Page 19 of A Prince Among Pirates
“I didn’t forget,” I say as I carefully move to sit beside Trevorwithout toppling the hammock. “I was just too tired to stand in line. I thought I could afford to skip a meal, but I am very pleased to not have to.”
“See?” Trevor gives a smug smile.
“Well, I don’t mind either way,” Tristan says.
“Ye goin’ to ask him?” Trevor prods, sopping up the last of his broth with his bread.
“Ask me what?” I interject after a swallow of stew.
“You wanted to know too!” Tristan protests.
“What’s going on?”
“Tristan wants to know if yer a prince.”
I laugh and look from one twin to the other—but neither of them is laughing with me. “What are you on about?”
“Someone said yer a runaway prince,” Tristan explains, his cheeks developing the most adorable shade of pink.
“I’m not a runaway prince,” I say, rolling my eyes and taking another bite of my stew. “I’m not even a member of the peerage. I’m just plain old Kit Mortimer.”
“Nothin’ about ye is plain,” Trevor teases, nudging my thigh with his own to point out the contrast of my trousers against his.
“You know what I meant.”
“Ye talk fancy,” Tristan adds. “Real posh.” He straightens his back and elongates his nose by pursing his lips when he says it.
I laugh and throw a chunk of bread his way. “Well, I’m not a prince. I’m just… educated.”
“Cap’n says yer real good with yer sums,” Tristan says.
My face grows hot. I am unused to compliments on thingsotherthan my appearance. And I rather like that the captain is speaking highly of me when I’m not even around to hear it. Though I wouldn’t mind if he spoke highly of me to my face more often too. “Ah, I’m… adequate with them. Nothing terribly impressive, I assure you.” I shift in the hammock and push a bit of stew around in my bowl.
“Better’n either of us,” Trevor says with a little grin that tells me he is unbothered by this.
“If yer done, I’ll take yer bowl back to the mess,” Tristan offers.
“Stop suckin’ up,” Trevor says.
“I’m bein’nice!” Tristan argues as he takes my bowl from me. “But since yer bein’ a jerk,youcan take ’em.” He stacks all the bowls onto Trevor’s lap and grins. “G’night.”
Trevor glares at his twin’s back as Tristan crosses the fo’c’sle to the bunk they share, but I am saved from any awkwardness when he stands up and nods a good night to me before obediently leaving to carry the stack of bowls to the mess.
I pull off my shoes and tuck them under my hammock before settling in for the night. My innards dip as the hammock sways with the swell of the ocean outside. Most nights, sleeping on the hammock feels a bit like floating. I watch in the dim light of the fo’c’sle as the walls around us rock but I remain somehow stationary.
Of course I understand the physics behind it. But it feels surreal anyway.
Tonight, however, my hammock wobbles with the shift ofthe ship. I can’t help but wonder if I am simply too awake or if something actually is different. The movements make it difficult, but eventually the hum of the men speaking softly, and the quiet rush of water against wood, lull me to sleep.
Until I am unceremoniously thrown from my hammock and land on the damp floor with a thud as the ringing in my ears fades into muffled screams from overhead.
Seven
What is it about chaos and fear that inspires such poor decision-making? I know with certainty that I should stay below when I hear the crew screaming up on deck—but as I watch four or five men scramble up the stairs, somehow my instinct is to follow them.
I pull on my shoes and jacket as quickly as I can manage, leaving my cravat and waistcoat behind as I stumble from the room and directly into the far wall by the stairs. The ship groans in protest, and all at once I could vomit. I swallow back the urge and pull myself up the stairs as the ship is hauled back and forth.
I don’t even make it halfway before I am soaked through, freezing rain hammering onto my body like tiny shards of ice. I gasp for air, as if I’ve just been thrown into the ocean.
