" Unloose the mouring line, ye worthless gits!" Teague spat to the crew. "More useless than a piece of string in prison. Jackie! Where be ye?"

"Behind the man yelling till he's blue in the face."

"Oy, boy. You try me patience." Teague stepped back and let his son approach the helm. "Easy does it. No need to really do any fancy turns until we're underway."

Goats and chickens scuttled around the deck, chased by sunburned men whose footsteps kept a steady beat when accompanied by the bleating and the fluttering. Jackie let out a laugh.

"Laughin' at the men'll only get ye a mutiny, boy."

"I'm not laughing at them. I'm laughing at the animals."

"I'll tell you now, lad. Only laugh at night when there's a bright bottle of rum in your hand. Understand?"

"Captain."

"What is it, Mr. Mason?"

"Ship is in fine shape and the sky looks a sight for sore eyes," Mason said. "Well now, Master Teague, I trust you'll be gettin' us through the hardest spots, eh?"

"Nothing will come our way I can't sail through." Jackie puffed up his chest. It was awkward enough wearing boots and a shirt too big for one's body, but he recognized the well-meaning but patronizing tone in Mr. Mason's voice.

"How old are ye now, Jackie?"

"Eleven."

"Lookin' more and more like yer father every time I see ye. 'Course that ain't often."

"That'll be all, Mr. Mason," Teague said, shooing him away. "All right. Now you can take the helm."

What little Mum knew about sailing she'd imparted to Jackie before he set off on this routine "safe" venture. She'd told him all about squalls, why sailors take warning if there is a red sky at morning, and most importantly, knots. He hadn't forgotten the look of swelled pride in his father when he took the rope thrown at him as a test and managed to tie every knot Teague ordered he make. But now that he mastered the basic skills, it was time for the real thing.

"Honduras will be quite the education for ye, boy," Teague said, patting him on the back. "Good people, good drink. And they'll appreciate what we've got in the hold, make no mistake."

"Why won't you tell me what's in the hold?"

"Can't tell ye everything at once."

The weeks went by and no man seemed at all put out for taking orders from a child. Jackie, during his free hours, climbed up into the crow's nest and sat with whichever sailor stayed up there. He sewed patches into the sails and read the charts in the captain's cabin. The sea never looked so blue, shimmering brighter than the scales of a fish…and what fish! Orange and green and all types of colors dazzled around them, followed by peaceful, speckled sea turtles. Father or Mum, he wasn't sure which, made the smartest decision of their lives in bringing him out here, although they still didn't all live together.

XXX

It was late at night and Jackie practiced with the charts strewn about his father's desk when Teague entered.

"Makin' scribbles?"

"No! Charting a course from here all the way to Florida." He made sure his own grin matched the one on his father's face.

"Good enough. Hey, not sure if you were able to tell, but we're docked."

"We're docked?" Springing up, he knocked his knee into the desk, but hardly felt it.

"Settle down, boy. You'll be mindin' the ship while a few of us go ashore."

"Why? I want to come with you."

"Glad to hear it, but let's just say I don't share the sentiment." He turned.

"Why not?"

"Jackie," Teague sighed. "Just listen to me for once. Stay on the ship. I'll tell you a thing or two when I get back. I know it's hard, but you'll just have to manage."

It was so quiet, the ship deserted save for a small boy climbing up to the top deck. He jumped at the sound of his own knife slipping out of his pocket and falling to the ground. Had everyone been around singing and working like usual, he never would have heard it in the first place. Crossing over to the crow's nest, he began the ascent.

A silent beach was not too far in front of him, its palm trees rustling lazily in the night breeze like a few drunkards wandering out of a pub. Only the soft rush of the waves could be heard. In the distance, a few specks of light formed the outline of a fort. That must be where Father and the crew were delivering their plunder, Jackie thought. It was an ingenious plan, really, stealing from the Spanish ships and selling the remainder of the goods back to the Spanish people. Of course, the trading companies got most of the profits, he knew that much, but Father was so clever. He would of course know that he could make more money selling his share for more than it was worth rather than keeping it. His licorice eyes shined at the plan. Father hadn't wanted a boy there to point out how expensive the merchandise was being sold for, that had to be it. When he came back, he would sit Jackie down and discuss all the trade secrets of being a privateer and Jackie would make excessively detailed notes.

An echo of a language that sounded so close to Italian caught his attention.

"Piratas sucios!" he kept hearing, louder and louder. Silhouettes of people emerged from the trees, running into the water and swimming for the ship.

The small flames Jackie deduced to be lamps at the fort in the distance expanded into orange flames, slithering their way up into the sky. The deep, familiar scent of the sea gave way to an overwhelming stench of smoke.

