Page 8 of Of Magic and Rum
The rest of the men go around the table, voting yes to Jack’s idea. Jack slaps his thigh, points at them, and rises. “We shouldn’t dally. Let’s get to the ship. Get her ready to sail.”
“What about Read?” The older man asks, casually running a hand over his beard.
Jack tilts his head. “While I’m sure she’ll vote yes, Ragnar, would you fetch her and fill her in before we weigh anchor?”
She?
The man he referred to as Ragnar, with the mysterious squint in his eyes, nods his head. Jack’s grin spreads wide. He claps his hands together and swivels on a heel to exit. I stay in the shadows of my corner table, waiting for the last crew member to leave before catapulting from my chair.
“Thank you again,” I say to the bartender as I pass.
The bartender offers me a warm smile. “Be safe, lass.”
A conch-shell-sized lump forms in my throat at his words. As I exit, I’m a whirlwind—tucking my hair into my hat, pulling my stolen shirt from my trousers and away from my apparent breasts. Atskingfollowed by a light whistle sounds behind me.
“Miss?” A man with a French accent calls out.
I’m halfway to tucking stray strands of hair into my hat and slowly turn to face him. He’s sporting an eggplant-colored ornate frock coat with gold trim and a powdered wig. One arm hangs over his ribs while the other hand is raised, nails clicking against each other. Pretending he couldn’t be referring to me, I look around, seeing as I’m not a miss but a sir.
The man bites back a smile. “Mon Dieu. The way you were eyeing The Revenge out there, I’m guessing you plan to shove your hair in your hat, ruffle your shirt, and call yourself a cabin boy while stowing away on Calico Jack’s ship?”
My heart melts into my boots. “Am I that obvious?”
“Oh,chérie, what boy only has the underside of their hair? And those bountiful mounds on your chest can still be seen from a mile away.” The man extends his hand but holds it like royalty awaiting a kiss on the ring. “I’m Omar.”
Name. Name. I need a name.
“Anne.” I slip my hand into his surprisingly silky soft one and shake. “Anne Bonny.”
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Anne. Come inside. I’ll help you disguise yourself a smidge better,oui?” Omar’s hands fly up, making the lace surrounding each wrist bounce.
I step forward but pause. “What about the ship? They were talking about setting sail as soon as possible.”
“We’ve got time. They still need to raise the anchor. Come, come.” Omar motions me to enter the building, holding back a leather flap.
Gulping, I duck my head, scents of perfume and musk dizzying me. A man plays the flute in a corner, only slightly drowning out the wails, cackles, and screams of pleasure around us.
A brothel. Lovely.
“Right this way, Miss Bonny,” Omar places a gentle hand on my forearm and turns me in another direction to a room through a wooden door. He closes it behind us, and my hand darts to the knife at my hip. Omar defensively raises his hands. “I promise you no foul play in my establishment. Not to mention you’re not exactly my—” His eyes roam my body. “—type?”
Relaxing slightly, I let my hands rest at my sides. “Why are you helping me?”
“Nassau is an island of opportunity. People come here for various reasons, but everyone has one thing in common: they seek a different life.” Omar presses his fingertips together and moves to a trunk at the foot of a four-post bed. “I don’t know your reason, Miss Bonny, and I don’t need to know, but if you were willing to risk your life sneaking on Rackham’s ship, you clearly have an insatiable desire to get away.”
He's spot on, and I go quiet.
Omar nods as if I don’t need to say another word. “Now, I will need some form of payment for my services.”
Still silent, I nod.
“Do you have coin?” Omar’s eyes search my hips for a pouch.
Solemnly, I shake my head.
“How about this?” Omar points at my cowrie shell bracelet.
I snap my hand away, protectively holding my wrist to my chest. “Not that.”
