6. A Nervous Wreck #2
“How is that possible?” I ask, setting down my knife. “You smell … well, no offense,” I say as Pip snorts, “but you smell nearly clean.”
“It’s the tea leaves,” Pip says with a proud nod, dropping a small dash of spices into the pot.
“When I take off me clothes at night, I rub tea leaves into them and me shoes.” He breathes deeply before grinning from ear to ear.
I try not to think about the fact that he sleeps naked, that several others probably do as well, and that I still know nothing about pirate hygiene.
How do they shower or bathe? Where do they go to the bathroom?
“It works wonders, it does. You should have smelled the crew after that storm we hit last year. No fresh water fer days, and by the time we made landfall, this ship smelled like a thirteen-year-old boy who’d sprouted his first chest hair.”
“That’s quite the image. Going back to the tea leaves, do you brew them yourself, or—”
“Oh, no, I use leftover leaves from Cap’ain’s tea. Let it all sort of … clump together, you know.”
I’m not certain tea leaves, particularly those used in someone else’s tea, are hygienic, but I suppose if Pip has used them for some time, it’s not harmful enough to cause any worrying … yet.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, taking a mental note to jot that down later. Not for me, but for the book.
We work in silence for a long beat, the rocking ship almost peaceful, until Pip’s voice slices through it. “Yer lucky our captain didn’t kill you.”
I can’t put my finger on why, but this crew has the uncanny ability to think everything is one way or the other, seeing the world in black and white. To them, there are no compromises to be made.
Grunting, I toss my potato into the pile and reach for another, my hands slowing as I fall into a rhythm with the knife. “Is that right?” I ask, deciding it best not to talk about my near miss with death.
Pip nods solemnly, lips dripping down.
“Cap’ain’s been in a right foul mood since that raid. Would’ve been a large score, too, but damn that man, we were betrayed. Lost half our crew, we did.”
Sir hops up onto the counter. He drops a dead, half-eaten mouse next to Pip and stares expectantly at the older man as he settles his butt down, all four paws neatly together and chest puffed out.
Pip laughs as he pinches the mouse’s tail, holds it in front of his mouth, mimics nibbling on it, and tosses it into the empty bucket on the counter between us before offering a small strip of meat to the cat.
Sir takes the offering and hops down, disappearing with his prize.
Even the cat works for his place aboard this ship.
I set down my knife, trying not to stare at the little mouse carcass in the bucket between us. “How were you betrayed?”
Pip sighs, returning to stirring the pot, his expression distant. “Wish I knew, but we were. Not much we can do now, but we need this next score ’fore we have to make land.”
He and I return to work, standing close to each other, chopping, slicing, and peeling in companionable silence for the rest of the meal prep.
It’s quieter down here in the mess than up on deck.
Though the ship creaks and I can hear the soft sounds of the water lapping against the side of the ship, it’s almost calming. Peaceful.
Certainly less terrifying than being trapped in the hold.
Pip has me ring the bell, and the loud trilling sound makes me laugh as the crew shuffles quickly down the stairs, filling the mess. They form a somewhat orderly line, which is a bit of a surprise, but I’ve noticed Captain Night runs a tight crew with an even tighter schedule.
“Not bad for your first meal, eh?” Jack asks as he slurps from the edge of his bowl.
According to Pip, the crew sold half their silverware last time they made land, so we’re all left to slurp or use our fingers for tonight’s stew. So yes, apparently having spoons is considered fancy around these parts.
But this is not sanitary, not sanitary at all.
“I’m rather surprised at the offerings. I suppose I suspected the worst,” I say, cradling my bowl for warmth. Though the sun has been out since I appeared on this ship, clouds are rolling in, and the warmth has quickly dissipated, a chill settling in and seeping through my thin layers.
Mick makes a joke, but I’m unable to focus, searching the faces of the crew just as Captain Night saunters in.
He stops at the edge of the swinging tables and runs a hand through his patchy stubble, head swiveling until he spots me across the mess.
