a void that had been filled suddenly gone wanting, a blanket yanked away on a cold night. She thought to go to bed—sleep could be an excellent way to pass large spans of unpleasantness—but balked at the dark cavern of where her cot awaited. She knew all too well the hazards that came with empty hours in the darkness. They provided a blank canvas upon which the mind could paint an endless number of torturous scenarios of what might be happening ashore. The shrill of female laughter and music echoing across the harbor brought those imaginings in full color. She heaved open the gallery windows and sat on the sill. There, with the sentries’ call of “All’s well” after every bell, she watched the moonlight’s silver dance amid the golden flicker of town’s lights on the water.
Cate had stared for so long, when she finally saw the light, she thought it to be imagined: the flames of a torch swinging a low arc, one, two, three times. A looping circle at the end and it was doused.
She sat up the increased pitch of voices and footsteps on deck. She sped out, in spite of Nathan’s directive, meeting Pryce as he trundled down the afterdeck companionway.
“Was that him?” she asked in a low voice.
“Aye. ’Twere his signal.”
Cate stood at the mizzen shrouds. The longboats’ silhouettes were but dark blots against the harbor’s oily satin. As they drew nearer, she could hear the jocular murmur of conversation, Nathan’s graveled voice among them. She hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath, until it came out in an explosive burst of relief at seeing him spring up over the gunwale. The moonlight flashed on his smile at seeing her. He then turned to the matters at hand.
Two strapped and padlocked chests were lifted aboard. Neither of remarkable size, they were of considerable weight, requiring a goodly amount of sweating and cursing before they came to rest on the deck. Stirred from their sleep, the torches shone on the greedy anticipation on the men’s faces as they gathered around. With not a little drama, Nathan unlocked the great latches, threw open the lids and stood back.
“The good mayor claims over ten thousand pieces.” Nathan's dubiousness as to the veracity of that was drowned in the joyousness. “A considerable overstatement, by my estimation, but still not a bad day’s work, eh mates?”
A rollicking cheer went up, with a great amount of hearty backslapping.
Pryce, being Quartermaster, and therefore keeper of both the Prize Book and the prize itself, named a counting detail. Cate was more than a little stunned by the overt trust.
“Honor among thieves,” Nathan declared grandly. “Part of the Code, remember: anyone suspected of thievery shall face a court of his equals?” He cast a jaded eye toward the surrounding men. “Not an altogether forgiving lot, to be sure.”
“What happened to your face?” she exclaimed when he turned into the light.
His hand flew up to his cheek, wincing when he touched the streaks there, bright and angry.
“Oh, nothing,” he said, evading her advances as she sought to inspect more closely. “It's nothing, really. I ran into—”
“Someone with fingernails. I see. No, it's quite all right,” she said over his denials. “I'm not shocked at what men do ashore. Although it would appear you might consider exercising a little more discretion in your choices.”
“I wasn't doing anything except trying to procure a bit of treasure for this wretched lot.”
“If that were the case, then where did those come from?” Cate demanded, pointing to the claw marks. “You should wash that, you know.”
“Must you wash everything? I got it seeking these.”
Nathan shoved the bundle into her arms and stood back. Shaking the bundle out, Cate found a red-checked skirt, a shift and jump-style stays made of homespun. There was a pair of peasant-like clogs, as well, which at first glance appeared a bit small, large feet the price of being tall.
“Clothes? You brought me clothes?” she cried.
“I thought perhaps those might be more fitting, what with your standards being so high and all. I had in mind they were more to your size than those…others.” He finished with a disdainful flourish of bejeweled fingers.
She brought the clothing closer to her nose and frowned. They smelled heavily of the previous owner—and quite recent—a strange combination of perspiration, orange water, and fried fish.
“You'll no doubt want to wash those.” Nathan bore the forced smile of a man already resigned to his doom.
“You took these off someone. You stole