Page 5

Hybris

“Not hardtack again,” I moan, eying Catalina kneading dough in the galley.

“I’m sorry, did you just complain?” She stops her work to plant her fists on her wide hips. The curvy cook has more power in her little finger than I have because she’s married to the quartermaster and controls the food rations. If I don’t watch my tongue, I’ll starve.

“I didn’t mean to let that slip out. I’m having a rotten day,” I grouse as I flop onto a stool at the counter.

“I can tell. You stink of oregano. I’ll always associate that smell with Teeth,” she says with a giggle and a headshake that sends her brown curls flying around her. “I bet some society lady gave you a parting gift.”

I sulk lower into my seat, not joining in her laughter.

“Knead while we talk,” she says, passing a bowl of flour to me. Do I coat my hands like hers? Is there flour between her fingers on purpose—like a protective coating? I’ve never stepped foot in a kitchen. Now, I’m kneading dough! Oh, please, don’t let her ask me to do anything else.

“Hardtack isn’t bad when it’s flavored,” she says, grabbing a stone mortar and pestle.

I’ve watched the ladies in the apothecary use those to grind herbs.

What is it doing on a pirate ship? Is Catalina a witch?

I hope so. Betts smashed the oregano oil I could have used to treat my itch, and my crotch is on fire.

“What’s the best flavor?” If I get her talking, maybe she’ll take mercy on me.

“It depends on who you are,” she says with a wink.

“I’m grinding rosemary with lemon peels for Chub and the men who admire him.

I call them his miniatures. They may be taller than Chub, but for now, they have half the presence.

They will grow into their gangly limbs and become responsible pirates—thanks to my husband. It’s what I love best about him.”

“Yeah, he’s the greatest,” I say in a mocking tone. As I wait for my punishment, he influences Betts on my fate. After watching him for a few days, I bet I’ll swab the poopdeck...or worse, be stuck in this hot, stuffy kitchen with disgustingly loyal Catalina.

“Teeth preferred chocolate shavings. He had a sweet tooth.”

“Yes, chocolate shavings are for me,” I say absently, just to agree.

Wait, what’s chocolate? I hope it isn’t gross.

She said it was sweet, right? But is it made of teeth?

What’s a sweet tooth? Pretty funny, a guy nicknamed Teeth would prefer to eat his hardtack studded with teeth, but his legend says he knew the finer things in life.

His preferences seem to mirror mine, so chocolate shavings for me!

Wait, shavings? Please don’t let it be hair. “I just love chocolate.”

“Oh, I’m not sure—It’s just that you are—I didn’t ask the mortar and pestle for you because—well, you are…” My chatty host is suddenly tongue-tied. Her eyes water as she mashes the rosemary by leaning over the counter. Her hair swings forward, so I can’t see her face.

“I’m what? What aren’t you telling me? My father paid for my apprenticeship on this boat, but nobody told me what my role is supposed to be.

I’m the heir to a large shipping company, so am I here to learn the dangers of dealing with pirates?

Does this boat smuggle goods for my family? What do you know, Catalina?”

“I know we voted on whether or not to carry out one task for your father. We’ve never worked for him before and probably won’t work for him again.” She gives me a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

The hairs raise on the back of my neck as she uses a wicked knife to separate a hunk of dough from the blob I knead.

As she folds the pulverized lemon-rosemary mixture into the dough, I wait for her to explain more.

All I get is a nod to keep moving. I punch the dough in frustration and lean on it.

Maybe if it seeps between the wood grains, there won’t be enough to eat.

“Are you telling me Chub knows my reason for being aboard? Why didn’t he tell you? Maybe Captain Betts didn’t consult him.”

“No,” she says with a sigh to the ceiling.

She stops kneading and grabs the knife again.

She’s not going to stab me, right? She has the accent of a civilized lady—unlike Captain Betts, who would definitely stab me—but she’s still a pirate.

“Nobody keeps secrets on this boat. All business decisions are put to a vote. No voice is left unheard—”

“So, everyone knows but me,” I fume. “That wasn’t a question. I can see your affirmation in your guilty smile. On a boat with no secrets, I doubt you’ll tell me.”

“Hybris—”

“Don’t placate me, either,” I snap before I reconsider my tactic of lashing out at Chub’s wife. “I mean, I’ve been in hostile situations before, so I can handle this.”

