“Fine,” she says, pushing off the hull. “I don’t have to take this abuse from you. See you in the deep.”
“Wait, I’m sorry!” I call after her, but she disappears into the dark water.
“Who’s there? Who dares to sneak up onPatricia’s Wish? Climb our Jacob’s Ladder, and you’ll meet the sharp end of my sword—for you have interr...interr…” Teeth’s declaration is interrupted by the crashing of iron against the deck before he can remember the word interrupted. Poor drunk Captain—
Splash.
My dreams come true when Teeth falls head over heelsinto the sea. Unfortunately, he’s too drunk to recognize me. His brow lowers as he struggles to focus on my face. The building seas toss him. Thirstier than a fish, his mouth gapes for air, swallowing gallons of saltwater. One minute, I’m staring into his glazed eyes, and the next, his blond mane swirls on the waves.
He will surface any moment now. He’s not tricking me into touching him. Touching him is dangerous. I refuse to let go of my anger. I’ll wait for his ruse to end and buss his cheeks for faking his death. Not funny. As bubbles rise and pop where he disappeared, my mind quiets.
Is he too drunk to swim?
Pride be damned, I never wanted him to die! I dive under the waves. The Caribbean Sea is pitch black without the lingering sunset or churning sand to glitter in puffs. Even my enhanced Kraken sight with double eyelids isn’t enough to discern shadows from sharks. Teeth’s golden hair and shiny weapons make him a lighthouse. He’s a target for any sight predator.
Barracuda. Sharks. Jacks. Snappers. They can’t have him. He’s mine.
6
Captain Teeth
The grog from Aruba is no holy water. It’s gone to my head and messed with my innards. One moment, I’m swashbuckling on the deck, and the next, I’m in the drink—and not the potent potable kind. I fall face-first into the ocean. Come on, arms, move! Legs, kick! Waist, bend! Some part of me must fight the current before I drink the Caribbean. Each gulp of air yields the salty taste of certain death.
Like my rascally crew, my body won’t obey my orders. Would my arms swim if Chub were to yell at them like the nutmegs on our ratlines?
How easy would it be to sink to Davy Jones’s locker? I’ve drunk more seawater than grog tonight.
Chub and Catalina run the boat. I’m just a figurehead. Captains are nothing more than targets for boarding enemies, harbormasters, soldiers, cannonballs, and crew members with grievances. I haven’t beengiven a black spot because no one else wants the job. Another gulp of ocean slides down my gullet. If I drown tonight, the boat will sail the same tomorrow as it did today. They’ll miss me for a journey or two—maybe write a bawdy ballad about Ol’Captain Teeth’s sparkling smile or missing fingers. Me hearties are the closest I have to family, so remembrance in a drinking song is the best memorial I can hope to achieve.
If I close my eyes…
“No,” says a feminine voice beside me.
Is that a mermaid? I’d call her a siren, but the husky whisper isn’t a sweet song. Plus, protesting my drowning would be bad for business if she were a siren luring me to my death. I’m not a learned man, but I’ve wrestled the sweet trade since my teens. Death and business are my areas of expertise.
Let me go, wench.
“You can’t die,” she says when I resurface. “I won’t allow you to die.”
Her red hair tangles around my arms and legs. She hugs my waist to hold me afloat. How can she reach me from a yard away? I sink below the surface to collect an eyeful of dairy. Topless in stormy seas at night without another boat in sight? Maybe she is an imaginary mermaid conjured by rum. The flash of a shark’s belly could resemble the creamy swells of breasts in the murky deep. Maybe my destiny is sharkfood.
Doesn’t that take the biscuit?
How much seawater must I drink to lose consciousness and end this? I’ve lived a thousand lives—and cheated death twice as many times—since I stepped onto Blackbeard’s boat. Lost my birthname, my fingers, my virginity—I don’t remember in what order. I’m done with this lonely world. Is it too much to ask to be gone before I must leave Chub to his happy life on land?
“Stop making yourself heavy,” she scolds me as she drags me closer to her. How can her hair be so strong? “You can swim, imbecile, I’ve seen you—”
My ship groans in response to her captain leaving his post. She lists away from us as if turning a cold shoulder. A wave sweeps over my mermaid and me, but we resurface instantly, thanks to her powerful…hair? The boat rights itself in a quarter turn that I’m sure sent the helm spinning. She’s facing north and dragging our anchor at a good clip.
“If I’m not dying, I must right the wheel. Someone must wake the crew to batten down the hatches. No storm can takePatricia’s Wish.” I twist to dislodge the mermaid’s hold on me so I can return to the boat. If I can grasp Jacob’s ladder on the side of the hull, I can climbaboard before the ship’s wake drowns me.
My blood runs cold when I reach to untangle the hair around my waist only to find it’s a tentacle.
A large octopus tentacle. A red tentacle with the girth of my thigh.
Lightning flashes overhead to illuminate my first glimpse of my rescuer.
“Lady love,” I say in awe. Layers of fiery red hair frame sea-green eyes so bright they reflect white in the storm’s flickers. Her narrow shoulders and slender neck are human, but the muscular appendages wrapped around my body areother. She’s bold, untamed, stronger than most of my mateys, but dumb enough to risk her neck to save my arse from the storm.