Cockerell nodded. "Aye the crew 'ave been divided in groups o' threes. All will go at different times." The captain nodded but Cockerell could still see the tensing of his shoulder blades. "Cap'n I still reckon 'tis risky goin' thar, remember wha' happened last time?" The first man rubbed at his stomach. Just above his navel was a stitched scar he would never forget, though it had been long- the memory of the blooded knife kept him awake most cold nights. Macmillan tucked the looking glass into its leather poach and walked down the steps to the main deck, the first thing that caught his attention was the spotlessness of the floorboards.
"The lassy did the swabbin', Many o' the scallywags show thar respect, though some 'ave an evil eye fer her." Macmillan looked at him. "I do not want any harm to befall her." He realised a second too late that he had applied a lot of pressure on the man's shoulder. He let go and cleared his thought. The lassy was messing with his head and she had only been with him for two days. He needed to get her out of his head. "Cockerell." He called at his distracted most trusted man. They walked the stairs to the lowest part of the ship. It was stale and the air was terribly dump, mushrooms had already presented themselves on the moist wooden floorings.
"I wonder why ye had t' sneak 'em in at night. 'twas nah like anyone would wants t' loot empty boxes." Macmillan tapped one of the boxes and it gave out a hallow sound. "You are the only person I trust not to stab me in the back."
The captain replied and Cockerell blushed. "That be mighty fine o ye cap'n."
Macmillan stood from his bent position and looked at the man he had journeyed with for as long as he could remember. "They are not fine words. It is simply the truth, you would stab me in the heart with me seeing my death sword before taking my very last breath. It is just business Cockerell."
It was on the tip of his tongue to defend his captain but the man in question put out a hand. "Moving the boxes to harbour might be tricky." Cockerell tapped on another box and waited for its echo to die down. "Movin' it out will nah be tricky cap'n 'tis bringin' back wha' ye wants in. Now thar I pray we do nah meet those bastardly English scallywags."
Macmillan was temporally disgusted by the spit that Cockerell had spat on the floor. But he was not going to let that get him off point. "I heard thar be a new master sailin' the waters."
The sore look of utter most hatred crossed Macmillans features. He squeezed hard on the handle of his blade. "Never mind that help me with the boxes so it would be easier for the men to take them out without wasting a bit of their fancy time." Through the little light, Macmillan was able to see the glint of the sharpened knife. He knew the type of man his sea mate was- a dangerous criminal, but Macmillan had given him another chance at life, one away from the gallows and though it had cost him his precious wife and daughter, he hoped to the heavens that one day the family would be reunited. And he was not wrong when he had said it would be Cockerell to put the last knife through him, because there would come a time where every man would fend for themselves.
They set about binding the potable boxes in a fishing net and the larger ones were positioned for exist. The sweat dumped his body but he knew there was no time for a bath so he pushed the thought to the back of his head for when he came back from his journey.
He was on deck and was able to capture the land of yellow. An urge moved him to go down to his cabin but he hesitated before twisting the handle to his door. He bit on his inner cheek and turned for the little storage room. He was back at the bottom of the ship with his first mate and together they went about hammering the stubborn old rusty nails. It was strenuous but he rather that he did it than ask one of his other men.
Another bellow was shouted from above. His shirt was draped above his shoulders as he watched his men pull out the first bundle of boxes, finally they had reached land. He turned to Cockerell. "I will go with the first group of men. I doubt I will be gone for more than half an hour." Cockerell looked at the man puzzled. "Most o' the scallywags 'ave asked fer at least four hours t' drink ale 'n satisfy thar lions, why are ye askin' fer half cap'n?" Though he knew it was wrong to question his master he could not help the devious smile on his face.
Whereas Macmillan shrugged, he did not have to explain himself to anyone. Truth was he could not even bring himself to the truth. An onset of bubbles filled his stomach as he approached his door, the room was oddly silent, and if he had to guess she was most probably finished with the cleaning. He pushed open the door. The first thing to have caught his attention was the small woman squatted at the fireplace cleaning out the ash. She in haled a sniff of dust and let out a string of curses as she sneezed. He noticed her clothes were even more darted and that her shirt big as it was stuck to her underarms.
Bernadette stood as she felt his presence behind her. She looked back at the fireplace, though he had not asked her to have it cleaned, she did so as she was not sure whether she was meant to leave his cabins before he returned or wait for him. Her eyes took in his stomach and the child like thread that was around his neck. There was a sliver pendant with his familys crest resting just above his wild beating heart. She did not know how it was possible, but it felt as though she could hear his heartbeats in synchronization with hers. She eyed him suspiciously as he watched her back.
