Once Upon a Pirate Anthology

by Merry Farmer

  This wasn’t the first I’d considered leaving home. Heretofore, my courage had always fled. But the prospect of a life with Milton Sterling—or rather, a lonely life of being left behind—propelled me forward. Although fear of the future made sweat bead on my upper lip, I wanted independence. One way or another, I would find a home and a place to belong.

  I would make one.

  Emboldened, I sidestepped Papillon and reached for the valise I’d packed after dinner. All my belongings contained in one satchel I could lift easily. Nothing to anchor me on this rainy English coast. With one last look at the small room I’d occupied for the past decade, I blew out the candle.

  Shadows doused my vision. I waited for my eyes to adjust.

  Papillon swiped at my leg with a plaintive yowl.

  “Hush!” I hissed, drawing my skirts out of reach and leaning down with my free hand. Placated, the cat brushed his chin against my palm, the vibrations of his purr rumbling up my wrist. After a moment, when he’d seemed to have enough attention and I could make out the shadowed forms of furniture in the room, I lifted the valise and tiptoed to the door.

  Yowl!

  “Hush, cat! You’ll wake the house.”

  Papillon sat at my feet and mewled in a loud, plaintive demand. No mere mortal could deny him when he craved attention. Cursing under my breath, I groped along his shape toward his head, guided by his flashing yellow eyes. When I lifted him into my arms, he purred loudly and rubbed his head on the underside of my chin. At least he was silent.

  “I cannot take you with me.” Certainly not when I didn’t know how I would live once I left this house. I had precious little pin money saved and no occupation or connections. I was educated, but who would hire a French governess? Although not everyone discriminated against me because of my skin color or accent, enough did that I had come to expect it as default. My gender was yet another obstacle, and the cat would be one more mouth to feed.

  My worldly concerns were of no import to a feline of Papillon’s caliber. With a wide yawn that tickled my cheek, he settled in my arms.

  I sighed. Perhaps I’d carry him as far as the front door to keep him from tattling on me. Between the cat and my valise, opening the door soundlessly proved difficult. Somehow, I managed. I left the door ajar and tiptoed onto the runner, letting it muffle my footsteps. I strained my ears.

  Silence, thick and oppressive.

  Papillon purred in my ear.

  “You aren’t helping,” I muttered under my breath.

  The fool cat kneaded my neck, curling the tips of his claws into my skin until I bit my tongue to keep silent.

  Since when had he ever tried to help?

  I disentangled him and hurried on. In the darkness, the indistinct shadow of the bannister to the stairs beckoned from the end of the corridor. I tiptoed closer. Nearly there. Once deeper into the house, my footsteps and Papillon’s mewling would wake no one.

  At the mouth of the corridor, the wood beneath my feet creaked. I froze.

  Had someone heard? The tomcat’s purring was distant, second to the roar of my heartbeat as I held my breath. With a yawn, Papillon settled his face into the crook of my neck. No doors opened along the corridor. I was safe.

  I should have planned this better. Rehearsed the route for creaks in the floor, saved up my pin money. I had time still to reconsider…

  No. Papa wanted the banns read immediately. When I’d tried to protest, he’d stressed that I had very few options and they dwindled the longer I remained unwed. Despite Papa’s opinion, I had one option he hadn’t yet thought of, one that put my fate in my own control. I had to leave.

  Turning, I strode with purpose to the stairs.

  I reached the next floor without incident, only then releasing the breath cramping in my lungs. I leaned against the wall, my knees trembling. After shaking out the arm carrying the valise—the one holding the cat was hopelessly pinned beneath his sleeping weight—I gathered my courage and continued. Not far now to the door.

  Clack, clack, clack.

  Footsteps.

  Bordel de merde! I turned, slipped on the step, and slammed hard into the wall. My shoulder stung. I gasped for breath. Papillon jostled awake with a disgruntled meow. He clawed out of my arms and onto my shoulders, digging in his nails as he balanced himself behind the scarf I’d used to bind my hair.

