"I'm sorry," Christina said after a moment of Anne's quiet contemplation. "I shouldn't have asked."
Anne raised her head, noticed tears forming in her eyes, and wiped them away before shaking her head. "No, no, it's fine. I've just not thought about them in… quite some time." Before she went into her contemplation again without thought, Anne got up from the railing and wrapped an arm around Christina. "Besides, I have a new sister right here… I hope."
Christina blushed and looked away from Anne despite leaning closer into her embrace. "You don't need to say it aloud, you know." Her voice was barely a whisper.
"And then how will I see such a cute embarrassed face?" Anne replied, a huge smirk tugging at her cheeks.
Christina pushed her hip against Anne's, forcing her away. "Back to the crow's nest with you!" she shouted angrily, but she couldn't rid herself of the smile on her face.
"All right, all right, I'll leave you alone for now… sister," Anne said over her shoulder as she went down to the weather deck.
Transitioning from the quarterdeck, meant for officers and guests, to the bustle of the main deck would have been jarring to Anne years ago. She had been on ships when she was a child but had stayed sequestered far away from the sweat-soaked, rough, sea-hardy sailors. Now she was one of them, and a pirate no less. She forced herself to acclimate, lest she fall behind.
The men around her, kept busy by William's guidance, were milling about securing rigging, cleaning the deck or weapons, and practicing drills for combat. The wind was favourable, so the work was lax, but still, the signs of labour were there.
The cleaning was hard work, and sweat slicked many a brow and cast shadows on the backs of the rough cotton shirts that stuck to the men's backs. Hot breath over hotter sea air seemed to create its own environment aboard the ship, leaving it muggy and thick, but thankfully the wind cut through it. If Anne were below deck, it would be worse, but it was never as bad as some of the land-based establishments favoured by the same sailors. With no wind to carry the filth away, it would settle until layer after layer made breathing difficult.
At the far end of the ship, around the foremast, Anne could see many crewmates practicing with weapons and some holding contests of strength. Pukuh, the one-armed Mayan warrior prince, was doing push-ups as a crowd cheered him on. Three other crewmates—and maybe a fourth; it was difficult for Anne to see against all the rigging and bundle of bodies in the way—were also doing push-ups with Pukuh, but they all had the advantage of two arms.
One by one, sweat dripping to the deck, the other crewmates collapsed to the sole with a thump and a loud gasp for air, until it was only Pukuh left. The crewmates cheering them on exclaimed loudly for the victor of the contest but cut short as Pukuh kept going. Anne could see him straining, his one arm bulging with the effort and his whole body moving as he worked his way up and down. She knew how difficult it was to do one-arm push-ups, but he was as prideful as he was fierce. As his final act of pride to the astonished onlookers, Pukuh grinned at the top of his stride, then curled four of his fingers in, leaving only one left to hold him up. Through shaking extremities, Pukuh managed that one last push-up and then slumped to the deck.
The few in the crowd, as well as some who had gathered at the last moment by the cheers and the silence, erupted in cries of compliment, congratulations, and disbelief. They picked Pukuh up off the deck, slapping him across the back and pushing him around in displays of revered brotherhood. Through the sweat and exhaustion, Pukuh smiled slyly from the praise, saying words Anne could only guess from where she was. After it was over, the men went back to their drills, while some others continued the contest, though with far fewer onlookers.
Some of the crew were sitting in groups talking with fervour and exclamations with broad gestures, and others were singing along with Jack as he played a tune on his fiddle. It was a good day when he brought out the fiddle. When the man brought out his drum, it meant a storm was approaching, or a battle was close. The fiddle meant lively jigs and jaunty tunes about a sailor and a bar wench, or a sailor and a talking fish, or a sailor and most anything one could think of. Anne didn't know where this well of music came from for Jack to draw from, or if he simply plucked the words from the air as he did the strings of the fiddle, but the man was talented. A fiddle day was a slow day, but an enjoyable one.
Jack noticed Anne watching, and he had another crewmate of less experience take his place playing music. The other crewmates feigned disappointment and the man taking over lightly smacked and kicked the naysayers with a smile on his face before he began playing.
"Mr. Christian," Anne said with a slight bow.
Jack chuckled and pointed at Anne as he approached, then stopped and did a flourish. "Miss Anne," he replied with a posh, mocking drawl so unlike his north-western.
"To what do I owe this pleasure?" she asked.
Jack walked with her over to the port, a bit away from the rest of the crew. "I merely wished to inquire about your wellbeing."
Anne smiled. "I am well and thank you for asking."
Jack nodded, his expression genial, but nonplussed. He leaned in and lowered his
