If I Were a Herald
Chapter 28
A Pirate's Life for Me
A/N (12/5/05): I'm working on writing a new chapter to go between the current Chapters 7 and 8. Which is why this one is called Chapter 28 for the moment. Because it will be Chapter 28, just as soon as I finish the chapter "Let It Snow." It's about Sovvan festival and my own Christmas celebration. Any suggestions? I'm having a special Sunday weapons training session with Weaponsmaster Eduard, and there's going to be fairy night celebration (me, Jorjie, Rachel, and Stefany playing pranks on anyone and everyone). Prank suggestions would be most welcome; and if I use your suggestion, you're going to be acknowledged in my revised, original-fiction version, which is going to be published. Even if I have to self-publish. But actually there's a nice little publishing company in my hometown, and I kind of know the owner. I may even be able to get in touch with her.
A/N (10/28/05): (A.k.a. Acknowledgements) I came up with this poem last year, for a contest; although my teacher like it very much, it didn't win. Only recently did I actually set it to music. I could swear the tune isn't mine, but I can't for the life of me figure out where I've heard it before. Hey! I just realized, the tune comes from "O Suzanna." Sort of a mixture of that and Michael Longcor's version of "Smuggler's Song." I have tried to type it basically as it was written, but I doubt the different fonts will show up on the ff.mort site. So, just for those curious, the boldface letters at the beginning of each line are typed in Monotype Corsiva, size 16 font, although originally they were written to look like the letters on the "Pirates of the Caribbean" DVD; I just don't have a type more similar to that than Monotype Corsiva. The comment about outlaw running through my blood is actually derived from an Alabama song that I mismemorized at one point. The song is called "Born Country," and the actual lyrics are, "I was born country, and that's what I'll always be/Like the rivers and the woodlands, wild and free/I've got a hundred years of downhome running through my blood/I was born country, and this country's what I love." But I misheard it as "hundred years of outlaw." Which quote I then decided I rather liked, and when I learned it was downhome, not outlaw, I figured that I had as much a right to the phrase as anyone—so there's a hundred years of outlaw runnin' through me blood. Someday I'll have to write a full-fledged parody of that song. I was born pirate, and that's what I'll always be/Like the dolphins and the seagulls wild and free/There's a hundred years of outlaw runnin' through me blood/I was born pirate an' the ocean's what I love. The Gentlemen of Fortune line—pirates and smugglers were known as Gentlemen of Fortune. Ladies of the Sea is my own contrivance, because the buccaneers of the 18th century often claimed no fatherland, saying rather that they were "of the sea." Half-a-hundred reasons comes from a poem that I read in a poetry book. It's a really good poem. It's called "Drop a Pebble in the Water." I may someday write a story about it. Really good poem.
A/N (10/29/05): This chapter is rather a bit longer than the others at the moment, mostly because there's a lot of story that can fit under the heading "A Pirate's Life for Me," and even more with my overlong poem, so I didn't feel like splitting this up into more chapters. If anyone has any interest in the full lyrics of any of the songs I've mentioned, or wants a copy of the music, I'll try to arrange for you to get it. If you have email, that's probably the easiest way for me to get the songs to you—but be sure you leave spaces so ff.mort doesn't strip the address.
A/N (11/14/05): Okay, the mathematics of this so far. This is mostly for my own benefit, but if you're curious, read on. I spent three years as a Herald-Trainee, then a year out on Circuit. Then I was sent on my first mission. Shortly thereafter—let's say a month (three weeks to complete the mission, one week to recover)—I was sent to infiltrate the bandit group and rescue Gordon Ashkevron. I was there for several months, then got myself caught and tortured by the Karsites. By the time I escaped, it was once again nearing the winter months. Year number five. About six more months doing various things, and now here I am. It's been almost six years. That would make me twenty-three. So let's say it's around June. Marky's five, Jaym's fourteen and a half, Gloria's almost twelve, and Melissa's nine and a half. Jacoby's twenty-eight, and his son Jimmy is ten.
