Page 184 of The Discount Damsel

The fisherman’s face fell. “Oh. Well, thanks for keeping the rest of the Darlin’ May clean, I suppose. Here, I’ll hold her steady while you get out.”

The old man was as good as his word, the boat barely bobbing as Millie eased one leg over the side and then the other. The surf was only ankle deep here where the boat was tied to a fat piling under the pier. She smoothed a hand over her ratty hair.

“I apologize for the fright and the presumption, Master Jerry. I was just so distraught, I thought I could force my seasickness away through extended emersion. You know, build up an immunity?”

“So you slept in the bottom of my boat all night and tried to literally vomit the seasickness out of your body?”

“Essentially.”

“And how did that go?”

“I think I burned my throat,” she admitted.

He scratched his scalp under his red hat. “Yeah, thought you sounded a mite like sandpaper.” Leaning over into the Darlin’ May, he rummaged around and extracted a fat bottle wrapped in wicker. “Give this a swallow.”

She popped the cork, drank, and coughed. The drink was deliciously fruity and thick with syrup, the bite of alcohol present but not zesty enough to agitate her throat.

“It’s port wine. Better than rum, in my opinion. Doesn’t burn as good, though.” Jerry shrugged. “Not in the habit of burning my booze, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”

When she offered the bottle back to him, he shook his head. “Naw, you take a few more swallows while I take care of . . . this.” Nose wrinkled, Jerry took the covered chum bucket, waded out until he was mid-thigh, and pitched the contents as far as he could throw them.

Returning, he checked the bottom of the boat to confirm she hadn’t missed the chum bucket at any point last night. “Reckon your friends are worried about you, or did they know about your experiment?”

Millie shifted her weight. “I sorta ran away.”

“Had a fight?”

“Yep.”

“Well I’d offer to take you out on the water, does wonders for putting your troubles in perspective, it does, but I don’t think you’d survive the trip.” He gave her a lopsided smile.

“I appreciate it, Master Jerry. You’ve been awfully kind.”

“It’s clear you’re in a crisis of some sort. Sometimes a change in scenery and a little kindness can shake things loose, you know? Maybe leave the bustle of the boardwalk for a while, get away from all that noise.”

“That’s a fabulous suggestion, Master Jerry, thank you. And please, stop by The Dreary Pelican at some point. I’ll set aside the rest of the teacakes for you.”

“Well, that’d be mighty fine, miss. If you insist.”

“I do.” With a smile, she helped shove him the Darlin’ May into deeper water.

“Don’t stray too far, though,” he called, matching his words with the strokes of his oars. “Storm’s a-brewing. Can feel it in these arthritic bones.”

“I should be out there looking for her,” Bradley grumbled, flipping another page.

“We looked all morning and left word with the marines post and half the businesses in town. They all know where we are and where we’re staying.” Dirk slapped his book down. “And why am I the voice of reason here? I’m only four years old!”

Bradley dropped his face into his palms, scrubbed hard. “Because you’re not the one who messed up.”

“That’s true.”

The apprentice sighed into his hands, dragged them down his face, and looked out the window for what had to be the thousandth time, as if he would at last determine which ant-sized person along three miles of beach was their missing princess.

Unsuccessful, once again.

“All I know is that when we get back to the tower,” Dirk declared, “I’m throttling Sir Roger for teaching Millie evasion tactics and Pocket for teaching her how to be extra sneaky.”

The apprentice went to the window. “There’s a storm coming. I don’t mind getting wet and I know you don’t, but I’d rather get another search in and be back at The Dreary Pelican before that turns into a real squaller. How much you got left?”