The Pirate Captain - By Kerry Lynne Page 0,146

night, not unlike when one suffers the ardors of fever, nightmares or terrors, which could only be dissolved by the pink of dawn. She woke, however, when the aforementioned pink was still in its infantile stages of grey.

Awake? Yes. Alive? Yes. Willing to move? Not quite. Enduring the discomfort brought on by the simple act of breathing, she took inventory, searching for three things on her body that didn’t hurt. Failing at that, she contemplated the prospects of remaining in her snuggery for eternity.

The ship rode easy “on a t’r’gall’nt n’ royal breeze,” as she had often heard Nathan call it. As daylight animated wind and water, the Morganse shook off her nocturnal lethargy, and her song raised several octaves.

Cate listened to the ship stir, awakening no differently than any household. She heard the rumble of Pryce’s voice taking several hands to task, his displeasure neither a pretty sight nor sound. The clang of the bell had barely faded before Mr. Hodder’s ungracious rousing of the men from their hammocks. Not long after came the grind of the holystones, gush of water, and flapping the decks dry. The bell rang and the hands were called to breakfast, with a clash of mess kits and hurried slap of bare feet.

Amid all that, however, there was a perceptible reserve in the hands’ manner: their conversation lacking the customary levity, their step less energetic. Listening to the cries of the tortured couldn’t have been pleasant for them either.

Cate was watching two geckos darting about the porthole, when the curtain stirred. Presuming it to be Nathan, with something between awe and amusement, she saw Beatrice push her way under the hem. In determined parrot-steps, and with as much dignity as could be managed by a bird afoot, she crossed the room. In a rustle of hyacinth-colored feathers and a flash of black underwing, she rose to the washstand. Taking a moment to disengage her tail feathers from the basin, she settled and regarded Cate with one beady eye.

Poking through the fog of the day before, Cate recalled Nathan telling her it had been Beatrice who had sounded the alarm and led to her rescue.

How does one go about thanking a parrot?

The presence of another living being was a comfort, even if it was no more than a curmudgeonly bird.

“Flog the bastard,” said Beatrice.

Cate carefully smiled. “I can’t say as I disagree.”

She sighed as contentedly as her aching body would allow. This was home, or the closest to it in several years. At times feeling like a barnacle on the keel, she had found the sense of belonging, usefulness and friendship, contrary to Nathan’s protests. Nothing could cause her to jeopardize any of it.

Through swollen eyes, Cate went back to the gecko, now on a beam. Anyone who complained of cockroaches or rats on a ship hadn’t lived in infested garrets, where it was necessary to leave precious bits of food as bait. Shoes could be worn while one slept, but it was difficult to protect fingers, lips, and noses from being gnawed. The patter of feet in the night was now a comfort, His Lordship on the prowl.

Thinking back to those times brought back several recollections. The hammering head Cate currently suffered was nothing compared to those that sprung from hunger, the ache of battered stomach muscles nowhere near the sharp pangs of starvation. She had been fed well on the Constancy, and even better on the Ciara Morganse, but she would have gained weight on ship’s biscuit and water. Still a shadow of her former self, she could no longer fit a finger between each rib.

Nathan’s tap on the doorjamb startled Cate. He must have tiptoed, for his appearance came without so much as a tinkle of a bell. He backpedaled at the sight of Beatrice. Her head came up from preening and the two squared off in a territorial stare.

“Must she be here?” he said, regarding the bird dolefully.

“I’ll allow you the privilege of explaining,” Cate said careful to move her jaw no more than necessary.

Biting back several remarks, Nathan kept an eye on Beatrice as he kicked the pile of Cate's discarded clothing further into the corner. The smells of bilges, moldy hemp, and male sweat stirred. Her gut roiled and she was beset by a renewed wave of panic and revulsion.

Nathan’s nose twitched, his countenance more troubled, as he said, “No need in trying to repair that bit o’ business. I brought you these.” He produced from under his arm