The Huntress ✓

05. Mistakes and Misconceptions

"Is this good or bad?" Sam whispered to Bronte as they uncovered her stash of supplies.

The night was dark as pitch. Moon and stars were covered by low-lying clouds threatening rain.

"Neither," she answered as she pushed her hair from her face. "None will see or hear us, but..."

"But?"

"We won't be able to see or hear either. And we can't risk lighting lanterns until we're well out."

"Can we make it without hitting a reef?"

"You memorized the lay yesterday while you were at the helm, did ya not?"

This was followed by silence.

"Sam?" she said through gritted teeth.

"Of course! Well—mostly. I mean—I didn't know we wouldn't be able to see at all."

Bronte moaned. She wished she'd manned the helm yesterday. There was nothing to be done about it now. "Come on, cart's full. We'll have to come back for a few more loads."

In silence they made their way toward the shore, emptied the load onto the dock, and returned for another.

"Extra sailcloth, hammocks, hardtack, pistols ... where'd you get all this?" Sam asked in astonishment as more of her stash was uncovered.

She smiled though he couldn't see it in the pitch dark. "Where do you think? It was easy to collect these things from the busier harbors. No one paid any mind as long as I kept acquisitions on the light side. The sailcloth and extra line came from the shipyard itself. Blackwater isn't very good at keeping inventory."

"What about fresh water?"

"We'll get a few barrels from Blackwater. Surly he's keen to donate to the cause. Again." She threw another bundle onto the cart. "When will the other sailormen get here?"

"Anytime. We'll meet at the dock."

"I heard Blackwater say they left two guards. It'll be two against one once we're aboard."

"Four against one," Sam corrected.

"What's that? I thought you were good at numbers Sam," she huffed as they pulled the loaded cart to the dock.

"I am. One of the guards is ours!" he said jovially, obviously pleased with himself.

"Ho! You have done well, my pirate friend!" She slapped him on the back, impressed.

On their third trip to the dock, bearing the last of her hoard, Bronte stopped short. Thick clouds parted just enough to let a moonbeam fall on the water's edge. An apparition stood there, loading the supplies into a longboat. He seemed to almost glow in the darkness, making an unearthly, incorporeal reflection in the black water beneath. A breeze blew his thin, white hair haplessly about.

Bronte released the cart and clutched the grip of the cutlass once again strapped to her side. Sam grabbed her arm, holding back her draw.

"He's with us. An albino," Sam whispered.

Bronte narrowed her gaze, her brows low with suspicion. "I've never seen him before. How do you know him?"

"Fellow with an appetite like me gets to know the cooks 'round here," Sam said lightly as he rubbed his belly.

"A cook?"

"We'll need a cook, won't we?" said Sam, a hint of apprehension leaking into his tone.