Page 52 of Maggie and the Pirate’s Son

“You’re a fortune teller now?” Dutch quipped, and Bash looked at him hard until his old friend tilted his head in acquiescence. “Would it be the worst thing for the crew to decide there’s no bounty to be had?”

Now Bash shrugged. “Suppose it depends.”

“Why have we not fired?” the captain bellowed striding up the deck. “What are you waiting for?”

Bash and Dutch exchanged a glance.

“What?” Mad asked when he drew even with them.

“Have a look,” Dutch said, tossing him the spyglass.

Mad swept his gaze across the abandoned deck, then collapsed the scope. “Excellent,” he said, slapping it against Bash’s chest. “Take a party aboard and check it out.”

“Aren’t you even the slightest bit concerned it may be a trap?” Bash countered.

Mad shrugged. “You’re trained for battle. Don’t get caught with your breeks down. It’s only a trap if you let yourself be trapped.” He grinned the charming grin that probably won over his ladies in each and every port. Bash was immune. He hated everything about the man, including his smug smirk.

“Can I ask?” he pressed the captain, feeling reckless. “What’s the end game? If we find no gold?” His challenge was clear. They both knew there was no gold.

The grin stayed in place, but Mad’s eyes hardened. “Best hope you find something,” he said dangerously.

That was a threat too. Come back with something of value or don’t bother coming back at all.

Bash eyed Dutch once more. “Ready the pirogue,” he called, moving aft with the quartermaster on his heels. “I’ll not take us close enough to tether. Duffy, Samson, Langley, with me.”

His vanguard was comprised of the three youngest aboard, but they were loyal to Bash, and together with Dutch, they were the men he trusted most in all the world. As they fell into step behind him, though, Bash couldn’t help feeling like one was missing. Maggie was hidden away in the hold where he’d left her, God willing, out of harm’s reach. Her absence was like a hole in his armor, he realized too late, but he couldn’t worry about that right now. She was safe.

They collected cutlasses and daggers and settled into the pirogue to row silently over to the Whale.

“Why’s she so quiet?” Langley whispered, but no one had an answer for the lad.

Bash braced himself for cannons or pistol fire as he pulled the oars, but none came, which only made him grind his teeth harder. He tried to lose himself in the rhythm of exercise, but his scalp tingled with anticipation, and all too soon he was putting out a hand to still the rowboat from banging against the Whale’s hull.

Duffy threw a grapple expertly over the side of the sloop, and they shimmied silently up and over, but the deck was as empty as it had looked from afar. No pirates hid behind barrels or up in the rigging. There was no one, only a few pigeons cooing in their cages to greet them.

Bash had never heard of pirates carrying pigeons. He shivered in the noonday sun.

“Those to eat?” Samson whispered, and Bash put a finger to his lips, demanding silence, cutting off further discussion of the paltry amount of meat on a pigeon.

The sloop was in pitiful condition. Sails hung slack and torn, the lines hopelessly fouled. Bash glanced back and Dutch nodded his agreement. Something wasn’t right. A ghost ship indeed.

They continued to scour the deck for secret hidey-holes, and then had no choice but to descend into the damp, slippery bowels of the ship, flipping their eye patches up as they went.

Her ghostly emptiness gave Bash the sense of retreating deep into the belly of an actual whale. It was far more unnerving than an armed resistance would have been, with iron exploding overhead and swords flashing out of every corner.

The galley was filthy, the larder nearly empty except for a few sacks of moldering oats.

“Sure as beans they all died of something catching,” Langley whispered.

“If there were sickness, we’d be stepping over bodies,” Duffy replied. “This here’s some kind of Flying Dutchman shite.”

“Stay vigilant, lads,” Bash reminded them so they wouldn’t let their guard down. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“We’ll see,” Duffy murmured.

The cargo hold, like the larder, was also empty but for two bone-dry rum barrels and some more rancid grain. Samson looked at Bash askance, and he shrugged at the young man.

“Wouldn’t keep a hoard right out in the open, would you?” he muttered. Samson just shrugged back at him. This was new for everyone.