Ebba sniffed and reared back. “It be fish stew again.”
“Shite,” Plank cursed.
“That’s one coin to the curse jar,” Barrels quipped.
“What? For shite? That ain’t a cuss word.”
“Two coins.”
Ebba listened to their bickering with one ear and watched Cosmo’s expression as he sat on a log around the fire pit and took a bowl of fish stew from the bald-headed Peg-leg. He seemed to sway where he sat for a few seconds before quailing under Peg-leg’s watching eye and bringing a spoon of the stuff to his lips.
“He ain’t gonna do it, is he?” she whispered.
Peg-leg loomed over the top of the servant boy, hands on rotund hips and scowl firmly in place.
Cosmo shoved the spoon of stew in his mouth. He quickly chewed, smiling at Peg-leg after swallowing. Her father withdrew, and the young man turned ashen.
Plank clucked sympathetically.
“I said, lunch is up!” Peg-leg yelled, slamming a lid on the large caldron and stamping his wooden peg in the sand.
“That’s where ye get yer temper,” Plank said to her grimly.
Ebba rolled her eyes. “Aye, and what do I get from ye?”
Barrels was quick to answer. “Short attention span.”
Aye, she might’ve gotten the worst parts of each of her six fathers, but she’d probably got the best parts of them too. It all evened out, in her pirate opinion.
The three of them took seats on the large logs bordering the fire pit. Ebba spotted Stubby, Grubby, and Locks approaching through the trees. She caught Stubby’s eye and drew a finger across her throat, shaking her head.
They were gone within seconds.
“Aft’noon, Peg-leg,” Ebba said pleasantly. He shot her a beaming smile as he passed two wooden bowls filled to the brim to Plank and Barrels.
Ebba ran to the pot. “Here, let me do that for ye,” she said. “Ye’ve been on yer feet all mornin’.”
He smiled at her again and sat on a log with a loud sigh. “That I have, Ebba-Viva. And no thanks I get from anyone else for the work I do. With hardly any ingr’dients. In terrible conditions.”
Ebba made a soothing clucking noise and tipped the tiniest amount of fish stew into her bowl. “Well, we have sumpin’ to share with ye,” she said brightly. “Cosmo has a black mark on his wounded shoulder. Do ye think there be a spider inside his body, crawlin’ around?”
Behind her, Cosmo gagged.
She put the lid on the pot and made her way to the far side, so Peg-leg wouldn’t see the contents of her bowl.
“And just how do ye be knowin’ what his shoulder looks like, Ebba-Viva?” Peg-leg asked darkly.
Why were their sails in a knot about her seeing his shoulder? They should know she was a pirate who had no time for dalliances around her career goals.
Barrels sniffed the fish stew, jerked violently, and rushed to say, “How about you show us the mark, Cosmo?” Barrels waited until Peg-leg stood and approached the young man before placing his bowl to the side with some haste.
Ebba poured her stew behind the log and covered it with sand, seeing Plank do the same. They grinned at each other.
Cosmo removed his tunic and stood hunched under the scrutiny of her fathers. Ebba squeezed into their midst and ran a gentle finger over the black mark. Cosmo shuddered.
“See?” she said to her fathers.
Plank grabbed her hand and pulled her back. “We be seein’ just fine, little nymph. Don’t be touchin’ men. They have diseases the eye can’t be seein’.”
She rolled her eyes at him but couldn’t help eyeing Cosmo askance. Guess a person could never be too safe. . . .
Barrels peered over the top of his spectacles. “Over six weeks have passed since you sustained the injury. If it was going to become infected, it would’ve done so long before now.”
Peg-leg glanced at his own wooden leg. “Aye, that be a certainty. It ain’t an infection.”
“Not a normal one, anyway,” Plank said, tapping his mouth.
Cosmo swung to look at him. “What do you mean?”
Plank walked around the fire pit, hands clasped behind his back. He took his time answering, and Peg-leg groaned as it became obvious to all the answer wasn’t going to be quick. Plank was the storyteller of their crew and enjoyed building drama and suspense. That wouldn’t be a problem, and Ebba certainly didn’t mind his tales, but his stories were usually long-winded, which the others took objection to. Even she had to agree the weird, ominous voice Plank adopted when he told stories was a little strange. After the recent happenings, however, where a number of his stories had turned out to be partially true, Ebba now took particular interest in his recounts of mythical creatures and old magic.
