Time's Torment: The First Foray of Proudfoot and Pitkin by Chris O'Mara

Author:Chris O'Mara [O'Mara, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2018-03-01T05:00:00+00:00

Proudfoot sat at the Captain's table, hands clasped in her lap, watching as Pablo Moonthief poured the wine. It felt to her as though they were in the stomach of a chained animal desperate to be coursing through the water but trapped in place, every muscle tensed, teeth bared in frustration. Not for the first time she felt that the Vagrant Rose was more than just, well, a very big boat. It was a living thing soaked in salt water and sorcery.

'That's enough,' she said, as Pablo filled her goblet.

'It's good wine,' the Captain said. 'I don't often share it.'

'I don't often drink,' the girl replied.

Pablo grinned and sneaked a little more wine into the cup.

'All the more reason to enjoy yourself,' he said. 'Your associate is doing all the work today. All you need to do is relax, by all accounts, so that your memory of the map can remain fresh in your mind. This wine will help ease your nerves so that you can focus on the task ahead of you. This is what you want, yes?'

'I suppose.'

Pablo sat back in his chair and sipped his wine.

'Hmm,' he said appreciatively. 'A fine drop. Please, try it.'

Proudfoot frowned but acquiesced nonetheless. The wine was fruity and warmed her bones.

'That's actually quite nice.'

'From Nascinthia,' Pablo said, leaning back in his chair. 'An army of holy virgins tend the vines. They are sworn to secrecy and silence. No others, anywhere in the world, make wine as good as this.'

'If they're sworn to both secrecy and silence,' Proudfoot asked, 'how do they pass on their knowledge to each other?'

Pablo laughed.

'Your mind walks a straight, bright path, child.'

'I'm not a child.'

'You shouldn't wish your youth away,' the corsair said knowingly. 'Before you know it, so many years will have passed and you will wonder what you did with them.'

Proudfoot looked down at her wine and said nothing.

Cocking his head to one side, Pablo studied the girl. Tall for her age and lean. A runner's physique, he decided. Her face was round and freckled, the eyes wide and in a constant state of being startled. Her hair, which was a tawny brown, was very fine and held back from her face. She was pretty in the way a nun might be pretty and innocent as a choirboy.

'So when did you start working with Mister Pitkin?'

'Oh, we've been working together for ages.'

'You're a poor liar, Miss Proudfoot,' said Pablo.

'It's just Proudfoot,' she repeated.

'Are you an indian from some island?' His eyes glinted as he teased her.

'No,' she said, frowning again. 'It's just my name. I'm not a miss or missus. I'm just, well, a person called Proudfoot.'

Pablo's grin broadened.

'I like that,' he said. 'Sometimes people call me Mister Moonthief. I tell them to call me Pablo. Or Captain.' He shrugged and took more wine. 'Your friend seems very capable. I'm impressed that he believes he can rescue my love single-handedly.'

'He's not my friend,' said Proudfoot, sipping the wine gingerly. She did not want too much of it in her veins, not when she was alone on a ship full of corsairs.

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