“It’s a skull, Cec, I’m sure the ladies will swoon.” Bill shakes his head and grabs a long stick and a small bowl of black ink. When he starts whacking Cecco’s back, the Italian grunts but keeps still.
“You want one?” Starkey asks. “Maybe a snake between your breasts or—”
“Starkey.” Widow’s tone bears a warning.
He glances at the house. “Fine. James ruins all my fun.” His gaze slides to Widow. “Except the fun you and I have together.”
“Don’t start.” She grabs her silver cutlass and stands. “You and me, Moira. Let’s go.”
I climb back to my feet and roll my shoulders. We’ve been at this for at least an hour, and even with a cool breeze soughing through the trees and along the mossy ground, I’m still soaked with sweat. Out of shape—but can you really be out of shape if you were neverinshape? Doesn’t matter. I bend my aching knees and wait for Widow to come at me.
She doesn’t wait, her attack furious as she comes at my left. I cross my blade over my body, holding it downward so that her blade glances off instead of slicing me in half.
“Good!” She backs up. “Now come get me.”
“Seriously?” I’ve been on defense this entire time.
“Seriously. You might actually have the upper hand in a fight—”
“Against a drunken nymph maybe,” Smee snickers as he walks by. He goes into the big house with an air of self-importance I’d love to stomp out.
“I could kick that guy’s ass, right?” I ask Widow.
She winces. “Smee? I mean … He’s not the best at hand-to-hand, but I’ve seen him carve pure art with a rapier.”
I wrinkle my nose. “That sounds disgusting, if I’m being honest.”
“It was.” Cecco nods.
“Quit moving,” Bill grunts.
“Smee got into it with one of Anne’s boatswains. It ended with more blood than I thought a single body could hold.”
I groan. “Is there anyone on this ship who can fight at my level? Hey, wait, what about Cookson?”
Bill laughs and stops whacking Cecco’s back. “I once saw Cookson take a man’s head off with nothing but a strainer and a rusty potato peeler.”
“That’s right, you sorry cum-twang.” Cookson bursts from one of the cottages with a pot in his arms, then stops when he sees me. His face goes red. “Oh, no. Begging your pardon.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ve actually been wondering where all the spicy pirate language was, but here we are.”
He limps closer to the fire crackling behind Bill. “Pay me no mind.”
“No, I want to hear more about this thing with the strainer and the potato peeler.”
“Aw that tweren’t nothing, miss.” He sets the pot on the iron grate over the flames. “Nothing ter brag about. You go on now. I wanna see you with a proper pig sticker getting ter work on this sorry lot.” He grabs a ladle and stirs the pot.
“He’s being modest. I saw the whole thing. I almost vomited,” Cecco says. “Brutal.”
With a newfound respect for Cookson, I go back to play fighting with Widow. Once she’s thoroughly kicked my ass about fifty times in a row, she sheathes her sword.
“Enough for now. If I beat you into the ground today, you won’t want to work tomorrow.”
“So true.” I lean on my sword. “Very wise.” This right here is why I skipped gym whenever possible in high school. At least the jocks aren’t picking on me, though. They actually seem to like me this time around.
“Go on. I don’t want to smell you at supper time.” She waves her hand in front of her nose.
“Harsh.” I laugh and head toward the house.
