The warm timbre of Grubby’s flute floated over the deck—the crew of Felicity knew this sea shanty well. It was one of Ebba’s favorites, which was no doubt why the pirate had picked it. He felt bad she’d had to swab the deck for a few minutes and wanted to cheer her up. He’d be like this for the next three moons.
Ebba stomped along with the others as the trill of the intro finished.
Soon Stubby began to bellow the lyrics from the helm.
Oh, his heart was free on the sea,
On the sea
Said the small boy, still wet behind the ears.
Aye, his heart was free on the sea.
His gut turned over on the sea,
On the sea,
His gut turned over on the sea.
The wee pirate boy was parted from his food,
Aye, his heart was free on the sea.
His hair did blow in the breeze,
In the breeze,
His hair did blow in the breeze.
Got tangled in the riggin’, he was squealing like a piggin’,
Aye, his heart was free on the sea.
Locks whooped loudly and grabbed Ebba’s hand, dragging her to the middle of the group to dance as the others who weren’t playing clapped and shouted.
What happened when he needed to pee,
Had to pee.
What happened when he needed to pee?
He pissed in the wind and wore it again.
Aye, his heart was free on the sea.
Ebba spun in circles with Locks, throwing her head back to laugh. He doubled over, wheezing as he stopped spinning, waving for her to continue.
She caught Stubby’s eye and grinned as he took a deep breath to start the song again, double time. She placed her hands on both hips and spun wildly as the tempo picked up. Her feet faltered slightly as she caught the burning silver stare of their guide at the mast. But the words of the song blurred together, and the ship and sky seemed to join before her eyes as she pushed to match the beat. Faster and faster she spun in the air, her feet barely skimming the surface of the deck.
He pissed in the wind and wore it again.
Aye, his heart was free on the sea!
The flute and fiddle chorused one last decisive peal. With a gasp, Ebba fell flat on her back, breathless, her chest rapidly rising and falling beneath her leather jerkin.
She stared at the blazing sun in the azure sky, listening to her fathers’ cheering.
The crew of Felicity was on a quest for treasure, and it was only the first day.
Could pirate life get any better?
Eight
Ebba sat on the deck—the freshly swabbed deck. Grubby had been detained in the hold while she completed it herself for the last five days. In one hand, she rolled the smooth, white bead that had caught her eye back in Maltu. In the other hand, she clutched a bead with orange and green stripes that Plank had picked out.
“I’ve decided where to put them,” she announced to Peg-leg.
“That’s good, lass. I’m sure they’ll look right-fierce.”
She hoped so.
Her eyes fell on Jagger. Her fathers hadn’t left him tied to the mast. Taking pity a few days ago, they’d moved him into the shade by the bilge door, tying him to a barrel. When directed, the pirate from Malice simply stood and strode to the new spot before sitting. He hadn’t spoken a word this whole trip, in six days. One of her fathers took food to him twice daily. The guide ate every crumb, and drank every drop of grog. . . But why didn’t he speak? Ebba would think him simple if not for those shifting silver eyes that didn’t seem to miss a thing. She’d wanted to pester him with questions, but something about him held her back. He had an aura of danger about him that gave her chills, but he wasn’t afraid enough. That’s what bothered her. Abducted and stolen away on another pirate ship, and not a flicker of concern on his expression.
She was becoming more certain that he wanted to be with them, but couldn’t fathom why.
Peg-leg threw open the bilge door with five plates balanced on his forearms. He clunked over to her and held out two.
“Take one to Stubby, will ye?”
Ebba nodded slowly and placed her new beads in her sash, taking the plates from the cook. When Peg-leg beelined for Plank, she strode over to their silent guide instead. There were enough plates to go around, Stubby would get his plate eventually.
“Here.” She placed the food at his feet and then loosened two of the ropes slightly, so he had use of his hands. He immediately began shoving the porridge with honey and sliced mango into his mouth. Ebba didn’t blame him. If she matched his height, she’d eat like a sea-cow, too.
