Chapter Five #2
I clear my throat and take another generous sip of the ale. “Indeed,” I reply. “Some fish caught in my throat. What made you decide to join this crew?”
“Rather’n stay weth the navy?” Renard asks, lifting a brow as if the answer ought to be obvious.
“Allow me to rephrase… What made you decide to stay with this crew?”
He considers, watching me with a frown. “Nae man chooses this life, lad,” he says. I wonder about the truth of that, but I don’t argue with him. “Ye stay ’cause ye need the money. If yer lucky, ye find a good hidin’ spot an’ squirrel away ’nough ta start a new life.”
“Is that your plan?” I ask, curious.
“Ye ask a lot of questions, lad,” he points out, narrowing his eyes at me.
I raise my brows at him and sit back. “I’ll endeavor to ask significantly fewer questions in the future.”
We stare at each other for an eternity or two, me pouting as if I might burst with the need to speak, before he rolls his eyes and holds up his hands in defeat. “Spit it out already.”
I offer him a charming smile in appreciation. “What can you tell me about Captain Sharpe?”
“What d’ye wanna ken?”
I consider and shrug. “His accent is unfamiliar to me.”
“Ever been ta the West Indies?” I shake my head and he gives a slow, knowing nod. “Cap’n was born there. Jamaica er Barbados, cannae be sure.”
“How old is he?”
Renard squints and rubs his jaw. “Nae more’n a year older’n myself, I’d wager. Three an’ twenty at the oldest.”
Christ. He seems so much more worldly than a man barely past his majority. “I thought he was older.”
“Did ye?”
I can’t be imagining the strange tone in Renard’s voice.
I narrow my eyes at him and offer a quizzical expression.
“Perhaps not much older.” I finish the ale and stand, snatching the apple off my plate.
“Thank you for breakfast, and for the conversation. I ought to find my way to the captain’s cabin so I can start…
work.” Oh, that word tastes simply awful in my mouth. I grimace and bite into the apple.
It’s tart and crisp and absolutely perfect.
“C’mon, I’ll show ye the way,” Renard says as he gets to his feet.
I follow him from the salon, chewing another bite of apple to drown out the panicked thoughts coursing through my mind and the sensation of dread settling over my innards.
“You can use my desk for today, but don’t go poking around in the drawers,” Captain Sharpe says as he drops a stack of books and papers onto the now-cleared wooden top of his desk.
I stare at the books dubiously. “What am I meant to do with these?”
“Read them. Make sense of them. Starting today, your job is to record whatever I tell you to record.”
“And why must I go through these instead of just starting a fresh page?”
“Because I told you to.”
I roll my eyes and look at Captain Sharpe. “Captain—”
“I’m going to stop you before you say something…
” Sharpe hesitates as he considers his words.
Eventually he settles on a polite, “Ill-advised.” Then he eyes me.
“You do as I say, for no other reason than because I say it. That’s how it works on this ship.
I am in charge. Trust that if I assign you work, there is a reason. You don’t need to know that reason.”
I sigh as dramatically as I can and flop into his chair like a petulant child. I am feeling quite petulant, and my nerves are still on edge. “I understand, but I would very much appreciate some kind of explanation. What am I looking for?”
“I want you to be familiar with these books so you understand your role.”
“Can you not just… summarize them for me?”
“I don’t read the ledger,” Sharpe says as he makes his way over to the settee and sinks into it with a sigh. “That’s your job.”
Annoying.
I wrinkle my nose and stare at the chaotic pile before me. With another sigh, just because I want Sharpe to know exactly how annoyed I am, I begin to sort the books and papers into two neat stacks. “This is going to take days,” I complain.
“Good. It’ll keep you quiet and busy.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“I expect you to be caught up by the end of the week.”
“Prepare to be disappointed, then,” I mumble as I open the first book.
I can see him turn towards me in my periphery, and I am quite sure he is attempting to intimidate me with his stare.
However, he doesn’t know I am an expert at ignoring intimidating stares.
And he’s far too handsome to instill the same terror my father manages when he gives me that same look.
He gives in when I don’t raise my head, and after a while I hear him stand. I do look up then, just in time to watch him leave the cabin without a second glance my way.
That’s fine—I hate having people linger when I am reading. It makes my skin itch. I return my attention to the log before me and sigh, for real this time. I thought reading Thomas More’s Utopia was boring, but this is impressively dull.
