To Slight the Jacket Blue. Bronwyn Sciance
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Dedication and Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I dedicate this book to Stephanie Novak, because I promised. Thank you for being the best preschool teacher I could have ever hoped for.
To Karen Sciance—thank you for both encouraging my interest in the liberal arts and indulging my addiction to typewriters. I love you, Mom.
To Morgan Hagan, Christine Brown, and Cain Barth, thank you for not throwing me out of the townhouse while I was working on the first draft of this novel. Typewriters are not quiet and I don't remember you ever knocking on my door with a noise complaint, so thank you for being either tolerant or deaf. (Maybe the walls and floors were just that thick; if so, thank you to whoever built the townhouses in V3 at VWC.)
To the NaNos of Hampton Roads, especially Robin, Kara, Izzy, Gabe, Martha, Moni, Tanya, Amy, and Ricechex. You guys are the most amazingly supportive people ever. I am so blessed to be part of this region and so thankful to know you. Have fun stormin' da castle.
To Sarah, Maz, Nicole, and Tash, my internet friends who emerged from behind the screen names and became real, thank you for still thinking I'm cool even after you found out that I am actually a colossal dork.
To Celia Rees, thank you for writing Witch Child at just the right time for me to pick it up, and for writing such compelling fiction that I sought out any of your other books that I could get my greedy little hands on, resulting in me reading Pirates!, which was really the starting point for this book. (Also, thank you to Rhys Ford for showing me that I can totally dedicate a book to famous people I've never actually interacted with who nevertheless had an influence on my writing in some way.)
And finally, last but not least, to my beloved sisters of the Epsilon Sigma chapter of Phi Sigma Sigma. LITP.
Fair Sailor Lads
"O my fair sailor lad, Come and bide here wi' me!" But the fair sailor lad Sailed away 'cross the sea...
- Henry Whyte, "The Fair Sailor Lad"
Chapter One
"...Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty! Ready or not, here I come!"
Samuel Jameson fought back laughter as he crouched behind the wooden packing crate. Other children hid around the docks, but Sam was confident that he had found the best place there was.
"Found you!"
"No fair," Sam complained, leaping out from behind the box. "You cheated. How did you know I was here?"
Edward Sharpe laughed, tossing back a long black curl. "Sam, you're my best friend. Besides, I was thinking of hiding here when it was my turn anyway, so I figured I'd check here first."
Sam smiled, reluctantly. "Call it payback for last time when you hid in the spot I was going to hide in, Ned."
Ned grinned back. "We do that a lot, don't we?"
"Ship ahoy!"
Game forgotten, the children of Bristol popped out of various hiding paces, some more obvious than others, and ran for the pier where the ship would be docking. Sailors and dock workers cursed and shooed them aside, but most persisted in hanging about. For the most part, the workers had also grown up in the dockyard, or another like this one, and they put up with the children, however reluctantly. Ned and Sam found a perch on a pylon out of the way but near enough that they could see what was going on.
"I bet she's a silk merchant," Sam speculated.
"No, she's a grain merchant," Ned contradicted his friend.
"She's bringing wood from Brazil." Sam had some vague idea of where Brazil was and he had heard that Brazilian wood was prized, but he had no idea why.
"She's bringing spice from the Orient."
"She's bringing tobacco from the Colonies."
"She's bringing sugar from Jamaica!"
Having run out of ideas for potential cargo, Sam squinted at the side of the ship as it drifted in. "Which ship is she? I can't tell from here."
Ned's eyes had always been better than Sam's. He peered at the ship, squinting and shielding his eyes with one hand. "The Victoria?" he said uncertainly. "I don't remember her."
"Nor do I," Sam admitted. "Maybe Will can tell us what she's carrying."
"I haven't seen Will today. Have you?" Ned asked.
"No, I haven't, but he's around somewhere." Sam was unconcerned. "Look, they're casting out the lines!"
Ned and Sam stood together on the squat wooden column, watching as sailors and dockworkers caught the stout ropes and secured them to the docks.
"Watch out, boy!"
Ned jumped down behind the pylon, but Sam grabbed ahold of the rope as it flew towards him. The impact knocked him backwards, but fortunately Ned caught him. Together they ran the rope around the pylon, securing it with the best knot they could.
"You two okay?" A tall young lad, hardly beyond his boyhood years, was running towards them. He stopped and inspected the knot. "Say, this is pretty good."
"Just like you taught us," Sam said proudly, puffing out his narrow chest and trying to look like a man.
Ned just grinned. "Hello, Will."
William Waters was a few years older than the two boys, but he had always treated them fairly. He returned Ned's grin. "Hello, lads. What are you doing down here?"
"Just watching the ship pull into port." Ned looked up at the prow. "The Victoria, right? I don't think I've seen her before."
Will looked uncomfortable. "You wouldn't have. She's not based here. Her home port is London."
"Then why is she here?" Ned wanted to know. "London's nowhere near here. You couldn't drive cargo to London and have it get there undamaged."
Sam scoffed. "They're going to sell it here, whatever it is she's carrying. If he goes to London to sell his cargo, he won't get as good of a price, right, Will?"
"Er...right, Sam." Will smiled a little absently. "Listen, I've got to help the men get her unloaded. You two head on home now. It's getting on towards lunchtime."
"Oh, come on, Will," pleaded Sam. "We want to watch the ship unload. That's half the fun, right?"
He turned to his friend for support, but Ned hesitated. "Sam, maybe we ought to go."
"Don't be such a dastard, Ned," Sam said in a dismissive fashion.
"Samuel Jameson! Don't you ever let me catch you using such language again!" Will had turned white. "Now get out of here, both of you!"
Sam started to argue–not in the least because Will had used his full name–but Ned grabbed his hand and dragged him away. Outside the Purple Falcon, the inn Sam's mother ran, they stopped. Ned studied his friend. "What was that word you used?"
"What, dastard? Means coward. Heard it from a man who was here last month." Sam smiled at the recollection. "Paid well, and you should have seen him–a proper gentleman, he was. He gave me a whole piece of silver just for bringing up his boots."
Ned looked up and down the street. "If he was such a gentleman, what was he doing here?"
Sam scowled, even though he knew what Ned meant. "My mother makes the best roast beef in England. Why, King George himself would eat here if he were in town!"
Ned held up his hands. "Pax! I was just saying...most of the rich merchants go to dine with old Mr. Delancey up the hill. It's just the common sailors who have to bunk down here."
"True enough," Sam admitted. "But I'm not making this up. He was really there.