Treasure of the High Seas, Chapter 4 (Patreon)

Chapter Four

THE NEXT MORNING, a new face brings my usual breakfast of pork and pickled vegetables. Her skin is dark as obsidian and she has bright, inquisitive brown eyes. She is Aruwasi, from the southern archipelago. The round shape of her face leads to a gracefully pointed chin, giving her a softer look than one would expect of a murderous pirate.

Like most sailors, she smells of a hard day’s sweat and the sea breeze, but not entirely unpleasant. I know at once that, despite her short stature and thin frame, she is a female alpha, like Captain Lockheed. I might have mistaken her for an omega on sight alone.

The alpha offers me a tin plate. “Breakfast.” Her voice is low and husky for someone of such small stature. “I’m Penny.”

I remember the name. Penny is Captain Lockheed’s quartermaster and William’s mate. She looks none the worse for steering The Maelstrom through such an awful storm.

“Thank you, Penny.” I take the offered plate. Too ravenous to concern myself with manners, I eat greedily with my fingers. Between bites, I ask, “You’re William’s mate, aren’t you? He speaks highly of you.”

Penny nods. An alpha of few words, then. Perhaps that is preferable to Captain Lockheed’s stubborn arrogance.

Once I have inhaled my meal, I attempt to wipe my hands with my handkerchief—a greasy, pathetic thing after five days. Then I drain the cup of grog, having adjusted to the weak, sour taste of watered-down spirits. I have been thirsty ever since I arrived on The Maelstrom, and I pity the pirates who labor in the hot sun if this is all they receive.

Penny takes my empty plate and cup. “Up you get, Lady Cecily.”

Hope rises in my heart. “Above deck?”

In answer, Penny climbs the ladder and unlocks the trapdoor. Eager to breathe fresh air, I follow. She helps me onto the deck with a strong, callused hand.

A smile spreads across my face as the morning sun caresses my skin. I close my eyes, tilting my head to let the soft sea breeze blow through my hair. The strands are stiff and tangled despite my attempts to wash with the bucket of seawater I receive for my morning ablutions, but all I care about is basking in my freedom.

Penny allows me this luxury. With my lungs full of brisk salt air and my body bathed in sunlight, I feel much refreshed.

I open my eyes. The waters around us are dark, glittering green. I search the horizon, but see no signs of land. That is a great disappointment, but at least The Maelstrom seems to have weathered the storm. Her sails have been pulled in, leaving the tall mast to pierce the sky like a lonely, limbless tree.

“How did the ship fare yesterday?” I ask Penny.

“As well as she could. We’ll be careening her come midday, but no major damage to speak of.”

It is the longest string of words Penny has said in my presence so far. I remember William telling me that she built The Maelstrom. It must have been a labor of love—and expressing my admiration might win her over, like William.

“She is a beautiful vessel,” I say. “I read a book on shipbuilding in Captain Lockheed’s cabin. I never knew a sloop could be so much faster and more agile than a brigantine.”

When Penny smiles, I know I’ve made an ally. “Speed and stealth are what she’s built for. Nothing can catch her along the coastline.”

“I would imagine not.” I gaze out across the water. “Careening means beaching the ship for repairs, yes?”

Penny’s brief smile falls away. “I should warn you, there’s no civilization. Just a sandbank and a few trees.”

My heart sinks, but I try my best not to show it. Penny is clever—and she saw right through my question. “Having dealt with Captain Lockheed for five days of captivity, I have come to understand that cooperation is in my best interest.”

Penny nods once, and we lapse into an awkward silence. So much for my new ally.

The strained moment is suddenly broken by the cheerful notes of an accordion, accompanied by several voices from the hold below. Stirred by the music, my feet carry me toward the open hatch. I recognize Red’s clear tenor.

Born and bred in Elbion without a bone to eat.

To fill my empty belly, I joined the Royal Fleet!

The crew bellows the chorus with joyful exuberance.

Haul, haul, haul away; haul away the anchor!

Red picks up the next verse:

My captain was a beastly brute who worked us night and day.

He slurped up all the sailors’ rum and drank away me pay!

