“You can call me Ace,” she said. You and I know her as A.
“Ace,” he echoed, nodding. His eyes wandered behind her, where a group of pirates were gathering to see what was going on. The way they protectively surrounded her while still giving her a wide berth made him think she may be the captain of this ship.
The group was as mixed a group of people as he’d ever seen, aside from the fact that most of them were men. They were all different shapes and sizes—some skinny, some fat, some tall, and others short. Some had the same deep brown skin as Ace, while others had white skin like his own, lightly tanned from the sun. Still others had skin so dark it was nearly obsidian, or so pale it was a wonder how they spent any time in the sun. In his quick scan he noticed many weapons, many scars, and more than a few confused looks passed between the motley crew of pirates.
Two pirates—the ones he’d spotted rowing the yawl that carried Ace to the ship—stood closer to her than the rest of the crew.
One was tall and lean, his dark brown hair falling messily over his wide olive face, which was coated in stubble. His crooked smile was relaxed, but his hand stayed firmly gripped on the pistol at his side, his chestnut eyes narrowed at Zander. The other pirate was holding the first one’s other hand, their fingers loosely intertwined. They were shorter, about five feet tall, and had short blonde hair. Their blue eyes were framed by sharp, delicate features. They looked at him full on, the expression on their face one of concern.
His eyes fell back onto Ace, and he felt something deep inside him settle, like a puzzle piece locking into place.
“I’m with you,” he said. “Where are we going?”
Ace’s eyes sparkled with amusement and pleasure at his question.
“Everywhere.”
2
Zander took the thick piece of thread between his teeth and pulled, snapping it in two just above the new stitching. He ran his hands roughly over his work, ensuring the repair was sturdy enough to last. Satisfied, he removed the bench hook that served to stretch the sail’s canvas, allowing him to make an even stitch, then placed the long, curved sailmaker’s needle back in its leather pouch.
He pushed his hair, which had grown enough to consistently get in his way, out of his eyes and admired his progress. It was a vast improvement on the shoddy repair job previously in place, which was coming apart at the seams. It was one of many such repairs, the irregular stitches of each one stretching in such a way as to resemble gaping mouths.
When he’d found the tools for repairing the sails in the lower decks, Zander inquired as to their owner. He learned the previous sailmaker died almost a year prior, and the crew had yet to come across a recruit with the right skill set to replace him. None of them even seemed to know what a bench hook or a stitching palm was, and while canvas was not exactly his forte, Zander’s experience with textiles made him the closest thing to an expert they had.
In truth, the work was not so different from what he did back home. He’d never enjoyed tanning, only the end result of the work, and the pleasure of doing something well. Acting as the pirate crew’s resident sailmaker was similar in that regard. It was easier, in fact, and he was quite fond of the conspicuous lack of animal fat involved.
It had been two weeks since Zander abandoned his life as the village tanner and joined a crew of pirates. It was a busy two weeks, considering he had no prior knowledge of sailing, and he had no intention of being an idle stowaway aboard his new home.
Theo and Yarrow, the two pirates who’d stood just behind Ace as he flung his sopping wet body aboard their boat, helped him get settled in. Yarrow clucked over him with immediate concern, finding him dry clothes and blankets and ensuring his hammock in the crew’s quarters was not in a particularly drafty spot. Theo trailed after them as they did, never taking his eyes off Zander. It seemed to take him a few days to trust that Zander was not a lunatic, but after realizing he was just as surprised at his own behavior as everyone else was (jumping into the ocean and chasing pirate ships was not a regular activity of his), Theo warmed to him considerably. In fact, he found Zander to be rather funny in his bafflement.
After taking a day or two to adjust to his new surroundings and recover from his shock, Zander had resolved to make himself useful.
He’d first spent a day getting to know the vessel. Theo obliged him with a thorough tour, seeming to enjoy explaining the various parts and pieces to Zander, who asked many questions. He’d then spent several days in the galley with the cook, George, a fellow Englishman who walked on a wooden peg where one of his legs had been amputated. From him, Zander learned the careful art of stretching limited supplies into meals for the whole crew. He also helped him make room for a large barrel of oranges they’d picked up on a recent supply run.
“For the scurvy,” George had explained as he inspected the barrel of fruit Zander carried from the lower decks. “You leave these in the orlop too long, the crew will find their way into them and eat them before it’s time. Before you know it, everyone’s fingernails are falling off.” Then he threw his head back and laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.
Zander then spent days learning the complexities of the ship’s rigging, which supported four sails on a single mast. What at first was a nonsensical maze of rope and canvas that made him sweat just looking at them soon revealed itself to be a simple fore-and-aft system. Despite figuratively, and sometimes literally, stepping on the toes of the other crew members, Zander enjoyed learning the nuances of sailing the small ship.
