Page 19 of Captive of the Pirate King
“I am no friend to any king,” I say cautiously. “Just a boy looking to make a different sort of life for himself.”
“That’s all, is it? I wonder, now—I wonder,” Cook muses, tapping the ring. “Maybe a fine young gentleman dressed himself in rags and pretended to be a cabin boy, so he wouldn’t be held for ransom.” He looks straight at me, abandoning all pretense. “Youarevaluable for ransom, aren’t you, lad?”
Rebellious though I’ve been, my family would pay good money to get me back. My parents don’t know about my ability—only my brother Mordan, one of my cousins, and two servants know what I can do. My parents still think I’m their normal child, the safe one, the one without magic.
They would pay to have me back so they can marry me off. True, my reputation would be somewhat tarnished, and I’d have to accept a less fortuitous match than the one they originally planned for me—but my parents desperately want legitimate grandchildren. They want the continuation of our bloodline—if not through Mordan, then through me.
My gut tells me to speak the truth, however foolish that seems. So I stare Cook in the eyes, and I say, “Yes, I am valuable for ransom.”
Let him think that’s why I posed as cabin boy. Anything to circumvent the truth.
Cook nods, approval shining in his steely eyes. He pushes the ring toward me with one finger. “Hide that bit o’ swag, lad. Hide it away good, and don’t let no one see it.”
My pulse jitters. Is he really not going to tell Captain Neelan?
“I’ll hide it,” I promise.
“Good. Best find a spot for it now, then get back here quick as death, ye hear me? I need about ten more hands to get everything done today. We’ll be making a stop at the Wierling Isles tonight, and I need to take inventory so I can restock our supplies. Fresh meat, eggs, and fruit!” he chortles, picking up a tiny jar of cinnamon and examining its contents.
Under the pretense of finding a hiding place for the ring, I head back to the sleeping quarters. On the way I tuck the ring between my breasts again, vowing not to forget about it next time I bathe or change.
I can scarcely believe that Cook spared me, that he’s keeping my family heirloom a secret. He’s the second pirate to show me kindness, to help me and cover for me. Is this what it feels like to be part of a crew?
I think I might like it.
But I can’t forget the truth of my circumstances—who I am, and who these men are, and the strange laws under which we operate. Captain Neelan nearly had me beaten for taking a set of clothes. Jinks tried to rape me. Every moment aboard ship is another moment of risk. I have to constantly think about my expressions, my voice, my posture, my disguise.
I have to remember that any camaraderie between me and the crew is only possible because they think I’m male. If they discover the truth, I’m doomed.
Maybe I’ll be able to slip away from the pirates during our stop at the Wierling Isles. I’ve never heard of those particular islands, but setting foot on dry land sounds wonderful. My feet crave solid ground. I think I might fall down and kiss the earth when I reach it again.
If I can hide somewhere on land until the pirates leave the Wierling Isles, I’ll be free. I can bargain for passage on another ship, a less violent one. I wonder if the remaining members of the merchant crew know where we’re going, and if any of them plan to escape. Maybe they’ll include me in the attempt.
It’s even possible that my brother might be on these islands. Out here in the Shorn Seas, islands are few and far between, or so I was told during my geography lessons back home. There are a limited number of places where Mordan could be.
Unless he decided that the sailor’s life wasn’t for him, and he has found a new home in one of the other great coastal kingdoms. Or perhaps he traveled inland, to a nation like Brintzia, Terelaus, or Ista. I know those names distantly, hazily. To me, they are smudges on a map, lands so far away they’re not worth thinking of. Like my brother, I was always more fascinated with the sea, its peril and potential.
On land, you know your destination precisely, and the route you’ll take to get there. But a journey at sea is ever-changing, unpredictable. You can chart your course, but as I know from painful experience, anything can happen along the way.
14
Now that I know we’re approaching land, I’m a jittery wreck. I keep dropping things and then panicking because I’m afraid if I’m too clumsy or messy, Cook will think twice about keeping the secret of my family ring. So I apologize profusely, which annoys him until he finally banishes me to the deck with orders to “scrub ’til ye can see the ship’s bones.”
Of course I choose to scrub the forecastle. Its position near the prow gives me the best chance of spotting the islands the moment they’re visible.
I take my time swirling the scrubbing brush over the deck, alternating with the mop sometimes. I’ve been there a handful of minutes when Cauley, the former first mate of theWending Willow, climbs the steps to the forecastle and sidles nearer, slowly winding a coil of rope.
“All good, Nick?” he asks.
This man is one of the few on board who know my secret. To their credit, he and the other former crew members have said and done nothing to put me at risk, and I’m deeply grateful.
“All good, Mr. Cauley,” I reply.
He’s shifting his weight, licking his lips, darting glances around even though no one is standing within earshot.
“What is it?” I say under my breath.
“The others were talking of escape,” he says. “Of getting away once we reach the islands.”
