Page 16 of A Prince Among Pirates
“Don’t be absurd,” I say, though there is little strength behind my words.
“Dinnae believe in curses?” Renard asks.
“Of course not,” I lie—because admitting to believing in curses is admitting that my father is right.
He stares down at me, brows raised, and all I can do is clamp my mouth shut and stare back at him. I suppose we will keep this up until one of us speaks, or we both just die.
It is I who finally breaks the silence. “Why would the ledgers be cursed just because Jeff abandoned the ship?” There. That’s a logical question!
“Everythin’ he touched is cursed,” Renard explains, unbothered by my attempt at discrediting him. “An’ he didnae just abandon the ship, lad. Nae, he vanished on the wind. Somethin’ evil swallowed him up. The man who took his blanket broke out in a rash all over his body. I went through his things an’ had hellish nightmares fer weeks. The books he kept in his hammock burst inta flame out of naewhere. Ye best believe the ledgers he wrote in’re just as cursed as everythin’ else. The men wanted ’em burned, but Cap’n would nae have it.”
I want to say that I don’t believe him. I want to roll my eyesand accuse him of trying to scare me. But there is something in Renard’s eyes that gives me pause, and the echo of my father’s voice lingers and twists my insides. I pull myself to my feet, leaving my dinner behind for Renard to eat, if he has the stomach for it.
“I have to get to bed,” I say again, my voice barely a whisper.
I exhale slowly because I don’t want to retch. After a moment I am strong enough to stagger towards the stairs. I’m not sure how I make it to the fo’c’sle, but somehow the next thing I know, I am climbing into my hammock and using my change of clothes as a pillow, yanking my ratty blanket up over my head.
Whatever sense of relief I felt this morning has vanished. I squeeze my eyes shut and hope to sleep without dreaming of the scribe who came before me—or the curse he left behind.
Six
If there is a curse on these ledgers, it doesn’t seem to be catching. In truth, the only curse I have found in them is the appalling arithmetic. The further I wade into the ledgers, the worse it seems to get. I give up trying to sort it all out and start a new ledger of my own. I’m really quite proud of it; it is tidy and organized in a way I never thought I could be. Even Captain Sharpe has commented on how appealing it is to look at.
If only my father could see me now.
It’s been a matter of days—yes, I gave up on the old ledgers rather quickly—and I already feel like a new man. I have taken up residence on Captain Sharpe’s settee during the day, my ledger spread out on the table before me as I hunch over it. I still like to glance at the old ones every now and again, to make sure I am writing down all that needs writing. Something about the way Captain Sharpe speaks to me, like I havepotential, makes mewantto do well. I find myself wanting to impress him.
A knock on the door makes me glance up.
Captain Sharpe grumbles something without looking away from his map, and Mr. Tydes and the quartermaster, Billy, let themselves into the room. Billy’s a sweet-mannered chap with a low, humming voice perfect for storytelling. He keeps his beard trim and his tightly curled hair shaved close to his head. His skin is a deep, rich brown, deeper than my own. Deeper still than Captain Sharpe’s.
I like Billy a great deal. Something about him is calming, like a quiet embrace. He is a tall man, with broad shoulders and hands that could easily break me in half, had he a taste for violence. Yet I have watched him handle the mouser’s newborn kittens with a pure gentleness that makes my chest ache.
Other than Renard and the twins—Tristan and Trevor—Billy has been the first of the men to befriend me.
Mr. Tydes gives me a once-over and narrows his eyes. “Out.”
“I beg your—”
“Thank you, Kitten. You can go,” Captain Sharpe says—and I can’t help but blush.
I get to my feet and motion to the ledgers. “Am I not meant to—”
“Out,” Mr. Tydes says once more, without even looking at me.
I shoot them all an exasperated look, but the only one paying me any mind is Billy, who offers a sympathetic smile. I sigh and drop my ledger loudly onto the table before rounding the settee. Ihook my finger under my jacket, which is draped across the back, and pull it on, stumbling slightly as the ship shifts. Goddamned rickety old piece of shit. My dramatic exit now ruined, I huff and leave the cabin, closing the door behind me with as much force as I dare without breaking the stunning stained glass—forthatwould be a crime.
I hear laughter inside, which only infuriates me further. Caught up as I am in my own wounded pride, I have no time to brace for impact as I collide with someone’s warm, damp back, then topple and land flat on my ass on the unforgiving deck boards.
“Watch where you’re going, princeling,” the sweaty shadow barks at me.
I am gagging at the feeling of his sweat on my jaw when I register what he’s said to me. I get to my feet, and though my first instinct is to reprimand him for speaking disrespectfully to his better, I recall myself just in time to save my face the travesty of a deserved black eye as I peer up at the man before me.
I’ve seen him before—he’s a few bunks away from me down in the fo’c’sle. Rodriguez, I believe they call him. Despite the chill in the air, his shirt is soaked through with sweat, likely due to the hundred-stone coil of rope over his arm. His hair is on the longer side, falling in waves around his ears and neck. He has a trim beard and a complexion that is somewhat more olive than brown.
It is the shocking color of his eyes that strikes me, though. I never noticed before, having never been up close to him, but they are the most engaging shade of grey blue. I’ve never seen a man ofcolor with eyes that shade. I cannot help staring, though I know this is a grave error.
“The hell’re you staring at, princeling?”
