Because fuck historical accuracy.
W'P
"Does it matter that our anchors couldn't even reach the bottom of a bath tub? And the sails reflect the moon; it's such a strange job, playing blackjack on the deck." –Regina Spektor, "Sailor Song."
-O-
Connor went first and knocked on the door. The voice that answered was angry and sounded drunk. "Go 'way!" Jacqueline looked with surprise to him, who shrugged. She waved him on. A little hesitantly, he opened the door and stepped inside.
"I said 'go 'way, boy. D'ya not speak the King's English?" A bearded man, slightly overweight and in some kind of captain's outfit, was slumped in a chair holding a bottle of mystery liquor.
The smell of alcohol and body odor swelled out of the door like a wave. Jacqueline gagged and pressed a hand over her nose and mouth. Even Connor grimaced as they stepped inside the dark, reeking shack. There was very little furniture, and the only inhabitant was slumped in a chair in the middle of the room. The man straightened up and wiped his mouth as Achilles followed them.
"Oh, I didn't see ya there, old man. I'd have set my home in order if I knew you'd be callin'."
"The boy's name is Connor, and the girl Jacqueline. They're here to help restore the property." Achilles said, gesturing to the teenagers.
After taking another heavy swig from his unlabelled bottle, he snapped to attention. "Restore? Restore! Pardon my manners!" He staggered to his feet and led them outside. He swung his arm grandly to indicate the wrecked ship. "She's still the fastest in the Atlantic. Sure, she needs some attention…minor things, mostly. But with a little attention, she'll fly again."
"Who is 'she'?" Connor asked. Jacqueline slapped a hand over her eyes.
"Who is she?" The captain man asked incredulously. "Why, the Aquila, boy! The Ghost of the Northern Seas!"
"The boat?"
"B-b…the boat?! She's a ship, boy, and make no mistake about it!" He moved up to Connor to smack his arm, and he again grimaced and waved a hand over his nose. The man stepped over to Achilles and grumbled something.
"Connor, Jacqueline, meet me back at the manor when you've finished here." The old man sighed, and started back off up the hill.
"So she needs repairs." Jacqueline nodded to the wreck. "'Minor things.' Do you have supplies?"
"Aye, lass, minor things. But I am lacking the supplies. Some…some…" He stumbled around a little. "Quality timber would help me get started."
"We can see to that." Connor assured. "How long before it—she is able to sail again?"
"Just get me the lumber, kiddos, and I'll raise a crew." He slumped against the wall of his shack, his speech trailing off to a nearly incoherent slur. Jacqueline stepped away from him and looked over to Connor. They shared a similar look with eyebrows raised as they walked back in the direction of the manor. She elbowed him, and he pushed her back.
Six Months Later.
"Should we use champagne?" Jacqueline tossed the idea around and wondered how hard it would be to acquire it. She sat next to Connor on a large rock next to the manor's stables. A dark puppy sat in her lap and gnawed happily on her fingers. The summer was hot and lazy, and the air was foggy with old pollen and sunshine.
"Why would we use champagne?" Connor asked with a yawn. He was re-braiding that lock of hair at his temple that was always braided, focusing intently to make it even.
"Je ne sais pas. I think it's a tradition. You smash a bottle of champagne or wine or something on a ship before her maiden voyage."
"Why?"
"Good luck? I already said I don't know."
"I do not speak French."
"You aren't that bad. 'I don't know' is simple stuff. I say it often enough."
"Maybe I do not pay attention."
"Argh," Jacqueline leaned over and placed the puppy on his face. It wriggled and nipped his nose. Connor picked it up by the scruff of its neck and placed it down in the grass. "I think it's about time we go see the Aquila in all its…'glory.'"
Reluctantly, and only after a few minutes of sighing and grumbling like lazy young people, they stood and started meandering down to the shore. A few months ago, Jacqueline had gotten him back for pushing her off that cliff. Waking up in the middle of the night to having two angry roosters thrown into one's bed is an experience almost as traumatising as being pushed off a cliff with no guarantee of surviving.
Faulkner greeted them enthusiastically and sober, already on the Aquila, which was admittedly looking much better. Anything would have looked better than the gutted corpse it had been, though. "Come aboard and feast your eyes, kids!" Connor walked forward, but was stopped by the former captain. "No, no, no, no, not the left foot! Never the left foot. Horrible luck. Step with the right foot first."