"I will be on my way captain Macmillan." His name on her tongue sent a whole new buzz of anticipation to his stomach. The windows were open but the only thing he could smell was her sweat and sweet smell- something he wanted to drink up. No, he told himself, he could not fall for the woman that had once pinched his coin purse, but he could not help himself either. Maybe he was not falling for her but simply lusting after her. She did, as he observed have the right body to make a man fall hard on his knees, just like how women fell for him.
She picked up her bucket and headed out the door. For a moment there was a flash of pain in his chest, and he had to wait for his manhood to cool down before closing the heavy oak behind her.
The deck was busy with activities while some got ready for setting abroad. Bernadette watched the men and women that moved about under the yellow sun, most of them not being faced by its heat. Cockerell was by the railing overseeing the work being carried out. She approached him. "Where are we Cockerell?" The man stopped his loud insults and looked at her. "Port Ivnany lassy." She had never heard of it but again she had never set foot outside the big world of loop skirts. She nodded and watched dazed as the men continued. She had also noticed that most of them were wearing the clothes she had washed. Speaking of a wash. Bernadette dared not smell her underarms. She was so consumed in sweat that Cockerell had winked his nose once or twice.
"Cockerell?" This time the man did not give a sigh of irritation or frustration. He angled his body as he gave her his full attention. "How does a sailor earn his place on ship?" The man stared back at her. "Begging ye pardon lassy?" Bernadette tried again. "The captain said I can never be part of the crew and I-" Her gaze swept over the sandy harbour. She was willing to risk her life at sea other than spend another day on land. Sea sickness was one thing to get over death was permanent. "I just want to know how one becomes part of the crew." Cockerell responded. "Lassy 'tis mostly ye signin' up yer name 'n workin' here that be how."
But Bernadette knew better. She knew that the first man and captain had fought many hard battles and they had been together side by side. There had to be something she could do, to prove she wanted to remain. "How many people prefer to say on land than come back to the ship?" Cockerell picked up a bucket and some ropes. He set about knotting them and placing them aside. A sail had been torn and the cannons had to be cleaned. It was work but he was willing to have it done so long as it distracted him from the port Ivnany. He had never felt so exited. The bubbles of joy worked through his stomach as he thought of them.
"Most scallywags dont leave the ship unless they go off fer a few hours. The majority say 'n we barely," he searched his brain. He was far back on the proper ways of English words but spending time with the captain had done him some good. He looked at the lassy. "Be that starb'rd word?"
She searched the man's eyes then nodded as much as she was distracted. "Barely 'ave t' crimp more sailors."
Bernadette nodded again. Her mind was deep in thought. "How did you came about the captain and ship?" At that Cockerell dropped the ropes in the bracket and smiled. "I approached the cap'n wit' a cutlass t' his throat 'n threatened t' scuttle 'im if he didn' save me from the gallows."
"No freaking way." She took a seat on one of the small wooden stools. "The gallows good sir why?" Cockerell smiled. He was not good and neither was he a sir, he had dishonoured the impeccably bred gentlemen one to many times. "Let us say lassy one does nah come about easy shillin', at times we do things." Like pinch purses and money coins thought Bernadette. She had also come face to face with the gallows and had only managed to escape through sheer luck. Something she knew she was running out of. Her breath caught as she heard the other set of words. "I scuttled many scallywags lassy. I was black spotted a criminal one that everyone feared, 'n I liked such fear but the cap'n 'n his kind heart saved me from the English scallywags."
He was more than surprised that she was not repulsed of his actions, many women would fear if not hide from him in hopes they were not his next victims. And yet she was amazed. He concluded she was not birthed by English blood. She was probably a foreigner in the strange land of long noses and big ears. "I was slaved here. Me mother was scuttled 'n I was thrown in the streets. Guess those hypocrites brought in more trouble than they thought they could handle 'n now they be complainin' about our kind roamin' the streets." He lifted a crate of antique ornaments and walked towards the plunk.
Bernadette looked down at her hands which still held her forgotten breakfast, a piece of dried bread and thick brown soup. Never had she thought she would miss the taste filled water that she had drank from pipes of rusty houses. The cup of water by her side set her tummy running for the hills. She picked a safe spot where she would not in any way be a distraction to anyone and munched slowly on her awful bread. Heavy footsteps sounded on the wood above her, and she tilted her head just in time to see the captain. Frizzling gasses ran down her stomach as she pictured his fine sweaty body. He was a god, a beautiful one at that.
Cont'd...