Hidden Island Chapter 19, part 1 of 3

Hidden Island
Chapter 19, part 1 of 3

Janie looked at herself in the mirror. She barely recognized the person she saw.

Her had been styled with hot metal rods and some kind of light, fragrant oil that held its shape as it dried. Sitting there and letting Tonya do who-knows-what to it had taken a while. Then Tonya put makeup on her and helped her pick an outfit from a communal closet. After all that work, she could finally see it all. Her hair tumbled in loose, flowing waves. A small black hat with a white band was pinned into place at a jaunty angle. A lightweight mesh veil of white lace covered the top half of her face. Makeup gave her a smoky, upswept look that turned her eyes into dark pools behind the veil. Her lips were painted with a deep red stain like she'd eaten too many cherries. A ribbon of white was tied around her slender throat.

She wore her white bustier, with nothing to cover it but a gauzy black shawl that was nearly as see-through as her veil pulled around her shoulders. A long flowing skirt cinched around her waist. It was made of ruffled layers of thin black material gathered up to the hip on her right side, revealing her white stockings and part of her shapely thigh.

"I don't know about this," she said. "Can't I at least have a blouse?"

"Well, you could, but that booster thing is just too fantastic not to show off," Tonya said from the bed behind her.

"Bustier," Janie corrected.

"Boosty-aye?" Tonya said, sounding it out to make sure she had it right.

"That's right," Janie said over her shoulder.

"Well, it certainly does make you boost-aye," Tonya snickered, eyeing Janie's impressively accentuated chest.

"I feel like I'm naked," Janie grimaced.

"If you saw another woman dressed as you are, what would you think?" Tonya asked.

"That she needed to put on some clothes," Janie snorted.

"In a place like this?" Tonya laughed. "You're going to be practically overdressed."

"It was not my idea to come here," Janie retorted.

"Would you rather just hide here in the room?" Tonya asked. "You said you didn't want to be alone."

"Can't I... do something that doesn't involve dressing like this?" Janie asked.

"Well, there's kitchen work. I don't recommend it," Tonya shrugged.

"Why not?" Janie asked.

"Because new kitchen staff are put on potato and dish duty, do you feel like eight or ten hours of peeling potatoes and washing pots and pans?" Tonya asked.

Janie shrugged. "I've worked in kitchens before. All the Acolytes had to take a turn once a month."

"Well, it's an option. Or you could enjoy your night," Tonya said. "It's up to you."

"When I mentioned the possibility of disguise, this was not what I had in mind," Janie said, looking at herself in the mirror again. She had to admit, she liked the outfit, but she didn't like the idea of everyone seeing her in it.

"What's a disguise for?" Tonya asked with one eyebrow arched.

"Not being recognized," Janie said incredulously.

"Who do you think is going to recognize you?" Tonya laughed.

The incorrigible young woman had a point. Her face was made up in a way that drastically changed her appearance and was half-covered. Her outfit was eye-catching but fit precisely what the other people working wore. "Probably no one," she admitted.

"Who's going to be looking at your face anyway?" Tonya snarked.

Janie looked down at her breasts. They certainly did stand out. "I've spent my life trying to dress in ways that avoided that sort of attention."

"And you still can. Tonight, it'll be like you're a different person. We're even going to come up with a different name for you," Tonya said. "What do you think?"

The idea appealed to her. She had to admit that she liked the idea of so many eyes on her, even though she didn't want them to know who she was. The fantasy was exciting, but the reality scared her. If anyone recognized her, she'd never be able to live it down.

Did it matter? She was going to leave this place anyway. Will would return, and then she would be swept away on a ship into some grand adventure.

She scoffed at herself and rolled her eyes.

"What?" Tonya asked.

"I'm thinking like a ridiculous schoolgirl with a head full of nonsense," Janie said bitterly.

"Oh, that's good. Listen to your inner schoolgirl," Tonya grinned.

"Why?" Janie asked, genuinely confused.

"Because she hasn't forgotten how to hope," Tonya shrugged.

Janie stared at the mirror, lost in thought. Was this what hope felt like? Was this what hope looked like? Was this what a schoolgirl's dreams turned into? An unrecognizable harlot in the mirror?

It was a good disguise, and pretending to be one of Mary's girls for a night was a bit exciting—far more exciting than peeling potatoes.

On the other hand, she didn't know if the person she saw in the mirror was the person she wanted to be. Her family would be horrified at her. Prelate Alexandra would never approve. All the other Scribes and Guards would judge her horribly, save for Thomas.

