#de groot

Obviously, I would need a distraction. But what could possibly draw their attention long enough and effectively enough for me to slip past both crews? I could go back down and search for a grenade. Set it off near the helm. That should do the trick. Problem was, it would take too long, and it would be a risk in and of itself. After all, what business did a lady have digging around the shots and munition? I would have to rush down to the shot locker or the magazine (which one of them stored grenades, again?), find the grenade and the flint and come back up, all without notice, then light it up without anyone seeing. By then, the pirates would be off. What else, then...?

My heart was beginning to sink in my chest as I scrambled for an idea. Something, anything. Shoot the pistol at the sky behind one of the officers and throw it overboard? No, that was silly. Take one of my companions captive and threaten her life unless they let me join? No, surely the pirate's charity wouldn't go far enough for them to care if I shot one of my own. Next idea...

Loud voices behind me drew my curiosity. Up on the bow of the ship, one of the officers was nose-to-nose with a pirate covered in tattoos and greasy black hair. I had been too preoccupied with my escape to catch the beginning of the argument. One of them threw a hand at the other's face, I couldn't tell who from so far back. All I knew was that suddenly, a crowd from both sides was rushing forward to break up the fight that ensued. A ruckus rose up as the pirates cheered for their mate, Gates bellowed at the top of his lungs, the officers admonished their compatriot, the children laughed, the women screamed. All eyes were focused solely on those two men.

I could not believe my luck and I wasn't going to wait around to see how the fight ended. Taking this golden opportunity, I lifted my skirts, hopped onto the closest plank and stumbled across as quickly as my dainty shoes allowed.

Before I knew it, I had made it to the other side. On the HMS Delilah, the humors were beginning to cool and the situation brought under control, which meant time was short. I tossed my heels over the rail to avoid making noise and sneaked down to the gun deck, then into the storage. If there was anywhere in that ship for me to hide, it would be in that labyrinth.

It was very dark and cold down there, but at least it was dry. I took one of the lanterns hanging near the ladder with me. The first thing I encountered at the bottom of the steps were the rats – giant rats, the size of rabbits, scurrying about in their dozens. I brought the hand holding the pistol to my mouth to muffle a scream and almost broke my own nose. I hadn't even thought about the possibility of sharing my hiding hole with pests. Jesus Christ, they were awful looking things. I wondered if they would bite. Oh God, please don't let them near me.

I shut my eyes tight and sucked in a great breath to master my panic. There was no time to worry about bloody rats. I had to find somewhere to hide, quickly. Summoning whatever courage I had left, I took hesitant steps forward and tried to shoo the animals out of my path. I recalled my cousin's advice to use the butt of the pistol as a bludgeon after shooting, as they were designed that way for that exact purpose, and carefully maneuvered it around until I held the barrel in my fist. In an emergency, I could always try and hit them.

Finally, many compartments (and rats) later, I found the sails storing room and tucked myself among them like a bird in its nest. It occurred to me that I should blow out the lantern, but I wasn't brave enough, not for that. The idea of being shrouded in darkness with all those rats made my skin crawl. Besides, how would I find the way back out without it? Instead, I used my knife to cut a piece of my underthings and cover up the lantern, to at least stifle the light. This way I could still see, but it would be harder to find me. Gosh, it was cold down there. And it stank of fish and tar and gunpowder. I told myself it was only for a while, which offered little comfort. I huddled tight in the sails, keeping close to the light for a bit of warmth, and waited.

***

It was hard to tell time down there. By my calculations, it should be eight o'clock in the evening, perhaps nine. I couldn't hear much beyond the scurrying of the rats and the creaking wood. Occasionally, I heard distant footsteps and loud voices. I wouldn't allow myself to think of what I had left behind. Regret was a luxury I could no longer afford. The choice was made – now the battle for survival began.

And that battle was announced by none other than my own stomach. In the midst of all the excitement I hadn't had anything to eat and its growls filled the compartment like a beast waking from a deep sleep. It was fortunate then that I had selected the storage to hide in. Food was bound to be somewhere nearby. Just a piece of bread would suffice for the moment, just to dull the throbbing in my belly. A little water wouldn't hurt, either. My mouth was dry as parchment.

