Chapter 2

" I 'VE GOT YOUR CAPTAIN, now you'd better do as I say." The words were permeated with the sickliest of stenches. It was one thing to be a miscreant, but did it always have to coincide with not using tooth powder? Come on. It was available for anyone to use. It wasn't harmful in the least, and it was a great way for anyone to start their day. What was harmful was the plume of odor billowing out of this man's mouth.

Which, really, shouldn't have been Jude's primary concern because, well, the knife to the neck was slightly more of an issue.

The blade against Jude's throat pricked his skin, and he could feel the small dribble of blood crawl down his throat. Slightly distracted by the noxious gas enveloping his nose, he made extensive efforts to focus on what mattered.

In a moment like this, it would be natural for any man to panic, even slightly. Surely, a man's heart rate would—and should—speed up. No one would fault him for excessive perspiration, least of all loosing a string of expletives that even the darkest, grimiest of pirates might shudder at .

But none of those reactions befell Jude. Therein lay the problem. He would say he was getting too old for this, but having just passed the hurdle that is thirty, he couldn't claim that excuse. No. he was not too old for this, though perhaps too tired for it. The pillaging, the chasing, the danger…there was no appeal to it. This was really the last case of halitosis that he wanted to come cheek to cheek with. The appeal of this life was gone. No feelings at all in it, actually. No thrill. No terror. No curiosity. Nothing.

In fact, the only thought on his mind was how large the man was with the knife, and if perchance he might consider using tooth powder. That and switching sides. That is, becoming one of the so-called good seafarers. In a word, a privateer on Jude's ship.

Because Jude and his crew could always use another behemoth of a man. So long as he was loyal and had some semblance of a moral compass.

Which…yes, that did pose a problem considering the large oaf was currently holding Jude by knifepoint, hoping to be led to his recent bounty. So that was the question. Could the man be trusted?

"Where is it?" the fetid-breathed oaf growled at him.

"I won't tell you unless we're alone," Jude said, trying to breathe in and out through his mouth only. Which…he actually wasn't convinced was a better idea.

"I'm not going anywhere without my mates."

Hmmm…that sounded promising. Loyalty.

And at that precise moment, one of his mates must have lost the plot; forgotten the plan; misplaced his notes—of course, he likely didn't take any notes in the first place.

He happened to be saying something salacious to one of the helpless onlookers who was valiantly trying not to onlook. Then again, seeing three large privateers standing ready to pounce on five disheveled pirates was a far better than most reason to onlook.

"Just give me five minutes up your skirt," he charmed in a not-so-charming voice.

"Five?" guffawed a friend—at this point it was unclear whether friend was the right term amongst these men. "You'll take two minutes at most."

"Shut your vile traps. Both of you," the knife-wielding oaf ironically bellowed. "Have you all forgotten why we're here? And get off that helpless woman. We're not here for her."

Hmmm…also promising. That seemed indicative, if not conclusive, of some moral compass.

The looks passing between the miscreants indicated that though they might not have forgotten the explicit task, they certainly had lost track of the concentration and motivation to complete it.

That look was enough of a cue to Jude. He raised his brows at his own men standing at the ready, and in an instant his men took over.

It didn't take all that much effort considering the pirates (really not an apropos label considering their cowardice) fled the scene immediately.

Leaving only the oaf behind.

Yes. The three pirates may have been shipmates, but they most assuredly weren't friends. Leaving a man to fend for himself was not the affectionate behavior of friends that Jude expected among his men.

In the shuffle, Jude had easily overturned the oaf, and now had a boot on his chest while his crew held the rest of the man down.

"I'll let you go once you hand over your knife," Jude promised.

"Apparently I've no use for it anyway," the oaf said, loosening his grip on the knife so it clanged to the floor.

"Perhaps your mates aren't as loyal as you might have thought? "

"Ha! My mates , as you call them, are part of the third ship I've joined in a month. And I've come to the realization that there's no such thing as loyalty anymore."

"Join our ship then," the words slipped out. Although Jude was thinking them and had planned to make the offer, he hadn't intended to make it so cavalierly. But he was in it now, and there was something about the man that—incidentally—didn't wreak of reckless violence.

"How do you know I won't kill you in your sleep?"

"You mean for money?"

"Aye." The oaf tilted his chin defiantly to the tavern ceiling.

"Here," Jude said and passed the man his knife. "Give it your best shot." And he turned his back on the man, perhaps in the most asinine gesture he had ever taken. And just to make sure it was the most addle-pated, bacon-brained action he had ever done, he added a "Stand down," to his men, and a "The loot's in the attic. It's all yours."

And then he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

He really had hoped it wouldn't have been that hard of a decision, but when the acquiescing puff of air was finally expelled, Jude could smile again. Sort of. The closest thing to a smile that he'd known the past few months, anyway.

When he turned around to face the oaf, he was greeted by a most curious expression.

"So that's the deal then? Pledge loyalty to you?"

"Or not." Jude shrugged. "You can also go out the door and traipse after…" Jude wiggled his fingers in replication of scurrying rats.

"I'm in." He stuck out his hand, "Bruno. "

"Ah…that's fitting." Jude shook the man's hand. "Now, we might run things slightly differently than what you're used to. But don't worry. It's all for profit and in good fun."

"I'm definitely in for the profit. The fun part we'll have to see about," Bruno said.

"It sounds like you've found another good one, Captain," Sprat, Jude's first mate slapped the new addition on his back. "You'll come around to the fun part. I'm sure of it."

Fun. They had all said it now, but that was definitely not the right word. Adventure? It didn't feel that way anymore either. Obligation? That was more suitable, but still not perfect. It was all just status quo. Always doing what they've always done, and always getting what they've always gotten.

The only thing really different was the masquerade ball he needed to attend this evening. Thank God nothing more damaging had happened to his face. Though…he supposed if ever there was a time to look a touch beaten up, a masquerade ball might be the event most likely to work in his favor.

Ugh. Another ball. He hadn't been to one for ages, and this was supposed to be his last one. If he could just run this last job, then he could be free.