Chapter Six
Six
If there is a curse on these ledgers, it doesn’t seem to be catching.
In truth, the only curse I have found in them is the appalling arithmetic.
The further I wade into the ledgers, the worse it seems to get.
I give up trying to sort it all out and start a new ledger of my own.
I’m really quite proud of it; it is tidy and organized in a way I never thought I could be.
Even Captain Sharpe has commented on how appealing it is to look at.
If only my father could see me now.
It’s been a matter of days—yes, I gave up on the old ledgers rather quickly—and I already feel like a new man.
I have taken up residence on Captain Sharpe’s settee during the day, my ledger spread out on the table before me as I hunch over it.
I still like to glance at the old ones every now and again, to make sure I am writing down all that needs writing.
Something about the way Captain Sharpe speaks to me, like I have potential, makes me want to do well. I find myself wanting to impress him.
A knock on the door makes me glance up.
Captain Sharpe grumbles something without looking away from his map, and Mr. Tydes and the quartermaster, Billy, let themselves into the room.
Billy’s a sweet-mannered chap with a low, humming voice perfect for storytelling.
He keeps his beard trim and his tightly curled hair shaved close to his head.
His skin is a deep, rich brown, deeper than my own. Deeper still than Captain Sharpe’s.
I like Billy a great deal. Something about him is calming, like a quiet embrace.
He is a tall man, with broad shoulders and hands that could easily break me in half, had he a taste for violence.
Yet I have watched him handle the mouser’s newborn kittens with a pure gentleness that makes my chest ache.
Other than Renard and the twins—Tristan and Trevor—Billy has been the first of the men to befriend me.
Mr. Tydes gives me a once-over and narrows his eyes. “Out.”
“I beg your—”
“Thank you, Kitten. You can go,” Captain Sharpe says—and I can’t help but blush.
I get to my feet and motion to the ledgers. “Am I not meant to—”
“Out,” Mr. Tydes says once more, without even looking at me.
I shoot them all an exasperated look, but the only one paying me any mind is Billy, who offers a sympathetic smile.
I sigh and drop my ledger loudly onto the table before rounding the settee.
I hook my finger under my jacket, which is draped across the back, and pull it on, stumbling slightly as the ship shifts.
Goddamned rickety old piece of shit. My dramatic exit now ruined, I huff and leave the cabin, closing the door behind me with as much force as I dare without breaking the stunning stained glass—for that would be a crime.
I hear laughter inside, which only infuriates me further. Caught up as I am in my own wounded pride, I have no time to brace for impact as I collide with someone’s warm, damp back, then topple and land flat on my ass on the unforgiving deck boards.
“Watch where you’re going, princeling,” the sweaty shadow barks at me.
I am gagging at the feeling of his sweat on my jaw when I register what he’s said to me.
I get to my feet, and though my first instinct is to reprimand him for speaking disrespectfully to his better, I recall myself just in time to save my face the travesty of a deserved black eye as I peer up at the man before me.
I’ve seen him before—he’s a few bunks away from me down in the fo’c’sle.
Rodriguez, I believe they call him. Despite the chill in the air, his shirt is soaked through with sweat, likely due to the hundred-stone coil of rope over his arm.
His hair is on the longer side, falling in waves around his ears and neck.
He has a trim beard and a complexion that is somewhat more olive than brown.
It is the shocking color of his eyes that strikes me, though. I never noticed before, having never been up close to him, but they are the most engaging shade of grey blue. I’ve never seen a man of color with eyes that shade. I cannot help staring, though I know this is a grave error.
“The hell’re you staring at, princeling?”
Rodriguez drops the rope and grabs the front of my jacket, hauling me up onto my toes. I’ve never been roughed around like this before. I am genuinely shocked as my heels leave the deck, and I grasp at his wrist with both hands. “Sir!” I exclaim, more indignant than afraid.
He blinks. “Sir,” he repeats, then drops me and starts to laugh.
Is he laughing at me or the situation? I can’t tell. I glance around for assistance, but half the men on deck are ignoring us entirely, and the other half look disappointed that I am still in one piece.
I decide to roll with it and make a show of dusting off and smoothing out my jacket. “This is Italian silk!”
He laughs harder. And fine, let him laugh, so long as my face survives this interaction. “Forgive me, Your Highness,” he grunts through his laughter, and I detect more than a hint of malicious intent behind his words.
“I’m not a prince,” I insist—which is a stupid thing to say. He clearly knows I’m not a prince.
“Ah, then forgive me,” he says again, bowing, to the amusement of the ten or so men who’ve gathered around us, “lordling.”
