Page 145 of The Worst of Them

Jack was still haunted with worry that he’d forced her into a marriage she would come to regret. He was deaf to her assurances in the short moments they’d had together, and had finally told her days ago that the regret wouldn’t go away, just as the blood on her hands didn’t vanish even when she knew no one else could see it.

It was difficult to ignore what their minds perceived, no matter what logic they threw against it.

“As do I.” Copson scrubbed away a bit of seaweed beginning to grow on the wheel. By now, keeping the ship clean was impossible despite their constant efforts. Someone was always scrubbing away grime and growing things, or throwing buckets of sandy mud overboard. The masts were molding, the sails had begun to discolor and tear, and boards had warped under their feet.

“He’s always been like this,” Copson said. “Rarely scared, but when he is, he’s a nightmare.”

“Same as me,” Cecily told him. “Though I didn’t know it until it mattered. Ugh, shit.” She shucked off her gloves and shook out her hands in the frozen air to dispel the feeling of blood running over them. Then, right on cue, the distant coughing began, and she released a stream of expletives.

“Curse a little quieter, would you?” Copson requested blandly. “Now’s not the time for the crew to think you’ve lost your mind.”

She cursed at him too, but quieter, as he’d asked. “Everyone’s lost their minds,” she said. “I hardly think it matters if I do too.”

“It matters to me, but only because you force your presence upon me so persistently.”

“Liar.” A whisper of amusement tugged at the edges of her unease. “I’m one of your favorite pirates.”

He looked down at her hands. “Put your gloves back on. I told you I despise missing fingers.”

Frigid air bit at her teeth as she cracked a dry smile, but she shoved her hands roughly into her gloves. She’d come to like arguing with the captain. It was like playing a game, a spark of interest in their bleak circumstances, and it made her forget the haunting, even for a little while. Because of that, she wasn’t ready to walk away yet, and would argue with him a little more for their own sanity.

So she brought up a new subject that was sure to distract both of them.

“Why is it so important that the king not get the treasure you’re after?”

Instead of answering, Copson asked, “Did Robin tell you about the king, or was it Jack?”

“Robin. Why does it matter who told me?”

“It doesn’t. The king shouldn’t get that money because it’s not his.” Copson shook his head, his tone going brittle. “That’s why my father stole it in the first place—that royal son-of-a-bitch went back on a deal and left my family destitute, and stealing the king’s money in that raid was meant to set things back to rights. It’s the money we were owed.”

“So it’s revenge,” she said. Robin had alluded to as much.

“If it was mere revenge, taking it would have been enough,” he said. “That treasure is the reason my father became a pirate. Robin stealing it from him is the reason I am a pirate, and if the king gets it back, it’s nothing less than the gravest insult—to my father and my family.” As he flexed his hands around the spokes of the wheel, bits of frost drifted to his boots. “I wouldn’t have chosen this life if I didn’t feel I had to, and I’ve lost more than I care to name.”

He gripped the wheel like a lifeline, stock still.

Cecily had once asked him what haunted him, but he’d only replied that she had no right to know, let alone ask. That hadn’t stopped her from wondering, which she often did, but she knew too little of him to know for sure. For how unbothered he seemed, she’d briefly considered that nothing bothered him at all, because what could haunt such a self-assured, spiteful man?

But this—piracy and all he’d lost because of it—surely this was the answer. She could see it in his eyes, feel the gravity of it as he spoke. He’d been forced to chase wealth because of his father and lost his wife because of it. There was undoubtedly more to it, but even so, what she knew of him would be enough to haunt anyone.

And because she loved Jack and had eagerly taken his name and the protection it awarded her, she’d inherited this treasure and story as her own. No matter how awful the captain so often was, he was family.

She felt it more now than she ever had. Over these past days, there was a new respect between herself and the captain, even if neither of them said so.

“Why does it matter?” he asked, his tone milder as he turned her question back on her.

“It doesn’t,” she said, then swallowed as she made a decision that she hoped she wouldn’t regret. “Only that Robin said your map is in a vase headed for the king. He called it a gift that could ruin you so long as the king knows what to do with it. That’s all I know.”

Though the sun was masked, the air frozen, and the ship struggled to hold together for the sake of saving its disturbed crew, for the first time ever, she saw Copson’s true smile.

35

THE GHOST OF JONAH LOVIBOND

Jack was sitting on the bed, shoving his feet into his boots when Cecily slipped into the room. Dark circles sagged beneath his heavy eyes. If he’d slept, it hadn’t been restful.

“Evening,” she greeted softly. She’d slipped away early to see him, hoping to have a few minutes with him before he took over as captain.