AN: Writing this story is coming along a lot faster than I thought it would. There are over 3000 words in the first two chapters alone! I guess getting the positive feedback I have has really inspired me to write more quickly. I'm still setting up the story at this point, and I'm hoping that all my readers so far will stick around until it gets good. Another big "thank you" should go out to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, and added this story as a favorite. Keep it coming, guys!

Once the ship was underway and the ocean spread out before her bow, the captain had the newest member of his crew brought up to him where he stood at the helm. He looked down at the young blonde. He'd had his suspicions before, but now with a closer inspection, he was certain. Emerson and Emma were one and the same. The resemblance was too perfect – the shapely lips, the full cheeks and high cheekbones, those dark lashes. It was possible that she had a brother, but he would find it odd if a brother were to leave his sister behind after she had been the one to beg for passage. He also doubted that even a sibling could look so similar.

He had to admire her gumption. Even in her disguise, she looked him dead in the eye as she awaited instruction. She was committed, he would give her that. He thought he had scared her off with his talk of the red flag, but here she was, resolute and ready to carry out his command.

"Listen up lad, you'll only get this lesson once." The captain barked out over the sound of the wind and waves. It would be easier to go along with her charade than reveal to his men that their new addition was a female. It might save her trouble, too. Part of the reason that women were unlucky at sea was because they distracted the men from their duties. He would make sure that didn't happen. "On a sailing vessel at sea, the captain is king. You will follow my orders at all costs, or you will be punished. After myself, you report to the first mate, Mr. Connors. Immediately below him ranks Mr. Smee, the boatswain. As a cabin boy, you are not a sailor, though you will work the rigging when we need you to. You are a servant. You will do whatever needs doing and answer to whoever calls. Do you understand?"

She nodded curtly.

"You will assist in the galley. You will swab the decks daily. You will bring me my meals in my cabin. You will also train beneath the other members of the crew to pick up their skills. If you have the strength, we'll train you as a gunner. If not, you're still small enough to serve as a powder monkey during battle. Have you had any practice with a sword?"

"No, Captain. I held one a few times, and I'm a quick study." Her jaw set in sharp determination.

"You will be taught. And you will learn quickly, or you are apt to die aboard." He searched her face, but she did not flinch or recoil. Her conviction brought a smile to the corners of his lips. This speech had left many a boy shaking in his boots by now. Emma had more grit than almost any he had seen. Only Baelfire had shown as much spirit as she did now, and the captain had been less harsh with him.

When the wind blew her shirt against her torso, he could see the outline of the knot she'd used on the binding she wore beneath. That would not do if she wanted to keep up the pretense. Someone else was bound to notice. "The swordplay will wait, however. First thing, let's make sure you know how to tie a proper knot. Smee! Fetch us a length of rope!"

The boatswain nodded and disappeared from sight, only to reappear with an old, frayed line. The captain had Connors replace him at the wheel before he pulled Emma – Emerson, he reminded himself – aside for a brief lesson.

He saw that she had made good use of his teachings that evening when she brought in his meal. When she leaned down to place his food on the table, the shirt lay flat against her back. "Will there be anything else, Captain?" She asked as she straightened.

"Bring your own supper." He gestured to the chair across from him. "And join me while I eat. I want to know more about this boy I've allowed onto my ship."

She was back in mere moments, appearing timid for the first time. She cast a cautious look at him as she seated herself on the other side of the table. He considered telling her that he was aware of her secret, but that would be no fun. Besides, he enjoyed knowing the inner workings of all his crew, the buttons he could press if he so required. He also wouldn't mind watching her squirm a bit.

"What's your surname, Emerson?" Countless games of poker had taught him how to read a face, and he studied her features for signs of deceit. He wondered how much of what she would tell him would be truth, and how much would be part of the persona she had fabricated.

"Swan, sir." She didn't look up from her plate. Without seeing her eyes, he could not assess the validity of her claim.

"And what's your story, lad? Let me hear of your life," he instructed.

She told him the story of a lonely orphan, living on the streets as a pickpocket. He saw no tell of a lie, but her gaze still did not meet his. It could be an honest tale, or she could simply be a good actress. Either way, she fascinated him.

"Have you always wanted to be a pirate?" He inquired.

"I always wanted to be free, Captain." At last, she glanced up to see his reaction, and he knew her words were nothing but truth. His heart skipped a beat at the sentiment. It was why he had fallen in love with the ocean, with his ship. Out here, he answered to no one. He was under no one's control, a king in his own right.

"Aye. You've found the right place, then. No one's freer than a pirate." His ship did have rules about the behavior of crewmen, however. He began to outline them for her so she would know what was expected of her conduct. He recited the list from memory as he always did, and saw her blush when he got to the part where he stated that only the captain was allowed to bring women back to the ship when they were in port.

"Ever been with a woman, Emerson?" He asked just to watch the red of her face deepen. Now there was a pleasant thought – Emma's lithe little body sweating and writhing beneath the mouth of another woman. Or his mouth. He shook the thought away.

"N-no, Captain." She stammered.

"Perhaps that will be remedied when we next make port."

She didn't answer, but shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she poked at the remnants of her meal with her fork.

"Would you like that?"

"I wouldn't know, sir."

He laughed, rising and making for his rum cabinet. Inside, he located two tumblers and a glass bottle. He set them down on the table and poured.