Page 3 of Of Magic and Rum
The man in the doorway spits in the dead body’s direction as the undertakers cart it away. “Anne Bonny.”
Pure, relentless freedom. If you’re cunning enough to keep it. That’s why I, Jack Rackham,chosea life of piracy. As small as my operation was in England, I’d been a successful tradesman on the seas and didn’t care if coins lined my pockets on any given day. But when larger businesses began traipsing through, monopolizing, England gave no two shits about the “little people.” They embraced it because it meant more money and power for the country. And London? Forget about it—far too many people and even fewer jobs.
This led me to captain The Revenge, my sloop of war named after the reason I raid and loot the high seas. And life isgood.Grand.
Truffles, my furry Calico cat, bristles underneath my chin, gliding first his spine and following it with a flick of his tailto ensure I give him my undivided attention. The little bastard has the nerve to look at me expectantly when I don’t pet him immediately.
“I see you, you insufferable feline,” I mumble, indulging him by scratching his head and running my palm down the length of his back several times.
The cat’s soft fur always calms my nerves, giving me clarity. This is sorely needed at present, given that I’ve been staring at this godforsaken map since the wee hours of the morning and have made no further progress. A pirate crew relies heavily on their captain to find the treasures to loot, know the trade routes, and plan for interception. When too much time passes without a decent score, the crew can become restless, vindictive, and in the worst case—mutinous. I’ve built up enough of a rapport with this current crew that we consider ourselves family, and I don’t fear the ones closest to me stabbing me in the back, but I also don’t wish to let them down.
Truffles purrs and turns to bump his head against my temple. Sighing, I scoop him into the crook of my arm and stand, moving away from the desk to stare out one of two porthole windows in my cabin. The unrelenting waves crash against the hull, timing with the ship’s sway. Stray items I didn’t bother to anchor roll back and forth on my desk. The sun blazes above without a cloud in sight, drawing sweat to my brow.
Truffles’ tail flicks left to right before curling my arm—his silent way of “claiming” me despite no other cats in sight. I repeatedly stroke his fur from his head to the base of his tail, using my other hand to undo several buttons on my burgundy tunic shirt. We’ve been at sea for three months and are heading back to Nassau to resupply and take a day’s break before heading out again. I’dneverleave open water if it weren’t for petty things such as food and liquids. Solid ground under my feet has become foreign to me.
A knock sounds at the door, sending Truffles leaping from my arms to scurry under my desk and curl up on the pillow I keep for him.
“Yes?” I ask without turning around.
“Captain, your attention is needed on deck,” my quartermaster, Ragnar, announces. Danish-born and bred, he makes his Viking ancestors proud.
“What is it?” I snatch the black frock coat hanging from the back of my chair and sling it on.
Ragnar scratches his black beard with streaks of silver and white. “One of the recruits we picked up when last in port—” He leans on the doorway, several strands of his dark hair slipping out of the twine knot, falling over his gaze. “—was caught stealing rations.”
I groan and re-button my shirt as I move for the door. “How many know?”
“For helvede. The entire fucking crew knows. Word spreads like wildfire on this ship. You know that.” Despite the sour news, Ragnar’s naturally narrowed eyes squint in amusement.
Idoknow this, but I still keep hoping that by some bizarre, bloody twist of fate, I can handle things discreetly for once. No. He needs to serve as an example—the clueless bastard.
Giving a curt nod, I descend the stairs to the main deck, twisting one of six ornate rings on my fingers. “Where is he?” I make my voice boom, lowering an octave or two.
Bobby holds onto a man struggling to break free of his hold. “Quit your squirming, you blunderbuss.”
“We’ll take it from here, Red.” I interlace my fingers and rest my hands in front of me, glaring at the thief.
Bobby, known to us as “Red,” earned his nickname from joining our crew as a former redcoat serving under the British Royal Navy. He sought to escape their hold and still wears thecoat but has since smeared it with a white skull matching the skull and crossed swords in the colors we fly.
The thief yanks away from Red, and he lets him with a devious smile. And then the thief’s gaze falls on me, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulps. “Captain, I was hungry. That’s all. Didn’t mean no harm by it.” He runs a hand over the sweat collecting on his shaved head.
“Ragnar,” I call out. He appears at my side a breath later. “Who’s in charge of the ration portions on this ship?”
“That’d be me, sir,” Ragnar answers, crossing his massive arms.
“That’s correct. So—” I pause and wave a finger at the thief “—what’s your name again?”
“Ham, sir. Short for Abra?—”
Holding a palm up, I sneer at him. “I don’t care. What Idocare about is what we’re to do withyou.”
Ham’s light eyes widen, and his bare feet step forward, but a dozen raised cutlasses halt him. “Captain. Please. I didn’t even eat it, the—the quartermaster took it all back.”
“Ah, so you were holding it for safekeeping but had no intention of consuming it?” I arch a brow.
Chuckles and profane name-calling echo around the deck.
“I—” Ham goes silent before zipping his spine straight and lifting his chin. “—it was a lapse in judgment at the time, Captain. It won’t happen again.”