"Up the anchor! Up the anchor!" some of the men yelled, climbing their way up the ship. Jack leaned over, his knife in hand. Seeing they were the crew, he grabbed one of their arms and tugged until the man came over the rail and landed with a thud. More and more of the crew kept running across the beach, followed by other men whose shiny swords glistened in the moonlight.

"Jackie, make sail. The rest will follow!" someone shouted to him.

"Where's Father?"

"Jackie!"

"Mr. Mason!"

"Jackie, do what Cooper says! Keep to the Code!"

Before he could ask, or even think to ask, what code, he spotted his father on the beach, cutlass drawn, engaged in a rapid dance with one of the men that had been chasing them.

"Give 'em hell, Captain!"

"Show that Spaniard who's boss, Teague!"

Teague thrust his sword down into the collarbone of the Spaniard and leapt into the ocean, leaving behind a dark trail of blood on the spotless sand.

"Toss him a rope!"

A spare rope fell over the side, and Jackie saw it quickly become taut. He gripped it with two more men and hauled until he could see his father's face come up over the railing.

"T'was a close one, lads!" Teague gasped with a laugh. The men laughed while they helped him over the railing. "They'll think twice before plundering Mother England again!"

Jackie looked out. Several longboats were being pushed out into the water, full of angry men spouting "Pirata, pirata!"

"Here they come!" he cried.

Teague glanced over his shoulder and counted. Six longboats with the last man that pushed them into the water now jumping into them. All he could do was smirk.

"To the guns."

It was as if he were watching a play, Jackie thought. The men knew exactly where to go, taking heed of Father's commands to hold their fire.

"Awaiting the order, Captain," Mr. Mason said.

"Fire," Teague said.

"Fire!" Mason repeated.

Jackie covered his ears, blinded by more smoke. Wiping away at the space just in front of his face, he peered through the gray abyss. The seas lay empty.

"Heh heh heh, nicely done!" Teague shouted, clapping his hands. Although a softer sound than the weaponry fired moments ago, Jackie still shook at the sound. A few of the men picked up heavy bundles Jackie hadn't noticed before. They took them down to the hull.

"Father," he whispered.

"There he is! See, I told your mother I'd keep you out of trouble and you still got to see the action!"

"Cab, cabin?"

"That came out a little muffled, boy. What was that?"

"Cabin. Now."

Teague's hand cupped the spot where Jackie's back met his neck and led him to the captain's cabin. The charts Jackie worked on what seemed like hours ago still lay scattered, some spilled onto the floor. Teague immediately crossed to a small cupboard and opened it, revealing a tinted bottle. He took out two glasses and set them on the desk, finding a cleared spot.

"Now, boy, you won't tell dear Oria Regina Pettirosso yer old man gave you this kind of mother's milk, will ya?" he asked, pouring the liquid from the bottle into the glasses.

"What were you doing?"

"Privateering. Drink up."

Jackie took a rapid swig, the drink burning his throat.

"You fired at them. They were calling you a pirate in what sounded like Spanish."

Teague bent at the waist to close his door. Already, Jackie could imagine blood welling up in his father's eyes.

"All right, Jackie. I'll be straight with you…the things a privateer does…we're bound to be called pirates by the other side. We take what's theirs and turn it over to England, getting a cut for our hard work."

"So you're taking these bundles so England can have them?"

"Well, see, the thing is…"

"You are a pirate." Jackie shook his head. "You are. I heard Mum call you one once."

"When did you hear that?" he growled.

"You didn't know I was there, but I was, and she called you a pirate before you 'swept her off her feet.'"

Face growing red, Teague smacked him across the face. The back of Jackie's hand flew up to his cheek, his knuckles hot from the contact. Don't cry, he told himself. Don't cry.

"You'll listen well, boy. Heed what I say. Yer mother ain't no better than I. I saved yer mother when she had nothing and if it weren't for me, she wouldn't even have you, so you can't stand there, drinkin' the rum I gave you, and call me a pirate! Our booty pays for the clothes on yer back and the food yer mother puts out for ye." He paused to take a breath, nodding in support of his own words. 

"Now how does it feel, to spit out all those words and not know nothin' about anything? Callin' me a pirate."

"Then what's the Code?"

"Code?"

"Mr. Mason said we were to keep to a Code no matter if you came back or not." He could hear his own breath, his anger and the glass of rum in his hand forcing the words out of his mouth. "Seems I do know somethin' about something now, doesn't it?"

"It's a Code all men would be better off following. I plan to be the guardian of the book that holds it someday," he said, plopping into the chair next to his son. "It's about how life should be on a ship, how a captain should treat his crew. England, England has no code anymore. The more land and power she gets, the more stingy she gets. Ye see, Jackie, there were these two great men, Henry Morgan and Bartholomew Roberts, and these two forged the most practical code of conduct known to man. No military can equal it. No government can equal it.

