I left the Pantano River at noon and was sailing through the open water. I would go to Tortuga, but a 15years old girl is hardly going to be allowed to drink rum in the midst of drunken pirates.
I settled on Montana Cove, on an island near Tortuga. It wasn't nearly as friendly but not many pirates went there so I was guaranteed some privacy. I pulled in at the docks, tied my boat up and flicked a shilling at the docksman.
Striding down the coastal path that lead into town, I could almost smell the sweet rum and was imagining the feeling of it slipping down my parched tongue.
Thinking of rum, I checked my pockets. Oh dam. I'd left my flask on the boat.
I retraced my steps feeling exceptionally annoyed at myself. The smell of rum had left me and was replaced by sea salt.
Finally reaching the docks I took in a sharp breath. "Brilliant," I muttered sarcastically. My boat was gone.
