Never been sick

Chamba appeared one morning to ask permission to have the cook brew up some special folk remedies for her, in hopes they’d prove to be something the Zerzuran woman could stomach. Concerned, Jack gave him all possible assistance, even trotting belowdecks with some English tea and actual sugar from his captain’s pantry, in the hopes it would help. “Oh, and tell cook to make some broth, or gruel, something like that,” he suggested, handing them to the lad. “Isn’t that what they give sick people?”

Chamba stared at him. “Don’t you know?”

Jack shook his head. “Actually, I don’t.”

“You never been sick, Cap’n?” The youth seemed incredulous.

Jack ruminated for a moment. “Certainly not seasick,” he said, finally. “And I can’t remember being any other kind of sick, either.” He paused, thinking. “Do hangovers count? I suppose not; they’re self-inflicted.”

Seeing that Chamba was hanging on his every word, obviously fascinated, Jack ventured, “Had a hogshead roll over me legs once. It was a wonder I didn’t break them. Hobbled around for a week before they stopped hurting. Been wounded, too.”

Chamba’s eyes widened. “Wounded? How?”

Jack grimaced. “Whacked on the head more than once. Shot. Some sword cuts, but I’d take them any time over being shot. I was lucky the ball went clean through.”

***

The Price of Freedom, Chapter 10