Chapter 3 #2
“I …” I lower my fountain pen. Why does he think I’m ill? What’s with the food? “I don’t know what to say.”
“Any good cook knows that silence at the dinner table is the mark of a good meal.” He winks at me with his one eye, then backs away. “You enjoy it.” Once he’s shuffled from the room, and Smee locks it behind him, I stare down at the food.
“This can’t be real.” I right my chair and sit down. “Poisoned?” I pick up the wooden tableware Cookson left me, and he even brought a napkin. No, I don’t think anyone who was that proud of his food would poison it, would he? And my god it smells amazing. Real food. Not those damn berries!
I unfold my napkin, and almost moan with delight when I find a piece of buttered bread inside it.
“Oh my god.” I bring it to my nose and inhale.
“Come to Mama.” I take a big bite, not giving a rat’s ass if it’s poisoned.
It’s fresh bread with butter—what a way to go.
I greedily devour the whole thing, then slice my fork through a piece of the beef.
I don’t know what Cookson was talking about. It’s tender, the dark broth pooling around it. Bringing it to my mouth, I take a bite. It’s warm and absolutely delicious. Throwing caution to the wind, I eat my fill, enjoying every bite.
When I’m absolutely stuffed, which happens far too soon, to be honest, I sit back. I don’t do Cookson justice as I survey my half-full plate, but if I ate another bite I might explode. I put my fork down and rub my hand over the food baby in my stomach.
“At least you’re taking good care of me before you kill me.” I raise my cup to the crew of the Jolly Roger and finish off my water.
For the first time in a while, I feel truly full.
My headache recedes to a dull thump, but my body still complains every time I move.
My pirate broke our fall into the water, but it still jarred the hell out of me, and I was tense as we fell.
Don’t they tell you not to get tense if you know you’re about to be in a car wreck?
How does that even work? Of course you tense up.
I push my plate away and eye the wooden fork. Could it be a weapon? Probably not. The tines are rather dull on the end, as if it’s seen a good bit of use. Best if I stick to the fountain pen.
Rising, I return to the windows along the back of the captain’s quarters.
They have latches, but when I open one, the hiss of the ship cutting through the water is loud in my ears.
I swing it back shut. It’s not a reasonable option for escape, but if Hook tries anything—I glance at the bed—I won’t think twice about jumping out into the dark waters.
A chill rushes across my skin, my eyes watering at the prospect.
“Keep it together.” I scurry to the bed, grab the blanket from the top of it, then hurry to the other side of the room.
It’s sort of thick, likely stuffed with down, and I wrap it all the way around me. Maybe it’ll keep the chill away.
The lock clicks, and I back up, my heart beating triple time as I stare.
A man walks in—no feather, no hook—and closes the door behind him.
He’s in what I’d assume was normal pirate gear: tricorn hat, white boatneck shirt, black pants, and leather boots.
Young like the rest of the crew, though Cookson seems to be an exception, he removes his hat and tucks it under his arm.
That’s when I see the bag in his other hand.
“What’s that?” I back up until I’m pressed in the corner where the windows meet the wall.
“I’m Skylights.” He gives me a small bow. “I’m the quartermaster for the Jolly Roger, and the medic, when called for.”
“I didn’t call a medic.” I grip the blanket so tightly my fingers start to tingle.
He steps forward.
I squeak in alarm, my gaze on his bag.
“It’s all right, miss.” He puts the bag on the table, opens it, and steps back. “Have a look if you like.”
“I think I’m good here.” I pull the blanket tighter around me.
“Moira—that’s your name, right?” He stays put, his hands behind his back.
“Yes.”
“I heard you were bitten by a mermaid?”
I suppose my pirate has been talking about me. “Yeah, though apparently it was just a ‘taste’, or so I was told.”
He nods. “Those can still hurt terribly. Might I have a look at it?”
“I’m good.”
With a sigh he goes over to the dark lantern and takes it down. “I know you aren’t ‘good’, Moira. You were bitten, kept captive by Pan, then had to jump into the sea to—”
“What? You think Peter was keeping me captive?” I’m gawking at him, unable to hide it. “Seriously?”
He presses on the wooden wall to his left, and a panel pops open.
Wait, there’s storage in the walls? Maybe that’s where I’ll find a weapon. I make a mental note of the cupboard as Skylights fills the lantern with some sort of oil.
