Page 14 of A Prince Among Pirates
“I don’t read the ledger,” Sharpe says as he makes his way over to the settee and sinks into it with a sigh. “That’s your job.”
Annoying.
I wrinkle my nose and stare at the chaotic pile before me. With another sigh, just because I want Sharpe to knowexactlyhow annoyed I am, I begin to sort the books and papers into two neat stacks. “This is going to take days,” I complain.
“Good. It’ll keep you quiet and busy.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“I expect you to be caught up by the end of the week.”
“Prepare to be disappointed, then,” I mumble as I open the first book. I can see him turn towards me in my periphery, and I am quite sure he is attempting to intimidate me with his stare. However, he doesn’t know I am an expert at ignoring intimidating stares. And he’s far too handsome to instill the same terror my father manages when he gives me that same look.
He gives in when I don’t raise my head, and after a while I hear him stand. I do look up then, just in time to watch him leave the cabin without a second glance my way.
That’s fine—I hate having people linger when I am reading. It makes my skin itch. I return my attention to the log before me and sigh, for real this time. I thought reading Thomas More’sUtopiawas boring, but this is impressively dull.
Still, it is a somewhat welcome distraction from my looming anxiety. I slowly work my way from page to page and begin to understand the purpose of these ledgers.
Each day there is a succinct summary of the happenings on board. Once every week there is a detailed accounting of the food and drink remaining. Every few weeks there is a renewal of food and drink, and a log of items such as cloth, coin, sometimes jewels, or even livestock. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the things bought at port, and sometimes a port is not even listed, a ship noted down instead. I suppose it’s not unusual for ships to trade with each other while at sea, but it never occurred to me before.
By the time I finish the first ledger and move on to the second, I have entirely forgotten my feelings of remorse. I must admit I am comforted by how easy the job of scribe seems to be, enough that I may not even mind this assignment Captain Sharpe has bestowed upon me. I have a good head for numbers and a neat enough hand. I still need to decide what to do and where to go, but for now I can manage this small task.
I am halfway through the second ledger when a hand on my shoulder sends my soul catapulting into the ether. I spin around to stare up at Captain Sharpe’s silhouette against the stained-glass door. “Christ!”
“No, lad. Just me.”
I laugh, but my heart is still running at full speed, and I am not sure I can catch up with it while sitting, so I pull myself to my feet. My body complains, and a groan slips out before I can stop it. “Damnation… how long have I been sitting here?”
Sharpe chuckles and leans over the desk to stare at the ledger. “I admit, I expected to come in here and find you rifling around in my things or drinking my wine—”
“You’ve wine?”
“But it looks like you’re actually capable of doing what you’re told.”
Well, that’s annoying. I am suddenly far less determined to do my job than I was before. What is it about being told what to do that makes you absolutelynotwant to do it?
“Your belongings are of no interest to me, Captain,” I say. “I have no need for shark teeth and compasses.”
I make my way over to my trunk, realizing that an entire day has now gone by, and I am still in my wrinkled clothes from the day before. I kneel to open it and sift through to find something clean to wear.
As I pull out a pair of fetching green trousers, I am suddenly reminded of how terribly I slept. I stand and turn to watch Captain Sharpe as he carefully stacks the ledgers and slides them into a drawer in his desk.
“I’d like to speak with you about my accommodations on board.”
“I’m sure you would.”
Oh, not this again. “Captain, I really must insist—”
“You sleep with the crew, and that’s final,” he says, sinking into the chair at his desk. “I’m not in the habit of making special arrangements for anyone, and the crew won’t like you better if you’re given special treatment.”
I hate that I know he’s right. I must be sulking, because he’s smiling at me like I’ve done something very entertaining. It’s irritating that he finds my suffering so very amusing. It’s even more irritating that I am still charmed by him.
“I’ll wear you down until you find me better lodgings,” I vow.
He laughs—a great, explosive sort of laugh that sends a warm wave through me. “You are welcome to try, Kitten,” he says.
I am determinednotto think about the shiver that nickname elicits. Is this going to stick? I can’t tell whether I hate it or love it… but I’m not given much time to decide before he speaks again.
