Cosmo pushed back his chair and stepped to her in one fluid movement. He held out a crooked arm with a look that said he expected her to do something with it. With a cursory glance around at the occupants of the room, who were oblivious to anything amiss, Ebba rose.
“Take my arm,” he instructed softly. “Lay your hand on top.”
A scan of the table behind her showed the rest of the servants studiously ignored them. She placed her hand atop Cosmo’s arm with a warning glare. “Ye better not try any funny bus’ness or I’ll gut you with the silver cutlery.”
A laugh danced in his eyes. “Follow me, Mistress Pirate.”
With measured steps, Cosmo led her to the door.
This was his plan! To slowly walk to the main door? That’s why you couldn’t trust a landlubber, especially a royal-servant-lubber.
“Servant boy, where are you taking Mistress Fairisles?” Maybell’s high-pitched voice rang out.
Ebba winced and aimed another scowl at Cosmo. Of all the stupid plans. They should’ve at least lit a fire somewhere.
Cosmo bowed low. “Lady Maybell, Mistress Fairisles expressed a desire to retire. I was merely escorting her to the stairs.” He shifted to glance at the red-nosed offspring of King Montcroix. “My Prince? With your leave?”
Prince Caspian startled in his chair next to Governor Da Ville. He stared at Cosmo with blank eyes and words tumbled slowly from his mouth, “Uh . . . yes, C-cosmo . . . proceed.”
Maybell’s mouth snapped shut at the prince’s order. Hardly believing her luck, Ebba turned in a stupefied rustle of material and continued to the door with Cosmo.
The two servants swung open the entrance to grant them passage, and drew the doors shut afterward in a synchronized movement, leaving Ebba and Cosmo alone.
Ebba let go of his arm and stared at him. He grinned back.
“How did ye pull that off?” she demanded.
He shrugged. “I told you, I’m the prince’s servant. He listens to me.”
She considered this and nodded. “That one looks like he’d be convinced by a tiny breeze.”
Cosmo frowned, and drew her arm back through his, leading her away from the stairs to the mansion entrance. “Yes, maybe you’re right.”
He didn’t have to sound so forlorn about it. Though she was picking up another level of meaning to what he said, just like Barrels did sometimes. “So what, ye’re goin’ to march me right out o’ here?”
Wait until she told Peg-leg. He’d bust a gut laughing. Ebba blanched, recalling it wasn’t a sure thing she’d even get to tell him.
Cosmo slid her another grin. “That’s the plan.”
Ebba walked out of the mansion and down another few marble steps alongside the prince’s servant, descending to where she’d arrived in the carriage. Her dress, while it had blending qualities, wasn’t ideal for busting into and out of a prison. But at least she still had her boots on, rather than heeled shoes—if no weapons, or slops to run freely in.
A cobbled road stretched out to her left, leading away from the mansion. It seemed to be the only road, so Ebba guessed it led back to where Maybell had pulled over to talk to the commodore. She just needed to follow the road back to town, and from there, she’d find the gaol. The rest could be figured out after.
“Cosmo, I thank ye for extendin’ yer help. Especially when I’m a lying, cheatin’ pirate,” she teased.
“One with honor and mercy. I believe they were your words,” he reminded her, dropping her arm to put distance between them.
Ebba quirked a brow. “Can’t be trustin’ anythin’ a pirate says.”
He surveyed her with his amber eyes. They were riveted on her face, though it occurred to her that he was the kind of person who might be riveted by whatever he looked at.
“Aye,” he said, mimicking her speech. “I be thinkin’ I can.”
“We’ll make a pirate of ye yet. But now,” she strode off toward the road, “I be off to save my fathers.”
“I’ll ask the prince to have them freed and returned to your ship.”
The man was delusional—releasing six pirates? Ebba scoffed silently. The prince wasn’t that daft—his father detested pirates. That was common knowledge. Even if the prince owed a life debt to his servant, he didn’t seem to possess the backbone to go against the king.
“Sure, Cosmo. Ye be doin’ that.” Hearing the sarcasm in her voice, she spun back on the spot, the garish purple skirts swishing out wide. She smiled contritely. “I do thank ye for yer help. I’ll no be forgettin’.”
