black magic!” a voice hollered from my left.
The captain addressed me again, “Miss Monroe, you are hereby charged with witchcraft resulting in the death of Mr. Thomas Wrack. Do ye plead guilty or innocent?”
“What? You cannot change the charge!”
Captain Black sneered at me. “You are hereby charged of murder and of witchcraft. You are found innocent on the charge of murder. Happy?” He mirrored the smug look I gave him a moment before. “Now onto the charge of witchcraft. Do you plead guilty or innocent?”
I looked to the crowd for help. Surely anyone could see the injustice. No one seemed to care but me. Not even Nicholas.
“Guilty or innocent?” Black boomed.
“I am innocent.”
“Let it be known that Miss Monroe denies the charge.” The captain walked in front of his desk and looked at the group of pirates to either side of us as he continued his charade as prosecutor and judge. “Miss Monroe, how did you happen to be on this vessel?”
I stole a glance at Nicholas. If only I knew what he was thinking. Was he on my side now, hiding inconspicuously among the crowd to protect both of us, or was he proving allegiance to his crew? I debated whether or not I should tell the captain about our chats in the galley. Revealing Nicholas’s involvement with me may prove dangerous for him—but it could be the alibi I needed.
I answered honestly, “I do not remember, sir.”
“Can anyone else answer the question?” he asked the crew. No one answered.
“Gibbons!” he called.
A pirate shuffled forward ever so slightly and removed his knitted cap.
“I believe you can clear up this matter. Speak.”
Fixing his stare on his feet, the man told of how he was the first to see the wreckage of the ship. He informed the quartermaster and was instructed to look for salvageable goods. While the crew was hauling up buckets of rum they spotted a floating jollyboat with me inside.
The captain asked for others to confirm this story. Several did.
“The lone survivor of a hurricane,” Captain Black said to me. “How did ye manage that?”
“I do not recall, sir. I was unconscious.”
“Just lucky, eh? Or perhaps ye had some help from an otherworldly source.”
The implication was inconceivable.
The captain continued his questioning, “What happened next? What can ye remember?”
He circled my chair like a shark.
Deciding to leave Nicholas out of my story, I said, “I came onto the deck during your ruthless attack on that poor ship.”
Captain Black wheeled on me, “This is a court of law, Miss Monroe,” he said sarcastically. “We need to be objective. Best not let pesky opinions of yer benefactors taint yer testimony.”
My jaw clamped shut. Black contorted everything I said. I wanted to scream. Logic and justice were impossible.
“I apologize, sir,” I said, hoping that the contempt I felt did not manifest in my voice. “I came on deck during the…battle—” I hoped that was a less offensive word “—and was confronted by two members of the crew.”
“Which members?”
“One was Wrack. I do not know the other one.”
“Who was with Wrack that day?” the captain asked the crowd.
His question was met with silence.
“Me thinks you lie,” he said in a playful tone. It made me sick to my stomach.
“It’s the truth,” I insisted.
“Anyone? Anyone admit to confronting Miss Monroe on this very deck during our latest mission?”
No one moved.
The captain resumed his cocky pacing around me.
“It was Beck,” a clear voice from the crowd said.
Nicholas.
“Tell me about it,” the captain challenged.
Nicholas did not step forward, did not stand any taller, just continued to slouch against the foremast, picking disinterestedly at his fingernails.
“Beck and Wrack approached the girl. I knew she was meant for the captain only, and didn’t want any overzealous appetites to force them to break command. I simply reminded them of that, and they let ’er be.”
“Beck!”
The captain addressed me again, “Miss Monroe, you are hereby charged with witchcraft resulting in the death of Mr. Thomas Wrack. Do ye plead guilty or innocent?”
“What? You cannot change the charge!”
Captain Black sneered at me. “You are hereby charged of murder and of witchcraft. You are found innocent on the charge of murder. Happy?” He mirrored the smug look I gave him a moment before. “Now onto the charge of witchcraft. Do you plead guilty or innocent?”
I looked to the crowd for help. Surely anyone could see the injustice. No one seemed to care but me. Not even Nicholas.
“Guilty or innocent?” Black boomed.
“I am innocent.”
“Let it be known that Miss Monroe denies the charge.” The captain walked in front of his desk and looked at the group of pirates to either side of us as he continued his charade as prosecutor and judge. “Miss Monroe, how did you happen to be on this vessel?”
I stole a glance at Nicholas. If only I knew what he was thinking. Was he on my side now, hiding inconspicuously among the crowd to protect both of us, or was he proving allegiance to his crew? I debated whether or not I should tell the captain about our chats in the galley. Revealing Nicholas’s involvement with me may prove dangerous for him—but it could be the alibi I needed.
I answered honestly, “I do not remember, sir.”
“Can anyone else answer the question?” he asked the crew. No one answered.
“Gibbons!” he called.
A pirate shuffled forward ever so slightly and removed his knitted cap.
“I believe you can clear up this matter. Speak.”
Fixing his stare on his feet, the man told of how he was the first to see the wreckage of the ship. He informed the quartermaster and was instructed to look for salvageable goods. While the crew was hauling up buckets of rum they spotted a floating jollyboat with me inside.
The captain asked for others to confirm this story. Several did.
“The lone survivor of a hurricane,” Captain Black said to me. “How did ye manage that?”
“I do not recall, sir. I was unconscious.”
“Just lucky, eh? Or perhaps ye had some help from an otherworldly source.”
The implication was inconceivable.
The captain continued his questioning, “What happened next? What can ye remember?”
He circled my chair like a shark.
Deciding to leave Nicholas out of my story, I said, “I came onto the deck during your ruthless attack on that poor ship.”
Captain Black wheeled on me, “This is a court of law, Miss Monroe,” he said sarcastically. “We need to be objective. Best not let pesky opinions of yer benefactors taint yer testimony.”
My jaw clamped shut. Black contorted everything I said. I wanted to scream. Logic and justice were impossible.
“I apologize, sir,” I said, hoping that the contempt I felt did not manifest in my voice. “I came on deck during the…battle—” I hoped that was a less offensive word “—and was confronted by two members of the crew.”
“Which members?”
“One was Wrack. I do not know the other one.”
“Who was with Wrack that day?” the captain asked the crowd.
His question was met with silence.
“Me thinks you lie,” he said in a playful tone. It made me sick to my stomach.
“It’s the truth,” I insisted.
“Anyone? Anyone admit to confronting Miss Monroe on this very deck during our latest mission?”
No one moved.
The captain resumed his cocky pacing around me.
“It was Beck,” a clear voice from the crowd said.
Nicholas.
“Tell me about it,” the captain challenged.
Nicholas did not step forward, did not stand any taller, just continued to slouch against the foremast, picking disinterestedly at his fingernails.
“Beck and Wrack approached the girl. I knew she was meant for the captain only, and didn’t want any overzealous appetites to force them to break command. I simply reminded them of that, and they let ’er be.”
“Beck!”
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