Page 61 of Maggie and the Pirate’s Son

Langley’s eyes widened and he scampered off, twirling to avoid running into a stack of supply crates on his gangly legs.

Dance a waltz, then dance again…

“What does that mean?” Bash wondered.

Maggie winced. “About your ear? It’s ah… still attached at the bottom. The Butcher wanted to make a clean cut of it and then stop the bleeding with gun powder.” She shrugged. “I… strongly suggested an alternative. It was Dutch who made him let me try.”

Bash blinked, having trouble following her words through the throbbing pain. “An alternative? What alternative could there be?” he asked. “Magic?”

She bit her lip and his prick stirred, and he wanted to scream, Really? Now? But he didn’t have the energy to even feel ashamed anymore.

“Leeches,” she said, closing her eyes and then peeking at him through a half-opened one.

She was so adorable that for a moment he forgot to be horrified. He even forgot about his pain. Then his brain caught up with her words.

“Leeches?” he rasped.

“They’re quite remarkable, honestly. Jory taught me.”

He was silent for a long moment, contemplating the little marvel. Every ship, pirate or otherwise, should be as lucky in their selection of cabin boys.

“Are you angry?” she asked.

“That you single-handedly kept the Butcher from blowing my head off? Livid.” Why had he ever thought she needed his protection from the Butcher or Balthasar or any of them?

“I told you, it was Dutch who⁠—”

He stopped her. “I’m grateful.”

“Still might not work.”

He reached out blindly for her hand, and when she met him, it felt like coming home. “I’m grateful,” he said again. “Somewhere around here, the Butcher keeps a bit of mirrored glass.”

“You want to see it?” she asked, uncertainly.

“Please.”

She released his hand once more and it pained him, as she and her light and her warmth left his side to rummage through the barber-surgeon’s supplies, finally returning with the mirror in hand.

“Are you certain?” she asked.

He swallowed. “No. But show me anyway.”

She held up the glass and somehow it was both shockingly grotesque and intriguing at the same time. “How does it work?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed. “But the Butcher gave me twenty-four hours to try and, bad as it looks, it was worse yesterday.”

“You should’ve seen the kid standing up to the Butcher,” Langley exclaimed bursting in with Dutch and inspecting Bash’s ear for himself with a shudder.

“Reminded me of you, in point of fact,” Dutch agreed, clapping Bash on the shoulder and shaking his hand.

Langley offered Bash a small hunk of cheese. “Roo says fuck you, by the way, for ratting him out, but enjoy. I only took a tiny taste on account of you’re convalescing.”

Bash sniffed the cheese, and it smelled divine, making his stomach rumble. He hadn’t realized he was hungry, only wanted Langley gone long enough to ensure a few more minutes’ privacy.

“Color looks better,” Dutch observed to Maggie, who blushed, making Bash’s prick stir once more.

Christ, he was going straight to hell if he could be so prurient while in this much pain.