Page 42 of The Worst of Them

With a cat-like grin, she turned to the next drum. “What do you think that might be, Jack Copson?”

He followed a step behind. “Your freedom. No doubt you don’t feel free yet, but my gift certainly helped. Rousing you this morning was like trying to wake the dead.”

She knelt by the drum, opened the door, and looked up at him through the flurry of ashes. His eyes were calm, his face unguarded as the edges of his mouth lifted.

“When will I feel free?” she asked.

“The only one who thinks of you remotely as a prisoner is perhaps my father. And yourself.”

“And you,” she said with a sudden spike of irritation. She didn’t think she was a prisoner—she was a prisoner, and there was proof of it in her signature on the articles she had been forced to sign.

“You think I want to drag you out here every morning and mind you all day?” He shook his head, his smile rueful. “It’s terribly inconvenient. If I had a say, you’d be free to do as you please.”

She turned to the ashes. “And the articles? I can’t leave. You made me agree to them.”

“There are ways out.”

Her gaze sliced back to him.

“Loyalty and respect,” he told her before she could ask. “If leaving is truly a reward for you, incentivize the captain to give it to you. Copson doesn’t let people leave whenever they like. He doesn’t want his whole crew walking out at once, but if they don’t owe him and they’re determined to go, he’ll let them.”

Cecily slammed the door shut. “You’re suggesting I owe him something?”

“Well, he let you live.”

She scoffed. “Seems unwise to be surrounded by people he dislikes if he lets the good ones leave.”

Once again, Jack took the ash bucket and tossed the contents over the edge. “You misunderstand,” he said when he came back. “When Copson can’t tolerate someone, they die. And besides, most people don’t try to leave. They don’t sign up to be pirates if they have something better to do. It’s a last resort for most.”

She pulled the bucket from his hand and moved to the next fire. “Was it a last resort for you?”

“I’m here for loyalty,” he said. “And if loyalty eventually takes me elsewhere, so be it.”

As though summoned by Jack’s declaration, the captain’s door opened. Copson stepped out, his cool, cloud-blue eyes swept over the deck, and then he headed toward his son.

Assuming there was nothing the captain would want to say to her, Cecily focused on her task and ignored him.

“Some of the crew lacks skill,” Copson said.

Huge bloody understatement, she thought to herself.

A moment passed, then Jack said, “Cecily.”

Worried she might have said her thoughts aloud, she raised her head to find the captain looking at her—talking to her. Copson’s eyes weren’t kind, and she wondered if they ever had been.

“They’re awful,” she agreed, gripping her trowel as she weathered his stare. “Your original crew is fine, though,” she added, more for flattery.

Loyalty and respect, Jack had said, and while Cecily was under no impression she’d impressed the captain in the last few seconds, a small compliment couldn’t hurt.

Copson’s mouth pulled into a wry grin beneath his beard. “Jack tells me you have quite an opinion about it.”

Her cheeks warmed. What had he said? Would he have softened her words? Jack’s face remained impassive as he and his father waited for her answer.

“Yes,” she finally said, but she didn’t elaborate, lest she dig her grave any deeper with the captain.

“He was impressed with you yesterday,” Copson said. “For that matter, so was I.”

Her blush deepened, and the edge of Jack’s mouth cut into a smirk at the sight of it.