William Mowett skidded around the corner. He was tall for a twelve-year-old, and a little bit on the plump side, but that actually protected him when he slammed into the person coming his way and tripped, hitting the hard cobblestone street.
The stranger, however, was much lighter than the solid Will. He flew into the air and landed three feet away with a yelp.
Remembering his manners, Will leapt to his feet and ran over to the prone figure. He helped the person sit up, then removed the oversized cocked hat the boy was wearing to speak to him better.
It was a boy about his age, with dark hair and flushed cheeks. "I beg your pardon, sir," Will said apologetically. "I didn't see you. Are you hurt?"
Gasping for breath, the boy choked out, "N-no, thank you! I'm fine. It was my fault entirely, I can't see with this bloody hat on."
"Then why do you wearing it?" said Will curiously.
"My father sent it to me," the boy said importantly. "He's in the Navy."
"Oh. So is mine," Will said.
The boy seemed to wilt with disappointment that this fact did not awe his comrade, but shook it off. He stood shakily and stuck out a hand. "I'm Thomas Pullings, but you can call me Tom."
Will shook his hand heartily, relieved that he hadn't gotten in trouble. "William Mowett, but you can call me Will. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"An honor, sir," said Tom pompously, and the two giggled. "Want to race to the beach?" he asked excitedly.
"Sure!" Will agreed, forgetting his promise to his mother not to wander far while she was shopping.
The two boys sprinted off, both equally matched in skill. They ran stride for stride, feet churning the wet sand on the beach. They enjoyed this moment of perfection until Will tripped again, sprawling across the sand. But he was up in an instant and raced after his new friend's retreating figure. The two collapsed at the foot of a dune, laughing breathlessly.
"You cheated!" gasped Will with laughter and exhaustion. "You didn't wait for me!"
"Oh, you fell?" Tom asked, as if he hadn't noticed.
The two snorted, clutching their sides and chuckling helplessly.
After recovering, Will and Tom suddenly realized what time it was. "My mother will be wondering where I am!" they said in unison, then giggled again at their perfect timing. "But really though," Tom said, "we should be getting back. It's getting dark."
It was then that the cannonball slammed into the building nearby, and the screaming started.
Abigail Mowett spun around at the sound of the explosion, basket of groceries swinging on her arm. At the sign of the fire, she remained calm and cast about for her son William. She couldn't find him. Above the screaming and general panic, Abigail called, "Will? William Mowett, where are you?"
No answer. He wasn't here. Abigail started to panic and ran to where she'd last seen him-and bumped into another woman. "I beg your pardon!" she gasped. "Have you seen a twelve-year-old boy anywhere, perhaps?"
The woman stared at her. "I was about to ask you the same thing," she said. "I'm Martha Pullings, and my son Tom's missing."
"I'll help you look for him!" Abigail said kindly. "I'm Abigail Mowett, and I'm looking for my William. Maybe they went off together-they're apparently the same age."
"I hope you're right," said Mrs. Pullings tearfully. "I'd hate to think of them in the hands of those pirates." She pointed at the ship, which was now running up a Jolly Roger.
Abigail felt her blood run cold. Pirates! Pirates, here in Liverpool! It just couldn't be possible-but it was happening nonetheless. The two women made their way carefully down the beach, calling for their sons as loudly as they dared.
At the sign of the pirate flag, Will and Tom were having a very different reaction. Tom drew himself up, his naval officer's hat at a jaunty angle. "Bloody pirates!" he snarled. "We'll show the brutes a thing or two."
"But how?" said Will. He looked around the harbor and spotted the small man-o-war docked close to them, hardly out of the yard and armed with twelve long cannons. A small smile played about his lips as a plan took shape in his mind.
"Tom-see that ship, there? It doesn't look like anyone's on board, does it?" he asked hurriedly.
Tom stared at him. "No way. Not a chance," he began warningly, but a cannonball landed almost beside them in the sand, and Will pulled Tom to his feet. "This is our only chance," he hissed. "Let's take it while we've got it! And hurry!"
The two sprinted down to the docks unnoticed by the pirates. Quietly, they hauled themselves over the side of the ship, which was thankfully docked very close to the pier. Upon getting aboard, the two looked around warily-but Will had been right. The ship had not been given a captain or crew yet, and no one was aboard.
Tom gave a grin despite himself, pushing his hat firmly down on his head. "Lieutenant Mowett, cast off, if you please," he ordered.
William came dashing back up on deck from somewhere below, waving a knife he had found excitedly. With a few enthusiastic chops, they were free of the wharf and were slowly drifting out to open water.
Tom, being the self-appointed captain, took the helm. He narrowed his eyes in what he thought was a dashing and dangerous-looking expression, tightened his grip on the wheel, and put his right hand on his hip like he was leaning on a sword. Will stopped to look at him, impressed, but Tom snapped, "Set the sails, Lieutenant! Get aloft!"
Snapping a quick salute, Will began climbing the rigging. It wasn't hard, after all the years of tree-climbing he'd done, so he cheerfully clambered higher until he reached a yardarm.
This part was trickier. Carefully, he stepped out onto the rope that sailors used to stand on and untied one of the ropes holding the sail in place. The corner of the sail flapped uselessly in the breeze. "One down, one hundred to go!" muttered Will. But he wasn't serious; he was beginning to enjoy the rock of the ship and the wind on his face. This, he decided, was what he wanted to do when he grew up.
But first he had to live through this.