Free Voyage of Plunder by Michele Torrey

night fell, I hurried down the trail, curious, pushing away vines and leaves. It was darker in the jungle, night almost. It smelled of rot, of things growing, of dampness. Three hundred paces from the beach, the path opened into a sandy clearing. Dim light filtered into the clearing from an opening overhead. An animal scuttled away into the brush.
    Off to the side of the clearing stood a hut, roof long gone, elevated floor littered with jungle debris, steps broken, stinking of animal droppings. It had been a long time since anyone had lived there. I gave the floor a shake. Still solid.
    Well,
I thought,
what do you know. A hideaway. Secret and alone.
After pondering another moment or two, I smiled, then turned and dashed through the jungle toward the beach as if I had wings, thinking,
I claim this hut for Daniel Markham, gentleman adventurer and seeker of revenge.
    Over the next week, besides my two days spent careening the
Tempest Galley,
I worked on my hut.
    First I hacked away the vines and plants that had grown over it, swept out the debris, and scrubbed both the floor and walls with vinegar to rid it of the stench. (I was delighted to learn that the floor was fine and smooth, made of some kind of hardwood.) Next I constructed rafters of bamboo like I'd seen on the other huts of the island, securing the ends with vine. Afterward I covered the rafters with banana leaves, weaving them together with more vine so they wouldn't blow off.
    Both the roof and floor of the hut continued past the front wall, creating a covered veranda that, in my opinion, was quite cheery. I built railings of bamboo and fixed the rickety steps that led off the veranda to the clearing. Finally I cleaned underneaththe hut and around the clearing itself. Brush, leaves, animal droppings, discarded construction materials—I hauled it all to a nearby area in the jungle that I had designated as both my privy and my dump.
    I fetched my belongings from the
Tempest Galley
and brought Timothy back with me as my first houseguest. We sat on the veranda as the heavens opened and it began to rain. We chewed on pineapple slices, quite dry as rain pounded the roof of banana leaves and rivulets of water streamed off the edges. A lizard crawled along the railing. I slapped a bug on my neck, leaving a sticky smear of pineapple juice.
    “Nice place,” Timothy said as he gazed around, his mouth full of pineapple.
    “You could move in with me.”
    He shrugged. “Maybe.”
    “There's enough room for several hammocks. Maybe Abe is looking for a place to stay.…” My voice trailed off as I remembered Abe was a pirate. But, I reminded myself, he was really a cook more than a pirate. In fact, it had been
years
since he'd participated in battle.
    “I dunno,” Timothy said.
    “But I thought you liked it.”
    “Sure I do.” Then he looked at me from beneath his mop of hair. “It's just that—you know.”
    “What.”
    He shrugged again. “Well, it doesn't seem as much fun, is all.”
    “Oh,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment. “Tomorrow after our sword-fighting lesson with Caesar, we can build some furniture. A table and a chair, certainly. Maybe a real bed. You can sleep in it first.”
    He wiped his hands on his breeches. “You don't have any rum punch by any chance, do you?”
    “No.”
    After a while, Timothy stood. “Well, I guess I'll be going.”
    “But—it's raining. You'll get wet. Why don't you stay here for the night? You can have the hammock.”
    He gave a crooked smile. “Another time. See you.” And with a wave, off he ran into the hard rain, disappearing from sight down the path.
    I watched the lizard for a long time, telling myself that it didn't matter.
    It was still raining hours later when I blew out my candle and climbed in my hammock, the darkness of the jungle closing about me.
    Sometime during the night, after the rain had stopped, I was awakened by a noise. I raised my head, listening. There it was again. Branches