Captain Bjorn (Tales from The Compass Book 1) (4 page)

Lauretta smiled warmly at him and then swiveled, resting one arm on the back of the bench. “Letting your brother take the fall for you, Aaron?”

A grin curled at my lip. “What makes you think such a thing?”

“Marc is much too organized to lose anything. And kind enough to bear the embarrassment on your behalf.”

“I didn’t ask for him to do it.”

“Didn’t exactly leap in and stop him, either.”

Bark loosened from the trunk against my arm—the exact color of Bjorn’s hair—and I brushed it off, chuckling. “Well I
do
need another invitation.”

Focused on Marc, she shook her head. “It’s hard to believe you’re twins. Perhaps I should give you Aaron’s invitation for safe-keeping?”

Marc looked over at me, light dancing in his eyes. “A mighty fine idea!”

A gloved hand touched Marc’s knee. Lauretta smiled. “Please tell me Aaron has improved his dancing since the last ball.”

“That would require practice.”

I found a twig and tossed it at him, making his soft laugh burst bright.

A curious frown twitched at Lauretta’s brow. She swallowed and spoke softly, “Then you’ll come to my rescue, Marc.” She smoothed her skirts and stood. “Let’s continue on. I’m rested enough.”

Lauretta hooked her arms in Marc’s and mine, and we headed further along the cliff toward the earl’s manor.

Few passersby were out, but close to the manor, one dark figure stilled my step. Moustache curling at the tips, hands clasped behind his back, Sir Walter—our landlord—strode past us, deep in conversation with that buffoon of a pirate. He sliced his cold gaze over us, paused the pirate’s ramblings, and tipped his hat.

“Greetings to your mother.”

A shudder tore through me at the memory of Maid Miller holding her middle like she might fall apart . . .

Lauretta glanced between us. “What was that about?”

“Nothing of concern,” Marc said, but his confidence wavered.

Wavered and struck me like a sharp blade. “Excuse me,” I dropped Lauretta’s arm. “Quite forgot I’m needed down at the wharfs.”

“Wharfs?” Marc asked.

I backed away from them, searching for a calming grin and finding only a tight grimace. “I’ve a small singing gig there. A little something to tide us over.”

Marc looked from me to our landlord’s figure shrinking off the path and into the woods. “Aaron?” I refused to acknowledge his warning stare, instead inclined my head to Lauretta.

“Until tomorrow, then.”

* * *

Second ship from the right.

I waited for no invitation, climbing aboard—

Three pointed swords awaited me the moment my feet hit the deck. “Now that’s the response I expected.”

The tallest pirate cocked his head and bit out gruffly, “What are you doing on our ship?”

“Came to see Bjorn.”

They spoke over each other. “Bjorn?
Bjorn.
Did ’e just call him that?”

“That ain’t how he’s called ‘round here.”

“No respect. No bleedin’ respect. Captain will have his hide for shark food.”

Shark food? How banal. “I’m sure he has better ideas for my hide than
that
.”

A dark laugh surged over the deck. The three pirates swung toward Bjorn, whose large steps quickly ate the distance between us. “Put your swords away, men.”

The three pirates dropped their blades.

“Get out of here.”

They scurried away, leaving me with
Captain
Bjorn. Up and down, he looked at me.

I smirked, and he drew his cutlass, blade catching the sun as he lifted the tip to my vest. “What are you doing on my ship?”

“Forgive me if it’s
inconvenient
.”

Though his sword remained steady and his mouth held firm, a flicker of amusement sparked in his eye.

I blinked away that worming shiver and looked toward the masts. “Thought perhaps you’d enlighten me. What more is there to being a pirate than the fancy for gold?”

Bjorn’s lip twitched, and he sheathed the cutlass. “Come along then.” At the main mast he stopped and patted the sturdy wood. “Let’s go.”

