Page 25

Flint

I don’t know who snores louder, Eze or Betts.

They compete in hammocks on each side of the helm as I navigate us toward Eze’s home island.

The man stayed awake the entire trip across the Caribbean—crossing it a fortnight faster than ever recorded—only to collapse on the day we arrived.

I think his panic subsided, leaving him an empty shell.

Captain Betts ordered someone to bring up his hammock so he would be close to the helm while we landed the ship.

She lost her battle with exhaustion a few hours later.

Now, the safety of the boat and crew weighs heavily on my shoulders.

I’ve sailed in calm waters, stormy waters, and dark waters, but never shallow waters.

The boat quivers in fear when it rubs the sandy bottom and bucks up like a horse when encountering a rock.

The noises are terrible, which makes me grateful for my companions’ snores.

Due west lies the shores of Eze’s home island.

The white sand gleams in the sunshine without a sign of the she-devil vampiress reputed to be guarding her shores.

If it weren’t for the netting over the center palm trees, I would say this island was deserted.

Elle, our elephant bird, calls to the birds on the shore, who answer her with squeals and shrieks.

Are those monkeys too? The only monkeys I’ve heard were in traveling sideshows in Boston, but I distinctly hear monkeys’ calls coming from the island.

Yes, the animals are so in tune with the inhabitants that they make the sounds of a deserted island.

I bet the bugs chirp at night and bats take flight.

Could Magda be one of the bats? I can’t wait to ask her.

My musings are interrupted by a deep-throated groan from the hull.

The wheel creaks as my sweaty palms slide between the rungs.

My heart thumps against my ribs. I clear the fear from my throat in a hoarse growl.

The icy fingers of terror threaten to choke me.

Everyone on board is depending on me to get them to the island without a dock, port, or buoy system.

The inhabitants don’t want visitors, so why would they make landing easy?

I can’t believe I’m thinking this, but…

I wish Chub were here. He’d know what’s making that God-awful noise and how to stop the blasted thing from self-imploding.

“Captain! Captain! There’s a problem in the bilge!” Greenhorn runs up the stairs like he’s got a horde of fire ants in his trousers. “Wake up, Betts! We’re sinking!”

“What? Flint? What’s going on?” At the sound of her name, my lady love yawns, stretches, and wakes gracefully as a cat. I wish I could give her a leisurely waking, but this nutmeg is about to ring the all-call bell.

And we can’t have that on my watch.

“Slow down, Greenhorn,” I say in an authoritative tone. “What’s the problem with the bilge? Aren’t the pumps running? We’ve probably cracked the seal on one with the speed at which we traveled across the sea.”

“No, no, we’re sinking,” Greenhorn cries. “How deep is the sea? Are we going to die?”

“What?!” Betts springs out of her hammock and tears down the sterncastle steps. Her hair waves behind her like flames.

“What?!” Eze bounces out of his hammock and runs onto the main deck without his feet touching the ground. He rings the all-call bell so hard, it flies off its hook and clangs against the wood as it rolls away from him.

All of a sudden, pirates are everywhere.

They scramble up the ratlines and gather at the railings.

Everyone is talking at once. Gunter runs in circles when too many leaders tell him what to do.

Chaos erupts as nobody knows the problem or what’s best for the boat.

We wear our inexperience like a second skin with a glaze of terror.

“Unfurl the sails! Unfurl the sails! Full speed ahead!” Betts emerges from below deck with snarled hair and wild eyes.

Something truly disastrous must be at the bottom of the boat.

I want to ask what happened, but my arms are pulled taut as the boat’s speed is tripled.

Pirates line up to receive their orders from their captain.

The more she yells, the more orderly the movement of the crew becomes.

We’re moving at full capacity and dumping our metal supplies into the drink so the ship doesn’t sit as low in the water.

I recognize the strategy to get the boat as close to land as possible…

…so we don’t have far to swim.

“You puddingheaded nutmeg, didn’t you listen? If your head is empty, what are you doing at the wheel?” Chub blasts at me.

“Eze said to head for the island before he collapsed. Betts fell asleep. You were down below with Catalina—”

“Because she’s in early labor! Can’t you nutmegs handle anything without me?”