The ship, in fact, was more correctly a sloop. Much smaller than a full-sized ship, the sloop was faster and easier to operate, and could sail in shallower waters. He learned all this from Theo, who served as the ship’s boatswain—a caretaker of sorts. Theo explained that a sloop also allowed them to operate with a much smaller crew than a proper ship required. There were 21 souls aboard the sloop, including Zander, and even with far fewer, the boat would be operable.
This particular sloop was named The Valerian, a title whose origins Theo refused to explain, saying he would hear them from Ace—who was indeed the captain of the vessel—eventually.
That is, if Zander ever worked up the courage to speak to her again. Thus far, the two had exchanged a grand total of twelve words since the first day he arrived. He’d counted. Between his adjustment to a life at sea and the responsibilities of Ace as both captain and navigator, there rarely seemed to be a moment in which to catch his breath in her presence. And besides, she seemed to be giving him space. So, he kept mainly to the crew, hoping to learn all he could before he made a lovesick fool of himself in front of her.
In the time he’d spent on the boat, Zander learned that despite the many stories he’d heard about pirates, most of them were just like regular people. Some were young and others were old. Some were personable and outgoing like Theo, or warm and kind like Yarrow. Others were downright jolly, like George, or Bagu, a tall Nigerian man with a clean-shaven head who caught Zander in his arms like a damsel in distress the first time he fell from the rigging, then laughed heartily and proceeded to whisk him away to the crew’s quarters as if they’d just been married.
Some were quiet and solitary, like Echo, a young deckhand who’d been living on the streets of Porto before he joined the crew. And still others were downright assholes, like Declan, who Zander observed had a habit of spitting far too often for a healthy adult male, usually to emphasize some point or another he felt he needed to make.
Regardless of temperament however, the crew worked together like a hive of honeybees, every action for the benefit of the group—and their queen.
And then there was the queen, or rather, the captain. She was the only one whom Zander couldn’t imagine as a regular person he might meet on the island, or back home in England. Despite knowing little to nothing about her, she had an aura as distinct from everyone else as the famed northern lights were from London’s smoggy skies.
“Care for a break from your stitching?”
Theo’s voice came from behind Zander, who was spread out with the dismantled foresail on the sloop’s upper deck. He turned, anticipating Theo’s casual smile as he cleared the top step.
Zander flexed his fingers experimentally as he eyed the position of the sun in the sky. He’d lost track of time repairing the sails. It had apparently been hours, and his hands were stiff from the tedious movements. Thankfully, only a few of the smallest tears remained.
“I could use a break,” he said, standing.
“Excellent.” Theo plopped down on the deck, pulling a flask from his pocket as he did. “Drink with me, my friend.”
Zander chuckled, again eyeing the position of the sun.
“Isn’t there more to do?” he asked. “More repairs after the storm?”
The storm had hit them two days ago. Zander’s first storm at sea was both a learning experience and the most terrifying thing that had ever happened to him. It also exacerbated any needed repairs aboard the ship, necessitating a break from sailing to tend to them. They were currently anchored just offshore of another island in the Caribbean Zander couldn’t name. If he had to guess, he thought they might be near San Juan, though it was clear the tropical storm had blown them somewhat off course. In either case, he tried not to think too much about it, lest he jump back into the sea and swim to shore in search of a safe, familiar life.
“All of the important work is done,” Theo said, taking a swig from his flask. “Yarrow and Ace are in captain’s quarters making plans. The crew is driving me fucking nuts. And I’m tired.” He gestured to the sail with his free hand. “You’ve mended nearly a thousand of those tiny holes by now, so I’d say we’ve both earned a break.”
Zander accepted the flask when Theo offered it and took a drink, looking briefly out at the rest of the crew. Those who weren’t currently below deck were spectating as Bagu practiced swordplay with Saila, a Swedish woman with a quick arm and a spider tattoo on the shaved half of her blonde head. The two danced around each other, trading just as many quips as blows, their flirtatious fight a welcome distraction for the crew.
“Aye,” Zander said, sitting. “I suppose we have.”
Zander smiled to himself as he and Theo drank in companionable silence. He liked Theo. Once he realized he wasn’t a threat, he treated Zander just like one of the crew. He went out of his way to include him in things, whether it was daily chores or a spontaneous drinking session wherein the crew tried to outdo one another’s best stories.
Zander felt a sort of kinship with Theo. Despite being quite unlike any of his childhood friends—Theo was pirate through and through, a heady mix of industriousness and abandon—he could easily imagine having a drink with him back home.
