Page 33 of A Prince Among Pirates
That gets Sharpe’s attention. He whirls to face me. “He what?”
I point to the page, though I immediately realize my error and carefully do not tell him to look where I’m pointing. “The numbers always add up when there’s food or livestock or even drink accounted for… but when there are small items of value, like jewels, banknotes, cloth, or rare spices… the numbers become less and less reliable, especially as you get nearer to port cities.”
Sharpe comes around the desk to kneel beside me and stare at the book as if hecanread it. “That son of a bitch,” he whispers. “How much?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“How much did he take?” Sharpe asks.
I blink as I glance back at the notes. “I can’t be sure quite yet. I’d need more time to go over the books.”
“How much time?”
“A day or two?” I suggest.
Sharpe nods and his expression shifts into something pleased. “Kitten… you may have solved more than one mystery tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
He turns to me, his lips curling back into a wicked grin. “You’ll see soon enough. We’re changing course. Stay here and put the books away. We’re celebrating. There’s a case at the foot of my bed, behind your trunk. Choose a bottle and open it for us. I’ll be right back.”
He claps me on the shoulder and hauls himself to his feet. “Mr. Tydes!” he calls as he strides over to his cabin door and yanks it open. “Tydes, change course!” He slams the door behind him, and his footfalls are heavy on the stairs leading up to the helm overhead.
I make my way over to the crate, kneel before it, and lift the lid easily enough. I reach in and wrap my fingers around the cool glass of a bottle, pulling it from the hay batting.
It’s port. It must be the port from the first raid after I joined the crew, now bottled. I can already taste it on my lips as I pull myself to my feet and admire the color of the liquid inside. It has been an age since I had such a fine liquor. Already my mouth is watering at the thought of how much better it will taste as a toast to somethingIhave achieved. There is something to be said about a drink well earned.
Captain Sharpe is right—we are certainly going to celebrate tonight.
Out on deck in the morning, or whatever bloody hour it is that the sun shines directly overhead with absolutely no regard for common decency, my head is throbbing and my stomach is in a relentless state of distress. I woke once again on Captain Sharpe’s settee, but this time with no recollection of falling asleep there and without his disapproving stare looming over me. In fact, I’m fairly certain heallowedme to sleep there, which is ludicrous.
No, it’s not that ludicrous. Itishis fault I’m in this morning fog, since we drank through dinnertime without a bite to eat. I can’t even remember what we were celebrating. I do remember the thrill of that first clink of glass against glass, and the warm, fluttering loop in my belly at the way Captain Sharpe smiled at me as I drank to our toast. Like I meant something—like I had done something worthwhile.
The memory of that feeling alone is enough to make the ensuing bottle ache well worth it.
“Aren’t ye lookin’ fancy this mornin’?”
The skin at the back of my neck ripples into gooseflesh at the voice grating on my skull. I groan a little and rub at my temples. “Am I?” I grumble as I turn to Renard, who is standing in front of my work table with his arms crossed, peering at me with a look on his face I am not sober enough to translate.
“Ye weren’t at dinner, er in yer bunk last night. An’ again at breakfast, missin’.”
“I wasn’t missing; I knew exactly where I was.” That’s only partly a lie.
Renard snorts and waves away whichever twin is sitting next to me to take his spot. A guilty pang tugs at my chest. I can’t even remember which twin joined me today. A glance at the loose queue at the back of his head as he hurries away reminds me it was Tristan. Poor Tristan. I’ll have to apologize to him once I don’t feel like hitting the first thing that annoys me.
“Ye drunk?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
Renard pulls his flask from his pocket and pushes it into my hand. I groan a little in appreciation as I untwist the cap and bring it to my lips. The liquid inside burns going down, but a few swallows later I do feel a little better. I cough as I hand the flask back.
“What is that?”
“Rum.”
“My ass.”
Renard laughs and pockets his flask. “It’s no’ expensive rum.”