Peering into the hold, I see ten brawny, shirtless sailors pulling at the oars. Sweat stains their caps and glistens on their broad, tanned backs. The smell of alpha is positively pungent.

I stare in slack-jawed horror, my cheeks aflame. I have never seen so many alphas in such a scandalous state of undress! I start to cover my eyes, but something catches my attention. One of the narrower backs boasts five reddish-pink lashes peeking out from beneath linen bandages.

Surely Captain Lockheed would never lower herself to pull the oars alongside her crew? But there is no mistaking her wounds and her coiled braids. She rows the same as the males, the muscles around her shoulder blades bunching beneath her light brown skin.

“A verse from you, Captain!” Red stands before the benches, playing his accordion with nimble fingers and a wide, winning smile.

Captain Lockheed grunts. “Fuck off, Red.”

The sailors guffaw.

Red winks—not at Captain Lockheed or the pirates, but at me. I realize he has spotted me peeking in from above. “Come on, Eliza. You know the words.”

Eliza? He truly is bold.

Captain Lockheed grumbles, but the sailors hoot and holler, egging her on. “Only to shut you up, cheeky bastard.” After a flourishing cadenza from Red, she breaks into song. Her singing voice is unexpectedly high and clear.

So when The Maelstrom stole my ship upon a stormy night,

I joined her merry band of thieves to lead a pirate’s life

Laughing and cheering, the crew cries out the chorus with little care for its melody.

Several more verses follow, sung in a most dramatic style by Red. These expand liberally upon Captain Lockheed’s supposed strength, cunning, and virility, in such words that would make the worldliest omega hide their face in shame.

I uproot my feet from the deck and retreat from the hatch, nearly stumbling into Penny. She steadies me with a hand upon my elbow, withdrawing once I’ve found my balance. I wonder how long she has remained a silent shadow at my shoulder, witnessing my embarrassment. Her dark brown eyes seem to hold a hint of merriment. 

My face burns even hotter. “Excuse me…”

A sly smile plays about Penny’s lips. “Would you prefer some shade by the tiller?”

I raise my chin high and straighten my shoulders, though regaining my dignity may already be a lost cause. “I am quite enjoying the sunshine, thank you.”

“Aye, the sunshine.” Penny’s gaze drifts toward the hold, then her eyes wander back to me. I am not fooling her at all.

She pauses and holds up her hand, letting the breeze blow through her fingers. It picks up strength, tousling my hair and bringing sweet relief from the growing heat of the sun.

Penny puts two fingers to her lips and gives a piercing whistle. “Ahoy! She’s ready to fly.”

The raucous singing stops, and the pirates emerge from the hold. I count five male alphas, unmistakable in build and smell. Red speaks with a male and female beta, blonde-haired giants who simply must be siblings. That brings the total to eight.

The largest pirate of all is a male omega. Like Penny, his appearance belies his status. I wouldn’t have realized but for his light, floral scent. He towers above the blonde betas and his thighs alone are thicker than my waist. He smiles at me, his eye-teeth glittering gold in the sunlight. They remind me of William’s silver teeth. Perhaps it is a pirate custom?

William and Penny bring the count to eleven, and Captain Lockheed, the last to climb the ladder, makes twelve. She barks her orders, and the blonde siblings scurry up the mast like squirrels. I feel a sympathetic surge of vertigo as they climb to dizzying heights and untie both sails, letting them unfurl in the afternoon breeze.

Red wanders in my direction, the strap of his accordion hanging about his neck. “Finally,” he sighs, wiping his flushed face with his headscarf. “I thought we’d never get a good breeze.”

Penny narrows her eyes at him.

“Don’t look at me like that, Penn. It’s hotter than the pits of hell down there, and singing takes the wind out of a man.” He grins at me. “Good afternoon, Lady Cecily. Are you fond of music?” From the teasing lilt in his voice, I am certain he caught me staring down into the hold.

“Often, but not always,” I say. “You have a fine voice, Master Red, although your lyrics leave something to be desired.”

He winks. “It’s all in good fun. A captain who can’t take a ribbing isn’t humble enough to run a ship.”