Leaning against the bulwark, she munched on her own porridge. Probably didn’t pay to wander away with his hands free. She bit into a piece of fresh mango and wiped at the juice dribbling down her chin.
“Be nice to get fruit each day.” His voice was low, but her interest at hearing him speak overrode her discomfort at his attention. She could even ignore the mocking undertones this one time.
“Peg-leg thinks we need a balanced and n’tritional diet,” she quoted.
Keeping fruit and vegetables on board was a pain. It created the need to stop for supplies more often. But they’d learned if they went too long without, Peg-leg’s temper reached epic heights. His anger in these times could be tasted in the charcoal coating the fish and in the rock-hard flatbread he cooked.
The guide fell quiet again. Dammit. Ebba scowled and shoved a large spoon of porridge in her mouth.
“Who’s yer captain?”
Ebba swallowed her mouthful with difficulty. “Uh,” she squinted, trying to remember, “Locks, this month.”
He turned to face her, wiping at his mouth before asking, “The one with the scars on his cheeks?”
Her brows lifted. Just how closely was he paying attention? Did he know all of their names? She paused, and then nodded.
“This month?” he pressed.
She ran her tongue over her teeth to remove any traces of porridge. “We switch around. No one really likes bein’ captain.”
Jagger’s brows were a few shades darker than his flaxen hair. They rose, faintly—as though he simultaneously couldn’t believe her answer, and didn’t care. How much should she be telling the guide? Probably not too much.
His plate was empty. She tightened his ropes again and swooped down to collect the empty dish, feeling a bead of sweat trickling down her back.
Today was the most humid day they’d had in the last six. It didn’t help that the wind died off somewhere in the night. Without the help of a breeze, Ebba’s clothing stuck to her body like some kind of saggy skin. Moisture trickled down her neck, disappearing beneath her leather jerkin. Peg-leg couldn’t be coping well, not to mention. . . . “Ain’t ye warm in all that black?” she asked Jagger. The only part of his uniform that wasn’t black was the crimson sash tied low on his hips.
His next look asked if she was stupid. “Aye.”
“Then why do Malice’s crew wear it? Just to match the ship?”
“Mercer’s orders.” His eyes fell to where her tunic was clinging to her torso.
Seemed silly to her. More from an urge to distract his attention from her body, she asked, “Why don’t the crew mutiny?”
Jagger’s jaw clenched and he broke off his stare. Unsure what to make of his response, she shrugged and spun to take the dishes down below. As she did there was a clattering at her feet. . . .
. . . Followed by a rolling sound.
Ebba fixed her perplexed eyes on the deck, and she seized at the sight of a small object bowling across the ship. Her beads.
Her beads!
Throwing the plates to the ground she gave chase, scrambling after the green-and-orange-striped bead. Grubby and Peg-leg rushed from the helm, drawn by the racket. On hands and knees, she dove for the bead, head resting on her arms when she trapped it close to the mast.
She gripped it tight in her fist and rose to her feet, patting h
er sash and frantically searching for the white one.
“Ebba.”
She lifted her head at the odd quality in Locks’ voice.
His eyes fixed behind her and Ebba followed his gaze, smiling in relief as she spotted her white bead trapped against Jagger’s extended foot. He’d shifted to keep it from rolling through the scupper and out to sea.
She took three steps in his direction, a “thank you” on her lips when, without warning, he bent his knee.
The bead’s roll was slow at first, and Ebba’s reactions sluggish because of her disbelief at Jagger’s cruelty. The bead picked up pace and she jolted to life, sprinting across the deck with a cry.
She stumbled to a halt as the bead disappeared through the hole and out to sea. She blinked at the scupper in a daze, but soon felt heat flooding her cheeks. Her rage boiled over at the wolfish smile on Jagger’s lips. “Ye—”
His eyes fixed on something behind her. She whirled just in time to see Grubby jumping over Felicity’s side into the ocean.
Ebba turned on Jagger once more, fists clenched, a burning anger rising hard and fast inside her.
“He jumped into the sea,” Jagger blurted. He scanned the crew, his lips pressed firmly together—displaying something other than boredom for the first time. “Is he crazy?”
