Author rambles: Alright, so I lied. Updates did not come quickly. There were a few reasons for this.. Firstly... finals. Those are over now though, thank God. And ah, I've got some plot ideas but right now its at a weird transition thing... or something... I don't know, whatever. And also, I don't know anything about boats. I don't know what people do on boats... So just don't pay attention to those things, ok? Suspend belief... I am trying to do research however, but really, just bear with me. Anyway. Hopefully from now on things will be going faster (and let's hope I'm not lying this time). And after all that, this is a pretty short, boring chapter. Sigh. I'm sorry.

And thank you so much for the reviews!

Update: Ok, changed a few things. Babelfish, those are some really good points... especially about that comment of Jack's. I think that 12-year-olds tend to be much less innocent than they are given credit for and even more so for Jack, given both his personality and the environment he was raised in. But you're right, when I think about it now, I don't think he would say that. I was just having him ramble to purposely annoy the cook but the rambling got a bit personal there... And Bastian, heh I hadn't thought of the Neverending Story boy... It was just a name my friend liked - some of the crewmembers are inspired by people I know... Also! I am moving Fiona's home from Bermuda to England... gave long thought to this. And it's my final decision. Ok, so that's that and here's the chapter, slightly revised.


Maynard Hawk stood aboard the Seabird proudly, watching the small group of sailors he had recruited bustling on and off the boat, loading barrels and sacks of food and ammunition. They would be off sooner than he had expected, he thought to himself, pleased. He caught sight of his son and young Bill emerging on deck and turned to them cheerfully.

"Ah, so I see ye've found our new youngest member, Bill," he said, dropping a hand onto Jack's shoulder. "'Ope he wasn't too much trouble." Bill laughed and Jack smiled up at him. Maynard smiled back, somewhat awkwardly, then slid his hand off and turned away from them.

"Alright, men! All 'ands on deck!" he called and the chaos slowed as the haggard-looking men gathered before him. "Line up," he said, and they did so. "Let's see what we've got here..."

He went down the line and got the names of the twenty or so men, about half of which were part of his original crew, and assigned jobs to each of them. Bill was assigned to the helm, while Jack was disappointed to find himself storing food in the galley...


"This is ridiculous." He plopped a bag of vegetables onto the counter unceremoniously. "Really, I'd be much more useful up there, actually doing something worth doing." He cast a sideways glance at the other person in the room, a tall, menacing-looking man currently chopping up meat with a rather large knife, presumably for their dinner. "Not that you don' have an important job," he said hastily. "I've just had bad experiences with kitchens, savvy?"

The man merely grunted in reply, not bothering to look up.

"I just thought thin's would be more exciting from now on, an' instead I'm doing what I've always done." He paused thoughtfully, and chuckled to himself. "Although, you'd be surprised what sorts of strange things go on in a kitchen... Why, this one time—"

The knife thwacked against the cutting board, particularly loud, and Jack winced. "Do ye have to do it so hard, mate? I believe it's already dead."

The man turned his head very slowly and fixed him with a dark, steady glare. Jack raised his eyebrows, looking innocently confused and the man turned back to his work. Jack returned to his as well, remarking, "Don't talk much do you?"

No reply.

"Well, thas' alright. Gives you a nice, mysterious, intimidating sort of air, eh? Maybe I'll try that..." He fell silent for a few minutes, but being mysterious while doing kitchen tasks really wasn't as fun as the man made it look. "I forgot to ask!" he exclaimed suddenly. "What's yer name?" He cocked his head, as if listening to an answer, then nodded conversationally. "Ah... Jack Thompson. Course, it's not me real name 'cause Thompson is me mother's name so I just took it out of convenience, seein' as I don' know what me father's name was. For all I know, 'e could 'ave been a ruddy Spaniard... or a Frenchman."

The man muttered to himself and Jack hoisted himself up onto the counter. "What was that?" he asked.

He ignored him, instead snarling, "Get the bleedin' hell off the counter."

"Ah," said Jack, sliding off. He opened his mouth to speak but the man cut him off, shouting, "No! No. more. talking! Go find somebody else to badger, ye damned bloody whelp!"

Jack suppressed a triumphant grin. "If that's what you want," he said meekly, pressing his hands together and giving a slight bow as he backed out the door. He made his way up onto the quarterdeck, where he spotted Bill at the helm. He sidled up next to him casually, surveying the goings on of the ship with a knowing air. He turned to Bill and gave an approving nod. "Keep up the good work, chum," he said.

Bill glanced down at the boy wryly, then raised his gaze to the horizon once more. "I thought you were s'posed to be in the galley, eh?"

"Ah, well," Jack said. "Reckon the old boy down there thought he could do better without me. Pity. I 'ave a fair amount of experience under my belt when it comes to preparin' food and such."

Bill's brow furrowed as he fixed on the first part of Jack's explanation. "By 'the old boy', ya' mean... Bloody Benson?"

"Oh, is that 'is name? Fitting, I suppose. 'E wouldn't tell me what it was. Don't talk much, him, I gather."

"No," said Bill firmly. "He's of the original Seabird crew. Never really took much of a likin' to me, I think... But he keeps to 'imself mostly so if ya just stay out of 'is way, there's no problem. But I 'eard from Bones, once there was this bloke Errol McGee, who just grated his nerves, always doin' stupid things and acting idiotic... and one day it was just too much and Bloody Benson just turned and shot him, clear over the edge of the ship." Bill shook his head, smiling and adjusted his grip on the wheel. Then he turned his head to face Jack and smirked. "So, what was it ya' did to get yerself kicked out of the galley?"

