Without thinking, she held it to her nose. It smelled of rosemary.
“It’s clean.” He scratched his cheek. Even his knuckles were tattooed, the word HOLD on one hand and FAST on the other. “What exactly are you doing here?” he asked in a low and contemptuous voice.
I’m here to spare Thomas. I’m here because I have no home. I’m here because I’m not fit to be around normal people. “I told you. I want to become a Guardian.”
He took another step into her room, and her stomach tightened. He obviously hated her, and could kill her within moments. “You don’t know anything about us.” Candlelight glinted in his sea-green eyes. “I don’t know if you broke up with your boyfriend or got mad at your parents because they wouldn’t buy you—”
She jumped to her feet, her hands suddenly trembling. “Actually, you don’t know anything about me.” She had to restrain herself from shoving Lir against the wall—he’d be too strong for her. And in any case, if she attacked the first mate, she might be thrown off the ship or keelhauled or something.
He crossed his arms, staring her down. “When it all becomes too hard for you—and it will—don’t come crying to me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
When he stepped out of the room, she pressed the door closed, her hands still shaking.
Steadying her breath, she pulled off her sodden dress and hung it from a nail in the wall to dry. She slipped into a fresh dress from her bag. After blowing out the candle, she climbed into bed, pulling the crisp sheets up to her neck. The scent of rosemary drifted through the room.
The gentle rocking of the ship lulled her, and her heartbeat slowed. For the first time since she’d learned of her mom’s death, she was untroubled by images of her hand plunging a knife into Mrs. Ranulf’s face.
17
Fiona
When she awoke, daylight streamed in through the cracks in the walls, and two men stood over her. She pulled the sheets up higher, blinking.
Immediately, she recognized Jacques by his long dreadlocks. He adjusted his green doublet. “Sorry to alarm you. Captain sent me to wake you. It’s only ’cause you haven’t been initiated yet that he let you sleep this long.” He nodded at the other Picaroon. “Marlowe here was excited to meet you.”
She rubbed her eyes. “Where are we? How far from Dogtown and Gloucester?”
“Not far,” said Jacques. “You can almost see Gloucester on the horizon. I look for it every morning.”
Marlowe gestured to the ship with a wave of his hand. “But you’re here now. You’re not stuck with a bunch of dogs anymore. You’re with Dagon’s men. Real men.”
Fiona stared at Marlowe. He didn’t quite fit the image of a demigod, or even a “real man.” Tall and stooped with fair skin, he seemed entirely unsuited for a life under the open sky. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, and below it, light brown hair lay flat across his forehead.
“That’s right,” said Jacques drily. “I forgot to mention we were real men.”
A small, leather satchel hung over Marlowe’s shoulder. He nodded, a crooked smile brightening his face. “Seems like you were tired. But, I guess sleep all day is what bats like to do.”
She sat up. “I slept all day?” Her schedule had become totally disrupted, and she’d hardly slept at all since her mom was killed. Apparently, life among the monsters suited her. The sleep had been glorious—deep and dreamless, devoid of the blood and flames that haunted her thoughts before she’d met the Picaroons.
Marlowe fiddled with his satchel. “It’s nearly four in the afternoon. We’ll be eating soon, and then you walk the plank.” His eyebrows shot up. “And don’t worry too much about this first test. Most people survive the first night.”
Suddenly she felt wide awake. “Walk the plank? Into the water?” She cursed herself inwardly. She was terrified of the sea, and an idiot for joining the pirates. Still, at this point it was either death by witch hunters, wolves, or a sea god. Might as well go out like a hero.
Jacques shook his head. “You need only stand on the end. If Dagon wants your soul, he takes it. But you only need to stand there; Dagon takes care of the rest.”
She let out a long breath, not quite sure if she was relieved at the simplicity of the task, or horrified at the thought of an encounter with Dagon so soon.
Marlowe brightened. “I think you’ll like the Proserpine. It’s nearly three hundred years old, originally a slaver. It has a tonnage rating of three hundred—”
Jacques looked at his shipmate sideways. “Marlowe. I don’t think she’s interested in the tonnage rating on the night she meets Dagon. Let’s let her prepare.”
“Right.” Marlowe flashed another crooked smile, bowing his head to Fiona. “You’re to meet the other recruits in the galley for dinner. Then you come up to the deck.” He pointed to the left.