Page 6 of A Prince Among Pirates
Eventually he returns—though he is gone long enough that I forget his face. When he approaches me, it takes me a few moments to realize why he is staring at me with his hands on his hips. I slide off the trunk as gracefully as I can manage, for I am utterly exhausted from staying up all night. I don’t ask him if he’s found me a ship. Instead I just stand back as he hauls my trunk up and makes his way through the crowd.
I follow, grateful that his largeness and the size of my trunk force the crowd to part as we walk. Then, abruptly, he drops my trunk onto the dock and motions towards the nearest ship. I cast him a quizzical look, torn between demanding an explanation and scolding him for manhandling my belongings.
“You got to talk to the captain to board,” he says.
“Is that not what I’m payingyoufor?” I demand.
“No.”
Well, shit. I stare at my trunk, then glare at him. I am trying to decide whether I should leave my trunk with him or send him off without payment when a tall man with a greying queue and sun-kissed bronze skin steps up to us both.
“This him, then?” he asks.
I am flabbergasted, but my manservant—you’ll have to forgive me here, I never got his name—answers for me. “Aye, this is the lordling.”
“I’m—” I begin.
“You’ll have to come with me, lordling,” interrupts the grey-haired man.
I grit my teeth. “Are you the captain of this vessel?”
He laughs, and I’m surprised by the pleasantness of it. It disarms me.
“No, lad. The captain’s in his quarters. If you want passage on theDeliverance, you have to speak with him.”
I glance between them and wonder if I am being hoodwinked or if this is just how it works. I dare not argue and make myself look any more ridiculous than I already feel. Instead I raise my chin and sigh. “Very well.”
I follow him across the gangplank, doing my absolute best not to look down into the dark waters of the berth. I am not a fan of water, but I can think of no other way to well and truly escape my father’s tyranny.
My heels make a satisfying clack with each step as I follow the man as far as the mast. He stops me short with a held-up hand. “Wait here.”
I hate being ordered about as if we were equals—orworse, as if he were my superior. Still, I say nothing as he continues towards a door with a rather fine stained-glass inlay. Well, at least my temporary manservant found me an adequately adorned ship. No doubt the staterooms will be comfortable enough for a voyage.
I tap the sole of my shoe impatiently and glance around as the crew move about on deck and in the rigging.
“Who’s that, then?” I hear one of them say. I don’t turn to face him but allow myself to peek through my periphery. He’syoung, with long, straight reddish-brown hair pulled back into a loose queue at the back of his neck and no facial hair.
“Dunno,” says his companion, who has shorter hair and a smart beard—though since I am not looking straight at them, I could swear they wear the same face. Both are sun-kissed and fair. “Sure is fancy-lookin’, ain’t he?”
Before I can get a better glance at them, they disappear belowdecks, and a shadow looms across my vision. I turn my attention back to the silver-haired man. “The captain will see you now,” he says as he waves his arm towards the stained-glass door.
“Thank you,” I say, careful to keep my tone neutral. It would be unwise to be impolite when I am alone on their ship; I am simply terrible in a fistfight.
I approach the door and knock briskly upon the glass, tilting my ear towards it. A deep voice beckons me inside, and I step in, closing the door behind me.
I stop short as the door clicks shut, for the entire cabin is shrouded in darkness, save the blobs of colored light streaming in through the stained glass. I feel a momentary rush of panic, convinced that I am about to be robbed—or kidnapped and ransomed to my despicable family. That would certainly put a damper on the dramatic escape from my nuptials.
I am about to say something when that deep voice says, “I hear you’d like to sail with us.” It’s smooth and low, like distant thunder on a hot summer evening. I can’t help the shiver that zips up my spine.
There is the spark of flint and then nothing. I think this wasmeant to be some sort of reveal, but it takes three more tries before the char cloth lights, and then the smell of sulfur fills the room as a match is dipped into the flame. Still, it’s impressive that he got it to light that quickly—I could never. The blue glow isn’t enough to light the space, but quickly it floats up and morphs into the flicker of a candle. The warm light illuminates the top of a grand desk, an array of papers and books strewn across its surface.
“Why is that?” the captain asks.
A smile pulls at the corner of my mouth, and my galloping heart stumbles back into a clumsy canter. Though the flash of the flint had startled me into jumping, I am sure he could not see it in the dark. I understand now that he is putting on a show for my benefit.
“Very dramatic,” I say, stepping forward and clasping my hands behind my back. “Does that usually work for you?”
I watch as the candle floats up and tilts. Another candle lights, and then another. There is the silvery glint of a candelabra. A fourth candle lights, and then the captain sets the first back onto his desk. The room has a warm glow to it now, the flames casting sharp shadows that dance across the walls. I can see the shape of him.
