If I Were a Herald

Chapter 31

Live Like You Were Dying

Disclaimer: If you've read this far and still haven't gotten the idea that I don't own it, then there's a very good psychologist I'd like to refer you to.

A/N (12/11/05): This was the number one song on the ACC calendar for the year of 2004. It definitely deserved it. Beautiful song. Tim McGraw rocks.

A/N (12/12/05): I just had an idea to add to the first chapter. I think it's kinda funny, but I'd like some reviewer feedback. When she tumbles out of the Gate and finds herself in Valdemar, her first thought should be, Oh dear God, I've become a Mary-Sue.

A/N (12/13/05): I seem to be taking longer on my chapters now that I'm home. Probably because when I take a break from my story I don't stay at the computer. Oh, and I don't need to procrastinate on anything. But the story is drawing to a close. I may just have it finished by the end of Christmas Break. If not, I should finish it in January.

Nawyn: Yeah, I figured I'd bring old (or young) Stormwind back because everyone seemed to love him so much. As for Mortimer's evil plan—he's going to go to Rethwellan and set him self up as mage supreme. He's also considering taking over Valdemar—which will be unsuccessful even if I don't stop him. But I don't know that, so I've got to do my best to keep him out of the country. I believe I sort of mentioned it before, but it was one of those things you had to infer. Thank you for the verse. It's definitely going in the song.

The Elven Daughter: Thanks for all your song suggestions. I will listen to the songs and see which ones inspire me.

Fireblade K'Chona: This is Velgarth. The dolphins were probably flown in on gryphon-back or something. It's a big lake. Maybe magic turned some humans into dolphins, like in the tale of Bacchus and the pirates. Well, that was actually a miracle, not magic, but same difference, right? There are fish in the lake; why can't there be dolphins? On another note, please continue to keep a lookout for my slipups. I think I've caught most of them, but I'm too used to writing pirate stories which involve a sea or ocean. I keep forgetting that we're on a lake.

Tempeste-Silere: Imagery, huh? Thanks. That's actually one of the places where I struggle. I must be improving. Or maybe it was just a fluke. ;-)

Jerry Unipeg: Yes, a sniper would have been nice. In fact, your single sentence has given me an idea to use in this chapter. Very briefly, but it is, in fact, something she would think of. Hopefully I can talk my dad into getting me a gun for my eighteenth birthday….

One week. I had one week to defeat Mortimer. Unless I got a very lucky break, that meant I'd probably die in the attempt. There just wasn't enough time to formulate the master plan that had so far eluded me.

There were many things I'd left unfinished. I wished often for the chance to tell my kids how much I loved them. They were good kids. Not my own flesh and blood, but mine nonetheless.

:I should be there with you: Lyrna said. :I should help you.:

:I know, love. I wish you could. But, just—if I don't make it, tell the kids how I feel. Okay:

:I will.:

:Thanks, Lyrna.:

Now, as for the other things…

"We call them cool, those hearts that have no scars to show, the ones that never do let go and risk the tables being turned. We call them fools who have to dance within the flame, who chance the sorrow and the shame that always comes with being burned. But you've got to be tough when consumed by desire, 'cause it's not enough just to stand outside the fire," I sang. I never had been one to go with what society wanted me to do, I reflected. And I'd been burned often enough that I should no longer be afraid. The pain only lasted so long. At least I knew that Jacoby was attracted. He had made it kind of obvious.

A small crowd gathered around me—those sailors who were on their break at this particular time.

I continued the song. "We call them strong, those who can face this world alone, who seem to get by on their own, those who will never take the fall. We call them weak, who are unable to resist the slightest chance love might exist, and for that forsake it all. They're so hell-bent on giving, walking a wire, convinced it's not living if you stand outside the fire. Standing outside the fire, standing outside the fire, life is not tried, it is merely survived if you're standing outside the fire. There's this love that is burning deep in my soul, constantly yearning to get out of control, wanting to fly higher and higher. I can't abide standing outside the fire."

I noticed that Jacoby had joined my small crowd of listeners. Good. This song was for him. Because I was desperately afraid that I was falling in love. "Standing outside the fire, standing outside the fire, life is not tried, it is merely survived if you're standing outside the fire. Standing outside the fire, standing outside the fire, life is not tried, it is merely survived if you're standing outside the fire. Standing outside the fire, standing outside the fire, life is not tried, it is merely survived if you're standing outside the fire."

