Setting Sail Towards a Setting Sun
CHAPTER I: A Little Nudge Never Hurts
"Clare... Clare? Clarity...?"
Clarity Baker groaned and rolled onto her side. A soft voice laughed over her and a pair of gentle hands took hold of her shoulders and lifted into some form of a sitting position.
"Clare! Come on, girl; it's time to get up."
Clare attempted to to pry her eyes open and a face swam blurrily into view. Then lethargy overtook her again and she fell backwards onto the bed again. The result of this, however, was that the back of her head smacked against the solid oak headboard, making her groan even louder.
"Hell, Erin," she murmured, well-awake now. "Can you not let a woman sleep?" She sat up again and opened her eyes slowly to look at the girl sitting next to her. Erin was Clare's best friend and though it was times like these that Clare wondered why that was, the two were really peas in a pod. At the moment, Erin had a large smile plastered on her face; she was obviously amused. Giving her friend a resentful glare and rubbing the back of her head tenderly with one hand, Clare threw the covers of her bed off herself and stood. Her early morning crankiness was swept away though when she felt the familiar rocking of the ship beneath her. It even made her smile as widely as Erin and suddenly she dashed at and tackled her easily onto the bed.
"Revenge is mine, girlie!" Clare declared, with Erin pinned to the bed under her. They both looked at each other, and simultaneously burst into a fit of laughter. When both had stopped laughing enough to move, Clarity released the other young woman and gave her a hand off of the bed.
It was a few minutes before they had calmed down completely, and by this time, Erin had remembered why it was she had come to awaken the sleeping beauty.
"Clare, your father wants you up on deck," she told her. "We're coming into port."
"What port?" Clare asked as she pulled on a pair of trousers over the bloomers she had slept in. Erin shrugged, watching her.
"I didn't ask, and he didn't tell."
"Probably some little spark of a Navy town, population 50," Clare said, thinking of a raid. If her father had caught wind of a Royal Navy fleet moving towards some new colony in the Caribbean, of a new and inexperienced governor sent by the King to a new home in the tropics, of a treasure traveling with him to fund the building of a new port, he would immediately snatch at the opportunity. Any respectable pirate would. Pulling on a black muslin blouse, Clare turned towards the door of her and Erin's quarters.
Clare's father was the captain of the The Spitting Image, a ship he had captured long ago from the British Royal Navy. The story of her capture was one that he would still tell, after downing a few flagons of rum, though it had long been embellished with fiction.
Captain Gregoire Baker was a good captain to his crew. He treated his crew fairly and punished them when right. To his enemies, he could be civil, but turned ruthless at the first sign of resistance. And to his daughter, he gave the kindest and most sincere of affection. This, however, sometimes led to his being intensely over-protective of her. It was a feat on the eve of a raid if Clare could convince him to allow her to come along as part of the crew. So many nights he would shut her safely away in his cabin with only Erin as company, while he and the men went ashore to terrorize the locals and rob them blind. Not that Clare supported inhumanity, but she did love the thrill. Simply, she would refuse to think about what her father's crew would do to any woman or girl that was unlucky enough to be convenient.
The ship, a two-masted brigantine with a figurehead of two serpents entwined about the body of a maiden, had been gloriously majestic once. She still moved with whipping speed, but her planks whined and complained with every wave and her masts bowed heavily to the starboard lee. The spanker's boom had split in a storm, and the cell door in the brig would no longer shut, among other things. Nevertheless, Clare held the old ship dear in her heart. If only her father shared her concern for the care of the ship; he had more than enough gold for repairs.
On deck, it took Clare's eyes a few seconds to adjust to the bright light and when they had, she looked around for her father. The son of a broad British man and a rather buff Russian woman, Gregoire was a heavily muscled, massive man. He was not tall, but his shoulder span alone was huge, and his chin jutted harshly, a trait that was terrifying in his rage. He was not, by any means, easy to miss.
Therefore, it surprised Clarity when she did not immediately see him. It would be odd for him to still be in his cabin; sleeping in was her business, not his. She nevertheless moved to the door of his cabin. When her knock produced no reply, she turned the handle and cracked the door enough to peak in.
"Pa…?"
A sudden and forceful hand on her shoulder caused Clare to scream as it spun her around.
"Only me, girl." Her father stood before her, blinking bemusedly. "Ye're not getting jumpy, are you?" His accent was a strange compound of Russian vowels and a Scottish-like brogue. "I'd like to think I raised ye better than that."
"I thought you to be inside the cabin, sir." Clare had been brought up to respect her father. He was her superior in more that the captain-to-crew manner, and so he was "sir" in front of the crew, no matter how informal they were in private. He led her into the cabin.
Erin, who had stayed behind to tidy up after Clare, suddenly appeared from behind Gregoire, looking lively. The gazes of the two girls met and through a nod from Erin, a moment of unspoken understanding passed between them. Gregoire caught it and gave his daughter a wary look.
"Sir, we were wondering, Erin and I, if you would allow us to go into port when we arrive," she said in a hopeful tone, her eyes pleading. "With the rest of the crew," she added, seeing his apprehensive look.
"Clare..."
"We'd be safe together, watch each other's back, like. And you said yourself, just the other day, that I needed some new clothes. Think of the chores Erin and I could achieve if you let us into port!" She paused, coming to a realization. "Where's it we're goin', anyways?" Gregoire laughed at her daughter's lack of priority.
"Tortuga." It took only the one word from her father to lift Clare's spirits.
"Please, Pa! There'll be no soldiers around, you know that. And we'll stick close to the ship, or else…" She paused, she really did not want to have to resort to this, but…, "Or… you could assign us an escort, a member of the crew you trust." That did the trick. She could see his reservations melting away. She grinned broadly and gently squeezed his forearm.
"Oh, thank you, sir! Don't worry, I won't make you regret it!" He shook his head.
"Ye better not. Ye're mother would have my head, God rest her soul." He turned and left the cabin to carry on with the day's sailing. Clare turned to Erin, a mischievous smile on her lips.
They were headed to Tortuga!