Chapter 13
H alfway through the next morning, I was kicking myself for that optimism the night before.
“What's the matter there, slim? Your belly too soft for this life, boy?” a mocking voice called from behind me as I retched over the side of the ship yet again.
How was it even possible?
Surely the bit of dried beef and egg I’d eaten for breakfast at dawn had come up on one of the first twenty times I'd puked.
Although now, I was mainly drive-heaving with a bit of bile mixed in for good measure.
Like my body was rejecting my stomach entirely, and the demons inside weren't going to stop raging until that, too, had been given to the gods of the sea as an offering.
The massive galleon rocked left to right again, and I wrapped my arms around the railing to keep from getting tossed over the side.
This couldn't be normal. How could anyone stomach the constant rolling and pitching? But as I swiped at my mouth and turned, I noted that the stocky man giving me shit a few yards away seemed to have no trouble keeping his balance—or his breakfast from making an encore appearance.
I tried to manage a smile as the ship settled some.
"I've been on plenty of boats before,” I called back. “Just don’t recall it being this choppy."
"I fear you picked the wrong line of work, little man," he said with a guffaw, flashing a handful of teeth—one of them gold. "Luckily for you, the wind’s shifting. Should be only another hour or so of this, then smooth sailing until we hit port."
My pulse kicked up a notch, and I tried to seem nonchalant as the boat rocked again and I held on with one arm for dear life. An hour more of this? I wasn’t going to be alive in an hour because I’d have puked all my innards up and made them out-ards by then.
"Port, huh? Where are we heading anyway?"
"Cap shares that info with sailors, not scrubs.” He shot a glance up to the sky and let out a sniff. “Better get to it. He expects this whole deck to be swabbed before we break for supper," he said before turning to limp away.
"Hey, I’m Harmon," I called after him. "What’s your name, anyway?"
"Trick-Eyed Tom," he called back, squinting against the sun and wind.
That was as good a pirate name as I’d heard. I forged ahead, unwilling to miss the chance to make an ally despite my aching gut.
"How’d you get that nickname?"
I’d barely gotten the words out when he plucked his eyeball out, spun it like a top on the tip of his index finger, then stuck it back in place with a wink.
"No idea," he said with a shrug. "Now stop stalling and get back to work."
I picked up the mop I’d been using and dunked it into the hot water and lye solution, trying my best to ignore the blazing sun overhead.
At this rate, I wouldn’t have to worry about being forced to walk the plank or getting eaten by Noru, The Ticking Croc.
I’d be dead long before that, just from a day of sailing on the sea.
I’d considered myself pretty tough, but I had to admit—the situation was humiliating.
As the day progressed, Trick-Eyed Tom turned out to be right.
The sea calmed, but by the time the lunch bell rang, I was shaking from head to toe, dizzy from dehydration, sun poisoning, or maybe scurvy?
I couldn’t be sure. I dragged my sorry ass into the galley and found an empty seat at one of the tables.
No sooner had I sat down than Molly came scurrying over.
"Come with me," she hissed, grabbing me by the wrist and yanking me bodily from the chair.
A minute later, I found myself in a small bathroom behind closed doors.
"Your beard is almost melted off.” She reached into her apron pocket for some shoe polish she’d squirreled away.
"Got to check on that a couple times a day. Now I finally understand why I had to do all the heavy lifting back in Little Alabaster with the disguises and such. You can’t stay in character worth shit. "
I was too exhausted to remind her that the actual reason she’d needed a disguise instead of me was because she’d stabbed the king with her shoe, and if they found her, she’d have been hung or put to the guillotine on the spot.
"That’s better," she muttered as she leaned back, inspecting my face. "Your skin is covered in salt. Going to have to do a deep cleanse later, or you’re going to get wrinkles. Now come on, I made lunch. You’ll feel better after you eat something."
My pitiful stomach gurgled in protest, but I didn’t fight it as she dragged me back into the dining hall.
Fetch had flown in to join me, and I wound up just sitting there in an exhausted, near-trance state for a while.
It was only when Moll set a plate in front of me—with what looked to be some kind of pie—that I realized the room had filled and most of the other tables were packed, while the three empty chairs around me were notably unoccupied.
Lovely.
I needed to at least get closer to the others if I wanted to eavesdrop, but I was too wrung out to do more than sip gratefully at the lemon water and nibble on some tangy yellow fruit Molly had given me.
