Page 54 of A Prince Among Pirates
My head snaps to the side and I take in a sharp, strangled gasp. I stare at the wall with wide eyes ashestares at me, his chest heaving in my periphery. I’ve been roughed about a bit since joining the crew, but this… this feelsdifferent.
“What’d ye do that fer?” he growls.
I look up at him. I can taste bloodinsidemy mouth now. “Get out.”
“Fine, I’ll find myself a woman instead,” he says with a sneer, picking up my purse from the floor and rummaging through to pull some coin from it. “Ye owe me.” He pockets whatever he’s taken and drops the purse onto the floor as I get to my feet.
I don’t argue with him. I don’t care that he’s taken money from me; I just want him out of the roomnow. I hate how quickly I’ve sobered up from this interaction. I’ve skipped right over the pleasurable buzz of intoxication and landed deep in a pounding headache.
It’s probably for the best anyway. Apparently, I am destined to be a monk for the rest of my life, for want of a man who very likely has absolutely no interest in me beyond my ability to do sums, keep his ledgers, and flirt with reckless abandon.
As soon as I hear Renard close the door, I cross the room to lock it behind him. Then I wipe the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand. If he’s left a bruise on my face, there’ll be hell to pay. For now, though, I need to vomit and I need to sleep. I’ll worry about my face tomorrow.
Nineteen
To say I am relieved to find the twins first thing the next morning would be an understatement. Mostly, I’m relieved that it isn’t Renard I run into. They don’t see me initially, as their backs are to me, but I come up behind them and grab Tristan’s elbow to get his attention. He spins around, startled, but smiles when he recognizes me. “We lost ye last night.”
“I lost myself last night,” I say with a grimace.
“Ye’ve a mark on yer cheek.”
Shit. I hate that. I absolutelyhatethat. My stomach gives an uneasy lurch at the recollection of Renard striking me across the face, but I swallow down the feeling and suck in a breath. The twins are staring at me expectantly. I reach up to touch my cheek, feigning surprise. “Ah—the bed in my room was dreadfully tiny. I think I fell off at some point.”
Trevor snorts, but Tristan doesn’t look convinced. I don’tblame him—I’ve hardly convinced myself. Still, neither of them presses me further.
“Ye promised to buy us somethin’,” Tristan reminds me.
I chuckle at that. “I did,” I agree. “Help me find plantains for Billy, then you can buy whatever you want.” I squint a little and reconsider. “Within reason.”
“He just wants sweetmeats,” Trevor says, pointing to a wooden sign at the end of the road that simply says Baked Goods.
Tristan smiles. “I have a sweet tooth.”
“Me too,” I say with a nod. “We’ll go in there after we fetch the plantains. Did the captain say how long we were to stay at port?”
“Just one day,” Trevor says. “He thinks the Frenchmen may come lookin’ for us here.”
That makes sense. And I can’t say I’m disappointed. This island has left a bad taste in my mouth, and I’m eager to put it behind me. “Just as well,” I say. “If the captain asks, I tried to find Mr. Tydes.”
The twins shoot matching quizzical expressions in my direction as we make our way into the market, but I don’t clarify and they don’t ask.
The marketplace is buzzing with activity. I am fascinated by the riot of color around me. While many of the men here are dressed in black, there are so many others in bright silks and delicate lace. More languages than I could count are spoken around me, and the smell of spices and cooking meat fills the air. Never have I seen so much color or smelled so many different things atonce. I am overwhelmed—but I am enjoying every moment of it.
The plantains, remarkably, are easily found. Seeing them, I understand now why they are compared to bananas. They must be somewhat similar, for theylooknearly the same, though they are bigger, with a less distinct shape. I buy as many as we can comfortably carry—although, really, Tristan and Trevor are the ones who each take a handle and carry the crate between them.
I’m grateful to them, but I feel a little like their employer rather than their friend as we continue through the marketplace. We stop here and there to admire various trinkets for sale. I am particularly fascinated by a collection of booths lined up together selling food and goods from East Asia. As we approach, the air around them is heavy with an unfamiliar but intense aroma that sets my mouth watering and my belly whimpering. I inhale deeply—but then something new catches my eye, and as Tristan and Trevor continue on to another booth, I stop and smile at a young girl sitting on her own beside a beautiful display of sparkling glass and tinkling bits of metal and wood.
A row of miniature wooden huts with little flared roofs sway in the breeze, wooden tubes of various sizes dangling below them from small bits of twine. They seem to catch the air as they dance, turning the movement into a beautiful cacophony of song. I reach out and brush my fingers along the tubes to make them bounce together, and they sing back to me. I smile, and the child beside me laughs.
“These are beautiful,” I say—though I am not sure she understands. “What are they?”
“Wind chimes,” a voice says from behind me. I whirl to see a man in a simple grey smock coat, worn over some kind of white-and-blue robe that nearly reaches the ground. His dark hair has been shaved nearly clean off, though I can see the shadow of where it grows back. He bows to me, but before I can respond, he motions to the singing huts, with a smile. “They catch wind to sing. For protection.”
Fascinated, I turn back to admire them. “How wonderful,” I say, more to myself than to anyone else. “Protection from what?”
“Evil spirits,” he explains.
I suppose every culture must have its own superstitions. I have never considered that I might need protection from any sort of evil spirit outside of temptation, but I suppose that is due to my education in the Church of England. I rather like the thought of beautiful trinkets protecting us from things we cannot control, in lieu of us needing protection from the darkness we are inherently born with.