“You have?” She stops arranging the herbed hardtack on a metal pan to stare at me.

“When I sailed the Far East for spices, they weren’t happy to have a satyr aboard,” I lie through my teeth.

“That’s why the hardtack is so distasteful to me.

My palate was trained on the finest spices on Earth.

My job was to taste them for quality for our company.

I also lead the expedition because I have a nose for finding the… spice…rocks.”

“Spice rocks?” I follow her glance to the row of potted plants in the window.

“Those are herbs. I’m talking about spices.”

“Oh? I’ve worked with chillis, chocolate, herbs, and salts—all of them spices. What exactly are spices that come from rocks? Will you throw this into the oven? It will bake while we get the next batch ready.”

“Sure,” I reply, turning to the fiery inferno in the corner will give me time to imagine what spice rocks look like in the wild and where they would be found.

Why do I lie? They fly through my lips with ease from years of practice.

The women I seduce want my looks and stamina in our first encounter, but if I want a second, I must insinuate that I have the wealth of my family.

Nobody knows I’ve never left Boston, let alone New England.

This oven isn’t more than a stone box full of fire.

Flames roar when the logs split from their perch on coal piles.

There’s not enough room for the large square pan, so I must use the scoop to push the glowing embers away from the door.

The scoop sits next to the oven and is hot to the touch.

I blink back tears as my delicate skin blisters on my palms. The sunburn on my cheeks and nose tingle when the heat kisses them.

“Push it back further, or the biscuits on the edge won’t be as baked as the ones on the inside edge of the pan,” Catalina scolds.

“Oh yeah,” I reply as if I were getting to it instead of cowering from the flames taller than Catalina inside the stone mouth.

It’s like staring through the gates of hell at the demons within.

Gulping hot air in shallow pants, I reach tentatively to push the pan with two fingertips.

My lacy shirt cuff is usually held in place by my woolen jacket, but it’s too hot for that on the boat.

The dainty weave droops from my wrist and brushes the coals.

“I’m on fire,” I whisper. Then, louder, I say to Catalina, “I’m on fire.”

She springs into action when my limbs won’t cooperate.

She pulls me backward by my shoulders and thrusts me aside.

A few orange rocks of coal tumble out of the oven.

I fall on my ass behind the frantic cook.

My hands break my fall before my head hits the wooden floor.

Catalina scoops the glowing coals from the floor with the shovel and tosses them into the oven before stomping out the floor’s fire with her boot.

Tears flow down her cheeks.

She’s screaming. Was she screaming the whole time?

“Catty, my love—” Chub appears at the doorway. A bell rings in the distance. He pauses for a split second before grabbing his wife and sending her on deck. “You’re on fire, you puddingheaded idiot.”

“It was my sleeve,” flies out of my mouth like someone else said it. His head swings, so I follow his gaze to the ring of fire that surrounds me. My lips pull apart to scream, but nothing comes out.

“The floors are oiled. Water won’t put out the fire. Don’t do something stupid like try to jump overboard. You will fan the flames. Just don’t move.” His calm, strong, sure voice hypnotizes me. I nod in time with his nodding.

“Move!” Betts yells as she shoves Chub aside.

She carries a heavy woolen blanket. My vision goes black as she drops it over me and knocks me flat.

My head hits the floor again. Pain explodes through my skull.

Smoke fills my lungs. Someone pats me everywhere on the other side of the blanket while a weight rests across my thighs.

“It’s out,” Chub says. “Quick thinking saved the boat. Well done, Captain.”

“Are you hurt?” A wild-eyed Betts pulls the blanket from my head. Her red hair lies over us like a sheer curtain. She leans on her elbow against my ribs, but our pelvises are aligned in the most delicious way. “I asked if you are hurt, Hybris. Are you in shock?”

“He’s had his daylights scared out of him, Captain. Should I get some mateys to carry him to his bunk, or do you have somewhere else to put him out of his misery?”

The fog lifts. Is Chub suggesting I go to her bed in the captain’s quarters?

Because my cock agrees with that assessment.

For once, the quartermaster and I are in complete alignment.

A tumble with Captain Betts in her quarters will make me right as rain.

The first stirrings of desire course through my veins and swell my marriage rod as she rubs those slender fingers over my arms and up my legs.

That’s it, baby, check out the goods before you buy.