“‘Humble’ is not a word I would use to describe Captain Lockheed.” I look about the deck. Still shirtless, Captain Lockheed is heading straight for us. I avert my eyes as she stops before me, feet apart, arms folded across her chest.

“Rum rations, Penn,” she says, “and half a ration for Red.”

“Aye, Captain.” Penny departs.

Red gives Captain Lockheed a wounded look, with furrowed brow and pouting lower lip. “You can’t be serious. Just because I’m a lover of the arts?”

“You’re lucky I don’t use your guts for strings,” Captain Lockheed says. “Surely they would make finer music.”

Red heaves an exaggerated sigh. “If better music is your aim, you should give me more rum. The only thing more inspiring is a beautiful face.” His blue eyes sparkle as he looks at me.

Captain Lockheed aims a cuff at Red’s head, but he dodges and scampers off. Once out of her reach, he adopts a slower stride, whistling as he searches for some other mischief. I cannot help but like him even more.

“Ignore him,” Captain Lockheed grunts. “Red’s a shameless flirt, but he wouldn’t know how to treat an omega of your breeding if he had one.”

I roll my eyes. “And you would?”

Captain Lockheed steps in, close enough for the scent of cedar and leather to fill my nose. Her amber eyes burn like hot coals.

“You think I’d lower myself like that?” she growls.

My heart stutters. King, Bride, and Child preserve me—when will I learn to keep my mouth shut? I try to speak, to defend myself, but my throat closes up. Only a quiet gasp escapes my lips.

Before I can gather my wits, shouts bellow behind us. Captain Lockheed turns on her heel, hurrying toward the commotion.

I draw a deep breath. Much as I loathe her, I cannot deny that her presence is captivating. Power and command are carved into every line of her body, carried in every step. No wonder her crew obeys without question.

The shouting grows louder. Against my better judgment, I creep closer.

William has pinned a stocky, dark-haired alpha to the deck, one knee lodged in his lower back and a knife at his throat. The alpha spits and curses like a demon, but William remains calm and controlled. The knife in his hand does not waver an inch.

Nearby, Penny reassures the giant male omega, whose cudgel-sized fists are clenched and trembling.

“Easy, Scrumpy,” she says, laying her hand on his bulging arm. “Let Eliza deal with it.”

As the soothing scent of fresh sea air and sun-warmed wood radiates from her, I realize that Penny is calming him.

I have never witnessed an omega overpowering an alpha, nor an alpha using their pheromones to soothe rather than dominate. But gentle William has the foul-mouthed alpha at knifepoint, and Penny, a surly alpha of few words, has become a font of reassurance. As she whispers to Scrumpy, a visible wave of relaxation rolls through him.

But Captain Lockheed’s pheromones are far less comforting. Her scent is sharp and demanding, cutting right through Penny’s efforts. She taps William’s shoulder, and he hops to his feet, leaving the unfortunate alpha sprawled upon the deck.

“What happened?” Captain Lockheed asks Scrumpy.

“Tom told me,” Scrumpy says in a wobbly baritone, “that us omegas don’t belong on a proper ship, on account of we’re bad luck.” His wary eyes drift toward me. As one, the other pirates look as well.

My face burns under the crew’s scrutiny. Pinned in place by their cold, hard stares, I feel as though I am the newest display in a zoo. 

“I’m sure he didn’t mean you and me, Scrumpy,” William says.

Scrumpy shakes his head. “I said, Tom, you’re speaking rubbish and you should apologize. Then he spit at me. And when I told him I’d tell the Captain, he pulled his knife.”

“I saw it,” Penny says. “He drew steel on his own crewmate. That’s Article Eight.”

“Is that what happened, Tom?” Captain Lockheed asks. Her voice is deadly calm, but it demands an answer.

Tom clambers to his feet, wiping a trickle of blood from beneath his nose. His hand only smears it further. “He grabbed my arm. No one touches me.”

“I never,” Scrumpy protests.

Tom bares his teeth. His jaw bunches with fury. “You grabbed me, you filthy liar!”

“Enough.” Captain Lockheed steps between them, staring Tom down. “I won’t have you insulting our omegas, Tom. They row beside you. Bleed beside you. You speak against them, you speak against me.”

