Chapter 99: A Captain’s Comfortable Morning
Dawn of the eighteenth day.
Civilization had continued to improve in its untidy fashion. The sawpit was half dug, the cookhouse remained an ambitious collection of upright posts, and shovels bit into fresh earth across the bay before last night’s hangover had properly worn off.
Down in the ruins, the crews were still wrestling with the little issue James and Mary had thoughtfully left for them, how to brace a tunnel that wanted to collapse without burying either the gold or the poor soul carrying it.
James woke inside four proper walls for the first time in longer than he cared to count. None of them swayed or creaked beneath a swell that didn’t exist and there was a solid roof over his head.
Anne lay sprawled across his chest, exactly where she always seemed to end up, whether he slept in a hammock, a longboat, or now, somehow, a house with an actual door.
Sometime during the night she’d burrowed against him until the generous warmth and softness of her figure rested comfortably against his chest. James was beginning to wonder if he possessed some undiscovered talent for becoming a monk. After this many mornings waking to Anne wrapped around him, it was the only explanation he had left.
Before his thoughts could wander further, the door suddenly rattled beneath a pounding loud enough to wake the dead.
James lay perfectly still, hoping whoever stood outside might eventually lose interest.
They didn’t.
Anne groaned into his shoulder with her eyes closed. "Whoever that is, I hope they’ve come to tell you the town’s on fire. Otherwise I’m killing them myself."
"You’ve gone soft, lass."
James grinned at the rafters overhead. "Wasn’t long ago you’d have bitten a man’s hand clean off for tryin’ to put ye somewhere comfortable. Now look at ye, curled up on yer captain like a cat that’s claimed the warmest spot in the house."
Her voice came thick with sleep. "Force of habit. Ask me again after I’ve woken up enough to start lyin’."
"Funny how ye only ever wander one direction."
"My feet stop answerin’ to me once I’m asleep. You’ll have to argue with them instead."
He carefully slipped out from beneath her without waking her completely. She answered with a small, wordless complaint and rolled into the warmth he’d left behind.
James crossed to the washbasin, splashed cold water over his face until the knocking no longer mattered, rubbed a hand across his jaw, shrugged into his coat, laced his boots, buckled Verdict onto his hip, then slid Counterargument into its holster.
Before leaving, he glanced back.
Anne had disappeared beneath the blankets, looking as though she intended to stay there forever. She’d end up beside him again tonight no matter where either of them started, just as she had every night since she boarded the Rose, and James still couldn’t say why.
Maybe it wasn’t so strange after all. A girl crossed an ocean chasing promises that had turned to smoke before she’d even set foot ashore, only to spend months with a loan shark breathing down her neck and nobody left she could lean on. A life like that had to leave its mark, and perhaps this was simply Anne’s.
Or maybe she just liked him.
That explanation was simpler.
Simple explanations normally let a man sleep better.
Behind him, Anne shifted beneath the blankets without coming close to waking.
"Mm."
Her eyes never opened. "I sleep better keeping both eyes on the people I haven’t decided to trust yet."
James froze with one boot only half laced, staring at her.
"Christ. Are ye readin’ me thoughts now, or is that just rotten luck?"
She didn’t answer.
She was already asleep again.
James exhaled, let out a short laugh and walked to the door. He pushed it open to find a wiry sailor he vaguely recognized from the recruiting table. The fellow stood twisting his cap between both hands.
"Beggin’ yer pardon somethin’ fierce, cap, only the lookout’s spotted somethin’ and I weren’t about to sit on it."
The words tumbled out so quickly half the consonants never arrived. "Din’t mean to wake yer."
He caught himself and glanced past James toward the bed.
"Yer, ah, and th’ lady boss.
"My wise man."
James stepped outside and pulled the door shut before the sailor could crane his neck any farther.
"Call her that again and she’ll snip somethin’ off ye that’ll be missed a great deal more than your supper."
The sailor went so pale James almost pitied him.
Almost. Really he felt it was funny.
"Won’t happen again, cap. Swear it on me mother."
They headed toward the pier, the sailor forced into a half jog to keep up. "Lookout spotted ’em first, cap, workin’ through the bights. Three of ’em, maybe four, some shallops with no colours, no flag at all."
"Navy?" James asked, though he doubted the answer.
"Nah, cap. Nothin’ a navy’d bother namin’, let alone sendin’. These’s the sort o’ boats fishermen curse for cloggin’ up the harbour."
"And that’s all? Small boats, no flags, sailin’ straight toward us?"
"That’s all, cap. Lookout’s watched ’em the whole time, but there weren’t nothin’ else worth seein’."
"Right. Obliged to you."
James clapped the man on the shoulder.
"I’ll handle it."
He pointed the sailor back toward before he continued to the waterfront.
He’d gone barely halfway there before he spotted Bonnet. The man looked as immaculate as ever, wearing a coat worth more than half the supplies they were hauling, directing two men carrying a crate of nails toward the storehouse with more dignity than the work warranted.
"Bonnet! Leave that. I’ve got better use for ye."
Bonnet turned with a bright smile. "Captain! I was beginning to think I had forgotten the sound of your voice. Has it been two days? Four days? I had started to suspect you were avoiding me."
James wasn’t able to hold back his grin, "Aye, terribly. Come along. We’ve got boats comin’ through the bights without a single flag among ’em. Fancy a look?"
"I would be delighted, Captain. Few things improve a morning quite so much as a mystery."
Bonnet excused himself with a few final words to the sailors, then hurried after James with that brisk, eager stride that somehow managed to look perfectly dignified. Together, they made for the pier.
Small boats. No colors. No flag worth reading.
It could be nothing at all.
Just fishermen who’d lost their way and were blaming the charts.
Or it could be the first sign that the tale he’d paid good money to spread had finally reached someone willing to believe it.
Better to see the boats with his own eyes before he started counting prizes he hadn’t won.