Page 8 of A Flash of Golden Fire

“Just shootin’ the breeze, Cap’n,” the swarthy man muttered. “Here. Fella had this on ’im.” He showed the captain my knife in its leather sheath.

Captain Martin didn’t appear surprised. He held out his hand for the weapon, and Boone gave the knife over.

“Right.” He glared at me. “You. Get in here.”

I straightened up and glared back. “My name is Simon Bartholomew White, thank you very much.”

The captain’s bodyguard made a strangled sound, and Captain Martin narrowed his eyes.

“I know what your name is. Get in here this instant.”

His tone brooked no argument, and I recalled that my life was entirely dependent upon his favour, so I stifled my indignation and followed him, offering a secret prayer to whomever might be listening to keep me safe and give me what I needed.

He held up the knife as he shut the door. “For protection?”

“Yes, sir. You can never be too careful.”

“You can have your knife when you leave my quarters. You won’t need a blade here.” He sniffed the air and wrinkled his fine nose. “Jesus, you stink.”

Not an auspicious beginning.

“Well, I ain’t got a change of clothes, you see,” I said, crossing my arms.

He examined me with a shrewd eye, taking in my ragged and lowly appearance, I was sure, and probably wondering why he’d saddled himself with me when he could have left me to rot in the Penny Whistle.

So I did what I always did when I wasn’t sure of myself and acted like a twat.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Ain’t you ever seen a pauper before?”

His eyes went wide and I thought I’d caught him off guard with my cheek. I doubled down, taking in my surroundings.

“Hmm. Not bad, I suppose. I thought you’d have fancier digs than this though.”

There was, in fact, a fairly impressive four-poster bed in the center of the room which made my mind swirl with all sorts of possibilities.

I walked to an ornately carved dresser and swiped a fingertip over the carved top, then squinted at the admittedly minute layer of dust the wood had gathered. “And a better housekeeper.”

For a moment he looked like he was about to shout obscenities and throw me over the rail. A shock of terror hit me, and I wondered if my big fat gob had got me into trouble again.

Then his expression relaxed, and he laughed. I couldn’t tell if he was amused at me or amused at what he was going to do to me, at first.

He shook his head in mild annoyance and brushed past me to plunk himself down in a luxurious wood and leather armchair by the bank of windows that looked over the sea.

“Now that you mention it,” he said, “Icoulduse someone to keep this cabin clean. Maybe you’d be better at that than you are at tending goats.”

Ah shit.

I shrugged. “Well…”

I hadn’t banked on being pegged as a scullery maid, but the situation was my own fault for complaining about the state of his cabin. Which actually wasn’t bad, really. In fact, the rooms were substantial, and I wasn’t sure how there could be so much space in the ship when the crew were all crammed in hammocks in the lower berths. Everything here was polished mahogany or lacquered pine, and there were fancy linens and cushions spread about. The captain enjoyed his comfort.

The windows let in plenty of sunlight and gave him a view of the open sea at the stern.

“Nice view,” I commented.

“Thank you. Now take off those filthy clothes, Mr White.”

My mouth went dry, and a zing of electricity zapped me from my sternum to my bollocks.

---