However, just as I was getting ready to stand and make as the rats do, I heard more footsteps, much closer than before. Someone had just stopped at the top of the ladder. Holding my breath, I prayed with all I had that they were just making a run of the deck and would be leaving soon, that they wouldn't be coming down to storage and find me.

But it seemed my luck had run out. As the hatch was opened, spilling light in from the gundeck, and the sound of boots came down the ladder, I snatched up the pistol and pulled the hammer, ready to shoot. I blew out the lantern, engulfing the tight space in darkness in hopes of going unnoticed a little while longer, but it was useless. Not too far from me, a stronger light came forward. The rats ran up to me and scattered in the wake of whomever approached. Accepting my inevitable discovery, I took a couple of deep breaths and prepared myself.

A large lantern loomed over the sails, exposing me. And who held it up to look down on me if none other than Mr. Gates in person. He didn't seem too surprised to find me holed up in the bowels of his ship.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He sighed in exasperation.

I froze, scrambled for an appropriate answer. Upon seeing there was none for a situation as strange as this, I swallowed hard and mumbled: “I... got lost?”

His mustache ruffled with a barely contained laugh. When he saw the pistol in my hand, he shook his head and snatched it faster than I could react. “Give me that.” He pulled the safety on, shoved it into the girdle around his wide waist without ceremony, and gave me a stern look, laced with just a hint of concern. At last, he offered me a hand. “Come with me.”

As we made our way up to the surface, I had no clue what to expect. I hadn't thought this far ahead, figuring I would improvise as I went. One thing I knew: whatever was to happen next, I would face it with my head held high, knowing I had tried. Even if it were all to end in failure, I had been brave enough to take a risk, to stare danger in the eye and say "I'm not afraid of you." I had been bold enough to reject the destiny allotted to me and seize a new one, pistol in hand and guts as hard as steel. That, no one could take away from me.

Mr. Gates led me down the gun deck, toward the stern, without saying a word. Staring at his back, I had no way of knowing what he must be thinking. That perhaps I wasn't as smart as he had thought. That perhaps I was just insane. Both excellent possibilities. We passed by many pirates on the way. Upon seeing me, they wasted no time jumping at the opportunity to take a closer look - too close, in my opinion.

"What have here?" One of them barked, immediately attracting the attention of those further away. The thought crossed my mind that this must be how the fox felt when caught by the hounds: cramped, stuck, horribly vulnerable.

"A stowaway!" Another howled somewhere to the right. Now, the men pushed and shoved each other to take a peek over countless shoulders, their hungry eyes running over my figure like wolves salivating at the thought of sinking their teeth into my flesh. "Oy, Mr. Gates! Can we play with her for a minute? We promise to be gentle."

A chorus of laughs and jeers deafened me. Behind me, I felt a hand brush against my skirts, making me jump away with a shameful squeal that only made them laugh harder. Blood rushed to my ears, pumping loudly into them like drums inside my skull, and still it wasn't enough to drown out their cackles.

Another hand touch me, grabbing my sleeve. This time, I was ready: instead of skipping in fright, I let my own hand swing out, palm wide open, to smack those filthy fingers away.

"Don't touch me!" I roared at the top of my lungs, hating how hysterical my voice sounded.

"Oh, watch it!” One of them jested, the tattooed man who had gotten into a fight with the officer at the Delilah. “She bites! I like it when they fight back..."

More hands reached out for me, too many for me to swat away. I could have reached for my knife, but the panic had made me forget it was even there.

Mr. Gates had had enough. With a glare that promised swift retribution should his warning go unheeded, he roared: "Unless you all wish to be tied to the main mast and get acquainted with the cat o' nine one after the other, you will all stay as you fucking were! Right now!!"

To my great astonishment, they obeyed. The noise gradually died down, the pirates backed off and no one else tried to have a go at me.

"Aw, c'mon Gates,” the tattooed man grinned with horribly stained teeth. “It was just a bit of fun!"

"I know exactly what your fun entails, Fred." He snarled. "And you will not have it with this woman. She's a guest of the captain and will be treated as such. Now get out out of my way before I change my mind about that flogging."

Amidst grumbles and disappointed glances thrown my way, the pirates dispersed and returned to whatever they were doing before our arrival. Mr. Gates continued to guide us through the ship until we reached the great cabin, where I guessed captain Flint was waiting.

