Chapter 6 #2
She never doubted that she would. This was a scheduled stop on their trip. She’d always planned to drop anchor and have the crew rest on these shallow shores for the night.
“Of course. The crew must rest before we head out to open ocean.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Are you doubting me, dear Naeem?”
“Not at all; it was nothing but a compliment.” He placed his hands up in surrender, his smile never fading. “Johnny boy told me you are dining with the crew this evening.”
“Yes, well, I want to see their reactions, since I ordered them a feast. We did well with that last trade boat, and they have worked so hard.” Her gaze swept up to the sails that were rolled away, and most of the men were gone now that there was little to do above the surface. “And today as well.”
“Good idea,” Naeem commented, nodding his head as he placed his hand on his chin in thought. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”
The only crewmembers who remained on the surface were those relaxing. Some were sitting and speaking with each other. Others leaned against the railings on their forearms to watch the horizon as the sun exploded in colour against the sky.
She was sure they were trying to see the green flash of light that would spark when the last of the sunlight faded away. It wasn’t that rare of an occurrence if one spent long months at sea, but there were many fabled myths surrounding it.
One of the men was carving into a piece of wood to create a figurine. Many of the crew on this ship before she’d taken over used it as something to do in their downtime.
She’d come to enjoy watching them, often praising their skills. They shyly smiled at her compliments, and she figured they rarely received soft words. Rosetta knew encouragement was a good way to gain their favour.
She waved Naeem forward so he would move. “Let us speak of the next route and what is to come. Where is Mr Smith?”
“He’s in his quarters, having a grandpa nap.”
Rosetta whacked him in the stomach. “Stop picking on him. You know he hates it when you talk of his age.”
“But, Rosetta, I fear he will die of old age at the helm.”
The chuckle he was trying to stifle made her turn away before he could realise she was smiling with humour.
“It just means he’s wiser than you.”
He placed his hand over his heart as though she wounded him, and Rosetta poked her tongue out at him childishly.
“I should cut you down.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” she yelled with a peeling giggle.
One of the reasons she enjoyed Naeem’s company so much was because he was a rather jovial man, quick to laugh and often sharing that with others. He’s like a brother to me.
After waking Mr Smith, all three entered her chambers, which also served as the navigation room, to speak about the rest of their trip – how and where they would sail.
They did this often, making sure they were on schedule and taking the best route possible. They rarely shared their plans with others. Her original crew knew what she was after and why, but it was protected information she didn’t want to share with the new additions.
Only when it was on the horizon would she tell them what was to happen.
Before long, night fell, and a knock sounded at the door to say the feast was ready. Rosetta put an arm around each of her friends’ shoulders, giving a large smile.
“I hope you’re hungry, boys. I’ve instructed Mr Darkley to cook a feast to fill your gluttonous bellies.”
Naeem and Mr Smith nodded as they made their way below deck to join the many others in the dining area. Dozens of men were seated in front of long tables, while others were on the floor with their food, digging in with hungry hands.
It was a large area, but fairly cramped with the number of men inside it. Mr Darkley was serving food and taking away empty plates as he went.
“You’re joinin’ us, Captain?” one of the men asked, pausing with a forkful of fish and lettuce at his mouth.
A sea of eyes found their way to her as she entered.
“You betcha,” she answered back. “So, move your bony arses down.” She used the tip of her boot to make the men shuffle along so she and Mr Smith could be seated at the end of the bench. Naeem took the opposing side of the table to face her.
“The chickens are all gone already, you selfish pigs!” She reached forward to grab a section of fish, some stewed beans, and fresh lettuce, piling them onto her plate.
“It’s fast hands down here,” someone yelled from the other end of the table. “If you wanted chicken, you should have eaten in your quarters.”
Her lips thinned at the needling tone.
“I’m not bothered.” She’d been joking, after all. “Eat well, boys. You deserve it after the past few weeks.” She searched the table. “Now, where’s the rum?”