A/N (12/6/05): Calc exam went badly. About as badly as I expected. I asked the teacher if I unsatted the test, could I still sat the course, and he said that the syllabus said two out of three tests, which I've already gotten, but if I did really badly on this test he'd call me a loser in my evaluation. So I'm a loser, but I may just have passed Calculus. I know I didn't pass the test. I'm planning to do my research and calculations for my Norman Conquest paper today (I finally came up with a thesis; hurrah!), then actually write the paper tomorrow. Thursday Jay is taking me to Busch Gardens for some much-needed relaxation, so no updates then. I have divorced myself slightly from Herald Kali; it's about time. Since our timelines diverged half a semester ago for me, and six years ago for her. She's most definitely not the same person anymore. I probably should have started the divergence process somewhere around the Shadow-Lover chapter; but you know how these things go. Blatant self-insert and all. And I've now made the song a total parody of "Oh Susanna."
Jay: The bandits were just paranoid, really. And Lyrna has her own version of a Glamour—the Companions can use Mind-Magic to make themselves look not like Companions, but Alberich recognizes his as maybe a Companion, and, well, I'll try to remember to bring you Exile's Honor when I come back from Christmas Break. I'm home for less than a week, and most of that is spent recovering. I'm also in shock because I killed someone. I guess it's not very Heraldic of me not to ask about them, but I'm a very unHeraldic Herald. Wow, a complement. falls over in shock
Nawyn: I don't like the sound of Mortimer on the ship, either. It makes things… interesting. But that's why I liked your idea so much. I had to get Mortimer on the ship, and in the original version he just offered to pay Jacoby to take him across, but this way makes it so much more heroic. He offered to take Mortimer to Valdemar to save my life. swoons So do you think I should write a story about Stormwind? He's such a fun character, but I can't afford to give him more than one chapter in this story. Or… maybe I can.
Fireblade K'Chona: It is an awkward way to wake up—especially after a night on the town. I have two chapters up because I have a new reviewer who's been reviewing all my chapters. It does seem so, doesn't it? But Jimmy's Gift is important. As for Kory, well, he's just a troublemaker. An adorable troublemaker. Tayledras pirate. laughs with Fireblade Yes indeedy, Stormwind is very funny. And the reason she doesn't just "get on with it" is she's made herself a vow; she will remain a virgin until she marries. Although at the moment she's being very dense; maybe if we hit her in the head with a board it would make her see that he's head-over-heels in love with her, and she'll just get on with it and ask him to marry her.
Jerry Unipeg: Thanks for the (slightly) more detailed review. And yes, Herald Kali is not the kind of person to let other people dictate her life. That's what makes her so fun.
Tempeste-Silere: Thanks. I can't take full credit for the pirate costume—the original idea, and half the description, came from Fireblade. Good luck next quarter with multivariable—and let us both hope you understand it better than I do!
A girl who wants adventure, born a century too late,
I'm a rebel wanting freedom from the tangled web of fate.
I'm a buccaneering sailor, I'm a girl who loves the sea.
"Drink up," I say, "me hearties," and "A pirate's life for me."
Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.
Perhaps you think I'm evil, or perhaps you think I'm young;
A girl who hasn't listened to the pirate songs she's sung;
But the truth is I am neither, just a girl who wants to be
Sailin' fast an' singin' loud; a pirate's life for me.
Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.
I'm a pirate, I'm an outlaw, I'm a rebel through and through;
I'm a hero to my shipmates, an' I trust their point of view.
We must trust in one another, in each other's loyalty;
I know them an' I trust 'em an' a pirate's life for me.
Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.
Right is known as starboard, an' left is known as port.
"Belay that plan," the captain says; "we can't attack a fort."
Now we put it to the vote, like any good democracy;
And I remember why I said, "A pirate's life for me."
Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.
A ship is like a country, on a scale so very small;
And when we make a choice, we vote upon it, one an' all.
We're really savvy pirates, we're the terror of the sea.
Run up that Jolly Roger! It's a pirate's life for me.
Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.
The ship is such a beauty, an' she's served us very well;
See her rising proud an' strong upon that ocean swell.
I know I'll never leave 'er, as it's plain for all to see:
There ain't no doubt I love this ship; a pirate's life for me.
Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.
Every time we're spotted, people run an' scream an' stare,
But very few attack us, for only a few would dare;
And I admit, this power brings me no small bit of glee;
I'm not afraid, and so I say, "A pirate's life for me."
Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.
'Tis the simple law of nature, 'tis the plain an' simple truth:
Rebellion may be teenage, but it does not end with youth;
And I refuse to stay inside this box I cannot see—
There's outlaw runnin' through me blood; a pirate's life for me!
Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.