Jacqueline shrugged, and tried first instead, with her right foot. Once they were aboard, Connor pushed on a post appraisingly. "She is…solid?"
"Aye. Weatherly and sleek. She'll fetch 12 knots in a stiff gale, ne'er a ship from here to Singapore can outrun her on her best day." Faulkner gave him a good-natured pat to the shoulder. "Wha'dya say we take her out and show you what she can do first hand?"
"Where would we go?" Connor asked.
"As it happens, she still needs guns and the officers to command them. We'll launch straight away. Don't worry lad, I'll make sure you and the lass sprout good sea legs."
The ship set sail, lurching out of the calm bay. The sails made great wobbling sounds, wavering and snapping as they picked up a breeze. The crew began running around the deck like ants, pulling ropes and climbing shrouds and repeating orders to be heard across the ship. Jacqueline grinned and looked up at the main mast. It towered so high that it looked to be at an angle. As the ship rocked and creaked out of the bay, several white gulls took off from their perches to fly around the crow's nest.
It took her a few seconds of looking around to see that Connor had walked up to the wheel of the ship and was steering it. She waved at him, but he was focusing religiously on keeping the ship steady. That was probably for the best.
Jacqueline grabbed onto a shroud and began climbing. The last time she had been on a boat was on her short trip to the Homestead, but the Aquila looked to be a much finer vessel than the Mariner had been. Climbing up to the top of the ship, it felt as though she had entered a separate weather zone. The temperature dropped what felt like ten degrees or more. The wind was much colder, and whipped her cloak and hair behind her. The sun was high in the sky, but didn't seem to reach into the cold.
The lookout was leaning against a rail, pressed into a corner by the position of the ropes and planks. He nodded to her as she jumped up to join him. He was in his early twenties, maybe, with a dark patch of hair on his chin and a red scarf around his neck. He looked only mildly surprised to see her up there. "Hale."
"Hale. Is it always this cold up here?" She called over the wind.
"Aye! You get used to it after a while. It's just good to be back on th' open sea." He gestured at the churning mass of blue, blue water out before them. "Been sittin' around and drinkin' for too long."
The ship leaned to one side as they turned, and they braced themselves. Jacqueline twisted her neck to see Connor getting a talking-to from Faulkner. "Where are we going, do you think?"
"I reckon we've set a course for Martha's Vineyard." The lookout decided, scratching his chin. "Aye, that'll be it. The captain'll find our guns there. Though it seems he's first mate now, eh?" He also nodded down at Connor.
"I don't think Connor is quite qualified to be the captain—not yet, at least." She laughed. "This is his first time on a ship!"
"Ah, he's doin' fine." Her companion waved a hand. "Better'n most on their first days on th' water. I see you've already got your sea legs, though."
"Oui—I mean, aye. I spent three months on board a British ship to come to the Colonies."
"Now how in the blazes did a wee sprite like you board a lobster's boat?"
"I…stowed away. They never found me."
The lookout chuckled. "Bloody Regulars. Just goes to show how good their security is that a young girl can slip aboard unnoticed for three months."
"I suppose."
They fell into silence and watched out as the ship coasted from the Homestead's waters. The foliage grew less deciduous and more tropical, and the gulls overhead grew in number. Although it was cooler where they were standing, the temperature increased to a reasonable one. It must have been baking on deck. Jacqueline leaned over the rail to watch the water far below. The slight tilt of the mast was accentuated by many times from the top, to the point where it seemed if she were to jump off, she would land squarely in the water. White foam crashed up the polished sides of the Aquila every time the prow dashed down into the waves.
Jacqueline sighed and bid the friendly lookout goodbye. She climbed back down the mast and once on flat ground, so to speak, walked up to the helm. "Salut, Connor! Having fun?"
"I am not sure yet." He replied, with an uneasy smile. His grip on the wheel was tight and nervous.
"Ah, the lad's havin' a great ol' time!" Faulkner slapped him on the shoulder. "Nothin' like the open sea, eh? How've you been holdin' up, lass?"
"This is not my first time at sea." Jacqueline said. She hopped up to perch on the rail behind the wheel, swinging her feet. "But it is the most enjoyable so far. How are you liking it, Connor?"
