Treasure of the High Seas, Chapter 6 (Patreon)

Bold orange stripes melt into a streak of blood-red across the horizon as the sun sets and The Maelstrom limps to shore. I watch from the ship’s bow, tears of gratitude welling in my eyes. Blessed land at last!

As soon as the gangway descends, I rush onto the beach. I collapse in the damp sand and roll onto my back, abandoning all notions of cleanliness and propriety. The Triumvirate has finally answered one of my pleas.

The pirates swarm the island. I may as well be a piece of rotted driftwood as they set to work around me, unloading crates, barrels, and the ship’s cannons. Four of them attach ropes to the ship’s port side, pulling it over and hauling it further up the beach.

Captain Lockheed directs the process, clad once more in her torn coat. I would never have known she was injured had I not witnessed her battle with the kraken firsthand. She barks out orders, and the crew scurries to obey.

I shudder as her stare falls upon me. She gives me a flinty look, arms folded across her chest. Even from several yards away, I feel the current of her will. Without a single word on her part, I know I am not to move until she permits it.

That is most acceptable to me anyway. I am utterly exhausted, with sore muscles and aches in places I have never known before.

William approaches, carrying a bundle of wood in his arms. He offers a smile and begins making a fire. Soon, there is a roaring blaze before us. I shift closer, warming my hands in the welcome heat.

As the red sun slips behind the horizon, the others join us, sitting on rocks, crates, or the sand itself. Penny provides rum, which lifts the crew’s spirits further. Red produces a penny whistle and begins a jaunty tune.

“Bertrand’s favorite,” Scrumpy murmurs. He lowers his flask and lifts his chin, looking up toward the night sky.

I join him, watching coils of gray smoke from the fire rise up toward the stars. “I am truly sorry, Scrumpy. He was very brave.”

“Aye,” Tom says. “Bertrand never wanted for courage.” He pats Scrumpy’s back. “What a way to die, though.”

Scrumpy nods. “Like a hero in a ballad.”

I stare at two of them, surprised. Two short days ago, Tom and Scrumpy were at each other’s throats. Now, they are sitting beside each other, reminiscing about their fallen comrade like brothers. 

Red lowers his penny whistle. “I remember when he first joined up. A mere twig of a lad he was, without a hair on his chin. I could scarcely tell him apart from Charlotte.”

I look around the circle, but Bertrand’s twin is nowhere to be seen. Neither, it appears, is Captain Lockheed. I cannot help but wonder where they have gone.

“But he sprouted right up,” William says. “A year at sea, and the two of them towered over all of us. Except Scrumpy, of course.”

The crew continues discussing Bertrand as the moon rises, casting a soft silver glow onto the sands. Red trades his penny whistle for his concertina. Stories are shared, tears are shed, and a shameful amount of rum is consumed.

I watch in fascination. Considering how casually pirates kill for wealth and glory, I had no idea they valued each other’s lives so highly. I suppose the duality of good and evil exists within us all, even the greedy and lawless.

After a while, Captain Lockheed emerges from the darkness, striding across the sand toward us. Charlotte is not with her. She takes a seat upon a barrel, crossing her legs and leaning back on her hands in a most undignified manner.

“Penny,” she says, “a ration of rum for Lady Harrington.”

My eyes widen. “No, thank you. Although I appreciate the offer, I do not consume alcohol.”

Captain Lockheed smirks from across the flickering flames. “You’ve had nothing but grog for over a week.”

A flush warms my cheeks. “My circumstances demanded it—and it’s hardly more than water.”

Penny brings me a hip flask. “Take it,” she whispers, pressing it into my hand. “You don’t have to drink, but you should toast with it.”

I accept the flask. “Thank you.”

Captain Lockheed raises her own flask. Everyone else does the same. “A toast to Bertrand, a brave man and a loyal friend. He will be missed.”

“Hear, hear!”

The crew drinks their rum. I smile awkwardly and lower my flask. No one seems to mind my lack of participation. 

“Heed me,” Captain Lockheed says. The cheerful buzz of chatter dies down as everyone attends her. “I’ve one more toast to make—to Lady Harrington, our reluctant guest.”

