Page 6 of Stalking Wendy Darling

Mr. Maudlin grunted, trying to un-skewer himself from my blade, but I twisted it deeper, drawing a roar from him that echoed off the tight alleyway and served as a warning to everyone nearby. My wounded shoulder blazed with heat and pain, but I gritted my teeth and held onto Mr. Maudlin until blood loss made him weak.

I followed him to the ground, gratified to still see clarity in his eyes.

“Now, since it’s personal,” I said, cleaning my knife on his clothes and tucking it away, getting out an oyster shucking knife, “this next part is going to hurt.”

I let all my crazy out until my face split in a manic smile. “Buckle up, buttercup. I’m gonna make you sing.”5

Chapter Three

WENDY

“Yep,” I said with a deep voice full of confidence, looking the tan-faced, unamused quartermaster in the eye. “Four years of training aboard One-Leg-Peg’s ship of nightmares and terrors. I can sew, scrub the deck, and hoist the sails—you name it, I can do it.”

One-Leg-Peg was a barber in the Silver Isle who once hacked off one side of Michael’s afro in one fell swoop, but this man didn’t need to know that. I only needed to convince him long enough to get aboard.

His mouth thinned, nostrils flaring. The quartermaster was tanned like me, with hair a similar tarnished gold, but if I’d thought that similarity might have made us buddies, one pinch-mouthed scowl from him proved otherwise. “You’re lucky we’re down a crew member.”

Suuuure, luck. That’s what killed Mr. Maudlin.

“You get a two week trial. If you prove incompetent by the time we dock at the Cracked Shark, I’ll toss you off the ship myself.”

I saluted, straightening my back. “Aye, sir.”

He sighed heavily, already regretting his decision, but he stepped aside and allowed me to mount the gangplank. This time, I wasn’t shot in the shoulder, and actually managed to get all the way up to the deck. But fuck, no one ever said how much thigh power you needed to walk up one of these things. My legs were killing by the time I reached the deck, my knee sending flashes of pain up my thigh.

“Who the fuck are you?” an ageing man with a beard to rival a Schnauzer demanded the second I leaned back against the railing to stretch my leg muscles.

He posed a good question. Who the fuckwasI? Certainly not Wendalyn Darling, butcher, badass, and purveyor of really raunchy jokes. I could have gone for something really fancy like Augaloofth Campbell-Jonestown The Third, but it would have been hell to remember.

Also, Augaloofth wasn’t a name.

I just made it up.

“Wendell,” I said decisively, thrusting out my hand for a shake. The Schnauzer wrinkled his nose, his upper lip curling. Fine, if that was how he wanted to be… “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but I can’t actuallyseeyou beneath all that hair.”

What little I could see turned beet-red, his eyes flashing with warning beneath grey eyebrows that looked like two really furry slugs had crawled onto his face. And died there. Also, did slugs even have fur?

“Easy, Rolando,” the quartermaster grunted, trudging up the plank behind me, not winded at all and showing no sign of thigh strain.1 “The lad’s our replacement for Dalton.”

Ooh, Mr. Maudlin wassoa Dalton. His parents must have known he’d be dull and droning from birth. Dull, droning Dalton. He’d screamed the whole port down at the end, right about the time when I popped out his eyeballs and beganscalping him. I didn’t get to finish the latter; some douche happened across me and I had to flee. Also, I didn’t want to miss the Banshee’s departure.

Rolando—the Schnauzer—looked me up and down, his small black eyes tightening under those horrific brows. “He won’t last a week.”

“Ooh, is that a bet?” I asked, belatedly remembering to lower my voice. “I love bets. I’ve never lost a bet in my life.”

Rolando snorted, his bushy moustache fluttering. “That’s what they all say.”

“Yeah, but I’m not a liar.”

He shook his head, spotted my new buddy Anton The Quartermaster glowering at him, and then leapt back into action, joining a group of three skinny men hauling on a rope that was much, much thicker than anything I’d seen before.2 The ship was huge, the mahogany planks polished to a shine, clearly beloved by its crew. I didn’t see any sign of blood or screaming kidnappees, nor did I see Joanna kicking ankles and biting people’s faces off, either. Maybe they’d locked her away somewhere. I’d have to wait for everyone to sleep before I explored.

“Where do you want me?” I asked the quartermaster who was glaring across the ship, searching for something to yell about probably. “In a non-sexy way, obviously.”

The look he levelled me with was so heavily unamused that I flattened the smile from my face and offered a silent salute. He sighed.

“Go over there and help Wynton and Neville get the damn sail up. And get in anyone’s way at your own risk.” With me dealt with, he raised his voice to a deafening boom. “Prepare to sail. Come on, you lazy bastards, get a shift on!”

Smothering a grin, I strode across the deck towards the two people Anton pointed out and got to work. It was difficult to stop myself humming under my breath, my mood elated.

---