10. Some Necessary Arr and Arr
Some Necessary Arr and Arr
Someone hands me a tankard of ale. I accept it with a curt nod and raise it in cheers before taking a long drink. The ale is refreshing after the last few days, and I finish it in a matter of gulps. I stand to refill it, taking a chunk of cheese and bread from the table, chewing numbly.
Every time I close my eyes, I hear that gunshot. It rings out in my mind, muffling everything else around me. Would he really do it? It’s not like I know Captain Night well enough to know whether or not he would, and I suppose it’s to be expected. Pirates kill; that’s a fact.
I guess I’ve just been living in a little fantasy world where I thought maybe he was different from the others. Or perhaps I wanted him to be different. Someone slaps me on the shoulder, jostling me, and I wince. They apologize, and I force a smile, searching the benches for a familiar face.
It was a good score, or so everyone says.
Ten barrels of ale, several wheels of cheese, and a solid stock of salted beef.
I didn’t realize until I was tallying up our new cargo, but despite having lost half the crew, they’ve been severely low on supplies.
As Pip later surmised, this raid was a necessity if we wanted to make it back to land.
Or that’s what I convince myself.
But I know there’s something else they scored, something that Captain Night, Jack, and Astra are keeping from the crew.
After we returned to She Deceitful, Captain Night disappeared into his cabin with the two of them, and they haven’t come out since, leaving the rest of us to store away the goods before retreating to the mess for a bit of celebration for three days straight.
“Do they always do that?” I ask as I settle onto the bench next to Mick.
Sir lies sprawled out on the table in front of me.
He lifts his head in acknowledgment, and I leave him a small piece of cheese as a sacrifice.
He nibbles on the cheese contentedly, and I scratch the back of his head with one hand, balancing the tankard of ale in my other.
“Who?” Mick asks.
“Captain Night, Astra, and Jack. Do they always disappear after a raid?”
He shrugs. “They make sure the crew has what it needs. We leave ’em to do that.”
I offer another chunk of cheese to Sir before I tear into a piece of bread.
The secrets, the way Captain Night acts around his crew, and the fact that I, a strange man who suddenly appeared aboard this ship, am trusted.
None of it makes a lick of sense, but I don’t want to dig where I shouldn’t.
These are not people to be trifled with.
And for now, this is the only place I have. I can’t afford to make a wrong move.
My shoulders slouch as I swirl my ale, frowning down into the amber liquid.
The more I think about it, the more I wonder if there’s a way for me to get back.
I do not belong here, and no matter what I feel for Captain Night, it is obvious that we are too different.
I think back to Outlander, to the way Claire and Jamie fought to send her back through the stones.
But I don’t have jewels or anything to get me through time. All I did was put on a coat, and—
I nearly drop my ale. Captain Night’s coat. That’s it! That’s the thing that brought me here.
Sitting up, I tighten my hands on my tankard.
The coat is the answer to everything. If I can just put it on once more, I can be sent back, can’t I?
Back to where I belong. Because as fun and adventurous as pirating may seem, it’s not everything the stories have chalked it up to be, and I have plenty of research for my book.
I drink down the last of my ale and murmur “Good night” to Mick as I make to leave.
“Laszlo,” Mick says, voice pitched low as he catches my shirt. I pause. “Don’t put yourself where you’re not wanted, hmm?”
Swallowing, I nod, and Mick lets go. I can feel his eyes on my back as I disappear to the hammocks. Belly full and limbs warm from ale, I curl onto my hammock, tracking the gentle swing of the others around me. I’m the only one in here; the rest of the crew is still drinking and celebrating.
It’s strange, but even in the darkness of this ship, I don’t feel alone. And for the first time since I arrived, I find the swaying of the ship calming. As if lulled by the ocean, I’m asleep within moments, dreaming about a blue jacket that very well may be the key to my future.
Most mornings now I wake on my own. My eyes drag open groggily after yet another restless night of sleep.
Craning my neck, I blink against the dim light of early morning and rise, climbing quietly from my hammock.
My head is oddly clear, the cool gust of wind that hits me up on deck hardly a bother.
These pirate clothes, despite looking absolutely ridiculous and the pants being far too short, have kept me cool under the sun and warm at night.
My jeans were stiff and uncomfortable, and after just a few days aboard, my sweater had been fraying at the ends. They weren’t meant to stand a life at sea.
