Page 32 of If I Go Down with This Ship

The pirates up on the mainmast begin gathering the mainsail in their hands, bunching up the white fabric with practiced ease, and the ship begins to slow.I was too busy during the raid to see the process, but now that I can, I see there’s a rhythm to the way they work.

“Strike the foresail!”Jack bellows.

“Striking the foresail!”the crew atop the foremast call back, doing the same as the other, bunching up the sail with quick, knowing fingers.

As the sails are pulled up, the lines are loosened.Mick stops beside me, showing me what he calls a clove hitch to secure the line to a post.I loop the rope around the post and pass it through, tugging it tight.Mick double-checks my work, nodding in approval when it doesn’t give.

“Drop anchor!”Jack calls.

One man stops at the capstan.He pulls out a long wooden pin, and the capstan turns on its own, the chain unraveling and the anchor dropping into the water with a splash.It all happens too fast, and the ship has been moving at just such a speed that when I look out over the bow, palm trees rise over the land, splitting through the night sky.Several other anchored ships float in the harbor.

It isbrilliant, a glittering oasis in the dark, and I can’t help but laugh, shaking my head in disbelief.

Jack stops beside me and hands over the logbook and quill pen.“Welcome to Nassau, New Providence.”He laughs low, hands on his hips as he looks between my eager expression and the dancing lights on land.“I take it from your expression that you’ve never been?”

“Never.”

He claps me on the shoulder.“Come,” he says, pointing to where they’re preparing the longboats.“You’re in the first boat with me and the cap’ain.”

I stop to stare out at the harbor for one long moment before following Jack to the boats.

A little over a week ago, I had never been aboard a pirate ship.Hell, I’d never been aboard anything other than a ferry.Now, I’m climbing down the side of a pirate ship on swaying rope.One slip of my foot and into the ocean I’ll go.I try my best not to think about it, my hands and arms shaking with each movement.My foot slips on the last rung, but before I can fall, strong hands grasp me around the waist and tug, and I drop the short distance into the boat below before righting myself.The hands are still there, lingering, and I spin to thank whoever it is, surprised to find Captain Night, inches away.Clearing his throat, he releases me and drops down onto one of the seats.I settle across from him, taking up one of the oars and ducking my head.My whole body feels like it’s on fire, and I can only hope no one noticed.

“You and I will go to the tavern to off some of the ale,” Jack explains to my left, tapping the logbook.“We’ll top up our supplies before ’eading back in the morning.”

My hands burn against the oars, but I grit my teeth and row.My captain says nothing, but his boot presses against mine like it did under the table that first night.Our long legsare fighting for space, so it could be an accident, but the feel of his hands and the pressure on my waist only minutes ago linger with intent.

Is this all a game, or can he feel it, too?

As we near the sand, the other men hop out and begin dragging the boat ashore.I clumsily climb out, my boots and pants soaking through as I nearly topple into the wave.I stumble to the shore, my center of gravity seemingly gone from a week aboard a ship.

Captain Night jolts forward and catches me by the elbow.His hand is warm on me, and our eyes meet, waves lapping against our boots as we stand in the shallow water.

I can’t look away.Worse yet, I don’t want to.I don’t know what he’s doing to me, but I don’t want him to let go.I don’t want to steal his coat or go back to my time.I just want to know what this thing between us is, what it could be if I allowed it.

If he wanted it.

When he makes no move, I tug my arm free.“Best get going,” I say, pivoting to follow Jack.I swallow hard as I fight my way up the beach, sand clinging to my wet clothes.I pause and glance back, but Captain Night is nowhere to be seen.

11A Shore Thing

Nassauis a place I’ve heard of but know little about.From the crowds gathered on the beaches and spilling onto the island, it seems to have a reputation.Along with its brothels, taverns, shops, and merchants, it’s a place full to the brim with pirates.It is, I know, the pirate stronghold, a throne in a way, and the scenes laid out before me and the people I see across Nassau only prove that.

But Hollywood has gotten a lot wrong.In Hollywood’s version of Nassau, its women are all slim waists and full breasts, and the place is chock-full of white pirates tanned from their time at sea, looking for their next treasure.No, the real Nassau is a place built for and by people of all shapes and backgrounds, and luckily for me, Jack seems to know it well.

“Do you all come here often?”I ask as I struggle to keep up.

“Often ’nough,” he says.

“Why did we come here so quickly after the raid?”

He stops on the path and turns toward me with a raised brow.“You ask a lot of questions, Laszlo.”

“And you keep a lot of secrets, Jack.”

“Let me make one thing clear,Laszlo.I’m the first mate.It’s my duty to ’elp the cap’ain, and that means keeping ’is secrets.You’ve been on the ship for ’bout a week—do you think you’re privy to all of Cap’ain’s secrets?”

Without another word, he spins on his heel to go, and I hurry after him.We wind through the makeshift streets, our crew rolling in barrels of ale behind us.Sand clings to me everywhere, the water in my clothes already evaporating from the heat of the day.People whisper as others meander by, stepping off to the side to trade and sell wares in darkened corners.When I stop on the path, they seem to sense my gaze.