The day progressed, and with it, the torturous heat. Hunger clawed at her stomach, haunting her with memories of her time alone on the island. Did they intend to starve her to death? Or was this just another form of pirate torture? Her legs burned in the effort to remain standing on the canting deck, but she didn't dare rest them and give the rats more flesh to chew. As she drifted in and out of consciousness, she prayed for strength.
Sometime after midday, as best she could guess, Charlisse heard someone coming down the steps. A crotchety old sailor emerged from the ladder, the epitome of a pirate from every fable and myth she had ever heard or read. Swarthy and muscular, he wore a white-and-red checkered shirt under an embroidered red waistcoat, baggy black breeches, red silk stockings,