He lifted a hand in a stately gesture and dipped his head, a curious smile on his lips. “Until we meet again, Mistress Pirate.”
Six
“Blast this dress to the hottest part o’ Davy Jones’ Locker,” she shouted into the night.
The parts of the dress not shredded by the wiry shrubs and three separate falls in the dark had fallen victim to Ebba’s frustration.
The road hadn’t led back to town. Only one road actually led to the mansion, of that Ebba was absolutely certain. Which meant the carriage there had turned somewhere on the way. She wished she’d paid more attention during the journey there.
Where the road did lead to, she’d never know because in the earliest hours of the day, more lost than ever, she’d had the great idea to scramble down a few steep slopes to reach the beach and get her bearings. The eventual sight of the water had gone a ways in calming her, dark and flat though it was.
Until. . . .
“Ye were walkin’ the wrong way around the island, ye daft bugger!” Ebba spat.
The eastern point, where she should’ve been going if the cloudy night hadn’t disorientated her, was all limestone cliffs. She was livid, all of her anger stemming from the cold fear in her gut. She was very much afraid of failing her fathers. Very afraid. And very exhausted. She’d nearly cried when she saw the sandy expanse of the western point.
Another long march hadn’t calmed the frayed edges of her temper, but finally faint noises reached her from the town center. The nightlife in the tavern and brothel was going strong by the sounds of things. She imagined all the people on Maltu drinking grog and having fun, unaware and uncaring about what was happening to the crew of Felicity.
The hollow clunk of her boots as they hit the wood of the wharf was music to her ears, sweeter even than the sound of Grubby’s flute, or Barrels’ violin. Ebba released the hem of her purple dress and rolled her wrists around to relieve the ache from holding up the heavy garment.
Weariness piled on her. Today hadn’t been the easiest day, and it wouldn’t be over for another day at least, all going well. First, to the ship to change. She didn’t have a hope of saving anyone clad in this monstrosity.
Ebba broke into a run down the wharf to Felicity, a spark of hope returning to her. She’d collect their spare weapons and go directly to the gaol. She would save her fathers or die trying.
Felicity still bobbed where they’d left her. Ebba covered the last of the distance and prepared to leap aboard.
“There ye are, Ebba-Viva,” came a relieved voice.
Ebba shrieked and jerked mid-jump, bumping her shin on the bulwark and tumbling with a series of thuds across the main deck in a tangle of purple fabric. Pushing a swathe of it off her face, she stared up at the sight of her fathers’ concerned faces.
All six of them.
She blamed exhaustion for the thick, hot tears that began to trickle over her cheeks.
Locks held a hand down to her, pulling her up and into his arms. Dark shadows marred the area beneath his eye. And his face was pale, nearly white like the thin scars on his cheeks. They must all be exhausted, too.
“We was just about to go out lookin’ for ye,” he said.
She squeezed his middle, wiping off her tears on his tunic. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “How did ye get out of the gaol? How are ye here?”
Ebba pulled back, scanning the others.
Her fathers swapped looks.
Barrels cleared his throat. He held Pillage, absently scratching the cat’s chin. “We were rather hoping you could tell us that. The commodore released us an hour ago. Said they’d received a personal reassurance that we were merchants, and that we were to be released and returned to our ship, where we would find you.”
He did it. Ebba grinned as she thought back to Cosmo’s curious smile. The sod had actually done it! “The prince released ye.”
“The prince?” Peg-leg stilled. “Ye spoke to the prince?”
Ebba shook her head. “No, his servant. I told him I were a pirate, and my crew were caught and I meant to free ye.”
Silence followed. Ebba peered around, seeing Plank had covered his face with both hands and one of Stubby’s eyes was ticking. Grubby was giving her a frantic approving nod. She smiled and walked over to pat his arm.
Locks shrugged off his weapons and placed them by the bilge door before adjusting his eye patch. “We can be considerin’ ourselves very lucky, methinks. Now it be past time we were goin’.”
“Did ye get yer business done?” Ebba asked.