Since the first ship sailed the ocean, since the Spanish found their Main,
There've been pirates sailin' after them, their fortunes so to gain.
We are pirates chasin' booty, we are sailors runnin' free—
"Hand over all yer money," and "A pirate's life for me."
Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.
Let the soldiers do their duty, keep their glory an' their pride;
Let the citizens be faithful, all their boring laws abide;
Let them tell themselves they live in home of brave an' land of free;
We've more courage an' more freedom, so a pirate's life for me.
Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.
It is easy to have courage when you're fighting for the right,
For if you die, then you shall find the everlasting light;
But right or wrong, my heart belongs upon that endless sea,
And so I say again today: "A pirate's life for me."
Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.
Fortune favors bravery, the ancient proverb goes;
And thieves are worthless cowards, as most everybody knows;
But we're Gentlemen of Fortune and we're Ladies of the Sea;
We're braver and more fortunate; a pirate's life for me.
Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.
Execution Dock is what awaits us if we fail,
So if you dare betray us, you won't live to tell the tale;
You singed the rules, the code to which each pirate must agree;
They're logical, and so I say, "A pirate's life for me."
Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.
For money and for freedom, for adventure and for fame;
For half-a-hundred reasons it would take too long to name;
For freedom from tradition, for the freedom just to be
Myself and not another, it's a pirate's life for me.
Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.
Over brilliant blue we race toward that merchant ship ahead;
We attack them; they surrender, fearing else we'll shoot them dead;
And some of them will join us, although "kidnapped" they will be—
The same as I, the day I said, "A pirate's life for me."
Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.
Rivers are for steamboats, and lakes are made for play;
Give me mighty clippers on the ocean any day!
I've sailed from Carolina to the Caribbean Sea;
My heart lies in that ocean, so a pirate's life for me.
Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.
My name was changed the day that I became a buccaneer,
And when I walked aboard the pirates raised a ragged cheer.
Oh, I used to be American, but now I'm of the sea;
And it all started when I said, "A pirate's life for me."
Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.
Each person has a fantasy, a wish upon a star.
If we could know their wishes, we'd know who they are.
So who am I? My stories tell you who I want to be,
And most of them will point toward a pirate's life for me.
Oh dear mother, oh don't you cry for me,
For I've gone to be a pirate on the Caribbean Sea.
"I need to join your crew."
Jacoby looked at me like I was crazy. Hell, maybe I was. Crazy, or delusional. To believe that just because he saved my life, just because he wanted to be friends, he'd let me on his ship. "Absolutely out of the question."
I chose to try the tactic of damsel-in-distress. Not because I thought it would actually work, but because I had to know. Would he give me aid in time of need? Was he human enough for that? He'd saved Lena, but was that just to impress me?
Even now, I didn't know.
Captain Jack Sparrow was a pirate and a good man. But Captain Jack Sparrow never really existed. He saved Elizabeth, and in return was condemned to death. But he wasn't real, merely believable. Simple possible, not probable.
"Please, I need your help. I have to get out of here, and you're the only one I trust." Trust, ha. I wouldn't trust him with a ten-foot poker.
"I don't deserve yer trust," he replied gruffly. "I'm not a gentleman, an' I can't behave like one when yer around. 'Sides, Mortimer'll be on me ship. Ye'll be in danger."
That had to be the most honest he'd ever been. And it was proof that my nonexistent trust in him hadn't been misplaced. My estimation of him rose another notch.
I looked about, feigning fear. I'd always had a talent for acting. Perhaps I would have been an actor, had my life taken a different turn. "You don't understand. He'll come for me."
"Who? Who do you fear?"
I shook my head. His imagination could supply him with a face. "I don't know his name. Another pirate. He knows where to find me."
"Find another captain. It'll be bad enough havin' one noncontributin' passenger aboard—an' tha' one's yer fault. Besides, I canna leave yet. I need a quartermaster. The las' was swept overboard in a storm. There's none left in the crew who can do figures. Gods know I can't."
I'd known that; he'd told me before. I'd been counting on the fact that he hadn't found another quartermaster. "It needs to be your ship. Mortimer won't recognize me. He never saw me, you said so yourself. Besides, it wasn't me he was after. He wanted the Hawkbrother, Stormwind. I just got in the way. And I can do your math."
"What was that, lass?"
"I can do figures. I'm rather good at it, actually. 'Twas my specialty back when I was in school."
