Page 7 of Captive of the Pirate King
I open the door halfway and sidle through into the warm glow of the cabin.
Captain Neelan sits at a glossy desk, his booted feet propped up. He’s re-plaiting his long black braid.
“Set it there, boy.” He nods to a recessed area of the desk, designed to keep items from sliding off when the ship pitches and rolls. “Nick, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I need some information, Nick. About your crew.”
“Whatever you need, sir.”
“See, one of my men reported seeing some women’s odds and bobs floating about in the ocean near theWending Willow, right before we scuttled her. The rest of your crew claim there was no woman aboard, but you see, I’ve got a nose for the truth, and I’m not certain they’re telling it. So I’m asking you, lad—did your ship have women aboard?”
My lungs seize up for a second, but my brain doesn’t, thankfully. I slump my shoulders and retreat a couple steps from the circle of lantern light. “Well sir, we did have a woman aboard. My older sister. When we saw your ship’s flag, we put her in a skiff and sent her away.”
“And why would you do that?”
“We figured her chances would be better that way. Everyone knows that the Pirate King’s ships don’t take women alive.”
Another voice speaks from a shadowy corner of the cabin. “And why do you think that is?”
The figure leans forward a little, and I catch the gleam of Locke’s pale eye, the scarlet of his headwrap.
“I suppose the Pirate King thinks it’s bad luck to have women aboard,” I say as gruffly as I can. “An antiquated notion in my opinion.”
“Antiquated notion,” murmurs Captain Neelan. “You seem well-educated, lad. Come closer.”
I shuffle nearer.
“Give me your hand.”
Swallowing hard, I stretch one hand out to the captain. My hands are small, with slim tapered fingers. But they’re also dirty and bruised, with ragged nails.
Captain Neelan takes my hand and massages it with his fingers. “Soft, weak hands. The hands of a runaway from a rich family, perhaps? Were you and your sister fleeing something?”
I scuff my soles against the floor, slumping my shoulders even further.
“Answer the captain,” Locke warns.
“Yes, sir, we were runaways,” I reply. The best lies stick close to the truth, after all.
“Well, you’ve fallen in with a rough lot, boy.” Neelan chuckles, spearing the piece of cheese with his knife and taking a bite from it. “But we were all scrappy young runaways once. Work hard, learn all you can, and you might make your fortune yet. As for your sister, she’s not likely to survive the coming storm. My condolences. Now go and help Locke with the ropes. Best to start toughening you up now. No pirate worth his salt has hands like these.”
When Locke shoulders past me, I follow him meekly out on deck. The rain has begun, a light mist that beads on my lashes.
“Grab that rope and pull when I tell you to.” Locke points to a massive rope hanging from the rigging.
I wrap my fingers around it gingerly.
“You’ll need a better hold than that. Here. Like this.” He comes up behind me, reaching around me to grip the rope just above my hands. His fingers are comically huge compared to mine, and the contrast makes my breath catch.
His chest is at my back, and his arms are rain-slicked bars of sinew on either side of me. Heat from his body seeps through my ragged shirt, right into my skin.
His voice is low by my ear. “You haven’t ever handled anything that long and thick, have you?”
“What?” I gasp, blinking through the rain. “I—I don’t—oh, you mean the rope.”
“What else would I mean?”
