It was too dark to see anything in the cramped space. Her
father had often explained that open flames were forbidden at
sea unless attended to in the galley, and the light from the massive stern lantern mounted on the back of the ship did not reach into the ship’s belly.
The smell of wet canvas and mold permeated every inch
of the filthy vessel. With tears running down her cheeks, Anne wondered how she would possibly endure several weeks aboard.
Her cabin was like a coffin, for she truly felt as if she would die.
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Lying in the protective cocoon of the hammock, she turned onto her side, pulling her knees up to her chest. Her forehead was damp with perspiration, and her head pounded.
What had been the contents of her stomach now swilled
around in the bucket on the floor as the ship rose and fell
with every surge.
Anne had lost track of time. Each wave that crashed
against the hull of the ship seemed to count every second with never-ending precision.
Her fingers shook as she reached for her pocket watch, the
cold metal an anchor against a rising tide of despair. Her side still hurt from when she’d fallen in Bristol, but by the time they reached their destination, it should be healed.
Her heart, on the other hand, was an entirely different matter.
She’d written the note, just as Drummond had instructed.
She’d almost expected him to stand over her shoulder while she’d performed the task, but thankfully he’d left her to her duty.
She hoped Teach would understand what she’d written. If
he couldn’t find a way to get to her . . . then she would find a way to get to him.
I will make it out of this alive. I will, she vowed silently.
But not if she remained in this cabin much longer.
Stumbling to the door, Anne wiped furiously at her cheeks.
She tried not to think about what was underfoot, even as she
felt the telltale squelch of several insects through the thin
leather soles of her walking boots. Pulling the door open, she
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took a deep breath of the briny air, and tripped in her haste to reach the deck.
The ship continued to roil beneath her feet, and more than
once Anne staggered against the railing of the stairs as she made her way up to the deck.
The slate gray of the sky matched the choppy waves of the
sea, both extending in an unbroken line to the horizon. The
wind whipped her hair about her face, and wrapped her skirts
around her legs.
The port of Bristol had been left far behind. And with it
any hopes of seeing Teach.
Choking back a sob, Anne clenched her hands to her stomach, her nails biting into her palms.
She had always planned to leave England, she reminded
herself. Together she and her father had often looked at maps
and sketched their course, an expanse of open sea the only hindrance between them and their destination.
But from where Anne stood now, the stretch of water
appeared wider and vaster than she could have imagined. And she was alone on a strange ship, without a single coin to her name.
“Don’t go too close to the sides,” said someone on her left.
Startled, Anne whirled around, clutching a nearby rope to
keep her balance. Before her stood a boy and a girl, each perhaps twenty years of age. They were both blond, with wide blue eyes, and they were clearly related.
The boy was stout, with sturdy shoulders and a thick neck.
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His sister, although not as large, had a full figure. Her brown dress and shawl were threadbare, hardly sufficient to protect her from the biting wind. And she was far too cheery for being aboard such an unworthy sea vessel.
“I had no intention of doing that,” Anne said.
The girl smiled, her eyes warm. “Good. My brother, Coyle,
here, says it’s dangerous and that I shouldn’t come up here without him.”
Anne glanced at Coyle. People would definitely think twice
about approaching if he stood by your side. Anne had already
felt several crewmen eyeing her, their gaunt expressions hard—
ened by years of strenuous labor. She planned to ignore them,
hoping they would afford her the same courtesy.
“My name’s Cara Flynn. What’s yours?”
“Anne Barrett.”
“Pleased to meet you, Anne Barrett. Would you mind if
Coyle and I kept you company? I have no wish to spend any
more time in my hammock than necessary.”
“I wouldn’t have minded,” Coyle muttered.
His sister frowned. “Then you can go back down. I told you
I’d be fine up here.”
“I couldn’t remain in my cabin any longer either,” Anne
said, shivering at the thought of the rats and cockroaches.
“You’re lucky you have a cabin. Coyle spent the whole
night making sure no one harmed us. But the only thing that
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came close to bothering me was a cheeky rat who took a liking to my ankles.”
Anne grimaced. “Lucky” was not a word she’d use to describe
her present situation, but having her own cabin was far better than sleeping with the rest of the passengers in hammocks