The image of that infamous pirate commander staring at me from the highcastle flashed back into my mind. My soul had all but departed from my body when he had been a good distance away, so I was not eager to be put face-to-face in closed quarters with him. What was he going to do with me? Throw me off the ship the second we reached the nearest port? Would he throw me off the ship there and then, into the open ocean? Or would he let his crew do as they pleased with me, leaving Mr. Gates powerless to stop it...?

The double doors loomed over us like a portent of doom. They might as well be the gates of hell, the effect would be the same. For the first time since I had set foot aboard the Walrus, I felt afraid. Not frightened; not scared. Completely, thoroughly and undeniably afraid.

Gates rapped on the door and opened without waiting for an invitation. He held it open for me, yet I found myself unable to move. I could see Flint's desk, his hand resting on it and little more, for the cabin was poorly illuminated by a small number of lanterns. My eyes snapped to Gates' in search of reassurance, but all he did was gesture for me to come inside. With no other choice than to face one of the most terrifying men that had scourged the seas, I dragged my bared feet inside and tried not to shudder when the door close behind me. There really were no means of escape, now.

The captain sat back on his great chair, finely carved in black wood, one elbow resting on the arm as he examined me. Like earlier, his hair was tied back, allowing me to see his eyes in full. Outside in the sunlight they were clear colored - blue or maybe green - but in that dim room, they were almost black and ten times as piercing, bottomless as the deep sea. His ginger beard barely concealed a permanent scowl.

Behind him, the vast windows probably offered a clear view of the ocean during the day, but at that hour, it was pitch black outside with the exception of the moonlight illuminating the foamy astern. Was this what it felt like to be put before Satan after one was cast unto Hell? I was certain it was so.

Mr. Gates stepped forward and positioned himself between me and Flint's desk. “Found her in the sail stores, like I told you.”

I stared at him wide eyed. He had known I was aboard the entire time? As if reading my thoughts, the quartermaster smirked.

“What? Did you think no one would notice a woman trying to sneak aboard? My dove, you didn't steal yourself in here with cunning. You were allowed in.”

My fingers grasped the fabric of my skirts. I supposed it really was too much luck. In which case, it begged the question... “Why?”

Both Gates and Flint studied me, the former with curiosity, the latter with a cold, calculating gaze.

I continued: “If you knew I was here, why didn't you reveal me? Why let me hide below instead of returning me to the Delilah when you still could?”

The two men traded a look that made me suspect they'd had that same discussion already. It was Flint who spoke up next:

“I suppose the most important question is: what in the world possessed you to come aboard a pirate ship alone, knowing there was no way in which you could keep yourself hidden for more than a few hours at most?”

I had to pause for a minute and collect myself. This was a test of some sort, I was sure of it. It had to be. They genuinely wanted to know my reasons for this decision; lying was out of the question. As my fate seemed to rest upon my answer, and although I could still have made up a lie or two to sound more convincing and less brattish, in the end I thought there was only one thing I could truly offer them: the truth.

“All due respect... You don't know what it's like to have all your choices taken from you since birth. To be forced into a role you never felt was yours and told this is what you can ever be. I didn't want to be a proper lady, yet they would make me perform as one, and perform perfectly, every day of my life. Nothing short of that was acceptable. But I don't want to become someone's wife and bear his children every other year until it kills me, or be a servant in every sense of the word except in name while snuffing out every instinct to follow my own desires and be only myself. I don't choose that. I will not accept that.”

With each word that left my lips, I was surprised to note I felt... lighter. Like I had been carrying a heavy burden all my life and had finally been allowed to toss it aside and stand straight for the first time. I had never told anyone about how I really felt about my life or my future, afraid I would be reproached, even punished for speaking out of line. Here, on the cusp of something different, something better, I felt as if I could speak my mind without judgement.

“This choice may be my end. I may die today, tomorrow, a week from now, and perhaps it will be you who gives the order to cut my life short, but if I do die, then at least I'll do it free and the consequences of this choice will be mine and mine alone to bear. I would rather spend a minute in total freedom than a lifetime in chains.”

All throughout my speech, Flint's eyes didn't leave mine. They were as unpredictable as the sea and just as unforgiving. Yet, deep enough to engulf me... to accept me. It wasn't spite or scandal that I saw in them; it was understanding.

