Chapter 14
“ I quit,” I muttered, the words a mere hint of a whisper from my parched lips.
By the end of the day, my blisters had blisters, my tongue felt like a dried-up sock in my mouth, and the flame in my chest had died to an ember.
I stared into the bathroom mirror and winced.
My skin was the color of a ripe strawberry, and my lips were so chapped I could have used them as sandpaper. I nearly laughed when I realized that Moll’s new and improved shoe shine—the kind she’d used to fix my beard earlier—had actually stayed on this time.
Quickly, I rinsed my ravaged hands and wiped the sweat off my face.
If I wanted a chance to overhear some dinner chatter, I needed to get to the dining hall. One more hour. Sixty minutes of trying to make some headway, and then I could leave and nurse my wounds. A long bath and ten straight hours of sleep would surely help me get a new perspective on things.
Tears pricked at the back of my eyelids as I dried my hands.
“Nope. Pirates don’t cry. Get your ass back out there, Harmon.”
I stepped back onto the deck a minute later, just in time to see the others making their way toward the galley. A couple of them shoulder-checked me as they passed.
"Out of the way, swabby!"
The last one caught me full force—and he was a big fucker too. I stumbled, nearly caught my footing, and then tripped on the handle of the very mop I’d left out before heading to the bathroom. It sent me pinwheeling backward, and I landed flat on my back.
The breath whooshed out of me, and for a second, I thought my heart had stopped.
“That had to hurt. Talk about learning a lesson on the job, ay, boy?”
I blinked up at the sky, only to find Trick-Eyed Tom bending over me, a grin stretched across his face.
"That’s what you get for leaving stuff out like that," he said. "Bet you’ll know better next time."
He reached out a hand as if to help me up, but the moment I lifted mine to grasp it, he pulled away.
"Gotta learn to help yourself if you want others to help you, swabby," he murmured, then continued past me, leaving me sprawled on the deck, staring up at the dusky purple sky. This time, when the flame flickered back to life, it wasn’t determination. It was fury.
And it was an inferno.
I sucked in a sharp breath and leapt to my feet, shouldering my way through the crowd of men moving toward the galley. I was heading toward the middle of the ship.
“Fuck the devil and his gauntlet.”
I reached for the makeshift belt—made from an old, red tie that Garth had found lying around—and yanked one end until it slipped free from my loops.
Time was ticking. I’d already wasted the entire day doing nothing besides helping the insidious Captain Hook clean his poop deck.
And for what? Not like the next town of innocents he raided would give a rat’s ass that he kept a tidy ship.
When I reached the main mast, I wrapped my bloodied right hand in the belt, then reached for the small dagger strapped to my shin, freeing it from its leather sheath. I tucked it between my teeth, then turned to the rickety rope ladder that led up to the ship’s crow’s nest.
"Don’t look up. Don’t look down," I muttered through clenched teeth.
Letting out a shuddering sigh, I tightened my grip and stepped onto the first rung. Agony shot through my palms and fingers as the bristly rope ripped open any blisters that hadn’t already been torn.
Focus on the positives, I told myself. At least the other hand—wrapped in the silky length of fabric Garth had given me—didn’t feel half as bad.
One foot at a time.
Blood rushed in my ears, competing with the buffeting winds that had once again picked up as dusk slowly turned to dark.
Six rungs. Seven. Eight.
I stopped counting at forty. The thought that each rung meant another foot or more made me nauseous.
Don’t look up. Don’t look down.
The mast groaned, shifting slightly, sending the ladder swinging far out and to the left. I squeezed my eyes shut, gritting my teeth tighter around the dagger in my mouth.
Another six rungs. Then my foot slipped. I scrambled, my hands on fire, but surely, I was nearly there? Stopping now would make everything I’d done so far, a waste.
Who knew if I’d ever be brave enough to try again? So I forced myself to think about the things that mattered.
Molly. The Speaker. The vague, but oh so real concept of home. The woman’s face that showed up in my dreams from time to time, her wide smile and sparkling hazel eyes. My Pawpaw, Willie Fallowell. His face beaming with pride as I forged my first weapon.
