“Welcome to Siren’s Call. Climb up. Jim will be right behind you.”
If she meant to be reassuring, she certainly wasn’t. Tyler grabbed the rope and was finally released by Jim’s mighty palm, only to be forced up the ladder with the aforementioned meathead briskly following. He swung himself up onto the deck, and was helped by two men, dressed in loose pale shirts and dark trousers. Both greeted him with a warmth that he found immediately suspicious. Irena arrived last, launching herself up over the banister. Tyler realised that a number of people were gathered around the newcomers, about thirty in all, and also noticed a few women amongst them, dressed in shirts and trousers, as the men were. He rubbed at the wrist Jim had been holding. No one seemed surprised that their captain had returned with an extra party. Perhaps they were used to her disappearing into the night to bring back criminals.
“This is Tyler. See to it that he learns the ropes. Set sail. You know where to.” With that Irena strode through the parting crowd and disappeared through some doors into what Tyler could only guess was the Captain’s quarters.
On deck the crew began working, like a well-oiled machine. Everyone seemed to know their place and specific task, Tyler stood in the midst, completely lost. Jim yelled to him from the topdeck.
“Oi, Tyler! Get yourself below and set up a hammock. There’s nothing you can do up here. Your training starts tomorrow.”
Chapter 2
Jailbirds, Bloodliners, Lost Boys, and the Ladies
Tyler awoke with a throbbing pain in his back and neck. He stretched his arms wide, and fell out of his hammock with a thud. Groaning, he dragged himself back to his feet, trying to ignore the painful ache generously gifted by his first night in a hammock. He’d only ever been on a ship as a passenger, and had managed to afford a rather comfortable cabin at that. One godsend was that the only queasiness he felt was a sort of lump in his stomach – he’d also experienced rather lively seasickness last time he’d been aboard a ship, albeit that could have been from the amount of alcohol he’d consumed. He’d been celebrating.
He dug his fingers into the back of his neck, rolling it and releasing a sharp pop that gave immediate relief. He was still in the clothes he’d been locked up in. They’d ripped the shirt from his back the moment he’d arrived, seeking out hidden weapons or tools, so all he was left with was a shabby pair of trousers that had been considerably less shabby before he’d been so rudely imprisoned. They hadn’t even trusted him with shoes…although admittedly they had contained a hidden dagger and three picks. Still, it would be nice not to feel so naked.
He brushed a bare foot over the boards, smoother than he’d expected from a crew’s quarters on a pirate ship. It was actually rather cosy, hammocks swung about wherever they fitted, packs hanging from hooks, or atop the chests that lined the walls. There were a few portholes which did little more than let light in, but still it was nice to have the option to see outside. It had taken Tyler a few tries to get his hammock up correctly, and he hadn’t achieved it until someone had helped him. It had been too dark by then to really take in who it was, and Tyler had been far too tired.
His neighbour, a wiry young boy, grinned at him as he swung himself smartly from his resting place. Looking at him now, Tyler suspected this had been his hammock assistant. “You’ll get used to it, it stops hurting after a couple of nights.” He turned and pulled off his shirt, changing into a new one stowed in the satchel hanging beside his hammock. Corded muscle branded his back, despite his age and skinny frame. Clearly he was used to a hard days work. He turned back to Tyler, who was still rubbing his neck. “The name’s Ollie by the way,”
Tyler shook his outstretched arm. “Tyler.”
“You’re the one that arrived last night,” Ollie stated. “Ain’t you got any spare clothes or anything?”
“Nope, they brought me in straight from prison. I didn’t have anything with me.”
“Ah, you’re a Jailbird. Didn’t realise she was going after a Jailbird.”
“What?”
