Storm over the Caribbean

29. Rikkard Ambrose, Terror of the Seven Seas

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence—then the pirates abruptly exploded in cheers. The ones on the shore were shouting themselves hoarse and throwing their hats into the air. Even the sailors on the ship reluctantly started to murmur their approval, then began to shout hesitant cheers for the man who had just killed the captain they were loyal to five minutes ago.

Pirates. Lovely, right?

My eyes swivelled to Mr Rikkard Ambrose, his chiselled profile resembling that of a conquering king as he stood upon his vanquished foe.

On second thought, some of them are actually lovely. One particular pirate in particular...

As if sensing my gaze, Mr Ambrose turned towards me, his deep, dark, unfathomable eyes boring into mine. Leaping off the dead pirate captain, he kicked him out of the way and strode straight back towards the crowd of pirates. Towards me. The intensity of his gaze was breath-taking. I simply couldn't look away. He had done it. He had actually done it.

And what's more, he knew he would win from the start. He made me worry for nothing, the son of a bachelor!

Crossing the rest of the distance between us with three swift steps, he came to a halt right in front of me. Without looking away he reached out and thrust the sabre back into the hands of its owner.

"Here."

"Th-thanks."

Taking the sabre with trembling hands, Jack took three swift steps back, his eyes filled with awe and trepidation. I had a feeling he was going to thoroughly check the blade for poisons later.

With a last, lingering look at me, a look that was most definitely not meant for an overweight, male ship's cook, Mr Ambrose turned to face the crowd, letting his gaze sweep over all the assembled pirates. Everyone waited with bated breath, anticipating the speech their new captain was about to give.

"Let's bloody celebrate! Anyone who drinks me under the table gets a hundred sovereigns!"

The entire crowd exploded in cheers. Instantly, they rushed towards the camp and started pulling out meat and fish and a dozen kinds of different drinks. Soon, the pirates were happily roasting food over numerous bonfires and gambling away their loot to each other.

"You know," I cocked an eyebrow at him. "I think you might be born to be a pirate. They seem to appreciate your leadership style."

"Indeed."

"But there's one thing..." With a smirk, I lightly jabbed my elbow into his ribs. "What about the one hundred sovereigns? Are you really going to pay when someone manages to drink you under the table?"

He cocked his head. "I have seen this entire camp. There aren't any tables."

Oh, that sneaky son of a...!

He just tricked a whole camp full of pirates. I should really be more careful around such a scoundrel in the future. He might end up knocking me up and—

Oops. A little too late for that.

Grinning, I turned around to face the camp, Mr Ambrose following suit beside me. Together, we gazed over the island we had spent so many terrible and wonderful days on. The island we could now finally leave.

"You did it!" I whispered, making sure to keep my voice low. Not that the carousing pirates several dozen yards away were likely to listen in. "You really did it! Now we have a ship! One? Ha, no! You got us half a dozen! Finally, we can return home!"

"Home?" Mr Ambrose's eyes sparkled coldly. "Not quite yet."

I stared at him. Then I reached up and stuck a finger in my ear to clean it, just in case I had misheard.