I was eating up the ladder now, my steps growing quicker, surer—even as my shoulder muscles began to cramp and my back spasmed.
Almost there. You can do it, Harm.
Over the sound of my own blood pounding, I heard a violent screech that sent an icy wave of terror rolling over me.
Flying mantis?
No. It was only when Fetch’s mind brushed against mine—when I felt his fear and anger—that I realized it was him and he was furious.
It’s okay. I’m almost there.
I could sense his rejection of that statement, and that was when I made the biggest mistake of all.
I looked up.
Then I looked down.
I still had another twenty rungs to climb just to reach the crow’s nest. Worse than that? Now I could see what I hadn’t before. The crow’s nest was the end of the road as far as the ladder was concerned. The rest of the way was exactly as Tom had described it.
I’d be scooting up the pole without the benefit of the ladder…or anything else, for that matter.
For a second, I froze. There was no chance I could climb back down. Just the thought had me so dizzy, the world started spinning.
Up. It was the only way.
I closed my eyes and began to sing under my breath.
“Therrrre once was a lady named Mary, who farmed by the sea—it was airy.”
The silly little song Molly had made up for the kids on Neverland. I moved to the rhythm.
One step, then two. Three, then four.
I warbled the last note, letting it linger before opening my eyes. Relief flooded in as I realized I’d made it. I’d reached the crow’s nest. Using what felt like my last reserve of strength, I pulled myself onto the platform and collapsed flat on my back, trying not to puke.
The wind howled around me, and for a second, it almost sounded like it was calling my name.
Fetch fluttered down beside me, poking at my face with his beak, the distinct feeling of his disapproval prickling at the edges of my awareness.
Then I realized with a start that it wasn’t the wind howling at all. It was voices, and they were…cheering?
For me.
"Harmon! Harmon!"
I swallowed hard, fighting through the agony. "I’m sorry, buddy," I murmured. "But I’ve got to finish this."
There’s no place like home.
My whole body was like one, raw, exposed nerve and I cried out as I forced myself up onto my knees first, then onto shaking legs.
The gusts had my eyes watering as I looked up to study the rest of the path that lay before me.
In truth, it wasn’t that much further. The mast was thin this high up…
Thin enough to wrap my thighs around. I squinted as I rose to my tiptoes.
Roughly hewn divots peppered the wood above me, and I realized what they were.
Handholds.
With a silent prayer of thanks for those who’d gone before me, I dug my fingers into the wood and squeezed my thighs together.
At a snail’s pace, I shimmied up the last few yards of the mast. Every muscle shook with fatigue. Every inch of my skin burned.
What if I didn’t make it? What would become of Molly and those I cared about? What if I’d bet on myself, and this time, I was wrong?
I let out a strangled gasp, lifting my hand for the next hand hold—only to feel my fingertips brush against cloth. With trembling fingers, I reached down and tugged the dagger from between my teeth, my jaw aching from holding it so long.
Then, lifting the belt high above my head, I took a deep breath and bellowed the words as loud as I could:
"FOR CAPTAIN HOOK!"
I pressed the fluttering piece of cloth against the others, gripped the pole with all my might, then swung my dagger—burying it to the hilt through the belt and into the wood.
I hung there, panting, as my fingers palsied around the hilt of the dagger. It was only as that initial surge of adrenaline and elation peaked and ebbed that I realized the truth.
There was only one way I was leaving this mast. And it sure as hell wasn’t by my own strength.
A great gust of wind battered the material above me, and I lifted my gaze.
The crimson flag waved valiantly in the night, my belt now a part of it.
It was the last thing I saw before the ship rocked hard to the left and my muscles finally betrayed me and gave way.
The last thing I saw before I pinched my eyes closed was the deck I’d just cleaned, hundreds of feet below me.
Maybe Tom would be the one to have to clean it this time, I thought, laughter bubbling in my throat.
There was no time to relish the thought though, because I was weightless and falling, Fetch’s screech filling my head…
Nooo!