Page 21 of A Prince Among Pirates
“Good night, Kitten,” says Captain Sharpe from somewhere behind me.
“Good morning, Captain,” I answer, closing the door once more. I proceed cautiously across the slick, wet deck of theDeliveranceas she sways with the swell of the remaining waves. No one says a word to me as I make my way down into the fo’c’sle.
Billy is standing by the door, speaking softly to Mr. Tydes, when I pass by. He looks up at me and smiles, but mercifully he,too, says nothing. I am left to change into my dry clothes and crawl quietly into my hammock, my wet things abandoned in a heap on the floor.
My last thought as I succumb to sleep is of my engagement party, of a Christopher-Henry who thought that the worst thing about living at sea was the lack of personal hygiene.
Eight
The next time I hear a commotion above deck is nearly a fortnight later. It may be the first time in my life I have done as I’ve been told, but I’d rather not risk another ordeal like the storm. I still wake in a cold sweat from nightmares of the sea sliding down my throat as I’m thrown from the deck and swallowed by black waves.
I have nothing else to do, so I stay in my hammock and doze fitfully between bouts of intermittent yelling and the thunder of men running to and fro on the deck above.
Finally a hand on my shoulder jostles me awake, and I look up to see Trevor leaning over me. “Cap’n wants ye. Says ye got work to do.”
I suck in a breath and sit up, struggling a bit as I fumble out of my hammock. “Damnation, what time is it?” Trevor shrugs, and I roll my eyes as I yank on my shoes. “Helpful.”
“Not my fault ye slept in.”
I wrinkle my nose, but he’s right. I pull on my jacket and smooth it out. “What was that commotion earlier?”
Trevor grins at that. “A new shipment,” he says. “Wait till ye see.”
A shipment? I rub at my face and run my fingers through my hair. “Have we made port?” I ask, but Trevor is gone. With a sigh, I make my way up into the blinding afternoon sun. Once my eyes adjust, I am stunned to see that we are tethered to another ship, a smaller merchant vessel. There is no port nearby; we have apparently pulled up to trade on the water. I’d never heard of such a thing before seeing the strange trade listings in the old ledgers—but then, I know very little of how ships and trade work.
Captain Sharpe hops down off the rail and passes by a stack of crates and casks, patting one with a grin on his face. I smile back at him—his glee is infectious. “What’s all this?” I ask.
“Get your ledger and quill, Kitten. I need you to log everything the men bring on board.”
I can’t help but steal a glance at his right arm, though his shirtsleeves right now are dry and opaque. “Is that all wine?”
“Port, and some beer,” he says, clearly pleased with himself. “We’ll have it bottled when we make landfall.”
Port. My mouth waters just at the thought of it. As I let myself into Captain Sharpe’s cabin to fetch the ledger and quill, I wonder how willing he would be to part ways with a few bottles.
I spend the rest of the afternoon logging every crate and cask on deck—spices, port, sugar, tobacco, beeswax. Tristan andTrevor organize the haul, and only when I have logged how many of each item there are do the crew move everything down into the hold. We’ve even gained two new men in the trade, which I’m not entirely clear on, but they seem pleased with their change of fortune. I wonder if they, like Renard, were also pressed into service.
The men are in great spirits. At some point after we cut the merchant vessel loose and part ways, I hear a roar of cheers and turn to see Captain Sharpe crack open the lid on one of the beer kegs I just finished counting.
I look back down at my ledger to correct the keg count, just in time to see the sugar crates beside me disappearing in my periphery. I glance up and hurry after Rodriguez. “Wait! I haven’t finished counting those!”
Rodriguez laughs as he takes the first step below. “Should’ve counted faster, lordling.”
“Come on, I’m just doing what the captain asked me to do,” I groan.
He narrows his pretty blue eyes, but he’s still smiling. He’s in a good mood, for whatever reason. “Twenty,” he says.
“What?”
“There are twenty. We’ve taken down five already; this is the sixth.” He nods to the remaining pile. “And there are fourteen left.”
I turn to follow his gaze and see that he’s right. “Ah. Thank you.” I shouldn’t be surprised that he can do such basic sums, but the privileged snob in meisa little surprised nonetheless. I’m ashamed enough by the thought that I dare not share it. I simplylog the number, and then a mug of beer appears under my nose.
I move my ledger quickly to keep anything from spilling on it and take the mug with a smile. “Thank you, Billy.”
“Captain says to take the rest of the evening off, if you’re finished counting.”
“How generous of him, since I would have already been finishing up around this time,” I reply with a smirk.
