Page 4 of Captive of the Pirate King
He’s going to dump me over the side. He’s lifting me, ready to heave me overboard—
And then he stops.
Barely breathing, stomach coiling in knots, I look up at him. But he’s not looking at my face; he’s looking at my feet.
“The captain’s boots,” he says slowly. “You put them on.”
“What’s that?” the pirate captain asks.
“I told this boy to take off the merchant captain’s fine boots. And he did. See? He put them on himself.”
The pirate captain stares at me, a waifish scrap of freckles and blood and rags, with my very fine black boots sticking up over Locke’s arm.
The pirate crew and the merchant sailors fall quiet, watching us.
And then the captain throws back his head and laughs. “A young thief with spirit!” he says. “Steal from the rich and give to the poor—which is ourselves, am I right, lads?” The pirates voice a guttural roar.
“That’s our way,” the Captain continues. “And you, boy, have got it by heart. We’re a big ship, and we could use an extra cabin boy to help with cooking and serving and cleaning. You could find a place here.”
Hope bubbles inside me, so fervent I nearly throw up right then. Locke sets me down, and I force myself to stand up straight.
“But you’ll not steal from me,” continues the pirate captain, unsheathing a slim, glittering dagger. “Or I’ll take this blade and run it through here—” he places the tip under my chin— “right into your brain. What say you? The deep or my galley?”
“Your galley,” I say in as low and rough a tone as I can manage.
“The galley it is!” he crows, arms lifted, turning to face his men. They cheer raucously, and the pirate captain moves on to the next member of the merchant crew, posing a similar choice to him.
A large hand descends on my shoulder and turns me around. Locke stares into my face with his one pale eye. “I’ll be needing those boots. They look a bit large on you anyway.”
He’s right. My feet are practically swimming in them.
“I have no others,” I tell him.
“We’re a pirate ship, boy. We’ve got clothes and boots to spare. Surely there’s a pair among the loot that’s more suited to your size, and to your place here. Off with those, now.”
But I’m not baring my feminine feet to a shipload of pirates.
“I’ll take them off when I have new ones to put on,” I counter.
Locke’s grip on my shoulder tightens at the insolence. “Watch yourself,” he says. “The Captain’s had men whipped for less. We honor the chain of command aboard ship, and I’m your superior in more ways than one. Move your bony ass. We’ll go below and fetch you some boots.”
Belowdecks, the corridor is crammed with swag that the pirates haven’t had time to stow. There’s a sack of clothes and shoes atop a chest, and Locke shuffles around in it before drawing out a pair of sturdy half-boots.
“These’ll do.” He passes them to me. “Now hand over the others.”
“You go on up.” I sit atop the chest and nod to the ladder. “I’m sure your captain needs you. I’ll deliver the boots to you in a moment.”
His frown deepens. “What’s with you and those boots?”
“What’s withyouand these boots?” I retort, before I can stop myself.
His good eye flashes, and he lunges for me, catching one of my feet by the heel. I kick at him reflexively, knocking him in the jaw with my other boot.
“You must have a death wish,” he growls, yanking on my foot until I slip off the chest and my back slams onto the floor. With one hand wrapped around my calf, he yanks the boot off with the other.
My foot is exposed—dainty arch and delicate ankle and all. Locke freezes, staring at it.
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