Chapter 9: In Plymouth (2)

Claire looked down at the sea below the railing with a wary gaze.

The surface was dizzyingly far, and the churning, black water made it difficult to guess the depth. After turning his head this way and that to gauge the distance, he stepped down from the wooden barrel he had been standing on.

It was the afternoon of their second day in Plymouth.

Using the excuse of feeling stifled, Claire had managed to slip away from Mary Read and was now alone on the empty deck. As he had been told, he had some freedom to move within the ship, but the security near the gangway was incredibly tight.

Mary Read spent the entire day drinking in a hammock slung near the watchtower, and four or five pirates rotated shifts, guarding the exit with weapons to ensure no prisoners escaped.

Because of this, Claire was weighing the possibility of jumping into the sea—where the guard was relatively thin—to make his escape. However, that didn’t look easy either.

Even jumping from the lowest deck would be a drop of over 30 feet. To avoid being pursued by the pirates at the harbor, he would have to swim past that secluded cape in the distance.

He doubted himself. Henry might manage it, but could he—someone who had barely ever swum—survive a dive from this height and then swim over three miles?

“This is troublesome,” Claire muttered under his breath. He was truly caught between a rock and a hard place.

The only slight comfort was that the guard at the western hold wasn’t very strict. There were so many prisoners that they didn’t seem to be doing regular headcounts; it felt as though one person vanishing might go unnoticed.

However, even if he managed to reach Henry and successfully untie him, Henry would be weakened from being bound and would need time to recover. That required a hiding spot, but even on a ship this large, hiding a person completely seemed impossible. Since they had been captured together, the moment Henry was found missing, the pirates would surely search Claire’s room first.

“Sigh. What should I do…”

He sat in a corner of the deck for several hours, lost in thought. By the time he had managed to organize his ideas, the sun was beginning to set over the ocean.

He loathed the ship, but he had to admit the sunset at sea was spectacular. Claire watched the open ocean turn a deep vermilion before turning his gaze back toward Plymouth. The spires and the bustling harbor were right there, yet freedom felt so far away.

“Claire, let’s eat! Giltre bought a ton of stuff!”

Mary Read’s shout echoed from afar. Claire brushed himself off and headed toward her.

“Look at this! Isn’t this great meat? And we have cheese, too. Tonight is a party, I tell you!”

“Stop rummaging through other people’s things!” Giltre chided Mary Read, though he seemed in a good mood. Having spent a night on land, he looked cleaner than usual, as if he had managed a haircut and a bath.

With practiced skill, he started a fire in the stove and began grilling thick bacon and cheese. Mary Read wiped a dirty cup with an equally dirty cloth, poured a generous amount of rum, and chattered away with Giltre.

“When I go into Plymouth, I’m going to buy a lot of apples. They’ll be dried up by the time we pass Nantes, right? Once we set sail this time, we’re stopping at Porto once and then heading straight for North Africa, so dried fruit will be good to have. Oh, by the way, how’s the inn in Plymouth?”

“Clean, huge, and pretty decent. Though the Admiral took one look at it, scowled, and walked right out.”

“Well, the Admiral has plenty of places inviting him, so that’s expected. Did that noble lady—Martina or whatever—come to pick him up again?”

“No, he just took his sword and left. Though I’m sure he’s in some noble’s manor by now.”

“Tsk, boring. I thought maybe he’d come back early this time to see Claire.”

Claire flinched at the mention of his name. Mary Read took a long swig of rum and cut off a corner of white bread with a knife.

“I thought he’d dote on him for at least two weeks, but I guess he still can’t resist a woman.”

“Well, isn’t that better? It’s easier for Claire, and it’s about time the Admiral got himself a proper woman instead of playing around like this.”

“Where is a pirate supposed to find a ‘proper’ woman? Besides, I hate the idea of the Admiral getting a woman!” Mary Read slammed her cup down and shouted. Giltre turned to look at her with a smirk.

“What’s this? Jealousy?”

“Who’s jealous? For what reason!” Mary Read’s sun-tanned face turned even redder, perhaps from the rum. “I can’t stand seeing some woman with permed hair and bright red lips giving orders like she’s our superior. A soft man is much better.”

She waved her arms with exaggerated motions and reached out to fiddle with Claire’s soft, cotton-like cheek.

“Look at this pretty, model-student face. A type like this would definitely be chivalrous and treat me well, wouldn’t he?”

“Please stop being rude,” Claire said, gently pushing her arm away. But Mary Read, perhaps emboldened by the alcohol, pulled him into a sudden hug. The movement caused the dagger hidden under his clothes to clatter. Mary Read’s eyes sharpened.

