I started to nod, remembered my head, and instead said, “Yeah. It was a picture of a man standing on a stabbed heart.”
“Corbin’s heart, stabbed with his own knife,” Bart reminded me. “I particularly like the irony of that point, lass. If ye be needin’ anythin’, yell. I’ll tell me mates to keep an ear out for ye.”
“Oh, blow it out your blowhole,” I muttered to myself as the door was closed, then yelled, “You like the irony of what? Using an actual knife on Corbin? Or is that a metaphor for the game itself?”
Bart didn’t return to answer, but I hadn’t expected him to, not after that James Bond comment (which made me sigh—I had truly hoped he’d spill everything so I could go running to Corbin with the information). Still, I had gathered up a few nuggets. I cherished those as I tried yelling for help a few times, but although I could hear voices of men outside the cabin, no one came to investigate. So much for them keeping an ear out for me.
“Right, Amy,” I said aloud, looking around the cabin for inspiration. “What you need here is an escape plan. Some way to get off the ship before Bart can come back. Hmm. How do people get out of being tied up?”
I struggled with the bonds around my wrists but achieved nothing but sore shoulders and what felt like bloody wrists. I quickly formulated, and rejected, several plans of action, from setting the ship on fire and jumping overboard before I burned to death, to getting gravely ill so Bart would have to send for medical aid. I finally settled on one plan that seemed to have the fewest opportunities for failure.
After ten minutes of me screaming at the top of my head, someone finally came to shut me up.
“We’re tired of hearin’ ye bellowin’,” a big, burly pirate said as he threw the door open. I didn’t recognize him as being one of Bart’s crew, but I didn’t care much at that point.
“It’s about time someone came! I’ve been yelling for you forever!”
The man frowned. I couldn’t help noticing that his upper arms—bare since he was wearing a leather jerkin without a shirt—were approximately the size of my thighs. “What be ye wantin’?”
“I have to use the privy.”
The man made a face.
“Badly,” I said. “There’s no toilet facilities in this cabin. And I don’t think Bart would appreciate having this lovely Persian rug soiled, so if you don’t want me going all over it, you’d better help me up and take me to the nearest privy.”
“Ye can piss over the side, like the rest of us,” he said, hauling me to my feet.
“Hello, girl here! Can’t do that without a siphon or something, and that’s just such an icky thought, I don’t even know if I can do it then.”
“I’ll take ye to the head if ye promise to stop yer squawkin’,” the pirate said, cutting my feet free. He kept a grip on my bound hands as I stumbled forward, but at least I was spared the indignity of falling. I tried to be not too obvious as I was herded out of the cabin and down the deck toward the bow of the boat. It was a square-rigged three-masted ship, the kind with two gun decks. Groups of men sitting around idle fell silent as my pirate guard hustled me to the bow. I recognized none of them, which made me wonder whether Bart hadn’t been keeping a second crew hidden from us.
“Do what ye have to,” the guard said, giving me a little shove toward the lee-side head (there was one on either side of the bow—which one you used depended on where the wind was coming from).
I tried to look as dignified as possible, and yet like my bladder was about to burst. “I can’t go with you looking.”
He growled something and turned his back. I glanced around him. We were the only ones on the bow. Behind me, the blue-black water of the sea lapped at the bow. The head was positioned so that the seawater would wash its grated floor clean, something I tried hard not to think too much about. It would be easy enough for me to jump overboard and swim to shore—the ship was anchored beyond a line of rocks, but not so far that I couldn’t swim to the shore—but there was no way I could do it with my hands tied behind my back.
“Um . . . I need to use my hands.”
The pirate spun around, giving me a suspicious look. “Why?”
I prodded a small box containing the wide leaves that the people on this island favored for hygienic purposes. “I would think that’s pretty obvious.”
He heaved a martyred sigh, roughly grabbing my arm and spinning me around, not even apologizing when he knicked my wrists cutting off the cloth that bound them.
“Hurry up with ye! I’ve not got all night to stand here waitin’ for ye to move yer bowels.”