Ollie began rifling through a drawstring pack hung up somewhere in the tangle of ropes that bound the hammocks into place. “Nickname we have on deck for ones who were busted out to be on the crew. Those who’ve lived the criminal life, never the interesting ones mind you – the good ones don’t tend to get caught I think. No offence meant. Though they do have bloody good backstories to tell. I’ll bet you could spin a yarn or two.” The young pirate didn’t relent in his onslaught of information, throwing a spare shirt to Tyler who slipped it on gratefully. Though a little small it was better than nothing. “There’s a few of you now. I’m what we call a Bloodliner, brought in ’cause of family connections. My dad is Kris Wolf, Captain’s older brother.”
Tyler raised an eyebrow. “She’s your auntie?” The family resemblance was minimal: where Irena’s hair was fire red, Ollie’s was jet black; where her eyes were dark his were a deep hazel. His face was rounder, hinting at his younger heritage. Where they did hold something in common was a certain glint in their eye, which others would think of as dangerous, but Tyler had always preferred to think of as entertaining.
“Yeah, what of it?” The young Wolf finally paused, “you probably want some grub, come on.”
He began walking and Tyler followed. Ollie continued, “So yeah, you got Jailbirds, Bloodliners, then there’s the Lost Boys; ones that we find along the way. And of course there are the Ladies. But don’t let them hear you calling them that.” He laughed, “Don’t even go there. They give as good as they get. One of the few mixed crews on the seas. Nan says that long times with only us men for company can get dull.”
Tyler realised with a start that when Ollie said Nan he was referring to Tigerlily Wolf. Tyler had heard the stories, he knew all about this fearless violent pirate – to hear her called Nan seemed ridiculous.
Ollie finally stopped talking as they reached the entrance to the galley, Tyler followed him inside and they queued for some food before finding an empty spot on a bench.
“Eat up, and then you’d better report to Jim to see what he wants you to do.”
~
“Ah there you are, I was about to send out a search party.” Jim’s face emphasised the sarcastic tone in his voice. He locked the wheel into position, leaning his forearms against the top as he glared at Tyler. “First tip: Don’t bugger off to have breakfast until you’ve checked if it’s okay with me. You don’t do anything without my permission, understand? You are under surveillance for your first month, till we think we can trust you to not run off, so if you toddle off anywhere, even if its just to have a piss, you let me, or another crew member know. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Yes sir. You haven’t earned my respect, until then you call me sir.”
“Yes sir.” Tyler grimaced to himself, he hated being treated like this. Still, he held his tongue. Getting into fights would do him no favours right now.
“I’m assuming you know how to scrub floors?”
“Yes sir.”
“Well, scrubbing decks is very similar. Go see Pips, she’ll introduce you to the others on scrubs today.” Tyler stared at Jim for a moment, blank faced, before the mountain of a man shoved his finger in the direction he should head. “Down there, blonde hair, expression like a slapped arse. But don’t ever ask what’s wrong with her, she’ll rip your balls off.”
Tyler was surprised Jim had even bothered to warn him, considering the general ‘I hate you, get used to it’ aura. Perhaps it was just the standard being mean to the newbie…he’d done it himself plenty of times. Make them work for it, start them off with the muckier jobs, then let them into the fold. If that was the way it was going to be then fine. Though it grated on him, he was not above obeying orders, he’d been in this position before after all.
He reached the few crew members who were clutching mops, carrying buckets. Amongst them was a girl, ash blonde hair scraped back into a messy bun, wearing a white shirt and oversized dark suede waistcoat
that had once been turquoise, beige trousers and brown leather ankle boots. She glared at him as he caught her eye, not moving from her position – leant against the balustrade, her arms folded tightly across her chest.
She nodded at him, sour faced, “What you want?”
“Pips?”
“That’s what they call me.”
Maybe four feet, if that. And she was the one in charge? “You’re tiny.” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
She raised an eyebrow, “Do you have a death wish or are you just an idiot?”
Each word was tipped with poison. Tyler was struck with the image of a scorpion, it’s stinger poised to strike. Well, he had been warned. It was a bad habit of his that his words sometimes moved ahead of his brain. It was something he’d managed for the most to conquer, but there were always slip-ups with bad habits. He knew better than to attempt to apologise. He’d only dig a deeper hole. “I – uh, Jim sent me.”
