Page 62 of Maggie and the Pirate’s Son

“Was it Walsh?” he asked, to take his mind off Maggie and her lovely face.

Dutch nodded. “Half out of his mind with starvation. Said his crew abandoned him when they realized the rumors about the gold weren’t true. There’s an odor to his story, but I believe that much.”

“Thought he retired?”

“Maybe he un-retired. Wouldn’t be the first,” Dutch said with a shrug.

“The lads tore up every inch of his ship searching for Mad’s bounty,” Langley added. “While the old bastard sat in a corner cackling at his pigeons. Samson and Duffy were desperate to see you didn’t get sliced up for no reason.”

“What did they do with him?” Maggie asked. “The other captain?”

“Left him to it,” Dutch told her. “Ship wasn’t worth taking, and he wasn’t worth a bullet.”

“Have we laid in a course?” Bash asked. Maybe it was the injury or he was still unnerved by the whole encounter, but something felt off. The ship was too still, and he didn’t want to loiter in these waters.

“We found ourselves becalmed,” Dutch said. “The men are rowing on alternating shifts. Wind’ll pick up in a day or two.”

A shiver ran down Bash’s spine. “Feel that in your bones, do you?”

“Don’t get cheeky with me, son,” Dutch warned, but the relief in his face was evident, and Bash flooded with affection for the old quartermaster, though he was still uncomfortable with the close eye Dutch was keeping on him and Maggie.

“Mad?” Bash asked. He could well imagine the captain would be raging if he really believed his own fairytales about Willy Walsh, and whether he did or he didn’t, the crew would be simmering with their own discontent.

“There’s nothing for you to do but heal,” Dutch said. “And you,” he added, turning to Maggie, “if you’re planning to stay aboard the Revenge, perhaps you should consider apprenticing with the Butcher. Or just taking over for him all together.”

Maggie’s blush deepened at the compliment, and Dutch turned back to Bash, nodding once. “I’ll see that you’re not disturbed,” he said, and Bash blinked his acknowledgment rather than move his aching head. He was grateful to have cheated death out of a few extra days, but he needed to make the most of them, get back on his feet as soon as possible, and find a fair wind to carry them to safe harbor.

Chapter Fifteen

The doldrums which had caught the Revenge dragged on for more than a week, though the crew took turns at the oars so they weren’t completely stranded. While the Butcher wouldn’t go so far as to admit the leeches had worked wonders, he grudgingly agreed Bash’s ear wasn’t getting any worse. Still, he offered to cut it off and have done. Bash told him in no uncertain terms precisely where he could shove his blade, which Langley found hilarious.

After that, the barber-surgeon had abandoned his infirmary entirely, which was fine with Maggie. She quite liked their little world of just the three of them—her, Bash, and an oft-snoring Langley.

No one questioned the need for a cabin boy to remain at the sailing master’s side, nursing him through the worst of it, and doing whatever was needed. She had saved Bash’s ear, maybe even his life, and that was good enough for them.

They were almost forgotten, tucked away out of sight as they were—even Langley. Maggie suspected Dutch had ordered him to help her at first, but as one of the youngest sailors on board, he seemed to genuinely enjoy her company, and while she’d have rather been alone with Bash during his waking hours, she did enjoy Langley’s kinship and chatter.

With each new day of his confinement, however, Bash grew more and more restless. Long accustomed to an active lifestyle, lying still, cooped up indoors and in darkness was making him surly. He was a creature of the ocean—requiring sun and brine to thrive. Honestly, Maggie wouldn’t have been surprised to learn his mother, Amoy, really had been a mermaid or that saltwater flowed through his veins.

His ear was steadily improving. They’d run through about a hundred leeches so far, and both the color and swelling were dramatically improved, along with the pain. So, once he felt like sitting up, Maggie wrapped his head with a clean bandage and relocated him to a more comfortable position in a hammock, which at least improved his disposition a little.

Though exhausted, his sleep was fitful, and several times he awoke singing long forgotten lyrics with a wistful look in his faraway gaze. Late at night, after Langley had helped himself to the medicinal hashish and passed out with Custard the cat for a pillow, Maggie and Bash would speak in low, murmured tones—about their youths and their youthful dreams.

He sang for her, what he could remember of his mother’s song. It was the only tune he could recall her ever singing, though her voice was strong and fair.

“How old were you when she passed?” Maggie asked.

“Five,” he answered. “Or six, maybe. She was the whole world to me. She sailed from Jamaica to Lewis to find my sire, but instead she found his family. They took her in, loved her, and she looked after them… after all of us.”

Maggie played with his hair absently as he reminisced, just happy to be near him. She didn’t ever want to stop touching him.

“Nothing gave her more joy than the fruit and flower garden she kept beside the house. She could coax any old seed to thrive, no matter the soil.”

It made her smile to hear the brash, brave pirate speak so lovingly of his mother. In turn, she shared more about her brother-in-law, Silas, who liked to study plants as they grew upon his windowsill. She told him stories of growing up with Jory and Ellen, how she used to torment them as only a little sister or cousin could, and how much she had learned from them about becoming a woman. She even showed him the little folding frame with their likenesses and flushed with pleasure when he noted the family resemblance.

One night, he opened up about life after his mother’s death: being passed from grandparents to aunts to neighbors until one day his pirate sire came to take him away.

“Dutch?” she asked, laughing ruefully.