Thomas would ask her if she was alright.

Her eyes narrowed. She did not care about the opinions of any of them, save for Thomas.

Once she explained everything to him, he would think it was hilarious and never think less of her for this.

"Alright," she nodded.

Tonya clapped her hands. "Oh good! What made up your mind?"

"Anyone who thinks less of me for dressing this way isn't someone who cares about me in the first place. They want me to be someone who does what she's told," Janie said with a slight shrug.

Tonya nodded. "That's true. Remember that anyone who thinks more of you for dressing this way doesn't care about you either. They're just wanting to see you on display."

"Didn't you want to see me on display? This was your idea," Janie said with a bit of reprimand.

"Yes, but I wouldn't have thought less of you for saying no," Tonya shrugged. "It's only fun if you decide what you want."

"You remind me a lot of Bella," Janie said, smiling even though her eyes suddenly felt misty.

"I'll never get tired of hearing that," Tonya grinned, hopping off the bed and coming closer to hold Janie's hands. "So what do you want your disguise name to be."

"Evangelina," Janie said with a devilish look in her eye.

"Well, that's a fancy name," Tonya said with a slight snicker.

"Only my mother and my grandfather call me that," Janie said with a slight glare. "I hate it."

Tonya laughed. "Your inner schoolgirl is a rebellious little thing, isn't she?"

"She is now," Janie said. She lifted her chin, looked at herself in the mirror, and loved the person looking back.

Will was sweating profusely.

The galley could have been a more fun place to be. The stove had to be kept well-stoked to heat the kettles so they could wash the accumulated dishes. The Galley was little more than a wide hallway lined floor-to-ceiling with cupboards and drawers on one wall and a long work table and a two-oven stove along the other. Against the back wall was a large sink with a single porthole window above it. The porthole was open, but between the ambient humidity, the heat of the oven, and the steam from the boiling kettle, the small space was still sweltering.

Will, Jack, and Lace packed into the room, working to clean all the day's dishes. It was hard work. They scraped at cat iron pots with dirty rags, wooden scrapers, and even a metal wire brush that looked like it had been stolen from a blacksmith shop.

Will pushed his wet hair back and out of his face for the fiftieth time, envying Jack's braid. The two were shoulder to shoulder at the sink, scrubbing at the endless pile of pots and pans. At least she was suffering too, he scowled. Her face was bright red. His beige shirt was soaked through and clinging to her body. Will could make out the curves of her breasts and the dents her nipples made in the fabric. A few loose strands of her long brown hair were stuck to the side of her face. The force with which she was scrubbing a cookpan was causing her whole body to shake in ways that were very hard not to watch.

"Make way," Lace growled from behind them. Will and Jack leaned opposite sides, putting their shoulders against the wall as Lace unceremoniously poured another kettle full of boiling water into the sink. Another plume of steam billowed up. Will sighed.

"I thought it was normal to do dishes after each meal," Jack muttered, passing the cookpan she was working on over her shoulder.

"Normally, it is," Lace said, returning to the rinsing and drying station she'd set up. "Today wasn't a normal day. The whole crew was working on splicing ropes so I could secure Sterling's stupid boats."

"Of all the days I could volunteer for dish duty," Jack sighed, tugging at her sopping shirt. I wore the wrong clothes for this."

"Turn around," Lace said.

Jack turned and waited, not sure what was about to happen.

"Unbutton your shirt," Lace said.

Will slowly turned his head, his curiosity suddenly piqued. Lace's hand grabbed him by the back of his skull, and he turned his head back the other way.

"Eyes front, dish-swab," she said flatly.

There was a rustling of wet fabric. "Alright, now pull your arms free and tuck the sleeves under them here," Lace said.

"Ugh, it's sticking to me," Jack said disgustingly. There was some pulling and wet tugging.

"Now gather it all, fold the bottom up over the top and around again into a roll, and tie the whole thing in front," Lace said. There were more wet fabric sounds. Will had been absently washing the same pan since Jack had turned around.

"Oh, I see. That's much better," Jack said. Will turned to look again. Lace gave him an arch look. Jack had removed her shirt, rolled it into a narrow band, and tied it across the front of her chest. It looked a bit like the red sash thing Lace wore across her chest, save that the sleeves of Jack's shirt hung down her front, and her chest was quite a bit larger than Lace's. Still, she needed to be more endowed that the makeshift halter top didn't work.

