The Letter, Part 8
The ship ploughed south, its deck jumping rhymically as the waves pushed it through the storm forming around them. Spray hurled itself up over the bow, drenching the young sea captain. A woman in her early thirties, she had dark, piercing eyes and a mouth that seemed always to be smiling… a trick of the face many of her subordinate had paid dearly for misinterpreting.
“Can you see it?” a short man called out over the pounding waves.
The captain looked down at her companion, shaking her head. “Not yet,” she said slowly and deliberately. Then, when the man thought she was finished, she added, “But I can taste it.”
“Taste it, Cap’n?” he asked, frowning. “I think maybe I’m misunderstanding yer meaning.”
“No, you heard right. It’s the taste of victory, the taste of revenge… the taste of anticipation!” she roared, her voice getting louder with each successive phrase. “Seven months at sea has the effect of making me anxious, Morgan. It’s taken everything in me to stave up restlessness.”
The man nodded, walking away, his nod transforming itself into a concerned shake as he reached the other end of the ship. One look back was enough to catch a wave cascade over the bow where she was standing.
She’d been waiting for weeks. He didn’t even want to think about the poor souls she was aiming for when they arrived. If she’s wasn’t good and mad already, she certainly would be by the time they landed.
God pity them, he mused as he stepped into the safety of the rear cabin.