“Scrubs duty, yeah I know. Well don’t just stand there, grab a bucket.”
The water was already a dirty brown, a few suds floating on the surface. Tyler rolled his eyes and hauled the full bucket over to an empty patch of deck, a mop secured over his shoulder. His wrists still ached from the manacles, he rolled up his sleeves and started at the vivid bruises that had already risen to the surface of his skin. They’d be gone before he knew it. He rolled a wrist, then set his grip on the handle of the mop and plunged it into the bucket, spraying the wooden planks beneath his feet with the murky water. The wet mop slapped onto the decking with a dull thud, then he dragged it back and forth, trying to bring up the dirt that had become lodged in the boards of the decking.
There was something methodical in it, something calming about doing a menial task like this, leaving another part of his brain to fire into action while his hands were kept busy. He pieced together what he already knew about the situation that he was in – he’d been betrayed – by someone who he’d rather not think about too much right now for fear of snapping the mop in two – and imprisoned with little hope of escape or release beyond the rope of the hangman. Irena, like some sort of angel, had appeared when hope was all but lost, providing him with another option.
He still wasn’t sure whether he’d been wise to take her up on said offer. While her looks may be angelic, she clearly was something else. Here he was at the bottom of the pile, and he’d have to do his best to keep his head down at least for the first month, if Jim was to be believed. Tyler suspected it would take the first mate a little longer to warm to him, though what he’d done to make the man dislike him he wasn’t sure.
This ship, Siren’s Call, was one that he had heard of in passing – so she was definitely who she said she was, Captain Irena. She went by her forename to avoid confusion with her father, Captain Wolf, head of the Wolves, a pack of a family with innumerable connections on land as well as sea, thanks to their assassin sons, and their close relationship with the Pirate Lord.
Tyler knew a lot more about pirate politics than most land dwellers, he was a Master Thief after all, or had been, it was his job to know things, to know as much as possible so that he could work any situation to his own advantage. You didn’t gain Master status just by being light-fingered and good at picking locks. Not that he was lacking in those particular areas. There wasn’t much he couldn’t steal, and not much that he hadn’t. But he kept his name to himself, unlike the Wolves, there weren’t many who knew who he was. He tended to go by the name of Tyler to his associates, that or his colour. The thieves organised themselves under colour, something miscellaneous that could be passed from face to face as and when the watch or Death himself came calling. No one knew his surname, save for him and his parents, and he wasn’t even sure if they were alive anymore. Or if they knew or cared that he was alive. They didn’t exactly hang around for long when he was a kid.
“Tyler!”
He snapped his head up at the shout. It was the overseer Pips. Not that she was actually able to look over him.
“Toss that filth overboard and go down to Cook for a refill.” She certainly acted like she could, and was not afraid of bossing him around.
Tyler remembered Ollie’s warning, and narrowed his eyes slightly at Pips’ retreating back. Perhaps he would be wiser to heed the boy’s words – he’d been on this ship longer. If he said the Ladies weren’t to be messed with, he’d be best to listen. He dropped the mop, letting it lean against the balustrade that ran around the circumference of the deck. The bucket was slightly lighter now, the water a much darker brown. He tossed it overboard. He hadn’t really been paying attention, he’d managed to get through a good section of decking. That’s what happened when you started losing yourself in your thoughts.
He let a slight uncertainty slip into his step as he made his way to the steps that led below deck. It would serve him well to seem a little more tentative. He wasn’t Master Thief here, nor did he have need to be. Yet.
The steps were steep and the bucket was heavy, even empty. He reached the lower deck faster than he meant to, and had to recover his footing before continuing. The galley proved easy to find, he remembered his and Ollie’s route from the morning. Old habits die hard, and Tyler had always made sure to take note of his surroundings. It helped to know of all potential escape routes, and to know which direction to run. It was a practice that had served him well in his time as a thief, as well as a child on the streets. His mind focused on particular knots in the wood, the angle of doorframes, the distance from porthole to porthole, without conscious thought to do so. He didn’t think he could stop his mind doing it even if he tried, it came as easy to him as breathing.
