Page 25 of A Prince Among Pirates
Lad.I much prefer that to “lordling.” I snap my ledger shut and wink at Cook—which I realize is a step too far when he swings his spatula at me, but I laugh as I snatch up my inkpot and scurry out of the galley. I think Iwilltake Rodriguez with me after all. I have no interest in handling livestock with my own two hands. The very thought of it is almost too much to bear.
When we make landfall, it’s well into the afternoon, and it ishot. I’m so concerned with fanning myself with my ledger that somehow my legs forget how to work, and as I make my way off the dock and onto land, I lose my footing entirely and go stumbling off to the side.
Rodriguez catches me by the arm and hauls me back to my feet. “Watch it. Barely a month and you’ve already forgotten your land legs?”
“I must have tripped on something,” I say, freeing myself from his grasp. I hardly make it another step before my legs are wobbling again. It’s Tristan this time who hooks his arm with mine, and I lean on him as I try to wrap my head around what is happening.
“It’s all right, Mr. Kit. Ye just need to get used to solid ground again.”
“That makes no sense. The ground must be moving.”
Rodriguez laughs again and pats me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry,Mr. Kit,” he says in a mocking lilt. “You’ll figure it out.”
I’m fairly alarmed, to be honest. My legs don’t seem to be working correctly at all. But Tristan is smiling, and Trevor is grinning at me as if he placed a bet on whether I’d fall over once my feet touched the ground. I scowl at him and allow Tristan to help me walk as we make our way into the crowd.
Fortunately, it doesn’t take me long to regain my “land legs.” Tristan returns to helping Trevor and one of the new men—I never did get his name—drag the wagon with the three casks of port on it. I ruffle my hair a bit; it has gone wild and curly on me in the still, humid air.
When Rodriguez finally stops to speak to someone, I take a moment to look around. I’ve never seen a place quite like this—the beach is nothing like the ones in Falmouth, which are mostly shells, rock, and seaweed.Thisbeach is white and nearly too bright to look at. The water is the most stunning shade of turquoise where it overlaps the shore, and beyond it, there is anincredible display of cliffs and palm trees, which I have never seen in real life.
How unusual to see them in person, rather than in a work of art. I wonder if they really do have coconuts hanging from them.
“Think the cap’n will let us go swimmin’?” Trevor asks as he follows my gaze.
“Doubt it,” Tristan says with a sigh. “He doesn’t want to be here long.”
“Pity,” Trevor grumbles.
I grimace. I, for one, am glad Captain Sharpe has us on a tight schedule. I have no interest in humiliating myself on the beach.
My attention is torn from the shoreline when a tattooed hand appears in my line of vision, fingers snapping rudely. “Niño!”
I jerk my head around to look at the man. “Boy”? I can’t hide my indignation, which makes Rodriguez laugh.
“¿Cuánto por todos?”
I stare at him for a moment longer, trying to decide if I want to address the utter lack of respect. Ah—this is what Cook meant. I shake my head and motion to the three casks behind me. “Tengo tres barriles de vino de Oporto,” I explain. “Mil cien reales de a ocho.”
“Mil cienreales,” the tattooed man repeats, and whistles, then looks over to Rodriguez, who’s openly grinning now. I can’t tell if they’re mocking me or not.
“It’s a fair price,” I say in English, because I won’t be toyed with. “You know it is. They’re worth more than eleven hundred.”
The man chuckles good-naturedly and pats my shoulder. “Sí, sí,” he agrees. He motions to his men and turns to Rodriguez. They talk too quickly for me to follow word for word—and this man speaks with a dialect I’m not familiar with. His consonants are softer than I’m used to, his pronouns informal.
I understand well enough that Rodriguez is explaining our desire for bedding for the ship. I decide to let him handle it as I watch two men turn one cask upright and fuss with the spigot. Alarmed, I hold a hand up and step forward to stop them, but Trevor yanks me back and shakes his head.
They open the spigot and, to my horror, allow some of the port to spill out onto the ground. (I could simply faint.) They stick a flask under the flow, not soon enough, and I quietly mourn the bloodred stain soaking into the earth below. When they get the flask full, they close the spigot, then hand the flask to the tattooed man. He sips and hands it back, then nods and smiles at me.
I smile back, though I know I must look more horrified than pleased. He doesn’t seem to care, though. He points at me. “Almohadas y mantas,” he says, then holds up two fingers, then four, and a fist.
I nod. “Sí,” I say. Two hundred forty is plenty.
The tattooed man nods and waves a hand for me to follow him. I look at Rodriguez, who motions for me to go on ahead. I do, and thankfully, he follows, while Trevor and Tristan hang back.
Regretfully, the remainder of the daylight hours on land arespent following this man in and out of various buildings while Rodriguez does most of the negotiating, though he allows me to make the decisions. In the end we acquire 240 blankets and pillows of acceptable quality, and I make a special request for one set of bedding that is of significantly higher quality than the rest. I ask the man to wrap that set in canvas.
There is some confusion about the balance owed to us, but I allow Rodriguez to handle it, and we leave with our pillows, blankets, and two hundred pieces of eight. The sky is a riot of autumnal colors as we return to the docks. I regret somewhat that I didn’t get to spend any time exploring the island, but I’m sure there will be time for that at a different port.
“I have one more thing I need to buy,” I say to the twins. “Can you two handle getting all this onto the ship?”