He positioned a foot on the ladder and climbed with graceful strength. The narrow wooden rungs swayed until I grabbed them and followed. Breezes swirled around me, tunneling up my sleeves and whipping my hair. Up, and up, and up we went, the view of the harbor opening around us. Turquoise sea kissed a warm blue sky. Light clouds danced toward the village atop the cliffs. Gulls swooped and cawed.

Right across from us was the spot where Bjorn had startled me awake at the cliffs. Further along, the benches my brother, Lauretta and I had stopped at only an hour before. Up from that, the earl’s manor gleamed in morning light.

Laughter and voices came up to us in snatches, growing fainter and fainter until only the wind cried. I followed Bjorn through a narrow parting into the Crow’s nest. How he fit through it was a mystery. He leaned against the side, facing inwards. I pulled myself up the last step.

Then tripped, toppling toward Bjorn. Braced against my weight, his arms came strong and warm around my waist. “Steady. What’s with you and falling from heights?” The words hit my ear, soft and edged with frustration. “You’d think you’d have more fear.”

“Fear?” I pulled back, and Bjorn’s grip loosened. “The wind dances around us. Smells so fresh. Tastes better than food. What is to fear?”

As if trying to discern something, he studied me, gaze like a caress.

I raised a brow. “You can just ask, you know.”

His lips twitched. “Where to start?”

Something about those words stole my breath a moment, before slamming it back into my chest.

Bjorn shifted, leaning closer. His hand braced against the mast above me. “Yes, I see it now.”

“See it?” I swallowed. Then tried to push him back with a grin, but he held himself firm, black shirt soft under my palm.

“You secretly want,” he said, drawing impossibly close, poising his lips at my ear, “To be a pirate.”

A hollow laugh puttered from me onto his neck, and Bjorn pulled back, something satisfied and predatory in his smile.

Flustered, I sidled around the nest until the mast blocked Bjorn, and Serrin’s ship came into full view. I leaned back against the mast. Skyward, a wisp of cloud scuttled by, chased by a bigger one.

The nest groaned and jiggled as Bjorn moved. “Intriguing as this was,” he said, “I have places to be—”

“—Wait.”

Bjorn took no heed, descending swiftly. I grabbed the ladder and followed, landing on the deck with a sharp clack. “Wait,” I said again, and Bjorn paused ahead, at a blue door with a dented but polished brass knob. “Perhaps some lunch before you go?”

He faced me, gaze calculating. Somewhat . . . uneasy. Curious. Dark. “You wish to lunch with me?”

“You’re not
all
bad company.”

He barked out a laugh. Then considered it for a moment. “Let’s see how you fare on cook’s stew, then. Come.”

I followed him down into the galley. Tens of pirates clustered around small tables. Most ate, a few played cards. Two men at the end of the narrow room blew tunes into flutes, trying to outdo each other.

Bjorn received respectful nods, but was otherwise ignored. Except by the cook, who grunted about the lack of supplies—and sloshed two bowls onto our small table along with a jug of rum. Bjorn poured us both a good measure of it. “Might be wise to drink up before you eat.”

I spooned the stew and tasted. Coppery, and the bits that floated: chewy. I swallowed down a gag and grinned. “Tasty.”

Then I knocked back the rum.

Bjorn smirked, refilling both our cups. He ate with determination, like finishing was a feat.

“A game,” I blurted. “We should play.”

His final spoon stopped before his lips. “You have nothing to stake. And I don’t allow gambling for gold on board.”

I tapped the rum. “What about loser takes a drink? Last one standing.”

“Hardly seems fair.” He ate the last of his stew. The spoon clattered into the empty bowl. “You look to handle but three rounds before you’re done.”

“Three rounds? Try ten—at the least.”

I lost count of the rounds.

By evening the world blurred and everything came with a side of song. Pirates surrounded our table, taking sides and drinking along with the loser of each round.

“What have you this time,
captain
?” I said. “Any aces in your hole?”

“Listen to him slur,” a pirate said with a laugh. “Gonna go out this round for sure.”