He brushed down his beard and sat back. “Hmm. I see. What was your intention then, after getting caught? What was it you hoped to accomplish?”

I flexed my fingers and swallowed hard. “I... I was hoping you would let me join your crew.”

Contrary to what I had expected, neither of them laughed or even snorted at the notion of letting me join. A long moment of silence neither I nor Mr. Gates dared interrupt passed. Flint let his hand rest upon the desk once more. “And this is how you convinced yourself coming onto my ship was a good idea, yes?”

It sounded so foolish when he put it that way, that my face warmed. “That is correct.”

That's when he laughed - a stifled, delighted sound that I could barely hear through a toothy grin, but not the kind that found me amusing or ridiculous. He laughed as if I had surprised him and that didn't happen often. He looked me up and down, evaluating my figure: my pink dress, covered in tar and dust stains, my disheveled hair which had come loose from it's original position at my nape, my bared feet, my wide, hopeful eyes. If my Father could see me then, he would say I looked a fright and send me to bed without dinner.

Another long pause followed. Then: “You're wrong, you know?”

I blinked, confused. “I beg your pardon?”

“You're wrong,” Flint repeated. “About us, about them. They do understand what it's like to be forced into conformity by circumstances outside of their control. Many of them are former slaves who found freedom in piracy. Most were working class paupers, oppressed by the upper echelon with miserable wages and unsanitary living conditions to ensure England's regime remains standing. They found a better life aboard ships like this one, where the work is no less grueling, but the pay is far better. They get to choose who they work for, when to sail, when not to sail. On land, they aren't restrained by rules of etiquette or decency: they are free to pursue their desires unconditionally for as long as they have the coin to spare.”

He pointed at the door with a half smile. “Each one of those men have their own story to tell, and if you pay attention, you will find similarities to your own as you get to know them. There are far fewer differences between you and them than you imagine. That is what you will find out in the coming weeks as you acclimatize yourself to this life.”

My heart hammered in my chest to those words, brimming with relief. “So... you will let me stay?”

“As long as you don't become a burden, or worse: a liability.” Just as quick as his grin came, it was gone, that dark expression from before returning to his brow. “Learn fast. Keep an open mind. Pull your own weight. And Miss Tilly?”

I stood straight and attentive, the same way I'd seen soldiers do in the presence of their commander. It was an unconscious gesture, fully unintentional, like my body had already accepted Flint as my leader before I even made the decision to call him captain. “Yes... Sir?”

The faintest flash of a smirk crossed his lips. “Stay alert and don't let your guard down, because if you get into trouble with those men out there, you're on your own. Do you understand? I can't be everywhere all the time, and neither can Mr. Gates. If you find yourself in danger, we may not be able to help you. On most situations, we cannot help you. That would make it look like we're showing favoritism for you, which would breed resentment and lead to a mutiny. If anything happens, you are the only person who will be responsible for your own safety. Are you prepared for that?”

Uneasiness crept up from my toes to the crown of my head. How in the devil was I supposed to manage that, I hadn't a single clue. That was for me to figure out, is what he was telling me. I just... had to search for a way to keep myself safe. Whatever the cost. Knowing the kitchen knife was still in my pocket gave me some comfort. Not much, but enough.

I bit my lip and nodded firmly.

“Good.” The captain turned to his quartermaster. “Mr. Gates, see if you can find her some appropriate clothes and assign her a hammock. At dawn, I want her at Mr. de Groot's side so she can begin to learn the basics. Report back to me on her progress at eight bells after every last watch, please. That is all.”

“Aye, Captain.” the other replied, then ushered me out the door. Just like that... It was done. I was officially a pirate.

“Well!” He smiled at me and wiped the sweat from his forehead.“That went better than I expected. So, as quartermaster, let me officially say: welcome aboard the Walrus. Now, I doubt we'll find anything that fits you, and fair warning, it has been a while since any clothes in this chestnut have been washed...” His mouth pulled into a sheepish line before he went back to smiling. “When we arrive in Nassau we'll find you a better suited attire, not to worry. What's important is that you don't go parading around in your underthings. Come along.”

I followed him down into storage again, which meant having to pass through the crew a second time. I took a deep breath, shoulders squared and head held high, determined to show I wasn't afraid of them. The first hand I felt coming within an inch of me would feel the bite of my hidden blade. See if that didn't get them to stop.

