serafina20 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
serafina20) wrote2022-11-12 08:04 pm
serafina20) wrote2022-11-12 08:04 pm
Entry tags:
NaNo Update
2,631 words! Not all at once. I did about 200 this morning, then a little more in the afternoon after my book club, and then the rest right now at a Zoom write in. It was great being with people who believed they are writers again, because, lately, most of my experience of being around people in my area has been, "I want to be a writer, but I don't think i can because [instert excuse]". And that's a drag.
Dickens looked peaceful in death. The agony he must have felt, the terror as Marcus began to chop of his head, was no longer evident on his face. His features were smooth, the weathered lines of age and stress melted away. Not that Dickens was very old. If Nathaniel remembered correctly, he should be about thirty now, give or take a few years.
“You were very close, then?” Dawson’s voice drew Nathaniel out of his trance.
He moved his gaze from Dickens face to the neat row of stitches at the side of the man’s neck. Black, ugly things they were. If Nathaniel believed in the afterlife, he’d wonder if Dickens was condemned to wander it with the things marring his flesh forever. Luckily, Nathaniel was not a believer. The body would go to sea where it would be eaten by the fishes. The end.
“Captain?”
“Oh.” Nathaniel searched his brain for the question. “Yes.” Then he frowned. “Not really.” He pressed his fingertips hard against the uneven wood table. “He was…” How could he explain without exposing himself? “When I was very young, there was a mutiny aboard my father’s ship. He was one of the few men who acted with honor.”
He protected me until he couldn’t. He was almost killed because of me then. Nathaniel swallowed. He was killed because of my pride and hubris now.
“He seemed an honorable man. For a pirate.” The last was said with a light tone that begged Nathaniel to find no offense.
Nathaniel looked up at Dawson. “He was. Very much so. ‘tis why I asked him to come aboard as my crew. He was one of them I felt… I could trust.”
“And there aren’t very many of those in your life.”
“Not on my father’s ship.”
Dawson picked up a long, thick needle and began threading it with black twine. “The other men you brought over. Did they also save your life?” He began sewing up the shroud.
“My life is not in danger as often as that. Not since the mutiny.” Nathaniel shook his head and smiled ruefully. “Despite my squeamish appetite and distress over Dickens death, I am not a fragile maiden.”
“I never meant to imply… Of course not, Captain.” Dawson’s hands stilled and he fixed Nathaniel with a hard stare. “I, of all men, understand that having sensitivities does not make one less a man.”
Nathaniel’s stomach turned over, the back of his neck warming. He knew that to anyone passing by, if his and Dawson’s words were overheard, it could be put off to Nathaniel’s peculiarities that all could see. He’d cast up his accounts in full view of the crew, and there was no doubt in his mind that the cook had gossiped about Nathaniel’s picky palate. And while Nathaniel was strong, his body wasn’t built like his brother’s or Laurence, all muscle and girth. No, Nathaniel was slim and compact. He had height, but no breadth. Until people went against him in a fight, they inevitably underestimated him. And while, in the end it worked to his advantage, it did lead to no end of headaches.
But, that was not what Dawson was referring to, and they both knew it. Coded language or not.
No one save Laurence had ever spoken to Nathaniel about his proclivities before. No one but Laurence knew about Nathaniel. And the occasional inuendo about wanting to be kept aside, he and Laurence never discussed what they did outside of the bedchamber.
He could hear his heart thudding in his ears. Sweat stood coldly at his temples and neck. Nathaniel swallowed.
Dawson lowered his eyes. “I meant no disrespect, Captain.” He resumed sewing up the shroud.
Working moisture into his throat, he croaked, “How?”
A smile flit over his lips. “Like calls to like.” He glanced up before returning his gaze to his work. “I recognize myself in you. Do not worry. No indiscretion was committed by our mutual friend.”
His back prickled painfully. “Laurence would never…”
“You’re right. He would never.”
Dickens looked peaceful in death. The agony he must have felt, the terror as Marcus began to chop of his head, was no longer evident on his face. His features were smooth, the weathered lines of age and stress melted away. Not that Dickens was very old. If Nathaniel remembered correctly, he should be about thirty now, give or take a few years.
“You were very close, then?” Dawson’s voice drew Nathaniel out of his trance.
He moved his gaze from Dickens face to the neat row of stitches at the side of the man’s neck. Black, ugly things they were. If Nathaniel believed in the afterlife, he’d wonder if Dickens was condemned to wander it with the things marring his flesh forever. Luckily, Nathaniel was not a believer. The body would go to sea where it would be eaten by the fishes. The end.
“Captain?”
“Oh.” Nathaniel searched his brain for the question. “Yes.” Then he frowned. “Not really.” He pressed his fingertips hard against the uneven wood table. “He was…” How could he explain without exposing himself? “When I was very young, there was a mutiny aboard my father’s ship. He was one of the few men who acted with honor.”
He protected me until he couldn’t. He was almost killed because of me then. Nathaniel swallowed. He was killed because of my pride and hubris now.
“He seemed an honorable man. For a pirate.” The last was said with a light tone that begged Nathaniel to find no offense.
Nathaniel looked up at Dawson. “He was. Very much so. ‘tis why I asked him to come aboard as my crew. He was one of them I felt… I could trust.”
“And there aren’t very many of those in your life.”
“Not on my father’s ship.”
Dawson picked up a long, thick needle and began threading it with black twine. “The other men you brought over. Did they also save your life?” He began sewing up the shroud.
“My life is not in danger as often as that. Not since the mutiny.” Nathaniel shook his head and smiled ruefully. “Despite my squeamish appetite and distress over Dickens death, I am not a fragile maiden.”
“I never meant to imply… Of course not, Captain.” Dawson’s hands stilled and he fixed Nathaniel with a hard stare. “I, of all men, understand that having sensitivities does not make one less a man.”
Nathaniel’s stomach turned over, the back of his neck warming. He knew that to anyone passing by, if his and Dawson’s words were overheard, it could be put off to Nathaniel’s peculiarities that all could see. He’d cast up his accounts in full view of the crew, and there was no doubt in his mind that the cook had gossiped about Nathaniel’s picky palate. And while Nathaniel was strong, his body wasn’t built like his brother’s or Laurence, all muscle and girth. No, Nathaniel was slim and compact. He had height, but no breadth. Until people went against him in a fight, they inevitably underestimated him. And while, in the end it worked to his advantage, it did lead to no end of headaches.
But, that was not what Dawson was referring to, and they both knew it. Coded language or not.
No one save Laurence had ever spoken to Nathaniel about his proclivities before. No one but Laurence knew about Nathaniel. And the occasional inuendo about wanting to be kept aside, he and Laurence never discussed what they did outside of the bedchamber.
He could hear his heart thudding in his ears. Sweat stood coldly at his temples and neck. Nathaniel swallowed.
Dawson lowered his eyes. “I meant no disrespect, Captain.” He resumed sewing up the shroud.
Working moisture into his throat, he croaked, “How?”
A smile flit over his lips. “Like calls to like.” He glanced up before returning his gaze to his work. “I recognize myself in you. Do not worry. No indiscretion was committed by our mutual friend.”
His back prickled painfully. “Laurence would never…”
“You’re right. He would never.”