Page 42 of A Prince Among Pirates
“I’m too conspicuous; they’re watching me,” Mr. Tydes points out. “I’ll get Renard to go with you. This is his field of expertise.”
I don’t love the way he said that, but it’s fine with me, though I see Trevor and Tristan exchange frowns. I’m just glad Mr. Tydes agrees with me for once. “Very well, then, Renard will wallop them over the head.”
“It would be easier to dispatch ’em with a knife to the throat,” Trevor suggests, and I freeze.
I’ve forgotten where I am. I’ve forgotten what piracy truly means. Trevor, Tristan, Renard… even Captain Sharpe. They’ve all killed men before. I’ve seen the blood on their clothes; I’ve seen the weapons they keep. They aren’t playing at being pirates, like I am. They are the real thing. All at once I’m not sure I cango through with this plan, not if it means murder.
Trevor must understand what I am thinking by whatever expression he sees on my face. He frowns, but not in disappointment or disgust. He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Mr. Kit. Ye won’t have to look.”
I sigh and shake my head. “I… we can’t slit their throats,” I argue. Before anyone can ask me why, the reason plops into my lap and relief floods over me. “We need their uniforms to get around on the frigate. If they’re covered in blood, we’ll raise alarm bells.”
Trevor’s eyes widen as he looks at Tristan and Mr. Tydes, who are both staring at me with their brows raised, like they’re shocked I had the brains to think of that.
I scowl at them. “We’ll have to knock them out somehow so we can take the uniforms. And once we do, we can take the skiff across to the frigate in the shadow of night.”
“It’s a new moon,” Mr. Tydes says, his eyes still wide, though he isn’t staring at me now. He’s staring through me as he considers the plan. “If you’re quiet enough, they won’t see you coming. You can sneak on board and find Captain Sharpe.”
Trevor sets something into my hand. It’s cold and heavy, and I drop my gaze to see a pistol lying there. I jerk my head back up, alarmed. “What’s this?”
“It’s not loaded, Mr. Kit,” he promises. “No offense… but I don’t trust ye with a loaded pistol. Buttheywon’t know it isn’t loaded.”
I swallow hard and nod, getting to my feet. “I’m… going tochange into something less…” I motion at the bright color of my waistcoat. “Conspicuous.”
“I’ll get Renard,” Mr. Tydes mutters.
I make quick work of my clothes, switching into black and navy blue so I might blend better into the velvety dark of the ocean on a moonless night. I slip my father’s ring back into my purse, not wanting to risk losing it now that I’ve come to realize how helpful it can be.
By the time I am dressed, Renard is in the cabin, speaking softly to Mr. Tydes. He lifts his head as I approach and smirks at me. Apparently, they’ve told him the plan, and he approves. Good—I’m too antsy to try to convince anyone of anything. “Ready?” I ask, sliding the pistol into the waistband of my trousers as I’ve seen other men do.
Mr. Tydes lifts a brow at me. “Never the front of your trousers,” he says, motioning to where I’ve hidden the unloaded pistol. “You’ll shoot your bollocks off.”
Tristan hides a laugh behind a cough, and I wrinkle up my nose. “It’s not loaded.”
“Put it in the back anyway. One day you may have need of a loaded pistol, and if you do it wrong the first time, you’ll do it wrong again.”
I roll my eyes but do as he says, taking the pistol out and pushing it into the back of my waistband instead. It sticks into the small of my back, but I don’t complain.
Once that’s done, Mr. Tydes nods and picks up the wooden platter. “Good,” he says. “Let’s go.”
And just like that, we are stepping out of the captain’s cabin. It’s full dark now. I take Tristan’s arm like I might have taken Kitty’s and lead him towards the port rail. We make sure to pass the two Frenchmen, who stand silent and armed—waiting, it would seem, for an excuse to shoot one of us.
I pay them no mind, though my heart is racing. I’ve done plenty of immoral things in my life—but breaking the law infrontof a soldier is quite a new experience for me.
“I thought we’d never shake your brother,” I say to Tristan, just a little too loud.
Tristan blinks at me, and I can’t tell if he’s playacting or if he really has no idea what I’m talking about. Either way, it’s effective. I press him to the rail with my body, and he gives an unladylike grunt that almost sends me pealing with laughter. I duck my head beside his to hide my expression and hope it looks like I’m whispering sweet nothings into his ear, when something cold and hard nudges my arm.
Thank Christ, they’ve intervened before I have to kiss Tristan. That would have been terribly awkward—like kissing my brother. I haven’t a brother, but I imagine Tristan and Trevor are the closest I’ll ever come to it. Kissing one’s own brother is a step too far, even for me. I turn to the Frenchman who has had the gall to nudge a member of the peerage with the tip of his musket. “Excuse me,sir,” I demand.
“Take your illicit tryst elsewhere, monsieur,” he orders with a nod.
I step back, my arm still hooked around Tristan’s waist. “How dare you interrupt us. I—”
I don’t need to say anything more, nor does Tristan need to re-create page 210. The Frenchman facing us whips around to see Trevor strangling his companion with a length of rope. Before he can sound the alarm or shoot someone, I jump into action.
On pure instinct, I release Tristan and pull out the pistol, slamming the butt of it down onto the Frenchman’s skull with a sickening crack. He crumples instantly, and I am left staring at him with wide eyes as Trevor struggles with his own prey.
For a moment nobody moves. (That is, nobody but the Frenchman trying to squirm free of the rope.) I forget how to breathe entirely until I lift my gaze to see his face turning blue. It is a swift reminder to inhale, and so I do, taking a step back as I watch him drop lifelessly to the deck beside his unconscious partner.