Thankfully, no such thing was necessary. The men were busy washing their warpaint off with spare cloth, or moving things around and enjoying a drink after the fight. They still cast pointed looks my way, with a few making kissing noises as Gates and I walked past, but no one tried anything.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Billy's towering figure while conversing with a man with a thick, dark beard. They interrupted whatever they were talking about to observe the scene. The bearded man ran his eyes up and down my figure like he was undressing me in his mind and hummed what was no doubt a very uneducated comment, which prompted Billy to smack his shoulder with a stern look. He whispered something in return and the other stopped, rubbing his hand where he'd been hit before turning his back on me with a bitter expression on his features.

Good to know at least one person on that ship had manners.

Down in the bowels of the ship again, Mr. Gates searched a chest full of spare clothes and shoes, tossing aside those too large to stay on my back or feet. It took a while, but at last he handed me an off-white linen shirt with only a couple of holes on it, stripped cotton pants in shades of pine green and pastel rose, a leather belt and a simple pair of worn brown shoes.

“I don't think we have spare coats, but should you feel cold at night, there's blankets. You can change here, no one will bother you. When you're done, meet me on the upper deck.” And off he went up the stairs.

After hearing the sound of the hatch being closed, I began to remove my layers, one by one, leaving only my stays to keep my breasts covered. Just like Mr. Gates said, the clothes didn't fit me – they were tailored for a young boy and hung loose off of my shoulders and hips even so. I had to wrap the belt twice around my waist and tie it off, as it didn't have enough holes to buckle. And the shoes... they fell off my feet with each step and I seriously worried they would make me trip and hurt myself. Even so, I wasn't ready to walk around without so much as knickers to bar the soles of my feet from the filthy decks. I simply would have to take care walking.

Another thing Gates had been right about: the clothes stank of sweat and alcohol, enough to make me gag. I didn't even want to think about where they had been. I cast my pink dress one last look of longing. For all the constraints and expectation wearing it put on me, it was still comfortable and, above all, clean. But there was no time to dawdle on what I was giving up for this new life. Gates was waiting for me. Don't be a burden, or worse: a liability. I took Flint's request to heart. Leaving my old apparatus in the chest, I tucked my knife into the pocket of my pants and made my way upstairs. The only thing I brought with me from my old life was my cross, which had been a gift from my older sister when I had turned sixteen. Being a somewhat devout catholic, it had brought me comfort many times in the past.

When I first emerged from the ladder, the pirates didn't notice. Out of my dress and jewels, I blended in a little better among them. It wasn't until I took a couple tentative steps down the deck that heads started turning. At least now there were no hungry looks in their eyes, rather they were confounded at the transformation. I crossed my arms over my front and slouched, somehow feeling much smaller and vulnerable in my men's wear than I had been in my dress. I felt judged, scrutinized out of my appointed clothing and gender dictations. No comments or jeers followed me as I sped up toward the bow to find Mr. Gates, eager to leave their stares behind.

In the galley, where the smell of roast potatoes, bread and broth wafted into my nose and reinvigorated my stomach, Mr. Gates waited for me, and he wasn't alone. Billy, an older gentleman with a mess of gray curls and permanent stone face, plus a younger boy, pale and gangly, were with him. Gates glanced at me without a second thought, continued to talk, then snapped his attention back when he realized who I was.

“Ah, here she is. I hardly recognized you in those.” He laughed, nudging me closer when I stopped at a certain distance from him and the others. “Don't be afraid, they won't bite. Now.”

He held me by the shoulders, facing his mates. “Gents, this is our newest addition, Miss Constance...?”

A bloated pause, then I realized they were waiting for me to give my surname.

“Tilly!” I stuttered, flushed with embarrassment. Fortunately, none of them laughed or even reacted to my awkward introduction. “Constance Tilly.”

“Constance Tilly.” Mr. Gates nodded, patting my shoulders. “You already met Billy Bones, our boatswain. Next to him is Mr. De Groot, the helmsman. He's the one who will be teaching you the basics come morning. And last but not least, this is Jean duBois, also a recent addition to the crew. “

The boy, Jean, tipped an invisible hat and offered a smile. “Bonsoir, Mademoiselle.”