When our eyes met, there were enough sparks to set flame to the wettest of logs.

Hoo boy. I was in trouble. Maybe being reckless hadn't been such a good idea after all.

"I can't give you what you want," I announced, heedless of our audience.

"An' why not?"

"Several years ago, I made a vow to myself, that I would remain a virgin until I wed." How many years had it been? Six? Seven? No, six. I'd made the vow after I started getting interested in romance books, and that had been six and a half years ago. I'd been barely seventeen that summer.

The other pirates started hooting and casting ribald comments at both me and Jacoby. "A virgin! Ye dinna tell us that. Why've ye been keepin' it a secret, eh, Captain?"

"I dinna know meself," Jacoby admitted. "Ye? A virgin? Ye don' act like one."

I shrugged eloquently. "I act like I want to act. I'm no innocent, and I certainly don't blush, but I am a virgin."

"Anythin' I can do to change yer mind?"

Another shrug, this one less expressive. "You can try."

"That one be a firebreather," Yeller warned. "Try anythin' with her an' she'll prolly cut off yer family jewels!"

Jacoby grabbed a bottle of beer from one of the sailors. "I'm gonna need this," he muttered.

I tossed my head, although the effect was somewhat ruined by the shortness of my hair. "Oh, I wouldn't do that to a prospective husband."

My "prospective husband" choked on his beer while his crew roared with laughter. "'Ow 'bout some more music," he suggested. His pained expression said he'd suggest anything to get the attention of the crew away from him for a few minutes.

"Some girls are attracted to a pair of big blue eyes. It takes a handsome face to make their temperature rise. But looks aren't that important, just icing on the cake; what really turns me on is the shake. Shake it to the left, shake it to the right, come on, baby, you know what I like. Shake it real funky, shake it real low, shake it 'til you can't shake it no more. It's a natural attraction; Mother Nature wouldn't make a mistake. What really turns me on is the shake."

Jacoby groaned.

I wouldn't, couldn't take the initiative. That would give him by far the wrong idea. My little speech had not convinced him. Little did he know how stubborn I could be. Especially when it came to promises I'd given. My oaths were not lightly taken. Nor were they lightly broken. So I continued to play the song, although more than once I came close to stumbling as his heated gaze caused me to forget the notes.

Lucky for me, Jacoby took the matter out of my hands. He descended upon me with a searing kiss. Now I did stumble. Unable to regain my fingering, I gave up the song as a lost cause. It had served its purpose. Now I just had to hold steady against the onslaught of temptation.

Meanwhile, I'm going to enjoy this kiss.

It was like the SheiKra at Busch Gardens, the first ever roller coaster with a vertical drop. Two hundred feet up, ninety degrees straight down. I'd ridden on it once, the summer before I left for college. The shock of staring straight down at the ground far below had lasted longer than the exhilarating drop, causing me to miss those precious seconds of free-fall. Now, the sensations washing over me were so new, so powerful, that unless I could find my center, I wouldn't be able to enjoy them properly. With an effort of will, I let go of all rational thought and simply felt. A far corner of my mind stored away every detail for later evaluation. The beat of his heart beneath my questing fingertips, the heat of his lips, his mouth, his tongue. It didn't seem to matter to him that he had an audience. It certainly didn't matter to me; a pirate crew wasn't that much different from a group of Vrondi. They had about the same brains, all told. Which was probably more than I was displaying at the moment.

I dragged myself away from him for a brief moment. "You try…to take this…any further…and I swear…I will kick you…in the balls," I gasped. Then he was kissing me again, like I'd never been kissed before.

One day gone, and I wasn't any closer to killing Mortimer than I'd been twenty-four hours ago. I lay in bed—Jacoby's bed; that thought refused to be dislodged from my brain—and thought over various plans to kill him. I wonder if Fetching would work? I could just Fetch a knife into his back. Mage like him probably doesn't have any defenses against Mind-Magic. Except, when I sent out a careful probe in the direction of his cabin, he did have defenses.

One more bit of evidence that I'm actually dealing with a force much older than anyone else would imagine. Ma'ar would know to be careful of Mind-Magic, because he fought Vanyel as Leareth. He would know that the Heralds of Valdemar use only Mind-Magic, because it's his fault all the Herald-Mages were killed.

If only I knew how to make things, like MacGyver—wait, MacGyver would know how to make anything but a gun. His particular skills involved turning guns into wrenches and pitching them into pots. If only I'd been eighteen when I traveled to Valdemar. Then I would have had a gun. I could really use a gun right now. Nothing on Velgarth could stop a bullet, and that was just the kind of attack Mortimer wouldn't be expecting.

