“Tommy go because Charles tell Tommy to go. Dark Water help Charles. Tommy set up to die.” Something flashed in Poison Lightning’s eyes, an emotion I thought foreign to him. Hate. “Bad men, Charles Swan and Dark Water.”
Jack’s eyes blackened. He’d told me before that The Poison Lightning was a seer who could tell the future and something that he was seeing now was enough to get him mad enough to talk.
“Charles, go below decks. Make sure we’ve enough fresh water for the trip to Madagascar.”
Charles slunk off like a whipped pup, all the while throwing pouty, doe-eyed glances over his shoulder. I studied the pirate who preferred to stay in the shadows if his cohort, Dark Water William, wasn’t around.
Never accused of being friendly, Charles was distinctly cold. Not just to me, but to anyone except Dark Water and Jack. Though, everyone knew where his loyalties lay.
From the moment I came aboard The Black Otter, Charles struck me as a feminine man. His face was feminine, his look was feminine, even how he carried himself, not to mention his doe-eyed glances that seemed to beg something, compassion perhaps, from whomever they were aimed toward. Because of that and his attachment to Dark Water, who was muscular and burly with a hard stare, I wasn’t at all shocked the night when I witnessed for myself Charles and Dark Water, who were much more to one another than simple crewmates.
Solo had been teaching me to climb the ratlines. The moon was long risen and the sun long set as Jack sailed by starlight. Solo had finished instructing me for the day and assigned me the task of climbing the ratlines, from the deck to the crow’s nest on the tallest mast, ten times before I could retire for the night. Climbing will toughen up your hands, he promised. It was on my seventh trip up the ratlines that I spotted them, Charles and Dark Water, locked in a lover’s embrace, hidden away behind a stack of crates and barrels. A place where they thought they could express their feelings for each other without being seen. Only they were seen. By me.
The Poison Lightning stood, unmoving, before Jack. “Bad men, Charles. Dark Water. Loyal to each other. Not Jack. Not Red. Bad.”
Jack nodded. “You know I trust your sense in these matters. But we have to sail to Madagascar to intercept Tommy, who has quite a lead on us. And if he means to kill their prince, we will need all the manpower we can get—Charles and Dark Water included.”
Poison Lightning nodded.
“But if they’re as bad as you say, keeping them around will lead to a problem. If not now, later.”
Poison Lightning spoke as though he was using all the English language he could muster, perhaps from some grammar school lessons he’d overheard as a boy, or simply from his listening to people speak throughout his life. He seemed to be using all the rules of the language, but at all the wrong times. “Need Charles. Need Dark Water. Bad can be good never, Captain.”
Jack rubbed his chin. His black cape fluttered in a sudden breeze. He looked to the sky, then back to Poison Lightning. They shared a smile.
“A storm’s coming,” Jack observed.
“Sail. Now.”
Jack clapped his hands. “I have a sneaky feeling that we’ll intercept Tommy before he has time to get himself killed.”
I heard the anchor being hoisted as I made my way down to our cabin, and in no time, we were on our way.
The storm raged on outside, furthering the righteous nausea that had gripped my gut. It seemed like days passed before Jack came down to our bunk.
“Here, ginger root. To help settle your stomach.”
I peeked out from under my pillow with a groan. Jack held out a wrinkled white root that looked strangely like a gnarled hand. “Just chew a bit at a time.”
I took it and nibbled at the end of what looked like the thumb. Once I got through the papery outer layer, the inside was juicy and had a strange spicy flavor. In no time, my mouth was on fire. I chewed quickly and swallowed.
“Whatever ails me will likely be burnt out by this likes of this devil root.”
Jack sat down on the foot of the bed and rubbed my leg. “How long do you reckon ‘till we have our child?”
“I’ve been trying to figure that myself. Close as I can come, my guess would be about five more months?”
Jack’s face transformed to that of one a man might wear in a shop, confused between two prams, not knowing which is best for his unborn, but delighted all the while that his child would be sleeping in one soon. “Five months you say. So shortly after we reach Madagascar, if we don’t catch Tommy before.”
I pushed myself up and ran my hand through Jack’s hair. “I suppose it’s time to start thinking of names. Father.”
•
“How have we still not caught Tommy? Did he have that much of a lead on us?”
Jack steered the giant wooden wheel and stared out over the choppy sea. “He had a bit of a lead on us, but it’s this weather that’s against us. He seems to be catching the good winds and leaving the sour winds for us.”
“Surely that can’t happen, Jack. Truly.”
Jack cut his glance down to me. “Tommy’s no expert sailor. He had a good lead on us and has kept it. Something is working in his favor.”
I pulled my shawl about my shoulders and handed Jack the steaming cup I brought for him. He accepted it with a sly wink.
“I think Rusty is falling in love with Red Legs.”
Jack sipped the steaming coffee. “Surely you’re not just figuring that out.”
I gave Jack a playful nudge with my elbow. “I wasn’t done. I was going to say I thought at first, he might feel the same for her. But now, I’m not so sure.”
“You may be right. I noticed him being a bit more standoffish, too.”
I rubbed my swollen belly. “Any idea why?”
Jack nodded. “Rusty, sweet girl that she is. She’s always talking about God and praying and dreams.”
“That she is. Devout.” I stretched my back. “Funny, she sees a boat full of pirates as her saving grace.”
Jack chuckled and took a longer swill of his coffee. “As did you, if I recall.”
