Pirate

Pounding on my door woke me the next morning. I rubbed my eyes and focused attention on my leg, realizing for the first time since the attack it did not hurt. The door opened without my prompting and Rory stood as a silhouette, her hair aflame in rising sun.

“You going to get your pirates moving? Sun’s up.”

I ignored the barb and looked at the linen wrapping my leg wound. It came off cleanly, and the scab protecting the cuts was flaking off, revealing healthy pink skin beneath it. I left the wound uncovered and rose.

“That looks better.”

It was the first personal thing that had come out of her mouth in days. “We’ll get to it soon. Got to unload the boat and send some of the crew to the island.”

She turned and left without a word. It was curious with her. I know I felt something and was pretty sure she did as well, but as long as she branded us pirates, there was no hope. I hadn’t wanted to be a pirate; rather, I had no choice, as I was abducted by Gasparilla the same as she. Fortune just had it that I was a boy—and able to read.

I heard activity on the deck and left my past in the cabin as I climbed to the deck.

The sun was out and the men were all up. Rhames had started moving the chests to the island, and I watched as the men heaved the last of them onto the deck. I sat and watched them finish the work and said a quick goodbye to Rhames as he and Red disappeared down the rope ladder. Lucy and Blue had already gone ashore, leaving me with Swift, Syd, and Rory.

I gathered the group together, and we watched the canoe disappear around the island in the direction of the beach. “Right, then. You and Syd work the sails. Rory will be at the helm and I will navigate and work the lead.” I checked the morning breeze before determining how much canvas to put out, then looked north, to where I expected the three-fathom line was, to decide on our heading. It would be a mistake in these shallow waters to pull the anchor without a clear course.

“We’ll head to deep water and follow the three-fathom line to Cayo Hueso. Set the main,” I ordered, before moving forward to bring in as much of the anchor rode as I could. Once the boat was directly over the anchor, I tied it off, hoping the movement of the boat would drag it free of the sandy bottom.

“You said Indian Key yesterday and that it would take a few hours,” Rory said.

“Change of plans. You’ve a better chance of getting on a boat at Cayo Hueso. It’ll take a bit longer, but the navigation is straightforward.” She seemed to accept this and went to the wheel. Swift and Syd pulled on the halyard on the main mast, and the large sail rose from the lazy jacks supporting it on the boom. About two thirds of the way up the mast, they tied it off, and we waited for it to fill. The wind was from the southeast, as it typically is here unless a front blows from the north. The canvas filled and pulled us forward. The boat lurched with only the weight of the anchor holding it back. I moved to the winch with the other men, and we put our backs into it. The anchor came aboard easily with the three of us and, once stowed, I went to the helm and took the lead line from the navigation station.

“Steer us straight north until I call to turn to the west. There’s a line at three fathoms here that’ll take us to a passage to the harbor.” I went forward after checking the course, repeating Rhames’s instructions for finding the channel in my head and dropped the lead line over the side. We were just shy of three fathoms now, and I knew we had a few feet below the keel. A few minutes later the lead line indicated we had reached our spot, and I called for Rory to turn. I had to admit the girl was good with a boat. Instead of making a hard turn, she called back my order and waited for Swift and Syd to adjust the sails. She then turned in a wide arc. The fore and aft mains and topsails were full, and I watched as the men moved to the bowsprit and unfurled the jibs.

I coiled the lead line and went back to the helm. I needed the speed of the boat to calculate the time to reach the passage and held the knot line, splitting the coil between my hands. I waited until the men had the jibs rigged and the wind filled the canvas before dropping it. I counted to thirty before retrieving the line and counting the knots. The boat was making close to nine knots. I left Rory with directions to hold course and went below to plot our position on the chart.