Quinn had learned to dive underwater with his eyes open as a boy, to hunt for lobsters and cockles. Now, a grown man and a pirate captain, the ability came in handy when it came to examining the hull of his ship – activity made easy, even pleasant, by the shallow, warm, clear waters of Nassau’s port (so different from the cold, dark waters of his hometown).
“So she’s good to go?” Quinn asked the carpenter when they both came up to breathe, to which Harvey smiled wildly and nodded: “In perfect condition, sir. She’ll take you through a hundred storms!”
Quinn winced. “God, I surely hope not!” What a terrifying though. The man meant well, Quinn knew that, but it was never a good idea to tempt Lady Fortune like that.
The Wild Hunt had had a close encounter with a sand bank just a few days before: fearing damage to the hull, as soon as they’d docked in Nassau Quin had arranged for his ship to be thoroughly checked. From the inside she’d seemed fine, but cracks on the outer part of the hull could lay dormant for years and then split open without warning.
But it seemed like it wasn’t the case, which lifted the Captain’s bad mood. Micah would be ecstatic to know that no, they wouldn’t have to dry-dock the Wild Hunt for repairs: he’d thrown a hissy fit when Quinn had warned him it might be the case, bitching that it was too expensive and that it would heavily cut the earnings of their last plunder.
Quinn left the carpenter to his devices and climbed up the ladder onto the wooden dock. Tomorrow was payday, and the crew would be happy to know that it was going to be a rich one. The last Spanish vessel had been loaded.
He turned towards the voice – Tony, of their most recent recruits – as he squeezed the water out of his long hair. “What is it?” He inquired, curious rather than worried, since the man didn’t look panicked as much as excited.
“There’s a woman who wants to see you, sir! She says she needs passage.”
Quinn’s eyebrows rose in surprise. A woman, singular? It was quite rare for a woman to travel alone. “Where is she?”
Tony pointed behind him, at the other end of the docks – and sure enough there was a woman standing not far, looking at them.
The captain was suddenly acutely aware of his state: bare-chested, his tattooed and scarred upper body in plain view, hair dripping, his trousers water-logged and uncomfortably stuck to his legs, barefoot. God, he must have looked like a savage, rather than a captain. Should he change first or not?
After a moment of hesitation, Quinn decided that it was impolite to keep a lady waiting, especially in the Caribbean sun, so he’d better greet her immediately and escort her somewhere shaded before worrying about his appearance.
“Fetch me one of my shirts, my boots and my hat, quick,” he told Tony, sending him scampering to the boardwalk of the Wild Hunt.
Combing his wet hair with his fingers, Quinn took a deep breath and approached the woman – a very beautiful one, at that, with dark hair and clear eyes. “Greetings, madam. I’m Captain Quinn St. John, at your service.” He bowed, mentally cursing his wardrobe, or lack thereof. “How may I help you?”
You didn’t, Thera had found, spend very much time on Nassau without seeing somebody undressed. Tortuga might have been worse, but there was no shortage of people stripped down for work - though what that work might be varied greatly in kind.
And so, when the man with the air about him of being new promised to fetch his Captain, she wasn’t particularly startled by his lack of attire. More surprising was that he was soaked from head to toe, his height as he drew closer and then, though perhaps it shouldn’t have been, the rich accent of his voice. All manner of backgrounds and creeds forsook their homelands for the seas, and an Irishman was no more unusual than any other.
But with all that said, by the time he was close enough in all his dampened glory to address her and bow, his mere presence made it difficult to keep her gaze on his eyes.
“Greetings, Captain …” Her own accent might have seemed better suited to the company of the Royal Navy than the pirates’ isle, “I’m afraid my previous ship has been delayed,” Meaning, the tradesmen of Nassau had spotted a sucker and her last Captain was quarreling over price, “and I’d like to be on my way. You were recommended.”
As much as a pirate could be, of course. But at least he seemed pleasant, as opposed to those who looked her over like she was the currency they’d ask for in return. “I’m looking to reach the mainland, if I can. I have coin to pay, or I’m happy to work for it - if you’ll accept a woman as part of your crew?”
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