Tom trembles, his blue eyes wide and wild. He looks like a man who has realized, too late, that he is staring death in the face.

“You pulled a blade on your crewmate. You want to leave next time we make landfall? Fine. You’ll go with nothing but your life, and lucky to have that much. Or…” Captain Lockheed unsheathes her dagger, its steel edge catching the sunlight. “You pay now.”

My breath burns in my lungs. Mercy demands I must speak out against whatever terrible violence is about to occur, but my voice has fled.

Tom neither pleads nor protests. Screwing his eyes shut, he thrusts out his left hand.

With one clean, merciless stroke, it is done. Tom’s pinky falls onto the sun-bleached boards of the deck, followed by a crimson thread of blood. He howls like a demon, clutching his hand to his chest.

An answering scream rises, then dies in my throat. I clutch my skirts, nearly expelling my breakfast.

William rushes to Tom’s side, looping an arm around him before he collapses. He shepherds Tom, pale as a ghost and dripping with sweat, down into the hold.

I look to Captain Lockheed, but there is no mercy to be found. No remorse. Her face is as sharp and unforgiving as her dagger. She wipes the blood away with a handkerchief and sheathes it at her side.

Then she approaches Scrumpy.  The crew parts like the tide to allow her through. She lays her hand upon his shoulder. “If this happens again, tell me.” Though her voice has gentled, it is clearly a command.

Scrumpy nods. “Aye, Captain.”

Captain Lockheed slaps his arm. “Good lad.” She raises her other hand, making a sweeping gesture to encompass the rest of the crew. “What’s done is done. Tom paid the price, so he’s one of us again. Now, drink your rum and get her sailing. I want her beached by midday.”

The tense circle breaks as the crew scatters across the deck. Even the open sea breathes a sigh of relief as the wind catches the sails. They flutter like gull’s wings, flying The Maelstrom through the choppy waves.

Still, I cannot bring myself to move. I stare at the severed pinky, sitting in a spatter of bright red blood. A stinging lump lodges in my throat and my eyes burn with tears. I have no sympathy for my captors, but witnessing such cruelty has torn at my heart.

My face flushes as I realize Captain Lockheed is staring at me. Her cold expression is as inscrutable as always. Her lack of emotion stokes the embers of fear and pity into anger.

“How could you?” I shout, my voice tight and trembling. “You mutilated one of your own without a moment’s hesitation!”

Captain Lockheed’s eyes widen and her lips part in an ever so brief look of surprise. In an instant, it is gone again, replaced by her usual grim expression.

“Any member of my crew who threatens one, betrays us all. Tom knows the Articles, and he paid the price for breaking them.”

“But—”

The way Captain Lockheed sneers at me is nothing less than loathsome. “I’ll hear no more of your judgment. You’re a soft, spoiled heiress who has never made a hard decision in your life.”

“You know nothing about my life.”

She steps closer, shoulders stiff, fists clenched by her sides. Her long midday shadow looms over me. “And you know nothing of mine. You wouldn’t last one day doing what my crew does.”

I should leave. Go back to the hold. How many times have I invited disaster because I never stopped to think? But the look of absolute disgust on her face is too much for me to bear. Her crew may obey without question, even when it costs them body parts, but I refuse to cower before a bully.

“I would,” I said, placing my hands on my hips. It is a childish pose, and an equally childish protestation, but I cannot bring myself to regret it.

Captain Lockheed barks a rough laugh. “Would you indeed? Forgive me, Lady Harrington, but I can hardly see you climbing the mast, rowing the oars, or firing a pistol.” 

“I have no intention of wielding a weapon,” I say, “but I am no coward. You underestimate me at your own peril.”

A wicked smile spreads across Captain Lockheed’s face. “Very well. Prove me wrong.”

The wind in my own sails begins to flag and my brow furrows in confusion. “How?”

“The mast,” Captain Lockheed says. “Climb it. If you do, I’ll eat my words. I’ll eat my words in front of the whole crew.”

My wide eyes dart from her insufferably smug face to the mast. It suddenly seems twice as tall as before, towering up to pierce the heavens themselves. My stomach churns at the thought of climbing to such deadly heights.

