"Ooo," Lerena huffed softly and knocked over the tower of wooden blocks with all the strength her tiny hand could muster.
Fossa, who had refrained from smoking while playing with the child, laughed with a hoarse cough and instinctively reached for the pocket where his cigars usually were.
Of course, there were none.
The little girl quickly lost interest in the blocks and decided it was time to climb down from the table. She began descending at a reckless pace, crawling on all fours.
The moment she saw Fossa stretching his arms toward her, she let out a loud protest.
She clearly didn't like anyone interfering with her plans.
Unfortunately for her, Fossa had no intention of obeying that warning.
He simply scooped her up and calmly informed her that dinner would be ready soon—a prediction that, so far, had never failed.
Since that matter was settled, he began explaining very seriously that tomorrow Marco wouldn't be able to take her along during his rounds, because her father had sent him to another ship on an important errand.
The child, however, had absolutely no intention of listening.
Instead, after a few moments of complaining—which lasted anywhere between several seconds and several dramatic sighs—she moved on to teasing.
First victim: Fossa.
Still babbling happily, she was carried into the galley, where warm milk was already waiting.
Lerena Saphira possessed a sharp little mind and clearly enjoyed exercising her authority. The moment she came within reach of Thatch's scarf, she grabbed it.
This was unmistakable evidence that the youngest resident of the Moby Dick had decided she needed that scarf immediately.
Thatch, unwilling to surrender to a girl barely eleven—perhaps twelve—months old, threatened to take away her dinner.
The result was an immediate scream.
And a sharp slap on the back of his head from Fossa.
"Stop being a brat," Fossa scolded. "The kid likes it. What's the harm in letting her play with it for a while? She'll get bored soon enough."
"That's exactly the problem," Thatch complained. "She'll drool on it or throw it somewhere. She's a malicious little cuttlefish."
Still, he didn't take the bottle away.
Lerena, who had more or less mastered the art of doing two things at once, drank her milk while scanning the galley with curious eyes.
In the process she began squirming so much that milk dribbled down onto Thatch's clothes.
The pirate, already used to such disasters, merely adjusted her position and continued feeding her.
"You did that on purpose, didn't you?" he muttered. "I swear, I've got no strength left for you. If I ever meet you somewhere later in life, you'll pay for all this."
He wagged a finger at her sternly.
"Don't worry, I won't beat a girl. But when you grow up and get yourself a boyfriend, I'll embarrass you so badly—"
The threat was vague and entirely ineffective.
Lerena didn't seem impressed in the slightest.
Later, when she was brought back on deck after lunch, the Emperor was speaking with Rida and several of his sons.
Rida was gradually beginning to feel more comfortable around Edward, though she still chose her words carefully. She couldn't shake the feeling that the entire crew was watching her—especially whenever she was near the child.
For Rida, the toddler remained the only connection she had left to Bethesda, even if she couldn't fully explain why.
And while she didn't entirely approve of the way Newgate and his crew were raising the little girl, she had to admit that they were completely devoted to her.
If Lerena stayed with them much longer, they would spoil her beyond salvation.
Besides, the sight of the Mightiest Man in the World cradling such a tiny creature in his enormous hand—carefully shielding her from the wind and sun—was worth witnessing.
"Well, old man, your turn," Thatch announced. "Hold this little devil."
He placed the drowsy child into her father's arms.
Edward took her gently and watched as her golden eyes slowly disappeared behind heavy eyelids.
"It's strange," he said quietly, lowering his voice, "how she always falls asleep the moment I pick her up."
"That just means you're boring, Pops," Thatch replied with a shrug.
"And anyway, there's nothing to get excited about. In a week or so we'll leave her on Tourmaline. She'll have to learn how to fall asleep without you, Marco's flames, or me feeding her a bottle at two in the morning."
"Indeed…" Whitebeard murmured thoughtfully.
Thatch had the feeling that if Phoenix had been there, he would have known exactly what Father was thinking at that moment.
Because to Thatch's eye, it looked very much like the captain was considering something.
And it involved a very small little crab.