Barrels placed Pillage on the deck. The cat immediately began winding between his legs, yowling. Barrels moved to her side and patted her shoulder. “With all the excitement, I didn’t get a chance to collect the payment, but your safety is more important.”
They’d lost an entire shipment of sugar cane? Her fathers hated coming to Maltu and she knew they’d be smarting over the loss of a shipment that would’ve gone toward their retirement. Shite, add that to her list of things she’d mucked up.
She hung her head. “I’m right sorry for all the trouble I caused.”
“Lass,” Peg-leg said, “I hope ye know how scared we were when we couldn’t find ye, but we were the ones who shouted at ye in the middle of the path. Ain’t nothin’ else but scarin’ us that be yer fault.”
They were just being nice because she was wavering on her feet, had bruises all over her face, and just cried a little. She could fall asleep standing right now. Ebba closed her eyes experimentally—one of them mostly closed already.
That felt nice. Maybe she would sleep like this. How hard could it be?
“Who was with ye in the alley?” Plank asked casually. “Was it Malice pirates?”
She liked his deep voice. Ebba grimaced, remembering Pockmark digging his dagger into her cheek. “Aye, Pockmark, Swindles and Riot,” she mumbled. “Talkin’ o’ a big treasure they found.” She wanted the treasure. Bet it glittered all nice, like real treasure should.
Where was the mast? Maybe she’d lean against that. Not opening her eyes, Ebba held her arms out, feeling for the massive beam in the center of the ship.
“—How many bullets have we got between us, lads?—”
“—Enough to fill the three o’ the sods with holes—”
“—Aye, we’ll need to be far away from here by mornin’—”
Her skin prickled. Ebba pivoted on the spot, suddenly wide awake. Horror doused her from head to toe. She covered her mouth, dreadfully and horribly certain she’d just mentioned the names of her attackers.
“That wasn’t nice,” she snapped at Plank, glaring at the others who’d undoubtedly been in on the ploy. But cold fear churned in her gut, overriding any anger.
A sinister smile crept over Plank’s face. “Nay, it wasn’t. But we’d already guessed. Now we’re knowin’ who to hurt.”
That was the point though. They’d get hurt in the process. “Ye can’t go after them. Please,” she begged her fathers. “I came so close to losin’ ye tonight. I don’t want to go through that again just because I was rough’ned up some.”
They all seemed a little nonplussed by that request.
“I ain’t sure I can do that,” Locks said, eye narrowed. “I might’nt always be here to protect ye. I’ll bloody well be doin’ it until then. Ye’re our daughter. I want to wring the life from Pockmark for harmin’ even a single hair on yer head.”
“I’m goin’ to shove my cutlass down his throat,” Grubby said happily.
Her insides twisted as the rest of her fathers added their own threats to the mix. This was going all wrong. Malice could crush them with a single cannon, and the black ship had far more than one. She turned beseeching eyes on the most reasonable of her parents.
Barrels caught her look. “A compromise, perhaps? We really must be away from here with some haste. This treasure they spoke of, my dear. How much detail did you overhear?”
Ebba wrenched to a halt, a small burst of hope overriding her mounting panic. She could sell this. “Pockmark’s been after it for four years,” she said. “He’d be right hurt to lose it.”
Peg-leg clunked forward and pulled Ebba away from the ship’s edge. “Quietly with ye, lass. Ye know voices carry on water.”
She lowered her voice to just above a whisper. Her fathers crowded around, leaning in. “They were sayin’ the treasure could buy each of their crew an island. That be one hundred islands. Mayhaps more.”
Grubby’s eyes rounded.
“It’d be enough to retire on,” she pressed, in case they needed more incentive. “Ye get revenge and a tidy sum o’ gold.”
All her fathers ever spoke about was their retirement plan and how, with five more years of semi-honest steal-trading, they’d be able to hang up their boots for good. If they went after this treasure, her fathers could retire in a matter of weeks.
“Retire?” Barrels repeated hopefully, taking the bait. He wasn’t even the one she had to convince.
