ChapterNine
The ship lurches hard to the right, and I’m glad the table is bolted to the floor though the plates go flying. I hang onto the bed as the chandelier lists sideways and everything in the room goes momentarily sideways.
I should stay in the bed like Hook ordered, but my worry and curiosity foil that plan.
Once it evens out again, I get to my feet and hurry to the windows at the back of the cabin. A pale ship follows us as the Jolly Roger speeds ahead, throwing up a foamy wake in the dark water.
Lights hang along the pursuer’s decks, giving the whole thing a ghostly glow beneath a moon swathed in wispy clouds. The timbers of Anne’s ship are so light they remind me of bone, only growing dark where the hull makes contact with the water. Cannons poke out on either side, but I don’t see how she can fire on us unless she gets beside us. Then again, I’m not exactly well versed on maritime warfare.
Turning from the windows, I head for the door, the momentum of the ship making me feel like I’m walking uphill. When I whip the door open, I see Hook at the wheel, Smee standing at the stairs to the lower deck yelling orders, and Starkey leaning over the side of the ship with a spyglass.
“She looks fucking pissed, Captain!” Starkey yells.
“Drunk or angry?” Hook yells back over the hiss of the water.
“Both!” Starkey collapses the spyglass and leans back over.
“Where’s Bill with Long Tom?” Hook lashes a piece of leather to the wheel, then jumps down the stairs and takes off across the deck.
I venture out toward the wheel and grab the railing that separates this deck from the lower one.
“You shouldn’t be out here!” Smee yells.
I flip him off, mainly because he’s right, and also because I can’t stand him.
Holding onto the railing, I watch the crew as they work, each one somehow knowing exactly what to do to make the ship cut through the water even faster. The deck rumbles, and cannons appear one after another on either side of the ship.
“Can we outrun Anne?” I call to Smee.
He glares at me, and for a moment I think he won’t answer. Then he rolls his eyes and walks to me, rope in hand, before lashing it around my waist and to the railing in one quick movement.
“What was that for?” I ask.
“Because if you fall and break your neck, Captain will blameme.”
At least he doesn’t lie. No sugar-coating—definitely not. It’s actually refreshing, even if it’s coming from Smee.
“We can outrun her. Anne’s ship can’t get the drop on us.” He reaches out and grips one of the spindles on the wheel, steadying it. “But she’s not the only variable here.”
“What’s the other variable?”
The deck rumbles even more, and I grip the railing harder as several pirates begin yanking at ropes on a pulley. From beneath the deck, a platform rises, and on it is a long cannon. It’s almost comical, like something you’d see at a circus sideshow that fires a clown out of it. But this wicked creation of black metal doesn’t promise a fun time for anyone.
“Long Tom.” Smee pulls out his own spyglass and leans over the side, peering behind us.
“What’s a Long Tom?”
Starkey climbs some rope netting in front of me and gives me a smirk. “I thought you’d already seen Captain’s Long Tom.”
I give him a salty look. “I wouldn’t expect any less from a fuckboy like yourself.”
Smee snorts as he pockets his spyglass and adjusts the wheel again. “A fuckboy? I think that’s quite fitting for our Gentleman Starkey.”
“A fuckboy, eh? I rather like it.” Starkey grins.
“No. It’s an insult.”
“Is it? I don’t find it to be so.” He winks at me.
