The Sea Wolves by Christopher Golden Read Free Book Online

cleaned the galley after breakfast, Jack had entertained the idea that he might have imagined her. But he could never have dreamed up those eyes, and such underlying sadness. Then he had scoured his mind for any memory of her having been on the Umatilla but drew a blank. It was a waste of time; if she had been on the ship and he had seen her, he would have remembered her instantly. She had that sort of face. And just as with that mad forest spirit Lesya, if he never laid eyes on her again, he would still remember her forever.
    Was she Ghost’s woman? Sailors—even pirates—usually considered a woman on shipboard to be bad luck, but if she was the captain’s wife or mistress, that would explain it.
    â€œCooky, that was almost edible,” Louis said.
    Jack jumped—he hadn’t heard anyone approaching along the short corridor to the galley. Wrapped in beauty’s gaze , he thought, but then he realized that this might be an opportunity. Louis seemed to be a talker, and Jack was an experienced conversationalist.
    â€œI just threw it together,” Jack said. “Give me the proper ingredients, and I’ll make something truly edible.”
    â€œI believe that,” Louis said, a hint of laughter in his voice. His French accent held none of the beauty of that woman’s. It was a mocking, knowing lilt.
    â€œThe crew enjoyed it,” Jack said. He dropped the wire brush he was using to clean the scarred wooden surfaces and turned to face Louis. The thin man leaned against the galley bulkhead, eyes flicking this way and that, and as Jack turned, his face broke into a feral smile. His golden tooth seemed to glow with an echo of moonlight.
    â€œOf course,” Louis said. “Finn feeds us dog waste, and you gave us something…” He shrugged, both hands out as if balancing his thoughts.
    â€œBetter?” Jack suggested.
    â€œSomething to tide us over.” The grin remained.
    â€œWho’s the woman?” Jack asked. He tried to sound uninterested, turning back to scrubbing down the surfaces. Louis chuckled behind him.
    â€œAh, you’ve met Ghost’s guest. Well, Monsieur Cooky, once met, never forgotten. Did she cast her spell over you? Possess your eyes? Does she haunt your memory?”
    â€œShe’s just a woman,” Jack muttered, but all those things were true. He could not recall what Johansen had been doing in that chart room, could not even remember how Ghost had been sitting or the expression on his face. But the woman’s words repeated to him again and again, chanted into his ear by a songbird on his shoulder. Good morning. You must be Jack .
    â€œThat’s much like saying Ghost is just a man,” Louis whispered.
    He isn’t? Jack almost said, but he bit his tongue. He had no wish to betray his doubts. So he turned to Louis again and tried a different tack.
    â€œIs she his wife?”
    Louis frowned. “Wouldn’t put it that way. But she’s precious to him, all right.”
    Jack couldn’t forestall the flash of jealousy that went through him. It was absurd—he couldn’t even claim the woman’s acquaintance—but the sight of her had made his breath catch in his throat the same way it had the first time he’d seen a snowbird in the wild during the winter he’d spent trapped in a Yukon River cabin on the verge of starvation.
    â€œYou know her,” he said.
    â€œMe? Oui.” Louis’s smile faltered for a moment, and his gaze went far away.
    â€œAnd does she know you?”
    Louis laughed, then glanced over his shoulder, perhaps checking to see if anyone else could hear their conversation.
    â€œOnly so far.”
    â€œOnly so far?” Jack repeated. What the hell did that mean? You must be Jack , the woman had said, and the sadness in that voice was undisguised.
    â€œI am the one who found her,” Louis said. “I knew of her, and I told Ghost. Of course I did.