My face burns as everyone turns to look at me. Sweat sprouts on the back of my neck, cooling as it rolls down my spine beneath my salt-stiffened clothes. I try my best to hold a neutral expression while I wait to hear what she says.

“Not only did she climb our mast, she saved one of our own.” Captain Lockheed inclines her head toward Red.

He tips his flask toward me and winks. “To Lady Harrington. If she hadn’t grabbed me when she did, I’d be sitting in that kraken’s belly instead of enjoying this rum.”

”Hear, hear!” the pirates chorus. Scrumpy slaps me on the back—gently, thank goodness—and William offers an encouraging smile from his seat beside Captain Lockheed.

My moment of embarrassment teeters toward pride. It seems Captain Lockheed is a woman of her word after all, though it hardly does any favors for her prickly personality.

“Go on and drink,” Red says. “We shan’t tell your father or your betrothed.”

I begin to protest, then think better of it.

Why did I refuse that first drink?

Because well-bred omegas of distinction mustn’t overindulge in anything that could be considered a vice.

But who is around to judge?

Neither my father, nor my family, nor anyone of note. I hardly care about my would-be mate’s opinion.

I bring the flask to my lips and drink. The rum tastes bitter at first, but as it settles on my tongue, a darker, smoother flavor emerges. It reminds me of smoke and aged wood, in a most pleasant manner. My throat glows warm as I swallow it down.

As I lower my flask, the pirates cheer. William is grinning, Scrumpy gives me another friendly thump, and Penny nods her approval. Red chugs from his flask, then retrieves his concertina and begins an upbeat reel. The mood is unexpectedly lively and cheerful after Bertrand’s demise, but I sense that this is their way of honoring his memory.

Gradually, in ones and twos, the pirates break off from the group and bed down for the night. They retire on bedrolls, blankets, or nestle in dips between the sand dunes. The fire fades to embers and laughter gives way to snores.

My gaze lingers on Captain Lockheed, uncertain whether I am permitted to join them in respite. I am a prisoner, after all. Every night before this, she has kept me locked in her cabin.

She meets my stare, her amber eyes narrowed beneath her furrowed brow. They catch the dying firelight, but remain cold as ever. It seems the toast has not softened her attitude toward me.

“I presume I may move freely about the island, since I have no means of escape?”

Captain Lockheed pushes her braids back over one shoulder. “You presume wrong. You aren’t to leave this camp.”

“Why not? I can hardly push The Maelstrom back into the sea myself, let alone sail her.”

She heaves an irritated sigh. “Because, Lady Harrington, there are poisonous snakes on this island, and other dangers besides.”

A shudder crawls down my spine. Snakes. I loathe them almost as much as spiders. It is, unfortunately, a good reason to remain by Captain Lockheed’s side.

“At least tell me where I might relieve myself.”

Captain Lockheed gives a careless shrug. “Pick a dune.”

I pull a face. Using a bucket was humiliating enough, but this is even more repellant. “Disgusting.”

“As you like,” Captain Lockheed says. “But even noblewomen need to shit. Unlike the rest of us, they refuse to acknowledge the fact.”

I do, in fact, refuse to acknowledge it, at least in front of her. I shall wait until she falls asleep or her attention is drawn elsewhere. I leave without bidding her goodnight, claiming one of the bedrolls upon the sand.

As I lie there, far from comfortable in my dirty clothes and sand-covered skin, I am nonetheless grateful for the feeling of the soft sand beneath me. After weeks at sea, to be on land again is a blessing from the Bride.

Gradually, the fire dies, and the chorus of snores grows louder. There is just enough moonlight to see as I leave my bedroll and, as Captain Lockheed so crudely phrased it, look for an appropriate dune.

I stray some distance from the fire pit, enjoying the comparatively silent atmosphere. The Maelstrom is always loud: the shouting of her crew, the creak of her timbers, and the dull roar of the sea swelling beneath her. Here, there is only the faint hiss of the waves washing against the sand.

A moonlit walk on the beach. It would be a romantic experience, were I not a pirate prisoner with a desperate need to relieve myself. I select a spot without further delay.

