The Scourge - Pirates & Privateers

Chapter 7: A Night in Nassau

Martin had forgotten how deafening the noises of the night could be in the absence of a yawning, creaking ship. Every whistle of wind and creak of timbers made his head swell, yet exhaustion somehow found its way to him. Who knows if it was the drink, the comfy chair, the warmth of the fire, or a mixture of all three? Before long, sleep hung heavier on him than he could ever recall in his life. One minute, he was sitting vigilant in his chair by the door, his feet propped up on a vase stand and his pistol over one knee; the next, he was lost in his own head, picking out the sounds of fighting dogs from those of squawking parrots dodging predators of the night. After what had only felt like a few seconds, but what must have been at least hours, Martin opened his eyes with a start, cold sweat beading his brow, and he instinctively turned towards the door.

The iron bolt was in place across the top of the frame, just as he had left it. At the time he had fastened it, the sight of that locked bolt made him feel safe, but now he was looking at it in the cold darkness of night, it reminded him more of a prison cell than a barricade against intruders. He wondered if Emily felt the same way.

Blinking away the crusts of sleep, he squinted in the direction of the four-poster bed. The moonlight seeping in through the shutters illuminated the drapes with a ghostly glow, surrounding the sleeping woman in a silver halo. Emily lay with the sheet pulled over her head, her back turned towards him, barely making a sound; unlike the Captain, whose heavy snoring could be heard as loud as a hurricane from the room over.

The only thing about their quarters that seemed to be different in any way was the temperature; it was much colder than he remembered despite the fire, now no more than a few crackling embers in the grate. A shiver took hold of him, and he sat up, rubbing his shoulders to encourage the blood back into his arms. Distracted by the chill, he forgot about the pistol on his knee.

He felt the weight slip away, and by the time he knew what was happening, it was too late to catch it. Shutting his eyes and tensing his entire body, he braced himself. The sharp clatter of the iron barrel and brass fittings echoed through the hollow air. To his relief, the gun didn't go off.

He waited, his breath stuck in his throat, expecting to hear Emily groan or grumble, or even shoot up like a viper and spit vile obscenities at he who dared disturb her slumber. The room remained silent. He opened his eyes and looked again towards the bed. The sleeping shape hadn't even shifted. Squinting a little closer, he stared hard at the bed for any sign of movement and shuddered with cold as he did. Is there a draught in here somewhere? He didn't remember there being one before. Curiosity getting the better of him, he let his heels slip from the vase stand and thump against the floorboards. The punctuating thud echoed so loud that he thought he heard Captain Percival next door pause between his snores to groan and shift in his sleep. Martin held still for a moment, eyes fixed on the shape between the sheets. It didn't stir.

Either she's in a deeper sleep than anyone this side of Christendom has ever had, he thought, or she's dead. Martin had thought of this as a joke, but the second after it crossed his mind, his heart sank and he leapt to his feet, accidentally kicking his chair away as he did. He marched over to the bed, making sure to pick up his pistol as loudly as he could on the way.

'Miss Morton?' he whispered as he slipped his gun back into his belt. There was no response. 'M-Miss Morton?' he said, a little more forcefully, but he couldn't stop his voice from breaking. When he received no answer again, he put his hand between the curtains and grabbed her by the shoulder. 'Emily, are y-?' Struck by confusion, he squeezed the sheet and the mass beneath it again. Shoulders aren't usually this soft, are they?

Martin reached out for the corner of the sheet. He hesitated for just a moment. A deep-red blush flashed hot across his cheeks and down his neck as he thought of what may lie beneath. What if he was wrong? What if she woke up to find him standing over her, peeling back her bedsheets? What kind of look would she give him then? He thought he had read all the malice he could in the eyes of another, but maybe he would discover new limits. As he took the corner, he instinctively averted his gaze, and in one swift motion, ripped the sheet away from the mattress.