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm not lying! Ask me any question."
"What's twenty-eight times forty-two?"
"Now that's entirely unfair. I'd wager even your old quartermaster couldn't do that one in his head." Meanwhile I was doing some furious mental calculations. Twenty-eight was seven times four, and forty-two was seven times six; that made it equal to forty-nine times twenty-four. Which would be twelve hundred minus twenty-four, or—
"Eleven hundred seventy-six."
"What?" Jacoby looked puzzled.
"That's your answer. Eleven hundred seventy-six."
"Ye made that up," he accused.
"Nay, I did no such thing. Can you do figures?"
"Well enough, though not quickly, nor with any certainty."
"Then just trust me on this. Or give me a question to which you do know the answer."
"Then add forty-two and twenty-eight."
"Easy. Seventy."
"How'd a poor minstrel like ye learn to figure?" he asked suspiciously.
"Simple," I answered easily, though I was careful to look about furtively, as if expecting the forbidding, terrifying him to make an appearance. Elementary, my dear Watson. "I'm not just a poor minstrel. Like I told you before, I'm a student at the Bardic Collegium. Minstrel-in-training. This is my journeyman work."
He put forth one last half-hearted attempt to make me change my mind. "Ye'll not like it aboard the ship. Me men are sailors, love, an' they speak rough." I could tell that he was arguing with himself as much as with me. He wanted me aboard the ship. And he didn't want to want me.
"So let the bloody mother-fuckers speak however they damn well please," I replied, grinning a bit at his shock.
"Never 'eard a lady talk like that afore," he remarked.
"I've always been fascinated by those things forbidden to me," I said by way of explanation. "That includes curses. Now, am I in or out? An' what're you planning to pay me?"
"Single share for a swab."
"I'm no swab. I may never have sailed Lake Evendim, but I know my way around a ship. May be a bit rusty—haven't been sailing in years—but at least I won't get seasick." That was, for the most part, a bald-faced lie. Except for the part about not getting seasick. I was lucky in that I wasn't one of those people cursed with a weak stomach—except when it came to alcohol. "Besides, most swabs aren't hired on as quartermaster. You need my talents. Share and a half."
"Ye came to me for help," Jacoby pointed out. "Do ye want it or not?"
"Aye, I do, and that gives you an advantage. But I can still go to the authorities. You're going to Valdemar, and I know how to contact the Heralds. I had classes with Herald-Trainees."
"Are ye threatenin' me?" he demanded, his voice going dangerous.
"Weren't you threatening me?" I demanded in return. It was a dangerous game I played, but I was determined to get as much gold out of this as I possibly could. Two could play at the game of fleecing their prey.
"Very well," he said grudgingly. "A share and a quarter. But not a penny more. An' on'y if the crew has no objections."
I knew better than to push my luck. "Agreed."
Bloodred Falcon, the writing on the hull proclaimed. A fine name for a ship, and it suited her to a T. I could see her wings, folded at the moment as she rested in the harbor, but they were there. The light of the rising sun dripped blood over her sails and hull.
It was love at first sight. She was the perfect ship, small and sleek, but sharklike. This ship had teeth. Perhaps not cannons—they had no gunpowder here, unfortunately—but teeth nonetheless. Would she bite while Mortimer was aboard? Would the pirates attack other ships when they had a passenger?
Lordy, I sure hoped so.
:That's not very Heraldic of you: Lyrna commented.
"Ah, shut up, horse. It's not my fault you Chose a pirate."
:I could always repudiate you.:
"But you won't. You love me too much. I may be insane, but I was just as crazy when you Chose me. Crazier, actually."
Captain Jacoby approached from my left. I felt his presence even before he spoke. It wasn't the usual prickly feeling telling me something was amiss; rather, it was a feeling that he belonged there, by my side. But that was impossible. He was a pirate, and I was a Herald. But I'll be a soldier, and you'll be a thief, and your duty clashes with mine, the modified lyrics of a song I once wrote floated through my mind. It can't work between us, if the truth will be told, because, when we're out at sea, ye'll be huntin' for treasure an' ye'll be huntin' for gold, an' love, I'll be huntin' for ye.
:Maybe if you seduce him, he'll decide to leave a life of piracy to live with you: Lyrna suggested.