Afterward, I head to the tideline. It feels good to soak my hands and feet in the cool waves, removing at least some of the day’s grime. As I turn to leave, I hear a quiet noise in the night. A woman’s voice. Curious, I follow the sound.

Further down the beach, I spy two shadowy figures, both of them tall, lean, and broad-shouldered. The soft breeze carries the familiar scent of cedar and spice into my nose. It can only be Captain Lockheed.

I creep closer, my feet sinking into the wet sand. It is indeed the captain, accompanied by Charlotte, the remaining twin. As I watch, she collapses into Captain Lockheed’s arms.

Captain Lockheed hugs her as she begins to cry, a choked, throaty sound that tugs at my heart. I feel awful for Charlotte—and also surprised that Captain Lockheed is comforting her. It boggles the mind that the same woman who so casually cut off a crewmate’s finger would embrace another while she wept.

Charlotte continues to cry, so I back away. I am intruding upon a moment that is not mine to observe. I slip away and return to my bedroll, having decided not to mention what I witnessed to anyone. But I think of it for a long while before slumber claims me.

***

William wakes me early the next morning, when daylight is only a pale yellow glow on the horizon. “Good morning, Lady Cecily. I’ve got a surprise I think you’ll enjoy.”

My body feels even more exhausted than the night before, and stiffer and sorer besides, but the promise of a surprise piques my interest. I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes—and find it is literal sand. The same has covered my skin and settled in my hair overnight.

William correctly interprets my dismay and says, “There’s a fresh spring not far from here, if you’d like to wash up.”

“That sounds like heaven on earth,” I say.

William helps me to my feet and leads me into the trees. Though I feel safe in his company, I remain watchful for snakes, taking care with each footstep. I hope Captain Lockheed was merely trying to frighten me, but her warning might well have been truthful.

We pass beneath a leafy overhang and emerge into a small clearing. A dark pool of water shimmers before me, ringed by moss-covered rocks. I want nothing more than to strip my filthy clothes, but a large shadow moves beneath the surface. My heart flies into my throat as it bursts from the water.

“Good morning, Lady Cecily,” Scrumpy says. Water streams from his bald head down onto his broad shoulders.

I laugh with relief. “You’re a far more welcome sight than a kraken, Master Scrumpy.”

Scrumpy grins. “Nothin’ in this water will hurt you.”

“No poisonous snakes?” I ask.

William frowns. “None to speak of. Please, enjoy yourself.”

I purse my lips. Of course she lied to me. Why did I expect anything else?

William turns away, folding his arms, and Scrumpy floats in the opposite direction. Grateful for the moment of privacy, I divest myself of the filthy rags my clothes have become and shed them onto the rocks. With bare feet, I approach the pool, enjoying how the soft moss feels between my toes. 

The moment I lower my legs in, my muscles relax. The water is warmer than expected, so I ease into the pool, allowing it to swallow me. Once I am submerged, William undresses. I avert my eyes until he joins us, bringing with him a bar of soap. I moan with pleasure at the thought of being clean for the first time since my abduction.

My first bath in far too long is nothing less than luxurious. I remove every speck of sand and dirt from my skin, and scrub my scalp besides. My dry hair loosens at last in the fresh water, finally clean of salt. We scrub our clothes as well, laying them out in the sun to dry.

The company of my fellow omegas is also surprisingly relaxing. I had not realized it, but the strong smell of Captain Lockheed and so many other alphas in such close proximity has worn terribly on my nerves. With only the fresh smell of the water, the trees, and their warm, calm scents, I feel safer than I have since leaving Albion.

“What repairs does The Maelstrom need before we set sail?” I ask William and Scrumpy, in the way of making idle conversation.

“The mast needs shoring up, first of all,” William says. “Hopefully, she won’t need replacing entirely.”

I feel a ghostly chill as I recall the kraken’s massive tentacles coiled around the mast. It is a sight I shall not soon forget.

“And her hull needs patching and scraping,” Scrumpy adds. “It’s tiring, tedious work, but simple, at least.”

“How long will it take?”

“No more than a day, by my estimation,” William says.

