Michel the cabin boy ran through the lower deck. “Any maid good with a needle, come help us mend the sails!” he yelled.
Marthe moved as if to answer his call but Élisabeth grabbed her arm to hold her back.
“He needs us!” Marthe shouted above the storm. Lou jumped down from the top bunk and Marthe wriggled free to join her. Élisabeth watched as they staggered towards the trunks and were immediately flung sideways when the ship was caught by a swell. Rose leapt to rescue them. She crawled forward on her knees and guided them back to the bunks.
“What can we do?” Marthe panted, wet hair plastered to her face. Just then an almighty crack rent the air, louder and closer than the last thunderclap. The brides shrieked.
“Devil be damned,” Lou swore. “Was that the mast?”
No one knew. Élisabeth grabbed Lou’s and Marthe’s hands and squeezed them tightly. Only faith or magic could save them, and she did not have any magic.
“Pray with me!” She started to chant the holy words over and over.
Holy Virgin, mother of God, serve as our passport and preserve us from peril. Merciful Saint Anne, we cast ourselves at your feet and humbly beg you.
The words were one long, urgent breath. Her stomach cramped, but she could not spare a moment’s worry for the torment inside her.Serve-as-our-passport-and-preserve-us-from-peril.Above their heads, sailors hollered for an axe to cut the rigging free.Serve-as-our-passport-and-preserve-us-from-peril.Hearing their cries, Élisabeth opened her eyes. Marthe’s head was swivelled round, her mouth agape.
“We’re going to drown,” she cried.
“Pray!” Élisabeth shouted, jerking her attention back to their circle with a tug of her hands. They were lost and theSaint-Jean-Baptistewas beaten, no longer a match for the witch’s power and the sea’s rage. Only the Blessed Virgin could save them.
Michel ran through the cabin again, shouting, “The mizzenmast is down!”
Serve as our passport and preserve us from peril.Élisabeth was exhausted from terror. What would happen if she let go of the others’ hands?Serve as our passport and preserve us from peril.What would happen if she took a step closer to the edge of the ravine?Serve as our passport and preserve us from peril.The words swirled in her head as she turned her face upwards, ready for the end; her eyes lifted to God.
A figure stood next to their bunk.
It was the velvet witch, her dress soaked through, looking more dishevelled than when Élisabeth had seen her last. Which was when? Weeks ago? She caught Élisabeth’s eye and leaned towards her.
“Your prayers are no use,” she hissed.
“What…?” Élisabeth was struck dumb with terror.
“I said—your prayers are no use!”
Élisabeth grew cold as a terrible realization came over her. The witch had come to mock them as she sent them to their doom.
“What does she want?” Marthe cried, squeezing Élisabeth’s hand.
“She said… she said our prayers are no use!” Élisabeth wailed, horrified to hear the words that came out of her mouth. Their prayers had to work. It was the only hope they had. She squeezed Marthe’s and Rose’s hands, as if to jolt the girls back to their purpose.
The witch pushed past Élisabeth, leaning into the bunk so the others could hear her. “No, I said: Have you a needle I can use?”
“I do!” Marthe cried and dropped Élisabeth’s hand. “I tried to get to my trunk a moment ago, but I was thrown backwards.”
“Show me,” the witch commanded.
Marthe clambered out of the bottom bunk and braced herself against the violent motion of the ship. Then, as if by magic, the ship paused in its dance, almost becalmed. The rocking slowed until it became no worse than a mother tending to her nursling in his cradle. Élisabeth’s jaw fell open at the demonstration of the witch’s power.
“Quickly!” The velvet witch pulled Marthe towards the trunks. “We are in the eye of the storm. It will not last.”
They dropped to their knees and Marthe flipped open the lid of her trousseau. Several dozen needles were stuck carefully into a slip of paper, all that she would ever need in her married life. The witch gave Marthe a solemn nod of thanks and grabbed the needles. Then she raced towards the ladder to the main deck and disappeared into the night. Marthe jumped back into the bunk with the others, her eyes wild and fierce with determination.
“She’s going to save us,” Marthe said.
Élisabeth gripped the frame of the bunk and stared at Marthe in disbelief.The witch would not save them, she had called the Devil her master to take them all to Hell.As if in answer, the ship began to heave and pitch. Once again, the girls were tossed in their bunks. Their screams echoed all around.
The velvet witch had to be stopped. She had to be thrown into the sea. Élisabeth had to tell the priest what she knew about the letter, never mind that he might turn his gaze towards her. She had to, if they were to survive the journey. She placed a foot on the floor and gripped the bunk post as she pulled herself up.
