Page 24 of The Worst of Them

But all he said was, “Once the ash is out, you light the fires again. I’ll show you.”

6

THE WATCHER AND THE WATCHED

Jack’s astuteness ruined Cecily’s day, and it seemed he knew it.

He spoke to her little after that, and only to give her odd jobs—scrubbing decks, untangling a pile of rope, adding wood to the fires. But even with so much to occupy her, the hours crawled, made slower by dread that was entirely his fault.

She had never wanted to be known as a murderer. If no one knew, she could almost forget it ever happened, and she wouldn’t have to carry the truth of it on her shriveled, broken heart.

Being known as a prostitute was easier, despite how much she hated it. It was only a lie someone else told about her, one she didn’t bother to correct. Someone else had struck her name from all of England’s records. Someone else had put her on a boat to a colony with a new conviction that claimed she was a whore. It was all someone else’s fault, and being blamed for a crime she never committed didn’t hurt as much as having to live with the one she had. Most days she even liked to pretend that prostitution was all she was guilty of, because a lie couldn’t crush her like shame would.

She had never wanted to kill anyone. She’d never intended to, save for the day she met Morgyn.

As the day progressed, she watched everyone else, terrified they might guess it as easily as Jack had. While her hands worked, her eyes moved, flicking from pirate to prisoner, to the captain at the quarterdeck, to Jack.

The first mate was always watching her. Even when she didn’t look at him, his attention hung around her like a fog, and she tried not to show she was shaken.

Really, it shouldn’t have been an issue; like he’d said, there were plenty of murderers here, so what did it matter if she was?

It mattered to her. To be known by her crime would make it real. The memories would be right there, waiting to remind her of the day she’d damned herself. She could smell the smoke and feel the glass in her palm. She could hear the screams and crackling fire and blood…

She began counting the ropes in the rigging to force her mind into forgetting.

And if Morgyn knew…God, once she learned of Cecily’s crime, she’d know Cecily had hidden it for a reason and use it to torture her. There were scores left to settle, and Morgyn would remember that eventually. Then she’d scheme and bend wills against Cecily in such a way that the pirates would never realize their opinions had been made for them.

This was how Morgyn had survived for so long as a fraud. She understood the currency of social power and wielded it like a sword. Most men missed the complexity, unable to see past the false smiles and giggling because to them, power was merely power. To these women, this lot of Bridewell criminals who had formed their own system of prison politics, it was won by subtleties, opinions, and safety in numbers. Soft things, it would seem, until they were used to control and manipulate.

When Morgyn finally decided she wanted Cecily dead, she’d have dozens of hands ready and willing to do her bidding, and the articles would protect her because they didn’t account for her brand of dominance.

But as the day progressed, she realized she’d have time to find ways around this as the other women were thoroughly distracted by the rugged, happy men who’d saved them. She heard most of them referring to one another as “husband” or “wife,” the matter of which was made official by whatever agreements they’d made among themselves the night before and sealed with eager consummations. It was enough to constitute a marriage for them, and Cecily couldn’t judge so harshly when the women had achieved the very thing she sought by her own means—protection.

This included Morgyn, who filled her time with a man named Fiero, a smart, if not obvious choice for her. She usually aligned herself with whatever physical power she lacked, and Fiero was the biggest man Cecily had ever seen. She wondered if he was the jealous type, and if he’d scorn Morgyn’s famously wavering loyalties. Maybe he wouldn’t care—or perhaps he’d break her neck, and then Cecily wouldn’t have to worry about any unsettled debts.

She barely had time to get excited at the thought before Jack’s voice interrupted.

“Keep staring daggers at everyone and they’ll really start to like you.” He came to stand in front of her, blocking her view of most of the deck.

“Oh, good,” Cecily said, deadpan. “God knows I crave their approval.”

A familiar laugh caught her attention, followed by a low chortle. Both Cecily and Jack turned as Hester emerged from the lower decks on Greyson’s arm, both of them looking gleeful.

Jack’s scowl mirrored Cecily’s own, so she wiped her expression and told him, “Keep staring daggers at the two of them. I’m sure they’ll really love that.”

Annoyance twisted his face. “Stop glaring. You’ll disturb the crew.”

She laughed because she couldn’t help but glare and hardly knew she was doing it. “Aye, sir,” she said, and for a moment, she thought he might stab her with one of his lovely little knives.

She didn’t mind the tasks he gave her to do, even when the rest of the crew finished their jobs and started reading or playing cards or flirting. She actually preferred staying busy, as it made it easier to forget the loneliness nipping at her heels and the fear that breathed down her neck. No one mentioned her crime, so she assumed Jack had kept her secret.

But how long would that remain true?

That night, she settled in her corner of the crew’s quarters, though, once again, rest wouldn’t come until she snuck to the main deck. And once she relaxed, she escaped to her little home and fell into peaceful sleep.

Cecily jerked awake when Jack kicked her boot at dawn.

“You shouldn’t sleep out here,” he said.