Chapter Eight
Eight
The next time I hear a commotion above deck is nearly a fortnight later.
It may be the first time in my life I have done as I’ve been told, but I’d rather not risk another ordeal like the storm.
I still wake in a cold sweat from nightmares of the sea sliding down my throat as I’m thrown from the deck and swallowed by black waves.
I have nothing else to do, so I stay in my hammock and doze fitfully between bouts of intermittent yelling and the thunder of men running to and fro on the deck above.
Finally a hand on my shoulder jostles me awake, and I look up to see Trevor leaning over me. “Cap’n wants ye. Says ye got work to do.”
I suck in a breath and sit up, struggling a bit as I fumble out of my hammock. “Damnation, what time is it?” Trevor shrugs, and I roll my eyes as I yank on my shoes. “Helpful.”
“Not my fault ye slept in.”
I wrinkle my nose, but he’s right. I pull on my jacket and smooth it out. “What was that commotion earlier?”
Trevor grins at that. “A new shipment,” he says. “Wait till ye see.”
A shipment? I rub at my face and run my fingers through my hair.
“Have we made port?” I ask, but Trevor is gone.
With a sigh, I make my way up into the blinding afternoon sun.
Once my eyes adjust, I am stunned to see that we are tethered to another ship, a smaller merchant vessel.
There is no port nearby; we have apparently pulled up to trade on the water.
I’d never heard of such a thing before seeing the strange trade listings in the old ledgers—but then, I know very little of how ships and trade work.
Captain Sharpe hops down off the rail and passes by a stack of crates and casks, patting one with a grin on his face. I smile back at him—his glee is infectious. “What’s all this?” I ask.
“Get your ledger and quill, Kitten. I need you to log everything the men bring on board.”
I can’t help but steal a glance at his right arm, though his shirtsleeves right now are dry and opaque. “Is that all wine?”
“Port, and some beer,” he says, clearly pleased with himself. “We’ll have it bottled when we make landfall.”
Port. My mouth waters just at the thought of it. As I let myself into Captain Sharpe’s cabin to fetch the ledger and quill, I wonder how willing he would be to part ways with a few bottles.
I spend the rest of the afternoon logging every crate and cask on deck—spices, port, sugar, tobacco, beeswax.
Tristan and Trevor organize the haul, and only when I have logged how many of each item there are do the crew move everything down into the hold.
We’ve even gained two new men in the trade, which I’m not entirely clear on, but they seem pleased with their change of fortune.
I wonder if they, like Renard, were also pressed into service.
The men are in great spirits. At some point after we cut the merchant vessel loose and part ways, I hear a roar of cheers and turn to see Captain Sharpe crack open the lid on one of the beer kegs I just finished counting.
I look back down at my ledger to correct the keg count, just in time to see the sugar crates beside me disappearing in my periphery. I glance up and hurry after Rodriguez. “Wait! I haven’t finished counting those!”
Rodriguez laughs as he takes the first step below. “Should’ve counted faster, lordling.”
“Come on, I’m just doing what the captain asked me to do,” I groan.
He narrows his pretty blue eyes, but he’s still smiling. He’s in a good mood, for whatever reason. “Twenty,” he says.
“What?”
“There are twenty. We’ve taken down five already; this is the sixth.” He nods to the remaining pile. “And there are fourteen left.”
I turn to follow his gaze and see that he’s right.
“Ah. Thank you.” I shouldn’t be surprised that he can do such basic sums, but the privileged snob in me is a little surprised nonetheless.
I’m ashamed enough by the thought that I dare not share it.
I simply log the number, and then a mug of beer appears under my nose.
I move my ledger quickly to keep anything from spilling on it and take the mug with a smile. “Thank you, Billy.”
“Captain says to take the rest of the evening off, if you’re finished counting.”
“How generous of him, since I would have already been finishing up around this time,” I reply with a smirk.
Billy grins back at me. “Yes, but you slept till after noon,” he returns.
Touché.
I say nothing to that as I bury my nose in the beer.
I’m not much of a beer drinker myself, but this one is well balanced and leaves no bitter aftertaste.
It’s good beer. Although I’ll take anything over the grog we’re served morning and night.
“Everyone’s in good spirits,” I point out unnecessarily.
“It was a good haul,” Billy says with a nod. “And an easy one.”
I’m not sure what qualifies a haul as easy or difficult, but I don’t much care. I’m enjoying the beer too much to press further. “I saw quite a bit of fruit,” I say instead. “Oranges and grapes. I thought I saw bananas, too, but when I went back to count, I was wrong.”
“The men threw them overboard.”
“What?” I set my beer down and look at Billy. “Why on earth would they—”
“They’re bad luck.”
“That’s absurd.”
Billy looks at me and smiles. “You ever see a shipwreck, Kit?”
I’m not sure what that has to do with bananas. “No,” I admit. “Although I once saw a vessel burned off the port in Falmouth for pox.”
“Seen my fair share of them. The men, too. You can always see bananas floating in the wreckage.”
