The Devil's Fire by Matt Tomerlin

the plate and nibbled at the eggs. He watched her, pleased that she had accepted the gift. It had been twenty-four hours since he'd last approached her. "Might I ask your name?" he hazarded.
    "Katherine," she said between bites, gradually shoving larger portions in her mouth.
    "Nathan," he said, extending his hand. Her eyes flashed from the plate to his hand and he instinctively jerked away.
    "I won't bite you," she said. By now she was stuffing the eggs down her throat. She finished them and went next for the biscuit. She took one bite and frowned in revulsion. She dropped the biscuit and handed the plate back to him. He offered her another bottle of rum and she swallowed a fair share.
    "You're looking better," Nathan offered.
    She glared at him. In her sorry state it made her look positively hideous.
    "Didn't mean offense."
    "Save your food next time, Nathan," she said, turning away from him.
    "I'll be back tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that."
    "I don't want there to be a day after that," she said.
    He was thankful he couldn't see her face, because he knew from her quivering tone that she was about to cry.
    "Now now," he said, setting his hand on her shoulder. He didn't even see her turn. One moment she had her back to him, and the next her face was in his. Tears streamed from her narrow, red eyes, her nostrils flared, and her mouth was twisted in a vicious snarl. She could have bitten his nose off if she wanted to.
    "What do you want from me, Nathan?" She growled his name like it was a curse, her croaky voice amplifying the effect. "You figure I’ll spread my legs for you because you did what's expected of a common human being?"
    He was dimly aware of laughter behind him.
    "If you were truly a man, you'd cut these ropes." She shook the ropes for emphasis.
    The laughter grew.
    It seemed an eternity before he was able to find his voice again. "I can't do that, Katherine."
    "Then you’re nothing more than another bloody pirate. Do not bring me food again." And then, as if the statement had taken with it all the energy she had, she diminished, her scowl fading as swiftly as her temper. She turned away.
    As he stood, Nathan felt heavy, as though his shoulders carried the weight of an anchor. Turning his body was like twisting a spoon in molasses. He faced the laughing crowd. Many were clutching their bellies for lack of air, faces beet red.
    Nathan retreated to the cramped confines of the decks below, fighting a bombardment of contrasting emotions. He was crushed and infuriated at the same time. His pity for the girl had potentially damaged his standing with the crew. In front of everyone, she had spit his sympathy right back in his face.
    He hurled the pewter plate across the room, followed closely by the bottle of rum. Two hens scrambled to avoid being clobbered. The plate landed harmlessly and the bottle shattered noisily. "To Hell with her!" he screamed at a hen. The animal curiously cocked its head at him.
    He set his forehead against a wall and closed his eyes. He took a few deep breaths, emptying his mind, and then filled it with the happiest images he could conjure. He imagined the Caribbean in all its glory. He imagined a whorehouse packed to the brim with beautiful strumpets. He imagined himself in the arms of a large-breasted whore, in the privacy of her room. That was the only manner of woman a pirate need associate himself with.
    Anything more was complicated.

 
KATHERINE
     
    Blood streamed in thick rivulets from the raw abrasions that encircled her wrists. She had spent five days at the mast and she was certain she would not live to see the sixth. She had endured both sun and rain, each offering an array of vile anguishes.
    Her face was so red from sunlight that she worried her cheeks might crack like a dry lakebed if she parted her lips beyond a thin line. Her esophagus felt like the inside of a hornet's nest. Every muscle in her body was on fire. The slightest stir of movement pulsed