“Hello.” I began to curtsy before remembering where I was and catching myself. Off to the side, in the mess hall, I heard snickers – a small group of rough looking crewmen were watching our introductions like a very interesting play. One of them, a bald man covered in gnarly scars, did a mocked impression of a lady curtesing, fluttering his eyelashes much to his friends' delight. Great.

Billy shot them a foul look over the shoulder. “Don't you idiots have anything to do? 'Cause I can think of a few tasks to keep you busy.”

They hurried and made themselves scarce in an instant.

Mr. Gates released my shoulders. “You must be hungry, aye? You're just in time for dinner.”

He approached the wild-eyed man behind the counter, whom I assumed to be the cook since he was cutting carrot sticks and tossing them into the pot on the stove. “Randall, are we ready to eat or is it gonna take the rest of the night?”

“It'll be done when it's done,” the man growled. I was shocked by his manners; from the way everyone else straightened up and even cowered before Gates, I would assume the whole crew owed him respect as quartermaster, but the cook seemed not to care a bit in how he spoke to him.

And even more surprising was Mr. Gates' reaction to such insubordination: he chuckled and shook his head, dismissing it all as if it were nothing.

“Anyway, there's someone I'd like you to meet.” He gestured me over. “This is Constance, a new member. Try and be nice to her, please.”

Randall turned to look at me, eyes bulging out of their sockets. With a gulp, I took an instinctive step back and gave Gates an inquisitive look, but he just kept smiling, waiting. Randall pointed a three-toothed prong at my chest.

“Bad luck,” he warned. “Women and ships don't mingle. It's bad luck.”

This wasn't the first time I heard such a comment. It was, however, the first time someone spoke it blatantly to my face. I was so struck with disbelief and, frankly, offense, that I couldn't move or even react.

Gates' beady eyes jumped from Randall to me, and back to Randall. “Don't mind him. Got a thorough beating and it rattled his brain half dead. He doesn't mean anything by it.”

“Bad luck,” he grumbled to his carrots.

I decided it was best to ignore him.

Dinner was in full swing at two bells (or was it three? The bell system confounded me, around seven in the evening). I was sat down with Jean duBois and the other new recruits. Mostly, they talked amongst themselves and ignored me, though I caught them glancing my way once or twice before they quickly turned their gaze elsewhere. I half listened to them talk while moving my broth around in its brass bowl. Sticky, with barely any meat to it, and what meat there was it was as tough as the leather of my shoes. The bread was fresh, we had that going for us. I dipped it into the broth and brought it to my mouth. Honestly, I was too tired and famished to care what was on my plate.

“It doesn't get much better than that, I'm afraid.”

I looked up to see Jean smiling apologetically, no doubt having noticed I was playing around with my food. He had a French accent, but not so heavy that I couldn't make out what he was saying.

I shrugged. “It's alright. It's not much different from the food I've had on other ships.”

That was a lie, of course. As a lady of the high class, I'd had significantly better meals than this, no matter the ship. I wasn't about to tell them that, though. They had enough verbal cannon fire to unload on me already. I wasn't going to help them procure more.

I tried the roasted potatoes; those weren't so bad. Jean continued to observe me, I could feel his gray eyes on me.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

He seemed to catch himself and sat up straight, cheeks turning rosy. “No, no. Forgive me, it's just... We never had a woman on board. And it's been a couple of months since we last saw one, so...” He shook his head and waved a hand in dismissal. “Forgive me. Never mind what I said.”

The food turned to stone in my belly. With a chill, I looked around at the mess hall, uncomfortably aware of all the men that surrounded me. Two whole months since they last saw a woman, and from what I was told, we were still a few weeks away from reaching port.

The sound of repeated clinking got me to look down. My hand was shaking so bad that the spoon was hitting the bowl like a chime out of control. I smacked it on the table, startling the others into silence.

“Don't worry!” Jean quietly exclaimed in an attempt to reassure me. “We... Well, I'll be bunking next to you, so I'll keep watch. I won't let anyone come near you, I swear. And Mr. Gates wouldn't allow it, either. They're too scared of what he might do to them, should anything happen. To any of us, not just you. So... You're safe. Relatively.”

