can do it. My father gave me an education equal to that of a man, and my dancing instructor also gave me fencing lessons. I will work as hard and as well as any of your men."
Captain Thomas hesitated. On the one hand, he knew it was useless to resist a woman determined. On the other hand..."Miss Wickham," he said finally, "I am captain and owner of the Humility, and as such I have the final say in who does and does not board my vessel. You will not board, and that is my last word on the matter." He bowed, turned on his heel, and headed up the gangplank of the ship.
"Is she gone?" asked Michael, coming over to his captain.
Captain Thomas smiled ruefully. "I hope so. Come on, let's get this vessel shipshape."
It didn't take long; most of the work had been done while Captain Thomas was still on the shore arguing with Jane. At last, he gave the order: "Lines away!"
The mooring lines were cast off, the sails caught the breeze, and the ship began pulling away from the dock. Captain Thomas was looking out to sea when one of the sailors tapped his arm. "Sir...isn't that Mr. Wickham back there?"
Captain Thomas turned to see his patron running down the dock, waving his arms in a most undignified fashion and shouting. The captain couldn't catch his words over the general noise of the quay and strained to hear, but to no avail. Shrugging, he turned his focus to getting the ship out of the harbor mouth.
It was getting on towards evening when the captain, who was charting a course by what remained of the sun, heard one of his sailors, the big burly Scot, give a shout of alarm–that was echoed by a far younger, higher cry. Captain Thomas rushed towards the sound to find his boatswain, holding Jane Wickham by the collar.
"Unhand me, if you please," she protested, obviously trying to salvage some shred of her dignity.
Captain Thomas was almost speechless with rage. Finally, he managed, "What–?"
Jane squared her shoulders. "I told you I would be accompanying you on your journey, Captain."
"Miss Wickham, I've no use for a sailor who can't obey orders," Captain Thomas said sternly. "So far you've not proven to me that you will do so. I ordered you to remain, and so, if I am not mistaken, did your father."
Jane looked abashed. "In truth, I'd not thought of that. I assure you, however, I can obey orders–I'm rather good at it. Order me to do what you will, and I will do it."
Captain Thomas was suddenly of a mind to keep her aboard, but he decided to set a test for her. "Then I order you to put about in the jolly boat and return to Portsmouth forthwith."
Jane bowed with the dignity of any cabin boy. Without another word, she turned and headed for the jolly boat, then prepared to swing herself into the seat.
Michael, who knew him well, glanced at Captain Thomas. "Not a question, not a complaint. I could use her in the rigging, Cap'n."
Captain Thomas threw his friend a quick smile, then turned to Jane. "Miss Wickham!"
Jane stopped, wheeled about, and saluted. "Captain!" she shouted crisply.
Captain Thomas kept his face impassive for a moment, then grinned. "Go with Mr. Johnson and Duncan here to receive your kit, then we will commence your duties."
The smile on Jane's face was like the sun coming out, and the captain knew he had done the right thing, even as the girl saluted. "Aye, aye, Cap'n!"
Captain Thomas smiled as the trio walked off. He knew now why Clarence Wickham had been tearing down the quay, but it was too late to turn back even if he wanted to. Jane was gone on the Humility, and only time and victory would bring her back now.
Chapter Eleven
A pirate ship was a country unto itself, a small slice of England–or whatever country it originated from–afloat on a vast and ever-changing ocean. And just like on land, just like any other community, there were social classes and hierarchies. Ned was coming to learn his place in the hierarchy of the Swift Return, and it was a status he had never known at his poorest and most abject days in Bristol.
He had been a cabin boy before, of course, but on the pirate ship he was given a status that would have insulted a galley slave. It didn't help that many members of the crew seemed to go out of their way to abuse or belittle him while he worked. After a month, it was growing rather tedious. Today had been a particularly bad day. A crew member had "accidentally" spilled his bucket of water where he was scrubbing the deck, another had kicked him as he lay on his stomach trying to fish a lost item out of a small crevice, and a small cluster of them had seemed to take delight in being as messy as possible while using tar for some purpose or another, then ordering him to clean it up. One had said he wanted the deck to be clean enough to eat off of, then made Ned do so when he was finished scrubbing. Through it all, Ned had tried to maintain his calm and his temper, but he was exhausted. And he still had to report to the captain's cabin.
Ned walked into the cabin with his eyes lowered and gave a proper salute. "Reporting for duty, Captain."
"Stop the nonsense, Ned. When it's just us, you can call me Sam."
Ned kept his eyes on the ground. "Will there be anything else you need me to do?"
Sam sighed. "Ned, you've been on my ship a month and not said hardly a word to me. I was looking forward to catching up with you. What's the matter with you?"
Ned looked up at Sam at last, feeling a quiet desperation that he knew was reflected in his eyes. "Why are you doing this to me, Sam?"
Sam looked bewildered. "Doing what?"
Ned spread out his hands, palms upwards. "This...all of it. If we're such good friends, why are you keeping me here, making me be your cabin boy?"
Sam shrugged. "Everybody's got to start somewhere. It's not like you've never been cabin boy before. I'm not about to play favorites just because you're my best friend, or because you were a Naval commander."
"I'm not looking for favors or special treatment, Sam," Ned said softly. "I just want to go home."
Sam laughed. "Home? Like it or not, Ned, this is your home."
Ned struggled to explain. "But my mother...Elsie..."
"Didn't they tell you when you first went to sea that the Navy was your home?" Sam interrupted. "It's the same here."
Ned gaped at Sam in astonishment. "You don't really believe that, do you? Sam, I...I have to go back, she'll be dreadfully worried about me..."
Sam laughed even harder at that. "Ned, I've not seen my mother or my sister in near seven years. I don't know if they live or die, and I'm sure they have no thought for me any longer."
"There you're wrong," Ned said quietly. He thought of Sam's once plump and jolly mother, now grown thin and gaunt, who wore nothing but black and drifted around her tavern like one in a daze. Hannah had even changed the name from the Purple Falcon to the Rosemary Sam–rosemary for remembrance, as Rebecca so often said. "Your mother's not had a peaceful night since word came of your ship's encounter with Christopher Moody. Sam, imagine how she would rejoice if you came home to her!"
"For a bright lad, you're doing a right good job of being stupid," Sam observed,