Ebba dipped her head. “Pockmark killed the soothsayer here, and afore she died, she made whisperings o’ a tree of knowledge with magical fruit that could give ye the answer to any question ye ask. The captain plans to ask where the treasure be located and plunder it.”
Stubby snorted. “Magical fruit. Knew it was too good to be true.”
There were two laws on their ship—aside from Ebba’s personal law of males, females, and pirates. One was that life as a pirate meant accepting the unexplained. It meant not agonizing over mysterious bursts of light and sightings of unknown creatures and the damp smell of secrets in the wind. Usually, Barrels was the only one who struggled to accept the unexplainable—being of landlubber origins. But even the others appeared sceptical right now—all except Plank, who tended to believe in everything unbelievable.
“The mountain apple,” Plank said sagely.
Locks rolled his eyes. “Is this one of yer stories o’ old magic?”
“Ye know of the magic fruit?” she asked over the snickers of her other fathers.
Plank glared at Locks. “Aye, I know the story well.”
“Where is this supposed mountain apple?” Barrels asked, bending to pick up the complaining Pillage again. His voice was neutral. The voice he used when they were talking of sea superstitions. In other terms, the voice he used when he didn’t believe a word they said.
“On Neos,” Ebba replied for Plank. “I heard them say it. Up the mountain.”
Peg-leg grumbled, “That puts an end to that. That rainforest is nigh impos’ible to get through. And then there be the tribespeople to think o’.”
“There be a guide they spoke of. On Malice’s crew. By the name o’ Jagger. Swindles and Riot said he be from Neos and is knowin’ the way.”
Her fathers exchanged loaded looks. They continued doing so for long enough that a tendril of excitement joined the already-present hope. She’d dismissed pursuing the treasure yesterday. She’d almost given the details away to the governor in exchange for her fathers’ freedom. But Ebba couldn’t deny the pursuit of such a treasure was entirely enticing. If this somehow worked out. . . .
“It be a way to hurt them without gettin’ further embroiled in trouble,” Stubby began.
Peg-leg sniffed. “What better way than to hit a pirate where it hurts? By takin’ their gold.”
Locks growled. “Four years be a long time to search for sumpin’, only to be disa’pointed at the finish line.” He and Plank
shared an evil look.
“I’m drawn by the additional benefits to our retirement fund,” interjected Barrels, a gleam in his eyes. “However, there is still the matter of the ‘magical’ fruit. Which clearly, scientifically, doesn’t exist. And which won’t be able to tell us where the so-called treasure is.”
Peg-leg dismissed the comment with a wave. “It don’t matter if there be magic fruit or not. Reachin’ the top o’ the mountain first to leave a nice unsigned note sayin’ we took it and they can go to Davy Jones will do the trick. Pockmark don’t need to know if the fruit were actua’ly there or not. Just that someone bet him to it.”
“And if there is a magical fruit, we can carry on and find the treasure and retire,” Ebba added quickly, ignoring Plank’s amused glance.
Picking up his weapon sash from outside the bilge, Locks swung it back into place across his torso. “We get to Neos Mountain, leave the note, and get out with Pockmark none the wiser it was Felicity who were there.”
“Aye,” they all chorused.
Ebba exhaled shakily. Her fathers weren’t going after Malice. That was one less crisis to deal with on Maltu.
Barrels came to stand beside her as the others hoisted themselves out onto the wharf.
“Where’re they goin’?” she asked.
With Pillage already under one arm, Barrels tucked Ebba into his side, and kissed the top of her head. The gesture should have had her ranting about how pirates should treat other pirates, but in the early hours of the morning, after the night she’d had, Ebba was nothing but grateful.
“I believe,” he said in mild tones, “my co-parents are going to procure our guide.”
Seven
The rhythmic swing of the hammock wanted to lull her back into slumber’s fuzzy embrace. She might have succumbed if the swinging wasn’t a sure sign Felicity had set sail—which meant her fathers were back from ‘procuring their guide.’
She wiped the drool off her cheek, shoved Pillage off her chest, and swung her legs over the side. Pillage landed on all fours and whirled to hiss at her.
Ebba-Viva Fairisles: Immortal Plunder (Pirates of Felicity Book 1) Page 6