Chapter 6
Rosetta peeked up under the rim of her hat at the sails as the men furled them away. The crew worked tirelessly, yanking ropes through rigging to pull them up towards their holding rods before tying them securely. Not one of them feared falling, all too experienced to make such a rookie mistake.
Others were on their hands and knees, scrubbing the main deck, while more were on the lower decks, pumping out water.
Even more were on the outside of the hull, suspended by ropes, scraping off the barnacles they could reach without careening the vessel.
They were also currently replacing frayed rope, dodgy rigging, and removing damaged timber slats to hammer new ones in.
As much as she thought the ship could do with a thorough cleaning by beaching it and ridding it of rot as well as the barnacles clinging to its base, she couldn’t waste that much time.
Everyone was moving, not a soul resting.
“I expect you all to keep working,” she shouted. “We only have a few hours until sunset.”
Then Rosetta finally walked down the stairs that took her below. She no longer had Mr Smith on her tail constantly. After so many weeks, an assassination attempt would have revealed itself by now. It hadn’t – all her new crew kept their blades and hands to themselves.
That didn’t mean one or two of them hadn’t gotten their throats slit at the mention or rumour of a mutiny. With the fear that her crew – truly set on having her as their captain – would hear of it, they stopped trying to have her voted out.
They didn’t want to risk their own swift death.
The tension had eventually faded, and everyone worked together as one team.
It helped that they’d recently attacked a bountiful trading boat.
They’d stolen everything worth taking, and she told the men that once they found port, she would sell the lot and give them a share of the wages – just as she had done with what had been on this ship when she’d commandeered it.
She’d spent what she’d needed to in order to restock the ship before handing out most of the spoils to the old crew. She gave a handful of her own coins as payment for helping her.
Rosetta herself had taken very little. She had bigger goals than glittering gold.
Making her way further into the bowels of the frigate, she found the room she wanted with the man she needed to see inside.
“Mr Darkley,” she greeted as she entered the candlelit kitchen, taking the older gentleman by surprise.
“Ye got light feet, Silver,” he replied, chopping his cleaver through the head of a fish. “Ye shouldn’t startle men like me. We tend to swing first, then ask questions.”
He turned his large frame towards her. Mr Glen Darkley was a tall man, towering over her with a large, muscled gut and wide shoulders.
He sported a well-maintained moustache that curled at the edges, as if he’d managed to gel the tips, but the rest of his face was shaved.
His grey hair was over an inch long at the top, but the sides were surprisingly neat.
She couldn’t find a better word than stern to explain his features. His jaw was stern, his black eyebrows stern, and even his wide nose was masculine and stern.
His eyes were usually squinted, as though he showed little care about anything enough to open them fully. His bottom lip, the only one she could see, was always in a grumpy, downward pull.
He wore a white tunic rolled up to reveal thick forearms covered in hair. It was secured up to his collarbone, one button shy of being closed all the way. His lower half was clothed in brown breeches, and the whole ensemble was covered by a brown apron.
“You are just too busy in your activities to listen to anything around you,” she rebuffed, taking a seat at one of the long tables available.
She placed her feet on the bench running down the length of it to make herself comfortable.
“Alister had a cleaver thrown at him once,” he told her, grabbing another fish. “If I’m willing to throw one at him, ye better hope yer just as quick to avoid it.”
She leaned back to rest on straightened arms, tilting her knees to the side in a way that spread her legs apart. She didn’t care to sit in a lady-like fashion.
Mr Darkley was a calm man – strict, but calm.
He was the cook for the previous crew, and she had come to learn he was an excellent one. Since his food was better than anything her own could make, she’d placed him in charge of feeding the entire crew.
“Where’s your boy?” she asked, searching around the dim kitchen and finding it empty.
Clint Darkley was a young boy, no older than fourteen. He had messy black hair that didn’t know if it wanted to be long or short. He often tied it back from his face with a faded red bandana so he could see beneath the mop.
Rosetta regularly caught him peeking at her and figured the young teenager had a crush. She was the only woman around and they were always so full of... annoying urges at that age.
“Who knows? Lad’s probably off climbing the shrouds when he ought to be down here with me, helping.” He nodded to a barrel. “We got fresh lettuce from that trading boat; I needed him to help me peel it.”
