11. A Shore Thing
A Shore Thing
Nassau is a place I’ve heard of but know little about.
From the crowds gathered on the beaches and spilling onto the island, it seems to have a reputation.
Along with its brothels, taverns, shops, and merchants, it’s a place full to the brim with pirates.
It is, I know, the pirate stronghold, a throne in a way, and the scenes laid out before me and the people I see across Nassau only prove that.
But Hollywood has gotten a lot wrong. In Hollywood’s version of Nassau, its women are all slim waists and full breasts, and the place is chock-full of white pirates tanned from their time at sea, looking for their next treasure.
No, the real Nassau is a place built for and by people of all shapes and backgrounds, and luckily for me, Jack seems to know it well.
“Do you all come here often?” I ask as I struggle to keep up.
“Often ’nough,” he says.
“Why did we come here so quickly after the raid?”
He stops on the path and turns toward me with a raised brow. “You ask a lot of questions, Laszlo.”
“And you keep a lot of secrets, Jack.”
“Let me make one thing clear, Laszlo. I’m the first mate. It’s my duty to ’elp the cap’ain, and that means keeping ’is secrets. You’ve been on the ship for ’bout a week—do you think you’re privy to all of Cap’ain’s secrets?”
Without another word, he spins on his heel to go, and I hurry after him.
We wind through the makeshift streets, our crew rolling in barrels of ale behind us.
Sand clings to me everywhere, the water in my clothes already evaporating from the heat of the day.
People whisper as others meander by, stepping off to the side to trade and sell wares in darkened corners.
When I stop on the path, they seem to sense my gaze.
I stand frozen as a crew takes me in, hands reaching for pistols and knives with grim smiles. I have the terrible sense that I’m about to be murdered, but Jack pauses to assess them, mutters something about “newcomers,” and urges me on with a gentle shove.
The people we pass speak of their next treasures, about their recent hauls and raids, and the things and people they’ve encountered on the water.
And when they see Jack, they talk of a betrayal, one that I’ve only heard hints of.
Jack pauses, hand reaching for his own pistol, but this time I urge him onward.
We see a man passed out in the sand—he might be dead, but it’s impossible to tell from where Jack and I are.
Someone else begs for more time to pay back a loan, and someone else purrs niceties in a captain’s ear.
I push on after Jack, ducking my head low with a blush, listening in quietly as we continue past.
Jack leads me toward what I can only assume is a tavern, though it’s hard to make out in the darkness.
All the buildings on this island seem to be falling apart piece by piece under the effects of the heat and storms and …
well, pirates. The paint is chipping, the colors faded by the sun, but the crowds inside are lively, making up for the facades.
Women with breasts spilling over their corsets lounge against men and women alike, and pirates and local merchants are seated at tables scuffed with the marks of fights gone physical, ale in their hands as they speak in low, hushed tones.
The crowd is about as colorful as I expected.
A woman at the bar has a hand up another’s skirt, and as we pass, I hear her whisper obscenities in the other woman’s ear.
I blush again and hurry ahead, catching up to Jack with a huff.
I try to ignore the stickiness of the floor, the way I have to pry my boots up for each step as they cling to god knows what in an inch-thick layer of grime.
I feel dirty. More than dirty; I feel like whatever innocence I might have had before coming here—if I had any to start with—is gone.
This is not a place for peace; it is the home of pirates.
“Wait here,” Jack says, pressing a hand to my shoulder as he dumps me at the far end of the bar, disappearing down the hall and to the right into a room.
With a sigh, I lean against the bar and scan the tavern, surveying the crowd. There are two men in the back with their hands wavering over their pistols, fingers twitching for their triggers. Their faces are bent close, features twisted into snarls. It appears someone is going to die tonight.
How quaint.
Others are passed out from drink, faces pressed into tables as they snooze despite the noise. There’s a small crew circled around a table, heads pressed close as they survey a map, ale sloshing over the parchment.
When one of them catches me watching, I turn my attention to the ceiling, crossing and uncrossing my arms nervously.
It’s a strange place, large leaves and plants snaking through and over the walls, sand everywhere.
In a matter of minutes, it has wormed its way into my body, and I mean, the stuff is already everywhere.
I reach down to nonchalantly adjust my pants when a hand slithers up my side, making me jump.