Under an old brass paperweight is my list of things to do today…go for a walk, say a little prayer, take a deep breath of mountain air, put on my glove and play some catch; it's time that I make time for that; wade to shore, cast a line, look up a long-lost friend of mine, sit on the porch and give my man a kiss; start livin', that's the next thing on my list.

It was another one of those beautiful days that stirred the poet within me to want to write a song. Or just sing. Sing to the magic of life. "I love this crazy, tragic, sometimes almost magic, awful, beautiful life." There wasn't much work to be done, so I was off the hook for the day—except for the gruff order from Jacoby to "keep Jimmy out of trouble." Me? Keep anyone out of trouble? Well, in my days at the Collegium, I'd learned quite a bit from Jorjie about how to talk my way out of trouble, but usually I was the one who got people in trouble in the first place. Without me, neither of us would have needed to exercise that skill nearly so often.

In an effort to keep Jimmy (and myself) occupied, I sang songs for him, like "Puff (the Magic Dragon)." He liked that one until I got to the part where the pirate ships fled in fear. "Only bad pirate ships," Jimmy insisted. "Good pirates ships'd 'ave nothin' t'fear from 'im." I agreed readily enough. It seemed to me that if Puff was enough of a rascal, he would actually like the pirates—as long as they weren't bloodthirsty or anything.

Jimmy quickly got bored of sitting and listening to songs—even though I could charge my songs with emotions, it wasn't like I actually had the Bardic Gift. I couldn't captivate my audience with my playing. And Jimmy was a typical ten-year-old boy—he wanted to be doing something.

"Race you to the crow's nest," he said.

My maternal instinct almost kicked in—racing up the rigging was dangerous—but I smothered it. Live like you were dying.

Jimmy beat me, sea monkey that he was. The mast swayed precariously. Every movement of the ship far below was magnified up here. The slightest tilt could throw a person off the mast into the waters far below. That's, uh, that's a long way down.

Apparently Jimmy didn't think so. He scampered out on a spar and dove into the water to join his dolphin friends.

:Lyrna? Did I ever mention that I'm afraid of heights:

:Yes, dear. Once or twice. There was that time when you had to rescue the kitten from the tree. And the time you climbed a sheer cliff to rescue a child who'd gotten stuck on top.:

I winced. :They made a song out of that, didn't they:

:Yes, they did.:

:It was terrible. It didn't even rhyme.:

Well, now I was supposed to be watching over Jimmy. And taking risks.

:It's really not that far down: Lyrna assured me. She was looking at the water through my eyes.

:Yeah, tell that to my nerves. Oh well. Here goes nothing.: I walked carefully out on the spar. Well, at least my balancing skills hadn't atrophied. "Geronimo!" This time I knew better than to try for a dive. Instead I curled up in a ball, like when we used to do cannon balls into the pool. There was a way to cause more splash—the corkscrew, or somesuch thing—but that, like a dive, required finesse which I just didn't have.

I hit the water on my butt, with enough force to make it go numb—but only after a few seconds of screaming pain. As soon as the water closed over my head, I began to fight my way to the surface. Ye gods, I hadn't gone swimming in far too long. My head finally broke the surface. There was Jimmy, three yards away. I dove under and swam to where I could pull his legs. We wrestled for a while, occasionally breaking apart to splash each other. Jimmy's dolphin friends joined in the game on his side, splashing me with their tails. "Hey, no fair," I said. "You're using your Gift. That's cheating."

Jimmy gave me a look. "I'm a pirate. O' course I cheat."

"Yeah, yeah. 'The only rules that really matter are these: what a man can do, and what a man can't do.'"

"Wha's that from?" he asked.

"A—a play," I replied. "Very popular back where I'm from."

"Ye mean Valdemar?"

"No, I mean America. I traveled to Valdemar to become a bard."

We hauled ourselves back aboard the ship, sopping wet. Jacoby caught my hand and helped me the last few steps. He rolled his eyes in disgust at my state. I felt around to make sure all my knives were still there. Yes, they were, but they were as wet as the rest of me. One at a time I took them out and dried them off—on Jacoby's shirt, of course. As I was drying the last knife, he caught my hand.