Jack looked at Will as he looked at her. She put her hands on her hips and waited for him to see enough. Their eyes met for a moment. He was keeping his face deliberately expressionless. She was not. Sardonic was the word that came to Will's mind to describe her expression. He turned back to the pan he hadn't ever stopped scrubbing.

"I think that one is clean," Jack said, her expression amused. Wordlessly, he handed it back to Lace. She glanced between them, then took the pan and left.

They worked silently for a while; then, Jack managed to drop a large cast iron pan. She'd grown up with servants, so despite having broken away from that and developed her independence and impressive survival skills, she didn't have much experience with basic household tasks like washing dishes. Little things were utterly foreign to her, like washing pans under the water rather than balancing them on the edge of the sink like one might do with a plate.

The plume of water exploded from the sink when the iron pan slipped, soaking them both. Will stopped what he was doing, wiped away the soap from his face, and turned to look at Jack. She gave him an appropriately shocked look that quickly faded to embarrassment as water dripped from her face. Behind them, Lace started laughing. Jack did, too, after a moment.

"This is a profoundly humbling experience," Jack muttered.

"Here, switch with me. You still look like a drowning rat," Lace snorted. The two women did an awkward shuffle around each other, shuddering Will a bit. He leaned to the side again to give them room. Lace stepped in and pulled a pan from the steaming, soapy tub. Her tight braids and penchant for not wearing much served her well here. Her upper body glistened, but she didn't look half as miserable as Jack had, and Will still did. The red band tied across her chest didn't retain much water.

Deciding he'd had enough, Will removed his shirt and hung it from one of the many hooks in the ceiling generally reserved for large pots.

Lace eyed him with an amused look, taking note of the sprawling treasure map tattooed on

Will's chest and back, then scrubbing her pot.

There was a clatter behind them. Lace spun. Will just looked over her shoulder. Jack was standing, bracing herself on the wall as a dozen pots and pans finished falling out of a cupboard and skidded to rest on the floor. Lace winced in sympathy. I will try not to laugh.

Jack glared at both of them.

"This entire setup is miserable!" Jack spat, her embarrassment finally becoming frustration and anger. "The sink has nowhere stable to balance what we're working on! And are we supposed to pile everything into the cupboards and latch the doors? That doesn't stop them from crashing around and falling over! We're on a ship! Everything moves! It's like rolling the dice whenever we open a new cupboard door!"

Will continued to keep his mouth shut. He'd been doing that since Mister North had led them back and put them to work. It seemed like the wise thing to do when in close quarters with two women with sharp weapons and sharper tongues. He had to admit that watching Jack struggle with something as simple as watching dishes was deeply satisfying.

"When you're the cook, you can decide how you want things done," Lace shrugged.

"Your cook is an idiot," Jack said, quickly picking up the scattered cookware.

"He feeds the whole crew three times a day, every day. He gets up first and ends his duty day last. He works his ass off harder than anyone else on the ship. I doubt he has a lot of energy left to redesign the storage system," Lace said flatly.

Jack wiped her hand across her face to remove the beaded sweat and water. "No, I suppose not."

"Do you want to spit out whatever you've been chewing on since we arrived?" Lace asked in a noncomforting tone.

Jack's eyes flicked to Will's back. Lace raised an eyebrow at her and snorted. Jack looked affronted. "I could ask you the same thing," Jack countered.

"Oh, I think it's obvious," Lace said, side-eyeing Will. She returned to scrubbing pans but kept talking to Jack like Will wasn't beside her. "Our new jackass Navigator has disrupted every single part of this ship's operations, and he hasn't explained why to anyone."

"Yeah, that sounds like him," Jack agreed, filling the kettle from the barrel near the door and setting it on the stove.

"Miss Webber, you're Akula, right?" Will asked conversationally, continuing his work.

"Only the Captain calls me Miss Webber. And yeah, why?" Lace asked. Her tone could have been more conversational.

"I got to see an Akula fishing web in action once. Have you seen that?" Will asked.

"Of course I have. My parents are both fishermen. What about it?" Lace asked, not following Will's thought process at all.

"The day I saw it, an Akula fishing crew waited until a large school of Tuna was migrating through a nearby reef. I was anchored there looking for a particular wreck, and the islanders came out to fish. It's an ingenious system—all those fishermen working together like that.

They caught more fish in an afternoon than I'd ever seen before. I heard a haul like that would have fed the whole community for a month on one day's catch," Will said.

"Yeah, so?" Lace shrugged. To her, that wasn't special. It's how her people had been doing things for hundreds of years.




To be continued