  The nearest doorway gaped open, moonlight streaming in from the window to silhouette a feminine figure hunched with age. Grand-mère’s favorite study. How could I have forgotten?

  “Where are you going?”

  Her words snapped with strength, a direct contradiction to the doubts and uneasiness floating in my head and congealing in my gut.

  “I…I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d go for a turn around the garden.”

  The old woman closed the distance between us, her cane thumping lightly with each step. Closer. Closer.

  Run while you can, child.

  I was no child. At twenty-six, I deserved to make my own choices, even if they led to hardship.

  “With a valise and a cat? You’re running away from home, and we both know it.”

  I swallowed hard. The air I drew into my lungs felt edged with blades. For once, I was thankful for the darkness. At least I didn’t have to look her in the eye.

  “Good for you.”

  My mouth dropped open at the words. Matter-of-fact. Approving. Perhaps even…proud?

  “You aren’t…?” I pressed my lips together, astounded at the warmth in her tone and unable to formulate my thoughts.

  “Disappointed? Upset?” Grand-mère stepped close enough to lay her hand over the one I clutched to the handle of the valise. “I’ve been married three times. Each time, I had a chance at independence after my husband died, but I was too frightened to seize it. No, Jeanne. I’m not disappointed in you. You’re braver than I ever was.”

  I blinked hard against a sudden wave of tears. I’d always thought Grand-mère resented me, the product of a union that had parted her from her son for so many years. Perhaps I hadn’t given her a chance to prove otherwise.

  Thickly, I whispered, “Thank you.” I didn’t know if she heard me. I barely did.

  She retracted her hand, leaving me cold. “What will you do?”

  It was a question I had asked myself countless times since I’d eaten supper with the admittedly handsome man my father had chosen for me to marry.

  I had to forge my own path. Raising my chin, I answered, “I’m going to take the ship. It’s mine, Papa said so.” That my father was willing to part with it and me to the man with the most impressive military record didn’t signify.

  “I’ve never lived on a ship before. It sounds thrilling.”

  Was it my imagination, or did Grand-mère sound wistful? “We’ll travel far and wide, see parts of the world I’ve only ever dreamed of.”

  I opened my mouth once, twice, before I managed to say weakly, “We?”

  Grand-mère harrumphed. “I never had the courage to leave before now, but you have the right of it. Let’s see the world together, cherie. We can do anything we set our mind to doing.” She hesitated, and her face seemed even deeper in shadow than it had a moment before. “That is, unless you intend to leave an old woman behind.”

  I hadn’t considered bringing anyone with me on this journey. I’d been frightened and excited and paralyzed at the thought of making my way on my own. But the fact that she wanted to accompany me, not because I was her blood kin or in an attempt to keep me in line, but because she considered me worthy of admiration, that meant more to me that I could ever express. I’d always been somewhat invisible—or altogether too visible—with my heritage. It set me apart, never included, never the subject of admiration.

  My throat thick with tears, I whispered, “If independence is your goal, you’re welcome aboard. But…what of Papa?” This house, after all, belonged to Grand-mère. Papa was her son by her second marriage, not her third, and therefore was not entitled to the propert
y or the annuity that came with it.

  Grand-mère shrugged, her shoulders lifting halfway to her ears. “He’s a grown man. He’ll manage.”

  That sounded almost blasphemous. I loved it.

  “I’ve spent most of my life more concerned with the men around me than with myself, and that stops tonight.” She half-turned, the light from the open window illuminating her profile as she looked back toward her drawing room. “It’s a crying shame we cannot bring a trunk…”

  I would not be able to lift one. “We’ll find a way to replace the things we leave behind. This is more important. How quickly do you think you can pack?”

  Grand-mère chuckled and patted my hand. “You aren’t quite as good at keeping secrets as you seem to think. My valise is in the room, already prepared. If you’ll take it, I’ll take the cat, and we’ll be off.”

  “You want to take Papillon?”

