Chapter 134: The Trouble with Paying Attention
Three more days finished the work the shark had interrupted, and by the end of it twenty-four of fifty cannon had been hauled up, counted, found sound, and lashed across the Gilded Herring’s deck. It was a mighty heap of iron for a brigantine that had never been asked to carry so much in all her born days.
James spent most of the last morning trying to arrange the guns the right away, the biggest aft, the rest forward, every row straight and every breeching rope coiled neat enough to make a boatswain smile.
By noon he admitted defeat. Every time he got one row looking respectable, the ship rolled and ruined the next.
Bucket watched the whole performance without the least pity.
"They’ll sit however they please and ye should thank God they’re lashed down at all."
James muttered that a man naturally liked his work to look as though he’d done it nicely, then let the matter die. There was never much profit in arguing with a pile of cannons.
⚓ [SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Quest Complete : The Duchess’s Dowry
Reward : 15 Fate
That brought the total to two hundred and fifteen, though James had long since quit keeping meticulous count of a currency whose rules still made about as much sense as a drunk compass.
By the time the last coil was stowed and the Gilded Herring rode so low that a sailor crossing her deck was likely to bark his shins before breakfast, James had seen enough iron and salt water for one day. He ducked below into the little box the shipbuilder had boldly called a cabin.
There was one table and two chairs inside, and even that seemed ambitious once three grown people tried to fit around them. James claimed the better chair and set the black stone on the table where the lantern could just reach it through the dirty glass.
A moment later he picked it up again and turned it slowly between his fingers, studying the coiled serpent as though it might answer back if given enough time.
"Still can’t decide if the thing means to bite me."
Anne leaned over his shoulder until her chin nearly rested against him. She reached past and turned the stone another little bit toward the light.
"Let it try. I’ve broke worse than a rock over a man’s skull before breakfast."
"Aye, I’ve heard the stories."
She snorted.
"Ye’ve heard half of them. The other half’d put ye off yer supper."
Across the table Mary had claimed the second chair and the tabletop besides, both boots planted on the wood without the slightest concern for anybody wanting room for a cup.
"So."
She nodded toward the stone. "We’ve dug ourselves up a mystery to go with the guns. As though the guns weren’t enough trouble."
"Free of charge and everythin’."
James rolled the stone between his fingers.
"I do appreciate a bargain."
She snickered, "That isn’t a bargain, Calloway. That’s a Crown seal on a commodore’s private letter, and a snake carved to match the one sittin’ under yer swamp. Bargains generally wear a friendlier face."
Anne straightened and folded her arms.
"That’s too much to be a coincidence."
"Aye, unless these islands are lousy with snake temples."
Mary lowered her boots to the deck and leaned across the table on her elbows.
"Meanin’ them powdered bastards’ve already got their eye on our island."
"Well, isn’t that just our luck."
Anne blew out a breath. "We finally find a patch of dirt worth keepin’, and the bloody English are already makin’ plans to visit."
"Not entirely."
James laid the stone down at last, though he left his hand beside it. "A man doesn’t haul a heathen’s key across an ocean and seal letters about it unless there’s enough worth the trouble."
"Hmm, so which is it?"
Anne looked from one to the other. "Should we be scared, or should we be rich?"
"No reason a fella can’t manage both."
Mary gave a snort.
"That’s about the answer I expected."
She tapped a finger against the tabletop. "What I’d like to know is why a commodore cares about heathen ruins on an island nobody’s charted proper. It just doesn’t sound like treasure huntin’."
"Treasure or not, it means somebody’s lookin’ where we’d rather they didn’t."
James glanced at the stone.
"Concordia’s worth depends on nobody botherin’ to find it."
"Then we tread careful."
Anne clicked her tongue and nodded, "And find the bugger that owns that seal. Mary’s got a knack for diggin’ up things folk would rather keep buried..."
She stopped.
Mary’s chair scraped hard across the planks as she shot to her feet.
"Say that again."
Anne blinked.
"Say what?"
"What ye just called me."
Nobody spoke for a moment. James found himself wishing he’d left the stone in his pocket and spared them all this conversation.
Mary looked past Anne and shot him with eyes sharp enough to shave with.
"You told her."
"I never said a bloody word to anybody, Mary. I swear it."
"There. Ye’ve done it again."
James shut his mouth, though by then it was about as useful as locking the stable after the horse had bolted.
Anne found her voice first, and there wasn’t a scrap of apology in it. "He never told me a thing, so ye can stop glarin’ at him like ye mean to cut his throat. I worked it out myself, obviously."
Mary looked from one face to the other, the anger leaking away and leaving plain bewilderment behind.
"How?"
"A woman knows another woman, love."
Anne shrugged. "It doesn’t matter if you wear breeches and the ugliest hat in Nassau, it won’t fool anybody who’s truly payin’ attention."
Mary eased back into her chair. A little blush worked its way into her cheeks now that nobody meant to do her harm.
"Christ. I’ve spent three years perfectin’ that walk."
"I’d wondered why you walked like you had nuts of iron."
Anne smiled.
"But it was your eyes that betrayed ye."
"Maybe I’ve gone soft since Concordia."
"Soft’s one word."
Anne grinned. "I’d say you’ve just been spendin’ too much time among men who wouldn’t notice a thunderstorm till it rained down their necks."
Mary lifted an eyebrow. "And you’d know all about noticin’ things, would ye? Ye’ve somehow missed how the crew goes stiff as a board whenever ye turn that look on them."
Anne frowned. "They’re pirates. If a grown ass man needs hand-holdin’ every time I speak to him, he should just change his bloody profession."
Mary leaned back in her chair, amused. "Hand-holdin’ is doin’ a generous bit of work there, Bonny. Most of the time ye’re either tellin’ them they’re fools, kickin’ them out of yer way, or wonderin’ aloud how they managed to survive this long."
"They’re still alive, aren’t they?"
Mary laughed.
"That is a very low bar."
Meanwhile, James sat between them with nowhere sensible to look. Eventually he figured out peacemaking was worth one attempt.
"Ladies, if you two mean to argue over who’s more dangerous, perhaps let me..."
"Shut it, Calloway."
"Aye, shut it babe."
They answered together so neatly they might have practiced it.
James wisely declined to offer another word and let them carry on, as watching was safer than volunteering himself for another round.
Fortunately, Coombes’s voice soon came roaring down the companionway, loud enough to rattle the lantern on its hook.
"OI! Any of ye plannin’ on liftin’ a finger today, or has the whole lot gone to sleep down there while an honest man does the Devil’s own work alone?!"
Anne groaned and let her head fall against James’s shoulder.
"I’d rather go another round with the shark."
"He’s louder than the shark, and a fair sight uglier besides."
Mary was already climbing out of her chair.
James laughed, slipped the stone into his pocket, and followed them into the daylight, already certain the old man had found some brand-new reason to complain about a rope that hadn’t done a blessed thing wrong.