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Flint was not happy with the newest member of his crew.
It had been Billy’s idea to start a café counter on the ship. Flint hadn’t bothered to verbally turn down the bizarre initiative, inaction which Billy apparently took as the go-ahead. It was quite bad luck that their very next prize included a cook.
When Gates found the man—a very young man, barely old enough to have any experience in cooking—in the hold after the vanguard took care of the upper deck, Flint had figured that he would be off on the next longboat, seeking something more comfortable than the corroded wood of a pirate ship. Unfortunately, Billy got to the man first and convinced him to stay.
Before he knew it, Billy and Silver, the newcomer who had yet to serve anything edible, had set up an espresso bar on the lower deck.
“Captain, we have more coffee beans from The Siren’s Voice than we could possibly hope to sell to the Guthries, not to mention the milk from Daisy that’s going to go bad long before we reach port,” Billy reasoned as he followed Flint around the ship, ducking and swinging to avoid the trappings of The Walrus. He didn’t seem to notice that Flint had been cutting figure eights through the most crowded areas of the ship in an effort to exhaust or lose the persistent boatswain, too caught up in his dissertation regarding the cursed café. To Flint’s increased annoyance, Billy was still talking.
“—new skills will improve the crew’s mora—Captain, watch out!”
Flint’s eye roll could not have been worse timed, since it resulted in slamming right into Silver and the steaming cup of coffee he held. Flint did not cry out as the hot liquid soaked into his once-white shirt, instead letting his award-winning glower do the work for him. The effect was the same, if not even more satisfying, Silver nearly impaling himself on a beam in his effort to back away from the captain.
Billy had the decency to look uncomfortable, but the sheepish look on Silver’s face made Flint smile inwardly and subsequently lose his mind when Silver turned his ice-blue eyes up to his Captain.
Flint could hear Billy blubbering in the background, but he stuck a hand out to stop him. Carefully, slowly, Flint looked Silver up and down and addressed Billy without taking his eyes off of Silver.
“Keep it clean, don’t let the men get addicted, and never serve me anything with cinnamon again,” Flint said, gesturing to his aggressively fragrant shirt, “and you can have your stupid café. and if I hear one peep about the crew shitting themselves, you’re done. Silver,” Flint continued as the young man’s face lit up with excitement, “you’re going to take care of this mess you made. Follow me.”
With that, Flint spun on his heel and stalked toward his quarters, confident before he heard the scrambling behind him that Silver would follow.