Chapter 1

Loser

A heavy mug with some dark liquid nearly burned the blanket I was wrapped in. My hands shook beyond control but I didn't hurry to look out of the cocoon – though, probably, it made sense to take another warming sip. The fuss was quickly calming down, the caboose buzzed on its usual own, no one cared to bother me.

With a heating oven right by, I still couldn't help shaking.

It can't be. It cannot possibly be possible.

A guy with exactly the same mug in his hands dropped on the deck beside me, his hair still dripping, though he had already changed into some dry clothes. I recognized him by a long scar stretching from the left ear down to the collarbone. It was him who got me aboard.

He took a good pull of his drink and nodded at the one in my hands with a smirk.

Well, it can't be helped.

I gave a sigh. I would be very well giving it a try if I could.

"How on Earth did you get yourself into it?" asked my diving pal. Though for him it had been indeed some casual diving, while I still kept trembling even half an hour later. Dark-haired and light-eyed, with sharp features, he could have been my brother, have I ever had one. Have the pirate not been this tanned.

The pirate, Jesus tap-dancing Christ!

I started shaking even worse. Getting angry at myself and my situation, I threw back my head, shaking the blanket off it, and took a large gulp. A hot, but not a boiling-water-hot already, it streamed down my throat and disappeared somewhere on its way to my freezing guts. I sipped a bit more, this time realizing it was glogg, and it was delicious, and by the end of the portion I shook way harder than before. Yet after it I felt much better.

The diving pal smiled approvingly and, having finished his drink, took our mugs away. I hid my face on the blanket again, planning to stay in this cozy nook till the death, either from the concussion or from the shock, with no possibility for anyone to dig me out of here, be it the entire crew of the ship.

My glorious diver returned with another portion and ordered me to drink without doubts. I started doubting immediately – and obediently took a burning sip.

"Better?"

"Yup." I was surprised to hear any voice at all, it did not sound like my voice, not even my usual sore-throat voice, but still. Or was it even my own body?

A terrifying idea made me stare at my hands wildly. Nope, my sci-fi lovers, those were absolutely mine. Well, they looked dreadful with the jagged nails, all beaten and soar from the sea salt. No wonder. I've been through… a lot. A look the pirate gave at my dumb staring at my hands, made me blush. What an idiot, really.

"Yeah, thank you very much."

He shrugged and leaned his back against the galley wall.

"My name is Jason."

Jason. Great.

"I'm Jay."

Well, not really, but let it be.

The guy giggled, and it took me a while to understand that our names sounded quite alike.

"So, Jay, why you did you decide to have a swim so far away from the coast? Let alone the weather."

How should I know?

Well, really, how?

I squeezed my eyes shut.

I remembered falling down. It was tremendously high, so that I couldn't surface right away, so that my head was still splitting and my nose was still aching like hell. It didn't really matter now that my chest burned as though I was still underwater.

I must have not lost my consciousness then, as I managed to pull my head out of water, blinded by whipping waves and suffocating.

And then a cramp shoots through my leg up to the hip and I start to sink like a hammer.

I twitched my leg, hitting the hill on the floor painfully, and opened my eyes wide. Geez, I must have been wonderfully washed, I kept dreaming it all over and over again wide awake, even here in a warm and dry caboose.

But how did I get in the water at all?

My scull literally screamed, and… fuck!

"I don't remember," I said, frowning. Oh, really? Hit your head on a rock, have you? Poor thing.

How, oh God, how?

"Okay, don't push yourself," said someone else above our heads. "It will come on its own later, trust my hangover record."

I looked up. The man speaking in a pleasant baritone was wearing a white suit and a yellow scarf. I started shaking again.

"I'd rather you go," said Jason. "Your bearded kisser scares the shit out of the lady,"

"Fancy that!" Thatch raised his voice. "Some kitchen-hand ordering the cook around! Move aside, will you, I can't imagine you being liked by a girl at all, let alone being liked more than I am."

He sat by and looked into my wine.

