Page 7 of The Worst of Them

Copson’s ship. The Fortuna Royale.

The Sparrow jerked as pikes lanced into the hull from the pirates’ vessel. Men screamed from above, the sound interrupted with gunshots followed by thuds, cries, and heavy thumps as bodies fell to the deck. A guard appeared at the top of the steps, fleeing whatever horrors he faced on the higher decks. Then blood rained down into the brig, and he fell down the steps with an ax buried in his skull.

Some women cried. Beside her, Hester trembled. Even Morgyn had tears in her eyes as she stared at the dead body. Within minutes, the commotion on the upper deck quieted, leaving only footsteps and voices.

Cecily was under no impression that the survivors were anyone but pirates. Surely they would have awful things in mind for a ship full of women, and they’d most certainly kill them all.

But she had prepared herself for death once before and could do it again. Perhaps she’d negotiate for her manner of death and request that Copson kill her outright. She could ask him to give her a moment to close her eyes and return to the home in her head so she could be somewhere beautiful while she died.

Already, she could see her little parlor. She’d wear a beautiful dress—red, so it wouldn’t show the blood, and maybe if she wasn’t worthy of Heaven and her father and the mother she’d never known, God would have mercy and let her spend eternity in her little home…

Boots thudded down the steps at the other end of the ship. Cecily opened her eyes as the newcomer descended into the hold.

The young man looked to be in his mid-twenties, and he was bald with tattoos crawling over his hands and up his neck. He hoisted a lantern before him, stepped over the guard’s body, and froze as he took in the faces in the gloom.

“Shiiiit,” he said, drawing out the low curse. He crept farther in, searching the cells in the dimness before turning on his heel and hurrying back up the steps.

“Captain,” came his voice from above. “It’s a prison ship all right, but it’s all women.”

A pause. Then a deep, resonant voice repeated, “Women.”

Cecily couldn’t discern a mood from the tone. No animosity or disappointment, like she would have expected from a man who held little esteem for women. But not terrible excitement either. Hester’s grip tightened.

The young man returned, followed by a man in his early fifties who wore a long black coat and a tricorn hat with a red feather. His heavy presence seemed to pull all of the air out of the brig, and Cecily would have bet the rest of her soul that this was the infamous Captain Copson.

His face hid behind a dark, trimmed beard, and he studied the women with storm-gray eyes as he paced down the aisle between the cells. He stopped halfway and took the lamp from the bald man. As he lifted it, his coat fell open to reveal a gleaming cutlass at his hip.

“How many are you?” he asked. He spoke with refined intonation that was at odds with his appearance and his legend.

“Thirty,” Morgyn answered in a thin voice. Speaking for all of them, as she should. Maybe Copson would kill her first. Cecily would prefer to live long enough to see that.

He considered them. “Greyson, what’s our number?”

“Forty-two,” the bald man answered. “Lost one today.”

“So thirty is adequate…” The captain rolled his lips between his teeth, thinking, then continued in a cold voice, “My name is Captain Robert Copson. I’ve killed this ship’s crew, and I’ll kill you all too.”

The women fidgeted, rustling as they made themselves smaller. Hester grabbed Cecily’s shoulder, but Cecily didn’t move or take her eyes off the captain. He didn’t look so dreadful or terribly old, not like he should after ruling the seas for as long as he had. Had she seen him under any other circumstance, she would have thought he was a regular man.

His cutlass winked at her in the low light. She smiled back.

“That is,” he went on, “unless you wish to join my crew. I can promise you money and freedom from whatever hell you were bound for. You’ll not be mistreated or killed so long as you honor the laws on my ship.”

Cecily blinked. Confusion creased along her brow while murmurs spread among the others.

“In exchange for our virtues?” one of the women asked, boldly snide. “What’ll ya want from us?”

The pirate tilted his head, squinting. “Your virtues,” he said in a low, surly grumble that correctly insinuated this group of women had few virtues among them, “will be yours to give as you please. But on pain of death, you’ll not be touched against your will. Many a pirate code assures the same, and mine is no different. It behooves no one to have a ship full of strife and such a shameful lack of discipline.”

His tone rang with commanding authority that left little room for doubt. Cecily was under no impression that Copson’s code had anything to do with chivalry or morals beyond the discipline he spoke of, and surely the other women knew the same. They were tired of being shackled and imprisoned, and so long as they wouldn’t be forced into anything, the offer of freedom was too attractive to forsake.

Morgyn stood first, saying, “I’ll go.” Many echoed her, pressing against the bars in their eagerness to be free.

Cecily, however, remained in her corner, trying to swallow her befuddlement.

There was a catch or a trap or some kind of evil punch line. Death was coming—it was what Copson was known for. It’s what she expected. He certainly hadn’t been paid off to keep anyone here alive, so she couldn’t imagine why he would.

To what end? she thought. What did he have to gain from good intentions?