No one answered. In truth, Grubby was slightly crazy, but he was a great swimmer. He often leaped off the ship, even when they were traveling at eleven knots. He skimmed through water as quick as any dolphin.
“Why’d ye do that?” Ebba demanded, ignoring the pirate’s gaping expression.
Jagger’s mouth closed, and his gaze cooled, though she saw him glance again to where Grubby had disappeared. “Why not? Stupid, the way ye fawn over those things.”
She curled her hand into a fist, ready to deliver it into his stupid gob.
Locks wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Aye, he’s a right mean bastard, ain’t he? Did ye expect anythin’ else from a pirate o’ Malice?”
Jagger’s eyes flashed.
Sensing the comment hurt him more than her fist would, she let Locks lead her away.
Plank threw a rope out to Grubby, who soon appeared over the ship’s side and flopped onto the deck. It always took him a good minute to stand after a swim. When she defied pirate law two to ask him once, he said he needed to remember how to breathe on land after being in the water. That wasn’t so hard to accept when compared to his tales about family feuds between the octopi.
Ebba waited patiently and eventually Grubby got to his feet and held out a hand to her.
In the center of his palm sat her white bead.
“Ye got it.” Ebba threw her arms around his neck, the water soaking her clothes as she hugged him close. Aside from her six fathers, her beads were the most important thing to her. While her fathers had not always been by her side, the beads had—the trinkets were a reminder of them, that they’d always come for her. And a reminder of the fearsome pirate she wanted to be. “Thank ye, Grubs.”
Grubby patted her gently and grinned. “There were a couple of interestin’ fish down, too, so I’m glad I went.”
Ebba clutched both beads and hurried for the bilge to put them in her hair. As she passed close to Jagger, she glared at him. Their guide wasn’t looking at her, though; he was too busy drilling Grubby with those silver eyes, his mouth ajar. His bottom lip was fuller than his top lip. But it didn’t matter what the Neos guide looked like—he was rotten inside, and she didn’t like the feeling he gave her.
Checking none of her fathers were paying attention, she kicked the Malice pirate in the thigh as hard as her bare feet would allow.
She smiled at his grunt of pain and ducked below deck with her new bead additions.
Ebba climbed the knotted rope, ocean water pouring off her as she scaled Felicity’s side to the deck. She reached back to check the two new beads were still in place in the dread behind her right ear after her bath. The linen shirt she wore clung to the dark skin of her stomach and thighs. Normally, she didn’t bother wearing anything when going for a dip, but Stubby was adamant about her wearing the shirt that morning, so she’d let up, too happy to have arrived at Neos.
At Barrels’ suggestion, they’d circled Felicity to the shallow west side of the island. If Malice arrived behind them, they’d have to drop anchor at the deeper, eastern coves.
Ebba swung over the bulwark and picked up the drying cloth Barrels had left out for her, wrapping it around her lithe body. She turned back to stare at Neos; it was the smallest populated island in the Caspian Sea and sat as far south as most pirates would dare to go. They stopped here a few times a year to trade with the locals before stealing from neighboring islands. A mountain sat at the island’s center, the peak visible from here, distant and gray. Ebba dried herself absently, watching the mountain with unfocused eyes, squeezing the water from her dreads.
They were searching for real plunder today. Ebba’s lips curved and she pushed away from the side and made for the bilge. She scowled in Jagger’s direction—as she’d taken to doing since the bead incident the day before. Her scowl had no effect this morning, with the blanket Peg-leg had chucked over his head while Ebba bathed.
It had to be boiling hot under there, but the pirate didn’t make a peep.
Opening the bilge door, she called, “I’m done,” and slid down the ladder. As soon as she reached the depths of the sleeping quarters, she heard her fathers filing to the ladder and back up to the main deck to work.
Ebba threw on her clothes, emerging not two minutes later. Slotting her pistols into her sash, Ebba rushed over to help Plank lower the rowboat over the side. They’d leave Felicity here with Barrels to stand watch. Barrels wasn’t really the mountain-climbing type, but he was a good shot, should anyone come looking to pilfer their ship. Peg-leg wasn’t the mountain-climbing sort either, but none of their crew would make the mistake of telling him so, and he was too stubborn to remain behind.
