It had been a week since the Surprise had picked her up. She had been alone, a survivor of a great fire that had destroyed her transport. Most had gotten off of the ship alive, but when the fire reached the stores of gunpowder, many lives were lost. She had been separated from her family and they were assumed dead. The Santiago family came from Aragón, in Spain, and they were by no means wealthy, but they had enough to get by. Now Francisca Santiago had nothing, and according to Captain Aubrey, she would not be returned to Spain until they came across a ship that was heading for it. Otherwise it might be over a year before the HMS Surprise docked in Spain.

"Dios mío," she prayed. "Ayúdeme volver a casa, por favor." She crossed herself and attempted to climb up into the hammock she had been designated to.

"You'll be near the Midshipmen," Captain Aubrey had told her. "If you need anything, they'll be happy to be of service."

What I need is to get back to Spain, she thought bitterly, reminded of the conversation they had had. In Spain I am safe. She looked around. Most of the crew was sleeping. She eyed them all suspiciously. It had taken the crew about two days to realize she was a woman, and then they pounced. Seamen were like that, though luckily none had done anything malicious yet. She closed her eyes and had almost fallen asleep when she heard a noise. She opened her eyes wide, trying to take in all the light that she could, and searched the room. A match was struck and a face was illuminated. She couldn't remember his name—truth be told, it wasn't that important to her. But she thought he might have been a carpenter.

He bent down to put on his shoes and the match went out. Her eyes strained in the darkness. He was walking towards her and as he got closer, in a sudden panic, she shut her eyes tightly, pretending to sleep. He didn't stop, however, but kept walking. When she felt he was far enough away, she climbed out of hammock with much difficulty, and went up on deck.

She stood for a long while out of sight. He hadn't seemed to notice her presence, when he suddenly turned around. "What are you doing up here?" Francisca didn't reply, merely standing still waiting for him to continue. "Can't sleep or something? Maybe you're a little seasick from all the rolling waves. Can you even speak English?"
"Who are you?" she asked, finally speaking.

He gave her a hard look, continuing to coil the rope. When he had finished, he threw it onto the wooden planks. "Why do you want to know, miss?"

"It was just a question," she said waspishly. "If you do not wish to reply—"

"Joe."

"¿Perdóname?" she asked, slipping into her native tongue.

"My name is Joe Nagel," he repeated. "And you're Señorita Santiago, right?" he added mockingly. He gave her a surly look. "You shouldn't be up here so late. It's dangerous at night for a woman on a ship of war…no officers in sight, eh?"

"I know there is an officer of the watch," she said, looking over her shoulder. "I am perfectly safe. You know, the scream of a woman can be heard for leagues," she said pompously.

"I doubt that, milady." He started edging towards her. "We seamen get awfully lonely, you know." He leaned in to within inches of her face, staring into her eyes for what seemed to her like ages. Then with a smirk, he backed off, laughing softly. "You're all the same. You wealthy duchesses and ladies, expecting to get free passage like you're on some kind of luxury holiday. You're not as important as you think you are. I can guarantee that much."

"I never said I was anyone of importance," she said. "My name is Francisca Santiago de Aragón. My family is not wealthy—not as wealthy as you assume—but we are not poor either."

"That's all very well, miss." He started towards the ladder. "I'm—the crew isn't supposed to talk to you, actually."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because you're a passenger," he said brusquely, climbing down to the berth deck.

"You may call me Paca," she called after him.

Suddenly his head popped up from the hatch. "Did you say somethin'?" Joe asked.

She put a hand on her chest. "Paca, call me Paca."

"Pack-a," he repeated.

She shook her head. "No, no, no. Pah-cah. Now you try."

He pulled himself up onto the deck again. "Why Paca?"

She frowned and averted her eyes. "My papá always called me that."
Their eyes met and she saw a bit of pity in his face. "You say it right, now. That is all," she dismissed, walking past him. "I am very tired. Good night."

" 'Night, milady." He watched her go, and then leant against the taffrail, looking out at the vast ocean. "What are you doing? She's outta your league," he muttered to himself. He knew having a woman on board would be bad for the ship. The crew would be all over her. Slade had tried to charm her several times already. Joe had done his best to be unfriendly, to treat her like she was just another nobody, but she wasn't. She was a woman. And it had been too long since he had been this close to one.