Thethirteen of us filed into The Thirsty Trout, a local tavern in thesmall coastal community we docked at. The ceilings were low and thefloors waved with the uneven foundation. Some walls were built ofstones, some of logs, and a large staircase led to the rooms abovethe eating area down below. The place was near empty aside fromthe innkeeper. Thecaptain walked up to the front desk as the rest of us hung back andwaited.
“My goodman,” Henry greeted, as he sauntered up to the front desk, hislong, black leather jacket swaying behind him. “My crew and I wishto rest our heads here for two nights if you have theaccommodations.”
The innkeeperlit with joy at the sudden burst of business. I was bettingsailors and travelerskept most taverns such as this afloat. “Yes, of course,” hehappily replied and bent to fetch the keys from behind the desk. “Ihave eight rooms free, so you’ll have to bunk up with eachother.”
Henry nodded.“Of course.” He scooped up the keys and turned to the men. And me.“Pair up, some of you have to share.” He handed Finn and Gus theirown keys. Then Henry looked to me, and I thought he might ask if Iwould share his room but Finn, thankfully, cut in.
“Aye,Lassie,” he nudged my arm, “yer bunkin’ with me, right?”
I smiledand nodded awkwardly, but I caught the look on Henry’s face beforehe turned back to the innkeeper. It wasn’t a happy one.
“We’llretire to our rooms and get cleaned up,” he told the man. “Whattime shall we expect supper? Or did we miss it?”
The old manlooked startled. “Oh, dear,” he replied. “Please, I beg yourforgiveness, Sir. But our cook is ill. We’ve no one to man thekitchen this evening. But he should be back in the morning, forbreakfast. I’ll see to it.”
A mutter ofcurse words made its way through the crew as they dragged theirfeet toward the staircase. Finn peeked at me from the corner of hiseye and flashed a wicked grin across his bearded face.
“Finn,no–”
“Aye,there be no missin’ a meal t’night,” he bellowed. “We have a fine cook righthere.” He grabbed me by the shoulder and crushed me tight to hisside. “Dianna will be happy to man yer kitchen.”
All eyeswere on me and no one said a word. The innkeeper looked hesitant but clearly sawno way around the offer.
“I mean,if you’ll let me,” I added.
***
I stood in adecent sized kitchen with all the supplies and ingredients I neededto make a delicious meal. But it was getting late and the crewwould no doubt be sniffing around soon. But what could I make in anancient kitchen that wouldn’t take forever and a day? At therestaurant back home, one of the easiest, most filling, andtastiest dishes was always pasta. My go-to. But I couldn’t…
I took stockof my ingredients once more. “Flour, water, salt, eggs, tomatoes,milk…” I could make a pasta dish. They’d probably have no clue whatit was, but one bite and they wouldn’t care. I rolled up my fluffysleeves and got to work. While my giant mound of homemade pastadough sat for thirty minutes, I began preparing my sauce. Beforelong, I’d whipped together the biggest pot of pasta and rose sauceI’d ever made. And, no doubt, it’d be gone in the blink of an eyewith the crew I had to feed.
Hopefully.
Isuddenly worried that they wouldn’t like it. Maybe they were usedto their meat and potatoes and disgusting gruel. In the midst of mylittle internal breakdown, the old innkeeper entered the kitchen.
“GoodLord,” he said and let out a whistle while adjusting hisspectacles, “My kitchen has never held such glorious smells. Whaton Earth are you cooking, dearie?”
My cheeksflushed with color. “It’s a little something from…” I pausedthoughtfully, “Italy. Would you care to try some?” I handed him asmall bowl.
I watched withanticipation as he removed his tiny glasses and examined theforeign food with curiosity, dug his fork in, then stuffed a scoopin his mouth. His head tilted back, and a delighted moan escapedhis lips. “Well, this is just delightful. Where did you learn ofsuch a creation?”
“I’m aprofessional cook,” I told him. “Back where I camefrom.”
His browfurrowed. “Then how in God’s name did you end up on a privateership cooking for the likes of those boys?”
I shrugged.“It’s a long story.” But then I caught a particular word he said.“Wait, did you say privateer?”
The innkeeperappeared puzzled. “Yes, the ship you sailed in on. Your crew.I’ve had them here before. They’re privateers. You don’t know themen you work for?”
I tried mybest to hide the surprise I felt. “Oh, yeah, of course.” Thenturned and busied myself with a bit of clean up. “I forgot. I’mnew. Just started yesterday, really.” It wasn’t a bold-facedlie.
The man threwanother couple of bites in his mouth before handing me his bowl.“Well, you’d better get this served, dearie. I hear them comin’down the stairs.”
After he wasgone, I scrambled around to gather a stack of bowls and headed outto the dining area. It was basically cafeteria-style tables, longand narrow, built of wood and positioned in two rows. The crew ofThe Devil’s Heart all sat patiently awaiting their meal. They litup like kids on Christmas when they saw me. My eyes searched forCaptain Barrett, but he was nowhere to be found.
“Aye,lassie,” Finn greeted, “What have ye got fer us? It smells like nothin’ I eversmelled before.”
I finishedhanding out the bowls and gave him a playful smile. “You’ll justhave to wait and see. It’s a surprise, a special dish from…Europe.”
I listened totheir whispers of curiosity as I made my way back to the kitchen tograb the giant pot of pasta. When I returned, my heart nearlystopped when I found Henry, suddenly appearing at the table next toFinn and Gus. He managed a quick look but averted his eyes to thebowl in front of him. I started with their table, I wasn’t sure,but I assumed the higher ranks should eat first.
Surprisingly,Gus was the first to comment. He peered into his bowl and thenlooked up at me, begrudgingly. “What the Christ is this?”
With