"Just shut up, horseface," I half-snarled. "He may seem the man of my dreams, but that doesn't mean—" I stopped abruptly, not because I realized that Jacoby was there, listening to me, but because I realized what I was saying. The man of my dreams. Can it be? No, impossible.
"Who're ye talkin' to?" Jacoby asked.
Curse it! I was slipping. I hadn't spoken to her aloud in days. "The voices in my head," I replied with a grin. "But really, I talk to myself all the time."
"So who were ye callin' horseface? An' who were ye talkin' about?"
"That's none of your business."
He shrugged and let the matter go.
The rowboat to take us out to the ship was a bleached brown color above the waterline, from too much exposure to the sun. The sailors inside eyed me suspiciously.
"'Oo's 'e?"
"For one, I'm not a he, I'm a she," I replied pleasantly. "And I'm your new quartermaster. So behave yourselves, boys. If you're really good, I might even play some songs for you. That is, if you'll have me."
"I can be real good," a dark-haired, gap-toothed pirate said suggestively. I took that as a "yes, you can be quartermaster."
A growl began deep in Jacoby's chest. I held up a hand to forestall any manly display of superiority. Sure it'd be wonderful to have guys fighting over me, but it was really quite pointless. I could take care of myself, and I'd choose whomever I pleased—at this point, no one.
"She talks like a lady," the other pirate grumbled. "A bleedin' highfalutin' lady!"
"I've had me a lady before," Gap-Tooth said with a leer. "They can be real tigers between the sheets."
"You keep your bloody hands off me, you hear? You so much as try anything, I'll make a eunuch out of you." As I spoke, I pulled a dagger out of my belt and held it before me in a threatening manner. A glare at Jacoby included him in the threat.
"She's a good fighter, men. Better'n many a man I've seen," Jacoby said in my support, but he backed off slightly, giving me room.
"What'd ye say yer name was?" Gap-Tooth asked.
"I didn't," I replied in pirate brogue. "Ye can call me Lightning."
"Yilento," Gap-Tooth introduced himself. "Most people call me Yeller. An' me mate's name be Kent."
"Pleased to make yer acquaintance. See that ye don't get in me way." I replaced the knife in my belt with a slight flourish.
"Keep away from Mortimer, ye hear?" Jacoby said. "'E's not a nice sort. 'E may not be after ye, but that don' mean 'e won' be once 'e's caught a glimse o' ye, an' not in a nice way, either."
I, of course, had no intention of doing as Jacoby advised. I'd have to find a way to kill Mortimer silently—perhaps while he slept. If the crew caught me, too bad for me, but at least Valdemar would be safe. But if Mortimer caught me—I was Valdemar's best hope of defeating the evil mage. If I died before I could kill him, I wouldn't be the only one to suffer. Even if he didn't intend to use his magic in Valdemar, he would use it in other places, and innocent people would die.
I had to kill him, whatever the cost to myself. Even if it meant my death. Even if it meant that Jacoby would despise me for the rest of eternity.
Now where had that thought come from? And why did it cause me such a pain in my chest? The man wanted my body, nothing more. And now that I'd threatened to eunuch Yeller, he didn't even seem to want that. He certainly hadn't tried to put any moves on me since I'd come in view of the ship, and since the encounter with Yeller and Kent he'd drawn slightly away.
:You haven't been watching how he's watching you. He's just afraid you'll eunuch him. Don't worry, he'll get over it soon enough.:
"Coward," I muttered under my breath, but I looked at Jacoby with a new light in my eyes. I liked scaring people—very unHeraldly, I'll admit, but it's the plain cold truth. But I wasn't sure how I felt about scaring Jacoby. That I could scare him, that was a stroke to my ego. That he'd been scared by me—"Coward," I muttered again.
Jacoby gallantly offered to give me a hand climbing up to the ship, but I declined his aid. I hadn't been climbing in far too long, and damned if I was going to pass up this excellent opportunity. After a few false starts and more offers of help from the gentleman of fortune, I scampered up like a sea monkey, quite as nimble as the pirates, if not more so.
My feet touched the deck. In that instant a wave of sensation washed over me, a feeling of rightness, compounded when Jacoby climbed up beside me. I'd been born for this. The deck rocked gently beneath my feet, and I adjusted automatically. Wind ruffled my hair, which was partially confined by a red length of cloth. I wore a version of my pirate costume, modified for the chill weather of the Evendim area. Long pants I'd bought for an extraordinarily low price from a poor fisherman, which clung to my legs in the wind, outlining curves I'd really rather weren't revealed. My chest might be nothing special, but my legs were certainly drawing plenty of stares.