He moved away from me, not quite turning his back on me, but not standing close enough so I could tackle him. Either way was fine with me. I stepped out onto the grating of the head, took a deep breath, and dived over the side.
The shock of hitting the water took my breath for a moment, but even as I heard the guard yell out something, I was finding a comfortable overhead stroke rhythm. A couple splashes followed, and I redoubled my efforts at making the shore before my captors caught up to me. A hand grabbing my ankle disabused me of that hope. I kicked it off and changed my course from the indigo shape of the island that was so temptingly close to the sharp black fingers of rocks that loomed up to my left.
Waves slapped hard against the rocks. I won myself a few precious seconds of time by changing my course so unexpectedly—time I used to try to get enough of an image of the rocks so I wouldn’t slam into them.
I did, of course. They were too big and too many, and the current too strong. My leg scraped painfully over an underwater rock, causing me to first yell in pain, then sink when I swallowed a mouthful of seawater. I struggled back to the surface, coughing and sputtering, the experience horribly reminiscent of my rescue of Corbin.
A surge in the current slammed me up against a massive rock that seemed to appear out of nowhere, spinning me around so I was facing the ship. Two men were in the water, about a half dozen feet from me. I yelped from both the pain and the shock of seeing them so close, and dived down, twisting my body so I was swimming in the opposite direction.
I surfaced a little way away, only to be rocketed again up against another rock. My arms and legs stung as salt water washed over the abrasions. I clutched the rock, trying desperately to get my breath, but a huge wave crashed over me then, dragging me down and toward the shore. My back scraped along a sharp outcropping of rock, spinning me around even farther. I fought to break free, so turned around I didn’t know which way was toward shore and which away from the rocks.
A shout reached me over the sound of the crashing waves as I surfaced, gasping for air, my body sore and battered. I trod water for a minute, expecting to be grabbed at any moment, but slowly, as my wits returned to me, I realized that I was in some sort of rocky enclave, surrounded by craggy rocks. Above me I could see the cloudy night sky. Below me, the water swirled around my legs via the opening I’d been carried through, bobbing me around the small space made by the rocks. The rocks themselves blocked the sight of anything else—island, ship, or anyone swimming nearby—which meant no one could see me.
More shouting ensued. I shivered and pressed myself up against the smoothest surface of rock I could find, praying all the while that no one else would find that handy little current that brought me there. The quicksilver touch of something against my leg had me adding the possibilities of sharks and barracuda to my list of things to worry about.
The sound of wood splintering on the rocks reached me next, followed by more shouting, but no one suddenly appeared in my little haven. Clearly the men had launched a rowboat in hopes of finding me. I trod water slowly, rubbing my bruised arms, wondering how long it would take before they decided I had drowned.
A long while, as it turned out.
What seemed like an eternity later (but probably was really around fifteen minutes), I crawled out of the surf, tried to get to my feet, staggered back down to my knees, and ended up dragging myself to the far side of a washed-up tree trunk, where I collapsed in a gasping, coughing heap. I rolled onto my back and stared up at the night sky, feeling as if I’d just run (or swum) a marathon.
“I hate this game,” I snarled as soon as I had the breath to do anything but pant. “I am so going to get Corbin when I see him. Which should be right this second if he had any idea of how a proper dashing pirate hero acts.”
I lifted my head from the bed of seaweed and tree root to glare at the night. No Corbin burst from the surrounding scrub forest to carry me off to a hot bath, warm bed, and lots and lots of antiseptic ointment.
“Dammit,” I grumbled, getting slowly to my feet. I had to clutch the tree trunk for a few minutes while my legs decided whether or not they had the strength remaining to carry me, but they came through for me. It took me the better part of an hour to make it back to the town. I had no idea where Bart’s ship was anchored, but one of the things I liked about Turtle’s Back was that you could climb to the top of the island and look down upon the whole of it.
I stood on the crest and hesitated. I was closer to the windward side of the island and Renata’s house, which I could see blazed with warm lights and sounds of people having fun. The governor’s house was on the other side of the town and looked uninhabited.
“Amy?”
“Eeeek!” I screamed, jumping a good foot off the ground. “Who’s that?”