“Cosmo was hit by a splinter from the gunfire,” Plank said in a deep, slow voice. “Not a bullet from any gun, but one from Malice.”
Ebba stared at him.
He put his hands palm up, reverting to his normal voice. “We know there be sumpin’ wrong with Pockmark and their crew. There’s no knowin’ what they put in their gunpowder, and the like.”
“Seems far-fetched,” Barrels said, clearing his throat.
Peg-leg snorted. “Just a wee bit.”
Plank’s face turned stony.
“The mark is growing bigger,” Cosmo said quietly, breaking the tension.
A coconut thudded to the ground in the distance as they all turned to look at him.
“It is?” Ebba asked.
His eyes dulled. “It started as a pinprick about two weeks ago, and I didn’t notice it at first, but now I’m sure. It’s getting larger. Fast.”
Peg-leg hobbled over and smacked him upside the head. “Why did ye not tell us that, boy?”
Cosmo put a hand over his mouth and swallowed several times. The cook narrowed his eyes on him and Cosmo forced a smile, no doubt swallowing back the fish stew that had risen in his gullet. Ebba snickered.
“I didn’t want to bother you with it. We’re already in danger,” Cosmo confessed in a thin voice, still struggling to keep the stew down. “I had rather hoped it would go away by itself.”
Peg-leg scratched his rear. “Aye, boy. Ye’ll soon learn that nothin’ goes away just because ye wish it to. Believe me.” The crew and Cosmo looked down to where Peg-leg continued to scratch.
“. . . What are we goin’ to do?” Ebba asked, nose wrinkling.
Plank shrugged. “I don’t know what we can be doin’ about it, little nymph. We don’t even know what ‘it’ is.”
“Maybe we should go and find us a medicine person,” she blurted, seeing her chance to escape Zol. “It’s the least we can do for Cosmo. He’s nearly part o’ the crew.”
Barrels shook his head. “Malice and every other pirate ship between Kentro and Maltu will be on the lookout for us. We cannot risk venturing out into the open sea.”
“We’ll need to go out sooner or later,” Ebba shot, folding her arms. “We’ve run out o’ fruit and veg’tables already. Ain’t that right, Peg-leg?”
Peg-leg scowled. “That we have.”
“We have plenty o’ food to last us a few months longer. The heat from Malice may’ve ebbed by then.” Plank put in. “It may be safer. . . .” He tilted his head toward Ebba, and Barrels and Peg-leg followed his eyes to her.
Cosmo held up his hands. “I wouldn’t dream of putting Ebba in danger.”
“I be fine with danger.” Ebba shot daggers at her fathers and Cosmo. “Ye all seem to be forgettin’ it was me who got us through the siren’s nest.”
“I’m in no doubt of that, Mistress Fairisles, but I am happy to wait and see what happens to the mark,” Cosmo replied with a reassuring smile sent her way.
“A diplomatic response as always, Cosmo.” Barrels slid a signet ring onto his little finger. He tended to dress fancier than the rest of them. A clean cravat was tied around his gullet, and though the sand and air were warm, he wore a doublet over his tunic and had his buckled shoes on. Bar
rels came from Exosia, like Cosmo, except way back when. And though he could sail and shoot to match the rest of them, there were certain things he hadn’t been cured of despite decades spent aboard ships. Fanciness and reading being two of them.
Peg-leg limped closer and studied the ugly black tendrils along Cosmo’s arm. “I don’t know, my hearties. It be lookin’ vicious-like. I’d hate for the lad to lose a limb over sumpin’ like this, if we can help it.” The sorrow in his voice was clear, and no one could doubt he was remembering losing his own limb. He’d never truly gotten over it, though it happened well before Ebba was born. Peg-leg used to climb the riggings, embracing the challenge of the heights on a moving ship. Ebba loved the feel of swaying high above the ocean, and couldn’t imagine if one day that was suddenly gone. She guessed that was why her father asked her what she saw up there each day.
Of any of them, Peg-leg understood what Cosmo might lose.
Peg-leg didn’t take his eyes off the black mark. “Nay, I vote we be goin’ now.”
