I’m taking submissions for really terrible poetry about the sea so I can use a line as the title; right now it’s just called “PIRATE FUCKING” and that lacks a certain something.
“Captain Robinson!” Miss Fisher exclaimed, smiling broadly as she came forward. “So delighted you agreed to see me.”
Jack did not take her offered hand; the shackles prevented it. “I wasn’t aware I had a choice. And I’m not a captain, Miss Fisher.”
“You didn’t have a choice in the least,” she assured him. “But if you had, I’m sure you would have come all the same. Please, sit down.”
He could not help but to glance at the guards who had brought him up from the hold, two malefactors who had, until the mutiny, been bound for Australia — along with everyone else. They were watching him with close suspicion and clearly under orders; whatever spell the lady held over the crew of the HMS Hispano Suiza, her carefree manner did not translate to carelessness.
The seat she gestured toward was the captain’s armchair. “I see you’ve managed to clean off the bloodstains,” he observed, sitting down with some difficulty.
He meant it to offend, but instead she smiled. “Only some of them,” she corrected him. “And as to you not being a captain - I’ve never heard anything so preposterous. I was obliged to run Captain Sanders through with a bayonet, and as such, you are now the highest-ranking officer. Hence, Captain Robinson. It sounds so much more dashing, at any rate, even if I cannot give you the hat.” She sat on a tuffet next to him and waved at Captain Sanders’s bicorn, sitting on the desk.
“So I’m to enjoy the title until you decide to run me through as well?”
“That wounds me, Captain, but I’ll admit there’s some justice to what you say. That’s one reason I’ve kept you safely confined to the brig.”
“Locked away so I can’t make trouble,” Jack muttered, echoing Captain Sanders’s initial assessment of Miss Fisher. He doubted he would be as successful as she had been in arranging release.
“Just the way I prefer all my conquests,” Miss Fisher replied. “Tea?”