The Maiden in the Mirror

by Scott Hamerton

  The Maiden in the Mirror

  Copyright © 2016 by Scott Hamerton

  All rights reserved.

  Second Edition, August 2017

  First Edition, December 2016

  ISBN: 978-0-9953323-3-1

  Published by Eesome Ink Press

  www.eesomeink.com

  info@eesomeink.com

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  Contents

  Birthday Girl

  Hung on a Hanger

  Lintumen Barrister

  Reinforcements

  The Skyraker

  Swabbie

  Lunch Break

  Cloudscorch

  Tug of War

  Minerva the Magician

  Murder Aboard the Skyraker

  The Velvet Sovereign

  The Maiden in the Mirror

  Twice Lucky

  Markedly Marked

  Crow's Nest

  Midnight Stations

  Nezzen

  Late to the Spoils

  Big Mean Jim

  Punishment

  Twice Oathed

  Old Boss

  Big Jim

  The Helm

  Scouts

  Riggersport

  Crew Dismissed

  Seamstresses

  Lady Lost

  Thimbler

  Loyal Knights

  One of Roker's Girls

  Drunken Woes

  Thimbler's Pocket

  Minnie the Tutor

  The Blow Hole

  Straight Shooter

  Practical Sciences

  Food for Thought

  Cloak and Shadow

  The Counsel of Shadows

  Crew Call

  The Certainty of Probability

  Bartleby Montgomery

  Proper Attire

  Everything

  August Rain

  Fork in the Road

  Mad Men

  The Meaning of Sailor

  Optional Understanding

  The Loftwood

  Spider Storm

  Coming Down

  Reshampur

  The Commodore

  Breaking Point

  Little Blue Dress

  Dinner for Two

  Lord Arach of the Loftwood

  Lessons in Love

  A Dagger in the Dark

  The Choice of a Lady

  Prima Donna

  Tea Time

  Departure Recital

  Chest of the Heart

  Seeds of the Sun

  Nurse Minerva

  A Cloak of Courage

  Anchors Aweigh

  Rogue

  Bruised Apples

  Mirror Mirror

  Drawing a Line

  The Navigator

  Meeting of the Minds

  A Nameless Gift

  Storm Chaser

  Victory Smile

  Thunderhead

  Courage and Sacrifice

  Fly Stone Pass

  Heaven Sent

  Over the Mountain

  Lintumen the Lion

  Revelations

  Toss of the Hat

  Quiet Time

  Into the Lion's Den

  Maiden Voyage

  Rahama Matha

  Stormraker

  Reparations

  Homecoming Queen

  A Pirate's Lady

  Chapter 1

  Birthday Girl

  Minerva gawked at the anchor that had invaded her lotus pond. The intrusive hook slumped at a crooked angle, with a long chain ascending from its head, as if a giant were fishing in her garden. A wide splash of water streaked up the side of her cottage, and a fresh gutter of upturned topsoil trailed away from the uninvited ornament.

  As a matter of occurrence, a lone anchor misplaced in the world bore no special interest to Minerva. Sometimes they broke free from the flying tall ships that dotted her skies, and in that regard, its current position could be considered an omen of good fortune, as it had landed on her flowers rather than on her roof. However, this anchor was not misplaced; it currently restrained an imposing blue war frigate.

  Graced with three towering masts, the shadow of the flying battleship blanketed the yard, while a light spring breeze sent waves rolling through its white sails. A massive bird formed the figurehead beneath the prow, draping its wings backwards down the siding. The rails and trim ran dark with wood stain, and its silver portholes and fasteners glimmered in the sunlight.

  Although, it was not as attractive as it could have been, Minerva thought.

  Large and dirty rope nets clung to its hull, carrying junk and extra supply, while cracks and stains blemished its wonderful blue paint. Oil glistened on its wooden rails and tarnish tainted its silver portholes. Worst of all, chips and pits, most likely from battle, scarred its masterfully carved beak.

  With a little work, and a good scrub, she felt that it would shine like a royal yacht.

  From her position beneath the ship, Minerva couldn't see much of the deck, or the people on it, except for those that stood near the sides. While her gaze wandered, she spotted a huge, graying, dark-skinned sailor peering over the railing at her. The unwanted attention made her feel uncomfortable and she looked away, suddenly remembering the errand her mother had just assigned to her.

  Minerva turned away from the unexpected warship and began her trek down the hill towards town, glancing over her shoulder while attempting to deduce the reason for a battleship washing up on her stoop. Ultimately, she concluded that its crew probably sought her father's services as a surgeon. His reputation for assisting nearly anyone in need drew many patients from distant places.

  As she strode along the forest road, Minerva sang softly to herself, greatly enjoying the way her newly tailored dress danced around her. It stretched all the way to the ground when she stood still, and it made her look tall and sophisticated. Her mother had given her the material as a gift for her thirteenth birthday, but Minerva completed the sewing herself.

  The gown was orange, her favorite color, which she combined with strong black lines for a rather imposing effect. Being able to show it off was almost more enjoyable than the dress itself.

