Page 86 of Escaping Pirates
“What incidents?”
I looked around at the prison cells here. There was still the stink that always hovered around men who didn’t wash as often as they ought to, but there was no mold or mildew, and no rats scampered across the floors. It was cool, but a similar temperature to what an infirmary would be kept at. Compared to what Harlan and I had endured, this was paradise.
The guard cleared his throat. “I had to move one of the women closer to the guard station. I’m sorry to say that one of my sons took a fancy to her, and I needed to ensure nothing came of it. See?” He nodded toward a thin, bespectacled teenage boy who sat on a stool, arms resting against a cell’s bars and a lovestruck expression on his pimply face.
I drew level with the cell and looked curiously inside, then bit my lip to avoid laughing out loud. Sitting in a corner and looking thoroughly disgruntled was Sugar. She glared at the ring on my finger, which I made no effort to hide, then she crossed her arms and turned her back to the hallway.
“You’re so beautiful,” the boy sighed.
Harlan and I exchanged gleeful expressions.
“Quentin, you need to get back to your studies,” the guard said, hauling his son to his feet and shoving him toward the door. “Remember what I told you about talking to prisoners.”
“Awwww.” The boy dragged his feet toward the exit.
“Sorry about that,” the captain said. “I also had to move her because she and her sister wouldn’t stop squabbling and all my guards complained of headaches. If you come this way, I’ll show you the other prisoners.”
Cell after cell held pirates. Some paced back and forth, others slept, and a few had books, cards, or dice for entertainment. “They can earn privileges based on good behavior,” the captain explained. “This is the last hallway up here.”
Ahead of us, the sound of Blossom’s voice grew louder the closer we got. “Now, as I was saying,” she said, with the air of someone delivering a royal decree, “I composed another poem for everyone, based on my own life.”
Groans came from the cells around her. “Not again!”
“Hold your tongues, men!” Harsh barked. “Go on, darling.”
Harlan rolled his eyes at me, and I was momentarily distracted from waiting for my family, eager to hear the sort of poem that Blossom had composed. She was facing away from us, sitting atop an overturned bucket, and hadn’t noticed our approach.
“This one is titled, ‘An Ode to My Tragedy,’ Blossom proclaimed, then cleared her throat and began.
Scurvyella was ugly,
her hair full of gunk,
And dumber than barnacles
stuck to a trunk.
She deluded Harlan
with her grimy mystique,
But I was the flower,
so vibrant! Unique!
I saw her gooverboard;
a splash of glee!
I hoped she was gone,
just flounders and sea.
But Harlan said,
“Blossom, I love only her,”
So I said, “Then be gone,