Still, it is a somewhat welcome distraction from my looming anxiety. I slowly work my way from page to page and begin to understand the purpose of these ledgers.
Each day there is a succinct summary of the happenings on board.
Once every week there is a detailed accounting of the food and drink remaining.
Every few weeks there is a renewal of food and drink, and a log of items such as cloth, coin, sometimes jewels, or even livestock.
There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the things bought at port, and sometimes a port is not even listed, a ship noted down instead.
I suppose it’s not unusual for ships to trade with each other while at sea, but it never occurred to me before.
By the time I finish the first ledger and move on to the second, I have entirely forgotten my feelings of remorse.
I must admit I am comforted by how easy the job of scribe seems to be, enough that I may not even mind this assignment Captain Sharpe has bestowed upon me.
I have a good head for numbers and a neat enough hand.
I still need to decide what to do and where to go, but for now I can manage this small task.
I am halfway through the second ledger when a hand on my shoulder sends my soul catapulting into the ether. I spin around to stare up at Captain Sharpe’s silhouette against the stained-glass door. “Christ!”
“No, lad. Just me.”
I laugh, but my heart is still running at full speed, and I am not sure I can catch up with it while sitting, so I pull myself to my feet. My body complains, and a groan slips out before I can stop it. “Damnation… how long have I been sitting here?”
Sharpe chuckles and leans over the desk to stare at the ledger. “I admit, I expected to come in here and find you rifling around in my things or drinking my wine—”
“You’ve wine?”
“But it looks like you’re actually capable of doing what you’re told.”
Well, that’s annoying. I am suddenly far less determined to do my job than I was before. What is it about being told what to do that makes you absolutely not want to do it?
“Your belongings are of no interest to me, Captain,” I say. “I have no need for shark teeth and compasses.”
I make my way over to my trunk, realizing that an entire day has now gone by, and I am still in my wrinkled clothes from the day before. I kneel to open it and sift through to find something clean to wear.
As I pull out a pair of fetching green trousers, I am suddenly reminded of how terribly I slept. I stand and turn to watch Captain Sharpe as he carefully stacks the ledgers and slides them into a drawer in his desk.
“I’d like to speak with you about my accommodations on board.”
“I’m sure you would.”
Oh, not this again. “Captain, I really must insist—”
“You sleep with the crew, and that’s final,” he says, sinking into the chair at his desk. “I’m not in the habit of making special arrangements for anyone, and the crew won’t like you better if you’re given special treatment.”
I hate that I know he’s right. I must be sulking, because he’s smiling at me like I’ve done something very entertaining. It’s irritating that he finds my suffering so very amusing. It’s even more irritating that I am still charmed by him.
“I’ll wear you down until you find me better lodgings,” I vow.
He laughs—a great, explosive sort of laugh that sends a warm wave through me. “You are welcome to try, Kitten,” he says.
I am determined not to think about the shiver that nickname elicits. Is this going to stick? I can’t tell whether I hate it or love it… but I’m not given much time to decide before he speaks again.
“Go on and get some dinner in your belly. In the morning I will dictate today’s log to you.”
As if on command, my stomach grumbles. My cheeks heat, but aside from a little smile on Captain Sharpe’s face, he does not react.
“I… am not sure how to get to the galley,” I admit reluctantly.
“Ask one of the men to lead you—they’ll be heading down themselves to eat,” Sharpe says as he uses the candle on his desk to light a few others behind him. “Then go to bed so you’ll wake up in time for breakfast.”
I won’t ask how he knows I missed breakfast. I suppose the captain should always know what’s happening on his ship, but I still don’t like that someone tattled on me for sleeping in. “Tomorrow I’d like to discuss my accommodations further.”
“I look forward to avoiding that very conversation,” Sharpe says as he turns to face me once more. “Good night, Kitten.”
That damned nickname! I can’t even scowl because of it. Instead I pout and take my change of clothes with me as I leave his cabin, both defeated and enamored at the same time.
“How was yer first day as a workin’ man?” Renard asks me an hour later as we sit together under the darkening sky, our dinner plates in our laps.
I almost snort, but I haven’t yet become quite that low class. “It’s simply awful,” I whine as I sip the swill in my mug. I gag and set the mug aside. I’m not sure I’m desperate enough to ingest another sip of it.
“Poor wee noble,” Renard says, clearly sympathetic by the absolute lack of sincerity in his voice.