grey sea framed by her feet, and nothing but constantly shifting waves below, rolling along in mesmerizing motion. Though they were high up on the deck, still the sea spat its spray up at her, stinging her eyes and chilling her bare toes. She trembled with cold and fear. And was it her imagination, or did the hands at her armpits began to loosen? Fingers letting go … Oh! She was too afraid to turn around …
And then, above the roar of the sea, the comforting sound of wood treading on wood — step-scrape, step-scrape, step-scrape, followed by a shower of oaths in that cracked tenor voice she knew so well.
“Blast it!” swore her father. “I told them to swab this bleedin’ deck! Ned!”
The boatswain was so startled that he nearly dropped Little Jane into the drink then and there. Instead, he deliberately steeled himself to calmness before setting Little Jane back down on the sturdy timbers of the Pieces in the narrow space between the cutter and the rail.
“Pa—” Little Jane began to cry, but Ned Ronk clapped a huge hand over her mouth.
“Mention any o’ this,” he whispered menacingly, “and you make the acquaintance of me good friend here in your sleep.” He whipped out his clasp-knife, its point glinting deadly silver in the sunlight.
Silently, she nodded, and the knife vanished back into its sheath.
Little Jane’s legs melted away beneath her like two soft sticks of butter as Ned let go of her. When she looked up again, the boatswain was gone. She was alone.
Little Jane stood up, still shaking, and went to find her father.
Chapter 5
Melvin
After the shock of Ned Ronk’s threat, Little Jane took care to avoid the midships or any places the terrifying boatswain was wont to frequent.
When Long John asked her over breakfast the next morning if she was interested in helping her mother below decks with the maps and navigation, Little Jane was only too eager to escape the surface. For the moment, at least, she had lost all interest in her quest to become a serious pirate. Instead her thoughts were exclusively occupied by an all-encompassing fear of Ned Ronk and his wicked clasp-knife.
Alone in her narrow little bed that night, she spent hours trying to get to sleep. When slumber finally did come, she was awakened by a sharp, pointy pain at her back. Instantly, she recalled Ned Ronk’s gruesome threat. Her corresponding scream was so loud that the gulls sleeping in the barrels of the ship’s cannons fled, exploding out like so many feathered cannonballs.
She turned around expecting to see Ronk’s sneering countenance as he jammed the knife in her back, only to realize she had fallen asleep on a pencil she had been writing with.
Little Jane awoke late the next morning to find her mother done with her charts for the day and busy on the foredeck practising her fencing with Jezebel Mendoza, the weaponsmaster. There were a few other crewmembers around watching, but luckily Ned Ronk was not among them. Little Jane sat on a stack of coiled rope and observed Bonnie Mary closely, scribbling down notes in her book.
When the fencing practice was done, Little Jane approached her mother.
“Captain!” Little Jane greeted her with a sharp salute and Bonnie Mary laughed as she always did when her daughter let her pull rank. “I want to learn to fence like you do, please.”
Bonnie Mary smiled at her daughter with a warm, gap-toothed grin. Secretly, she’d always longed for the day when she might impart to her only child a skill so highly prized by all those in her profession.
“Come,” she said, taking Little Jane’s hand and leading her back to the cabin. “If you’re going to take up fencing, there’s something you ought to have.”
Bonnie Mary closed the thick cabin door and the noise of clanking pulleys, creaking timbers, and billowing sails faded away. All thoughts of Ned Ronk forgotten for the moment, Little Jane could barely contain her excitement as Bonnie Mary pulled a long case out from under the wide bunk she shared with Little Jane’s father. With an air of solemn gravity, Bonnie Mary blew the dust off the surface of the case. Its hinges were old and rusty in places, further proof of its age and importance.
Bonnie Mary touched the gold hoop in her left ear. Threaded through it was a tiny golden key that flashed in the sun streaming through the porthole window. Little Jane had seen that key nearly every day of her life, but it never occurred to her that it might serve any purpose other than decoration. Now, as Bonnie Mary removed the earring and slid the key out of the hoop, Little Jane felt every sinew in her body go taut with excitement.
“This was mine when I was very young,” said Bonnie Mary as she inserted the key. The lock opened with a click. Visions of elegant silver rapiers, shining cutlasses, and gilded broadswords flooded Little Jane’s brain.
Bonnie Mary opened the lid and reverently lifted an object out. It was as long as a sword and thickly wrapped in sail cloth.
Little Jane waited with bated breath as Bonnie Mary unwound the cloth to reveal the treasure within.
It was a sword all right. Little Jane had been right about that much. But the sword that met her eyes was no silver saber or gilded rapier. The sword her mother held out to her was made of wood!
As her Mama beamed at her like it was the greatest thing in the entire universe Little Jane felt like smashing her fist through the cabin wall.
“Your very own practice sword!” sighed Bonnie Mary wistfully. “Your grandfather taught me to parry and thrust with this beauty. Ah! If he could only see you now …” Her good eye misted up as she cradled the wooden monstrosity.
Little Jane suffered her mother to hand over the silly wooden thing and tried to look happy.
“His name is Melvin,” Bonnie Mary explained.
“Who’s name?”
“Why, the sword’s, of course,” her Mama replied, as the thick seam of the scar that ran down the right side of her face bunched up in amusement. “Every good weapon must have a name. Oh, and he comes with this, too.”
“This” was a dusty old book.
“Admiral Hillingbottom’s Guide to Swordplay, with 64 Fun-Filled Exercises,” read Bonnie Mary off the cover. “Now you can do one exercise in it each day, and before long you’ll be ready—”
“For a real sword?” asked Little Jane expectantly.
“—to train with weaponsmaster Mendoza,” continued Bonnie Mary. “Now that you have Melvin, use him always. He may not look like much, but he is a precious member of the family.”
Then why don’t you keep him, Little Jane nearly said, but the words stuck in her throat. Bonnie Mary was looking at her with such pride that Little Jane felt compelled to glance away. “Whatever happens to me and your father, swear you’ll keep this sword. It can help you,” she said earnestly.
“Yes, Mama,” replied Little Jane, feeling utterly ridiculous and more like a child than ever. “I will.”
“I know you don’t think him much, but in time he’ll become as precious to you as he once were to me.”
Not