She’d come to learn he’d opted to stay on the Howling Death because of his son. He thought it’d be safer if he stayed on rather than joining Alister on whatever journey he would be forced on because of her.
As much as she needed all the crew, the idea she could be putting the young boy into a very dangerous situation that could get him killed weighed on her. She’d tried to get them to leave when she’d stopped at Vinil, but he’d refused and she didn’t press him.
It wasn’t her place.
With a silent sigh, she hopped down from the table and reached into the barrel, bumping him with her hip before extracting a head of lettuce.
“We’ve just finished setting anchor, so we’ll be staying in these shallows for the night.
” Rosetta grabbed another lettuce head and began to peel.
She was glad the men were getting some greens; it would help to stave off sickness if they ate well.
“I want to set up a big feast tonight. You’ll be required to cook more than you usually do.
I want it to be rather generous, a show of appreciation for everyone’s hard work. ”
“Shall I have a plate made up to be brought to yer quarters?”
“I’ve decided to join.”
His moustache twitched, and he turned his eyes, as dark as ink, towards her. “That’d be a sight.”
Rosetta had not eaten with this new crew before; she was too apprehensive of them. His surprise didn’t come as a shock.
Her gaze fell to his spices instead of responding. “You’ve got quite the collection.”
Mr Darkley gave a huff of what she guessed was pride. “I make sure the crew collect them when they go through other ships, and I often spend my wages on them whenever we port. I keep a large stock. It helps with the tastelessness of smoked meat and dried beans.”
She nodded like she understood, currently on her fifth lettuce, before he handed her a knife and told her to cut up smoked meat she’d much rather not touch. As much as she’d eat anything, it didn’t particularly have the grandest smell.
“You should get nutmeg. It’s sweet but can be added to almost anything.”
“Don’t know what that is, Silver. It sounds like something for the tastes of women.”
She’d long ago realised he’d call her by her last name. She didn’t mind it, conceding to let the crew call her whatever made them comfortable, depending on what it was, of course.
She clapped her hands together. “Then you, sir, will soon learn the wonders!”
“Ye seem to know much about the kitchen.” He turned to place the fish he’d prepared into pots to cook. “What were ye before a no-good pirate?”
“A stupid girl,” she grumbled back, turning her darkening gaze to the food in front of her. “What I was before I became a sailor is of no importance.”
She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye to see he raised a dark, bushy brow at her.
“Hey, Pa!” a boisterous young voice shouted from outside the room. “Have ye seen Captain Rosetta? I cannot find ’er.”
They turned their heads to the doorway, and Clint froze at the sight of them. A blush immediately brightened his cheeks, and she gave him a blank look in return. She wouldn’t encourage a foolish young boy’s desires.
“Now that you are here, Clint,” she started, placing everything down on the bench and stepping away from it. “You can do the job you are supposed to when it’s time to prepare the meals.”
“A-aye, Captain,” he stuttered, coming forward to take over so quickly he almost tripped.
“Ha!” Mr Darkley barked out a laugh. “He doesn’t listen to me or Alister, but he’ll listen to ye.” He slapped the boy across the back of the head. “Ye were climbing the shrouds again, weren’t ye?”
“I wasn’t, I swear!”
Rosetta, with a silent chuckle, left father to scorn son.
She went to check on the tasks she’d assigned to the crew while they were stationary.
Everything was cleaned to the best of their abilities, and the stocks and supplies were organised the way she’d told them to.
Although everything had a place when she’d taken over, it had been messy and terribly organised.
She was just thankful everyone was adjusting to the new way she did things. They’d learned she could be cold and harsh, but everything she did had a reason.
She would lash out when needed, but she wasn’t reckless about it. Have I gained enough of their respect, though? She thought some of them had begun to see her differently, perhaps even liked her.
It disheartened her that some refused to acknowledge her unless absolutely necessary. They refused to let go of their bitter resentment.
With another, louder sigh, she took the stairs to the surface, no longer needing to be below deck.
“How goes it, Rosetta?” Naeem greeted as she walked across the timber, giving her a large smile like usual. “You did well to get us here on schedule.”