Juliet of Dundee

Scars

Juliet of Dundee Chpt. 7

Pater

I looked out to the dusty horizon, my feet planted firmly on the poop deck. The sun was hidden by a thick layer of fog, hiding not only the sun, but Port Leone as well. I frowned at this. This was the slight advantage of cover, sure, but it also provided the risk of running into land; a risk I wasn't sure I was willing to take. We wouldn't only be forfeiting the Serpent, but our quest as well. My face was blank of expression as I heard my father approach me from behind.

"Sir," I said without even bothering to turn to him, "any orders for the crew?" My father let out a long sigh as he leaned on the railing next to me.

"Prepare for a raid. I only want thirty men on shore, no more, no less."

"And what of Emmie?"

My father paused, rubbing his right hand on his scruff.

"We leave her in her room. Besides, I'm sure Stouts would be nothing more than willing to keep an eye on her." My father flashed me a cheeky grin. The fact that Stouts had a 'thing' for the captive was not just disturbing - it was completely unsettling for me. It disgusted me that a bilgy like him would take a liking to a reckless girl like Emmie Monroe. She was out of control; there was no telling what she was capable of! Though, one had to admit that she was far less of a legend then the stories cut her out to be. She was a joke - but a rather attractive one at that. Perhaps I could only be partially angry at Stouts.

The look on my face must have shown exactly what I was thinking, because my father's cheeky grin grew wider.

"Would you prefer that we send Stouts ashore and you watch her?"

"What?" I gasped, turning to him in one swift motion, my eyes wide in absolute horror. Why on earth would he think that? "Fa -" I stopped short. I wasn't supposed to call him that, not now, not ever. "Sir, are you sober?"

"Of course I am you drunken landlubber!"

I tried not to wince. He may be my father, but I was never treated as a son. I hadn't wanted to be a pirate in the first place. He'd forced it on me ever since my had mother died and he took me under his arm. I even dared to think that he never even loved me. Sure, when I'd been captured by my father's rival he'd come after me, but that didn't mean that he cared!

My thoughts suddenly drifted back to those twenty-seven days I'd spent on The Scottish Revenge. The captain, who had called himself the King of the Caribbean, had nearly taken my life. I'd been tied to a chair in a dark room, no light, only a sip of water every morning, noon, and night, and one piece of hard tack before I was left alone for the night. The reason I was taken by my father's rival in the first place was because he had a hunch that I knew where the liquid gold was.

Of course, I hadn't known. But every time the captain presumed to think that I was lying he would personally take a dagger and cut a tally on my back. There was probably around fifty little marks, each about half an inch in length.

I shuttered as I remembered and shook my head.

"Pater! Pater, you son of a sea witch! Are you listening to me?!"

"Sorry, sir. I was just -- I was just -- "

"Quit speaking like a cabin boy! Finish yer sentence!"

I looked at the floorboards and bit my tongue. The things I wanted to say to him; that he'd never been a real father, that he'd only been there for me once -- or was he just after the captain of The Scottish Revenge because he hated him for taking his leg and the only reason he saved me was because of convenience.