  Grandma reached for the furry animal, lifting him off my shoulder and cradling him across hers instead. “Of course. We’ll need a mouser aboard the ship, won’t we?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  As I was learning tonight, I hadn’t thought of a lot of things. My cheeks scalding with mortification, I retrieved her valise.

  “You may want to consider something else though, cherie.”

  I paused in the doorway. “What is that?”

  “We’re going to need help to sail the ship.”

  A slow smile spread across my lips as I thought of the possibilities. Independence, the high seas, and deepening friendships. Why had I ever thought I was alone? “You know, Grand-mère, I believe I know the ideal women to help.”

  “I hope we won’t have to go far to fetch them.”

  “No farther than the village. Like-minded people tend to attract one another. I’m certain my friends are every bit as hungry for a new life as we are.”

  Grand-mère smiled. “Then let’s fetch them and be gone as soon as the sun comes up.”

  It sounded like a dream but settled into my bones like a promise.

  Chapter 3

  Acquire a Reputation

  Two years later

  Clouds frothed on the horizon like the spittle of a rabid dog. They turned the sky black, ink spilling over the western horizon and blotting out the afternoon sun. Waves competed for height, breaking the solid line of ocean to port. The wind whipped my shorn hair, already thickening and curling like springs with the palpable humidity.

  Over the roar of the wind, my navigator, standing in the stern next to me, shouted, “We should seek shelter and anchor!”

  Her words were nearly whipped past my head. I shoved thick black curls out of my eyes and beneath the scarf tied haphazardly to my head before I lifted the spyglass and turned it along the eastern horizon where we would have to seek shelter. We were too close to France, too close to danger. The only consolation was that if we were driven off the open ocean into a sheltered cove, so too would be Napoleon’s ships.

  Movement caught my gaze, less than twenty miles away. I extended the spyglass, searching the bobbing horizon for that elusive spec. There—magnified to the southeast. A ship.

  And one with a peculiar figurehead on its prow. Not the usual seductive mermaid, but one with wild carved hair, hefting a spear in her hand as if ready to skewer an oncoming vessel. I recognized the shape instantly, along with the flags of the ships nipping at her heels.

  Dropping the spyglass from my eyes, I shook my head. “We cannot run. Look there.” I pointed with my finger and passed the spyglass to the full-figured woman on my right. My navigator, Hannah Grey, lifted it to her eye and squinted. Her lips moved, but the wind carried her words away.

  At the wheel, Grand-mère struggled to keep the ship in line, plowing it perpendicular to the waves so they didn’t crest over us. “Give that here!”

  I took the spyglass from Hannah and passed it to my grandmother. When I took the wheel from her, the spokes bit into my palms. Both she and I had gained muscle in the years since we’d left home. Our initial endeavor had almost been doomed to failure before it had begun. A ship this size needed more than five women to command it. But through will alone, we had managed to sail The Lady’s Gambit into the next nearest port where we’d picked up a capable skeleton crew. And from there, we’d learned. I held the ship steady without difficulty, despite the beastly nature of the waves.

  Grand-mère lifted the glass to her eyes for only a moment before turning to me, eyes wide and her face suddenly several shades paler. “Isn’t that The Lady’s Fortune, Tamara’s ship?”

  I nodded. “It is. And that is a British fleet on her heels.”

  Hannah tapped a rhythm on the scarlet scarf tying her blond hair back from her face, a nervous habit she did when calculating numbers in her head. From the grim slash of her mouth, the numbers did not seem to work in our favor.

  A moment passed, swelling like an inevitable wave about to crash over us. I couldn’t abandon the Fortune. I couldn’t abandon Tamara. After all this time, she was like a sister to me. I passed the wheel back into Grand-mère’s hands. “Be ready for some tricky navigation. Hannah?”

  My navigator’s round face was as white as the crest of the frothing waves. In fact, she almost looked a bit green. She hated bloodshed, but in this case, we might not be able to avoid it.

  “Hannah, are you ready?”

  She nodded, still not daring to speak a word.

