Page 2 of Shiver Me Satyr

“What took so long? When you didn’t come out with Chub, I thought I’d have to charge inside and rescue you,” Greenhorn shouts. The lanky pirate stands a head and shoulders over the landlubbers bustling down the busy street. Everyone gawks at the dark-skinned islander in front of the posh mansion. I want to scream at all of them to keep to themselves.

“Help me carry these, you nutmeg,” I shout from the top step. The footman drops the third wooden trunk with a thud and slams the door. Greenhorn and Eze laugh at my expression as the forced breeze from the door blows my hair into my face. “I guess our visit is done.”

“What a success, lassie,” Eze says, using Chub’s Irish nickname for me in his African accent. The mismatch is uniquelyhim. Both my helpers joined the boat as youths and have more than a little hero worship for Chub. It wouldn’t surprise me if Chub was born an adult on the boat and walked from his mother’s marriage box to the helm. He’s been our quartermaster since the Gods created the seas and pulled the land from its depths.

“Yep,” I say with a grunt as I drag a trunk to the edge of the step. “Three trunks, half the bounty up front, and a palmful of money for dinner at the brothel.”

“But you don’t eat roast pork, dumplings, and applesauce. That’s the going fare this time of year. You don’t even drink ale!” Greenhorn lifts one of the heavy trunks over his head and hops down the stairs as if his burden were a pillow of feathers.

“What are you going to do with the coin, Captain?” Eze answers as he tosses the trunk onto the cart with his left arm. He wipes his brow with his right arm in a gesture mocking my struggle with the third trunk. I needn’t have worried about farmers snatching the pair. Clearly, these men can handle themselves.

“I heard they have a special pie in this town. It’s bear meat with pumpkins and molasses. I’d like to try a slice. Would you like to join me?” I can’t keep the giggles from between my words as we trudge down the busy street to Sissy’s tavern. My diet is almost all fish—raw fish. It’s cheapest to stick to my roots instead of branching out to colonial foods.

However, watching the disappointed faces of my companions is too funny. They don’t want their Lady Captain to know they’re itching to wet their wicks in the colonial ink wells. A quick three-penny-upright will put them in the best mood for the long journey back to the Caribbean, but they don’t know I think that way. If they were with my sister, Sabs, they wouldn’thesitate in asking for a whore’s ransom. She’s the scandalous sister, while I’m the stick-in-the-mud.

“Here’s ten pence apiece,” I say as we chain the cart to a post in front of Sissy’s. “Fill your bellies as well as empty your cocks. Then, head straight back to the boat—no other stops or falling asleep—lace your breeches as you run up the gangplank. I will maroon your arses in Boston if you’re late. Captain’s orders!”

“Aye, aye,” the two shout with salutes before sprinting through the doors.

As I enter the tired tavern, all eyes lift from their tin plates to stare at me. The four tables run the length of the room without an empty seat. Velvet-coated noblemen sit beside grubby peddlers as they shovel meat pie into their faces and gawk at me. Working girls sneer in my direction as they pet the wigs of the noblemen and avoid the wandering hands of the peddlers. They needn’t worry about my competition. I tried earning on my back on one of our parlays ashore and couldn’t do it.

Sabs loved bedding strangers, so I thought I would give it a go. After all, she ended up happily married with a clutch of young on the way. If her husband hadn’t bequeathed his position onPatricia’s Wishto me, I’d be destitute. But I forgot Sabs was warm, jovial, and sensual…while I’m…a good woman.

“You haven’t any coconut water, do ya?” I ask the dour woman behind the bar. She shakes her head as she polishes a grimy glass with a stained, damp rag.

“Just gravy, barley water, light wine, and milk if you’re not on the grog,” she says with a smile that’s missing a few teeth.

“Light wine,” I reply, not knowing what that is. It’s got to be better than grog or barley water. I count out seven pence, then toss them back into my pocket and add a shilling to the stickybar top. I twist around to put my back against the bar. Men often sneak up on me if I lean over the bar, and I’m not in the mood to fend them off—or the whores who want their attention. “Keep the change.”

“Oui, for that lot, you can get a plate of pie and a bed for the night—empty or otherwise,” the barmaid says with a wiggle of her eyebrows. Poor woman’s nails are worked down to the quick. There’s a line where she’s expanded out of her wedding band, which hangs from a cord around her neck. Her stringy hair sticks out of her soiled bonnet in every direction like arrows on the street signs outside.

“I want you to have it, that’s all,” I reply with a bittersweet grin. The woman won’t ever see more than the inside of this bar, her home—which is probably upstairs—and the business end of her husband’s marriage rod—if he doesn’t prefer her girls.

“Well, if you need anything—” she pauses to bite the coin to verify it’s real silver “—let me or the girls know. I’ll refill your cup all afternoon; just raise it.”

“There is something you could help me with,” I say, cringing at the thought of staying all afternoon while Eze and Greenhorn paint her girls with their unborn children. “I‘m looking for a highborn satyr—”

“Hybris,” she whispers with a wistful sigh, clutching the rag to her bosom.

“He’s a regular?”

“I should know a pretty thing like you would be after a beard-splitter like him. He’ll service you just right, but he’s not on my payroll. No, he’s part of that Astor family. Upright gentleman, like his father, but his mother is a piece of work—”

“We’ve met,” I say, winking at the barmaid. I can guess the situations that formed her opinion of the rich couple. “I’m the captain of the boat taking Hybris on his latest adventure—”

“So, you’re here to collect him. I should be sad to see him go—although my girls will cry more tears than me,” she says with a belly laugh that blows the stench of barley water and meat pie over me. “He’s in the dry stock with Lady Penelope.”

“In the pantry like a common—” I close my lips on three-penny upright because I just told my men to avail themselves of such a lady’s services. They’re cheaper than the whores upstairs and the girls working the floor because they don’t live in the brothel. Their home is the alley behind the building, where they are alwayson the job,earning pennies to eat.

“No three-penny-uprights here, dear lady,” the barmaid replies, losing some of her shine toward me.

“No offense, I’ll collect Hybris and be on my way.” I tip my hat like Chub taught me and throw the rest of the rancid wine down my throat. If anything, I’m thirstier after drinking the foul liquid than before. I can’t wait to get back to the Caribbean and drinks that refresh you without drunkenness. Sliding off my too-tall barstool, my boots clap when I hit the floor.

Conversations stop as I pass the tables. Eyes burn holes in my back. Retreating to the boat to wait for the guys is best. I don’t belong on the mainland. They can’t see that I’mOther, but somehow, they know. I may sound like an island girl, but they suspect I’m something else—not a pirate, not a lady.

“Hybris, Hybris, dig that snout in there!” The shouts on the other side of the pantry door are from a female having the time of her life. I smother my giggles with my hand.

“Now, Lady Marrs,” says an indistinct male voice. No doubt the muffling is from the strumpet’s skirts. “Someone could hear you and tell your husband—”

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