Jack blinked. He stared at Bill for a long moment, and then his dark eyes narrowed. "Oh, now that's a lovely story, Billy, thanks for sharing it. I mean it." Bill laughed. "Who told it to ye, again? Bones, did ye say? You know, mate, I dunno' if I'd trust someone called Bones, meself. But then, that's just me."

Bill smiled. "John Bones is one of the wisest, most knowledgeable men I've ever encountered, Jack. He's seen more of the world than I probably ever will. Slipped out of the grasp of both the British Navy and the Spanish Armada several times. Ah, he's a legend, Jack. I'm surprised you 'aven't 'eard of him. That's him, over there," said Bill, pointing him out among the other pirates.

Jack observed the man carefully. He was very tall, and very thin. His face appeared gaunt and worn, and a long, thin scar stood out against his pale skin, from just above his left eyebrow to the hollow of his right cheek. The dark goatee was flecked with silver, while the tangled hair that grew from his head was entirely white, though he somehow did not appear old, and certainly not frail. His spidery hands held a rope quite firmly in their grasp as he heaved and pulled it back.

"Ah," said Jack. "An' 'oo's that man behind him there? Just slouchin' against the mast?"

Bill followed his gaze. "Oh, that there's Michael Finn. He mostly just drinks. Rather useless really," he explained. Then he added, almost to himself, "Though I do sometimes wonder why he's always so damn sad..."

Jack gave a disinterested look and continued studying the rest of the pirates. "An' that fellow singing?" continued Bill, "That's Benji. He's mad, I swear." He glanced at Jack. "You'd get along." Jack grinned. "And ah... Well, there's O'Malley, whom you met, and next to 'im is Moony. Mostly I steer clear of them. Then that lost-lookin' lad with the big blue eyes? That's Bastian. Nice boy, but really... I often wonder how in hell he ended up here..."

"You get along well, I assume," Jack interjected.

Bill smiled slightly and gave Jack a sideways glance. "Are you comparing me to him?" He looked away. "You don't know me that well yet, Jack. I can be ruthless. Really."

Jack just smiled. Bill sighed. "In any case... Then there's Danny, the one with the dark hair playin' the hornpipe... He told me once why he joined up with us. Said 'is father was a drunk and used to hit his mum until one day he hit her too much and she died. So Danny slit his da's throat. Then he went off to make a fortune for 'imself and became a pirate."

Jack's eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly. His hand rose to his neck uneasily as he imagined the scene. "That's interesting..." he murmured. "Lovely crowd."

Bill gave a sad half-smile and readjusted the helm a bit. "Aye," he said softly. Jack turned around to face the stern of the boat, letting the wind brush his hair back, out of his face. He watched as the waves created by the Seabird left a swiftly-fading trail behind them, the last rays of the sun reaching after her, soon to be swallowed in the vast expanse of the ocean.

"So, where we headed, helmsman?" he asked, still facing abaft.

Bill threw a glance over his shoulder, then looked forward again. "Well, for now we're just headed East. We're going to take a vote in the morning. I'm hoping we'll head north for Maryport, England."

"Ah. Any significance in that choice?"

Silence followed for a few moments and Jack turned to face Bill again. Finally he answered quietly, "That's where Fiona lives... I spoke with the captain earlier. He said it was as good a place as any other to raid, and plenty of chances to intercept trade routes on the way."

"Splendid. I suppose I'll meet yer wife then, eh?"

Bill chuckled. "We'll see."

Jack was about to argue when a third person joined them. He was a lean, dirty man with long, scraggly hair and stubble covering his chin. He glared at the two of them for a moment, letting his gaze fall on Jack for a few extra seconds, before looking back at Bill and announcing, "Cap'n says yer turn's done."

"Oh," said Bill, stepping away from the helm and allowing the man to take ahold of it. "Thank you." The man rolled his eyes.

Bill and Jack left him and headed for their cabin. Only a few others were there already, among them Michael Finn, who was slumped over in the corner as if he hadn't quite been able to get onto his hammock. Bastian, the boy Bill had pointed out, sat up slightly as the two entered.

"'Ello, Bill."

Bill smiled in acknowledgement as he sat down. "This is Jack," he said, giving a nod in Jack's direction. Jack gave a quick smile and flopped onto the hammock beside Bill.

"So how's about those writing lessons we discussed, Billy.."

Bill groaned. "Not tonight, Jack."

Jack pouted for a minute, then rolled over onto his side. "Fine then. Just go ahead and read yer blasted letter to yerself. Again." Bill paused, his hand already half-way through the act of pulling out his dear letter. He sent Jack's back a glare, then shook his head and unfolded the paper.

Beside him, Jack's eyelids began to droop despite himself and he let out a loud yawn. So much had changed in this one day. He knew his life would never be the same, and he didn't mind. He was ready to greet the future with open arms, whatever it might hold; the uncertainty of it thrilled him. Then, for a brief moment, he thought of his mother and wondered what she was doing at that very moment. But when it occured to him that at that very moment she was most likely straddling some strange man, he made a face and rolled over once more. He was now presented with a view of William reading the letter from his wife. Jack smiled sleepily and slowly dozed off.