"It is…much different than anything I have experienced, on the frontier or otherwise." He judged, turning the wheel a couple hands.
"That's a good analysis." She nodded. "Faulkner, how long until we reach Martha's Vineyard?"
"I'd give 'er a few days. The ol' girl's been out of shape for a long time, and the Vineyard is a good voyage away besides."
"Achilles is going to kill us." Jacqueline added to Connor. His eyes widened slightly and briefly at the realisation that they had essentially ditched their mentor back on the Homestead. She grinned, and they both chuckled, albeit fearfully. "We're dead."
"I'll make sure to get you back to the old man safe an' sound, don't you worry." Faulkner assured them. "We won't be more'n a couple weeks."
Jacqueline almost lost her balance where she was perched. "A couple weeks?"
"Aye. A couple weeks, and a short trip at that."
She ran a hand through her hair, pulling it to the side, and let out a querulous breath. "We're dead."
Two days ticked by. They adapted to the life of the sea fairly quick. Connor spent most of his time getting a feel for captaining the ship. Despite all of Faulkner's claims that the Aquila was the fastest ship on the coast, the trip was disappointingly slow. The ship hugged the coast so as not the miss the Vineyard when they found it. Jacqueline spent her time between the upper deck with Connor and the crow's nest with the lookout, whose name she learned was Thomas. The rest of the crew was a friendly enough bunch, though did take to drink a tad bit during the evenings.
On the same note, both Jacqueline and Connor had their first strong drink on board. It was the first night at sea, and most of the crew was spending some down time below decks. It was a very cheery atmosphere. The sailors were happy to be out on a short errand, at least just to get back on the water. They danced a sloppy two-step in a circle, while the rest clapped to the beat of a fast and out of tune fiddle. The young Assassins sat at the edge of the ring, clapping along and staying safely away from the bottles being passed around.
Seeing that neither of them was drinking or dancing, Thomas took a stand against such injustice by pouring them both small glasses of amber, strong-smelling something that Jacqueline was hesitant to ingest. "This smells toxic!" She called over the music, pointing to the glass. He had spilled over, and she was half afraid she would drop the tiny, slippery glass.
"It's called whiskey!" Thomas laughed back. He was definitely not afraid of ingesting it. "Bottoms up!"
Connor looked to Jacqueline, and she shrugged, clinked her glass to his, and they both threw back their drinks. It felt like she had just drank molten iron. The whiskey burned down her throat. Tears burned her eyes, so she pressed a hand to her chest and coughed sharply. Connor wasn't faring much better, and rested an elbow on her shoulder and another hand over his mouth. Thomas got a good laugh and offered them more—they both declined immediately. He insisted on teaching them how to two-step, and they learned, whether they liked it or not.
After learning the basics, Jacqueline was feeling the effects of the drink. Her body, unaccustomed to alcohol, was floundering at the strong drink. Reeling but numbly happy, she felt herself get shoved into the circle of music and golden candlelight. Connor was there, too, and they were apparently expected to dance what they had just learned. He had the most trouble, more than her, learning and performing it. She expected the European dance styles were very unlike whatever he had grown up with in his village.
Finding nothing else to do, they got into position, awkward and stumbling, blushing and getting pushed back together when they tried to back out. The crew laughed good-naturedly at them. Jacqueline grinned like a manic out at them.
-o-
The next day's weather was just as fine, though she didn't feel well. The drink from the night before had taken a toll on her. She was slightly drowsy and had a mild headache, and so spent her time sitting at the top of the mast. Thomas taught her how to play a game of cards, and she spent the afternoon losing game after game and eventually gave up in frustration. To her benefit they were passing through some rocky shallows, where the stone was dark and the foliage was rich and green. Connor was going extra slow, and they lazily drifted.
"I could swear you were trying to put me in a worse humour than I already am." Jacqueline grumbled, rubbing her temples. Disgruntled French mumbled from her lips, and she began collecting the cards.
"Aye, well, maybe I shouldn't have given ya any whiskey." Thomas said, even a little sheepishly.
"Maybe you shouldn't have cheated that last round." Jacqueline set the deck evenly so it was a smooth block.
