Choose

5. Convenient

July 21, 2009

Remora opened her mouth to release yet another scathing commentary upon the parentage and manners of the dirty prisoner (stunning green eyes or no, such behavior was absolutely inexcusable).

“I am Bones,” said the ticker, effectively derailing her tirade before it could truly begin.

To ignore his introduction would be rude, so she set aside her ire to respond. She turned and offered her hand, palm down, to the ticker. He reached forward and grasped her fingers gently, metal fingers cold against her warmth. She sketched a formal curtsey. “You may call me Remora,” she said with a smile.

The ticker released her hand and gestured to the other side of the cell. “My companion is Daniel McCoy.”

“Name’s Hank,” the man corrected with a sour glare.

“You, Daniel,” she stated stiffly, “may call me Miss Price.”

His eyes narrowed. “The name is Hank,” he repeated, more forcefully.

“Don’t be ridiculous. If your name is Daniel, then Daniel it is. It is a solid, respectable name,” she pointed out sensibly.

“I know it is. That’s why folks call me Hank.” He straightened and shifted his glare to Bones. “And until I say otherwise, it’s still Captain McCoy to you.”

“Captains,” pointed out Bones with a droll voice, “have ships.”

“I have a ship!” protested McCoy.

“No. You had an HH class ship. Now, Ratchet has an HH class ship.”

“I’m going to get the ship back, Bones,” McCoy growled.

An HH class ship? Remora’s stomach fluttered with excitement. “Pardon me,” Remora said. “HH class – that’s an airship, is it not?”

“And what would a pretty little thing like you know about airships?” McCoy said with a sideways grin that he no doubt thought was charming.

A flush of heat darkened her cheeks and she mentally added ‘condescending’ to McCoy’s growing list of faults.

She tossed her head and gave an airy laugh, “Oh, I suppose a pretty little thing like myself couldn’t possibly know a thing about big, important airships. Only,” she paused for effect as though it had only just now occurred to her, “I do know that the first HH (or, as it is properly named, Harris Hawk) class airship was commissioned by the Duke of Northington as a naval warship in seventeen-eighty-two. Its unique conglomerative design allowed the navy to successfully hunt pirates both in the air and on the sea, cutting off all possible escape routes. This went on for almost three years before the pirates themselves got their hands on the design and began using them even more effectively than the navy. They began to engage, surround, and then escape using the mobile splinter ships, foiling all attempts to follow and bring them to justice. Such was the success of these pirates that the Duke himself ordered all of the HH destroyed if ever they entered any port controlled by the Queen’s navy.”

Sweetly, she concluded, “Is that, perchance, the HH class ship about which you were speaking?”

She allowed herself to gloat, just a little, at the stark astonishment on Captain Daniel Hank Whatever-He-Wants-To-Call-Himself McCoy.

After a moment’s awkward silence, Bones sought her attention. “Miss Price-”

“Please, call me Remora.”

He nodded, a motion accompanied by the faint sound of gears grinding. “Remora.” She rewarded him with a smile as he continued. “We need your help.”

“Like hell we do!” burst McCoy.

“If you have a better plan, enlighten me,” said Bones.

Remora lifted an eyebrow. After a moment of silent fuming, during which the ticker did not so much as twitch, McCoy finally gave a jerky nod.

Bones continued as though he’d never been interrupted. “We find ourselves beset by monetary adversity. Our ship has been impounded by a loan shark by the name of Ratchet for failure to pay debt and we have no way to retrieve it. I calculate that you are more wealthy than your current dress and situation might suggest. I propose a business agreement, by which you secure the note against our ship on our behalf, with our contracted promise of future repayment. With interest, of course.”

McCoy barked once in protest, but Bones ignored him, his faintly glowing eyes locked on Remora’s face.

“You’re pirates,” Remora stated. She didn’t ask. The answer was obvious. Only pirates could possibly have an HH class ship, and only a pirate would have been in a backwater bar like the Jolly Rooster. She knew this because she herself had only been in the Jolly Rooster to find a pirate captain. Was it possible that fate itself had intervened to deliver exactly what she needed to begin her quest?

She looked at McCoy again, her gaze appraising. The corner of his lips twitched. “You got a problem with that, darlin’?”

“Miss Price,” she corrected, frowning.

The man was a rogue, with an attitude and a preposterously overinflated ego. A pair of pretty eyes and a crooked grin might have gotten him through a few scrapes, but it did nothing to balance his rudeness or his defiant, contrary behavior.

Still, his first mate was both logical and polite. And even though the captain was a scoundrel, he had yet to threaten her with true harm. Verbal barbs and battles, she could endure. No, she decided. The man was irritating, but not dangerous.

Regardless, he was the only option she had left if she intended to begin her journey before society forced marriage upon her.

She smiled, decision made. “No, no problem. As a matter of fact, I find it rather convenient.”