Pirate Pete's Arc

Chapter 7 of 11

The tar was dry and the barrels were quiet, but the debt still hung over Pete. Fifteen gold by week's end. Three days left. No crew to raid with, no small boat, no prizes coming in. If he missed the count, the widow would take his ship. Pete stood on his weathered deck under the patched sails and did the only thing left. He gathered every coin he owned and counted it twice. Nine gold. He was six short, and no honest way to close the gap. So Pete rowed ashore and went to the one person who could stretch his time. Gloria Marchetti held his loan, and she held his ship's fate in the same hand. She was the loan shark widow of the cove, a pirate's widow who buried her husband and kept his ledger. Nobody in the cove crossed her twice. He found her at a plank table, sorting coins into stacks. She did not look up. "Three days early," she said. "That's either good news or bad. From you, Pete, it's bad." "I have nine," Pete said. He set the coins down. They gleamed in a small heap. "I need until the next moon for the rest. My crew's scattered. I can't earn without them." Gloria pushed the heap back toward him with one finger. "I don't lend time. I lend gold." She leaned forward. "You forfeit the ship. Those were the words. You signed them." Pete's throat went tight. Losing the ship meant losing the hold. Losing the hold meant losing the barrels. His mother would never find them because they'd be gone, and so would he. "Take the nine now," he said. "I'll bring six more. I'll work your docks. I'll haul your cargo." She studied his one eye a long moment. Then she smiled without warmth. "Not your labor. Your ship, when I want it, for one run. Cargo I don't ask about. You carry it, no questions, and this debt is closed." Pete knew what that meant. Her cargo was smuggler's cargo. He'd be running goods he couldn't see, for a woman who owned him if he failed. But his ship would float another day. His barrels would stay hidden below. "Done," Pete said. Gloria scooped his nine coins into her palm and slid the ledger shut. "Then you keep the ship," she said. "For now. I'll send word when the cargo's ready. Be sober. Be ready. Don't be late twice." Pete rowed back with empty pockets and a ship that was still his. The debt was gone. But he had traded a loan for a leash. Somewhere soon, Gloria's men would load his hold with crates he couldn't open, right beside the rum he'd killed himself to hide. His mother was coming before week's end. Now a smuggler's cargo was coming too, into the same dark hold.