The next seven days passed in the same fashion, from the moment she was awake, Molly was given endless amounts of tasks to be completed. Always from the Captain and always the worst jobs, shy of the bilge pump that was. Sending her up the ratlines and into the crow's nest for short times before calling her down to be shown how the guns worked. Cleaning the vast store of weapons was another favourite job it seemed. The one she hated the most, the one that was never ending, was swabbing the deck, keeping it moist so it didn't dry completely and get ruined by the sea. It was a task that was never complete but at least she never had to do it alone. She saw nothing of the captain and neither did the rest of the crew. He chose to stay in his cabin and conduct his business there instead. The ship was run by quarter master Jack and boatswain Mahoney and the whole operation went as smooth as it could but after the first five days, his absence was beginning to be noticed. Muttering among the crew became louder, wondering where he was and what had happened. If it taught Molly one thing, it was that he was well thought of among his crew. The genuine concern for him would have been touching, if he wasn't making her do jobs no one else wanted.
Molly found that she missed Davie and life on the Red Plunder, sure Bess had been a real hard ass to work for but at least she'd spread the crap jobs round a bit. She currently sat on the fore deck stitching a patch, it was the first time in nearly a week that she'd been left to her appointed task and she was aware how lax she'd been in her duty. She worked at the patch, nodding at the various pirates who gave her a wave or a nod. She'd got to know most of the forty crew members over the last week which was the one bonus and she'd found her place among them. John and Bart remained her firm friends but the others were now more accepting. She was invited to the informal games of cards while not on duty and the other day, one of the young lads, Kiff, had asked for her help with splicing one of the cuntlines. Something she was not great at but they worked together until Mahoney was happy and she felt a great sense of achievement with her new friend.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a shout from the nest, "Ship ahoy!" She looked up, her needle frozen halfway through the stitch she'd been making. All activity on deck ceased. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the next words of the lookout. "Nebatian colours."
Mahoney sprinted across the deck, without more information, everyone would be on standby until they were sure. It was the first set of sails they'd seen since departing and as everyone resumed their tasks, there was only one question on their mouths, what would happen next? The murmur of working pirates returned and Molly tried to focus on stitching once more. Another hush descended on deck when the Captain strode from his cabin, a brass spyglass in his hand. He strode to the poop deck with Mahoney and Jack. Molly couldn't keep a smile from her face as she watched his long legs leap the stairs two at a time. Her breath caught as she remembered how he looked without the loose pants on -- something she'd dwelled on over the past few days despite herself. The wind snapped and pulled at his black locks; they spoke in hushed hurried tones before he scanned the horizon, first with, then without the spyglass. She watched them discuss something of urgency before the Captain shook his head. Jack threw up his hands before turning his back on the other two and striding off. Molly watched the quarter master thunder back to the deck, his face an ugly red.
"How good are you at fighting?" John said from behind her. Molly jumped. "Sorry lass."
"Maylan's breath, don't sneak up on my like that," she said, "To answer your question, I can handle myself well enough."
"Good, chances are you may need to in the few hours," he said. Molly nodded. She had a small knife thrust in her boot but the rest of her gear had been stashed with the rest of the weapons. There were in the hold safely out the way where they could be reached when they were needed, not to settle petty arguments should they arise on board.
Molly glanced along the deck and to the horizon, there it was, unmistakeable, a flutter of white in the distance. It wouldn't remain distant for long. The Captain took the helm, dismissing Jones who had been doing a fine job, "Arm yourselves!" he bellowed. Everyone dropped what they were doing, stowed what they were working on in the correct place and swarmed below deck. Molly took her sail cloth and stashed it below deck in a large locker. Jack and Mahoney had unlocked the weapons chests and everyone was arming themselves.