  If Minerva excelled at anything, it was sewing. She had mastered every stitch her mother knew before she was seven. She sewed her first full gown when she was nine. By the time she was eleven, she had hand-sewn everything from bedsheets and quilts to piped jackets and trousers. She was as adroit with a needle and thread in her hand as a fisherman with a net.

  Contrary to her skills as a tailor, however, Minerva could handily compile a list of her perceived deficiencies. Topping the list was her height; she was the shortest person she knew, including significantly younger children, even if she stood on her tiptoes. In second place, but a fierce contender, was her plain brown hair. It could have been a bold auburn, or raven black, or even a fiery ginger, and she would have loved it for its exotic appearance, but it wasn't; it was just brown.

  In contrast to its drabness, or perhaps in spite of it, Minerva's hair was not well-behaved. Even on its best days, it was a curly mass of woven disaster that could go from brushed, to tangled, in ten minutes or less. To punish it for its transgressions, the loose ends that she could capture spent their spare hours braided into chains and wound into a sturdy prison, clamped in place by lacquered beams o
n the back of her head.

  Some people called it a bun.

  And that was just her appearance. She wasn't good at math, couldn't draw well or run fast, was a rather poor baker, and was generally too uncoordinated to do anything physical with any amount of grace or certainty.

  Despite her apparent self-loathing, Minerva felt at peace with the things that she couldn't change about herself, because nobody else could change them either. Therefore, she only disliked them because she wished that she could change them, much the same as disliking the weather.

  Her name, however, was another matter entirely.

  Minerva hated her name. It drawled in her mind whenever she thought about it, lingering on the middling syllable with an uninvited suspense. Mi-nrr-va, she would think, whenever she wrote it down. Even worse, it could be contracted to reflect her diminutive stature, and that is precisely why she hated it. Unlike her other features, which no one could change, other people could freely apply whatever name they desired, but rather than choose something elegant that would appeal to her, they all called her Minnie, as in miniature. She could have been a queen and she would have been Queen Minnie.

  "Minnie!"

  The shrill cry of William, Minerva's best and only friend, snapped Minerva out of her stupor. He sprinted up the path to meet her, and her hopes rose at the idea of being able to show off her new gown.

  "Minnie! I saw a pirate ship!"

  Minerva's joy slumped.

  "Did you see it?" he carried on, failing to notice her dejection. "It went towards your house! It was all blue and had a huge bird face on the front!"

  Flying ships were pretty much the best thing ever to William, never mind the idea that one might be a pirate ship.

  "I don't think it's a pirate ship, Will."

  "Minnie, I swear, it had a big black flag and—"

  "Stop it, Will. It's my birthday and you didn't even notice my dress. I've been working on it for weeks."

  It was enough of a distraction for Minerva to twirl and sashay in front of William.

  "I like the black."

  "I'm heading to town. Mom gave me plenty of money and said to buy whatever I needed. Come with me?"

  "I wanna go see the ship!"

  "Well, I'm off to buy ingredients for a cake. If you don't help me carry them home then you won't get any."

  William paused, clearly weighing the option of seeing a flying warship up close versus eating cake, a rather visceral task for someone driven by his senses. Minerva rotated back and forth, playing with the sway of her dress while he decided.

  "Ugh, you're so boring," he lamented, before turning towards town. "You better not burn it this time."

  "I also need to stop at Waxley's."

  "You said cake! I hate Waxley's!"

  "You do not."

  Waxley's was the general store, the only store in their community with variable stock, and therefore quite a popular location.

  "Okay, I just hate going there with you."

  "What's wrong with me?" she snapped. William sometimes said very hurtful things. Brutal honesty, her mother called it.

  "All you do is look at those dumb catalogs, and then you spend hours trying on the same three dresses."

  "I copy the patterns! It takes time to figure them out."

  "Then copy faster!"

  Minerva pursed her lips and glared at William, who just shook his head and kicked a rock. "Okay, I promise to just buy what I need," she offered.

  "That's a pinch if you don't," he taunted.

  The walk to town was less of a conversation, as Minerva preferred, and more of a ramble, as William went on and on about the so-called pirate ship.

  "How do you know it was a pirate ship?" Minerva demanded, growing tired of the topic.

  "Didn't you see the flag? It was big and black, with crossed white lines, like this!" William suddenly crossed his arms over his chest and made a stern face.

  Minerva hadn't seen a flag, not from where she was standing, and a twinge of panic twisted her stomach. William never lied to her, not even as a joke. However, her father fostered a reputation as a surgeon willing to treat anyone that behaved. Even if it was a pirate ship, they probably just needed his help, but that didn't make her comfortable with the idea.

  "Maybe we should go back," she said.

  "Now you say that?" William replied with a frown. "We're almost in town. It's probably gone!"

  "I think we would have seen it sail over."

  Her comment brought a smile to his face. William was easy to convince.

  "Oh, I almost forgot!" William declared, shoving his hand into his pocket. "My mum made something for you!"

  Out of William's pocket came four cookies wrapped in a white handkerchief, two of which he thrust out at her. While Minerva did her best to savor hers, William simply crammed his pair into his mouth.

