Page 25 of Of Magic and Rum
It’s been days since we sparred, and we’ve barely exchanged a few words—pleasantries, really. When Jack’s hot, he’s raging lava, but when he’s cold, he’s as frigid as they come. Is he toying with me? Trying to get into my head? Or he’s afraid. By the Seas, I knowIam. What happens when they find out? It’s not a matter ofif; it’s when because I can only keep my true self hidden for so long. But every time I think I’m ready to tell someone, fear grips me like a whirlpool. I can’t even bring myself to tell Mary, who I’ve increasingly grown to trust above all others.
Forcing my attention away from Jack, I grab a bucket and brush and drop to my knees. I may have talked Squid into emptying the shit bucket, but there’s no getting out of the tedious task of continuously scrubbing the damn deck.
“Hey, Captain,” a man says to Jack, tugging on the only thing covering his upper half, a burgundy vest. “What say you to a bit of festivities tonight, hm? It’s beendayssince we’ve seen a bloody boat, and we’re all getting restless.”
The man is right. Over the past few days, the crew’s growing impatience has created a choking tension in the air.
“And if I agree, what did you have in mind?” Jack asks, casually propping against the railing.
I watch his forearms flex beneath the rolled sleeves of his red tunic shirt, and a lump forms in my throat. The sight of his bare torso is permanently etched into my memory. He knew what he was doing, taking his shirt off while sparring and trying to distract me. And I can’t say it didn’t partially work. I come from a line of supernatural beings who can make their physique appear any way they wish, but Jack? He looks like thatnaturally—toned arms, carved abdominals, the dark scattering of hair, and confirmation that, yes, he has a trail leading into his trousers.
“Maybe some music, a bit of carousing, and, I don’t know, an extra ration each of grog?” The man elbows another crew member. “Seeing as Vane was so gracious and gave us extra.”
Ragnar rolls his eyes, and Jack chuckles, tapping his rings on the railing before raising a finger. “Know what? I’m feeling gracious myself, and the skies are clear. Why not? Ragnar, divvy up some extra rum to the crew.”
The man whoops and claps his hands together. I run the back of my sleeve over my forehead before continuing, but Mary soon looms. Her perfume, unlike any other smell on board, given it’s not brine, tar, or questionable body odor, always gives her away.
“Did you not hear the Captain, Anne?” Mary asks.
I sit back on my haunches. “I did. But the deck isn’t going to scrub itself.”
Mary snatches the scrub brush from my grasp, tosses it in the bucket, and holds out her hand. “It can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, you kick back like the rest of us. Trust me when I say you take advantage of these moments. They’re needed and fleeting.”
“If there’s anything I’ve learned, you don’t argue with Mary Read,” I respond, smiling as I take her hand and let her hoist me.
Red is tuning a lute while taking a seat near the flute player. Another man I don’t recognize throws the strap of a hurdy-gurdy over his head and plays a quick bar across the keys. Ragnar arrives several moments later, carrying a crate, the bottles clinking together when he tosses it to the deck. Several crew members eagerly move toward it, and Ragnar points his flintlock at them with a furrowed bulldog brow.
Glog appears from below decks, loaves of bread and cheese cradled in his arms. I fold my arms and smile, watching everyone bubbling with excitement. The band begins to play the familiar tune ofDrunken Sailor, everyone joining in once the song reaches verses they know. Only slivers of yellow, orange,and a thin strip of crimson remain on the horizon, the sun fully setting and allowing the night sky to take over. Aranck, still quiet as always, takes a route around the ship’s perimeter, lighting the lanterns.
Ragnar holds a bottle out to me. “Your festivities liquid for the evening.”
“Thanks, Ragnar.” I grin at him and cheer with the bottle before popping the cork. It takes more than mortal alcohol for an ancient being to feel anything resembling a buzz, so this watered-down rum will do nothing but taste good.
Jack clanks his bottle with a group of men, all taking swigs and laughing. Jack’s smile is so radiant the moonlight seems to glint off it. When he glances at me with those caramel eyes, for the briefest of moments, the way it makes my thighs pinch together, it’s probably more than a good thing the alcohol won’t affect me.
Glog holds out a piece of bread and cheese. “Here you are.”
“Appreciate it, Glog.” I run my thumbs over the dents left where moldy bits have been removed. “You don’t play an instrument?”
“Lord, no. Get me drunk enough, though, and I may belt a bar or two.” Glog winks and tears some bread with his teeth before moving on to the next crewmember.
With food in my lap, I hop onto a barrel, letting my feet dangle and tapping my heels against the wood to the song’s beat. The minutes tick by, and I’m content perched on my makeshift seat while watching everyone. Squid climbs down from the crow’s nest long enough to receive a bread loaf from Aranck. Aranck makes several gestures with his hands, signs I’m unfamiliar with, but Squid laughs, gesturing back to him. The two quietest members of the crew communicate in silence, and for the first time, I witness Aranck smiling. Just like in thetavern, Jack only takes the occasional sip from his drink, not caring that most of his crew are halfway through their bottles.
“What ya looking at?” Mary hugs my side, her breath reeking of rum and cheese.
I eye her sidelong and stifle a cough. “Just people watching. Enjoying yourself?”
“Mm. Definitely. But if I didn’t know any better—” Mary squints one eye and pokes my nose with her forefinger. “—and I don’t—” She burps. “—you were staring at the dear ‘ol Captain.”
I am. Guilty as charged.
“I think you’ve had a lot to drink, friend.” Snickering, I flick the bottle with my fingernail.
“No one would blame you, Anne. He’s a stunner—evenIcan admit that.” Mary guzzles more rum. “You should ask him to grease your fire, if you know what I mean.” She nudges me, blinking her eyes awkwardly like she’s trying to wink.
“Grease my fire, huh?” I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to laugh.
“Think about it, darling.” Mary shoves off me, stumbling and laughing, before she raises her fists and walks to the band.