Captain Lockheed scoffs. “I thought so,” she says, shaking her head. She picks up the severed pinky without care for the blood and heads to the railing to toss it overboard.

The careless manner in which she turns away from me is too infuriating to ignore. I am a lady, and a lady never suffers such insults.

While Captain Lockheed is occupied with the disposal of Tom’s finger, I stomp over to the mast. I crane my neck and look toward the top. With sinking dismay, I realize I lack the upper body strength to haul myself up the mast itself—but if I am brave and careful enough, I might be able to climb the rigging.

Ratlines. The word comes to the forefront of my mind. The narrow wooden slats that allow sailors to climb the mast are called ratlines, and the netting of ropes that supports them is called the shroud.

According to the book on shipbuilding in Captain Lockheed’s cabin, her crew must climb the ratlines dozens of times each day. Surely even I, an omega without a sailor’s hard physique, can climb it just once? With halting steps and shallow breaths, I approach the rail where the shroud is fastened.

The world narrows to a dark tunnel and my heart pounds in my ears. Am I really brave enough to do this? Or perhaps foolish enough to do this…

I remember Captain Lockheed’s sneer. To let her win would be utterly intolerable. I kick off my shoes and haul myself up onto the rail of the ship.

My feet slip on the damp, slimy wood, but I clutch the outer side of the shroud. Salt spray soaks my skirts and the sea churns beneath me, but I am determined.

Fixing my eyes on the top of the mast, I begin to climb. The ratlines are set sixteen inches apart, making each step a struggle. But, line by line, I continue my climb as though ascending an enormous ladder.

After only a few yards, my muscles burn in protest. I was mistaken in believing this endeavor would require less upper body strength. I must pull with my arms as much as push with my legs.

“Lady Cecily?!”

A worried voice calls my name. Without thinking, I look down. Red and several of the crew are standing below, watching me climb. I only glimpse them for a moment before a nauseating wave of vertigo pitches my stomach.

“What’s she doing?”

“Someone get her down from there!”

I close my eyes, clinging tight to the ropes. If I look down again, I shall surely lose my nerve. The wind tousles my hair and my skirts, which have become a tangled mess around my legs. They are a terrifying liability, but I have no choice but to climb on.

More shouts rise from below, several containing my name, but I shut it all out. I fix my attention on the next line, then the next, then the next, looking only at my hands. The rough rope begins to rub them pink, but I ignore the discomfort and persevere.

At long last, I reach the sails. They offer some shelter from the whipping wind, but their billowing movements seem threatening so close to my face. Beyond, I glimpse a vast, shimmering green stretch of sea. From this height, the waters look smooth as glass, but I feel each pitch and roll of the ship in my bones.

Bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it down and push on. My limbs begin to tremble with soreness and fatigue. I feel a second wind, however, when I reach the final ratline. The shroud extends several yards further up, toward the teetering tip of the mast. I am too close to give up now.

Inch by grueling inch, I haul myself up the shroud. My palms burn at the rough texture of the ropes, but I cling to them with the strength of desperation. If I let go…

Nine feet. Six feet. Three feet.

With a tired, shaking hand, I reach for the trestle tree just beneath the spar of the mast. At the same moment, the ship’s nose dips into the waves. The entire shroud sways and my hand grasps empty air.

I scream, but the wind snatches my voice away. Hot tears of terror stream down my cheeks, leaving cold tracks to be whipped away. My hair blows around me, obscuring my vision. I squeeze my eyes shut, praying to the Triumvirate with feelings more than thoughts.

My flailing hand grasps the rope again.

Before I lose my nerve, I crack my eyes open and haul myself up onto the trestle tree with the last of my strength. As soon as my feet touch the thin beam of wood, I fling my arms around the spar, hugging it for dear life.

My heart leaps with elation. I’ve done it! I’ve climbed the Maelstrom’s mast!

With my cheek pressed against the wet, grainy wood, I look beyond to the horizon. It rises and falls like the breath of some great being, but in the glory of my triumph, I am no longer afraid. From here, the Maelstrom is little more than a plank of wood, her crew small as ants.

But the sea—the sea is so vast as to seem endless, and breathtakingly beautiful as well. A joyful shout builds in my chest, and I whoop to the sky as the wind blows my hair and fluttering skirts behind me. 