It was my Robin Hood knife, the one I'd gotten from an antique store in Pine Mountain, Georgia, along with my sword (which was currently in Jacoby's cabin). There was a jade-green stone in the hilt, and the hilt itself was shaped like an eagle. In two different places, on both sides of the knife, nasty-looking jagged edges poked from the smooth blade. It was the kind of knife that would hurt going in, but hurt even worse coming out. I called it my Robin Hood knife because the hilt also bore the letters robinhood.

"Where'd ye get that?" Jacoby asked, curious. "I ain't seen that style afore."

"It's from America," I replied. "Here, you can have it. I just keep it because it was one of my first knives." Somehow it felt right to give my knife to Jacoby. As if it made him more a part of my world. Or maybe it just made my world a part of him.

This next part I still can't remember, but it was written down on scraps of paper that I found in my pocket the next morning, and it was most definitely my handwriting, although very sloppy—due, no doubt, to lack of coordination brought on by an excess of alcohol. Who else on Velgarth would use Greek letters? Besides, half the crew couldn't even write. And Jacoby assures me that yes, this really happened. Lyrna also regaled me with tales of that night—she probably meant to embarrass me, but I found it hilarious.

As far as I can figure, it went like this.

According to my journal, on the second night—after giving Jacoby my knife—I came up with the brilliant idea of getting Mortimer drunk. I vaguely remember discussing the idea with Lyrna, but I was half-asleep already, and don't remember much else. My journal states that I figured that even though I couldn't hold my alcohol, at least it didn't mess with my coordination unless I was really drunk, and my determination remained the same no matter how much liquor was in my system. My hope was that Mortimer wouldn't be as lucky. He was tall and thin, and didn't seem the type to overindulge in his cups. In all likelihood he was a lightweight like myself.

At least, that's how my logic went at about three o'clock in the morning. I knew it was three o'clock in the morning because my watch somehow still managed to work, even after six years in Valdemar. It was so much a part of me that I hardly noticed it. Most people just thought it an unusual bracelet.

To enact my plan, I challenged Mortimer to a drinking contest the very next day. Problem: the drunker he got, the more seductive he got, and the angrier Jacoby got.

:No, Kali, don't look at Mortimer: Lyrna instructed me. :You don't like Mortimer, remember? Look at Jacoby. That's a good girl.:

Yeah, look at Jacoby, that's a good idea, I thought. I even wrote it in my journal, in big, bold letters. How my journal came to be in my lap is still a mystery; neither Jacoby nor Lyrna have been forthcoming. After a while I stopped pestering them; at this point I'm kind of afraid to know the answer. It's got to be embarrassing. Don't look at Mortimer. He's not even all that handsome.

But at the moment, I was busy leaning back against Jacoby's strong chest and looking up at those deep, expressive eyes of his. We could blame it on the rum. We could say it was the tropical night. It was the gentle kiss of and ocean breeze. It was those tiki lights. It was the moon through the coconut tree, and the magic between you and me. When tomorrow finally comes, when it's all said and done, we can blame it on the rum.

:Finally you're getting the idea: Lyrna said.

:Horseface.:

:Seamonkey.:

:That's a compliment.:

:You think all insults are compliments.:

I considered that for a minute. :Um, survival strategy.:

Since my head was already tilted upwards, Jacoby swooped down for a kiss. It branded me as his. If Mortimer wanted me, he'd have to go through Jacoby first. Dangerous—for Jacoby. Or so I thought. Until I saw a certain gleam in his eyes. It told me that any man who crossed him was very foolish indeed.

That night was wasted, as well. By the time I managed to haul myself off to bed, I was far too drunk to think up ways to kill Mortimer. And I only had four days left.

:Wasted indeed: Lyrna snorted. :As long as you're acting like the world might end tomorrow, why don't you just go all the way with Jacoby? Surely your reasons for making your vow are no longer valid. You wanted your husband to be your first, right: At my hesitant assent, she continued, :Well, if you don't live through this, then you'll never get a husband. So why save yourself for what you'll never have:

:No. That wouldn't be fair to Jacoby. And what if I do live through my encounter with Mortimer:

:Don't you want to experience pleasure at least once before you die:

I laughed. :Pleasure? Are you kidding me? I've experienced rapture just looking at the selection of books in a library. Put me in a bookstore and I'll have an orgasm. It's been that long since I've even seen one. Or, better yet, get Jacoby to wear black leather. Now that would be hot. What I want before I die is children, and I doubt Mortimer will wait nine months for me to drop a litter.:

Yeah. I was drunk. And I certainly hoped the liquid I found on my pillow the next morning was drool, and not something else. Like vomit.