"Lad, we're the only sailors that give all men an equal say in all affairs, where all men get an equal share in the treasure."

"Treasure?"

"Aye, my boy, treasure. Now I send part of me share to yer mother. Did ye really think that little house she keeps you safe in was bought and paid for by her day job? Ye think her makin' lace and sewin' up ladies' dresses buys much? Got to give her credit, though. That girl's come a long way since the days where I found her, scurryin' about like a rat pickin' people's pockets."

"What did you say?"

"Quite the talented pickpocket she is, picked the wrong one one day. Yessir, we was at port over there and I caught this cunning little wench tryin' to make off with me pocket watch. Had me heart in an instant."

Jackie felt like his father had whipped out his pistol and shot him right between the eyes.

"Finish off that rum, me boy. It's your water as long as you're on a ship."

XXX

Jackie sat awake, his back against the bulkhead. Only one more person was on the top deck, and that old man at the helm didn't even know anyone else existed. Yes, he thought. I'm going to do it. He sprung up and tied up the sack next to him. Sneaking out Teague's share of the stolen goods had been the easy part, much to his disbelief. Now all that remained was how to get away with it. Rolled up at his side was a chart he worked on just for fun, not knowing how important it would be later. It charted the route to get back home, just in case he couldn't stow away on a ship bound there once he hit land.

He lowered the longboat himself, his supplies resting next to him. Thank God for rum, he thought. You could sleep through a hurricane after downing a bottle, or at least fail to hear the lowering of a longboat on your own ship.

Taking the oars, he used that strength saved up from his swims and Mum timing his treading time to row to the shore. Spanish sounded enough like Italian for him to find a ship that would make port back at home. No one would notice him and he a small, measly percentage of his share could bribe any observant sailors to keep their mouths shut. Just you wait, Mum. Just you wait.

XXX

For keeps, Jackie held onto a silver coin after turning the sack over to Mum two months ago. Tiptoeing into Teague's cabin then had created a heart rate louder and quicker in Jackie's body than anything else he had known. Unable to see his father's face at the time, just a bundled up cocoon centered on the bed, he had shook while picking up the heavy sack, holding it by the bottom so the contents wouldn't cling together. Turning to go, he had spotted the bandana Teague always wore on the floor next to the bed. Tied onto it were a few beads and that coin. Laughing to himself about how ridiculous all that long black hair would look loose and tangled without a bandana brushing it all off of his face, Jackie bent down and snatched it.

Mum took the gold coins and candlesticks and gems and all the other items into town a little at a time and pawned them, appraising them at her own amount and refusing to come down any lower on the price, stating she was "a sensible, decent lady who knows when she's being cheated."

"Why can't we keep any of it? We have enough of everything now to just sit back and enjoy some of it," Jackie said, still fingering the silver coin with the cross on it in his palm. She wouldn't be taking this.

"Because the fewer possessions a man has the more hours he can sleep at night," she said, glancing over her shoulder, her brown hair falling to her mid-back. "Your father doesn't bring us these so we can just sit and admire them. We have to be a little more pragmatic than that." Jackie studied the coin, failing to make out the small lettering framing the rim. That was the downside to his plan—he could never ask Teague where such a coin had come from or what it said or what stories surrounded it, even though Teague was no fool and probably knew Jackie took it along with his share of the "booty."

The dogs had gone with them, one on each side of him, trotting along with their tongues out, eager to be in a new place with a variety of new smells. Every few feet, at least one of them would stop to claim a patch of road or grass as his own. The road dwindled, overcome with tall grass and sand, always a sign that they would reach the cottage within minutes. The blazoned sun also acted as a reminder.

Wondering if Teague had held possession of the coin for years or days, Jackie ran into his mother's outstretched arm. Her face, for all the time she spent outdoors, never really browned, but now paled. Lamplight flickered from the house, followed by a loud crash, as if the dishes from the cabinets all spilled to the floor.

"Sh," she warned, gripping his hand. The two pairs of creatures huddled over to the row of trees next to the house.

"They'll be looking for everything you brought home," Oria whispered, her grip on Jackie's shoulder clamping down on him. Staring up at her, he saw her eyes dart every which way and her lips curl into her mouth. "There's still some daylight. Stay out here."

"Mum!" He stood still when she turned, unsure if his mother was acknowledging him as an adult with an adult opinion or if she would just scold him.

"You have your knife on you?" He nodded. "Listen, Jackie. Stay here, say nothing, and don't come back in until I say."

"Who are they?"

"Pirates."

"Aw, you seriously want me to stay here when there are pirates in the house? Father…Teague is a pirate and I'm not afraid of them." He took out his knife and mimicked a graceful slash across an invisible opponent's throat. "They were all nice to me despite being thieves, most hospitable."

