Chapter 18, Roberts

  Sunrise bathes the deck, washing away the memory of a sleepless night. The wind brushes against my skin with an almost mocking gentleness. The sea is calm, as if it hadn't just conspired to drag us to a watery grave.

  I scan the deck, taking in every detail. The crew moves like they’ve been through hell. But they’re moving, and that’s what matters.

  Cordon, our rosy-cheeked lookout with a scraggly beard, is climbing to the crow’s nest with something bulging under his shirt. His last bottle, no doubt. If he’s stashing it for later, he’s a damn fool. With a habit like his, it won’t last the afternoon.

  Sailors like Cordon are a stark reminder of why I don’t touch rum. I’ve seen it drive people to madness, to toxic swill, to forsaking all reason and respect for themselves.

  The leak is under control. We had half the crew bailing water through the night, but now we don’t need buckets anymore. Just have to keep the bilge pumps manned and running without pause.

  Manee’s been in the hold without reprieve, reinforcing the patches. I’ll owe them a heavy cut next time we strike gold.

  But my first responsibility is to report to the crew, and if needed, fall on my sword for whatever part of this mess they are going to pin on me. I join Harken at the quarterdeck and call for an all hands meeting.

  Harken breaks the tension first. "Hellcat sails!"

  “Hellcat prevails,” The crew shout in unison”

  I don’t cheer for myself. I look to see who’s silent. Only a few, including Manee.

  "We did well. But we all know this next stretch will test us again." I say.

  “Rations will last us two days, at most.” Harken says, waving the ledger.

  A collective groan ripples through the crowd.

  "Hope you’ve got some meat on your bones." I say.

  Manee steps forward. "With all due respect, Captain, I think it’s time you promised us a Navigator.” They say, cutting to the chase.

  “I’m done risking my life blind. Soon as we make land, I’m off this ship.” Says Cordon.

  "Aye, and me too.” Says one of the newer recruits.

  Deadweight, if you ask me. I won’t waste breath trying to keep them.

  "I am prepared to gain us a Navigator by force." I let that sink in, watching for their reactions.

  Approval. Good. But then Cordon speaks, and I already know I’m going to pity what comes next.

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  "And what about her?" He jerks his chin toward Sarah. "One less mouth to feed wouldn’t hurt."

  "And why would I do that? Navigator or not, some of you will jump ship on suspicion alone. You’ll say Hellcat’s cursed, that you’re better off taking your chances elsewhere. Which means we’ve got positions to fill." I say.

  That shuts him up.

  "We will subject her to the trials, as is custom, as soon as the sea allows it," I continue, raising my voice slightly. "I propose a vote."

  Harken steps up beside me. "All those in favor of trying a new member, say aye!"

  For a moment, it could go either way.

  Harken calls the verdict. "The ayes have it."

  "Then it’s settled." I say.

  "Now, for the more pressing matter at hand. We’re at least six days from a safe haven. If the sky pities us, we’ll have water. But we will starve.”

  My tone hardens. "And when people starve, they start seeing things that aren’t there. So keep your wits about you, and if I catch any one of you slipping into madness, I’ll put you down myself. Am I understood?"

  I pause to let my words sink in.

  "Six days is nothing. We’ve stolen more time than that from the hands of death itself! So, are you all going to let the sea make cowards of you? Or are you going to sail straight into hell with your heads held high?"

  Now the cheers roll in like a tide.

  "Some of you are wondering if Hellcat is cursed. Maybe you’re right." I let the words linger, just long enough. "But if she is cursed, then she’s the most feared curse these waters have ever known."

  A murmur. A few smirks.

  "We have been through worse than this, taken the coin from the hands of tyrants who thought themselves untouchable and written our name into the bones of this sea.

  This will be another story to tell when we’re fat and drunk and spending the spoils of our next haul."

  Now they’re grinning.

  "I’ll be damned if I let a little hunger kill us." I plant my feet, one boot forward, grip the mast, and drag my tongue over my teeth. "Hellcat’s still got a load to blow."

  I brace against the wood, curling my fingers around it like a lover’s throat, and roll my hips forward in a slow, deliberate grind. A filthy show, dripping with every ounce of arrogance I own.

  There’s laughter, whistles, hoots. A few obscene gestures.

  "And when we make it to Thieves’ Sanctum, to eat and drink and laugh and fuck like the gods themselves… " I thrust again, this time harder, tilting my head back with a grin. "Let’s make sure the whole damn port is bending over for us."

  The laughter turns feverish. Someone howls.

  “You’re a fucking menace.” Harken is shaking his head, but he’s smirking.

  I let go of the mast and lean over the quarterdeck railing, my voice dropping just enough to make them listen. "Let’s make sure they take it deep, take it well, and fucking thank us for it."

  The crew erupts, howling and hungry for the promise of survival. For the sheer, reckless joy of living another day. I let the noise roll over me, satisfied. Then I catch sight of Sarah, her cheeks flushed and her chest rising.

  She looks like she wants to throttle me. Or touch me. Or both. Gods, that’s satisfying.

  I wave the crew off, and walk slowly towards her. I pause standing close enough to hear her breathing and wait to see if she’ll thrash or hold still.

  She arches her brows, parts her lips. But no words come out.

  I flash a wicked grin. "Something on your mind, love?"