It’s more space than any single person on a ship has a right to own, though I’m sure Alosa would think it too small. Brigantines are thin and easy to maneuver, valued for their speed. The captain’s quarters are much smaller than they might be on other vessels.
I empty out my bag, putting four sets of identical clothing in cubbies of the closet. Cotton shirts and pants in varying shades of gray and black. My spare boots I place on the floor, tucking my coin purse within the toe of the left boot for safekeeping.
I notice that Alosa has already placed other sets of clothing in here for me. Fur-lined pants and boots. Long-sleeved shirts, wool scarves and hats, a coat thick enough for me to get lost in.
There’s no telling how far north we’ll have to go, but the farther we sail, the colder the weather will get. As usual, Alosa has thought of everything.
I haven’t any items in the way of personal belongings save all the weapons I carry on me. I learned at a young age not to give value to such things. They can be ripped away faster than you can blink.
I store my second rapier, brass knuckles, knives, and other sharp instruments throughout the room, placing them in drawers, nooks behind navigating instruments, and wherever else I can make them fit. That done, I turn to the bed.
I can’t remember the last time I slept in an actual bed. Usually, it’s a hammock belowdecks for the likes of me, and I’ve certainly never slept in a bed big enough to fit two people.
Atop the woolen blankets, I find the key to my room, a fine-looking jacket, and a note. I pocket the key before picking up the parchment.
You’re a captain now, so you need to look the part. Happy belated birthday! See you when I get back.
With love,
Mandsy
I flip the paper over, finding another scrawl of writing in a different penmanship.
You should know I had to stop her from picking out something in yellow. Since you hate attention and birthdays, I won’t bother to wish you a happy one. You should also note that I refrained from giving you a gift. Who’s your favorite?
It’s me!
—Niridia
I’m smiling despite myself. The captain’s coat is made out of a midnight-black brocade, though I note that Mandsy couldn’t help but pick out something with a dash of color. A deep scarlet paints the wide cuffs at the wrists, as well as the collar at the neck. Gold buttons drift down the sides, each one so polished I can see my reflection.
It must have been terribly expensive.
I try it on.
Fits like a glove.
I find the mirror near the closet and appraise myself.
I look … like a captain. Like a girl who’s meant to be seen and give out orders. The jacket hangs down to my knees, just above where the leather of my tall boots ends. The rest of my clothes are worn and faded, not matching at all with the fancy new coat.
Mandsy would probably say that I need to break it in. She’d point out it will get dirty and worn with usage. I’ve never been one to care what people think of me, but maybe that’s because I’m not used to them looking my way at all, not when I’m so careful to hide myself in the shadows.
I look above the coat, at the features of my face. I like to keep my hair in small braids, which I then pull back into a ponytail. I prefer it kept out of my eyes. Makes it easier to kill things. I have pointed features, strong cheekbones, and an angled brow. My nose is wide, and my brown eyes have a circle of black at the outer edge of the irises.
Even I can admit the coat looks incredible against my dark brown skin.
It would be rude not to wear it. The voice of reason in my head sounds strangely like Alosa’s.
But Mandsy’s not here to know whether or not I wear it.
You’re the captain, Sorinda. You need to look the part. You need to command the respect of all aboard this vessel. Just wear the damn jacket.
Before I can lose my resolve, I make for the door. When I open it, I leap backward.
A large body stands on the other side, fist upturned to knock.
Kearan.
His other hand is behind his back, clutching something.
“Captain,” he says, surprised by my sudden appearance. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You don’t scare me.”
He blinks once at that, then asks, “Can I come in?”
“No.”
“I have something for you.”
“I don’t like gifts.”
The silence is painful, but I refuse to let it show on my face. I say not a word more, nor do I move from my position. I will not back down.
Kearan brings his other hand around, and I see the rim of a tricorne pinched between his fingers. “I just thought, as the captain, you need a hat. Besides, you won’t be able to hide in the shadows like you usually do. Maybe the hat will give you some semblance of privacy. A way to hide your face when you wish. I would have given you something sooner if I’d known it was your birthday.”
I absolutely loathe the thoughtful gesture. What is this? Another attempt to win me over?
“I didn’t get you a present on your birthday,” I say.
“I don’t care.”
“You’re in my way.”
He steps backward. “Sorry, Captain.”
I haven’t the slightest idea what to do. That hat is still being offered to me, and some of the crew have to be watching. The way is now sort of clear, but how will it look if I brush past him without doing anything else?
In a split decision, I take the hat, toss it onto the bed behind me, then shut and lock the door before leaving Kearan standing next to it.
There.
Now I need to find Dimella so she can save me from any further interactions with this reprehensible man.
Instead, she finds me.
“Captain, all crew and supplies are accounted for. Vengeance is ready to set sail.”
That means it’s time to give my first order as captain. I swallow my discomfort. “Then let’s be off,” I tell her.
“Aye-aye. Kearan, to the helm with you!” she shouts to the man still standing behind me. “Weigh anchor! Riggers, to your posts!” I climb the companionway to join her atop the aftercastle. From here, I can see a single figure on the beach, strands of red hair brushing over her shoulders. Alosa waves.
I wave back as the ship starts to turn, heading for open ocean.
Here we go.
We’re sailing north to the Seventeen Isles. From there, we’ll take the same path the land king’s lost vessel, the Wanderer, did. Hopefully, we’ll catch some trace of her—and Alosa’s missing crew.
With the ship on its proper course and the sails set to rights, the crew is free to relax. Some go below for naps before they’re expected to take night shifts this evening. Others lean their forearms on the railing to watch the sun splay over the ocean. Girls chitter in the rigging, preferring to be up high. The crew is mostly women, I’ve noted. In fact, I’ve only counted five men, including Kearan and Enwen.
Alosa prefers it that way. Simply put, women make the best pirates. They think with their heads instead of their privates. They feel they have more to prove, so they work harder. They’re more honorable and trustworthy. There are, of course, the exceptions. Wallov and Deros, stars grant him rest, were fine pirates when they were on Alosa’s crew. And I’ve known women who double-crossed their own crews.
Still, numbers are numbers.