Page 24 of Captive of the Pirate King
“Much as that would delight me, I can’t let you do it.” He settles onto the pallet beside mine, lying on his stomach so he doesn’t put pressure on his wounds. His wounds… the wounds he took for me. Tears well in my eyes.
“You’re a good man, Locke.” My voice trembles.
“I wouldn’t go that far.” He gives a brusque laugh. “A good man wouldn’t be having the thoughts I’m having right now.” He sets his forehead to the thin mattress and sighs deeply. “Rest, Nick. I’ll stay here until you’re asleep.”
“But—you’ll miss the dancing and songs, and the sex,” I mutter. My eyelids are thick and heavy, but I force them to stay open.
“There will be more of that tomorrow night, and the night after, and possibly longer if Neelan decides to prolong our stay. Get some sleep, Nick.” Locke’s voice drops to a register deeper and more decadent than any I’ve heard him use. “I’m right where I want to be.”
18
The next morning my mouth tastes horrible, and I’m ravenous, and my head aches a little—but I’m clothed, and my secret is more or less intact, thanks to the long-legged pirate sleeping on the pallet beside me. Locke’s cheeks are flushed with sleep and a wisp of white hair has worked its way out of his head-wrap. Gently I tuck it back in.
I rise and pad outside, relieving myself behind a dune. The villagers brought water for our camp, so I drink and rinse my mouth. Then I help Cook with the breakfast porridge. If Cook ever came back to the tent last night and found Locke and me lying near each other, he doesn’t mention it. Of course, Locke helping a drunk cabin boy to his pallet and then falling asleep nearby doesn’t merit comment, I suppose, even if the event feels momentous to me.
When Locke comes for his share of the food, he gives me a slow, warm smile. I’m embarrassed, and I have no idea how to thank him, so I look away.
One benefit of living a pirate’s life is the ability to keep any schedule you like. The Wierling Isles are packed with sensual attractions for a crew like ours. The islanders have their own stills for making liquor, and they have gardens and orchards bursting with produce. There are forests full of fresh game, deep pools for fishing and swimming, glistening waterfalls, and even a hot spring on one of the smaller islands.
In return for the islanders’ hospitality, Captain Neelan provides them with bolts of fine cloth, trunks of clothing and shoes, and a chest of coin and jewels.
Since the islanders are helping to feed the crew, Dez and Cook and I have far less work to do, which is a good thing for Dez, since he’s suffering from a headache and stomach pangs after his big night. Once we’ve cleaned up the breakfast, tidied camp, and toted water, we’re free to enjoy the delights of the island.
Unfortunately for me, I can’t go swimming naked like the men do, so I pretend that I’m more into gardens and tree-climbing and exploration. When I tire of that, I sit on a thick branch above the swimming hole, watching nude men and women jump off a rock and splash into the deep pool below.
I still haven’t decided what I want to do. Should I stay here, and try to get passage on another ship eventually? I have no idea how long it would be before another vessel stopped here. And what would I do in the meantime? I’d have to find someone to take me in and give me paid work.
Or I could stay with theArdent, keep up the ruse of cabin boy all the way to Ravensbeck, and hope that someone there has heard of my brother and knows his whereabouts. Since Ravensbeck is the pirate hideout and stronghold, I’m sure it’s also a hub of gossip and information. I’m more likely to find news of Mordan there than anywhere else.
The second night of our stay involves more music, drinking, and song. This time I avoid the rum altogether, and I join in the merry dances around the fire, swinging arm to arm with islanders, pirates, and merchant sailors alike. No one questions me, because no one really notices me. Or if they do, they take one curious look at my spotted face and then avert their eyes quickly.
When the music begins to wind down, and half the revelers have drifted away to fuck or fall asleep, one of the pirates lifts his tankard and shouts, “Blindman’s Buff!”
Cheers follow his pronouncement, and someone produces a strip of dark cloth to serve as the blindfold. Two pirates drag sticks in the sand, creating an enormous circle around the bonfire area.
“First player is spun seven times, and then he has to catch another player to take his place as blindman,” shouts the pirate who suggested the game. “Warning must be given if anyone is about to step into the fire. No going outside the circle. When the blindman catches someone, he must guess who it is. If he’s wrong, he must search for someone else.”
There’s a protest from some of the sailors and islanders about that part of the game, since most of us don’t know each other’s names.
“I propose a different rule,” says Locke. “The blindman must ask the person he catches for a kiss. If they deny him, he finds another target. If they agree, they take his place.”
Roars of approval rise from everyone.
Heart pounding, I start to slink toward the edge of the circle. But Cook is nearby, gripping a bottle of something strong-smelling, and he shoves me back into the center. “Go have some fun, lad.”
“You’renot staying for the fun,” I point out as he shuffles past the line in the sand, toward the tents.
“I’ve got my evening’s pleasure,” he says, lifting the bottle. “A good night to you, boy.”
During the first two rounds of the game, I manage to stay clear of the blindman without too much trouble. When Locke’s turn comes to be blindfolded, the other female players seem to be thronging him rather than trying to escape him. He ends up seizing a curvy woman with sparkling dark eyes and scarlet hair, who giggles in his arms and eagerly consents to the kiss. It’s her turn next.
Locke sidles up to me while the red-haired woman is tying the blindfold across her eyes. “Enjoying yourself, Nick?”
“Immensely,” I say in my blandest tone. “Watching other people get kissed is so much fun.”
“Ah, you’d rather be a participant, not a spectator?”
“I didn’t say that—” I protest, but it’s too late. Catching my shoulders, Locke pushes me directly into the path of the oncoming blindfolded woman.
