A Hidden Queen

Chapter 57

Amber eyes scan the rain sodden deck. The nightly watch glare at the bone chilling droplets with loathing and disdain. Burnt silently curses Charlie and his rain prediction as he shivers violently with the cold seeping beneath his clothes. He glances out over the waters, groaning as the nearby ship disappears within the passing heavy rain squall. It painfully irritated the crew as the frequent passing sheets enveloped The Governor, blocking all sight to mere yards. If it was not for the hawklike eyes of Mr. Wickman, she would have been lost hours ago. The only blessing to this miserable weather was that the bulky first-rate has stationed itself against the backside of an atoll. The navigator must be an incompetent man indeed. Burnt smirks to himself.

The worn battle chief ducks under the protruding quarterdeck. He pauses at the sentry stationed outside the captain's door. Hopkins was a muscularly lean man, standing at a height of six-foot with a rectangle body shape. He studies and scrutinizes the world through bright sapphire eyes. Burnt inhales sharply as they appear almost purple in the dull orange light.

"Chief." He curtly greets.

"Hopkins. I've been informed the captain has need of me." Burnt states in boredom.

"Aye sir."

Hopkins gives a coy smirk, rapping his knuckles against the frosted glass. He pushes open the door, popping half of his body inside the frame.

"The Chief is here to see you sir." Hopkins announces.

"Bring him in Hopkins." John orders.

Hopkins steps fully into the room, leaning his back against the door. John and Pittman stood at the back of the cabin behind John's oak desk. The pair straighten as Burnt slithers his way into the fully lite cabin. The battle chief trembles violently as the heat smacks into him like a wall; the outside chill crying out as it's chased from his bones.

"You seemed chilled Burnt." Pittman gruffs.

"Chilled does not describe the torment this foul weather brings about. I am merely grateful that our dear captain's quarters are directly above the cook's stove, allowing an old seadog such as myself to warm himself without Mr. Good swinging a knife at me. The man is surely violent with such things in his possession." Burnt lightly jokes, pulling the sodden hat from this head.

"Oh?" John hums in amusement, resting a hand on his hip. "Maybe I should tell the good cook that the great Kurt Hayden is intimidated by a man nearly half his size." John endlessly teases.

"I surely wish you wouldn't sir. There is no sense in the crew thinking ill of me because I am afraid of a man who knows how to use a knife well and dispose of my body."

John chuckles at the lighthearted teasing of the old cook. Burnt observes the deep green eyes examine him as he shakes the water from his hair.

"What say you call me for sir?" Burnt jumps directly to point.

John sighs, throwing the newly worn pencil on the tabletop surface. He squeezes by Pittman coming to stand erect within the middle of his quarters.

"Hayden, I am in need of your assistance on a matter." John skirts.

"Assist away John."

"It would appear that some members of my crew are beginning to speculate about our reasons for the tracking of The Governor."

"Aye, I have heard some of the whisperings. I do not believe they are warranted a second thought sir as what is there to speculate on the matter? After the savage attack on The Mary from the Commodore and then the snatching of our crew members there should be no question as to why we are in pursuit."