Of Magic and Rum (Beyond a Contemporary Mythos)

Chapter 5

I take a moment to survey what crew I can before blending in with everyone else. The deck is bustling with activity, and the realization of the melting pot that is a pirate crew has me reeling. A tall, broad man with umber skin and a shaved head leads in pulling a rope. The man behind him, nearly a foot shorter, has sepia-toned skin, and his hair is a mess of tight black curls. Leading the rear is the man in the red coat and powdered wig I’d seen with Jack earlier. An older man in his sixties or seventies hobbles past me on one leg, his ghostly pale skin turning pink in spots where the sun hits most. He exhales deeply, revealing toothless gums on the top and only two teeth on the bottom. He drags a rag over the sweat on his head and neck before continuing.

Pirates are so far ahead of their time, and they don’t know it. On a pirate ship, your ethnicity, age, culture, or religion doesn’t matter. Because here, everyone ceases to be anything but a pirate, and those around you are your crew . Follow the ship’s code, uphold your duties—and you’re free. And on Jack’s ship, it doesn’t matter what gender you are either if I heard him correctly saying “she.” But I won’t reveal myself. I can’t. It’s far easier to fade into the background as just another pirate boy.

The quartermaster gave me my duties, which, not surprisingly, are peon level. I’ve scrubbed nearly every inch of the deck, emptied the latrine bucket, managing to give my shirt a revolting poop smell, and now, my throat is throbbing, begging for something to drink. But I know I can’t simply help myself to a drink. They ration it as any well-run ship does. But when did they divvy it up?

“ Ehi ragazzo ,” a deeply tanned man with stringy black hair yells at me, elbowing the man beside him in the ribs, both laughing. I can’t be sure what he says, but the accent is unmistakable—Italian.

Obliging him, I tilt my chin over one shoulder, letting him know I’m paying attention.

“You missed a spot,” the other man exclaims, a yellow bandana wrapped around his tar-covered head, a leather patch over one eye that he lifts as he and the Sicilian man start cackling and swatting each other.

A sea of frustration boils in my veins, but I sink to my knees and drag the bucket over. The sun has turned into a hazy halo, The sun has become a hazy halo, its heat scorching my skin through my clothes and making me lightheaded. I drag the brush back and forth across the wood panels lethargically, wondering if my actions are doing anything but pushing water into the cracks.

A fogged bottle with amber liquid appears in front of me, the imposing form of the quartermaster showing next, blocking the sun and providing blissful shade for a breath. “Your ration. Make it last, boy.”

Vigorously nodding, I take the bottle into my hands like a prized relic that might wither in my palms if not held with the utmost care. Plucking the cork from the top, I take several swigs. Energy comes back to me with each drop of liquid coating my throat. I can easily down the entire bottle with how thirsty I’ve become, but I force myself to stop and store the bottle in my pocket for safekeeping.

Keeping my head low, I continue scrubbing the deck with more force behind the strokes now. Once done, I rise, letting out a breath from the strain that, despite my ethereal blood, is still a harsh reality. Sea mist from a wave crashing against the ship’s hull coats my cheek, and I gasp, turning my back on as many of the crew as I can, working my sleeve furiously over my face to dry it. And this is why I’ve been keeping my head down .

Once satisfied that the scales aren’t showing, I tentatively glance to see if anyone is staring at me. I catch a glimpse of Jack casually resting on the mast on the other side of the deck and can swear he’s been staring at me, but I dash away to not draw attention to myself. Finding a vacant corner of the ship, a feat in itself with how many people are on board, I press my back to the nearest hard surface. Seagulls fly overhead; their squawks, usually not so melodic, are harmonious to my ears now. With a breathy sigh, I shut my eyes and take another small sip of rum.

“Hello there, boy ,” a woman’s voice sounds—a deeper register than mine, but still fluttery smooth.

I pop my eyes open, and she’s closer than I thought. Four steps and the toes of her boots will be brushing mine. She’s several inches taller than me, with wavy chestnut hair below her bustline. Frills of black and deep red skirts wrap around her legs, a black belt with holsters for her flintlock and cutlass resting at her hips. A black half-corset slinks around her ribs, and a billowy white blouse covers her chest and arms. Her wide-brimmed hat shades most of her face but gives her squared jawline harsh shadowed edges. And the smirk playing on her thin pink lips blazes like a bonfire.

When I don’t answer, she dips her head to look closer at my face, and I turn away like a fool. “Are you hard of hearing, boy?”

“No. No, ma’am.” I press my fingers against the surface behind me. “I heard you fine.”

The woman lifts her chin and slides closer. “Then do I not merit your respect? Normally, when someone says hello, you greet them back.”

It’s hard to tell if the piratess is toying with me or—serious.