“I vote we go now, too,” Ebba said, heart racing. She liked to think helping Cosmo was equally important to her as leaving Zol for a change of scene.
“Well, I am the captain of the month,” said Barrels. “And as such, I have three votes. I vote no. We wait a few days longer and see if the mark worsens. It may not be anything to worry about. Plank?”
“Ye’re the one who wants to get to the bottom o’ all the magic, and ye said there be magic in Cosmo’s arm,” Ebba reminded Plank quickly. He and Grubby were the only ones who thought they should dig deeper into the strange occurrences of late.
Plank grimaced. “It comes down to safety, little nymph. Until we be sure the black gunk be magic and harmful-like, I ain’t sure we should risk runnin’ alongside Malice. I vote with Barrels—we wait a few days longer.”
Ebba blew out a loud breath and earned a reproving look from the eldest of her fathers.
“Aye then, four votes against two, we’ll do that.” Peg-leg tore his eyes away from the smudge.
Cosmo shrugged his wet tunic back on, shivering.
Barrels picked up his bowl and glanced to where Plank’s and Ebba’s lay empty atop the log. “You two must be hungry. You almost inhaled your food. Peg-leg, I don’t suppose there’s enough for these two to have seconds?”
Ebba’s jaw dropped open. Plank looked about the same.
Peg-leg’s face flushed with pride. “Aye, ye know there’s always plenty where that came from.” He shot an evil glance at where Stubby, Grubby, and Locks had been working earlier that day. They were probably eating coconuts back in the trees somewhere. “Especially as some pirates don’t see fit to join us for the meal.”
He scooped a ladle full of the blackened slop into her bowl.
Ebba watched the stringy glops splash until the bowl was brimming with stew. Plank’s face mirrored her own horror, and the gentle sniggers from the other two reached her ears.
She took the full bowl and stared at the half-charcoal, half-watery-gray liquid mess before plastering a grin on her face for Peg-leg’s sake.
The sooner they got out of Zol, the better.
Two
The wind sprite chittered away in Ebba’s ear and she chuckled, waving her away. “Get out o’ my hair, ye cheeky thing. That tickles.”
The sprite, half the size of her hand, came to float in front of her. Ebba blinked through the constant white glow surrounding the magical creature that seemed extra bright in the darkness of Felicity’s hold.
Squinting, she focused on the tiny toga-garbed woman in the middle of the shining circle. The woman had her palms held up in question.
“Aye, I got ye some, Sal. Hold on.” Ebba reached into the pocket of her slops and drew out a jar of preserved mangoes. “It weren’t easy gettin’ ‘em. Peg-leg be countin’ the jars with the eyes o’ a sea eagle. He suspects me.”
Sally made an alarmed noise, and Ebba nodded. “Ye may need to go onto coconuts for a bit. Or try to make this jar last a while longer.”
She wasn’t sure where the wind sprite put all the mangoes, but Sally went through an entire jar every three days. Since finding the sprite in one of their grog barrels in Kentro, Ebba had taken care of her. Why the sprite chose to join them aboard Felicity, she didn’t know, but Ebba had never had a pet—aside from their cat, Pillage, who didn’t let Ebba pet him. She’d decided to keep Sally and not tell her fathers, knowing they probably wouldn’t let the glowing creature stay. Wind sprites tended to haunt places where mass death had occurred, according to Plank. Her fathers might not be able to see past the shady reputation, considering most of them were superstitious pirates and had only seen wind sprites when they’d woken after nearly dying in Syraness.
Even if Ebba hadn’t wanted a secret friend, she would have brought the sprite food. Sally and her kin were the only reason the crew of Felicity had made it through the siren’s nest a couple of months back. When the lantern light failed and Ebba was sure they would hit the razor-sharp cliffs and be forever lost to the siren’s deadly call, the glowing sprites appeared to show her the way to Portum. Those days in Syraness had been the worst of her life. Ebba would never forget what the sprites did for her.
Ebba twisted the jar lid, but it didn’t budge. “Damn Peg-leg for doin’ these so tight,” she grunted.
The ship cat, Pillage, strutted from behind a barrel. He sank low, butt in the air as he caught sight of the sprite.