He shouldered open the door, head down, focus elsewhere, and had the sudden impression of blonde hair secured into a thick plait, before the figure careered into him. He barely faltered, but she went flying back. The girl caught her footing, and glared at him for a moment before the anger faded, replaced by some haziness and a slight smile which she tried her best to conceal. Tyler was used to women looking at him like that. He smiled back. She was pretty, pale skin, brown eyes. “Sorry about that, I didn’t see you. Though how I could have missed you I’m not quite sure.”
She planted her hand on her hip, her eyes locking onto his. “No harm done.”
“Well you’re a lot friendlier than the last lady pirate I met.”
“You mean Pips? Oh don’t take it personally, she’s like that with everyone. And you don’t have to call me a lady.”
Tyler grinned wider. “Then what should I call you?”
“Anya.”
Tyler became aware that there was another woman behind Anya, darker skin and taller in frame. She rolled her eyes at Anya’s change of tone, as if exasperated that her comrade would change her tune so quickly just for a handsome face.
The pretty blonde looked him up and down, “Tyler wasn’t it? Ollie told me about you – the Jailbird.”
“News travels fast around here.”
Anya shrugged, a laugh like a song betraying her enjoyment of his attentions. “We’re just one big happy family, everyone knows everything. Forget keeping secrets on a pirate ship.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.”
“What you down here for?”
He held up the bucket, “Refill – I was told to come find Cook.”
“You found her.” She nodded back into the galley, “Waters on boil – help yourself.”
“Anya, come on.” The other woman had wild black hair, dark skin, light brown eyes. She narrowed them at Tyler, but they didn’t soften as Anya’s had.
“Sorry Negrita, I’m right behind you.” Anya glanced back at Tyler, “I’ll see you around.”
He smiled, “I certainly hope so.” He couldn’t help it, a little flirtation couldn’t hurt, and she really was rather easy on the eyes. The one called Negrita gave him one last stern look before flicking her hair out behind her and striding off.
Tyler hauled the now refilled bucket back up the steps. He was out
of practice, manual labour was proving more tiring than he remembered. As a thief the heaviest thing you had to carry was a lock set and, if favour had it, whatever loot you had taken.
Tyler had learnt early on in his career that there were things that held far more value than diamonds and gold – secrets being one of them. These were much lighter, but also much harder to obtain. People locked their secrets up far more securely than any family heirloom. Many would be the time he’d return to the den with nothing more than a few scraps of paper, letters, deeds of ownership, certificates of marriage and birth. The others never did quite understand his reasoning, until he made his way up to Master Thief.
His arms ached as he finally set the bucket down again beside the mop he had abandoned. The walk back from the galley had felt a hell of a lot longer than the walk down. He heaved in a breath and stretched his back, before grabbing the mop back up again and dunking it into the bucket. Tyler took a quick glance around while the rags of fabric soaked up the water. They were nearly done by the looks of it, the deck was practically sparkling. The others were clearly more practiced at this, and had done a lot in the short time he’d been absent. There was no sign of Anya or Negrita, nor of the illusive pirate captain. He’d seen a flicker of auburn hair before she disappeared up the stairs to the top deck. Even now she was not visible, the burly figure of Jim was at the helm, and he couldn’t make out the entire deck. Tyler shrugged and returned his full attention to his work.
“You missed a spot.”
Tyler would have snapped, had he not recognised Ollie’s voice. His hands were blistering, sweat pouring from his forehead. Mopping wasn’t all that bad, but when there was this much surface area to cover it could seem endless. His disposition was growing cloudier by the minute, he was seriously considering how far he could swim. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and leant on the tip of the mop handle.
Daughter of Wolves Page 2