The time for trembling was over.
•
When Solo and Red Legs had buried Piranha at sea, Jack stepped in the middle of the bloody puddle that nobody moved to clean. I couldn’t help but notice the dead pirate’s lips still lay on the deck.
“Our articles. So that nobody is unclear.”
Jack held a ratty paper before him and read aloud.
I
The giving of orders that did not come from your captain is punishable by death.
II
Acts of disobedience against your captain is punishable by death. No acts of theft or piracy against the villages that supply or harbor pirates.
III
All booty is publicly inspected, then dispersed according to universal law.
IV
Any man who loses a limb during the course of duty is to be paid 600 pieces-of-eight and may retire if he so chooses. Should he choose to stay aboard, he may do so for as long as he sees fit.
Jack looked up from the paper. “These are familiar to you, no?”
“Aye,” grumbled the crew.
Jack waited until the crew again fell silent. “Now, as your captain, I am adding one more.”
V
The rape, or attempted rape, of any female aboard any ship in The Black Otter fleet, is punishable by certain death.
Stony looks fell upon me from Jack’s—well, from my—crew. Something twisted in my gut. If Jack couldn’t get these men to obey and not see me as the enemy, there was no hope. My life would only be mine for so long. The crew would know when death would come for me, as it was each of them who held the my hourglass.
“Well said, Cap.” Solo’s voice chimed out like a bell, tolling over the sea.
“Said well, it was,” Tommy agreed.
Red Legs spat on the deck. “Aye. Well said. Shouldn’t have to be said, but as it is, it was said well.”
Monica Joan crept up beside me as I scrubbed the deck with a makeshift mop. Everything I thought was hard labor before took leave as I tried in vain to scrub the blood from the grains of wood on the deck.
“I brought fresh water, well fresh water from the sea anyway, and rags,” she whispered. “I can’t believe you killed him. I was watching.”
I sat back, glad for a break, and offered her a smile. “I can’t believe it, either.”
She pulled a rag from the bucket and wringed it. “Here, let me tend your neck.”
“He cut me good.” I turned my head a bit. Not too far, but just a bit. “I’m set to be a mess of scars by the time I’m thirty-five.”
“What are they doing now?”
“They?”
Monica Joan stuck the rag back in the bucket. Having the flaky blood washed away felt good. “Yes, them. The pirates.”
I glanced over to where Jack stood. He held a thick brown book before him. One by one, each of the crew came by and put their hand on it. They exchanged words, then the next man came.
“Swearing in afresh, it seems.” I wrung out my rag over the peskiest stain and started to scrub. “Swearing their loyalty and allegiance.”
“On a book?”
“Yes. On the Holy Bible.”
Monica Joan pondered this a moment. She shrugged. “At least they moved out of the blood to do it.”
Chapter Seven
Swansea, Wales
Jack twined his fingers in mine. “I remember you two talking when she came to help you on the deck that evening.”
The romantic mood that appeared with my husband’s reappearance lifted. I stared out to sea and waited for the black veil of memories to come. “I can’t help but remember it, Jack. When it comes to mind. Even if I try not—think of something else. To do something else. They wait until I’m quiet or alone, then come rushing out of their corners.”
Jack’s fingers trailed down my neck. I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. He pulled his hand away.