Locks untied their guide and Peg-leg pointed his pistol at Jagger’s belly, his meaning crystal clear.
The young pirate rose painfully, not immediately straightening. A week sitting down on hard wood would do that to anyone.
She gathered up the rope ladder coiled on the ground at her feet, and tossed it over the bulwark.
Once all were aboard the rowboat, Locks and Peg-leg grabbed the oars and began to heave to shore. Ebba smiled at Barrels, who waved them goodbye from Felicity’s deck, Pillage scooped up under one arm.
“Byyyye, Barreeeels,” she bellowed.
He smiled and looked around, before yelling, “Byyyeee, Ebbbaaaa.”
She snorted. Nothing better than when Barrels forgot his dignity for a few seconds.
“How old are ye?” Jagger asked, the jeer in his voice unmistakable.
His words stung where Sherry’s comment about Ebba’s naivety hadn’t. In comparison to the Malice pirates she did feel . . . untested somehow, but that hadn’t bothered her until she’d found herself alone on Maltu. Or maybe since Jagger had been on the ship—she recalled his face when she’d scared Locks the other day. Clearly the guide thought she should grow up. Was clinging to childhood really such a terrible thing? Everyone else seemed to think so.
“Old enough to not feel shame in showin’ my fathers I love them,” she quipped, a bite in her voice. “What about ye, Jagger?” she asked. “How old? Or do ye just feel ye need to act older than ye are?”
Her fathers tensed but didn’t move to interrupt.
“Old enough to know ye need to be able to stand on yer own two feet,” he replied shortly.
She stared at him, heat entering her cheeks. Jagger couldn’t possibly know how incompetent she’d felt when trying to save her fathers, could he?
Ebba was saved from answering as the bottom of the rowboat slid into the black sand of Neos. She leaped out to guide the boat ashore, trying to avoid the jellyfish floating about. Already, sweat beaded on her forearms and neck. They hadn’t even entered th
e rainforest, yet water filled the air and made each breath thick and unsatisfying.
Ebba stared into the forest, fidgeting as her fathers hunkered out of the rowboat, taking their sweet time.
Jagger stood off to one side, a few paces away. He’d been brought here to lead them up the mountain, but he wasn’t looking at the tip of the mountain, just visible above the rainforest canopy. He was staring off to the far right.
“What’re ye lookin’ at?” she demanded, crossing her arms. “What’s over that way?”
He ignored her, turning from whatever he’d been gazing at. His eyes fell on her bare feet. Ebba resisted the urge to wriggle her toes in the sand.
“Ye’ll be wantin’ yer boots,” he said curtly.
Her nose scrunched. He was avoiding her question. Not happening. “Why—”
“He’s right, little nymph. Boots on.” Plank dropped the boots at her feet and continued up to the trees. Sod it, she’d hidden them this morning. How did her fathers always find them?
She scowled and brushed the black sand from her feet, pulling the boots on as her fathers passed her, one by one. “Wait for me.”
Peg-leg waved his pistol in the air. “Hold on, mateys. I’d like a word with our guide.”
Jagger returned his look, seemingly unfazed.
“I may not know me way through that maze o’ a rainforest. But I do know that compass tells me the mountain be northwest.” He jerked his head at Locks, who held a brass compass. “And I will surely be knowin’ my way back to the ship. Lead us to the top and ye’ll remain free of bullets, aye?”
Jagger gave a wary nod. “Aye, I’ll get ye there in one piece.”
"Aye, laddie, I know ye will. My pistol will be ensurin’ it. I also know that ye be agreein’ a smidgen too easy for my likin’, and that ye left Maltu with us easy-like as well. Whatever thoughts ye’ve got in that head, get rid o’ them smart-like.”
Ebba-Viva Fairisles: Immortal Plunder (Pirates of Felicity Book 1) Page 8