“ ’Tis just us,” a youthful voice said from behind me. A dark shape emerged from the smooth rock mound and approached me.
“Squawk!” A part of the shape fluttered.
“Bas? What on earth are you doing out here at this time of night?”
“Lookin’ for bats. ’Tis said if ye can catch one in yer hands, ye can call up the reaper himself and he’ll dance for ye.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake . . . come on, it’s too late for you to be out summoning death.”
“We goin’ to Renata’s house?” he asked as I headed off in that direction.
“Yes. I’m exhausted and need some medical attention.” I stumbled over an unseen rock but managed to keep from falling. “Jez probably has all sorts of antisepticky herbs and such I can use to patch myself up.”
I couldn’t see his face, but I felt a tentative hand on my arm and was warmed by the thoughtfulness of the boy. “Ye’re wet. Ye were swimmin’?”
“No. I’ve been escaping and almost drowning.”
“Oh, aye? Who were ye escapin’ from?” There was a cheerful note in his voice that made me smile despite my aches, pains, and general grouchiness. “What was it like? Did ye see yer whole life afore yer eyes? Did the fishes start to nibble ye?”
“Bart, scary, no, and no.” A large palm leaf slapped me in the face. I pushed my way forward through the foliage to what I knew was a path leading from a small beach to the town.
The boy chattered all the way down into town, but despite his seemingly endless questions and theories about what it would be like to drown, to be eaten by a school of voracious fish, or to watch death dance, I was grateful for his presence. By the time we made it to Renata’s house, he was more or less tugging me along while I stumbled wearily behind.
Light, laughter, and the sound of a fiddle spilled out from the house. I stood in the doorway for a moment, blinking at the scene before me. The outer room, used for general mingling purposes, was packed with men, all of whom had tankards in their hands. A small group was playing cards, others were rolling dice, while in the corner, a couple of men amused themselves with a fiddle and concertina, playing a snappy jig.
“Oh, man, I forgot the guys would make a beeline here from the blockade ships,” I said as I pushed my way into the room. A couple of men looked up hopefully at me, but when they got a good look at me, they quickly averted their eyes. “I hope to God that response is due to the fact that I’m the governor of the town, and not because I look so horrible,” I murmured to no one in particular.
“Aye, that and the fact that ye’re Black Corbin’s wife,” Bas said.
“You’re supposed to keep quiet about that,” I reminded him as we went into the common room. One look at the activities there (the room was also filled with men) was enough for me to slap my hand over Bas’s eyes. “Oh, Lord. Tell me you didn’t see anything.”
“Nay,” he answered. Bran the raven rubbed his beak on my fingers. I sighed in relief and avoided making eye contact with anyone as I pushed Bas through the room. “Just a bunch of men as naked as the day they was born playin’ cards and dicin’ like the others was.”
I gritted my teeth and shoved him through the doorway to the small back area that sat at the head of the hallway. “Do me a favor and pretend you didn’t see anything, okay?”
“Aye, aye. Why was all of those men naked?” Bas asked as I released him, ruffling his hair in a gesture of affection. Bran bobbed his head and flapped his wings until I gave his head a ruffle, too.
“ ’Tis something Amy told us,” Mags said as she emerged from her room, a man following her who was holding a pair of boots and shirt, clad in the ubiquitous striped knickers. He grinned at us, handed Mags a couple of coins, and went out the back door.
My jaw dropped at such a thought. “
What
? Are you insane? When have I ever told you to fill the living room with naked sailors?”
“Ye told us we had to be efficient in order to make a profit,” she said, giving herself a quick look in the cracked mirror that hung next to the door. Mags, thankfully, had thrown on a cotton bathrobe. “Ye said we had to streamline our production, and increase our turnaround time. That’s what we’re doin’—we strips the men down first, in order to cut down on wasteful time spent takin’ off their clothes and such. ’Twas good advice, that. They seems to like it, too. And ye know what they say—a happy Jack is a Jack who’ll not linger after his guns has fired.”
I stared at her for a second. “I was talking about your production of elderberry wine and the dresses you ladies make! Not . . . er . . . guns firing!”