Page 20 of Escaping Pirates (Legends of Neverland #4)

“ R ead it again,” Blossom demanded a few days after Harlan had fully recovered.

She and Sugar had called for Harlan to read to them and had me scrub the floor while he was there.

I was grateful; at least when Harlan was around, Sugar and Blossom were on their best behavior, and it had been so long since I’d been tied up that my wrists had nearly healed.

Harlan repeated the passage he’d read, an excerpt from The Ballads of Yore , one of the most famous collections of songs and poetry in Haven Harbor. It was one that my parents had read to me many times before. I scrubbed the floor as quietly as possible, lost in Harlan’s deep voice that read aloud,

One fateful eve, when the sky turned red,

Pirates’ ships approached, and fear they spread.

With sails of black and hearts of stone,

They sought to pillage and claim as their own .

But the villagers brave, they would not yield.

They stood as one, with sword and shield,

With torches blazing and drums that roared,

They vowed to protect what they adored.

“That is dreadful poetry,” sniffed Blossom. “The lines about yield and shield make a terrible doublet.”

Harlan chewed on the inside of his lip. “Do you know what a doublet is?”

“Two rhyming lines,” she said, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Anyone with any semblance of intelligence knows that. But I know I could write something much more eloquent than that rubbish.”

“Yes, you could,” agreed Sugar, licking her fingers and smacking her lips with relish before snapping her damp fingers at me. “Scurvyella! Fetch me more butterscotch candies.”

I abandoned my scrub brush and scrambled to my feet, hurrying to collect more of the pale-brown sweets.

As I set them on the table in front of Sugar, I noticed that a few crumbs had fallen onto the ruffled shirt peeking through Harlan’s jacket.

Sugar and Blossom had insisted that Harlan be allowed to bathe and have clean clothes each time he called on them, which was the only thing I truly envied about his contract.

Once I got back home, I would take a dozen baths a day.

“Pardon my reach,” I murmured as I brushed them off with a napkin. “You seem to have something on your couplet .”

I felt Harlan’s chest quiver in a silent laugh beneath my fingers, and I took the opportunity to tuck the cork into his coat pocket. Each time we passed it back and forth, it felt even more deliciously secretive and forbidden .

“Get your hands off him!” Sugar squeaked, flapping her hands at me like she was shooing away some pesky horsefly. “Go back to scrubbing the floor.”

“As I was saying,” Blossom continued in a dignified tone as I returned to my work, “if I ever meet the dunce who wrote this pitiful excuse for literature, I would give him a piece of my mind.”

“Assuming the author hadn’t died four hundred years ago, I’m sure you would,” Harlan said idly, flipping to the next page. “Are you a prolific poet like Bard Elliot was?”

“Oh no,” Blossom said with a smug smile. “But I don’t need to publish any works to know that my literary contributions to the world would vastly transcribe anything else.” She let out a breathy laugh.

“Undoubtedly so.”

“Authors should know when their work falls short.”

“Thank goodness they have you to point out all their flaws, then.” Harlan inclined his head.

“Yes. The public should be aware of such errors.”

“Heaven forbid they come to their own conclusions,” Harlan said, nodding vigorously. “That would be?—”

“A travesty, yes.” Blossom smirked in a highly self-satisfied manner. “I’m glad to see we came to the same conclusion.” She rustled the paper she had in front of her and took a sip of tea, her pinkie finger stuck up almost as high as her ego.

“Here, can you take our dishes?” Harlan asked me, handing me his plate which still held several untouched orange slices and a wedge of cheese on it.

“Gladly,” I told him, taking them and discreetly palming what he’d left for me.

Every chance he could, Harlan passed me additional food, and I’d noticed that my gums had ceased to bleed.

And either because the scurvy was slowly going away, or because I finally had a friend, or a combination of the two, my energy was returning as well.

“It’s suspected that Prince Ernst of Berkway will inherit the throne instead of Jameson,” Blossom said. “Did you hear?”

Harlan stiffened. “Where did you hear that?”

“Uncle Tyrone. He always hears things.” She nodded importantly to Blossom. “Ernst is almost eighteen.”

“Wasn’t he already crown prince?” Sugar asked.

