The Pirate King Ch. 06

I leaned against the counter, watching him go. My eyes traced down his flowing shirt, landing on that perfect ass just in time to watch it disappear.

"Who the f-" I heard a man start. I could have let him finish, I suppose, but I wasn't in the mood for the kind of shit that fell from the mouths of men like that. My body twisted; the paring knife flashed.

I sighed, watching it skim an inch above the man's head and bury into the wall. His eyes were huge, staring at the space in my hand that had previously held the blade.

"Your knives are unbalanced," I told Cookie drily, my eyes on the forehead that should be sprouting a blade, the man still alive by the grace of non perfect cookware.

"They're for cooking, not for throwing. And you'd better not have nicked it. For all the grace, into the goddman wall. Lad, it's not a weapon it's a tool."

All tools are weapons, I thought to myself. I knew Alan would be thinking it too. It had been one of Minnie's favorite phrases, and she had repeated it until it was gospel, until the words would ring in my head whenever someone spoke of tools or weapons. All tools are weapons. You can defend yourself with anything, if you have enough desire.

And desire, oh, I had enough of that.

I smiled. The room was beginning to find its way back to seats vacated in shock, but was carefully staying silent. Sure of the men's momentary compliance, I turned to serve myself.

"Commanding you," I heard Cookie grumble behind me. "Does he know who you are?"

"Yes." I turned and leveled my gaze at him. "His."

That shut him up for the time being.

I placed my bowl in my usual spot, then made my way over to the wall, dislodging the knife. "It's fine," I told Cookie, tossing it back across the counter. He scowled and grabbed it before it hit the floor.

When I settled across from Natch, he leaned forward and grabbed my hand. "You're not really going back there." He spoke in a whisper, trying not to disturb the silence that still weighed heavy all around us.

I blinked at him. The Captain had commanded. I would do as he said. He saw the look on my face and groaned, putting his face in his hands. I heard him whispering curses mixed in with prayers from where I sat.

I looked over to Thron. "Wicky is very upset," was all he had to say. I shrugged. As if I cared about Wicky.

I ate my soup quickly, mindful that any delay to the lunch would keep me from my Captain. When I was finished, I brought my bowl back up the kitchen. No one else seem much motivated to move, so I brought their attention to the need to disperse by slamming my bowl against the counter. The noise, and my careful stare, broke the spell that had been sitting over the room. The sound of sudden haste met my ears, and I let myself smile.

Within a few minutes, all the men but Natch and Finn had hurried from the mess, their bowls neatly stacked for once against the counter walls. I raised an eyebrow to Natch. He was practically vibrating.

"He's standing guard." Those blue eyes were filled with worry, and I was sure now that it wasn't for me. "If you go back there - "

I walked away before he could finish his thought.

"Lad."

I turned back and found Finn holding out a blade. I blinked at the metal in his hand, caught off guard by the gesture from the affable steward. Arming a prisoner carried severe punishment, and we all knew it. My hand was gentle as I took the blade, knowing that he knew what I aimed to do with it.

"Be careful," he told me quietly. Beside him, Natch nodded his head in rhythm to his bouncing body. I placed a hand on each of their shoulders in turn and made my way up to the Captain's room.