***

Blackstrap waved off the insinuations of the cook’s statements. “On the topic of supplies and stores, where are you finding coin to purchase our current consumables? Or have you reverted again to your ways?” 

Cakeblade rolled her eyes. “I’m not, on either count. That’s the concern. We are running dangerously low, and as Miss Pye tells it, no port will have us to restock.”

“That does seem to be the case.” Maggie confirmed. 

Blackstrap chewed at her lip. “We will be at the Topolis in short time though.” 

Maggie shrugged. “Aye. Empty of belly and bilge.” 

“Not much fight in a half starved crew, captain.” Marrick nodded. “Your last story shared as much.” 

Blackstrap slumped against the rails, still silent as her closest crew chattered on. 

“How is it that there is not a single port on the map that will allow us a slip? Or even to slip a few crew into town?” Cakeblade grumbled. “It’s not as if we are that well known. Are we?” 

Marrick stifled smile at the prospect that Ecstasy had indeed become a nightmare of the sea. “Nightmares have no need to eat.” 

“And we’re little more danger than a bad dream in the state we are in with munitions.” Maggie added. 

“There is one port on the map that will have one of us.” Blackstrap added at the last.

She turned an impish smirk on the cook. “You have more secrets as I recall, and those are of a wealth.” 

Cakeblade’s eyes grew wide. “You know that did not turn in our favor the last time.” 

“Aye! Indeed!” Maggie stiffened at the shared memory. “We will not have that again! Sell the wench, isn't that what she is for?”

“Come on then, you know this one always fetches a higher purse.” Blackstrap jabbed a thumb at Cakeblade. “Come then. Get dressed.”

“What are the three of you even on about?” Marrick splayed his hands to the women.

The three looked to one another. 

“He’s forgotten?” Blackstrap shrugged.

“He wasn’t there.” Maggie and Cakeblade rang out in unison.

“How drunk were you in those first years?” Cakeblade crossed her arms to glare down at the tiny captain.

“Not as drunk as Marrick.” Maggie pointed out with a laugh. “And he was indeed on the ship on that venture. Though still licking his wounds with whiskey and rum.” 

Cakeblade raised a judgmental brow. 

Blackstrap cleared her throat. Cakeblade turned her attention briefly on the captain. 

“Well. I might have been a bit harsh about the drinking on your part. But you have to admit that your taste for drink is -”

Blackstrap cut her off, “Equal to your taste for meat?” 

“You are fortunate I leave my good knives in the galley.” Cakeblade’s eyes narrowed.

“Well and good there lasses, captain.” Marrick nodded. “But what are you on about?” 

“Ransom.” Blackstrap waggled a brow.

Marrick frowned confusion.

With a choreographed synchronicity, Maggie and Blackstrap jutted fingers at the cook.

Cakeblade dropped a curtsey. “But also no. Not again. Not ever. Or at least not so soon after that last time.” 

Even the cook swallowed at the thought of a rope around her neck, even though it was as unlikely to be hers as it was likely to be the whole of the crew of Ecstasy.

“It was not all that long after Blackstrap took the Mei - I mean - Ecstasy, into her command.” The cook began her telling. “Glad I was to be off that wretched reef, I knew there would be much work to be done if I were going to clear my palette shall we say.

***

Blackstrap lingered in the entry to the galley as she watched the cook loom over her work. The space seemed still haunted with the spirits of those who had passed through before she had become the captain of this doomed ship.

“I know you are standing there.” The cook carried on with the cutting and preparation of the fish caught that morning. “You are the captain now, so I suppose I can allow you in. But if you have something to request make it quick.”

Blackstrap had grown quickly accustomed to the cook and her mood. She was a towering woman, and keen with both blade and wit. Even if that blade was a kitchen knife. 

“You are not a cook.” Blackstrap let the words fall flat. 

The cook straightened to her full height, her blonde hair barely brushing the ceiling, but she did not turn.

“I found the manifest for the ship. And a man to read it.” The crinkle of papers now drew the cook’s full attention. 

“Perhaps I can have a second look for you. The crew can be a bit wiley.” 

“I think in this case we can be certain of the information.” Blackstrap fanned the pages for the cook to see. “Yours is a name that would stand out even to one unfamiliar to the language. It was the reason for it being in the passenger register that confounded me.”

“What of it then?” The cook rested her hands on the counter at her back, one palm nestled against a resting knife.

“We need supplies. And repairs.” Blackstrap’s voice was growing accustomed to a more commanding timbre.

“Seems that’s an issue for someone other than a cook, or a passenger.” 

“Unless that passenger is the one who initially signed second on the charter.” Blackstrap dropped the manifest on the counter between them. “Lady Danella.” 

The cook rocked back on her heels and sighed. “What do we need.”

Blackstrap slapped another stack of papers beside the manifest.

The cook raised a brow. “You’ve been thinking on this.” 

“Not too long though. But longer than you have if you deny this request.”

“And what good will it do any of you if I’m cast overboard?” The cook reasoned. 

“I have no intention of casting you off.” Blackstrap’s grin grew wicked. “Though I thought to offer you a choice.”

“Oh?”

“Which do you find a more becoming role? Retinue, or ransom?” 

At this the cook straightened again to her full measure. “And what makes you think I can help in either role?” 

Blackstrap turned her back, leaving both manifest and list to the cook. “You have an hour to decide.”

The cook took up the resting blade as the captain slipped through the door. She hefted the knife before driving it into the dense manifest, clear through to the wood beneath. 

“Damn.” 

In less than an hour’s time though the cook was dressed and at the captain’s door. 

When Blackstrap opened the passage she was in no small part shocked to see the woman before her. It was only by the cook’s build and complexion that she recognized the woman at all. 

“Now, that is quite a shiny bauble.” Maggie’s words may have referred to the trinket at the cook’s throat or the woman herself.

“Entre, ma’amselle Danella.” Blackstrap bowed to wave the cook entrance to her quarters.

The cook had to admit the new captain had a much better sense of style than the last. She cast her gaze around the array of books, charts, and silks that filled the room and festooned the walls. 

“I always figured this ship needed a woman’s touch.” She settled into the largest and most comfortable of the chairs in the room. 

Maggie was left to settle into the rattan and caned stool. Blackstrap opted instead for a higher perch, at the edge of the narrow desk.

“So have you made your choice?” Blackstrap crossed her arms to level with the woman. 

“Tell your navigator to make for the port at the narrow at the South of the Bengal Bay.” 

“There are no ports mapped there.” Maggie protested though she moved to review the charts laid out behind Blackstrap. 

“When we near the point, I’ll guide us to the markers you will need.” 

Maggie and Blackstrap sat silent. Both gauged the manner of the woman seated before them. She was dressed in the finest silk gown, and adorned with beads and orbs in shades of green and purple neither woman had chanced to see before, but this was still the woman of the galley, and the all too recent dark scenes that had transpired there. 

“What will we find there?” Blackstrap tapped her finger on the point referred to by the cook. “A coast of guns? The path to prison? A hangman’s noose?”

“That all depends on if you are polite to me.” The cook’s smile cast a shadow over the bright attire she bore.