Page 108 of The Worst of Them
Robin’s head rolled again. “The map,” he said. “I will tell you…about the map.” He shut his eyes, and for a moment she worried he’d already died. But then he dragged in a breath and spoke, his voice even more haggard as though Death held his other hand. “The map is in a vase…bound for the king.”
“A vase bound for the king,” she repeated. “Of England? Right now?”
He nodded, then closed his eyes and tucked his chin into his chest. “It is a gift to ruin Copson…should the king know what to do with it.”
There wasn’t much time left. Cecily leaned even closer. “Will Copson know what that means? If I ever tell him?”
“If you ever tell him,” he said with a heavy sigh she supposed was meant to be a laugh. His voice faded, and his eyes didn’t open. “He’ll know.”
She smoothed her hand over his rough skin. “Alright then,” she whispered with a firm nod. She didn’t want to go yet, or to let Copson back in, so she wracked her brain for any way she might ramble without disturbing his peace. “Alright.”
His dry lips parted. “Don’t tell him easily. Make him wait. Make him…beg. We’re all…selfish bastards. I might’ve spent that treasure, but I hid it…‘cause Copson’s a…real devil and would no doubt curse me…for usin’ any of it.” He swallowed. “I’d not risk it.”
And she needn’t have worried about finding ways to stay with Robin as he swallowed hard and asked, “Will yeh…stay? Till the end?”
“Of course,” Cecily answered. “For as long as it takes.”
He gave a shallow nod. “Don’t let ‘im back in…till I’m dead.”
“I won’t,” she promised.
“Thank ya, lass…for sparing my last moments from the presence of a monster.”
And so she sat with him for several minutes, listening to the death rattle of his final moments. She didn’t speak—only held his hand until eventually, Robin sighed, and his chest did not rise again.
Jack was standing on the opposite side of the door when Cecily opened it a few minutes later, so close that he startled when she appeared.
She had waited to come out, feeling it was more respectful to give Robin’s body a few moments of peace before letting Copson back in.
Surely enough, the captain immediately appeared beside Jack, his face twisted with irritation, no doubt at her for some slight he perceived as greater than it was.
“He’s dead,” she said before Copson could brush past her into the room. In the house beyond, she could hear the other pirates milling about, but it was only the three of them in this hushed, secluded hallway.
“What did he tell you?” he demanded.
“He told me of a map.”
Copson’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “What of it?”
“That it exists.”
His expression darkened. “If you think you’re being funny by not telling me, I’ll flog you. This treasure is worth more than your entire damned life, and that man,” he pointed at the room behind her, “broke his word and stole it, leaving my family—”
“I’m not being funny,” Cecily replied evenly, though her insides withered at the threat. “And you won’t touch me.”
Copson loomed over her, his eyes bright with maniacal anger. “You think I won’t take a cat-o-nine to your back? I saved your life, you mutinous—”
“Mind how you speak to my wife,” Jack said, his low tone and predatory stillness like the threat of an approaching storm. Cecily went cold at his admission.
Copson’s eyes squeezed, and his face slowly began to redden as he turned to glare at his son. “Your what?”
Cecily looked at Jack too. It wasn’t the time—he’d said it wasn’t the appropriate time to tell his father, and yet…
The quiet violence in Jack’s expression suggested otherwise. “You won’t lay a hand on her,” was all he said, his voice still low but his words and eyes hard as iron. The implication was clear—any threat against her was a threat against him too.
And though it was surely sooner than he’d intended, Jack did nothing without reason. While she charged ahead into whatever whims felt right, he always had purpose, and perhaps this was the only way he could get his father to leave Cecily be.
Copson intended to flog her, and he needed to know that absolutely wouldn’t be happening.
