Chapter 128: The Nosy Bastard’s Due
Nassau’s shacks had never been much for keeping the world outside where it belonged.
Sunlight poured through the cracks in the driftwood walls in thick golden bars, and somewhere nearby a flock of gulls was carrying on like murderers over the rotten remains of something that had once been clever enough to swim. The place smelled of salt, old tar, and the kind of low tide that still thought about leaving.
James cracked one eye and wished he hadn’t.
There was a blacksmith living behind his skull now, and the fellow had done in for honest work. Every hammer blow landed with more determination than James had ever put into anything that exploded.
He tried the other eye instead.
It hurt just as badly, though the view made the effort worthwhile.
Anne lay sprawled against him on a straw pallet that looked old enough to remember better days. One leg rested over his hip like she’d claimed ownership sometime during the night and saw no reason to discuss it afterward. Her copper hair, dulled by salt and sweat, covered half his chest and a fair portion of the bedding besides.
Every muscle he owned lodged a complaint about the previous evening, and a good many of those complaints felt like invitations.
Anne let out a groan into his shoulder with her eyes shut.
"If ye tell me the sun’s already up, I’m bitin’ somethin’ ye’ll miss."
"It’s bright as judgment day and twice as cruel."
"Then brace yourself."
Instead of making good on the threat, she burrowed deeper into his shoulder, as though stubbornness alone might shove daylight back where it came from.
James laughed.
The pounding in his skull immediately reminded him that laughing had been a mistake.
"Where in Christ’s name are we?"
Anne cracked one eye and finally took stock of the shack, the driftwood walls, the door that hanged from one hinge and some lonely stool that looked ready to surrender if anybody leaned on it too hard.
"Looks like the sort of place won over cards, drink, or stupidity."
She pushed herself onto one elbow, wincing.
"That’s about all I remember."
James eased himself upright against the wall and waited for the room to stop swaying before he tried piecing together the night before.
The memories returned one at a time, like drunks staggering home after sunrise. None of them came in order, and every one made the whole affair seem worse.
"Doyle."
He frowned at the name as though it ought to have dragged the memory after it
Anne made a sound that was half laugh, half groan. "Aye, Doyle. The poor devil whose drink ye stole right out from under him."
"Did I?"
"Somebody dared you to finish the whole cup, and you took to it like a dog to a butcher’s bone."
She shook her head, smiling into the pillow. "Then you started blubbering into the room like a wean with a skinned knee, and when somebody asked if you meant to stop, you said not until the devil himself came to fetch you."
A grin spread across James’s face despite himself.
"That does sound like me."
"Oh, I’ve not reached the best of it yet."
Anne shifted onto one elbow. "You declared Doyle a saint among distillers, then wrapped the poor fool in a hug so fierce he near passed out. When he told you to let go, you kissed the top of his head and announced ye’d name your first goat after him."
James laughed, the noise echoing through the little shack.
Another memory surfaced with it, half clear and half drowned in rum. Someone had been shouting over the music, loud enough to make the whole room turn and stare, and before anyone could decide whether to laugh or throw him out, a chair went over, a tankard smashed, and the Rat filled with the sort of racket that meant a good many people were about to leave sore, bloodied, and extremely pleased with themselves.
"There was a fight, wasn’t there?"
Anne’s grin turned dangerous. "Aye, started with some loudmouthed fool swearin’ mermaids were made up to frighten children. I told him any man who’d spent enough time at sea knew better than to call the ocean a liar, then Meg agreed with me."
She snorted. "The poor bastard decided the clever thing to do was tell us both what women ought to believe, then finished by callin’ Meg a name I’d rather not repeat."
James looked at her expectantly.
"So I introduced his face to a bottle."
"And?"
"The bottle lost."
She shrugged. "One of his friends grabbed me from behind, so I drove my heel between his legs hard enough I doubt he’ll ever curse another woman with much conviction. The other came at me with a stool, so I broke that too. By then you were already in the middle of it, somebody punched the wrong lad, somebody else decided that looked like fun, and the whole Rat turned into one great happy riot."
James laughed.
"So... did we win?"
"Somebody did."
Her grin widened.
"It surely wasn’t them."
The memory finally caught up with him, creeping back as slowly as tomorrow’s bruise.
After that, some toothless old sailor at the Rat, three drinks beyond common sense, had loudly declared no living man could outlast him in holding his breath. His proof was that he’d nearly drowned twice already and lived long enough to boast about both occasions.
James, who had somehow become even less sensible than the old fellow, wagered his night’s winnings that he’d beat the record without trying very hard.
