The mojo woman smiled as the Black Cat revealed herself to the startled throng. No one saw her slip quietly out the door of the Captain's stateroom. As she walked along the deck she was assaulted with images of gunshots, splashing black water, swirling silver, and the smell of whiskey and gunpowder.
She reached her own stateroom, entered, and closed the door. Lit by nothing but the pale moon, she began to undress. Any intruder in the room would have been startled to see her reflection in the mirror. For across her back, between her alabaster shoulders, rested the obsidian image of a crouching panther.
She braided her hair, and donned the light shift dress that had served her so well these many years. Her bare feet moved along the wooden floor silently, as she reached for the door once again.
She set the kestrel alight, and made her way to the foredeck where a group of men were moving what appeared to be quite a burden into one of the Albert Hansell's skiffs. The men were swearing under their breath and kicking the bundles.
She melted back into the shadows as the men one by one walked past her to go below decks once again.