  "Ha-ee ir-fay!" he mumbled through a face full of sweetness, before dashing up the path.

  "Thank you," she replied to his departing back.

  Chapter 2

  Hung on a Hanger

  From the cover of the undergrowth, behind a thin veil of trees, Minerva and William observed the blue war frigate. Despite the obvious presence of an ample crew, none of the sailors appeared to notice either of the spies.

  "I told you it was a pirate ship!" William hissed, pointing towards the black flag hung atop the mainmast.

  "What do you think they're doing here?" Minerva replied, turning her attention to her home. Her mother had been quite insistent that Minerva leave and not return for some time.

  "Minnie, look at that!"

  Minerva followed William's outstretched finger towards the overladen belly of the ship and the massive net of plunder slung below it. At first, the target of his attention remained hidden, until Minerva recognized the muzzle of a rifle sticking out from between some sacks.

  "Where are you going?" Minerva demanded, as William crept into the clearing beneath the ship.

  "I'm going to go take it," he replied with a grin.

  "That's stealing!"

  "They're pirates, Minnie. It's already stolen."

  "Will, no. It's too high for you!"

  Minerva remained in the weeds while William slunk up under the ship.

  Already anchored, the frigate hung dangerously close to the dirt, and William easily reached the net. Loop-by-loop, he lifted himself towards the target of his desires while Minerva desperately tried to swallow her fear. Hospitality is not what makes pirates famous.

  When William reached the rifle, he pulled it out triumphantly, hanging by only a single fist while yanking on the barrel. Spoils in hand, he looked down to plan his descent, but immediately dropped the weapon with a yelp.

  A few of the sailors on deck looked around in confusion at the sound of the gun clattering in the dirt. Minerva grimaced with concern, certain that they would catch William at any moment. The fact was, William was afraid of heights, a fear that he apparently suppressed with his desire for stolen goodies.

  "Come down!" Minerva insisted through her teeth.

  William shook his head emphatically, burying his face against the netting.

  Minerva hustled into the shadow of the ship, avoiding detection. Then she kicked off her shoes and looked up at the netting full of slicing clutter and jagged edges. "If I rip this dress, I'm going to make him eat dirt," she snarled quietly.

  Unlike William, Minerva struggled to reach the netting, and only took hold of it by leaping upward and then swinging her feet up into the ropes. The scent of dust and moss filled her nose as she clamped down on the itchy fibers and made her way towards William. Being small, light, and generally flexible, did have its advantages; Minerva was an excellent climber.

  Halfway to William, Minerva cussed as something sharp bit into her hand, and she pulled back a bloody palm. The tip of a sword, previously unseen, poked out from between the ropes, and a thin red trickle accented the glimmering blade. The wound was clean, not ragged, and rather deep.


  Just great, blood stains, Minerva thought to herself. She clenched her fist and ignored the burning pain, carrying on upward by hooking the ropes with her wrist. "Okay, I'm here," she whispered as she reached William's feet. "I'll guide you down."

  Using one hand to direct his ankles, Minerva showed William where to put his feet, very slowly beginning their descent together.

  "I told you it was too high," Minerva scolded as they progressed.

  "It didn't look too high."

  "That's exactly what you said the last time you got stuck in a tree."

  The whamming clang of a small bell suddenly smashed through their conversation, ringing without pause. "To arms!" came the cry from above, loud and powerful. "Riggers! To the sails! Weigh anchor!" Moments later, the weight of the ship shifted and the nets that bore Minerva and William swayed in their hands.

  Minerva spun her head wildly in search of an explanation for the alarm, and her fear drove her stomach into her throat. Repeated cries went out, warning of an intruder, and she assumed that someone had spotted her and William, but no one appeared to accost them.

  It must be on the far side, she thought. "Will! It's time to go! Move your feet!"

  Desperate to clear off the ship, Minerva yanked on the cuff of William's trousers, debating the hazards of leaping onto a grassy patch. As she pondered, the ship began to rise.

  "No, no, no!" Minerva begged, as the ground slipped away and the blue ship took flight, lifting its anchors at the same time.

  As the frigate crested the treetops, a thunderous volley of cannon fire ripped through the air. The farmland below erupted into clouds of dust, leaving craters in the wake of cannonballs that went skipping into the trees. Minerva and William felt the hull shake violently under the strain of several successful cannonball strikes against the ship, but neither of them could see the attacker. Slabs of splintered wood landed in the clouds of dust, and the ship began to list and sink.

  Cries of panic came from above while Minerva and William cowered against the netting. Over her shoulder, a warship easily twice the size of the blue frigate revealed itself to the already terrified Minerva. It sailed out from behind the rudder of her ride, circling around in pursuit. The newcomer boasted a bloody crimson hull, and just like the blue ship, a bird face graced its prow, except this face existed in a state of perpetual fury, like a hawk diving in for the kill. Too big to fly high with ease, its wide belly scraped across the treetops while its crew worked feverishly in the sails to keep it airborne. Plumes of smoke still trailed from its gun ports.