She’s so close now that I can make out her thick eyebrows and eyes the color of the seas we sail.

“Hel—hello, ma’am.” Against my better judgment, I still haven’t looked at her dead on.

“Please.” Rum weighs heavily on her breath, and perfume overlapping with sweat and brine hits my nostrils. “I’m not your captain. No need to stand on pleasantries, darling. Name’s Mary. Yours?” She presses a forearm near my head.

Ash coats my throat, and I fight everything in me so as not to make my voice shake. “An—drew.”

“Well, Andrew .” Mary trails a finger down my shirt sleeve. “You are one of the most handsome lads I’ve seen on this ship.”

This can’t be good. This is so not fucking good.

Her lips are on mine before I can process another thought. Mary’s eyes are closed, but mine stay open and wide. I stare at her and wonder how, in the Seven Seas, I came to be here in this position. My body freezes along with my lips, which have quickly become two dead sardines—unmoving and limp. Mary’s mouth moves against mine, her tongue brushing the seam of my mouth. She tastes like rum and smoke, nothing sweet like I imagined my lips tasting.

When she realizes I’m not reciprocating, she pulls away with a frown but keeps our faces close, our noses brushing. “I knew you were a woman.”

“What?” I blurt out.

Mary slaps a hand over my mouth and looks around. “Would you keep it down?”

“Sorry,” I mumble against her palm.

She lowers her hand and steps back with her hands firmly on each hip. “There a reason you’re hiding it? If you’re on The Revenge, you know by now that Rackham doesn’t care what you have between your legs.”

“I—I didn’t know that. I’m new to this—” I flick my wrist at nothing in particular. “—ordeal.”

That devilish smirk dances on Mary’s lips again. “Stowing away on a ship or piracy?”

“Both?” A strand of my hair falls from the confines of the hat, and I quickly lift a hand to hide it.

“Here.” Mary reaches for the tendril and tucks it out of sight with a delicate touch I wasn’t expecting.

“I suppose you’re going to tell the captain now?”

Mary shakes her head, her callused fingertip absently tracing across the freckles on my cheek before giving me space. “I ain’t no snitch, darling. But I can’t account for anyone else who figures it out.”

The way she carries herself is how I’d appear if not for the need to disguise myself. A woman who knows who she is, the power she bears, and has the confidence to carry it out. I’ve grown maddening respect for her in a matter of minutes, and I can see us becoming fast friends.

“You haven’t asked me why I snuck on board. Why I’m hiding—” Unintentionally, my voice grows louder, and I shut my mouth before alerting anyone.

“Because it’s not my business.” Mary rests one hand on her saber’s hilt. “Everyone on this ship has their reasons, and it’s theirs to tell. No one will pry unless it threatens our livelihood. And if they feel inclined to share, we’ll be all ears.”

Resolute freedom for everyone to be themselves without question or judgment.

“I needed safe passage somewhere. And I won’t be a burden to any of you. You won’t know I’m here.” I bow my head like she’s royalty, listening to my plea.

Mary slips a finger under my chin, lifting it so I meet her gaze. “You’re impossible not to notice, I’m afraid, even dressed as a boy.” Her hand falls, and she lets out a wistful sigh. “And judging by your reaction to my kiss, I assume you prefer the—” She lifts her pinky and wiggles it in front of us.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at her physical analogy. “I’m afraid so, sorry.”

Mary waves it off like an irritating gnat. “Don’t be. You win some, you lose some. But I assure you. If you want to keep up appearances for more than a week, you’ll have to do much better than this, Andr—” She pauses and quizzically eyes me. “What’s your actual name?”

“Anne,” I answer, smiling and holding out my hand.

Mary shakes it. “Anne and Mary. Resident pirate queens of The Revenge.”

“Maybe just you, Mary.” Chuckling, I retract my hand and pull the sleeve back over my knuckles.

“Nah.” She playfully nudges me. “You’ll come ‘round. Speaking of. Do you know how to use that thing?” Mary points at my dagger.

Peeling back my shirt, I eye the weapon as if I’ve only now seen it. “You—stab people with it?”

“Yes, but have you killed someone before?”

Given the company, it feels like a loaded question, but it shouldn’t.

“Possibly?” The word comes out slowly, each part enunciated like when learning to read.

“I only ask because you may need to show some of the crew that you’re not to be trifled with—that is unless you want to be trifled with.” Mary gives a playful grin before continuing. “But it’s only a matter of time before one tries, and so long as you show them it ain’t happening, they’ll have no choice but to back down or suffer the wrath of not following the ship’s code. Got me?”

“Yes.” I nod for extra affirmation.