A bottle suddenly slid down the table and she quickly caught it before it fell off the edge. The tension that thickened the air after her entry eventually settled, and the men ate comfortably as they talked amongst themselves.
Chatter was constant, the bellows of laughter frequent. The sounds of crisp food crunching, mouths chewing, and utensils clicking filled the area. Lit lanterns hung on the walls while candlesticks melted carelessly onto the wooden tables.
It was a mismatched mix of men. All ethnicities were represented, which was common in their profession. No one cared too deeply about the colour of skin when they were worried about surviving on the harsh seas or fighting for their lives.
Someone stood on the table, holding their hand out like they were gripping an invisible sword.
He was telling a tale of an old fight they’d had attacking a ship.
Both crews liked to tell stories of heroics from before they’d met.
They were often the villains, but they spoke like swashbuckling heroes.
She didn’t care that it was a story about the previous captain’s endeavours, not when she could see the entire crew was bright-eyed as they listened. This is quite the tale.
“You’re forgetting how Pierre lost his sword, so he stole the scurvy dog’s peg leg when the man was on his back,” one of the men butted in. Apparently, the two men had been fighting back to back but were overrun. The crew eventually came together to save them, but it had almost ended in defeat.
“Derek was furious with him for weeks!” another piped up. “Even tried to get the captain to nine-tails him!”
Nine-tails was a kind of whip used to achieve high levels of damage when giving lashings. She’d seen them in her quarters when she’d gone through Alister’s possessions. She’d never seen one before, and she could tell this one was well used.
“Reminds me of a tale of Rosetta and me when we took our first ship.” Naeem chuckled. “Minus the peg leg.”
“You almost got me killed, you daft twit.” She laughed, kicking him under the table.
“I was trying to save you!”
“What?” a man down the table nearly growled. “Didn’t try to trick the opposing ship with your pussy?”
The words hit like a dagger, quick and sharp.
Apparently, some were still rather upset with how she’d deceived her way into taking over the Howling Death.
Mr Smith smacked the bottom of his fist on the table, a loud thud stealing everyone’s attention. “She is your captain, and you will give her the respect she deserves!”
She threw up her hand to silence him before he launched into an angry ramble that would only make his face grow beet red.
“Let’s be real, boys.” She laughed, gesturing both her hands forward. “I use what I have available. As you saw from the last takeover, I am more than willing to pick up a sword, but my greatest skill will always be my wit.”
“You say you have wit, but you don’t know what’s coming for you.”
A sigh fell from her lips. “I’m a woman, whether I want to be seen as one or not.” She let her eyes skate over the men. Silence had overcome them as they turned their gaze to her. “Only a foolish woman would believe she can outdo the brawn of a man.”
She made a show of grabbing Mr Smith’s meaty biceps.
“I will always use my skills to my advantage, but I am strong enough when it counts.” She pointed to the man who spoke ill against her. “I’m not some weak, helpless woman who sits in port, sewing needlepoint, while she waits for her ‘Jolly Sailor Bold.’ I have my strengths.”
“Ye say yer strong, but ye got pissy little arms,” someone else chimed in. “I bet ye couldn’t beat tiny Clint in an arm wrestle.”
“I’ll take that bet!” Clint exclaimed with a grin, raising his arm into the air like he’d won the treasure of a lifetime.
“No,” she replied with a giggle. “I’d rather not steal the poor boy’s coin.”
“I’ll pay his wager,” a different man offered, throwing a silver coin onto the table. “I know I’ll be reaping the reward. You’re weak. You won’t be able to beat a fourteen-year-old.”
With narrowing eyes, she nodded for Naeem to move, and Clint took his seat.
With a childish grin, the blue-eyed boy raised his pale arm and wiggled his fingers. He was taunting her.
She took his hand with her right, and Naeem placed his hands on top of their clasped fists.