"You don't like it?"

"It's delicious," I plunged my face into the mug.

Thatch. The Thatch. The Moby Dick. With the Whitebeard somewhere in his cabin.

Ace.

Teach.

Fuck.

I got to get the fuck out of here. Now.

"We found you, er, sailing three miles away from the coastline. We are not asking you how you got there, but we don't' go back either,"

"I understand," I nodded. Once you stop thinking about how impossible your situation may be, you realize that it's naïve to hope that the ship changes its course for the sake of your mere chilled person. I was not naïve. Well, not always. Besides, I really appreciated the pirates' saving me at all.

"And… the next island?"

Thatch looked a little surprised. At least, he looked friendly in general.

"I'm afraid, the next inhabited island is no sooner than in a month and a half,"

Fuck.

Please. Please!

"And some uninhabited one?"

"Two of them. A winter and an autumn one,"

I'm doomed.

I put my mug away and curled up in my blanket, hiding my face in the knees. A month and a half on a pirate ship, the ship where something fucked up happens now and then, the ship which is relatively and oh so very likely soon to be involved in a big boom with some big stars starring. And, of course, I can always choose freezing to death in the winter island. Pretty cool.

Is it a dream?

Am I dreaming?

Thatch shook my shoulder with force.

"Are you feeling sick? Are you hungry?"

Pretty please, dumbass, just get off.

"I'm alright. Just a bit homesick,"

Damn right, I am. I want to get back in my small bed with a spring sticking out of it, to my ever-empty fridge, which is quite usual for a dorm. I want to rush to the lecture early in the morning just to come late again and take my sit stealthily.

I want to wake up.

"You just got dizzy abask," said Jason, standing up.

"You're right. Let's find her a calmer place". Thatch rose too, and they went away.

Thank God.

If I don't wake up now, I will have to deal with them for more than a month.

I felt sick and pathetic. It was quite clear I wasn't going to wake up. No dream can handle the "It's just a dream" spell, no delusion spreads beyond the statement of its unreality. It is a law, a general fucking rule taught at the first year of the psychology course.

I regretted being so well aware of that for a moment. The next moment I has glad, a second later I nearly wept at the fact I wasn't studying physics. I could have figured out how I had managed to get into this, I could have gone back to my world. I could have gained profit out of my trip!

No one bothered me. The galley gradually became almost empty. I was drowsing in my blanket cocoon. When Thatch came up to me the oven was already cooling down. I twitched and looked at the man with suspicion. He chuckled.

"C'mon, we found you a room. It's pretty dry, though quite dusty, I'm afraid,"

I got up very slowly, my legs weak, my head booming.

It's a nightmare. Now I see.

The cook opened the door before me, and, stepping out of the warm galley, I cowered. The cold deck bit at my bare feet. Thatch cursed to himself and swept me up with ease.

I froze.

It became even colder at the thought that I was staying on the motherfucking pirate ship. Me, a strange girl from nowhere.

I was scared. I had never been a goody-goody girl, I knew the dark streets of my district pretty well to feel safe there. It was different here.

Besides, in the dark streets there was always a chance to stay away from trouble. Here I was trapped on the same board with a bunch of men. Sailors. Rascals.

I felt so terrified that even if Thatch had put me down, I would just have stayed there, petrified.

He kicked open a door, and opened another with care, turning, carefully letting go of the handle, still holding me and the blanket which was about to unwrap.

"Here ya land, lil' beast," he said, and stood me on the deck. He reached out somewhere in complete darkness, he struck a match, and a small flame danced in the glass of an old oil lamp. "Need help getting into the hammock?"

I shook my head looking down. Under my feet planks were scruffy – I hoped with a sudden touch of disgust that they were just scruffy, not dirty – and dry, and way warmer than the deck outside.

"You have only four hours left, but still – good night,"

"Good night, Thatch," I said looking at his wide back.

The pirate turned his head slightly and said nothing, and then his silhouette disappeared behind the door.

Idiot.

You are not supposed to know his name.