The wind brushed my shirt and vest, chilling my arms, and swirled my sash around my legs. Conscious of the stares, I arranged the sash as one more layer between their eyes and the skin of my legs. The wind also tore at my hat—a tricorn, at last! I'd wanted one ever since watching PotC, but had been unable to find one until yesterday. This one was tattered and even torn in places, and had been abandoned by its former owner in a dank alleyway. Even so, it hadn't actually had any trash on it, and seemed less sketchy than some items I'd seen people take from the Free Table (underwear, for instance). So I'd washed it off in the bay and left it to dry. Now I was finally wearing it. I shoved it more firmly onto my head to keep the wind from claiming it.
We spent an exhausting day sailing away from the harbor. Like other ships, the Bloodred Falcon hugged the coast, but for different reasons. The coast was where the other ships were—potential victims for the pirates. I kept in contact with Lyrna, assuring her that I was fine, and that Jacoby hadn't pulled any moves on me. I helped out where I could, trying not to advertise my ignorance of matters aboard a ship. Mostly I got by through bluff and bluster, and a couple educated guesses. Lyrna proved to be a great asset, reminding me that the mizzenmast was behind the mainmast, et cetera ad nauseam. But I did thank her. Eventually.
It was some of the hardest work I'd ever done in my life. Out in the hot sun all day, no relief in sight, half my tasks involving vertical climbs. I could have gotten away without doing anything, but I wasn't going to wimp out. Not even if the last quartermaster had done just that. I was a sailor and, by God, I was going to be a sailor.
Just like weapons training, it was hell. And just like weapons training, I enjoyed every minute of it.
As the sun set, the pirates lazed about on deck, talking and drinking. "Whatcha got there?" I asked Yeller. He leered back at me, and I rolled my eyes.
"Beer," he replied. "Ye like some? I 'ear it does wonders for a woman's temperament."
I laughed wryly and shook my head. "Truth to tell, I can't stand the taste o' that stuff. Made meself a brew once that was a hundred times as good—an' about thirty times as potent."
:If you'll recall, you had a headache bigger than all of Lake Evendim the next morning: Lyrna reminded me.
:Yeah, but only until I took another shot.:
:You are hopeless. I hope you're aware how badly that alcohol is messing up your brain. Keep this up and you'll become addicted.:
I snorted. :Not likely. I'm still a bloody lightweight, and addicts have a really high tolerance. And it really isn't killing brain cells anymore. I'm twenty-three, for crying out loud! Two years above the drinking age in the good old US of A—and the only reason the drinking age back home was twenty-one was that there were too many drunk driving accidents involving teenagers.:
:Maybe if you drink enough alcohol you'll listen to my advice.:
:Shove it, horseface.:
"Ye made moonshine?" Yeller asked with avid interest. I'd learned in the course of the day that he was called Yeller because he was the bo'sun. The main job of the bo'sun was to yell the captain's orders for the crew to hear. He also had to know something of the running of a ship, so he could give orders of his own. No need to bother the captain for something as trivial as keeping on course.
"Aye. Me an' a couple friends got together an' made the world's first hyper-beer. That stuff was so potent it glowed in the dark. Probly radioactive."
"Ye use all these big words—"
"Aye, I know, yer not but 'umble pirates. Forget what I said. It just meant that it weren't just moonshine, it was moonshine."
Yeller grinned. "An' Kent still thinks yer a lady."
At that, I had to laugh. I'd never been a lady. Maybe had a few dreams of growing up to be a princess, but then, what girl doesn't? But a lady, never. Oh, my parents had tried, but as soon as they let me loose I'd reverted to my old barbarian ways. "I'll show ye a lady," I said, raising my voice for all to hear. "Think yer up to some dancin'? 'Cause I know some lively jigs."
"Aye, sing for us, songbird," Jacoby encouraged. "Pick something appropriate."
I shrugged and got out my lute. "Well, there's one I know, from back home. It's an Irish drinking song called 'Hats off to Beer.' The Irish were really big on drinking. So, here 'tis." A few pirates joined in on the second chorus. Drunk, brave, or both. Quick learners, either way. "Hats off to beer, me boys, hats off to beer. Lift yer glasses in the air and give a hearty cheer. And when the barrel's empty we'll surely shed a tear. Hats off to beer, me boys, hats off to beer."
