When I’m absolutely stuffed, which happens far too soon, to be honest, I sit back. I don’t do Cookson justice as I survey my half-full plate, but if I ate another bite I might explode. I put my fork down and rub my hand over the food baby in my stomach.
“At least you’re taking good care of me before you kill me.” I raise my cup to the crew of the Jolly Roger and finish off my water.
For the first time in a while, I feel truly full. My headache recedes to a dull thump, but my body still complains every time I move. My pirate broke our fall into the water, but it still jarred the hell out of me, and I was tense as we fell. Don’t they tell you not to get tense if you know you’re about to be in a car wreck? How does that even work? Ofcourseyou tense up.
I push my plate away and eye the wooden fork. Could it be a weapon? Probably not. The tines are rather dull on the end, as if it’s seen a good bit of use. Best if I stick to the fountain pen.
Rising, I return to the windows along the back of the captain’s quarters. They have latches, but when I open one, the hiss of the ship cutting through the water is loud in my ears. I swing it back shut. It’s not a reasonable option for escape, but if Hook tries anything—I glance at the bed—I won’t think twice about jumping out into the dark waters. A chill rushes across my skin, my eyes watering at the prospect.
“Keep it together.” I scurry to the bed, grab the blanket from the top of it, then hurry to the other side of the room.
It’s sort of thick, likely stuffed with down, and I wrap it all the way around me. Maybe it’ll keep the chill away.
The lock clicks, and I back up, my heart beating triple time as I stare.
A man walks in—no feather, no hook—and closes the door behind him. He’s in what I’d assume was normal pirate gear:tricorn hat, white boatneck shirt, black pants, and leather boots. Young like the rest of the crew, though Cookson seems to be an exception, he removes his hat and tucks it under his arm. That’s when I see the bag in his other hand.
“What’s that?” I back up until I’m pressed in the corner where the windows meet the wall.
“I’m Skylights.” He gives me a small bow. “I’m the quartermaster for the Jolly Roger, and the medic, when called for.”
“I didn’t call a medic.” I grip the blanket so tightly my fingers start to tingle.
He steps forward.
I squeak in alarm, my gaze on his bag.
“It’s all right, miss.” He puts the bag on the table, opens it, and steps back. “Have a look if you like.”
“I think I’m good here.” I pull the blanket tighter around me.
“Moira—that’s your name, right?” He stays put, his hands behind his back.
“Yes.”
“I heard you were bitten by a mermaid?”
I suppose my pirate has been talking about me. “Yeah, though apparently it was just a ‘taste’, or so I was told.”
He nods. “Those can still hurt terribly. Might I have a look at it?”
“I’m good.”
With a sigh he goes over to the dark lantern and takes it down. “I know you aren’t ‘good’, Moira. You were bitten, kept captive by Pan, then had to jump into the sea to?—”
“What? You think Peter was keeping me captive?” I’m gawking at him, unable to hide it. “Seriously?”
He presses on the wooden wall to his left, and a panel pops open.
Wait, there’s storage in the walls? Maybe that’s where I’ll find a weapon. I make a mental note of the cupboard as Skylights fills the lantern with some sort of oil.
“So, you weren’t kept prisoner?” he asks as he returns the canister of oil and closes the panel. With the strike of a match, he has the lantern lit again. It casts a warm light over the room, putting more shine on the dark walls and honey-colored floor.
“No. Now I am, though. Just sitting in here waiting for your asshole boss to show up and gut me or do whatever it is he intends to do.” I shiver and pull the blanket even tighter. “Where is he?”
“The captain’s here. He’s the one who asked me to check on you and give you aid.”
I snort a laugh. “Surehe did.”
