Page 13 of A Prince Among Pirates
I clear my throat and take another generous sip of the ale. “Indeed,” I reply. “Some fish caught in my throat. What made you decide to join this crew?”
“Rather’n stay weth the navy?” Renard asks, lifting a brow as if the answer ought to be obvious.
“Allow me to rephrase… What made you decide tostaywith this crew?”
He considers, watching me with a frown. “Nae man chooses this life, lad,” he says. I wonder about the truth of that, but I don’t argue with him. “Ye stay ’cause ye need the money. If yerlucky, ye find a good hidin’ spot an’ squirrel away ’nough ta start a new life.”
“Is that your plan?” I ask, curious.
“Ye ask a lot of questions, lad,” he points out, narrowing his eyes at me.
I raise my brows at him and sit back. “I’ll endeavor to ask significantly fewer questions in the future.”
We stare at each other for an eternity or two, me pouting as if I might burst with the need to speak, before he rolls his eyes and holds up his hands in defeat. “Spit it out already.”
I offer him a charming smile in appreciation. “What can you tell me about Captain Sharpe?”
“What d’ye wanna ken?”
I consider and shrug. “His accent is unfamiliar to me.”
“Ever been ta the West Indies?” I shake my head and he gives a slow, knowing nod. “Cap’n was born there. Jamaica er Barbados, cannae be sure.”
“How old is he?”
Renard squints and rubs his jaw. “Nae more’n a year older’n myself, I’d wager. Three an’ twenty at the oldest.”
Christ. He seems so much more worldly than a man barely past his majority. “I thought he was older.”
“Did ye?”
I can’t be imagining the strange tone in Renard’s voice. I narrow my eyes at him and offer a quizzical expression. “Perhaps notmucholder.” I finish the ale and stand, snatching the apple off my plate. “Thank you for breakfast, and for the conversation. I oughtto find my way to the captain’s cabin so I can start…work.” Oh, that word tastes simply awful in my mouth. I grimace and bite into the apple.
It’s tart and crisp and absolutely perfect.
“C’mon, I’ll show ye the way,” Renard says as he gets to his feet.
I follow him from the salon, chewing another bite of apple to drown out the panicked thoughts coursing through my mind and the sensation of dread settling over my innards.
“You can use my desk for today, but don’t go poking around in the drawers,” Captain Sharpe says as he drops a stack of books and papers onto the now-cleared wooden top of his desk.
I stare at the books dubiously. “What am I meant to do with these?”
“Read them. Make sense of them. Starting today, your job is to record whatever I tell you to record.”
“And why must I go through these instead of just starting a fresh page?”
“Because I told you to.”
I roll my eyes and look at Captain Sharpe. “Captain—”
“I’m going to stop you before you say something…” Sharpe hesitates as he considers his words. Eventually he settles on a polite, “Ill-advised.” Then he eyes me. “You do as I say, for no other reason than because I say it. That’s how it works on this ship. I am in charge. Trust that if I assign you work, thereis a reason. You don’t need to know that reason.”
I sigh as dramatically as I can and flop into his chair like a petulant child. I am feeling quite petulant, and my nerves are still on edge. “I understand, but I would very much appreciate some kind of explanation. What am I looking for?”
“I want you to be familiar with these books so you understand your role.”
“Can you not just… summarize them for me?”
