the captain said, “but would tighten up demonically as soon as it was wet.”
She finished the knot, felt its strength, and loosened it with ease. It seemed a miracle, the way its whole complexity unraveled. She remembered how severely Jeremy used to bind her, and how completely they had caught him in their own tight snare.
Captain Veer walked away before she realized he was leaving.
Molly stood and said, “Sir.”
He stopped and turned around. The wind blew his shirt against his chest and showed his ribs, as well as a scar like a cutlass wound just below his throat. His breeches flapped. He’d grown an inch of beard during the voyage and reminded her of a pirate, dangerous but gallant.
She noticed Mr. Fen watching from afar.
“Thank you,” Molly said.
The captain answered with a bow.
“At your service, Mrs. Smith,” Captain Veer replied.
He paused as if intuiting she needed something more.
Molly took her knot and went below to sit with Nicholas.
* * *
She lay awake in her cot that night, dressed in all she owned, including her cloak and double stockings, underneath a blanket tucked tightly at her sides. She was attuned to every sound, down to the faintest creak of timbers. Shortly after two bells, she heard Mr. Fen creeping through the door and looked to Nicholas beside her, too far to reach and sleeping on his side, and hoped he wouldn’t wake until the worst of it was done. Mr. Fen stepped between them in his dull gray shift. He checked on Nicholas himself and lifted Molly’s blanket, smiling at the extra clothes she’d worn to keep him out.
“Hush,” he said.
He opened her cloak and laid himself upon her. Every inch of her contracted when he hiked up his shift, letting the blanket fall so Molly saw his plump, hairless buttocks.
“No,” Molly whispered.
“Then I’ll smother him,” he said.
He forced his hand between their bellies to the middle of her legs. Next he peeled her stocking down and rubbed against her thigh, presumably afraid of getting her with child and content to find his pleasure in a less invasive manner.
“Wait,” Molly said, taking hold of his erection.
It was softer than expected, given its rigidity, and tacky with his sweat when she gripped it in her