He says nothing, expression stony as Pip hands him a large helping of the stew.
“Won’t you eat with us, Cap’ain?” Jack asks.
Captain Night smiles, and it’s truly something to behold. It’s the kind of smile that makes my tongue go dry and the words stick in my throat, that makes my collar suddenly too tight and my hands clammy.
Don’t, Laszlo, don’t even think about it.
“If you’ll have me.”
The crew cheers and makes space for him on the bench across from me. I’m keenly aware of his long legs, of the way his knee brushes mine as he relaxes in his seat. We’re just two tall people, left to fill a narrow space, and he is close, too goddamn close.
Choking on a bite of stew, I lean away on the bench and consider our measly crew.
Our. When did I begin to think of us as a group?
Half a day trapped aboard this vessel, and already several of them have wormed their way into my heart.
Jack with his crooked smile, Pip with his gentle touch and gentler mentoring, Mick with his full belly laugh, and even Eddie, with his terrible jokes.
The crew squeezes onto three rather than six of the tables, leaving the others to sway like ghosts on the waves.
They skirt around the empty places where their friends once sat, and they peer over their shoulders at the swinging tables that must once have been as full of life as these three are now.
When I try to concentrate on my bowl, mindful not to touch Captain Night’s legs under the table, I find him watching me, face carefully blank.
Heat creeps up my neck, spilling into my cheeks, and he must be able to read my thoughts, to see what I’m thinking, because his boot presses against mine under the table as if in reassurance. I don’t dare move, or even blink.
“How about a joke, Eddie?” Captain Night asks, still fixated on me.
Eddie perks up, ignoring the mutters and sighs around us. “Oh, I’ve got a good one!” He claps his hands together and leans in. “Why don’t most pirates know how to read or write?”
“Why?” Captain Night asks.
Eddie is already snickering at his own joke when he says, “Because they spend years at ‘c’!”
I press a fist to my mouth to keep from laughing, and cough as Jack nudges me with his elbow.
It shouldn’t be funny, but it is, and for someone who can’t read, it’s a clever play on words.
It riles the crew up, some laughing, others groaning in response.
But Eddie sits there in his seat with a wide smile as he grabs his ale and takes a long, celebratory drink of it.
Captain Night’s foot doesn’t move. If anything, it pushes harder on mine, insistent, as if he doesn’t want me to leave the spot across from him.
I couldn’t if I wanted to. I’m frozen. Is he flirting with me?
I wonder. He couldn’t be. Considering where we are, who we are, when we are, it’s impossible.
“Tarly!” Mick calls over the noise of the crew, and I flinch. The crew is laughing and talking, a chorus of voices filling the damp space as they move on from Eddie’s joke. Mick motions to a young man at the end of our table, raising his voice over the others. “Won’t you play us a song, Tarly?”
I set down the stew, swiveling in my seat to get a good look at the man.
Tarly stands at the end of the table, reaching for an instrument, a lyre of sorts.
He is a large tan man with a soft glow to his cheeks and a smile that lights up his face.
His hair is shaggy and pulled into a makeshift ponytail by a leather cord.
Over his shirt he wears a red vest that has since faded in color with matching red pantaloons and well-shined black boots.
Other than Captain Night, he seems the most put-together of the crew.
In a thick, Scottish accent he asks, “Do ye ’ave any requests?”
Captain Night smiles and steeples his hands on the table before him. “The one about the captain’s cabin,” he says, winking at me. “That’s my favorite.”
I turn away quickly, face heating. That wink sent a full-body shiver straight to my toes, making me a gelatinous mess. The pit in my stomach bottoms out, both fear and excitement melting together in an odd, intoxicating mix that makes me question everything I know.
Tarly salutes Captain Night. “You’ve got it, Cap’ain.”
I don’t know what to do with this, I don’t know how I’m meant to feel or react as Captain Night’s boot remains pressed up against mine, and the thought finds me again: Is the captain flirting with me? No, no, he couldn’t be.
Either way, whatever he intends, all I know is I don’t ever want him to stop.