"Who made the eel pie?" a gruff voice called out.
Molly stuck her head in from the galley with a wave and a wide smile. "I did. Do you like it?"
"Tastes like a greasy worm fucked another greasy worm and gave birth to this, wrapped it in paste, and took a shit on it."
“Okay, that’s a lot.” Molly faltered, then nodded, forcing a bright smile. "Got it! I’ll do better next time," she said, tucking back into the galley as quickly as she’d come.
Her cooking skills had never been stellar, but I mentally recorded the man’s face, filing it away for later. It was one thing for me to make fun of Moll. It was something else for a stranger to do it—especially in front of all these people, when she was trying her hardest. Ungrateful fucker.
Although, as I took a closer look at the bit of pie on my plate, I had to admit, it did not look appetizing. I squinted…Was it still moving?
I covered that part of the plate with a napkin and went in for some more fruit. Once I’d eaten my fill of everything but the pie—slowly and carefully—and gotten some time out of the sun, I felt a little better and tried to home in on conversations happening around me.
"Old Mick and the gang looted the fancy part of Covington."
"I love it when a scallywag parts a rich wanker like that from his gold."
"Word is they’ve headed northwest. Once we’re done with this job, maybe we could catch them on the high seas and relieve them of that burden."
"Did you mention the idea to the captain yet?"
"Not yet. I was going to talk to Xander about it first."
"She had big, soft bosoms like two pillows. I asked her, ‘Could I just nestle my face between them for a while, lass?’ "
I was about to stroll around the room when all the chatter suddenly came to a screeching halt. A second later, Hook stepped into the dining hall.
Most of the men muttered, "Captain," under their breath by way of greeting and continued eating. Hook’s gaze swept the room, pausing on me before flicking to Fetch—then pointedly looking away as I raised a hand to wave hello.
Molly came scurrying out a moment later with a tray in hand.
"Here you go, sir. I gave you a double portion of griddle cakes, in case you were extra hungry."
Hook accepted the food and turned away without a word, leaving the galley.
The hushed conversation resumed the second he was out of earshot.
Not exactly a happy family, then. That was good. Maybe one of them would be willing to help us if we needed it.
"Ever finish that deck, swabby?"
I looked up to find Trick-Eyed Tom squinting down at me. "I did.”
"Great. Now there’s only three others like it that you need to finish before we’re done for the day. Better pick up the pace!"
He looked pretty pleased with himself for dropping the bad news on me. But he was the only person who had spoken to me all day, and I wasn’t about to let him go that easily.
"Hang on a second, Tom. Can I ask you something? You all seem like a friendly lot. I just want to be part of that. Anything I can do to make them like me?”
“Like you?” He shook his head with a laugh. "You’d have to be part of the crew. We don’t take kindly to strangers."
"I thought I was part of the crew."
"Not without doing the initiation first."
"Initiation?”
He looked around, then leaned forward. "You’d have to complete The Devil’s Gauntlet, of course."
Of course. The Devil’s Fucking Gauntlet. Just for once, couldn’t it be The Kitten’s Paw? Or The Goldfish’s Gill?
I swallowed an exhausted sigh. “And what, exactly, does that entail?"
“You seen those red streamers hanging above the crow’s nest?”
I had but hadn’t given them much thought. They looked like someone had shredded a crimson flag, leaving it in tatters that whipped and writhed in the wild winds.
“Well, when each of us became part of the crew, we shimmied up the mast and pinned a strip of cloth to the top. Represents our lifeblood, it does. A show of loyalty to Cap, and our crewmates. Pirates and scallywags we might be, but these men is my brothers. I’d die for any of ‘em. You want to be part o’ the crew?
You’ve to do the same. Not that I’m recommending it,” he added with a chuckle and a shrug.
“Something tells me you’ve neither the muscle nor the heart for it, but you asked, so I’m answering. ”
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me to stare after him with something like dogged determination flickering to life in my chest like a flame. He might be right about the muscle, but he was wrong about the heart.
Iron heart, forged in the flames of poverty, fear and questionable decisions.
I’d made Willy Fallowell fall in love with me, despite everything Druzilla did to keep it from happening.
I’d somehow charmed old Bertrand the falconer and turned him into a friend.
Hell, I’d even made the O’Donnelly’s—a family of smugglers and criminals who valued their own hides above all else—into allies.
There was no quit in this girl from The Hollow.
I’d find a way to make these pirates accept me, even if it killed me.