"Cheating! You wound me. I'm a man o' the sea. Cheatin' is the last thing I'd be caught doin'." He smirked, but was looking out over the sea. He tended to do that. It was his job, after all, but it often felt like far more. They would be talking or showing off or being accused of cheating and he would trail off mid-conversation to stare out over the water. Jacqueline discovered that this was the look of someone who could never love an earthly being. He was married to the open ocean.
A sudden shuddering and splintering rocked the entire ship. The pair in the nest braced themselves. Playing cards scattered everywhere, blowing away on the wind like odd leaves in autumn. Clinging to the mast, Jacqueline could see Connor fumbling to get them out of the shallows. The ship turned sharply the opposite direction into deeper water. Once they were sailing again and Faulkner was lamenting so loudly about his damaged ship that it was audible where they were, she let go and sat back down.
"I hope Connor knows what he's doing." Jacqueline sighed. She began pulling her hair apart into three equal lengths to be braided.
"These're treacherous waters," Thomas reasoned. He picked up a remaining card and observed it. "It ain't his fault. He's doin' better'n most. Better'n our drunkard first mate, at least." He muttered and tossed the card to her.
"As long as he doesn't kill us all, I'll be happy." She took the card, leaving her hair undone. It was a Queen of Hearts. She tucked it into her pocket. "So much for our game. Now you will never get to see my brilliant strategy I was developing to beat you."
"Ha! That's a laugh." He straightened up and shielded his eyes from the warm, yellow sun. The Aquila had emerged from a thin isthmus and was creaking after another ship ahead of it. Small, green islands were scattered around the bright azure water, and the Aquila navigated carefully through them.
A seagull squawked and landed next to them, above them on the mast. Thomas waved it off and settled back to lean on the rail. Jacqueline put her hood up to as not to burn in the high sun. Below them, a tiny sailboat rowed by. The men aboard could be heard singing a sailor's tune to keep in pace.
"I bet you I can't balance on here." She said it flippantly, like she was bored and looking for something to say.
"You're on." Thomas waved her on. "If you lose, you get another glass of whiskey tonight."
Jacqueline shuddered minutely, a little shiver of disgust at the memory. "Fine. But if Iwin, there is no more drinking for either of us or Connor until we dock back on the Homestead."
The lookout considered it, and then shook her hand. "Deal. Don't kill yourself."
The first step was stretching. Jacqueline rolled her neck, pulled her shoulders until they popped, and clasped her hands together above her head before bowing so her hands were a couple inches from her toes. And then, carefully, she stepped up onto the rail. It was thick and sturdy wood about six inches wide and half that thick. The angle of the ship was off-putting, and she teetered dangerously at first. After getting a grip, she put one foot in front of the other, and steadily began to work her way around the mast.
"Damn!" Thomas chuckled. "And here I was, tryin' to show ya a good time. I been bested by a girl."
"Ha, ha!" Jacqueline leaned down and stood on her hands. She circled the mast again.
"Now you're just showin' off."
"The King, and his men, stole the Queen from her bed, and bound her in her bones." She sang, smiling distantly as she tried remembering the lyrics. "The seas be ours, and by the powers, where we will, we'll roam."
"Don't be singin' such tunes, Jacqueline!" Thomas scolded before she could continue. "It's apt to bring foul luck. Where'd you learn such a black song?"
"I heard it on the ship that brought me to the Homestead. They sang it to keep in rhythm when hauling the sails." She answered. While walking, she tried to push her untied hair from her path, where it tangled in her fingers. "Why is it bad?"
"It's a pirates' song, that is." He replied darkly. "Meant to call the bastards wherever a good and God-fearin' ship be sailin'."
"So you're saying I just attracted pirates to us?" Jacqueline stopped. Her hair was becoming a problem.
"Nay, but if not them, then certainly ill fortune for the crew and the Aquila!"
"How old are you, Thomas?"
He paused. "I'm twenty."
Jacqueline began lowering herself down, resting her toes against the rail, standing up, and finally sitting down with her legs inside the nest. "Don't you think you're a bit old to believe in fairy tales?"
"It's not a fairy tale!" He protested, almost angrily. She looked at him, and realised it wasn't. To him, it was real. These had been stories he'd been told growing up. He had been raised on the sea. To him, the song was a real curse, and she had just cast it.
She smiled and shrugged. "D'accord. I will not sing it." She grinned in victory. "Nor will you or I be drinking any more of that whiskey."