“So, you weren’t kept prisoner?” he asks as he returns the canister of oil and closes the panel. With the strike of a match, he has the lantern lit again. It casts a warm light over the room, putting more shine on the dark walls and honey-colored floor.
“No. Now I am, though. Just sitting in here waiting for your asshole boss to show up and gut me or do whatever it is he intends to do.” I shiver and pull the blanket even tighter. “Where is he?”
“The captain’s here. He’s the one who asked me to check on you and give you aid.”
I snort a laugh. “Sure he did.”
He raises a brow and leans back against the table, crossing his arms in a casual pose marked with curiosity. “Why would I lie to you?”
“You’re a pirate.”
“Yes.”
“There you go.” I give him a definitive nod.
“I see.” I don’t miss the amused glint in his dark eyes.
“I hope you realize there’s no way in hell I’m going to let you touch me.”
“All right. Fair, I suppose, given your opinion on pirates. May I at least look at your injuries? If I can get a look at the bite, I’ll be able to tell if you have an infection. The fall into the water—it would help if I could palpate—”
“Absolutely not.” I don’t want any of whatever he just said.
He sighs. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Moira. I want to help you, if you’ll let me.”
It’s stupid, but I want to believe him. It’s not like he’s yelling “Avast ye!” and swinging a rapier at me. Still, I can’t just go around putting my trust in people. Especially not here. I’ve learned that the hard way.
I keep my spot against the wall and eye him.
“I take it that’s a no?” He shrugs and turns to his bag. “I’ll leave a seaweed poultice for the bite—doesn’t smell good, but it will work a treat on mermaid saliva. For the pain, I’ve compounded a pill.”
“What’s in it?” I raise a brow as he places the seaweed bandage on the table and then holds out a grayish pill.
“Medicine.”
“Like what?” I’m not taking it, but it might come in handy later.
“Highly-diluted poppy essence with a few other medicinal vitamins.”
“That’s heroin. Thanks, but I’m not really interested in breaking bad right now.” Though I think that would apply more to meth.
He gives me a smile and shakes his head. “Not heroin or anywhere even close. It’s mild, but it will help with pain.” He’s still holding it out.
I’m not going over there. He could grab me. Of course, if he wanted to, he could drag me out of this corner. He’s tall, over six feet, and likely late twenties. Strong. Just like the other pirates on this ship.
“All right.” He puts it on the table, then goes to another hidden cupboard and pours me a fresh cup of water. “You can take it with this. In any case, get some rest. You look …”
“Sick? That’s what Cookson said.”
He grabs his bag and my plate from the table. “You look like you’ve been through a lot. Rest will help you and your body recover.” He backs toward the door. “I’ll be back to check on you later.”
I want to say ‘don’t bother’ but I don’t. After all, he’s been nothing but kind, even if he is trying to offer me heroin.
Smee opens the door for him, and Skylights backs out, a rueful look on his face that turns to shadow as he steps into the darkness beyond the captain’s quarters.
Once again, the door closes and locks, and I finally slump forward, my body aching and the bite throbbing. I hobble to the edge of the bed and sit down, my head swimming a bit.
I was right. The bed is comfortable.
“Fuck you, Hook.” I sound miserable. Probably because I am.
I keep thinking I’m going to hear a knock at the window and find Peter outside with his hand out, waiting for me to take it so he can fly me to safety. But that knock doesn’t come. I’m still on this ship being taken off to who knows where.
A yawn overtakes me. Then another.
Shifting back a little bit, I settle on the bed and pull the curtain back so I can keep a steady view of the door.
I’ll sit here for a little while, then get back to investigating the room.
Skylights had no problem finding compartments filled with all sorts of things.
I just need to find the one with the knives or the guns.
As soon as my body stops aching—I glance at the pill on the table—no. I won’t take it. The seaweed seems harmless, if a little fishy smelling, but I can’t be bothered with it at the moment. Not when I’m trying to think through my escape.
Lying back, I rest my head on a pillow and turn on my side so I can watch the door. The blanket is warm around me, seeping through the chill of ocean water and fear.
I’ll stay right here and regain my strength.
Soon enough, Peter will arrive to rescue me, and I’ll need to be ready to fight when that happens. But I can’t fall asleep. I won’t. I have to stay awake with my attention on the door.
So that’s exactly what I do.
Easy.