Ahoy!

Thank you to Mel, Jill, and Gemma!

TWENTY

The Port of Praia is small, but busy, its local residents bustling about under the hot afternoon sun.

Many wary eyes land on us as Jasper and I make our way through town, looking for the shops we require. We pass a market with many brightly colored fruits and fish on display but continue on until we find a rope-maker. His shop is dusty and dry, and the moment we step in from the bright sun, I want to sneeze. Sitting at a table, winding a long length of rope, is a young woman, her dark skin a bright contrast to the pale rope in her palms. She looks up at us, her large eyes wary of us.

"Você não pertence aqui."

I don't know what it is she says, but her tone is cold and stiff, and I'm able to guess that we are far less than welcome.

"Com licença," Jasper says slowly, his eyebrows pulling together as he tries to recall his very limited Portuguese. "Você a senhora fala inglês?"

The woman's full mouth purses, and she shakes her head. Jasper turns to me.

"She says we don't belong here. She doesn't speak English."

I let out a breath. "Please, let her know we mean her no harm, and that we have only come to purchase goods."

Jasper nods and turns back to the woman. His words come out slowly, slightly garbled, but I believe she can understand him, for she says something quick in response. Jasper turns to me.

"She will sell us what we need, but then we must leave."

I look at her. I have heard tales of Praia being ravaged by bloodthirsty pirates for years. I do not fault her for her caution.

"Of course," I agree. Jasper begins to barter with her while I take a minute to gaze outside.

I cannot help but wonder what would happen if Isabella were to be spotted here. Is she one of the pirates that have frequently ransacked this small community? Is she the reason they live in fear and distrust?

It makes my blood boil, and I have to take a deep breath to calm myself. No doubt Captain Thorne, despite her claims against it, is equally to blame.

How far I have sunk to be dealing on behalf of pirates.

Jasper concludes our business with the rope-maker, who tells him she will send someone to the docks with our order. I try to thank her, but she ignores me.

Out on the street, the sun is hot and high in the sky.

"This is an unfriendly town," I tell Jasper quietly.

"With good reason," he agrees. "Do you want me to ask about Isabella?"

My spine tingles with both contempt and something else I'm not prepared to name. I look at him to see his bright blue eyes on me, waiting for my signal. I don't know what we could hope to gain from it, but I find myself nodding anyway.

"Yes," I tell him. "See what you can find out."

He nods once.

We stop several more times, seeking barrels of rations, a sail patching, and tar to repair our broken mast. It is difficult to bargain with people because of how closed off they are, but in the end, their desire to have us away from their port town is greater than their stubbornness. I'm able to acquire nearly all of the items needed to continue our voyage.

We are about to head to the apothecary, our final stop before returning to the ship, when a loud shout draws my attention. I look up, my eyes landing on a tall, thin man stumbling in the street. His once fair skin is deep brown from the constant sun, his wheat hair dirty and stringy around his face. He takes a staggering step in my direction, and I realize he's pointing directly at me. "You!" He snarls. "You've brough' the devil 'ere!"

He's very clearly drunk, but he's causing quite the scene.

"I think you have me confused, sir," I say as he staggers a few steps closer. "Please, let me buy you a meal."

He waves me off. He's nearly within arm's reach now, when he lunges for his waistband. To my shock, he produces a flintlock pistol, his clumsy fingers sliding over it, trying to remember how to use it.

"You brough' the devil," he says again. "Now blood mus' be paid!"

Before he can even get proper hold of his pistol, Jasper draws his cutlass, using the blunt end to hit the man's hands. He drops the pistol, yelping in pain. I'm quick to scoop up the weapon.

"Oi!" he shouts. "That there is mine, it is!"

"My friend, you are drunk and confused. Let me buy you a meal," I say again.

His blue eyes narrow. "You fink it don' ma'er." He grunts. "Bu' a demon can' change its wicked ways, no more 'an I can breathe underwater."

I glance at Jasper, who looks just as lost in this exchange.

"Mark me." The man growls, stumbling a little. "Death ain't far behin' ya. No' wif devils in yer bed."

"I thank you for your words of caution," I tell him gently. "Is there somewhere we can help you get?"

He waves me off, slumping down into a pile in the middle of the street.

"She-witch finks she can kill me." He grunts, lying out flat on his back. "Ha!" he shouts. "Come an' finish me off, demon!"

Before Jasper and I can say anything more, the man closes his eyes and falls asleep, his snores low but loud.

I look at Jasper.

"Do you think he was talking about Isabella?" I ask quietly.

Jasper shrugs. "It seems like it," he agrees.

I look at the drunkard. "We should bring him aboard," I say, looking back at my friend.

"Are you mad?" Jasper demands. "He's a delusional drunk who tried to shoot you."

I shake my head. "If he knows something about Isabella, perhaps it will be enough to throw her off her guard. We might finally get the upper hand."

Jasper stares at me warily.

"This is a very bad plan."

"Your concern is noted," I tell him. "Come, help me get him up. We need to wake him and clean him up before we go back to the ship."

Jasper lets out a long sigh, but ever the supportive first mate, he does as I ask.

I gaze down at the drunkard as Jasper and I reach for him, hauling him into a sitting position. He lets out a loud snort, and I shake my head.

Please, let this plan work.