Page 6 of High Seas

“Never mind. He’s probably in a tavern.”

When I splattered onto the earth in thirteen forty-eight, I decided I hated the ground. I hated the dirt and the earth and the scent of mud and manure. But after splashing into the ocean and nearly drowning, only to be hauled onto a pirate ship and sequestered in a cabin, my appreciation for the sand and dirt beneath my feet had been restored. Edward helped me climb out of the rowboat.

“Will Enoch know you as Edward, or are you known by another name?” A pirate name, perhaps?

“So very subtle, Eve. He will know me as Edward Thatch, though most know me as Blackbeard.” He playfully tugged on the strands of his namesake.

“Great. I’ll be sure to tell him,” I blandly promised, letting the sand sink between my toes. Edward hesitated on the sand, staring off wistfully toward the glow of Brutulo. “You’re not going into town?”

“It’s not wise to leave a ship unguarded.”

“Afraid someone will take her?”

He laughed. “Exactly that. After all, I stole her fair and square.” Edward gave the small boat a hard shove into the surf and jumped aboard, gathering the oars in his hands and rowing back over the breakers. He patiently carved a path to deeper water where his precious stolen ship waited for him.

I made tracks in the wet sand, following the light and the lapping sea water into town.

Edward had described her perfectly. Brutulo was brimming with prostitutes, taverns, and brawling men, most missing at least half their teeth. It stunk worse than a field full of manure, worse than a ship full of filthy sailors… because there were many ships docked here, full of many filthy sailors, and personal hygiene wasn’t a priority in this time. In fact, it wasn’t even a consideration.

I was reminded of the only thing I knew that smelled worse. As gross as Brutulo stank, it still wasn’t as bad as the sweet-rotten stench of death. I wasn’t sure I’d ever forget the fetid miasma of plague-ridden Edenshire.

I kept to the shadows, ducking between and behind small thatched buildings, looking for clothing to steal. The gown Enoch provided me was ruined. Not just because of the salt water, but because traveling was also hard on fabric. The wind had almost torn it apart, and what the wind didn’t ruin, the water did. Despite its sad shape, I wanted to keep it. Or at the very least, a piece of it.

The huts that looked like homes were empty, but sturdier-built taverns brimmed full. The merchants had already closed their shops and removed their goods from the makeshift stands set up along the sandy streets, and I couldn’t find a single clothes line that wasn’t bare.

There was one option, however. In addition to the taverns being busy… so were the houses of, uh, ill repute. Slipping through the back door of a questionable establishment, I crept through the dimly lit rooms and up the stairs, avoiding the doors that were closed and the rooms that were occupied, and rushing into one that was open. I closed the door and scurried to the closet, pushing sheer robes and lacy underthings to the side. Please tell me there’s something of substance in here.

The sound of footsteps came from down the hall. Someone paused just outside the door, the shadows of a pair of feet swaying with the candlelight in the hallway. My heart skipped a beat as I waited for the door handle to turn, for someone to walk in and catch me. The person lingered for a moment and then the shadows under the door shifted and the footsteps trailed away.

It was definitely time to leave. I let out a pent-up breath and kept searching. The more I sifted through, the more risqué the garments became. I held up a strappy piece, trying to understand how it was worn, but gave up when I couldn’t figure it out.

My eyes caught on something hanging in the back of the closet, something the color of the sea I’d plunged into; a garment I didn’t expect to find, but was soooo damn glad I did. The gown was smooth and cool like silk, but made of thicker fabric. It was beautiful, probably imported, and likely a gift from a wealthy patron.

As I held the dress aloft, a loud crash came from the hallway, followed by the high-pitched screech of a woman and the angry, deep voice of a man. I clutched the fabric against my chest.

The fight outside escalated as they berated one another. They started moving toward my direction, and while I wasn’t sure which room they were headed to, there was no reason to linger any longer. I’d gotten what I came for. I tossed a few coins from Edward’s pouch on the bed and raised the window pane, slipping out onto the tile roof. With careful steps, I made my way down to the edge and jumped to the ground.

My fingers fumbled with the salt-stiffened buttons at the back of my neck. When the fabric finally parted enough for me to squeeze my head through, I ducked out of the gown and quickly tossed it on the ground. Unzipping my tech suit and pulling the top half down, I swiftly pulled the dress over my head and tugged my arms into the cap sleeves.

The fabric was heavy, and lacing the back was difficult with only one person. I finally realized why Mrs. Kerry kept asking if I wanted help. I wasn’t good at girly stuff, and it probably looked like a child had laced and knotted it, but the important thing was that the gown was secure.

I grabbed the dress that Enoch gifted me and deliberated about what to do with it; whether I should stash it somewhere and come back for it later, or just take it with me. The dense fabric was still wet and dripping, and I held it away from me so the water didn’t ruin the gown I’d stolen.

Glancing up, I saw a familiar face – one I’d know anywhere.

Abram.

He looked well enough as he strolled down the muddy street. There was no wound on his neck. Was it possible that his suit accelerated his healing and stopped his transition to vampire? If that was the case, it must mean Titus was here somewhere, and that his abdominal wound had healed.

Abram ducked into a tavern. When the door closed behind him, I bunched up the sodden gown and hid it in the roots of a nearby line of hedges.

I quickly crossed the street and slid into the tavern, keeping my back to the wall, careful to duck under the sconces nailed into the stone. Each sconce held a thick, white candle, and beneath each candle was a slow-growing stalagmite of wax drippings. The flame of one of the candles flickered as I passed by. I hated candles. They may provide light, but they also made the lurking shadows darker. Edward’s warning came back to me. He said not to fear the dark, but to fear the things hiding within the darkness.

That had to be where Abram was, because he wasn’t anywhere in the crowd. I kept my eyes open, scanning every face while trying not to stare at the couples openly groping one another and making out so hard, they looked like they were almost having sex against the walls. Some of them might have been.

If Abram thought my actions with the vamp in the arena were suggestive, maybe this place would teach him a lesson in indecency. The only time any of these couples let go of one another and came up for air was to chug down more rum. Then they were right back at it.

A glassy-eyed, middle aged man with greasy, mud-brown hair stepped in front of me and belched in my face. I waved the stench away and tried to step around him, but he moved with me, placing himself in my path. “How much?” he slurred, blinking his eyes rapidly.

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