I stared at him, doing my best to disguise how faint I felt. Because the truth was, no matter his intentions, or whether or not they were truthful, I didn't trust Jean himself not to do anything while I slept. Even if he didn't, he was a lowly deckhand, like me. If the other, more sea hardened men decided they wanted to have their way with me, I doubted there was much he could do. Slowly, I pushed my bowl away from me and nipped on the bread. So much for my hunger.

After dinner, Mr. Gates came to fetch me and took me to the hammock allotted for me. It hung at the far front of the ship, next to the manger with all the animals. The stink of manure and goat hair was so abrasive I had to turn my head so he wouldn't see me gag. What's more, this close to the bow, the ship swayed up and down more heavily. I struggled to keep my footing and had to hold onto a ceiling beam to avoid rolling down the deck.

“This is yours.” Gates laid a hand on the cloth while he spoke to me. “Lights out is at six bells, or eleven o'clock. Toilets are at the back, way down there.” He pointed. Silently, I prayed I wouldn't have to use it that night. “If you need anything, Billy's bunk is right over there.”

I turned to see the empty hammock only four rows down from mine and breathed a little easier. Surely, no one would dare making advances when he was so near and could catch them.

“He goes out for the middle watch at first bell, but you can ask Jean for anything you need. He's a good lad, you can trust him. He will be relieved from duty at the same hour Billy is going out and is staying on the hammock next to yours. I left him orders to wake you for the morning watch. Be at the helm after breakfast and try not to be late. Any questions?”

I shook my head no.

"Good. In that case, I'll see you in the morning. Sleep tight." He gave my arm a tap and marched down the deck. As for me, I pulled off my shoes, tucked them under my hammock and hopped in.

Most of the men were still up and about, doing various things. Some were resting, others were playing cards. At the far side, a short, lightly built man in his fifties was tuning a violin, filling the ship with long notes that weren't unpleasant to listen to. On a secluded corner along the middle, a burly man with deep brown skin and long, dense ropes of hair falling down his back (later I learned these were called "dreads") carved away at a piece of wood.

Since I had nothing to entertain myself with and no one to talk to, I figured I should get comfortable and try to rest. However, my skin was clammy with sweat and grime after all the excitement, which didn't help me relax, but frankly, I was too worn out to get up and find some water to wash with. Plus, I didn't feel very at ease undressing in a ship full of strange men. It was hard enough convincing myself to go unconscious knowing they were out there, no matter how much Jean tried to assure me that I was safe. Between my apprehension, the stink coming from the pen, the rocking of the ship, the dirt covering me and the noise the crew was making, I had a feeling I wouldn't be sleeping much.

I unfurled my blanket to cover my legs, lied back and pulled the knife out from my pocket to hold it tight to my chest in both hands. The blade might be tiny, but it was a weapon, a small security to put my spirit to rest. If I had to use it...

God, what if I had to use it? I could seriously injure somebody, or worse, I could kill them. How would the captain respond, if I were to murder one of his crew on my first night? How would Gates react? Would I be justified if I claimed self-defense? After all, no one needed to get hurt so long as they didn't hurt me first. It was only natural that I respond to violence with violence.

Still... when I held a gun to Billy Bones to protect myself and those women, I had been an adversary to the Walrus and her men. Now I was one of them. Would it be different then, if the worst came to pass and I was forced to use that knife?

I closed my eyes and prayed to God and all Saints who were still willing to hear me as a pirate that nothing would happen. That I would be left alone, and if not, either Billy or Jean or anyone with a little kindness in their heart would look out for me so I wouldn't need to take drastic measures. Sudden loud voices from down the deck made me jerk up from my hammock, but it was just the group playing cards arguing over a wager. Panting, with a heart racing like a rabbit's, I lowered myself down again and stared at the ceiling, listening to the men accusing each other of cheating to the sound of the violin as it played a lively tune. I glanced at Billy's empty hammock and decided I would remain awake until he turned in. Only then would I lower my guard and try to sleep.

Fortunately, I didn't have to wait long. He came down from the main deck minutes after I turned in, doing a quick round of the ship before bed. I noted that every man he spoke to had a ready smile for him and treated him like an equal instead of a superior. It wasn't at all like on the Delilah, where the boatswain enjoyed the reverence and respect of the crew just as much as the captain. Here, he was treated like a friend. They invited him to join their game and re-tell the story of what had happened on my ship (the tale had already been spread during dinner), but he turned them down with the excuse that he needed some shut-eye after a long day. He reminded them that lights out would be soon and wished them goodnight.