“Good. I need to get back to work, but Anne, if you need anything—and I do mean anything—” Mary wraps a hand over my shoulder and squeezes. “Don’t hesitate to let me know, alright? Us lasses need to stick together. Especially being surrounded by this many sausages.” She snorts and offers a wink.

There’s no containing my own quick sputter of laughter. “Thanks, Mary. Truly.”

“Any time,” she replies while backpedaling. “And you may want to smear some more dirt on your cheeks. Look far too pretty for a lowly cabin boy.”

My cheeks heat.

Noted.

Days go by at sea with little trouble or interruption. The weather has been holding up with scarcely a cloud in the sky, which makes the sun unrelenting but better for me and my scales . We receive food rations daily and watered-down rum every other day. I’ve quickly learned how much I can sip to make it last throughout the day. I’d done as Mary suggested, coating my face with grease and keeping my clothes baggy. No one seems to be the wiser, not even the captain, who only catches my gaze on the rarest occasions, usually from the ship’s opposite side.

It's for the best. Despite his questionable pirate captain morality, there’s no denying how attractive he is, and he knows it. If he gets too close, I can’t promise myself not to let my gaze linger for one beat too long. And fortunately, he’s never been on deck sans shirt like most of the crew. I already know about the dark scattering of hair on his chest and would be lying if I didn’t daydream about what it looks like over his stomach. Does he have that thin trail leading to his?—

“Anne,” Mary whispers nearby, making me jerk with the scrubber in hand, slip, and slam my elbow on the wooden floorboards. She’s crouching beside me, her hands dangling between her legs. “What were you thinking about?”

I sit back on my haunches and rub my arm. “Being anywhere but this bleedin’ ship.”

“Who are you fooling?”

My gaze snaps to hers.

“I’ve seen the way your eyes linger on the sea any chance you get. Know what it looks like?” Her slender fingers bounce, still hanging there, the sun catching the light of a gold ring and bangle bracelet. “Like the longing for a lover you’ve been forced apart from.”

If Mary is this intuitive, how has no one else caught sight of this? Or, if they have, are they simply not saying anything?

“I’d imagine any of these people, given their choice to be a pirate, would look at it the same way, no?” I busy myself with more scrubbing.

“Ah, but you, darling—” Mary taps my nose with a single finger. “—have already made it clear you’ve no interest in piracy.”

Plucking my fingernail against splintering wood on the scrubber, I contemplate my following words carefully. “I do love the sea. But I prefer to be in it. Sharks, jellyfish, and the like are keen to make that difficult, though, aren’t they?” A warm smile graces my lips.

I’ve swam with sharks more times than I can count, and I’ve been stung so many times accidentally by jellyfish that my skin has become immune to the pain.

“I knew it. Anyway, stopped by to give you this.” Mary looks around and holds out a bottle with two swigs left in it.

“What’s this for?” I don’t take the bottle right away.

She wiggles it, making the liquid slosh. “Take it. It’s left over from my ration yesterday, and I see how measured you are with yours. Figured you might need it.”

“I—”

I’m beside myself. She’s only known me for days, and risking this?

“—I don’t know what to say,” I finish.

“Will you bloody take it and pour it into your bottle before someone sees it?” Mary shoves the bottle into my limp hand.

As I remove today’s bottle from my pocket, Mary shields me with her body while I pour the contents from hers into mine and hand her the empty one.

“There you are. Back to work.” Grinning, Mary pats my head and turns away.

“All hands on deck,” a man yells.

The deck becomes a fury of scrambles and shoves as everyone races for spots on deck as commanded. I dust my hands and rise, moving away from everyone else in the background but close enough to be a part of the crew and not draw attention to myself.

“Crew, I’m afraid we have a situation we need to address,” Jack announces, holding the railing at the helm. “Vane has been on our trail since we left port in Nassau.”

Vane. Why did that name sound familiar?

Whispers and carousing flood the crew.

“We’ve been able to keep ahead—until today. The winds have died down considerably, and I’ll be the first to admit Vane’s ship, albeit weak in battle, makes up for it at speed.” Jack drums his fingers on the railing before descending the stairs. “I’m proposing we use the element of surprise and approach him before he can try anything stupid. No need to risk damage to the ship.”

“Approach him? With what?” One man asks.

Jack slips his hands behind his back and walks the length of the deck with the crew flanking him. His steps are slow and methodical, his cutlass jingling at his side with each stride. “We’ll make him an offer to get him off our backs. Even for a spell.”

He’s getting closer and closer.

“And what do we have to offer? We ain’t got anything but rations,” another man says.

My heart thunders against my chest, and whatever I do, I refuse to lift my chin, keeping my gaze focused on the deck.

“We offer him—” Jack’s boots appear on the floor I’ve been staring at, standing in front of me. “— her .”