I laugh, but the look he gives me shuts me up quickly. “You’re having me on,” I insist.
He shakes his head. “Not worth the risk to take ’em on board. Which is a real shame, because I’d do anything for some fresh plantains.”
“What is that? Some kind of Cuban dish made with bananas?”
“No, they’re a different fruit,” Billy explains. “But they look very similar. My mother used to make the most delicious maduros with them.” He’s mentioned his mother before in stories about growing up first in the colonies, then Cuba.
“Are they also bad luck?”
Billy looks like he’s considering this. “You know,” he says, “I don’t know. But I think the men wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. At least… the white men.”
He gives me a pointed look, and I offer a sheepish smile in return. “I won’t disagree with you,” I confess, and take another sip of my beer.
Billy pats me on the shoulder. “Go on and get yourself something to eat, Kit. The men are in good spirits—it’s a good night to make friends. You ought to start spending time with someone other than Renard.”
I see the truth in that, though I don’t correct him by reminding him that I have also made friends with the twins.
I simply nod before he leaves my side to join the captain, Mr. Tydes, and Martel, the sailing master, up on the poop deck.
I look down at the ledger in my hand… and then smile as an idea sparks to life.
Billy has inspired me. I think I finally know how to make the crew of the Deliverance like me—or at least tolerate me.
I really ought to be offended by the dubious stare Captain Sharpe greets me with the next morning as I swan into his office at half past nine. Apparently, that is far earlier than I have ever appeared in his presence, for he pulls out his pocket watch twice to make sure he’s got the time right.
“Good morning, Kitten,” he says, his voice laced with suspicion.
“Is it?” I ask as I plop my ledger onto his desk. I took it down to the mess with me the night before. “You sound thrilled to see me.”
“You want something.”
I gasp and set a hand over my heart. “You cut me to the quick, Captain.”
“Cut the shit.”
I can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of me.
I am in a grand mood today. I had good beer last night—quite a bit of it—and I wasn’t threatened or pushed around even once.
“You’re charming this morning,” I say as I drop into his chair as if it were my own.
He stares at me with one brow raised, and I know that if I weren’t as pretty as I am, he would already have dragged me out by the collar and reprimanded me for insubordination.
But I am pretty.
I offer him a wide smile and bat my lashes. “Captain,” I start.
“Ah, here it comes,” he says, moving around the desk to perch beside me on the corner.
“When was the last time you purchased new bedding for the crew?”
“Is that what you’re after? A new blanket? The men are in charge of their own bunks,” Captain Sharpe says. “They all know that.”
“Mmm, to be sure,” I say with a nod that tells him I haven’t heeded a word he’s said. “But wouldn’t it be nice if you, their captain, were to… surprise them all?”
“Surprise them? This isn’t a pleasure barge, Kitten,” Captain Sharpe reminds me, but he’s grinning, his sharp eyes narrowed in clear amusement. “What are you up to?”
“I just thought—”
“For fuck’s sake, spit it out.”
“The men confided in me that they want new blankets, but none of them are willing to be the first to purchase one.”
“The men confided in you,” he repeats slowly.
“Ah, well… Trevor and Tristan mentioned that the men had spoken about such things…”
“Mm-hmm…”
I sigh and look up at him with my best puppy-dog eyes, for they have never failed me when I wanted something I ought not to have. He simply stares back, unmoved.
Peeved, I release a puff of air through my lips and cross my arms. “Come now, you clearly have the means for it. Look at the ledger!” I flip it open and motion to yesterday’s shipment.
“If you can get your hands on such a large haul without it costing you much at all, you clearly have some pull. Trade a few casks of port—that’ll be plenty to cover new bedding. ”
“What do you get out of this, Kitten?” Captain Sharpe asks. He sounds genuinely curious now, at least.
I bite my lip and close the ledger, strumming my fingertips against it. “Well… I wouldn’t mind credit for giving you the idea.”
“That so?”
I look up at him, pouting once more, but with much less gusto.
“There are over two hundred men on this ship, and I’ve made friends with four.
And I can name perhaps another three who don’t want to break my very unique and attractive nose.
I would look positively dreadful with a broken nose, Captain. ”
“Have you tried not being a little shit?” he asks, smirking down at me.
I wrinkle said attractive nose at the suggestion. “You might as well ask me to turn water into wine.”
He barks out a hearty laugh, and I know I’ve won. Even as he shakes his head and gets to his feet, I know. “You work out the maths on the bedding, Kitten, and handle the trade when we reach port, and you can have your new blankets.”
“Pillows, too?”
“Get the hell out of my chair.”
I smile up at him and get to my feet. “Aye, aye, Captain,” I say as I step out of his way. Then I snatch up my ledger and take my place on his settee.
“Two hundred and thirty-four,” he says a moment later, and I turn to look at him with an unspoken question written across my brow. “There are two hundred and thirty-four souls aboard this ship, myself included,” he replies.
I smile again and nod. “Thank you, Captain.”
And just like that, his attention is once more buried in his maps, and I am left to my scheming.