Time Torn (The Lost Days Book One)

Chapter 3

With a shake of his head, The Captain removes the pipe from his lips.

Robotically he pinches a clump of mixed brown tobacco out of a circular tin with a lid that has been used so often it has taken on an ombre copper sheen. Stuffing the pipe with the mixture that smells of damp wood chips he says, "I can imagine why ye would think so lass, but nah, as close ta death as ye were, Gus and I got there in time ta make sure ye stayed alive."

The smell of the tobacco tickles my nose. I sneeze loudly as the feeling of ice water runs down my spine.

"Why? What is it that you want from me?"

As if alive, the walls creak and sway around the two of us. The movement has my stomach doing backflips. I blink, glancing down at the table before us.

The Captain has taken a break from filling his pipe, it now rests on the desk beside the shabby tin.

I flick my eyes from him, feeling self-conscious. My gaze lingers on the multiplying folds of his forehead before I turn my chin to the side and study a particular grain on a scuffed mahogany floorboard. It, like the others in the room, appears to have lost its shine years before.

"Do folk leave each other to die around these parts?" He asks.

I shrug. My mind rifling through all the questions I feel I need to ask this man. In the end, I pick three. "Who are you? What was that stuff you gave me? And what do you mean that I was close to death?"

Sitting back in the antique chair he places his discoloured pipe between his lips, his frown relaxing. Tilting his head, he twists behind him to light the pipe with the sputtering flame of a half-burned out candle I hadn't noticed before. I now realize it's the reason the room has a Victorian-esque ambience of flickering yellow light. I'm impressed by how dreadfully close to burning his curly and voluminous beard he gets, especially when a breeze sails through the open window extending the flames.

I breathe in expecting to smell the bitter fumes of singed hair, but the room still smells of stale smoke and brine. He returns to face me, the candle still burning. I wonder why he keeps it close to the window when it is so easy to blow out. His eyes follow mine and he grins.

"It can't go out," he says, his hand waving across the blinking flame. "It will burn for another thousand days before it burns out."

I inch forward on my seat, peering at the candle. "How?"

The Captain shrugs. "It's a form of base magic, ye can get them anywhere."

"Base magic?"

Grunting he rubs his chin. "Now Lass, why should I answer all yer questions when ye can't even thank a man for saving yer life?"

Immediately I feel the heat of my infamous blush rise to the apples of my cheeks. "I'm sorry. I am thankful. I just don't know if I believe it or not. Magical candles and a pirate, if that's what you are? A few moments ago, I was on the verge of being blown apart by an atom bomb. I shouldn't be alive." My tone is soft and low as I reply.

The Captain coughs in mid-draw of his pipe resulting in an expulsion of thick smog-like smoke that reeks of sweaty socks.

"Fair enough lass." He rasps, pulling the pipe from his mouth and coughing into the side of his fist. "What's an atom bomb?"

Pausing, I lick the top of my lip. My eyes widen at the unexpected feeling of full lips. This cannot be my body! Quickly I suck in my lower lip. I probably look insane but I have never experienced this before. My lips have always seemed more like a tyre that has lost air and no matter how much Zambuck I smother them with, they are left just as dry as soon as the layer of green goop is gone.