Blossom wrinkled her nose. “No. That’s why it’s such big news.

Prince Jameson is several years older and is still the crown prince, but now, people are saying that Ernst will take the throne.

Apparently, he’s been attending to Jameson’s duties even though Jameson is still there.

During speeches, Jameson just sits there and Ernst speaks instead. ”

“Imagine that,” Harlan intoned dully. His eyes slid out of focus, staring off into the distance.

“What do you think happened? Maybe he fell in love with a traitor like that other prince from Haven Harbor did and they want to strip his title.”

“Maybe he had a blow to the head and lost his memories!” Sugar chimed in. “What do you think, Harlan?”

“I think Ernst will do a respectable job,” Harlan answered quietly. “He’s a good man.”

“Do you know him?” Blossom asked, eyebrows jumping up to blend with her thin, red hair.

“We’ve crossed paths once or twice.”

“Oi, you!” One of the pirates stuck his head in and bellowed at Harlan. “Captain wants to see you, now!”

Harlan got to his feet and swept a grand bow. “I’ll be back soon. I must thank you for this unforgettable conversation. It will remain forever in my memory.” As Blossom and Sugar simpered, Harlan’s eyes met mine briefly. He smiled at me, but this time, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The door thudded shut behind him, and Blossom and Sugar began speaking over each other.

“Did you see the way he bowed to me?”

“Forget that! Don’t you think he was awestruck by my intelligence?”

Sugar stuck out her lower lip, still glossy from her excessive consumption of butterscotch candies. “Not as impressed as when he looked at me in this dress!”

“Brains over bosoms!”

“Elena!” Sugar screeched. “Who do you think Harlan likes more? Blossom or me?”

“I think it would be impossible for him to choose between two such fine and accomplished ladies such as yourselves.”

Blossom’s thin lips curled. “I know he loves me!”

“Oh yeah? How do you know?” Sugar pouted.

Blossom smugly lifted her chin. “I’m basically telepathetic, that’s how.”

“Is that right?” I asked, fighting to keep my face straight. “Not telepathic?”

“Don’t correct your superiors,” Blossom snapped. “When Daddy gets to Berkway tomorrow morning, I’m going to have him buy more fancy parchment like Uncle Tyrone has.”

I perked up. “We’ll be in Berkway? That’s a good choice; I’m sure the ship needs some repairs after that kraken attack, and I hear that their shipwrights do wonderful work.”

“Yes, we need to be at port for a few days. About time too. We’ve been at sea for ages.”

My heart leapt, but I kept my gaze fixed on the wooden floor planks. A few days? Harlan and I would undoubtedly find a way to escape within that time frame, or at least alert someone to our situation.

Harlan was brought back soon after, then sat with Sugar and Blossom while I did the laundry. I barely noticed my work while listening to the girls as they tried to entertain Harlan.

“And at that point I knew,” Blossom said to conclude a story she’d been telling. “That calvary is not dead!”

I bit my lip and dared not look at Harlan for fear of bursting out laughing.

“I quite agree,” Harlan said solemnly. “Calvary does best when it’s alive.”

“Time for my foot massage!” Sugar trilled after the meal, stripping off her stockings and offering her feet to Harlan, wiggling her toes in the air.

“My favorite part,” Harlan said, then looked over Sugar’s shoulder to catch my eye.

I smiled in his direction, then hastily stopped when I saw Blossom’s beady eyes flicking back and forth between me and Harlan.

There was a shrewdness in her gaze that made me want to become a third of my actual size.

I wrung out one of the dresses extra hard. Did she suspect?

“Harlan,” Blossom said, her voice lower and more silky than usual. “Would you please bring me one of those sweet rolls from the cook?”

“But he just got back! And my feet—” Sugar began.

“He’ll come right back,” Blossom said. “I just need to check something.”

Harlan glanced at me. I wished he hadn’t. We had been careless. If our every interaction was going to be this heavily scrutinized, we couldn’t risk engaging with each other at all. I stared at the wash water and counted Harlan’s footsteps as he crossed the room and left.

“Why did you do that?” Sugar whined at her sister.

