Page 11 of A Prince Among Pirates
“That’s rude! I’m a gentleman. Gentlemen don’t lie.”
“Just murder people in cold blood?” This makes me laugh, and he pats me on the back. “Best get back ta bed, lad. It’ll be too dark fer ye ta fumble ’bout on deck soon, an’ no’ everyone on board is as gentlemanly as I am.”
I try not to think too hard about what he’s insinuating as I give an exasperated sigh and stand upright once more. I don’t want to go back to the hammock below, but I suppose I ought to avoid falling overboard, since I cannot swim. “Right.”
“I’ll look out fer ye tomorrow mornin’ in the mess,” he adds. “I’ll introduce ye ta the other officers.”
“Other officers?” I ask, giving him another once-over.
“Oh, aye. Boatswain,” he says, motioning to himself.
My blank expression earns a glare that is really more of a pout than anything.
“I’m in charge of the crew. Which means ye answer ta me first, an’ Cap’n second. Come now, lad—ye can’t have trulyjoined a ship’s crew havin’ nae idea how it all works.”
“Oh, I assure you I can have,” I counter, ignoring his suggestion that I should answer to anyone other than myself. “I am particularly talented in making dubious life decisions.”
“What a delightful mess y’are,” Renard says with a snort. “Get ta sleep. I’ll do my best ta educate ye in the mornin’, so ye dinnae go round lookin’ like acompletefool.”
“Only a partial one?”
“Indeed.”
“Much appreciated.” I smile at Renard and bow my head. “Good night, Renard.”
“G’night, lad.”
He steps away from me, and I don’t watch where he is headed. Instead I fortify myself with one last deep gulp of fresh air before plunging back into the hellish confines of the fo’c’sle. My frayed, filthy hammock awaits.
Five
I wake to the sound of footsteps and loud voices around me—which means I have somehow slept. My neck is stiff, and the muscles of my back and shoulders complain as I struggle out of my hammock as gracefully as I can manage. I am not used to sleeping in my clothes, and the wrinkled state of them annoys me. Still, wearing nothing but a nightshirt in a room full of strange and rough men feels unwise. They have mostly ignored me thus far, but I would rather not draw unwanted attention to myself.
I was the only one still abed, made evident by the rows of empty hammocks. Few men remain, sitting upright in their hammocks or on the floor, chatting among themselves with plates of food balanced in their laps. My stomach gives an unhappy whine as I attempt to smooth out my shirt and trousers. But my efforts are in vain, and with a sigh I heed my stomach and turn to find my way to the mess for something to eat.
It is offensively early. I haven’t a pocket watch to tell the time, but I know by how irritable I am that I should not be awake yet. I try not to think about how much I am regretting my spontaneous and rather dramatic departure from home, impending nuptials or no.
I get turned around twice in the unfamiliar hallways and rickety, steep staircases of the ship before finding one of the young men I first glimpsed on deck yesterday morning.
“You there!” I call to him, then mentally scold myself. If I am a member of the crew, I ought to be speaking to these men as my peers. But how does one address a person whose name you do not know? There must be some trick to it. People like me are forced to endure formal introductions and the listing of titles when we first meet, but I am quite sure regular men do no such thing.
The lad turns and I realize he must be very close to my own age, or perhaps even younger—it is so hard to tell with these sailors. His eyes widen a little, his thick, ruddy brows rising as if he is shocked to be addressed by me. I smile and approach him. “Yes,” I assure him. “You. Forgive me, we haven’t been formally introduced. My name is Kit—I wonder if you might point me in the direction of breakfast?”
“Yer that fancy man we saw on deck yesterday,” he replies, eyeing me with cautious curiosity. “Heard you’d joined the crew. Trev ’n’ I got bets on whether yer a runaway er not.”
Charming. I have no clue who Trev is, and I don’t ask. “Ah, very entertaining. Forgive me, I am quite famished.”
“Sorry,” the lad says, dipping his head in a way that tells mehe is either shy or lacking in confidence. I almost feel bad for avoiding conversation with him, but I haven’t eaten since the stolen pastry yesterday morning, and now that my stomach is no longer in knots, it is crying out for sustenance. “Breakfast is over by now, most like, but I’ll bring ye to the galley ’n’ ask the cook to muster up something for ye. If he’s in a good mood, he might.”
Shit. How early do these men eat? I groan and rub my face. “If… you could just point me in that direction, I am sure I can manage on my own. No need to trouble yourself… um…” I hold a hand out to him inquisitively, and he stares blankly back at me. “Your name?”
He laughs and taps himself on the forehead, which I suppose is kind of cute. “Right, sorry. Name’s Tristan.”
“Tristan. Charmed,” I say with as pleasant a smile as I can muster at ass o’clock in the morning with no food in my belly.
“The men mess in the fo’c’sle; only officers eat in the salon. Yer new, though, so maybe Cook’ll take pity on ye. The galley’s direct below the cap’n’s quarters.”
“Forgive me, Tristan… I haven’t a clue where I am rightnow, let alone where the captain’s cabin is.”