“What’s this?”

“Whoa!”

Mary Read unceremoniously yanked down the collar of Claire’s shirt. She reached in, pulled out the dagger, and shouted, “Wait! This is the Captain’s, isn’t it? Did you steal it?”

“No!” Claire instinctively denied it in a panic. “I asked for a weapon to protect myself… and he gave it to me.”

As he added the explanation, Mary Read’s eyes twinkled. Even Giltre walked over from the stove and began to handle the dagger with interest.

“Heh. This is a very high-quality piece. To think the Captain gave him a blade… impressive.”

“Ahahaha! The edge is incredibly sharp. I wonder if he’ll end up hurting himself swinging it with those delicate hands.”

“I’ve learned fencing!” Claire retorted to Mary Read, who was inspecting the blade. The response he got was a burst of raucous laughter.

“Kyahaha! Sure, sure. But don’t go making any stupid plans to kill everyone and escape. Most of the combatants on this ship carry pistols.”

If most of them had pistols, the chances of being shot while fleeing were high. Claire shivered slightly. Seeing this, Mary Read, who still had her arm around his shoulder, laughed again and offered him her overcoat.

“My, my. Our lady seems to be cold. Here, keep this on.”

The stove was lit, and it was only early autumn, so it wasn’t cold at all. Claire was about to snap at her, but it suddenly occurred to him that this coat might be useful. Most of the pirates on the ship wore similar clothing.

Seeing him quietly drape the coat over his shoulders, Mary Read laughed some more, but Claire bit his lip and endured it.

“Looking at your neck, the Admiral certainly left his mark, didn’t he? Our Admiral has quite a lot of stamina—to head out right after putting you through that.”

After that, Mary Read spent a long time sharing “advice” that was mostly lewd talk, while drinking heavily and devouring bacon and cheese. It was only when the night was very deep that Claire was finally free from the two drunken pirates.

“Well, good night.”

Having practically carried the drunken Mary Read to her room and tossed her in, Giltre gave a long yawn and headed to his own cabin. Hearing Giltre’s door close, Claire thought to himself:

‘I have to do it tonight.’

The two pirates closest to him were drunk, and Elpian was gone. There would never be a better opportunity.

Claire checked the dagger in his coat and put on Mary Read’s overcoat. Since it was a woman’s garment, it was tight around the back, but it fit well enough.

He hesitated with his hand on the doorknob, his palms sweating, but he steeled his resolve and opened the door to the cabin.

‘If I run into anyone, I’ll just say I’m going to use the head.’

He had used that excuse the previous night when he ran into Mary Read in the corridor. While it had been true then, she hadn’t seemed suspicious at all.

He crept down the hallway, keeping his footsteps silent. Aside from the thunderous snoring coming from Giltre and Mary Read’s rooms, it was incredibly quiet.

When he reached the deck and the sound of the waves grew louder, Claire stopped his cautious creeping and walked at a brisk pace toward the stairs leading to the western hold. By the time he started climbing, his heart was pounding so hard he felt it might jump out of his chest.

The entrance to the hold wasn’t locked, but it let out a loud creak as he opened it. He tensed, fearing the noise might wake the prisoners, but there was no sign of movement from within.

After waiting a moment, Claire boldly struck a flint he had found in Mary Read’s pocket to start a light. The dark hold was crowded with bound prisoners. He was terrified someone might make a noise, but perhaps because of his attire, the prisoners merely cringed, assuming he was one of the pirates.

Gaining courage, Claire entered and began carefully examining the faces of the prisoners sprawled on the floor.

After twenty minutes of searching, Claire’s eyes widened.

“Henry!”

There, on the foul-smelling floor, was a familiar face. Claire rushed over, cradled Henry’s slumped head, and shook him gently.

However, the gaunt, pale face showed no movement.

‘Is he already dead?’

He used the dagger to cut the ropes binding Henry’s body, then used his water bottle to moisten Henry’s lips and began massaging his limbs. The once muscular arms had grown noticeably thin in just a few days. His pulse was so faint it brought tears to Claire’s eyes.

Even after desperately massaging the body for a long time, there was no reaction. Just as a single tear escaped and fell, Claire considered the desperate move of stealing brandy from the mess hall.

“If you have water to drop, give it to me. I truly feel like I’m dying.”

It was a faint, raspy voice. Claire’s face lit up instantly.

Henry Howell Davis was looking at Claire, his blue eyes squinting slightly.