The night crew is working as I survey the ship, just a few crew members on rotation who keep us sailing along. And as I look around at their hollow expressions, I can feel a strange shift in the crew. Everyone wants land, wants a moment off this sea to collect themselves. As do I.
“You’re awake early.”
I whirl around in surprise. Astra lounges on the stairs to the quarterdeck.
Their legs are curled up to their chest, their long waistcoat unbuttoned and flowing around them and over the stairs like a waterfall of fabric.
They’ve taken off their hat and set it aside, showing off the dark scarf they’ve wrapped around their hair, only a thin, wiry piece slipping free and into their eyes.
I shrug. “Couldn’t sleep anymore.”
Astra nods, their hands fiddling with something in their lap. I lean forward, my eyes tracking the movement. They look up, expression guarded. “Ah, this old thing?” They hold it up, and I step closer, squinting. “From someone I once knew.”
It’s a torn scrap of white lace. Well, it may have once been white, but it’s gray now, stained and unraveling, a corner of it singed as if it’s been held to a flame. I slide down the railing to sit and pull my knees to my chest, mirroring their position.
“It must be important if you’ve kept it all this time,” I say.
Astra frowns and tilts their head down, hiding their expression. “Yes.” They pause for a beat before glancing sidelong at me. “Why are you here, Laszlo? Why abandon your life to sneak aboard a pirate ship?”
My hands tighten on my knees. “Have you ever felt like you don’t belong? Like you were born into the wrong life, and no matter what you do, you won’t belong because you won’t allow yourself to?”
Astra stares at me. “All my life. I was born into a different world, a different status. Things were expected of me, but I refused to stay because I knew I would never be happy.”
“And are you happy?” I ask.
They fiddle with the scrap of lace. “I’m happier now than if I’d stayed.
I’m certain of that.” They stand, pulling on their hat.
“Best get to work then.” They nod to the decks, smiling faintly as they roll up the fabric and slip it into their pocket.
I stand and brush off my pants. “The decks could use a good scrubbing,” they say as they move past me.
“I’ll get right on that,” I mutter.
I’m beginning to think I’m being handed the shit work.
I spend the next several hours on my hands and knees as I scrub every inch of the ship.
I bite back several retorts as the day crew begins to wake, sloshing ale, dirty water, and god knows what else on my kind-of-clean deck.
Instead, I keep my head down and my ears open, listening to the mutters of the crew.
“Near fell into the ocean, I did,” an older man says, pulling up his britches as he passes me.
“You don’t understand, she was beautiful,” a younger man says wistfully as two others laugh and teasingly elbow him.
Nothing about Captain Night or the raid.
When the deck is done, I’ve lost feeling in my knees, my lower back aches, and there are new blisters along my palm and thumb from holding the scrubber.
Rolling back my shoulders and groaning, I retreat belowdecks to the mess.
While Pip begins prepping dinner, I sit at one of the tables and spread my fingers, wincing.
They are red and angry, blisters forming on top of blisters, some having already popped. I clench and unclench my hands, biting down on my tongue to keep from screaming.
I’m a writer. My hands were soft and unmarred, meant to tell stories, not scrub decks and haul lines. Now … now it hurts to even look at them. They look like they’ve been through hell, which, considering my work aboard She Deceitful, isn’t too far off.
“Ye’ll get used to it,” Pip says, handing over a clean set of bandages. “They always hurt the first few weeks.”
I take the bandages, pinching them between my fingers and dropping them in my lap. My joints scream as I curl my fingers, but after a bit of finesse, I open the jar of salve he offers me and slather it onto my hands. Using my teeth, I wrap them with the bandages, which I then tie off.
“Why do I find that hard to believe, Pip?”
He laughs. “At least ye haven’t lost yer humor yet.” He motions to me with a knife, chunks of carved, salted beef before him. Presumably from the merchant ship. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned ’board this ship under Captain Night, it’s that we make of this life what we want.”
I frown as I stand and cross to him before gingerly taking up a knife with loosely curled fingers and slicing bread. “Isn’t it a hard life, though? Did you choose this?”
“Me and many others. Working for a man on land and making next to nothing is a slow, torturous death. But to go out on the sea with yer crew, to know the people that work at yer side day in and day out?” He shrugs, brandishing the knife. “There’s something almost poetic ’bout it.”