:It's drool: Lyrna assured me.

Oh, good.

"Ship to starboard! Ship to starboard!"

The Bloodred Falcon launched into a fury of activity. Men ran around deck like crazy things, yelling at each other in sailor-speak. I understood about half of it, and could only guess at the meaning of the rest. Those not involved in the frenzied preparations ran about belowdecks, grabbing whatever weapons came to hand. There were no guns, but a few of them grabbed bows and arrows. The arrows' tips were wrapped in cloth. Jimmy got a pot of something slimy-looking and a torch and brought them on deck. Ah. They're going to fire burning arrows at the other ship. It was certainly the closest thing to firearms these people had. I, too, grabbed a bow.

:Herald Kali Rainwater, you go below and keep out of this fight: Lyrna ordered sternly.

:I'm the quartermaster, remember: I replied. :Quartermaster's supposed to be first to board the victim. There's no way I'm getting out of this one.:

:It seems to me that the quartermaster's supposed to do a lot of things. You've practically taken over from Captain Jacoby: my Companion grumbled.

:Unless there's a victim in sight, the quartermaster's the true power aboard a pirate ship.: That was why the crew had gradually begun to bring all their disputes to me to settle. As a Herald, I'd been trained to be a mediator and an arbitrator. As they realized that my judgments tended to be fair, insofar as I knew the facts, the pirates brought more and more complaints to my attention. Lyrna didn't really like how well I was taking to life aboard a pirate ship. :I wanted to be a pirate, remember:

:Oh, I remember. That's why I Chose you, actually. That and your Mage-Gift. You're needed here. You're probably the only Herald who could maintain cover aboard a pirate vessel. They don't even suspect you.:

:Well, they will, as soon as I confront Mortimer. But once I do that, I won't be needed anymore, will I:

:No. Truth to tell: Lyrna admitted, somewhat reluctantly, :you'll be something of a danger after this is over. Every time they send you on a mission, it will increase the risk of you caving and using your Mage-Gift. I didn't at first understand how that could be a problem, but now I do. If you're caught at it—:

:If I'm caught at it, the future of Valdemar is at stake: I finished for her. :I've known that all along. If, by some miracle, I make it out of here alive, see if you can't get me a desk job, okay? I'd really like to train some of the youngsters.:

:I'll do that.:

Mortimer came on deck, demanding to know what all the commotion was about.

"Merchant vessel spotted," one of the men replied absently. "Looks like we be attackin'."

"Not while I'm on board, you're not!" Mortimer fumed.

"Stow it," another pirate said gruffly. "It ain't yer decision."

"Just stay in yer cabin," ordered a third. "Ye can ignore us if ye like. But don' cause no trouble, or there'll be hell to pay."

The target ship was now well within view. From here, it was Jacoby's show. During times of battle, the captain's power was absolute. Anyone who disobeyed could be summarily killed. The thought should have had me trembling in my nonexistent boots. I'd never been very good at following orders.

Jacoby wouldn't do anything to hurt me. We were friends, weren't we? As close friends as two people could be who'd only known each other less than a month. Less than a month? Is that as long as it's been? Yes—two weeks in port, and one week at sea—well, out on the lake, actually. But the point was, I'd only known him for three short weeks, and already it seemed like a lifetime.

The others dipped the tips of their arrows in the slimy concoction, and Jimmy lit them with his torch. I followed suit. "Ready, aim, fire!" Jacoby yelled. A volley of arrows arched across the water to land in the sails of the unfortunate merchant vessel.

But the merchants weren't going to go down without a fight. They rallied themselves quickly, waving swords at us across the rapidly closing distance. Grappling hooks were thrown to hold the two ships together, and boarding planks laid down. I swung across even before the first plank was ready, brandishing sword and dagger.

A man in his early thirties moved to intercept me. "Pirates are getting younger and younger these days."

"Young, aye, but still a match for you."

He started at my alto voice. I tried and failed to use the opportunity to disarm him. "You're a woman!"

"No, I'm a eunuch," I replied sarcastically. He tried for my heart, but I blocked easily. "Of course I'm a woman."

"What's a woman doing aboard a pirate ship? Surely you know you can't win a fight against a man. I'm surprised the others allowed you on board."