"Jackie. We've crossed them. Stay here." Without another word, she dusted off her dress, took a breath, and strolled to the front door, leaving Jackie and the dogs to only watch what she would do. Grunting, Jackie scurried to the side of the house where he was just tall enough to peer through the window. He kept hold of the dogs' collars, letting them sense the danger on their own. Their heads turned to scan the area, but they refrained from any barking. Jackie peeked inside.

One of the crewmen Jackie recognized from the voyage held Oria from behind, a pistol barrel lodged into her jawbone.

"Where's the boy, Miss Oria? We don't want any trouble. Just give us back the Piece of Eight and we'll leave."

"He's like his father, wild child," she groaned, straining to evade the pistol. "It's impossible to say when he'll be back. Let me go, Peter. I'll help you look for whatever you need."

Jackie swallowed, wondering why only one man invaded their house. They already outnumbered him. He must be powerfully strong, he thought, and Mum's so small.

"That's downright kind of you, Miss Oria, always willin' to oblige," Peter said, moving back into the kitchen, resuming his goal to smash every plate in the house. Oria bent down, shuffling the rug. She called into the kitchen to inform him trinkets rolled under that rug all the time, only to lift her skirts just enough to take out her own knife, strapped to her calf. Jackie knew she kept it with her all the time. She placed it behind her back and stepped into the kitchen.

"There's nothing there today. Teague's more and more a drunkard. How does he know he didn't lose it himself? It's not manly to blame one's mistakes on one's child."

"Captain Teague don't lose things, miss, least of all his Piece of Eight. Why without it…"

"…I'm quite aware of it, Peter. You don't have to tell me. Captain Teague has lost at least one thing, though."

She edged over to Peter, suddenly seeming so large and towering, looming over the man whose bicep muscles were bigger than his head. She cupped the unshaven cheek and brought him to her lips, her other arm to her side, burying the knife in the folds of her own dress. Guiding him out of the window's view, Jackie knew of only two rooms in the back of the house where they could go. One was his own room, the other…

"Hey!" he heard from behind.

It took a split second. He couldn't even hear the barking of the dogs at his sides, so stunned by what his arm knew how to do that he didn't. The burly invader stumbled back, loosening his grip on Jackie. Blood squirted from the crewman's throat, Jackie's knife protruding out of it. The dogs pranced over to the man, his gasps shallow. They sniffed at his wound Jackie made, watching the man's face go still.

Jackie felt a surging storm building up in his stomach extend up to his mouth. Bending his knees, he leaned over and vomited at the sight of the dead man right outside their window. There hadn't been any time, he told himself. His arm just did it without question, without a nudge from his brain commanding it. Screaming, Jackie leapt onto the chest of the man and pulled out his knife, driving it this time into the heart. It wasn't natural the way the man's face didn't even twitch at the attack. Yet death is the most natural thing in the world, he thought.

One of his dogs nuzzled his back, the other licking his wrist with a rough tongue. They turned back to face the window again, growling, their hairs bristling. Mum.

Jackie raced into the house, the dogs beating him to the door. He opened it and all three tumbled inside, the smell of blood lingering on them. Splatters decorated his shirt. Running past the kitchen, he knew they were not in there. He knew they weren't in his room. His vision fading in and out from the nausea, he ran into a room he only ran into when the invaders were in his nightmares.

Oria stood, back erect, buttoning the front of her dress, a complacent expression on her face. On the bed, Peter lay still, his blood speckling the twisted sheets and blankets. His trousers halfway down his leg and his shirt open, it was easy to see the slashes all over his torso.

"Don't look at that, Jackie," she ordered. "Jackie?" She leaned down and inspected the blood on his own shirt. Running back outside with him, she saw the other lifeless heap. "My goodness, we're a pair. Did he hurt you?" She waited for him to speak, but all he could was shake his head. "I'm sorry this had to happen, Jackie. A lot of people are going to tell you you were wrong and shouldn't have taken your father's share."

"But…" he argued, tears in his eyes.

"Listen to me. A lot of people will tell you that, but I know why you did. Captain John Teague has neglected us enough, and I've been foolish to think he'd change once you were old enough to go out places with him. Sending his own, his own…furfantis…after us like we were some Spanish sailors! Jackie, this isn't your fault. It is not your fault."

"Mum, I, I said I wasn't afraid of pirates…"

Before he could even formulate the point he was going to make, he felt the warm arms of his mother encircle him and hold him to her.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, but I expect more...I also expect Jack to pop out of a cake at my next birthday, but I'd be happy with just reviews. Hopefully you've noticed that this isn't a day-by-day bio. These are the events most influential in Jack's life. Don't worry. The older he gets, the more people you'll know!