They liked that one so much they demanded I sing another. "One about pirating," one demanded.
So I obliged. "This song is a personal favorite o' mine. 'Tis called 'Smuggler's Song.'" I sang Rudyard Kipling's "Smuggler's Song" to the same tune as Michael Longcor sung it. "Them that asks no questions isn't told a lie—So watch the wall, me darling, while the Gentlemen go by."
"Hey, I like that one," remarked a pirate who'd been introduced as Martin. Just Martin, no last name, same as the others. "But who're the gentlemen? An' what do they 'ave to do with smuggling?"
"The Gentlemen are the smugglers," I explained. "Back home, pirates and smugglers were called gentlemen of fortune."
"Ye promised to sing a song for me," Jacoby prodded. "Back at the tavern. When we got into that drinkin' contest."
"Which I lost miserably," I said as an aside to the other pirates. I was rewarded with a hearty round of laughter. "Aye, I remember. An' I'll sing it now. But first I'm gonna need somethin' to drink that don't taste like piss."
Jacoby signaled for his cabin boy to find me something to wet my throat. When he returned—with whiskey; he must have remembered from the drinking contest that I could drink it—I took a healthy swig, then wiped the excess off my mouth with my sleeve. Though the light was too dim to tell for certain, I could have sworn I caught Jacoby watching my every movement, his eyes burning with something indescribable. I smiled at him as I sang the song, Disney's "Yo Ho (A Pirate's Life for Me)."
Jacoby listened with furrowed brow. At one point I could almost have sworn he said, "I was right. It be the same song she sang before. Is that why she seems so familiar?"
After I sang a tune I knew only as "Another Irish Drinking Song," which was all about how every one had died (there was even someone mentioned who wasn't Irish, but went to Notre Dame, and a Scotsman who no one cared about), the pirates slowly began meandering below decks to their cots. They didn't have hammocks because they didn't have the concept; Europeans had borrowed the idea from the Taino, but there were no Taino on Lake Evendim. Jacoby frowned at me. "I hadn't thought about where ye'd sleep. Mortimer already has the spare cabin. I suppose ye could take my cabin."
That could pose a problem, not only to my vow of chastity, but to my planned nighttime wanderings. "That's quite alright," I assured him. "Just get me some blankets an' I'll sleep out under the stars. I've done it plenty o' times before. I find it relaxing."
"Are ye sure?"
"Aye, quite sure," I assured him. As long as it didn't rain I'd be fine. And it neither looked nor smelled like there would be any sort of precipitation in the near future.
Once I was relatively certain that everyone on board ship had settled down—I'd gotten to be a rather good judge of that when I was younger and still had a bedtime, but wanted to stay up late to read without my parents knowing—I slid out from the bundle of blankets Jacoby had delivered to me and crept toward the smaller guest cabin, which I supposed was usually inhabited by the first mate. As quietly as I could—which was, admittedly, not very silent—I tested the door handle. Locked. Damn. I could try to pick it with the set of lockpicks still strapped to my thigh, but the noise would likely wake both mage and pirates, who were, undoubtedly, light sleepers.
The days settled into a pattern. I worked my butt off during the day, learned a few fascinating new curses, then sang for them as they drank themselves into oblivion. After lying awake for an hour trying to figure out how to get into Mortimer's locked door without waking him, I would fall asleep.
The pirates were quite keen to learn new drinking songs, even if they didn't understand the words. "Jose Cuervo" I changed a bit so that the lyrics suited a common tavern drink. Funny, they did have a drink known as Captain Jack, so I didn't have to change that song very much at all. It wasn't long before drunken voices joined me in the chorus of "Alcohol," though they had no clue on Velgarth what Milwaukee might be. "I'll bet you a drink or two that I can make you put that lampshade on your head." The Irish song "Wild Rover" was an enormous hit.
One night it struck me that these locks were much simpler than the locks back home, so should be that much easier to pick. Armed with that knowledge, I took out my lockpicks and crept to Mortimer's room. I inserted the wire and jiggled it slightly until I heard a soft click. The door swung open.
The scene inside was nothing like I'd expected, but everything like I'd feared. Mortimer leapt upon me immediately. "Who do you think you are, wench, to be trespassing upon my private domain?"
