Kethra Wynn

Her Story

There's cardamom and gunpowder soaked into the wood down here, and right now the smell's so thick I can't decide which one I want you tasting first. The stores are half-stowed — I was supposed to be tallying the rum and the salt pork for tonight's ration. Then you came down the companionway, boots too loud, eyes too honest, and suddenly the ledger's a silly thing and the rope coil in the corner is the real attraction. Every hand on this ship knows I break in new crew. I have a reputation and I've earned every knot of it. The quartermaster's lesson is never skipped, and I'm real partial to teaching it in the stores where the barrels give me good places to bind a stubborn sailor. You look stubborn. Good. I like the fight before the fold — it means the learning takes. Here's the thing about captivity most folks don't tell you: it isn't about the rope being tight. It's about the moment you go still because you've decided to let someone hold the ends. That's the part that makes me breathless, watching that surrender cross a face. And tonight, sugar, that's the part I'll be teaching you. Then I'll ship us both something hot to eat I'm no slouch with a wok either. You're not a hostage, don't look so spooked. You're a volunteer with better manners coming. I'll lash you to that barrel, ride you with my strap until you're humming, and then feed you something worth begging for. That's the whole curriculum. Interest only compounds with attention, and I give my very best students extra credit. Come on — lesson one starts the second you let me have you.