Page 33 of The Sea of Zemira (The Zemiran Chronicles 1)

“How much did you take, Ardley?” Mazie asked, eyeing a large crate filled with medicine and bandages in his hands.

Ardley shrugged. “I hate stealin’, but we needed medical supplies,” he replied. “Remember that poor bloke we tried to save last year on the northern shore? We didn’t have enough antibiotics to save him and—”

Lincoln held up a hand, not satisfied with his rambling explanation.

The captain clenched his jaw. “You thought stealin’ from the king was the way to do it?” he asked, his blood running cold. “Ardley, we may be pirates, but we live by a code! Never, ever steal from the king.”

Ardley huffed. “In my defense, Captain, it was not the king I stole from; it was his doctor, who refused to sell me what we needed.” He spoke slowly as if it was the only way Lincoln could understand his reasoning.

“Bloody hell!” Lincoln cursed. “We leave now. That bell that sounded off was the sign of a traitor or thief. They’ll be comin’ for our ship first. Storm or not, let us prepare the Sybil Curse and get the hell out of here.” Lincoln turned to the crew and began barking orders. “Kitten, you pull us out. Hill, put down the damn drink and help me raise the sails!”

“Aye...aye, Captain,” he said, saluting with his index finger.

Lincoln watched as his crew hustled to their duties, preparing the ship for their seven-day voyage. He prayed to the Almighty Gods that his ship would withstand the storm.

* * *

“Ow!” Nola groaned.

She hurriedly grabbed a dirty rag from the bucket to place against her head as soon as she felt the blood ooze from the wound. She pressed it firmly against her skin, hoping to stop the bleeding. The last thundering crash pulled a strong force against the ship, rocking it so hard her body slammed against the shelf next to her, the steel bars scratching into her forehead. She was not sure how deep it was, but the bleeding would not stop.

“You’ll be okay, Nola,” she said aloud, talking to herself. She looked around frantically in the small storage space. In the far-right corner was a tackle box. She rushed towards it and thought, perhaps there was something inside she could use to help stop the bleeding.

Nola pulled open the lid and spotted a few musty-smelling sponges. That was all she could find, so it would have to do.

She grabbed the cleanest one, pulled a small piece from it, and placed it on her wound, hoping to fill out the tiny cut made by the shard of metal. It felt like an inch long, but thankfully, it did not feel too deep as she cleaned around it.

Then, she cut along the bottom of her shirt with her pocket knife and wrapped her head to keep the sponge in place. She tied it off at the back, then crawled to her post and buried her head in her hands, carefully avoiding the wound.

Nola did not know what time it was, as it was so dark down there already, but after a moment, the sounds and cries above deck began to taper off. Perhaps they were sleeping, or maybe the storm was so fierce that the ship had lost its crew.

As her head throbbed, her body went rigid when footsteps descended the stairs below the main deck—she was not alone.

“If Hill would only put down ’is damn bottle once in a while, perhaps ’is scrawny lil’ body would be able to withstand the boats rockin’ durin’ a storm,” a woman’s voice said.

“Bless the man’s ’art—he’s not been able to handle his drinkin’ since he joined the crew. We need to put some meat on him so he can keep up with us. He drinks like a little girl,” a man’s voice replied.

“And wha’ the bloody ’ell does tha’ mean?” the woman asked, her voice climbing an octave higher. Then, followed by a small flirtatious giggle. “Oh, Boots, we don’t ’ave time for tha’.”

“Just tryin’ to cheer you up, my love.”

Oh no,Nola thought. Oh no. No. No. No.

Nola heard a thump against the door and saw the shadows of feet near the opening below it. Still, her thoughts about what was about to happen against that door were the only thing she could focus on. That was until Nola felt a furry creature run over her fingers. Her hand flew over her mouth, muffling the scream, but the yelp was louder than she expected. The two behind the door stopped their movements, followed by complete silence.

Nola was not ready to blow her hiding spot. She knew she would eventually get caught, but soon enough, it was happening; she ran cold to the core.

“Boots, wha’ was tha’?” the female pirate asked.

Nola felt her palms go clammy.

“Ah, Kitten, it was only the sound of me lips smackin’ against your beautiful neck,” the man she called Boots, hummed.

“It came from the closet,” Kitten said.

“Aye, it was probably a rat.”

“Ain’t no bloody rat, Boots. It sounded like a scream.”

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