was born out by the Latin lettering on many of the labels. Rough translations had been scrawled next to it, most now smeared and water-spotted.
“We woulda taken the first chirurgeon we come upon, clapped ’im in irons, if come the need, but blessed few in these waters,” said Pryce.
“There was that one—” began Jensen.
“Ah, yes! I mind him. What was the cove’s name? Died of a fever afore we learnt if he was worth his salt.”
“Tach,” cried Jensen, shuddering. “All he could think was to bleed everyone.”
“Aye. And cursed ghoulish about it he was. ’Peared to me he just wuz a-wantin’ blood to lure his blessed sharks. The man appreciated his shark steaks the likes o’ which I ain’t never seed.”
And so, armed with her new line of defense, Cate set to work on the powder burns, splinters large and small, broken bones, busted guts, and bashed heads.
She was tying off the splint on Mr. Church’s arm, broken when he failed to outdistance a recoiling gun, when she became dimly aware of someone behind her, close enough to nudge her in the back. Living on a ship with over a hundred and twenty others, it was common to be jostled, and so thought nothing of it.
“Women are good but for two things and both are with their legs apart,” came from so near behind she could feel his breath hot on her back.
Her gut lurched. She knew the voice without looking: Bullock, the one who had accosted her when first arrived. She looked up into Church’s insolent grin. She tried to move, but found she was now trapped between Church’s legs with Bullock behind her. A quick glance revealed that Bullock had timed his comment well: no one was near, no one to hear, no one to witness.
Setting her jaw, Cate gave the binding a final jerk on the knot hard enough to elicit a pained yelp from Church. She jabbed an elbow into Bullock’s as she pushed herself clear, and then climbed to the main deck to their jeering chuckles.
Cate retreated to the safe shadows of the Great Cabin for the remainder of the day. Bullock’s comments had put her at ill ease. They were a stark reminder of how tenuous her status aboard was. It was only Nathan’s protection that kept her safe. If anything were to happen to him…
She shied from finishing that thought.
As much as Nathan denied it, she knew her presence caused problems. Bullock was one symptom. The two crewmen, Hughes and Cameron, revealing her involvement with the Stuart Uprising was another problem. The knowledge hadn’t gone without comment, if not incident. The Uprising was seen by many English as a direct threat to their King: England’s soil had been invaded, English lives lost. Any participants in such an insurrection were seen as traitors; animosity ran high throughout the realm, including on a pirate ship. She hadn’t been deaf to the crosswords and epithets uttered by some of the men.
Again, she wondered why Nathan kept her aboard, what he planned to do with her.
He had assured her she was not to be turned over for the reward, declaring, “Never in all me days have I been that desperate.”
She was being kept, but for what? Hostage or prisoner? Slave, mascot, or pet? Insurance seemed more fertile ground: a bargaining chip in reserve, with either the Royal Navy or the Royal West Indies Mercantile Company.
It was wholly confusing. For months on the Constancy, Cate had listened to railing against women aboard and the bad luck they apparently carried in their skirt folds. Surely pirates would be of the same mind, if not more so. That night, she made her case to Nathan. A shrug and a dismissive flap of the hand was her answer. Mr. Pryce had exhibited a proclivity for superstition, so she pressed her case with him. His mouth compressed as if a great mystery of the ancients had just been posed. “Aye, ye’ve a point there.”
A Company Council was called. The exact logic was lost to her somewhere in the debate. The final outcome, however, punctuated by a cheer, was from that point on she was to be addressed as “Mr. Cate.”
Lolling atop a cask looking on, Nathan raised a bottle in salute. “I’m good with it!”
The subject was closed.
The Morganse found a cove in which to hide and lick her wounds inflicted by the Terpsichore, and those which lingered from the Nightingale. It was an open but protected place, the ship’s masts merging