My heart sinks. I had hoped to stay on the island longer, at least for one more day, but it seems my reprieve from the ocean will be but brief.

“We should return soon,” William says. “I need to see about breakfast, and the betas and alphas will want their turns in the spring.”

That surprises me. “She allows us to bathe first?”

“The captain may be harsh, but she has some manners. It’s a matter of whether or not she chooses to make use of them.”

I roll my eyes. “Not often, I fear.”

Scrumpy chuckles. “She’s quite genteel when the mood strikes. Afraid she can’t stand nobles, though. Don’t take it personal.”

“And what has the nobility done to wrong her?” I ask, unable to contain my curiosity.

“Besides putting a price on her head?” William says.

“She can hardly blame them for offering a bounty,” I say. “Surely it was her choice to take up piracy in the first place.”

William leans back against a lip of rock, propping his elbows there. “True, if you consider seeking one’s freedom a choice rather than an attempt to survive. Whether slave, indentured servant, or beggar, they must answer to the Governor as they would the heavenly King himself.”

“Slavery is morally detestable,” I tell him, “but not all nobles keep slaves. I consider myself a supporter of the abolitionist cause.”

William frowns, his brow furrowing sharply over his dark brown eyes. “Supposing you are. Can you say the same for your family? Your friends? Your intended mate? Lord Pennyford’s holdings run entirely with slave labor.”

Though I know it to be the truth, the statement stings. “Omegas of my station are sold and traded as broodmares. I abhor the thought of marrying a slaveholder, but my opinion was not taken into consideration.”

William takes my measure for a long moment, his stare boring into me. “Look.” He peels back his upper lip, revealing his golden incisors. “These were taken from me as a child. Omegas considered property are not permitted to leave their mark. I spent years without them. Forgive me, Lady Cecily, but you still have your teeth.”

I feel the cold truth of his words deep in my marrow. I know what it is to be considered property, but I have never known hunger, nor the sting of a lash. Many of the enslaved have their mates and children ripped from their arms. It is a different sort of suffering that I cannot imagine. As he says, I still have my teeth.

“Point well taken, Master William,” I say, giving him a solemn nod. “Were I in your unthinkable position, I acknowledge I might have chosen piracy as well. At least a pirate is free.”

William smiles. “That we are. But we shouldn’t waste the morning on such heavy topics of discussion. We have breakfast to eat and a ship to repair.”

At the mention of breakfast, Scrumpy’s eyes gleam, hungry as a hound’s at the dinner table. “What do you think Red will make?”

“Burgoo, I expect,” William says. “And I have hope he’ll sprinkle some cinnamon on top, courtesy of Captain Fudd’s kitchen.”

Although I feel a twinge of pity at the mention of my former escort, I brighten alongside Scrumpy at the mention of cinnamon. I have eaten enough salted jerky, pickled vegetables, and hard tack to last a lifetime.

We clamber out of the pool and retrieve our clothes. My dress is only slightly damp. Although it shows plenty of wear for my troubles, and more than a few faded ink stains, it smells far better.

Together, we make our way to the beach, returning to find the rest of the crew gathered around a large iron cook pot. The warm, satisfying smell wafting on the morning breeze is quite enticing, and it indeed contains cinnamon.

Red waves cheerfully as we join the crew. “Morning, Lady Cecily. How about a bowl of my famous burgoo?”

I sit upon an empty crate beside him. “William mentioned burgoo, but I fear I am unfamiliar.”

“Oatmeal and water to some,” Red says, “and gruel to others. But in my pot, a delicacy to entice the senses. Cinnamon, molasses, hazelnuts, and a dash of whiskey.”

I peek into the pot. The thick brown gruel within does not look nearly as enticing as Red claims, but the smell suggests otherwise. My stomach wins out. “I will gladly have a bowl, thank you.”

Red scoops me a serving from the pot. It tastes as good as it smells, the first bit of sweetness I have enjoyed in a long while. The rich flavors coax a soft moan from my lips. Far too soon, I am holding an empty bowl.

“Your burgoo is everything you claim, Master Red. Thank you.”

