Page 49 of Freeing Hook

“What made you want to be a gunner?” I ask.

Charlie lifts her brow. “What makes you think I had a choice? It was the only position available on the ship. And I needed a way out.”

I don’t ask what she needed a way out of. Her home city, perhaps? The memory of her parents’ slaughter? Instead, I ask, “And the captain hired a disgraced aristocrat girl to be a gunner on his ship?”

Charlie shrugs, then sighs, running a greased hand through her hair. The motion leaves smudge marks against her forehead. “His crew happened to be docked in Xhana a few months after it happened. I’d been living on the streets, scrounging for food and begging for the mercy of the villagers, trying to hide from the people who murdered my family and overran their estate. When I met the captain, it was sheer happenstance. He was meeting with a merchant at a tavern in town. I’d come in, begging the establishment owner for a job. I was so hungry. He overheard me and ended his meeting early. Asked me if I learned quickly and if I was willing to put on some muscle to lift heavy objects. Said he only had one position available on his crew, and I’d haveto get my hands dirty if I wanted it. I met him at the docks that night. Haven’t looked back since.”

I crane a brow at her. Something about her story doesn’t quite add up. “The captain offered you a gunner position just because he heard you were looking for a job?” Surely he couldn’t have been that desperate. Charlie’s strong; there’s no doubting that. But her strength doesn’t compare to the fae crew members. If she’d been starving at the time, I’m sure she looked feeble. There’s little I know about being a gunner, but I assume it takes more than a few days of training. Astor would have had to invest heavily in Charlie to make hiring her worth his while.

Charlie sighs, placing her hand on the barrel of the cannon and stroking it. “It wasn’t just any job I’d been applying for. The tavern I met Astor in doubled as a brothel. And I was fourteen.”

Shock drums through me. Not that a seedy brothel would take advantage of a starving fourteen-year-old girl like that, but that Astor, the man who had slaughtered my parents in front of me, had cared. Had even noticed. Not only that, but he’d given a job that involves heavy labor to a teenage girl, a fallen aristocrat, who, up to that point, had probably never lifted anything heavier than a paintbrush.

“It wasn’t charity, though. Well, it was at the time, but I assure you, I’ve made up for what must have seemed like a poor investment on his part in those first few months. Took me a while to get stronger. I was slow moving the cannonballs at first. But I worked harder than anyone else here. Stayed up tending to the cannons when all the others had gone to bed. Still do,” she says. “Besides,” she says, patting the cannon like it’s a pet, “I’m happier doing this than I ever would have imagined. There’s something about working with my hands. The exertion of it all.” A soft smile breaks loose on Charlie’s face. “I was always jittery back at home. I didn’t have anywhere to focus my energy. Now, I do. And I like to think I’m good at it.”

“You like it then?” I ask. “Being a gunner?”

Charlie nods. “Yeah. I…” She bites her lip, as if being transported back in time. “We’re not as strong as them, you know. It doesn’t matter how hard we train, how hard we fight. I could train for years, and Sorell—you know, the scrawny fae who works in the kitchens?—could still overpower me if he wanted.” She runs her hand over the cannon affectionately. “But put me behind one of these, and none of that matters.”

“It evens the playing field,” I say, thinking of my inability to wrench myself from Teeth’s grip the night he took me. “If only we could carry one of these around with us,” I say.

Charlie’s eyes flicker. “Yeah, if only.”

“Remind me to flee the continent if you ever find a way to make a cannon portable,” says a half-bemused voice.

Charlie and I turn to find Astor standing behind us, arms crossed and expression equally as perturbed, though I can’t imagine why. I suppose his face is just stuck like that.

“I assume the fact that the two of you are cleaning out the barrels of the cannons means that Darling is sufficiently prepared for our meeting with the Carlisles,” says Astor, managing to sound as if he actually assumes the opposite.

“You tested me yourself,” I say, remembering, somewhat smugly, the night I’d caught Astor off guard by playing the type of woman I thought he might like. “Remember?”

Astor doesn’t answer my question. Instead, he offers me a smile that’s only fitting for a person one wishes to fail. “Make sure you dress the part,” is all he offers.

I glance at Charlie, confused.

“Did you not inform her?” asks Astor, clearly annoyed.

“Inform me of what?”

Charlie doesn’t pay me any attention. Instead, she addresses her captain. “I didn’t want her to have all day to build it up in her mind.”

A cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck.

Astor rubs his brow between his fingers and groans.

“Charlie?” I grind her name through my teeth.

“Right. I might have forgotten to mention. We’re approaching Laraeth.”

Meaning I’ll be dining with the Carlisles. And impersonating Cressida Rivers. Tonight.

CHAPTER 19

JOHN

Disappointment jabs at my side. Like when Father used to make me run with him in the morning and I always ended up with cramps.

So, Tink doesn’t like it. I shouldn’t care. It’s not like I’ve stayed up until the wee hours of the night the past several days planning the perfect communication board for her. I’d had to recruit Benjamin for help—he’s excellent at whittling, and my left hand presents a dexterity problem. I’d told him it was for Michael, of course. As much as I trust Benjamin to be well-meaning, he doesn’t know when to keep quiet, and I don’t want him knowing I’m making this for Tink and that information getting back to Peter. I’d ended up asking Benjamin for two boards. In truth, I’d wanted one for Michael as well, as his is collecting dust in Darling Manor. I’d claimed that it’s useful to have one that’s portable and one that stays in our room. Benjamin had over-delivered, presenting me with two wooden boards with carved inlets in which to place communication tiles.

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