Many things flashed through my mind in that instant, not the least of which was that I hadn't kissed Jacoby in two days. I needed a reason to be here. Something innocent—or perhaps not so innocent.
I adopted my most seductive smile. "Well, yer such a powerful man, sir. I can see it in yer eyes. An' I know powerful men have powerful needs."
:So you'll seduce the evil mage but you won't seduce the heroic pirate. Really smart, Kali.: Disgust rolled off of Lyrna's voice in waves.
Before I could take another breath, he had me slammed against the wall, his hand up my shirt. Perhaps, while he was distracted by lust, I'd get a chance to stab him through the heart. I couldn't take him on, not directly; he was too powerful, my skills yet untrained. The best I could hope for if that were to happen would be that my shields would hold out for long enough for someone else to come up behind him and stab him in the back.
That was the advantage of being on a pirate ship. There was no shortage of people willing to stab an enemy in the back.
But I wasn't to get the chance. Mortimer held my arms pinioned. Sadist.
:Jacoby! Jacoby, I need you: I MindSent with all my being. He wouldn't hear, he wouldn't come, but I was panicking, and for some reason his image popped into my head. Perhaps as a male who'd already staked his claim. He wouldn't appreciate another male trying to steal his woman, even if I hadn't truly allowed him to claim me as his own.
"Let her go." Jacoby's voice was heated with anger. He'd come. He'd really come. I drank in the sight of him. Never before had I been so grateful to see another human being.
Mortimer released me and turned lazily to face the captain. "She came to me, pirate. I don't think what she does with herself is any of your business."
No, Jacoby, don't yell at Mortimer. That's suicide. Yell at me. I'm a stinking, cheating whore. Yell at me.
Jacoby's eyes narrowed as he turned the penetrating force of his gaze upon me. "What did ye think to gain by bedding the wizard?"
"Power," I replied, thrusting my chin forward. Hate me. Be angry. Drag me off. "Ye 'ave on'y the power granted ye by yer crew. He has true power." I couldn't act like an educated lady in front of Mortimer, so I slipped into my pirate brogue.
Mortimer made no move to interfere when Jacoby grabbed my arm and hauled me out on deck. He ranted and raved at me for a quarter hour before he grew tired. "From now on, yer sleepin' in my cabin. An' don't think yer getting' me bed unless ye mean to share it. I canna let ye out among the crew. Ye'll likely turn them against me."
"I wouldn't do that," I whispered, more to myself than to him. "Yer the best o' the lot." Still speaking in pirate brogue. In some ways, it seemed more natural than my normal voice. As did thinking—and speaking—archaically.
Finally I allowed myself to meet his gaze. 'Twas not just anger burning in his eyes. There was desire there as well. In fact, there didn't seem to be any anger at all. Just relief that I was okay. As soon as we reached his cabin, Jacoby shoved me against the wall with as much force as Mortimer had done, and for the same purpose. Adrenaline coursed through my blood. The fear of Mortimer was gone, and I could not fear my rescuer. I met his lips with my own, pushing my body against his, wanting to extend contact to all points.
In the back of my mind, Lyrna exulted.
:Go to hell, horseturds.:
When he broke contact to stare into my eyes, I managed to reign in my reeling senses. "I can't—please—not now," I gasped.
"Ye seemed eager enough to swive Mortimer earlier."
"Nay. 'Twas not what it seemed. I was—spyin' on 'im, an' 'e found me. I don't trust 'im."
Jacoby rolled his eyes. "Who would? But now—I can't trust 'im not to try an' find ye at night, to finish what 'e began. So ye'll 'ave to sleep 'ere from now on."
No. I couldn't—if Mortimer came upon us in the dark, he'd kill Jacoby as well. I wouldn't have enough time to call down Final Strike. That was the only way I would be able to beat him in a duel arcane.
:Mortimer's going to kill Jacoby anyway: Lyrna informed me. :If you're with Jacoby, there's less of a chance Mortimer will come after you, and more of a chance you'll be able to defeat him when the time comes.:
And that's when I remembered the Shadow-Lover dream—all but the most important part. The part that Jacoby had already figured out on his own.
Well, there you are. Mortimer, me, and Jacoby, all stuck together aboard a ship. And what does everyone think about Stormwind making another appearance? How about an entire story about him, later?