Storm over the Caribbean

38. Discovered!

"We'll revel all through the night, celebrating our victory!"

"Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!"

"And we shall feast to our heart's content!"

"Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzz—"

Wait just a minute. Feast?

Someone would have to cook that, wouldn't they?

Crap.

***

Thwack! Thwack!

"I...sniff...h-hate...chopping...onions!"

With a few mumbled curses, I threw the onions into the giant, bubbling pot. At least those were the last ones, right?

Just then, I heard the tent flap behind me being pulled open. Glancing over my shoulder, I spotted Liam, tugging a giant tub full of onions into the tent.

"Was told...you...needed this," he panted.

My eyebrow twitched. "Oh, you were, were you?"

"Um...yeah." The boy took a hurried step backward. Then several more. "I'll be going then. I've got stuff to do and, well...stuff."

"What's the hurry?" I cocked my head. "Won't you stay for a bit? I've got a few treats for you, and I could use better company than that thrice-damned bird."

"Err...thanks, but I don't think I can. I've got to...got to..."

Putting down the knife, I turned to fully face the boy. "Is it just me, or do you seem unusually nervous about being in my tent? Is there a reason for that?"

"N-no! Of course not! No reason at all." And he took three more steps back. "I'm totally fine. I have no problem whatsoever. No prob—"

"Squawk!" Polly picked this moment to join the conversation. "Dressing up! Girl dressing up in men's clothe—"

Clang!

The parrot was abruptly silenced by the cast-iron pot slamming into his cage.

"Ehem...just don't pay any attention to her." Clearing my throat, I sidled over to the bloody bird and clamped its beak shut. "That bird says the strangest things. Haha. Funny, right?"

"Yes, haha," Liam agreed woodenly. I scrutinized him closely, looking for any sign that he'd taken the bloody bird's words seriously, that he had realized who I really was—but, once more, he wasn't even looking at me. Instead, he was staring at the bird with a face full of terror. Was his ornithophobia rearing its head again?

Reaching out, I placed a comforting hand on the little fellow's shoulder. "You know...we all have problems of our own. If there's anything you want to tell me, I'll listen. A burden shared is a burden halved."

The little fellow's face paled, and he stumbled back, staring at me as if he'd seen Satan himself. "N-no, thanks! I'll be all right! And I don't have anything to share in the first place. I mean, what kind of secrets could a cabin boy like me possibly have? Haha, right? Bye, I'll be going now!"

And he ran out of the tent.

Blinking, I stared after him. Well...all right then. That was...odd.

Not that I currently had any leisure time to think about it. My eyes lowered to settle on the enormous tub full of onions in front of me.

Back to work. Oh joy!

Soon, I was so busy chopping onions that I didn't hear the mutters and curses coming from outside.

Over the next few days, Captain Rockface and his band of bloodthirsty bastards unleashed a campaign of terror all over the Caribbean, at the memory of which people would shiver in fear for years to come. Or maybe not, because in order for people to feel fear, there actually needed to be survivors. I wasn't there for most of the action, unfortunately—for one very simple reason.