The old sailor’s money disappeared around the fourth round.
His shack stayed on the table.
"I remember now."
Wonder slipped into James’s voice.
"I beat some old bastard fair and square, and all he had left was this place."
Anne looked around the shack once more.
It somehow seemed even less impressive now that it had changed hands.
"Right, you robbed a cripple."
"I prefer to think of it as respectable business."
Anne shifted, enough to reveal what the night had truly left behind.
There were dark bruises blooming along her throat and shoulder, some still with the marks of teeth, standing out plainly against her pale skin.
James reached over and brushed one gently with his thumb.
She looked fairly pleased and nodded toward his chest, down to long red scratches that went from his collarbone well past his ribs. A few had dried dark where they’d bled overnight.
He brushed a hand over them with unmistakable satisfaction.
"Well, that’s a proper night’s work."
"Wear it proud, Captain."
"I mean to."
Three brisk knocks interrupted them, rattling the old door hard enough to shake dust from the frame.
James glanced toward the door.
"Who is it?"
"Mark."
Anne didn’t so much as glance that way. "Come in."
The door creaked open.
Mary stepped inside, already dressed, hat and all.
One quick glance took in the room.
It lingered only as long as good manners let before she averted her gaze.
"Well."
One corner of her mouth lifted. "The noise comin’ through these walls last night could’ve woken most of Havana and scared the Almighty out of the rest."
James, entirely shameless, stretched both arms overhead.
"Thank you kindly."
She leaned against the doorframe, folding her arms. "Whenever the pair of you finish livin’ like escaped zoo animals, we’ve got a dive to plan. No hurry, I’ve got nowhere better to be than watchin’ Nassau wake up from a doorway."
"Sharp as ever."
"Sharper than you this mornin’, by the look of it."
A smile tugged at her mouth.
"I’ll be by the water. Try rememberin’ how trousers work before ye come."
She left before either of them could answer, the door shut behind her.
James watched it for a moment, then shot Anne a sideways look, already half expecting her to bristle at the interruption.
"I expected you’d’ve snapped at any lad who walked in on us like that."
Anne let out a short laugh and patted his chest. "Aye, but another woman’s no problem to me."
James paused.
Anne paused too.
Then the thought landed between them.
James stared at her. "You knew that?"
Anne’s eyes narrowed a little, then widened with slow, wicked delight.
"...You knew that."
"Aye."
She stared for another heartbeat, then burst into laughter, loud enough to offend one of the gulls outside. The bird replied in the rude language gulls reserved for such occasions.
James exhaled amusedly, "How long have you known?"
"Near enough since Concordia."
She shrugged. "A woman knows another woman, James. She can hide in breeches and stick a dreadful hat on her, but it won’t fool anybody who’s payin’ attention."
James looked genuinely wounded.
"I’ve a keen eye for people myself, worked her out inside a day."
"Keen eye, my arse."
Anne reached beneath the blanket and pinched him hard enough to make him yelp.
"I reckon it was more the instinct of a gigolo."
"That’s a scandalous accusation."
"It’s also true."
By the time they stepped out, the shack’s complaints let way to Nassau’s morning clamor, timber-hammers ringing somewhere down the waterfront, men barking for pitch and rope, caulking irons scraping against hulls as the docks slowly stitched itself back together.
Mary stood near the tide with her arms folded, watching a longboat make its slow way toward the docks.
"So, James."
Anne fell into step beside her, tucking her hair behind one ear. "What’s the grand plan for findin’ men that’ll dive on a wreck instead of drinkin’ themselves off a pier?"
"I’ve been askin’ myself that same question."
Mary never took her eyes off the water. "Nassau’s full of drunkards and fighters, but men willing to swim into a sunken hull for money is another beast entirely."
James rubbed the back of his neck.
"We’ll probably have to look somewhere with a divin’ trade."
He never got to say where.
🏴 [TITLE ACTIVATED — Nosy Bastard]
Farther down the dock, some commotion had already broken loose.
Four or five dockhands wrestled something enormous and stubborn out of a ship’s boat, cursing loudly enough to drown out every hammer in the harbor.
"Mind yer feet, ye web-footed son of a whore, or she’ll come down and take both our legs off at the knee!"
"Easy! EASY, ye blind bastard! Ease her over! Don’t ye dare drop yer end!"
"If this thing smashes through the planks, I’ll feed ye to it myself! I swear it on me mother’s rotten teeth!"
James, Anne, and Mary turned toward it as one.
Whatever answer James had been about to give would have to wait.