Page 45 of Escaping Pirates
“She doesn’t want your attention,” Harlan said in a tight voice as he drew level with us, a doe-eyed Sugar hanging on his arm. “Leave her alone.”
Tyrone sneered. “She agreed to be here with me, boy. If you have issues with her choices, I suggest you take it up with her.” After a fearful glance at Captain Harsh, I shook my head slightly at Harlan. He moved away, but it was as though a dark cloud had appeared over Harlan’s head and followed him around the dance floor.
An hour later, my feet ached, I was desperately thirsty, and I found myself wishing I could simply return to my cell in peace. Imprisonment would be far better than enduring Tyrone’s lustful stares.
“Have a seat, dear,” Tyrone said at long last. “I’ll get us some drinks.”
Grateful that I would have a respite from his greedy hands and eyes, I sat, quickly draping my hair over my bare shoulders and watching Harlan spin Blossom across the deck. Her bony frame created sharp angles as she squealed in delight and insisted that Harlan dip her again and again. At least Harlan and I would be able to commiserate once wewere finally allowed back to the brig. When that would be was still to be seen.
For once, Harlan wasn’t watching me. Though he still spoke politely to Blossom, his attention was fixed to the side, near the kegs where pirates grouped, tipping back mugs as their speech became increasingly slurred.
Tyrone was headed back from the kegs, two mugs in his hand. I wondered if I was parched enough to drink whatever foul swill was inside. Just as I decided that I probably was, Harlan spun Blossom along the side of the dance floor, very close to Tyrone. As Harlan stuck out his back leg in an exaggerated dance move, he tripped Tyrone, who flew spectacularly, spilling the foamy contents all over himself and me.
I leapt to my feet with a little shout as Tyrone let loose a string of cursing. Harlan, apologizing profusely, released Blossom and tried to help Tyrone to his feet, accidentally kicking the mug across the deck as he did so. Tryone, red-faced and furious, swatted Harlan’s hand away.
“Get off, boy! What are you doing?”
“My mistake, sir, my mistake,” Harlan said, hurrying to get the mug that had skittered over to rest in the middle of the deck. “I don’t know how it happened. Allow me.” He hastened to fill a fresh mug with water and handed it to me himself, then he collected another for Tyrone.
Tyrone’s eyes narrowed as he turned away from the proffered drink and shot an annoyed expression at the drained mug in my hand, then his eyes darted to where the drink intended for me had spilled. A sneaking suspicion stole into my mind as I watched him glare. Harsh’s daughters had drugged me and Harlan when they didn’t want us escaping at Berkway’s port. Had his brother tried something similar?
“Come and dance,” Tyrone ordered, moving to pull me out of my seat.
“I think she’s had enough,” Harlan snapped, putting his hand out to block Tyrone.
“I think it’s none of your business,” Tyrone retorted. “She’s mine to do with as I please.”
The music stopped as all the crew began to notice the conflict about to boil over. Harlan stepped aggressively toward Tyrone, who laughed. “What do you intend to—” he began, but Harlan punched him squarely in the nose before he finished his sentence.
Tyrone’s grip around me slackened as he took a few staggering steps backward, and Harlan closed the gap, following up his right hook with two quick jabs to the jaw while placing himself between me and Tyrone.
“Oi!” Pirates converged on Harlan and tore him away from Tyrone, who had a clearly broken nose and purple bruises swelling rapidly all up and down his jaw.
“What’s the meaning of all this?” Captain Harsh roared, cutting a path through his crew as he advanced, glaring daggers at Harlan. “It’s the plank for you, boy.”
“Daddy, no!” Sugar begged. “I love him!”
“Please, Daddy!” Blossom echoed, clasping her hands as if in prayer. “I love him, too!”
I couldn’t take my eyes off Harlan. He was being restrained by Steele and Thad, had received several blows to his stomach by the quartermaster, and was gasping for breath. When he finally managed to lift his head, he met my gaze.
“Girls, he went too far,” Harsh was saying. “He must be punished.”
“Then punish him, but don’t kill him!” Sugar squealed. “Who would I dance with if you kill him? It isn’t the same dancing with Uncle Tyrone.”
“Keelhaul that prisoner,” Tyrone said, struggling to his feet and wiping the stream of blood pouring from his nose. “Death is a punishment over too quickly; I want to watch him suffer.”
“No!” I wasn’t even aware I had spoken until I heard my own voice cry out.
“Get out of here,” Captain Harsh growled at me. “Before I keelhaul you, too.”
“Yes, go away, Scurvyella,” Blossom snapped. “This doesn’t concern you.”
The quartermaster grabbed me by my upper arm and dragged me back to my cell, where he threw me in and slammed the door.
Raucous, drunken laughter rang in my ears as I heard Tyrone ordering Harlan to be tied up. It was impossible to rid myself of the image of Harlan being dragged beneath the ship, clothing and skin being shredded by the sharp barnacles that clung to the hull. Many sailors drowned or died from the injuries caused by keelhauling. Would Harlan?
CHAPTER 17