“Because I think Elena is starting to have feelings for our man.” Blossom’s tone became cold. “I don’t think she should be near him anymore. Maybe we should get Daddy to move Harlan to another cell.”

“No,” I said. The word forced itself from my mouth, unbidden. The thought of losing Harlan’s company at night was too painful to bear.

“Why not? Because you’re in love with him?” Blossom demanded instantly.

My mouth went dry. Why couldn’t I be sharp-witted and think on my feet better?

I could solve simple riddles, but outwitting pirates when my life might depend on it was a whole different level.

“No, it isn’t that. It’s just…” I scrambled for a reason.

“Another cell would be much dirtier, and he would get sick again. If”—my throat constricted—”if you’re worried about me and Harlan having anything between us, you could move him up with the crew. ”

It would be far easier for Harlan to escape if he wasn’t locked up. Even if I wasn’t able to, Harlan could get away. He could tell someone where I was. He was a sailor and he was from Berkway; he had to have friends who could band together or alert the authorities.

Blossom and Sugar debated in low voices while I clutched the side of the bucket of water. Even if she occasionally used the wrong words in conversation, Blossom wasn’t stupid.

From across the room, I occasionally caught phrases like “Daddy wouldn’t like,” and “Uncle Tyrone,” and I broke out into an active sweat.

Were they planning to hand me over to Tyrone?

Had they grown tired of me, just as Harsh had predicted they would?

The constriction in my throat expanded to consume my chest so that breathing became difficult.

“Clean out the brazier,” Sugar ordered me suddenly. She and her sister had stopped their whispered conversation and were watching me closely.

“Of course,” I said, immediately dropping to scoop the cold ashes out of the empty brazier and place them into a pail.

Harlan came back, but I didn’t even turn to look at him or acknowledge his presence, and he didn’t say a word to me.

I worked as efficiently as I could, determined to prove my worth, so I was nearly done by the time Harlan finished Sugar’s foot massage.

“I can do yours next,” he offered to Blossom.

“I need my brooch,” she said, walking over to where I was working.

As she reached for the brooch on a nearby table, she kicked the pail of ash and cinders, causing it to spill all over me, the rugs, the floor, and the sofa.

“Watch where you’re putting things! Clean this up immediately! I ought to call you Cinderella!”

Harlan stood up, about to protest, but I shook my head at him. “My mistake, my mistake,” I apologized. “I’ll clean it up now.”

“See that you do. I’m going up to deck with Harlan and Sugar. By the time we get back, it better be inoculate!”

I couldn’t even find the energy to be amused by her malapropism.

Cleaning the rugs would require thorough beatings and washings, the sofa would require even more time, and both Sugar and Blossom had walked through the spilled ashes and trailed footprints of soot all through their quarters.

It would take at least a full day to clean it properly.

A hard lump swelled in my throat, and heat built behind my eyes.

Even though I felt Harlan staring at me, I slowly began the arduous process of cleaning up the smeared ashes.

The door thudded closed as they left, and I let out a shaky sob.

I hated cleaning. I hated Sugar and Blossom. But most of all, I hated how powerless I was.

With each brushstroke, I imagined acts of revenge, each more glorious than the last. I could hide dead fish in their mattresses or fling all of their clothing overboard, tied in a bundle and attached to an anchor.

With each new revenge idea, my tears decreased.

I could powder some brine-glass nettle and sprinkle it in their underpants so that they itched like mad for hours.

Or better yet, I could mix it into their cosmetics so their faces broke out in hives.

Imagining such vengeance had a far more therapeutic effect than any of the lectures on patience and virtue I’d been given by my governess growing up.

Eventually, the plans for revenge morphed back into plans for escape once again.

We had to be close, and that meant releasing the messages in bottles at long last.

Getting revenge, as delicious and satisfying as it would be, wasn’t as important as getting off the ship.

Just as the sun was setting that evening, I looked up and wiped the sweat from my brow and spotted the faintest smudge of a shoreline in the distance.

Abandoning my task, I ran to the window, staring hungrily at the mountain peaks that broke up the line where the sea met the sky.

It might have only been tiny jagged pin pricks, but we were sailing towards them, and I had never seen a more beautiful sight.

Salvation was near.