Then I realize I must climb back down. The sea is no longer gorgeous, but an infinite void ready to swallow me whole.

I try to move my feet, but they stay rooted to the trestle tree. My arms will not unwind from around the mast. I am stuck here like the carved wooden figurehead on the Maelstrom’s mast. 

The shroud sways beneath me. I steal a glimpse below, only to see Penny ascending the ropes. She climbs with terrifying speed, her hands and feet finding each hold without faltering once. Within moments, she is pulling herself up onto the trestle tree beside me. She is barely out of breath.

“Come down, Lady Cecily,” she calls above the breeze. “It’s not safe up here. You’re lucky you didn’t fall and break your neck.”

A horrified laugh bubbles from my chest. “There is still time.”

Penny frowns. “Follow me. I’ll help you down.”

I am not too proud to accept her help.

Step by step, Penny guides me down again. Her voice is calm and steady, her words a constant stream of reassurance. “That’s it. Lower your foot a bit more. Good.”

I train my focus on her voice, her presence, the rising scent of alpha pheromones on the breeze. Luckily, it softens, keeping the ropes steady as I reach the ratlines.

With solid planks of wood beneath my feet, however thin and frail they may be, I am able to exhale a true breath. I pretend I am walking down a set of stairs, moving when Penny instructs me. As I descend, enthusiastic cheers rise from below. Although I don’t dare look again, the crew is celebrating my success.

After an eternity, my feet touch the planks of the deck. My legs wobble, and I collapse in a weak, trembling puddle of skirts and exhaustion. Penny hops down beside me, but I cannot even manage a smile of thanks. I flop onto my back and stare at the spinning sky, gasping for breath.

A tanned, calloused hand floats in front of me. Beyond is Red’s handsome face, boasting a wide grin. “What a performance! This triumph deserves a song, Lady Cecily.”

I cannot lift my hand to take his. My entire body is aflame with the pain of exertion and my lungs cannot draw in enough air. The feeble twitching of my fingers sends a stinging lance of agony across my raw palms.

“Scrumpy,” Penny says. “Help her.”

Red steps aside as Scrumpy bends down. He scoops me up like a child’s toy, holding me against his broad chest. “You did it,” he says, his voice brimming with delight. “You should have seen Tom’s face.”

Tom? I had no idea he had emerged from the hold to witness my mad climb. Is that why the crew thinks I scaled the mast? To prove Tom wrong? But he was not my intended audience. I turn my head as Scrumpy carries me toward the captain’s cabin, scanning the ship for Captain Lockheed.

She is nowhere to be seen.

I huff through gritted teeth. Weak and exhausted as I am, it is the only way I can express my rising anger. How dare she? She was the one who dared me to risk my life climbing the mast. She was the one who insulted me. She was the one who promised to take back her cruel words. And yet, she has disappeared at the moment of my victory.

Scrumpy carries me down the ladder, followed by William, who brings a basket of medical supplies. I stew in my anger and resentment as William smothers ointment on my palms, which are raw and oozing red where I gripped the ropes. 

“That was the maddest thing I’ve ever seen,” William says, winding clean linen bandages around my hands. “What in the world possessed you to climb the mast?”

“Ask your Captain,” I mutter. 

William’s eyes widen, only for his brow to furrow with upset. “Don’t tell me she ordered you?”

“She dared me to,” I say. “She called me soft and spoiled. I had no choice but to prove her wrong.”

William sighed, shaking his head. “Forgive me, Lady Cecily…but I’ve met many fools in my life, and you may be the biggest one of all.” His face, however, cracks into a bewildered smile.

Because he looks impressed, I cannot bring myself to feel insulted. “I shall take that as a compliment.”

“Perhaps it is, just this once,” William says. “Please, promise me you won’t attempt that again,” William says.

“I promise.” I have no intention of risking my neck again. There is no need. The crew is on my side now—and that will only increase my future chances of survival.

Later, once I have recovered, I shall remind Captain Lockheed of her promise. She claims to be a woman of her word. If that is true, she will have no choice but to admit she was wrong in front of her crew.