I tapped the deck of cards and Bjorn’s third. Or it might have been fifth.

“How about we call it a defeat and leave it at that?” Bjorn said, flipping his cards to reveal yet another win.

“One more.” I rubbed my eyes as gold earrings sparkled in low lamplight and hearty laughs echoed in my ears. “I’m good for it.”

“You’ve quite proved yourself, Aaron,” Bjorn said.

I shut my eyes for a second. Just a second. “Deal the cards.”

A hand touched my cheek, cool, refreshing. I leaned into it—

“He’s out.”

“Shall we throw him overboard? That’ll wake ’im up.”

“Look! He’s about to tip—”

The table jerked and then warm arms lifted me from my stool. I peeled my eyes open to a black shirt and an earthy scent— “Bjorn.”

* * *

With a start, I jerked awake.

Blankets puddled to my middle.

Then came a gruff “Drink.” A flask of water hurtled toward my face. I caught it and drank deeply.

“You talk a lot when you’re drunk.” Bjorn sat at a table, feet propped onto it, leaning back in a dark wooden chair.

“I do?” I swung off the side of the bed and rested my head in my hands until the room stopped spinning. “What did I say?”

“Enough.”

I glanced around the room. Small and cozy. The bed fit snug against the slanted wall. The table took up the rest of the room, with a rug between the two. Everything was wood. Simple. Sturdy.

Not unlike my own room, though I shared mine with Marc.

Marc! Mother! “What time is it?”

Bjorn hooked his hands behind his head. “Somewhere around ten, I’d say. You’ve been out for hours, snoring like a healthy bastard. Did you know you sing in your sleep?”

Hours? “I have to get home.” I stood, swayed, and stumbled for support against the desk. “Thank you for . . .”

“For?”

“The . . . bed. Was kind.”

Bjorn set his feet on the ground and pushed to a stand. “You should have given up at round eight.”

“Right now, my head about agrees with you.”

“You’re stubborn, I’ll give you that.”

The boat rocked. Or was that me? “Unfortunately so.”

At my side, Bjorn handed over my belt and sword. I took my belongings and buckled them into place. “Let’s get you home.”

“Pretty sure I can get there myself.”

“You’ll fall off the cliffs for sure.” He cuffed my arm and pulled me out of the cabin, off the boat, and up the steep steps that led to the woods and the village beyond.

Neither of us spoke until trees shadowed us from the moonlight.

“What did I say?” Rum swished and churned in my stomach.

“Nothing I didn’t suspect.” Bjorn increased his pace and my muscles objected as I matched it. “You spoke much of Marc and your mother.”

A sobering breath whistled into me. “And . . . father?”

He glanced at me, face blue against darker blues. “Him too.”

We trudged on, boots snapping twigs and crunching over leaves. A movement and a streak of light caught my eye, coming from behind Bjorn—

“Attack!” I shoved the captain to the side, but too late; a blade sliced over the back of his shoulder. Bjorn let out a yell and spun around, drawing his cutlass.

The dark figure lunged again, with brute strength and little skill. Sword already in my hand, I parried, blades clashing.

“Buffoon!” I said in recognition. What was he doing here? Was this revenge? “Only cowards attack from behind!”

Bjorn sidled close and lifted his cutlass to the pirate’s neck. “Gus, Gus, Gus. Whatever will I do with you?”

Gus swore. “I thought . . . I mistook you, captain.”

“Mistook me?”

“Was led to believe I’d find someone else here after dark.”

“Who?”

Gus gulped, and shook his head.

Bjorn pressed the tip of his sword into the pirate’s neck. A dark line of blood trickled down his throat. “Prince Serrin, sir.”

“Serrin?” Bjorn sounded surprised. “Why—”

He didn’t get to finish. A whirring sounded and something ripped through Gus’s chest, splattering the path and Bjorn’s coat with blood. Shock sucked a cry from me, and I almost dropped my sword as I reeled back.