Startled, I spin around, blinking down at who I can only assume is a sex worker.
I laugh awkwardly, looking past her to the tavern full of people.
The woman a few feet down the bar moans as her companion hikes her skirts up even farther, and oh my god, I need to get out of here.
With an apologetic smile, I pry the woman’s roaming hands from my torso before they can slink even farther down my body.
“I’m not interested,” I say.
She’s pretty, I can’t deny that. With round brown eyes and dark curls, she looks up at me from beneath fanning eyelashes, a coy smile on her lips.
“You would deny yourself for what?” She straightens, standing on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around my neck and whisper in my ear.
I shiver, and her hands tighten around me as she says, “You’re new, no? ”
“I-I’m really not interested,” I stammer, trying to push her away gently.
I am tall and lanky, and I know I’m not very strong, but already my body has changed on the ship, and even still, it takes effort to pull her arms from around my neck.
How do I tell her that I’m more into men?
Not that I haven’t had the passing fancy for a few women over the years, but right now I have a very particular type, and the image that’s flashing through my mind is scruffy and tall, with a scar across his chest and long, billowing sleeves revealing bits of ink poking out from beneath them.
“Already found yourself a friend,” a deep voice says from behind me.
My head whips back in surprise, taking in the towering figure. Captain Night leans languidly against the bar, legs crossed at the ankles. He frowns, tracking the woman’s hands as they rake across my skin and through my hair.
“It’s not what you think,” I start, gently nudging her away. I don’t know why I said that. I don’t need to explain myself to him, of all people, yet I did it out of instinct.
Because I worry about what he thinks. Even if he doesn’t think of me like that. Even if it’s not possible in this time.
He raises a brow, looking past me. “Be easy on him, Molly. He’s new.”
The woman smiles and drops her hands to her hips. “Oh, I know, Silas. It was obvious the moment he walked in here. I can always taste fresh blood.”
I jolt at her use of his first name, but he doesn’t seem alarmed by it.
How well do they know each other? Have they …
No, you know what, that’s none of my business, and why would I care, anyway?
He’s my captain. I don’t care what he does in his free time.
Just like he doesn’t care what I do in mine.
He beckons me. “Come, we’re ready for you.”
“For me?”
He smirks. “Unless you’d rather I leave you with Molly?”
“I’m coming,” I say, pushing off the bar.
I move to follow him, but Molly catches my arm, squinting up at me. “Careful with him.”
“What?”
“Just guard yourself,” Molly warns before letting go. “No knowing what he’ll do these days.”
Frowning, I hurry after him.
To my surprise, there is already a small crowd gathered in the back room.
Jack stands off to the side, arms crossed over his chest. Captain Night takes a seat behind a desk, long legs stretched out before him, jacket thrown over the back of his chair.
My attention lingers on the blue wool for a moment before sliding away.
Astra leans against the farthest wall, the bottom of their waistcoat unbuttoned and flipped back over their hip, hand resting on their pistol.
Their eyes are locked on a woman behind the desk.
She’s Black, her skin lit by warm undertones, which are accented by the rich crimson fabric of her dress.
Her hair is pulled up into an elaborate style on the top of her head, and her dark eyes follow me as I enter.
It isn’t until Captain Night motions to me that I spot the man standing in the back corner, head tilted down, hat covering his face.
I stop awkwardly in the center of the room, looking among them all. What is going on here? I open my mouth to ask, but at the slightest shake of Captain Night’s head, I clamp my lips closed.
“You’re the new one?” the woman asks as I fidget with my sleeve. Her voice is confident, her tone a smooth alto. She leans forward, steepling her hands on the desk as she waits for me to reply.
Jack nods to me.
“Yes,” I say.
Her lips tug up and she breaks out into a smile. She, Captain Night, and Jack burst into a chorus of laughter, and I’m left to stand awkwardly, nowhere to put my hands, my expression carefully schooled.
“When Captain Night told me some stranger appeared on his ship, you were not who I was expecting,” she says with a smile. She holds out a hand.
My eyes scan the room until they land on Captain Night, and he gestures to me with a tilt of his head. I cross the room and take her offered hand. Her grip is strong, her hand warm in mine.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Laszlo. You can call me Adelphine.”