Chapter 1: Runaway
"Not hidin' anythin' of importance in that sack, are ye?"
The low, gravelly voice came from somewhere ahead of me, hidden in the darkness. I peered into the shadows and saw a pair of dark eyes glinting out at me from the same corner I had hoped to hide in myself.
"Sorry?" I asked, both grateful for the distraction and suspicious of the mysterious stranger.
He leaned forward and I saw that his dark eyes were bloodshot and his face grizzled with several days' growth of beard. His clothes were stained and dirty and a half-empty bottle of something rested on his left knee, held there precariously by a greasy hand.
"I said," he repeated gruffly, "I hope ye don' have anythin' important in that sack."
"Why's that?" I asked warily.
"Because," he cackled gruesomely, "If ye do, then this is hardly the place for it."
He grinned widely, revealing a jagged row of rotting teeth, and his weathered face seemed to crack open from the effort. My hand tightened on my shoulder strap and I found myself backing away almost subconsciously.
"This is a favourite stop for beggars, thieves and," he grinned even wider, "Pirates."
He let out another horrible cackle and I felt a cold shiver rip through my body; I wasn't used to being afraid, and I didn't like it. I scowled at the dirty stranger and turned away from him. I headed for the bar with a different plan in mind: maybe the bartender would know of a ship that could take me to America.
"Excuse me?" I called softly.
The squat, balding mad behind the counter appeared not to have heard me. I squeezed closer to the bar, trying not to notice the cold stares of other patrons, and tried again.
"Excuse me?" I called, louder this time.
His beady eyes came to rest on me with a mixture of disdain and curiosity. He leaned over the bar and frowned down at me.
"What is it?" he asked irritably.
"I need a ship," I said.
"You need a ship?" he snorted.
"Yes, that's right," I insisted.
"Well, yer in the wrong place, Miss. This en't a docking bay – what's it look like?"
"I'm sorry, sir, but I thought that maybe you knew someone that could—"
"I don't know a soul that can do anythin'. Even if I did, ye'd be hard pressed to get it outta me."
"Please, sir, if you could just tell me where I could find a good sailor, or even someone that knows of one. . ."
I let my voice trail off as he shook his head at me and turned to another customer.
"I just need a fast ship," I muttered, half to myself, "Even a sturdy one would do. . ."
"Fast ship?" inquired a clear, bold voice to my left, "That'd be the Black Pearl."
I looked over and saw a black-skinned woman sitting at a low table just in front of the bar.
"The Black Pearl?" I asked.
"Aye," she said, "The fastest ship in the Atlantic. Sit down."
She motioned for me to take the seat across from her. I sat down quickly, then took my knapsack off my shoulder and set it on the ground.
"I hope you haven't got anythin' important in that bag, love," she said.
I froze; surely not everyone in this bar was just the same as that horrible man in corner? But the woman's face seemed to indicate real concern; she wasn't threatening me.
"So I've heard," I said, "Why is it so dangerous here?"
"Because this tavern is a stopover for villains: thieves, fugitives, beggars and the like. You'd best keep that parcel where you can see it."
I moved the knapsack to the top of the table.
"And pirates?" I asked hesitantly.
A flicker of . . . something passed across the woman's face, and again I was suspicious. But the moment passed quickly, and I soon convinced myself that I'd imagined it.
"Aye," she said, "Pirates too. So you need a fast ship, eh?"
"Yes, if I can find one."
"Where are ye headed in such a vessel?"
"To America, if I can manage it; I'm seeking my fortune."
The woman laughed brightly; her white teeth stood out brilliantly against her black skin. The sound rang out like a bell in the dingy atmosphere.
"Are ye now?" she asked, "And you think your fortune lies in the West, do ye?"
I frowned. Was she making fun of me?
"Well it doesn't lie here," I said coldly, "Can you take me to the Black Pearl or not?"
Her smile faded.
"I can," she said, "I am one of its crew. But I en't makin' any promises – it's not for me to decide who comes aboard and who doesn't. One thing I can promise ye: Your boardin' will come with a price."
"How much?"
"It depends. What's your name, love?"
"Abigail."
"That all?"
"Abigail Jackson."
She reached across the table and shook my hand amicably.
"Anamaria," she introduced herself.
And then she stood up.
"All right," she said, "Come with me, I'll take you to the Captain."
"The Captain?" I asked, suddenly anxious.
"Aye! He'll want to know if we're to have a runaway on board."
She grinned knowingly and led the way out of the tavern. I shouldered my knapsack and followed her, feeling inexplicably confused and frightened. It took me a few seconds to register what she'd said, but when I did I stopped in my tracks.
"I never told you I was running away," I said.
She turned, silhouetted in the doorway, and waited for me to continue.
"I said I was seeking my fortune," I told her.
She moved back towards me and glanced down at my right hand. I looked down and saw the gold ring I always wore. It was very delicately crafted with a tiny, bright diamond embedded into the band. It had belonged to my mother. I suddenly realized that such a decoration would no doubt stand out in this dingy setting, as would the obviously aristocratic traveling cloak I was wearing. Anamaria smiled at my realization.
"You already have a fortune, lass," she said simply, and then turned and left the tavern.
This time I followed her silently.