Mark of the Damned | 18+

Dead Man's Hand

Dead Man's Hand by Lord Huron

My shoes stick to the floor. Years of spilled ale and dirt have created a thick glue that coats the ground.

Clutching my bag so tightly that my hand cramps, I make my way through the clusters of men, some drunk, some barely conscious. Women in various states of undress sit exposed to the entire pub without a care in the world. They sit on tables or in the laps of men with gold teeth and long, matted hair.

A woman makes eye contact with me, winking as the man she's straddling slips a coin into the bodice of her tattered dress. She yelps out a cackling laugh as his tongue slides across her chest. Gripping tight to my own shawl, I hold the material closed as I pass them.

People laugh and shout, loud and screeching. The noises mix together to create a dizzying effect. Coupled with the smell of sweat and ale and grime, it's nauseating.

The sweltering heat of too many bodies packed into too small a space makes sweat drip down my back. There are too many people to focus on anyone. Do any of these people have a captain's pin? I can't tell.

A knife flies through the air, whizzing past my face. It lands in the wall behind me as I scream, stumbling away as a group of men howl with laughter.

"Keep your head up or you'll lose it, lassie," a man with a thick accent slurs as he throws another knife into the wall. When I've regained my footing, I see that there are at least a dozen knives splintering the wall. Hundreds of marks mar the wood from previous throws.

Huffing out a terrified breath, I hurry toward the crowded bar. Just like every other inch of this place, the bar top is overcrowded. Squeezing in, I'm met with a burly woman pouring whiskey into a row of glasses.

"You look a bit far from home," she looks me up and down.

"I'm looking for a trustworthy captain. Is there anyone here you can recommend?"

Before she can answer the man beside me cuts in. "I'm a trustworthy captain! What can I do for you?"

"Oh, you're a shite hawk, leave the girl alone," the barmaid shoos him away. "What do you need a captain for, darlin?"

"I-" I'm not sure what I should say. I don't want to tell the whole pub that I've got money in my bag. "I'd like to keep myself to myself, if you don't mind."

Her lips tip down in a smile, "smart."

"You wouldn't be looking for passage, would ya?" A slightly older man turns toward me, gulping down the remnants of his drink. "Another mead," he holds it up to the barmaid.

"I might be."

He chuckles, "if you were, where would you be heading?" He turns to face me completely. My eyes

immediately land on the silver pin on his worn coat.

"If I were, the location would be of little importance."

"You should be careful, there are pirates in these waters." His voice is dark, meant to scare me. "They might take advantage of a pretty little thing such as yourself." I'm not sure if he's warning me or threatening me.

"I see you have a captain's pin, Sir. Might I pay for passage with you?" The nervous weight in my chest pushes me to ask. I can't be too choosy. I need to get out of Ireland before my father finds me.

He smiles with his thick yellowing teeth on full display. As he opens his mouth, he's cut off.

"Leave the girl, Stuart," a man yells from behind us.

"He's lying to you, love. He's a pirate if there ever was one." The man is head and shoulders above any other in the dingy pub. "I'll take you where you want to go."

How could he possibly hear our conversation?

I turn back to really look at him and my mouth drops open.

He's handsome to be sure, but something in his eyes frightens me, something dreadful and dangerous. I've never seen anyone like him. Not only is he tall, but he's muscular in a way that doesn't make sense. I grew up in the country, with men that plowed fields and bucked hay. I have taken notice of the muscles of a fit man. He is beyond that. His chest and arms strain against his shirt. His long, thick hair shines under the dull lights. He is more of a man than anyone I've ever seen. He looks like he could take on every man in the pub and be the only one left standing.

"Names Captain Cormac," He steps forward, his large frame dwarfing not only mine but also the man beside me.

Weighing my options, I search his jacket for a captain's pin.

"It's right here, love," he taps the pin on his lapel.

"How much do you have to pay for charter?"

"Um," I look around anxiously, leaning in so that no one else hears. "I have twelve punt."

"Twelve?" His brows furrow. "We're heading to Portugal. Twelve punt won't cover your rations for half the journey."

"I'm an excellent seamstress and I can be the laundress aboard. I can also cook, and I clean. I won't make any trouble..." I'm rattling off anything I can think of. I'm not sure why I'm trying to sell him on this. I don't even want to go with him. He's much too intimidating.

He hums and stares down at me. "You'd be right at home on The Siren's Call."

"Thank you, Captain." He makes me feel uneasy.

Maybe it's his size, or the golden glint in his eyes, maybe it's the way he's looking at me like he might devour me whole. I don't have any other options. Either I go with him, or I go with the frightening man beside him.

"When do we leave?"

The wolfish grin on his face makes my knees tremble. "We get underway before sunrise, keep up."

Without another word he turns, parting the crowds as he leaves me scrambling to follow.

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