Now that was uncalled for. I blocked savagely and tried for a disabling blow to his shoulder. "Believe it or not, I'm quartermaster. And I can outfight any two men you throw at me. And outthink any ten."

He parried my thrust with some difficulty. "Are you questioning my intelligence? At least I'm smart enough not to join a pirate crew."

"Oh? What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded. I tried to bring up my left hand, with the dagger, for a slash, but he blocked that as well.

"Oh, just that I've heard the Heralds of Valdemar are cracking down on piracy in the Lake District."

"They're what?" That was news to me. It almost got me killed, when he took advantage of my shock to try to run me through. Luckily my reflexes were still sharp.

:It's true: Lyrna informed me. :I got the news a couple days ago, from Treyvan. I didn't want to worry you. They're disguising Navy vessels as common merchants, easy pickings for the pirates. There're Heralds aboard several of them, to supplement the guards. Their Companions aren't very happy to be left behind, but they'd be even less happy cooped up aboard ship.:

:Oh, wonderful. Just my luck.: Well, at least this particular pirate crew should be relatively safe. I could steer them clear of any traps. And even if they wouldn't listen to me, I might be able to bail their fat out of the fire.

I could well imagine the scene: Jacoby would attack the ship, only to find it's swarming with guards. But when he's caught, I'd come forward. I lean against a wall, cross my arms, and look at him with hooded eyes. "Let him go," I tell the Herald who's holding him. "In fact, let them all go."

"Says who?" the Herald would ask.

"Says Herald Kali, First Herald-Mage in the Circle. Only Herald-Mage in the Circle. I rank you." I wouldn't really say that, of course. But it was fun to imagine.

"Herald Kali?" he would gasp. "As in Herald Death?"

At that point I would roll my eyes. Herald Death indeed. Blasted bards. But I would say, "Yep, that's me." And Jacoby would look at me with—what? Fear, loathing—love? Gratitude? Understanding? Would he understand?

I came out of my daydream to find that I had disarmed the merchant and was holding him at swordpoint. He gazed at me fearfully, convinced I was going to kill him. I looked around to find that the other merchants were all throwing down their weapons in surrender. "Get up," I ordered my captive. "You're going to join the others."

"Where's the captain?" Jacoby demanded.

"In his cabin," one of the crewmen replied timidly.

Jacoby sent Kent off to find the captain, while the rest of us helped tie up the prisoners. I went around one last time once the prisoners were secure, to make sure they were secure, but weren't tied too tight, either. I also checked each man using my Empathy to make sure he wasn't planning anything. None were; they'd been thoroughly terrorized by our unexpected attack and quick victory.

Kent emerged with the captain in tow. "Now," Jacoby said, toying with his sword, but looking the merchant captain straight in the eye, "where be the treasure?"

"T-treasure?" the merchant gulped.

"Aye, treasure," Jacoby repeated, as if to a dimwit.

"I don't have any treasure!"

"Ah, but I believe ye do," Jacoby maintained.

"Cut off 'is ear," one of the pirates suggested.

"Aye," another agreed, "'e don' need but one!"

Jacoby seemed to consider this, then nodded grimly. My gut clenched. He wasn't really going to cut off the man's ear, was he? That would be brutal! Certainly pirates often did that sort of thing, but—not Jacoby. Not my precious Jacoby. I just couldn't bear it if he did. Still, to maintain cover, I laughed and jeered with the other pirates.

The merchant captain wailed, "It's in my cabin, under the bed."

Relief flooded through me. Now there was no need for Jacoby to follow through on his threat. Though most of the pirates seemed disappointed, Jacoby looked to be just as relieved as I was. Perhaps he did have a soul, after all.

Back aboard the Bloodred Falcon, it was my job to hand out the treasure. I carefully counted out each pirate's share, along with extra money for injuries sustained during the fighting. Then I added the alcohol and food we'd obtained to my inventory of our stores. Ah, the sweet clink of gold coins in my hands after a successful attack on a merchant vessel.

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.

Still working on that holiday chapter. Will probably post it on Christmas, or shortly thereafter. Would very much like suggestions.

Jay, if you don't make some comment about how I should have mentioned the watch sooner, I will hit you. Remember, I know where you live. And not just on campus, either.

My next chapter is called "Drunken Sailor(s)." It's about a bunch of pirates who get roaring drunk. Any suggestions as to what they should do? Ask your families to regale you with tales of their own (or their friends') drunken exploits. And if there are no brilliant ideas for another chapter, the big fight should come as Chapter 33.