Swashbuckling in the Dark

Chapter Twenty

Ominous footsteps overhead and the swish of a long jacket alerted him to the presence of another. He remained on his back in the pile of straw, head tilted back to catch the drops of rain water leaking in. The storm outside didn't bother him much; the prison cell with no bed saw to the extent of his discomfort. He wasn't one to complain about an additional source of water.

Droplets continued to fall from the window high above his head, hitting his parched throat. He swallowed, at last sitting up when his visitor obnoxiously rattled his cell bars.

"At your service," Sykes mumbled, fixing bleary eyes on Captain Worthington, who stood outside the cell. Next to the naval officer, sharp and clean in his immaculate uniform, Sykes was sure he was a sight. He hadn't slept comfortably in days, let alone washed or shaved.

"I should hope so," Worthington responded coolly, relaying in bare terms the extent of his bargain with Sykes's captain. He informed him without sympathy that Sykes's imprisonment would endure for as long as Dark required to rescue the girl.

The pirate's last specks of optimism faded. It could be weeks before he was released, if at all. Steely blue eyes rested on the man outside the bars—he doubted very much that Worthington would order his release even if Dark met the terms of the agreement.

Either way, Sykes was alone.

"I would get comfortable," Worthington said nastily, kicking the cell door with the heel of his boot. Sykes, whose hands had been wrapped around the cold metal, grimaced and withdrew. Worthington sneered. "I'll be back, pirate."

Without farewell, he took his leave of the jail, feet thudding back up the steps. Sykes sunk back onto the heap of straw, resting his head as comfortable as possible against the wall. Reaching a hand inside his shirt, he pulled out the folded piece of paper he had tucked there for safekeeping.

The guards who had searched him hadn't deemed it worth taking away from him. His fingers itched for the familiar hold of his old companions: his pistol and his sword. Unfolding the paper, he experienced a second, deeper longing for something missing from the tiny jail cell. He'd sketched a rough image onto the paper, his first attempt at recreating Tallera's likeness. The long hair was missing its vivid crimson color, but the eyes were nearly perfect. Etched in charcoal, the likeness gazed back at him, real enough to pretend it was her real face he looked upon.

With a heavy sigh, he tilted his head back against the wall. The occasional raindrop continued to fall above his head, but he didn't crane his neck to catch them and quench his thirst. His eyes remained riveted on the face in front of him, his imagination pretending she sat next to him on the cold stone floor.

*********************

Raucous male laughter and the scent of sour ale surrounded me. I stood with my back against the wall, on the outside of the circle of pirates huddled together. Apparently gambling wasn't a women's game. Despite all my efforts to embrace the pirate life during the months I had spent as part of the crew, I couldn't change my gender. There were certain crew activities I was simply excluded from, even if the men accepted my presence.

Johnny rose from the gang of jeering crewmen and stood beside me.

"Any luck?" I asked him, indicating the huddle of men. Johnny was also frequently excluded, although because of his age. Squinting briefly at his profile, I estimated his youth wouldn't be a problem for much longer. Sooner or later, Johnny would grow up. His face had already begun to shed some of boyishness. For a moment, I didn't recognize him.

"I never do," he said to me, smiling lightly. The expression transformed him back into the boy I knew.

Relaxing my posture, I reached out to put a hand gently on his shoulder. He was still thin and bony—a result of a poor diet—but the planes had broadened in order to support growing muscle. "Don't worry," I reassured him. "This way you can keep your share of the wealth." I chuckled lightly as Keith was forced to hand over a chunk of coins to Ryan, having lost.