  It was permission enough for me. Using the sway of the ship to my advantage, I loped toward the steep stairs to the main deck. With the wind whistling through our sails and making the canvas flap, my crew wouldn’t be able to hear me. I had to tour the ship and give their instructions at once.

  In the past two years, I’d faced more skirmishes than I could count. A strange sort of calm descended upon me, the eye of the storm. I filled my lungs with air and bellowed at the top of my capacity. “Guns at the ready! Those are Brits descending on our sister, and we will not stand for it. Don’t shoot unless fired upon.”

  Hannah wasn’t the only one with a distaste for bloodshed. If not for the way the government had callously denied me a privateer’s license on the basis of my gender, I wouldn’t have had any qualms with the British at all. Napoleon was my enemy for the terrors he had inflicted upon my people in my country. But I would fire on the English ships if I must. My fleet, my people, came first.

  “Captain?”

  The call came from Cassaundra, my flag woman. Her brown, sea-weathered hands clutched the ropes used to hoist the flag. Like most of the rest of the crew, myself included, she wore breeches and a loose shirt. She spread her legs for balance, strands of her black hair whipping out of the tail at her nape.

  When she saw she had my attention, she cupped one hand around her mouth and called, “Are we flying the red or the black?”

  For a heartbeat, I froze in indecision. In the brief moment I’d spied the ship in peril, I hadn’t taken note of the color of the Fortune’s flag to support her. During the past two years, I’d learned enough pirate code to make my intentions known. The black skull and crossbones meant we would spare the lives of anyone who surrendered. The red meant we would show no mercy.

  I only ever flew the red against Napoleon’s ships. It might frighten the British into turning tail—or it might provoke them to attack.

  “The black,” I shouted back, my heart hammering hard against my breastbone. I prayed I’d made the right decision.

  The moment the words left my lips, Cassaundra turned to hoist the black flag into place, announcing our intentions. She moved with a brisk efficiency I’d admired since she’d been the first to volunteer to join my crew. With her years of sailing experience masquerading as a man, she could have commanded the crew if she’d had the ambition, but she’d refused every officer position in favor of a role in which she didn’t make decisions that affected people’s lives.

  I turned away and continued my tour of the 130-foot deck, shouting the same cautionary words as I went. �
��We’re about to set in for some tricky maneuvering. Keep hold of whatever you can. We’ll be cutting into harm’s way. Ready yourselves and be prepared to fire.” I repeated the message in English and French. I trusted my first mate to translate it into the gamut of other languages spoken aboard the ship. By this point together, every crew member had learned a smattering of English or French, but in these tense moments, clarity of purpose was pivotal.

  Once I delivered the message, I climbed up the steps to the aft deck where my navigator and grandmother awaited.

  Hannah still looked pale, planting her feet wide in her skirts as she stared straight ahead, but the set of her mouth and chin was no longer fearful. It was determined. “What’s the plan?”

  “We’ll disrupt pursuit and give the Fortune enough time to get away. Then we’ll lead the British dogs to the shoals. I counted two second rates and one first rate. We are lighter than they are and will be able to lose them in shallower waters. When we’ve lost them, we’ll sink down anchor and wait out the storm.” I strode to the railing and leaned over to address my first mate, “Aludra?”

  Her black headscarf came into view. “Ready.”

  I met her dark gaze and nodded, both of us grim. “Don’t fire unless we’re fired upon.”

  I turned to Hannah. “Can you do it? We’ll have to swing in between the Fortune and the British ships. It might be tight.”

  “I can do it.” Hannah’s chin quivered, belying her words, but she didn’t try to argue. She turned toward the helm. “Grand-mère?”

  She tightened her hands around the spokes of the wheel, planting her legs with a look of utmost determination. “Tell me where to steer.”

  Our ship descended like a ghost upon the living. I swallowed hard as the ships came into view without the aid of the spyglass, growing larger and larger, only to be swallowed up by crests of waves and revealed once more. This must work. We bore down toward the enemy ships in line to the Fortune’s starboard side.