“You’ll be doing double duties with your father if you lose,” she told the boy, whose grin fell immediately. “I think Mr Darkley would like that.”
She peeked over to the chef standing to the side.
He folded his arms across his meaty chest. “I hope she wins then.”
She and Clint turned back to face each other. Naeem counted down from three and then released their hands. Within a second, Rosetta slammed the boy’s hand against the table. She knew she’d win, and cheers rung out.
“He didn’t even stand a chance!” someone yelled.
Laughter followed.
“Double duties, Clint. For a week,” she told the bright-red-faced boy.
Naeem patted Clint on the back. “They forget she mans the helm. She has her strength.”
“I’ll take ye on,” a voice said calmly.
She raised her brow at the large man who climbed his way to her. He brutally pushed the boy out of the way and plopped himself into the seat instead. Hitting his elbow against the table, he held his hand out.
“Unless yer afraid to pay up.”
Kent was the man’s name, a brown-haired, tan man who was practically a giant. He liked to keep his face clean shaven, but his hair was never the same length, as if he often sheered it precariously with a dagger.
“You’re twice her size!” someone yelled. “That’s not a fair bet!”
“Who gives a shit?” he spat, his grey eyes squinting. “She thinks she’s got something because she can overpower a little boy.” He wiggled his fingers. “How ’bout ye take on a man. That’d shut yer pretty mouth up.”
“No problem,” she said with a smile, placing her elbow on the table again. She confidently grabbed his big fist with her smaller one. “What’s the bet?”
“Ye show us yer tits.”
“Rosetta...” Mr Smith warned.
Her smile grew wider. “And if I win, you will wear my lipstick every day for a week to show just how much of a big, ugly girl you are.”
With a grunt and a nod, they tightened their hands to curl around each other’s thumb. Naeem came to place his hands on top.
“One. Two.” He moved his hand. “Three!”
Just as their hands started pushing and Rosetta felt her arm starting to fall, she grabbed her fork and stabbed it into his biceps, right near the crook of his elbow. A yelp sounded, and she took the opportunity to smack his fist against the table.
He shot up, slamming both his hands flat against the table. “You cheated!”
“Of course I did!” She laughed at his snarled-up face. “I’m a pirate! We don’t play fair.”
“In this game, we do!”
“I used wit against brawn. That is what I do, that is how I win, and that is why I am Captain.” Rosetta knew what she had to do now and stood, turning her head to the side to nod. “Clint, step out for a moment.”
With a whine, the boy did as he was told, and Rosetta worked on untucking her tunic from her tights.
“What in the seven seas are ye doing?” Kent asked as he cradled his elbow.
“I cheated, so I will pay up my part of the bet.”
Rosetta lifted her tunic and exposed her breasts for all to see, taking them by surprise. Some whistled at her, others bashed on the table. Of course, there was an overwhelming amount of cheering.
Her face was unbothered as she stared at the wall. One. Two. Three. Four. She lowered her tunic and tucked it back in again. Then she reached into the small pouch attached to her hip to pull out her red lipstick.
“But I still won.” She threw it at the man, and he skilfully grabbed it from the air. He inspected what she’d thrown at him with a shocked expression. “Every day, you will be a little girl for us all.”
His mouth drew open, his flabbergasted expression so precious she found it worth exposing herself. He was a stupid man, an arrogant one who wasn’t charming.
“You may start now.” When he looked unsure, she added, “Do you need me to do it for you?”
“Farkin’ damnit!” He couldn’t refuse her, not when she had indeed won and paid her debt. He applied the lipstick to his mouth, doing a terrible job of it, she noted with a smirk.
“Oh, Kent! Such a pretty woman,” one of the men taunted, laughing. “Will you suck my dick with your bright-red lips?”
More insults and teases were thrown at Kent, who grumbled as he took his seat, plopping down in defeat. He ate in silence, huddling around his plate with shame.
“Does anyone else want to wear lipstick?”
No one answered her.