I roll my eyes. “If you’re going to insult me, you could at least get my title correct.”
“Oh?” he asks, stepping closer, so that I am forced to step back. “And what title would that be?”
Shit. I clear my throat and give a humiliating, pitchy sort of laugh.
“Rodriguez, get back ta work!” Renard calls from somewhere in the crowd.
The men part to let him through, and I could kiss him—but that reaction seems even more likely to get me a black eye.
So I remain where I am and let him come to my rescue.
The glare Rodriguez shoots at Renard before reluctantly returning to his task is alarmingly hostile.
He may have given me a hard time, but at least he’s never looked at me with so much vitriol.
Renard rounds on me with a frown. “Kit, where’re ye s’posed ta be?” he asks.
“I beg your—”
“Where?” he demands—and as the men begin to clear the area to get back to their assigned tasks, I think he must be having a go at me.
I frown and shrug, and then he’s got me by the arm and is dragging me towards the stairs over Captain Sharpe’s cabin door.
I’m too startled to say anything. In all my years of living, I’ve never been touched so freely and frequently as I have today.
Renard spins me around and pushes me against the railing.
“Keep yer head down,” he says. “What’re ye wearin’ those fancy britches fer? ”
I blink at him. “I beg—these are simply my clothes.”
“Oh, aye, I’ve noticed. If ye want the men ta like ye, stop bein’ such a priss.”
“A what?”
“I dinnae ken what yer fancy title is off this ship, but as long as yer on my crew, yer the same as every man here.”
I sigh and nod. “I understand.”
“Do ye?”
Well.
“Kit.”
“Yes,” I sigh. “I didn’t start anything, I was merely—”
“Causin’ trouble. Keep yer head down an’ check yer pride.”
I see his point, and though I am pouting, I can’t disagree with him. I cross my arms and give another dramatic little sigh. “I’m trying.”
“Try. Harder,” Renard growls through gritted teeth. I hate the way he reminds me of my father in this moment.
“Why are you picking on me?” I ask. “He’s the one who got all handsy!”
Renard blows out a puff of air in a sigh that feels a tad dramatic, even to me, and rolls his eyes. “I’m no’ pickin’ on ye, lad. I’m givin’ ye advice. I suggest ye take it, b’fore ye wind up bloodied er thrown overboard.”
I freeze. I never considered I might piss someone off enough to be thrown overboard. That seems unfathomably cruel to me. “Would they do that?”
“Oh, aye.”
Whether he’s bluffing or not, I’m scared shitless now. I glance over the rail into the fathomless, rippling tide and audibly swallow whatever’s left of my pride. “I’ll keep my head down.”
“That’s a good lad. Now get back ta work.”
“The captain kicked me out of his cabin for a meeting.”
Renard snorts at that and glances towards the stained-glass door. “Then stay by the door an’ wait till he calls ye back in. An’ gain his trust if ye dinnae wanna be kicked out every time Tydes goes in fer a chat.”
“How am I to do that, exactly?”
“Do somethin’ ’bout yer…” He waves a hand at me vaguely. “This.”
“What? What is ‘this’?” I ask, glancing down at myself, then lift my gaze to his once more. “You mean me?”
“Aye,” Renard confirms with a sharp laugh. “Do somethin’ ’bout that.”
I understand now the urge to throttle another man for insulting you. “How d—”
“Kitten!”
I jump and turn to look down at Captain Sharpe where he stands in the open door, staring at me. “Y-yes, Captain?” I ask, flustered at the interruption and his public use of that absurd little nickname.
I’m sure I don’t imagine the way Captain Sharpe’s eyes narrow when he looks at Renard as the man scurries off.
The captain doesn’t answer me, just turns to go back inside his cabin, leaving the door open.
I duck my head and move unsteadily down the stairs, gripping the rail just a bit harder than necessary, before following him through the open door.
I squint as my eyes adjust to the dim light, closing the door behind me. “Am I to have my work disrupted every time Mr. Tydes comes in for a chat?” I ask.
He turns to me, brows raised. “Want to try that again?”
I blink at him. “Shall I repeat myself?”
He is silent for a moment, before he blows out a puff of air and chuckles. “You’ve got a mouth on you, but you haven’t the claws to back it up. Get back to your ledgers, Kitten. And stop causing a ruckus on my ship.”
“I’m not causing a ruckus,” I say as I return to the settee.
“You are a ruckus.”
I smile a little as I take my seat and lift the ledger to find where I left off. Well, he’s not wrong there.