“Apparently not,” Betts says as she climbs the sterncastle steps. Her cheeks are pink, and she huffs with exertion from running up and down the stairs to the bilge. “We’ve rubbed the tar off the bottom of the boat. Water leaks through the spaces between the planks. We’re going down, Quartermaster.”

So that’s what the groaning noise was. The sand bar, wearing down our hull like sandpaper in a woodshop.

We will be surfing on our orlop deck when the rest falls away.

I’ve run the boat aground, making it wrecked beyond repair, but Betts didn’t pin it on me.

She said we. We’ve rubbed the tar off the hull.

“My specific instructions were to run north and allow the island’s central river to draw us in!

I’m so mad I could keelhaul the lot of you!

Where’s Eze? I’ll strangle him until his cheeks turn blue!

” Chub grabs fistfuls of his red hair. When he throws his hands over his head, red strands dance around him.

“Chub, take Catalina to the dinghy. Greenhorn, gather up as much gunpowder and flour as you can and load it into the boat. Anything else, we can fish from the sea,” Betts commands.

“Aye! Aye! Captain!” I’m sad to see two of our most competent sailors running menial tasks.

Betts must think the boat is beyond saving and is now planning for the worst. Getting the pregnant lady into a safe vessel is Betts’s tender heart calling the shots, while saving our dry goods is her brilliant mind.

“The dinghy is on the aft of the boat while the island is straight ahead,” Betts says when the area around the helm is clear of panicked sailors.

“Do you want me to turn the boat? What if the hull drags, and I rip off the planks? What if it capsizes when one side moves while the other is stuck? Look to our port! We will head for those boulders if I can’t turn us back around! That’s two risky turns—”

“—In less than a fathom of water. I know,” she says, kissing my cheek. “I believe in you.”

“Why can’t you turn the boat—or Eze—or Greenhorn?”

“I need Greenhorn to accompany Chub and Catalina in the dinghy in case they meet with resistance on the beach. Eze and I will lower them into the water. I’ll return to help with the second turn—”

“I can lower a boat into the water. Your ship needs her master. It’s your turn at the helm, Captain Betts,” I say, stepping away from the helm. The wheel spins until Betts grabs it with both hands. She leans back to use her weight to steady the distressed vessel. “Do what you do best—be the hero.”

She curses me up the backside and down the front in her adorable islander accent and pirate lingo.

Despite facing certain death, a smile stretches my lips.

I have more faith in her than I do in myself.

The short jog to the stern side of the forecastle deck takes twice as long because I must dodge the mateys rushing around.

Water splashes over the railing as our cannons are thrown overboard.

I don’t look forward to fishing those out of the surf.

“Put the fecking plants down, Catty, and get into the boat! You don’t need to save them! You’re going ashore!” Chub’s shouts twist my guts into a knot. Why did I volunteer to face his wrath once more? Will my last moments on earth be listening to the Old Salt’s ranting?

“I promised Leaf I would take care of them, so I must return them to him unharmed,” Catty sasses Chub right back. Her cloud of curly hair is glued to her head with sweat around her red face. The feral look in her bloodshot eyes will haunt my nightmares.

“Leaf is on the island, probably with a giant garden! He will give you more plants—”

“Not if I don’t bring these hooooooooome—” Her yelling is cut off by a bloodcurdling scream.

She drops the miniature lemon tree in her arms. The glass pot smashes into a million pieces.

My hooves dance backward to the kitchen steps to avoid the shards.

A puddle of water forms under Catty as she doubles over, holding her belly.

“Ellis, Ellis, baby can’t wait. Ellis, save me,” she sobs as tears fall from her nose and eyes.

“That’s it!” Chub, who I guess was Ellis before his nickname, springs into action. He lifts Catty as if she’s a sack of potatoes and tosses her into the dinghy. She screams on impact as she lands safely in the bottom of the boat between the sacks of flour.

“Avast ye! Don’t just stand there like an extra mast missing its sail, get the plants!

” Greenhorn’s order is accompanied by a push down the galley stairs.

He rushes to the dinghy with a bag of gunpowder larger than his torso.

The boat swings when he adds the load to a wheeled cart within.

The winches creak as they struggle to hold the dinghy aloft.