Pirate Pete's Arc

Chapter 4 of 11

Pete counted the coins in his pouch three times. Twenty-two. He was eight short, and the sun already hung low. Barnaby wanted thirty by sundown, or four barrels of Pete's rum went to another buyer. Pete needed money fast, and he knew only one place to get it. He pushed through the door of the gambling hall. Lanterns swung over rowdy tables. Dice clattered. Behind a card table sat Gloria Marchetti, the loan shark widow. She dealt a hand without looking up. Her dead husband had been a pirate too, and she buried him with his debts unpaid. Now she collected other men's. "Pirate Pete," she said. "You only visit when you're drowning." "I need eight gold," Pete said. "By sundown." Gloria set down her cards. She studied him with dark, sharp eyes. "Eight now is twelve next week. Miss my day, and I take your ship." She slid a small stack across the felt. "Those are my terms." Pete's throat went dry. His ship held everything. But without the rum, the ship meant nothing to him. He scooped the coins into his pouch. "Done." He found Silas Blackwater near the docks, coiling rope outside the smuggler's warehouse. The old smuggler wore a patch over one eye, same as Pete. They had run cargo together years back. Silas squinted at Pete's full pouch. "You look like a man about to pay a thief," Silas said. "Barnaby Crust," Pete said. "Thirty gold for my own barrels." Silas spat. "Crust robs the tide and calls it fishing. Watch him. He'll count every coin twice, then find a reason it's short." Pete met Barnaby at the water as the sun touched the sea. The barrels sat on the fisherman's deck, roped together. Barnaby scratched his weedy beard and held out a hand. Pete poured thirty coins into it. Barnaby counted them slow, one at a time, dropping each into a jar. He reached the last coin and grinned. "Fair's fair," Barnaby said. He shoved the barrels off his deck. They splashed and bobbed toward Pete's rowboat. Rusty and Slappy hauled them aboard, grunting. Pete had his rum back. Four barrels, safe on his own ship at last. He should have felt lighter. Instead a cold weight settled in his gut. He stood on his deck as the barrels rolled into the hold. He owed Gloria twelve gold by next week, or she took his ship. And his mother could return any day to board and inspect. If she found the rum, she would destroy every drop. Pete pressed his hand to a barrel. He had spent everything to save them. Now he had to hide four barrels from his mother and dig up twelve gold for a woman who took ships. The rum was home. The danger had only moved closer.