Page 20 of Captive of the Pirate King
My pulse quickens. “Yes?”
“There’s no way it’ll work,” he says dolefully. “Captain Neelan’s first mate warned us not to try anything. Said these islands are loyal to the Pirate King. Any prisoners who attempt to escape won’t find help among the islanders. We’ll be caught and then shot, hanged, or drowned if we try it.”
I pinch my lip between my teeth. “So what then? We’re permanently pirates now?”
“You’re the only one as might be able to get away,” Cauley says. “If you wait until we’re on land, and then reveal yourself, they’ll have to leave you on the island. The rule is, no women on the Pirate King’s ships. I doubt they’d kill you, especially after you’ve made yourself so useful aboard. You’re smarter than I gave you credit for.”
“Thank you?” I mutter.
“Just wanted you to know—you’ll be on your own if you want to try to stay on the island,” he continues. “The rest of us are bound to the ship until we reach Ravensbeck. Once we get there, they’ll print us with those magical tattoos so we can’t tell the Pirate King’s secrets, and then we’ll be ‘free,’ I suppose. Though the only way we’ll ever leave Ravensbeck is aboard another pirate ship, seeing as pirate vessels are the only ones that make berth there.”
“And pirate vessels won’t take women aboard,” I say faintly. Hope drains out of me. The only chance I’ll have to get away will be our stop at the Wierling Isles. Failing that, I’ll have to continue my ruse until we dock in Ravensbeck. And then I’ll be stuck in Ravensbeck, because no other ship of the Pirate King’s will take me elsewhere.
“What about other buccaneers who stop at Ravensbeck? Surely there are some who trade there, but don’t fly the Pirate King’s flag or follow his rules. One of them might take me along.”
“You’d not be safe aboard one of them lawless galleys, lass,” says Cauley. “Best to get off at the islands.” He steps away from me with a curt nod and another sharp glance around the forecastle. “I’ve said my piece. The rest is up to you. May Mother Ocean guide you.”
He descends the steps to the main deck, and I scrub furiously, blinking back angry tears. The soapy froth blurs until I can barely see what I’m washing any more.
Steps vibrate through the planks, but I don’t look up. Whoever is standing nearby can’t see me crying like a little girl. Though that’s exactly what I feel like—a stupid, spoiled little rich girl fussing over the consequences of the choices she made.
The steps halt near me. “Nick.”
I know that voice like I know my own soul.
“What?” I answer Locke gruffly, without looking up. “You should be resting.”
“I was told to return to work,” Locke replies. “What’s wrong?”
I haven’t looked at him. How can he tell that anything is wrong?
“I—um—” I scramble for some reason to be upset, besides my dashed hopes of escape. “Well, someone told me I wouldn’t be allowed to go ashore when we make port.” I swipe a wrist across my eyes and lift my gaze a bit higher.
“Nonsense.” Locke starts to crouch in front of me, then releases a grunt of pain and straightens again. “Everyone will be going ashore. The people of the Wierling Isles are always happy to see one of the Pirate King’s vessels—there will be feasting, stories, songs, dancing, and games! You must see it.”
“I’m only a cabin boy—” I begin, but he cuts me off.
“You’ll be going ashore with everyone else. I’ll ensure it.”
I glare up at him. “There you go again, talking like you own the world, when you’re just another man before the mast. You werewhippedtoday. By your captain. For something I did.”
“It wasn’t your fault. You only took those clothes because I let you claim a pair of boots on your first day,” he says with a grimace. “Neelan let it slide the first time, because it was a swap of goods—the fine boots I’d claimed in exchange for those.” He nods to the scuffed half-boots I’m wearing. “But I should have warned you that it would be a one-time concession. I had a certain view of the rules aboard theArdent, and well—let’s just say I had some things to re-learn. I’d forgotten how it feels not to own everything I touch.”
I stare at him, my hand limp on the scrubbing brush. “Whoareyou?”
His tanned face splits in a flashing smile—teeth whiter than any normal pirate should have. “I’m Locke, the humble sailor. And who are you?”
Again he has cornered me with his words, and I have no choice but to retreat.
“I’m Nick, the cabin boy,” I growl, grinding the soapy brush against the wood again.
“As I thought.” And then his voice changes, turning wild and bright. “Look, Nick. The islands!”
15
The instant after Locke speaks, a sailor cries “Land ho!” from the crow’s nest.
I jump up, suds dripping from my fingers, and I dash forward. My wet hands slap against the railing and I lean out as if the angle of my body can make us speed faster to the islands.