He stopped to trade a few words with the man carving on his corner, asking him about an injury he'd suffered during the assault (apparently, he'd been slashed with a saber across the belly). The man said he would live, though Dr. Howell, the surgeon, had instructed him to go easy with the stitches. Billy agreed, wished him a quick recovery and to let him know if there was anything he could do for him. The carving man smiled in appreciation, thanked his boatswain and began to clean up for bed.

At last, Billy made it to his bunk. He sat down to remove his boots and his eyes crossed with mine. There was a moment of awkward hesitation, then he decided to approach my hammock, bared feet thumping softly against the wood floor. As discreetly as possible, I concealed my knife under my right side. He ducked under the ceiling beam and smiled. "Can't sleep?"

I bit my lip and shook my head. "Yeah, kind of hard with all the noise, aye? You get used to it. Lights will be out soon, then it gets easier." I nodded, pondering on whether I should say anything about my concerns or stay quiet. Don't be a burden. If you get into trouble with those men out there, you're on your own. Flint's words echoed in my mind, time and time again. But there was such genuine concern in Billy's gaze. Clearly, he wanted to ask me if I was well, same way he had done with the carving man or the other crewmen. I doubted there was much he could do to help me, but... maybe he could at least offer some advice. I sat up on my hammock and pushed my hair out of the way. Too intimidated to look him in the eye, I kept my focus on the strings of necklaces adorning his chest. "It's not just the noise that's bothering me..." He frowned and kept quiet, waiting for me to elaborate.

Slowly, I revealed my knife, clutched in my hand. "I'm a little... preoccupied by what might happen while I sleep. Jean told me you've been at sea for a while. Y'know... with only the company of other men?"

Like a candle lighting up, understanding softened his expression. He nodded a couple of times while pausing deep in thought. At last, he clicked his tongue and said: "I wouldn't worry too much about it. I mean, they are tempted, of course, but they won't do act on it." I tilted my head aside, surprised by his confidence. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because Gates and I told them if we had even the slightest suspicion that you were being abused, it would be the last thing they would do aboard the Walrus. You wouldn't even have to say anything; we would know." My frayed nerves started to settle, little by little. With the way he stated that so securely, how was I to not trust it? There was a firm sincerity in his words and his eyes, a deep conviction that his command - and by extention, Gates' - were sacred law and broken at one's own peril. Off-hand, I wondered how such an honest soul could ever have become a pirate and mingle with this band of thieves so easily. Maybe because there is a hidden darkness he is yet to reveal, a voice quipped in my brain. Even so... I felt tranquilized.

I turned the knife in my hands, studying the blade and simple wooden handle. "I believe you. Truly. But... let's hypothesize that someone did come at me during the night with foul intentions and I was forced to use this. What should I expect to happen, then?" Now he smirked playfully. "So pulling a pistol on me is fine, but using a kitchen knife to defend your honor in a pirate ship is too much?" I didn't know how else to respond to that except with a shrug and a stutter, which got a brief laugh out of him. Then he sobered up and shifted his weight. "About... half the crew wouldn't be happy, given. The other half would think it was your right to defend yourself. Hell, they might even respect you for it. If you ended up killing him, even by accident... That would be a problem, so.... My advice is, stab away, but don't take it too far."

"How do I do that?" "If someone gets too close, do as you did with me and show you have a weapon and you're not afraid to use it. If they still come at you, aim for a leg, an arm or here." He pointed to a spot on the left side of his stomach, just bellow the rib cage. "This will hurt like hell and send him to Howell, but he won't die. Oh, and avoid the inner side of the thigh. There's an artery there that will make you bleed out in a handful of minutes if severed."

I committed that spot on the stomach to memory and hummed that I understood. Billy eyed the knife for bit and added: "And get a better knife than that. Something you can strap to your hip and reach for quickly. Carry it with you always. Most of the time, a conspicuous weapon is all the demotivator you need."

My eyes roamed to his own waist; there, hanging from his belt next to a flintlock pistol, was a sheathed knife of considerable size. Immediately, I thought I had to get my hand on one of those. I glanced up at him.