says, is it?” asked Long John wryly.
“Well, uh, more or less,” answered Little Jane, unsure of what he was driving at.
“Little Jane, the only man in history what ever fell before yer mama she didn’t cut down herself with a sword or pistol were me, and that’s only account of I got me peg leg stuck between a pair of paving stones. Don’t let him make us out to be better than we was, love, for Jonesy’s younger and he don’t remember the way I does. We was never heroes and them folks at Smuggler’s Bay didn’t exactly bow down to us either — in fact, they near killed us for what a mess we’d made of things — their dear ones brought back wounded or dead, with nothing for wages. Can’t say as I blame them. Smuggler’s Bay don’t have a big population to begin with. In case you ever wondered why there be so few children your own age back on the island — well, that there’s your answer.”
Little Jane nodded. She had never even thought about it.
“Not enough men and plenty of families set on leaving. They was bad times, those days. How I ever kept this misbegotten hide o’ mine out of the fire, I ain’t too sure.”
“What was Mum like?” she asked. “Back in those days, I mean.”
“Much the same as she be now,” he said with a smile, happy to be turning to an infinitely more pleasant topic. “Magnificent. Your mum, she’s got an adventurer’s heart with an explorer’s soul and a mind as bright as her name to match. And beautiful, Lord! She got herself a light on in there, Little Jane, and, you know, it glows.”
Little Jane blinked. “What? Like a lamppost?”
“Maybe,” said Long John. “I ain’t much of a poet, but I do love ’er. I have since I were young as you.”
Little Jane thought about this, tried to visualize her parents as children, tried to imagine herself falling in love with someone, but could not picture it. Maybe it was just the strange heat of her bandaged hands distracting her. She unfolded them, placing them down flat on the surface of her thighs, trying to ease the hot ache in her palms.
Her father sighed and patted her on the arm. “You do something what’s never been tried before, Little Jane, it ain’t right not to expect a few cock-ups. It just shows you’ve lived.” He kissed her on the forehead above the welt where the rope had struck her. “Wear it with pride, love, wear it with pride.”
After her father left, Little Jane lay in bed, letting the hammock rock her back and forth to the motion of the waves. It didn’t bother her that her injuries would leave scars. A real pirate always bore plenty of marks from battle, brawling, and shipboard accidents. She just wished she could’ve got hers as a result of some brave action, rather than a stupid mistake. Instead of recalling a glorious battle or duel of honour whenever she looked at her scarred hands or forehead thereafter, she’d be reminded of the time she had humiliated herself and drawn the ire of nearly everyone onboard. She wished she could just hide under Ishiro’s drawing books at the Spyglass until all the other sailors forgot she had even been born.
Thinking of the towering stacks of books back at the inn reminded her of the picture her father had been so drawn to. The sketchbook on her lap was still open to the drawing of the three boys in the galley. Idly, she wondered what had happened to them at Anguilla. Had they died with the others on the Newton or the Fleece? Had they survived to take pride in their battle scars attained through circumstances more honourable than hers? Or had they simply not gone to Anguilla at all?
She’d ask him about that another day.
At last, she drifted away into pleasant dreams where Ned Ronk and his clasp-knife held no sway, and the Newton and Golden Fleece sailed once more.
Long John mulled things over as he stood on the gently rolling deck surveying the crew at work on the rigging. It was late for such adjustments, but all the excitement of the day had taken up valuable time. The glowing blue of twilight was slowly seeping down to the orange stroke of sky that surrounded the setting sun.
Long John watched from the shadows now, paying close attention to which men Ned Ronk talked to, which seemed the friendliest to him.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Long John heard his father’s warning: “Be careful who ye wrong in life. Choose your enemies with care.” His father, Long John Silver the First, was one to know it, too. He had wronged some bad enemies in his day and lost much by it.
The situation with Ned puzzled Long John. He thought himself a patient captain, a good captain, a just captain. He and Bonnie Mary had been fully within their rights as captains to whip the boatswain. There were plenty of captains at sea who would have hung a man for less cause than Ned Ronk had given him. The man certainly deserved it. Long John knew if one of his old captains had chastised him so, he would’ve accepted the rebuke and strived to prove himself through hard work and obedience until he was back in his senior officer’s good graces again. Yet Ned had gone in the opposite direction.
Hadn’t Long John once thought of Ned Ronk as a friend instead of a just a simple ship’s boatswain? Hadn’t he advised Ned on how to tack a three-masted square-rigger into the wind in a gale and what kind of gift to get the girl he fancied on her birthday? Now he wondered if during all that time Ronk hadn’t really been secretly laughing at him, chuckling up his sleeve at his stupid, gullible captain sharing a hearty jest with his mates at old Silver’s expense. Picturing the scene in his mind, Long John felt his blood begin to boil. If Ronk wasn’t afraid of his captain’s wrath yet, Long John would show him what the full force of his anger felt like. His large hands clenched into tense, powerful fists with the strength of his emotion.
But then he paused.
The time ain’t right, Jim. Not yet. Better he should wait to unleash his fury at Ronk when the Pieces of Eight was in port again. At least then there would be less risk of a mu — He dare not even think the word mutiny.
Chapter 10
The Powder Room
After a day below decks, boredom and hot weather drove Little Jane topside. She was apprehensive about what reception she’d receive from the crew, but the attitude of the other sailors toward her came as a pleasant surprise. It was as if whatever monster of fury had raised its head the preceding day had subsided with the change in the wind. Instead, she was overwhelmed with generous offers of rope burn remedies from the practical to the bizarre.
Though returned to the good graces of her shipmates once more, Little Jane still felt unusually quiet and withdrawn. She observed. She waited. She tried not to scratch under the bandages on her hands when they itched. She read Admiral Hillingbottom’s book of fun-filled exercises. Though she couldn’t write at the moment, she saved all she read and saw in her mind, carefully repeating it to herself at night to make sure she retained all the important parts in her memory for her book.
After a week and a half of painful cleansing and fat based salves the blisters on her palms deflated, shrunk, and scabbed over. The cut on her forehead had sealed on its own without stitches and was already beginning to fade.
In a pair of thin cotton gloves she returned, stiff-fingered to fencing with weaponsmaster Mendoza, learning navigation with her parents, and helping Ishiro in the kitchen.
Jezebel Mendoza was surprised by Little Jane’s new seriousness of purpose, and the increasing accuracy of her strikes. Talking with Bonnie Mary, she praised Little
