How to Marry a Marble Marquis(59)

“M-me, sir?”

“No, the other lad I’ve never laid fucking eyes on.”

The boy turned their head as if there might indeed be another youth beside them, and Lirian was obliged to stifle his laughter. A girl. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he knew he was right, replaying in his mind the soft swish of their hips. Not a girl. A woman. One who normally wears gowns and corsets, not breeches. One who has studied magic. He’d heard stories of gods and shapeshifters able to change their form into whatever suited them, but the act of casting a glamour on one’s appearance was not widely taught. If it were, he would have learned the blasted lesson years earlier. An apprenticeship with a crone was necessary, learning the old way and older magic, and the knowledge was traditionally only passed from mothers to daughters.

There was a woman on his ship, one who knew magic, who was playing at being a boy. Lirian didn’t know why, but until he found out, he decided going along with the chit’s deception was his wisest course.

“Yes, I fucking mean you,” Stride snapped, the newcomer jumping to attention like a little soldier. “Where did you come from? What’s your business here?”

“I—I signed up, sir. At the saloon two nights ago. Your men were there at a table, sir!”

Stride’s eyes narrowed, his head turning sharply in the direction of the two crew members he had, indeed, left to man a table at the saloon while he went on to the tavern to do the same.

“What’s your name then, boy?”

“Charlie, sir. I—I signed an X on the parchment, I did.”

Stride blew out an aggrieved breath at the answer, and Lirian knew without needing to see the parchment in question that each man in the line had likely signed merely an X in place of their proper name. There were always more signatures than bodies that materialized. The crewmen in question had likely been well in their cups by the time they’d left to pursue their next diversion, and there would be no way to disprove the story. He was forced to admit, whoever she was, she’d done a bang-up job of constructing her alibi. The imp!

“And you’ve experience, have ya? At your age?”

“N-none, sir.”

“Then what fucking good are you to me? Think this is a nursery, do ya? That we mind homeless whelps from every port?”

“Cabin boy, Mr. Stride,” Lirian called out, surprising himself. “May I remind you, mine went missing?”

He watched as the boy — the witch! — turned at the sound of his voice. He wondered how long she had been watching his ship, watching his crew. She knew they had been recruiting in the saloon, knew to which ship they belonged, knew their leaving routine well enough that she had been here before dawn, her little disguise in place. She had planned long for this, he was willing to bet, but he could see in her eyes that she had not planned on him. She had been watching them clearly, knew their routine, had listened in on their conversations, but she had not seen hide nor hair of the ship’s captain, for he had been tucked away in his cabin like a naughty child, and the fact that such a vital segment of her plan had escaped her knowledge clearly rankled the girl.

Lirian felt the drag of her eyes up his form, taking in his size, his grin, the ridges on his forehead that told the world what he was. Her face bore a look of consternation, and what a face it was. Beneath the mop of curls, she was fine and delicate. Wide eyes, a pert, upturned nose, a lush little rosebud of a mouth. Her cheeks had a rosy flush, her neck an elegant white column, the baggy shirt showing off an eminently kissable throat. How she thought she would pull off this deception, he had no idea. He did not know her plan, did not know her reason for being there, but she bore keeping a close eye on, a task he suspected he was going to enjoy.

“He’ll make a fine cabin boy. I want his things moved into my quarters. As for the rest of you lot, we run a clean ship. Plunder is split equally amongst the crew, and you’re crew as long as you’re pulling your weight. If you become another anchor weighing us down, you’ll be cast off as such. Follow your orders; keep these decks scrubbed. The inimitable Master Stride is your quartermaster, and his word is law. This is not a democracy. If Mr. Stride asks you to jump, your ass had better already be in the air before you think to ask how high. Don’t let this pretty face of mine fool you into thinking I’ll be easier to deal with. We’ll be traveling off-realm, and that means all hands on deck at every moment. Do I make myself clear?”

Lirian turned away to the chorus of “aye, captain,” trying to pick out the disguised wench’s voice, finding no trace of her. He motioned to his mate to continue, pushing himself up the staircase to the bridge as Cadmus continued to bark orders. This was where Lirian was most comfortable, at the helm of his ship, taking her out where nothing but the open horizon waited. The wheel was an extension of his hands, always sure of her heading, never fearing the darker waters and the beasts that lurked there.

The new cabin boy was a witch. Of that, he was certain. Now that he had been made aware of it, he could almost feel the sizzle of her magic, the pressure of it pushing against him, making him want to tip himself over the starboard rail and drop into the sea, where he would be safe from her eyes. Turning, he sought the girl out with his own eyes, finding her easily, as she was still staring at him with an indiscernible look upon her face.

“My trunks will have already been brought to my cabin,” he called down, instantly catching the boy’s attention.