The scent of cedar catches my attention, and I sense someone approaching from behind. I turn to see Captain Lockheed, her light brown skin dewy with water, her scalp glittering with oil. “You should have seconds, Lady Harrington. You’ll need the energy.”

A frown tugs my lips. “Energy for what, exactly?”

Captain Lockheed shifts her weight back onto one hip, folding her arms across her chest. That thrice-damned smirk of hers is back, the one that makes me boil with anger. “Barnacle scraping. Since you were good enough to climb our mast, share our rum, and eat our food, I thought you might like to contribute with the rest.”

My mouth falls open in shock, but I choke on my protests. The wicked look in her eyes is clear as day to me. This is a challenge. If I refuse, Captain Lockheed will become even more insufferable—a feat I thought to be impossible.

I twist my mouth into a smile. “How considerate, Captain Lockheed. Most alphas would not think an omega of my station capable, but there is virtue in a hard day’s work. I appreciate the opportunity to contribute.”

Captain Lockheed’s brows lift, and for a moment, her smirk wavers. Then her eyes narrow and she purses her lips into a thin, tense line. “My omegas work just as hard as the alphas and betas. I shall expect no less of you.”

I expect I shall thoroughly regret my choice, but I have always been too stubborn for my own good. I must remain calm and composed in the face of her goading, no matter how torturous the labor becomes.

“Then I shall endeavor to exceed even your lofty expectations.”

“Then come along,” Captain Lockheed says. “We’re wasting daylight.”

“In a moment.” With great relish, I fill my bowl with a second helping of burgoo. She did suggest a second helping, and if she must torment me, I might at least endure her torture at a time of my choosing.

Once I finish breakfast, Captain Lockheed sets me to work chiseling barnacles from the ship’s hull. No more than twenty minutes later, I am already considering forfeit. It is sweaty, grueling work, which only grows worse as the sun rises, beating down upon my back. My nails chip, the heels of my palms rub raw, and I must remove stray splinters with nothing more than my teeth.

It is by far the most uncomfortable work I have ever done, and the most undignified I have ever felt. The others work alongside me, scraping barnacles and shoring up the hull without so much as a whisper of complaint. Red begins singing a shanty, and the rest pick it up as well. Their mood is almost cheerful, which I find detestable in the face of my pain and humiliation.

Captain Lockheed and Penny supervise the work, tarring the patches on the hull with the most foul-smelling substance known to humankind. Its rotten, sulfurous stench is laced with rancid tallow. It requires a monumental effort to keep Red’s burgoo safely in my stomach.

As the morning crawls into an unbearably humid afternoon, my pride and determination wear down to threads. Sweat drips down my forehead, stinging my eyes. After only a few hours of work under the beating sun, I feel filthier than I did aboard The Maelstrom. I press on with pure bitterness and spite as my kindling, chiseling away at the barnacles until blood oozes from my hands.

At last, Captain Lockheed’s voice rings out. “Lunch is on, lads. Hop to it.”

The pirates drop everything and hurry to the campfire, where a hearty stew is waiting. Thanks to the disgusting smell of tar, I have no appetite. I limp to a shady spot beneath one of the trees at the edge of the jungle, slumping down and leaning against its trunk. The heat in the air shimmers before my blurry eyes as William approaches.

“Drink this.” He offers me a canteen of water.

I gulp it down so quickly that some runs down my chin. 

“Easy,” he says. “You’ll be sick if you drink too fast.”

Reluctantly, I resign myself to small sips. That simple canteen of water is the most delicious thing I have ever tasted. “Thrice bless you, William.”

“There’s no shame in stopping now, you know. It takes months to accustom oneself to hard labor. I would hate to see you injured.”

With the fresh water comes fresh determination. I have already suffered hours of self-inflicted abuse. To give up now would make them a wasted effort. I pass William the empty canteen and wipe my lips. “Nonsense. I am perfectly fine. That water was precisely what I needed.”

William’s brow furrows. He sighs and hands me another canteen. “Have some more, then. There’s plenty at the spring, so it’s no waste.”

I guzzle that canteen as well. If this morning was any indication, I will need all the water I can get.