Page 36 of The Sky Pirate's Stowaway
“I need to swap everyone around,” I lied. “But the result is that you get the night off.”
“Thank you, sir.” She hesitated. “Though I really don’t mind the night shifts.”
“I’m aware, Hawk.” I straightened up, adjusting my prosthetic. “Keep me updated on those cannons.”
“Yes, sir. And… thank you.”
I nodded and turned away, hoping she hadn’t noticed how quickly I’d changed the subject. These excuses to take the night watch were getting flimsier, but I couldn’t stop myself from creating these moments where Ghost might find his way up to the crow’s nest again.
He’d slipped up to see me every night for the last three nights, each time with his own completely fabricated excuse. We’d often sit in companionable silence for a spell, watching the stars. Then he’d start a conversation, usually about the crew, or the ship, or our route. He never pried me with personal questions, and I returned that favor. However, as time went on, he was becomingincreasingly relaxed with me, sharing more and more stories of his home, often centered around his nephew, Cody.
His tone took on a different cadence when he spoke about that child—any lingering edge melted away. I could tell he missed him dearly.
Oh, to have someone to miss.The thought was bitter, and I caught myself. I’d vowed to stop being so utterly pathetic after my little pity party the other day.
The rest of my day dragged like an anchor through open sky. I hauled the dead fluxstones to storage, swapping them for fresh ones from our dwindling supply. Sage’s face lit up when I delivered the replacements, though his smile faded as he counted them.
Another scuffle broke out between Greybeard and Patty—this time over a missing bottle of expensive brandy Greybeard had been saving for his birthday. I separated them before fists could fly, confiscating the half-empty bottle from under Patty’s bunk, and ordered her to clean the bathrooms for a week.
My visit to the infirmary brought better news. Stitches had already tended to Willy’s wounds, though her lips pressed into a thin line when she mentioned how deep some of the cuts were. The boy would heal, but the scars would remain.
“Butcher enjoyed himself too much,” she’d muttered, sorting through her supplies.
I checked the position of the sun for the hundredth time that day. The crow’s nest waited, empty against the darkening sky. My hip ached from the day’s walking, but I couldn’t focus on the pain. Not when night finally approached.
When stars pierced the purple twilight, Toothless Jimmy climbed down from the nest, so I made my way across the deck to take his place. I pretended not to notice Ghost leaning against the quarterdeck railing. He polished the same spot over and over, his attention fixed anywhere but on me.
The ladder creaked under my weight as I climbed. My prosthetic caught between rungs twice, and I had to pause to adjust it. Heat crept up my neck—I could feel Ghost’s gaze following my awkward ascent. But I refused to look back, refused to acknowledge how my hands trembled slightly on the wooden rungs.
Just a few more steps. The night air beckoned, promising solitude and sky and perhaps… something more.
The stars wheeled overhead as I settled into my usual spot, back against the mast. A perfect night for spotting approaching ships—clear skies, quarter moon, just enough light to see by without being seen.
I pulled out my telescopic, scanning the horizon. Nothing but endless stretches of dark clouds below.
The first hour crawled by. Every creak of rope, every whisper of wind had me glancing toward the ladder. But the crow’s nest remained empty except for me. Ghost had disappeared somewhere—and my telescopic kept scanning the empty decks as if I could conjure him by willpower.
By the third hour, my mood had soured considerably. What did I expect? That he’d come running up here every single night just because I’d taken over watch duty to spend time with him? The thought made me cringe at my own foolishness.
I’d faced down sand krakens and rival pirates without flinching. Led boarding parties into battle. Survived a military tribunal and certain death. Yet here I sat, like some lovesick cabin boy, desperate for a glimpse of pale skin and ginger hair.
Pathetic.
I forced my attention back to the horizon, gritting my teeth. The vast emptiness of the night sky usually brought peace, but tonight it only emphasized my loneliness. The distant stars seemed to mock my disappointment.
A soft scrape against the mainmast stopped my breath.
The mainmast rigging swayed, accompanied by quiet pants. My heart thundered against my ribs as those familiar footsteps drew closer. I kept my gaze fixed firmly ahead, though every nerve in my body focused on the sound of his approach.
Ghost’s head appeared over the edge, his cheeks flushed from the climb. A few strands of ginger hair curled damply against his neck. He gently placed a small knapsack on the wood, then hauled himself over the edge with surprising grace.
I maintained my position, pretending to study the endless horizon through my spyglass. My pulse refused to steady.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said breathlessly.
I managed to keep my voice level to reply, “I didn’t realize we had an appointment.”
Ghost settled cross-legged beside me, close enough that his knee brushed mine. “I was rushing to get here, but then Puffy and Mad Murray downright insisted I play a card game with them. You know, the one where you have to match the suits but also keep track of which cards are cursed? Murray swears he invented it, but Puffy says his grandmother taught him.”