“Bad, Pillage!” Ebba scolded. “Sal ain’t food.”
The cat cast an imperious glance at Ebba and then sat back on his haunches to lick his paw. Ebba wasn’t fooled for a second—the stupid cat would be back later. If he ate the sprite, Ebba would dropkick him over the side of the ship.
Sally rolled her eyes and pointed at the jar and then herself. Ebba placed the jar on the closest sealed barrel of grog and watched as the sprite hugged the lid and began walking around the outside of the jar. The jar opened without any sign of strain from the sprite. Ebba leaned on the edge of the grog barrel as Sally dove into the mangoes headfirst.
The sprite emerged, mouth full and lips smacking together with relish.
“Where do ye put yer strength, Sal?” Ebba wondered aloud.
The sprite flexed her muscles before popping another chunk of mango into her gob.
“Ebba!” someone called from the main deck.
She tensed, straightening. “Shh, Sal. Someone’s comin’.”
The sprite ignored her, diving into the fruit once more.
“Are ye in the hold?” At the other end of the ship, the bilge door opened with a loud creak.
“Shite, best be off. Ye need anythin’ else, Sal?” Ebba whispered.
The sprite made a drinking motion and Ebba snickered, cracking open a barrel before grabbing the human-sized goblet next to Sally’s tiny bed. “Ye be a right grog-head, ye know that?” Scooping the goblet into the mixture of rum, water, and nutmeg, Ebba set the cup beside the bed, knowing the grog would be gone by tomorrow.
“Ebba?” the person called.
She recognized Grubby’s voice and darted back between the barrels, past the ship’s cooking pit and kitchen, and down the short hallway to where the sleeping hammocks were strung.
“There ye are,” Grubby said in relief, giving her a toothless smile from where he stood peering down from the top of the ladder. “We’ve been searchin’ the entire inlet for ye.”
His words weren’t admonishing, just factual. Grubby very rarely admonished anyone. It just wasn’t in his soul to do it—and maybe the fact he was hit hard in the back of the head by a swinging boom when he was younger contributed to the fact. Her other fathers said some of the rum in his skull got sloshed out when it happened, and his skull had never filled back up. The result was that Grubby was always happy. In fact, Ebba only saw Grubby angry for the first time a month ago when Peg-leg tried to melt the dynami down to see if it was worth anything. Grubby’s selkie kin gave him guardianship of the dynami, and he’d been furious at
her other fathers for trying to sell it.
Personally, Ebba was of the same opinion as Peg-leg—the dynami gave the person who held it inhuman strength, but it didn’t put food in your hands. Aye, there were certain people who shouldn’t ever get ahold of the dynami. But the cylinder wasn’t worth the danger they’d gone through to attain it . . . or their current confinement on Zol.
“Ye’ve been swimmin’, Grubs?” she asked as she climbed the ladder, noting his dripping hair.
“Aye, I saw some octopus babies. Right cute they were. One had a tentacle trapped under a rock, so I helped him, and he said thank ye and that he hoped to be returnin’ the favor one day.”
Being part selkie meant Grubby could swim faster than a ship going more than seventeen knots. Unbeknown to their crew, he’d been holding his breath for hours at a time. They’d previously smiled at his reports of how he spoke to the dolphins and fish, not realizing when he said he was speaking to them, he was actually speaking to them. Turned out Grubby wasn’t missing any skull rum when it came to the ocean, and now they knew why.
“Sounds like fun. Any news from yer selkie kin?” she asked. As long as Grubby was in the water, and within a reasonable distance, he could talk to the selkie leader. He hadn’t ever been able to do this in Zol before, but Grubby said the selkies’ strength was growing, and the stronger they got, the farther away he could hear them. Plank was certain this meant the hole in the magical wall was growing larger as it continued crumbling, just as the selkie leader had predicted.
Grubby’s face turned a healthy pink. “Nothin’ really. They’ve just been givin’ me some tips to help me talk to women.”
Ebba squeezed his hand and swung over the bulwark onto the pier. The selkies had been quick to disclaim him as their offspring when they learned Grubby hadn’t impregnated any females.
“Ye’ll get there, Grubs. What did ye come and get me for?”
Ebba-Viva Fairisles: Stolen Princess (Pirates of Felicity Book 2) Page 2