“Hope so,” Ryan said, rocking gently to the rhythm of the swell. “That trail we cut is already growing back. Stay away too long, and we’ll have to level the whole bastard jungle to find it again.”
“Accurate to a hundred feet,” J.B. boasted, patting the sextant. “I’ll get us back. No prob.”
“Good.”
Gazing into the ocean, Doc muttered softly, “It is odd how often I encounter this ship in my travels.”
“What mean?” Jak asked, puzzled, a loose strand of white hair moving across his scarred face. Annoyed, the teen tucked it behind an ear. “Been here before?”
“Oh, yes, indeed, my friend. Emily and I once took a summer vacation on this very ship,” Doc whispered, lost in memory. “Or was that when Ryan and I escaped from that burning redoubt?”
Ryan snapped his head toward the man. They had never escaped from any redoubt in a windjammer, just the two of them. Doc had to have slipped into his madness again.
“Sure is warm,” Ryan said in forced casualness.
“Cold, so cold…” Doc muttered, hugging himself. Then he shook like a dog coming in from the rain. “Actually, my dear Ryan, it is rather warm. But from the angle of the sun at its azimuth, I would estimate it is summer here at the equator. Do you not agree?”
Curling a lip, Ryan muttered something in assent and turned away. Fireblast! It was damn near impossible to get any accurate info from Doc when he kept weaving the past, present and future in the same sentence. Then the Deathlands warrior gave a shrug and dismissed the matter. Doc would eventually snap out of it.
“Better check those cannons now,” J.B. said, hoisting his munitions bag.
“Let’s go,” Ryan said, and they headed for the nearest hatchway leading belowdecks.
Far across the damaged deck, Captain Jones climbed down from the quarterdeck and addressed the waiting group of nervous women.
“All right, ladies, the captain is dead, so I’m in charge now,” Jones said, jerking a thumb. “The starboard barrel has the ship’s articles. Cut a finger, put a thumbprint on a clean page and you’re crew. Get me? Now move smartly. There’s a lot to do.”
Several of the women were obviously confused, as there were barrels on either side of the short man.
“It’s a test,” a tall woman said, a split lip slurring her speech. “Port has four letters, same as the word left.”
“So starboard is right,” another said, her battered face brightening in understanding. “That’s easy!”
Captain Jones merely harrumphed as the women went to the correct barrel and helped each other cut fingers and seal their prints in the massive tome.
“Done,” the tall woman said, closing the volume. “What next, skipper?”
Skipper, eh? “Now get outta those clothes,” Jones said, and saw the terror fill their eyes. “Blood of the sea, ya stupid bitches! Think I had you mark the book for a laugh? Ya idiots! Should chop ya into chum and feed you to the fish! I meant go to the aft quarters and put on some pants! Can’t climb rigging in a skirt, can ya? Huh? And trim that long hair, or tie it off! Get that caught in a pulley, and it’ll come out by the roots.”
Jones touched a bald spot at the back of his head. “Hurts like a mutie’s kiss, too,” he stated with a half smile.
“Captain, sir, where is the a…where do we go?” a busty teenager asked, a barely closed wound crossing a face that had once been beautiful. She would carry the scar for life with no way to ever hide it from sight. She had bitten a slaver when he forced himself into her mouth. She drew blood, but hadn’t removed his cock. The furious man had slashed her face and tied her to the table to take his revenge. But in the fighting she had found the man and castrated him. He died screaming, and long after he was chilled she had continued stabbing and cutting, all the while muttering curses.
“Down this hatch, and all the way in the back,” the tall woman explained again, pointing a hand. “There will be a storage room there for pieces of canvas to patch the sails. Thank you for the privacy, Captain.”