Not just one, but two.
That can’t be right.
I frown down at the bowl and then up at Cookie’s face, which is creased with concern.
He was one of the first crew I managed to recruit all those years ago. They say a crew marches on its stomach... or something like that, anyway. So, a good cook was an absolute necessity. And Kit happened to mention that the guy living in thecell beside him was always banging on about the food he’d like to cook whenever he got out.
My own cell never had neighbours, so Kit’s stories of falling asleep listening to stories of freshly baked bread and frying onions stuck with me. There was something so simple about them. And when I was putting together a crew of my own, it felt like Cookie’s dream of cooking for a living was one I could help with.
In the early days, we were a slipshod group. A bunch of fools with no money and even fewer sailing skills, just a whole bundle of anger and new bodies we could barely get control of.
We didn’t realise back then just how unsuited Kit was to a life at sea either, but it wasn’t like I could return to a life on land. Not just because I didn’t look like other people anymore; the tentacles sticking out of my head put paid to that.
The kraken doesn’t cope well with being on land for too long either. He needs the quiet of the deep.
And I need him to stay happy, or that’s when things take a nasty turn.
Cookie’s got even better at making food over the years. Whatever supplies we have, he can cobble something together so that no one goes hungry. And it seems that today’s no different.
I artlessly scoop stew onto my fork and breathe in the savoury scent before taking my first bite. My stomach immediately cramps as saliva pools in my mouth. Chewing fast and swallowing seems to help, so I do that a few times, pausing every so often to gulp down water by the glass. Within minutes, the plate’s empty and I have no idea where it all went. It’s like I fell into a fugue state of chewing and swallowing, losing touch with reality for a moment. Then there’s a clatter and another pile of food appears in front of me, along with a plate of bread with a thick layer of butter generously plastered over one side.
It’s only once I’m midway through that my brain seems to restart again.
“Two days?” I repeat my words from before I started stuffing my face. “What do you mean it’s been two days since I ate?”
Cookie drops onto the bench in front of me, with Bones hovering behind his shoulder. “That’s how long it’s been, Cap.”
I tear another mouthful of bread and chew it thoughtfully before I respond. “It’s nighttime. The ships first appeared in the middle of the night.”
“A whole day, night and day passed since then,” Cookie replies. “Right now, it’s about ten o’clock on the second night.”
“I didn’t realise—” I croak. Didn’t realise so much time could have passed.
So many ships.
I mustn’t have slept since then, either. Must be why my brain feels like someone swapped it with a sea sponge when I wasn’t paying attention.
By the time I’m done with my second bowl of food, it’s like the feeling starts coming back into my body and my brain starts ticking along again. I sit back in my seat, surveying the two crewmen as I become aware of a strange tension in the room. Cookie and Bones are muttering to each other, and neither of them looks happy.
“What have I missed?”
They freeze as though I’ve caught them out doing something they shouldn’t. My focus narrows on the two of them.
“Cookie?”
“We should get Torin in here,” he replies, looking at Bones instead of at me.
“Go and fetch him, then,” Bones replies drily. “If you think you can find him.”
I know exactly where Torin is at this moment. He’s at the cabin at the very far end of the passageway, and he’s not alone.
A deep chuckle rumbles through my chest. “I’m not sure you want to interrupt whatever’s going on in that cabin,” I tell Cookie. I witnessed plenty the other night, and it’s enough to have settled itself deep into my core.
It’s odd, though. I can pinpoint Torin’s location to the nearest metre. Aster’s too.
And when I mentally prod inside my chest, I can feel something larger. A strange sensation that’s tugging at me, telling me I should be on my feet and moving. It’s telling me that I shouldn’t be here.
I should be... with her.
