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  “Y-you follow m-me.” Harper materialized at Archie’s side as Moreau left to follow his orders. “C-come on. They’ll be boardin’ her s-soon.” He led Archie away from his spot near the quarterdeck.

  Luckily, this time he wasn’t required to go up and tie the sails. The news of Mr. Moreau’s assessment of his current position of guest, and not pirate, traveled through the crew and he was left alone, safely at the bottom of the mast as he watched Harper and the others scale the rigging in record time.

  Archie felt the ship slow as they neared the other vessel. She was a smaller ship, with two masts and a tiny, defeated crew that stood on deck, looking extremely depressed. It was obvious she was a merchant ship from the small smattering of guns that she sported. Though there was more cargo space, there would not have been much of a defense, had they been so foolish as to decide to do battle with the Queen Anne’s Revenge. The fluyt was an oddly built ship, larger at the bottom where she held her cargo, then tapering upward to a smaller deck. The wooden figurehead of a mermaid with flowing hair and open arms was mounted on the ship’s bow, her body poised as if she had sprung from the sea to greet them.

  Jolig Roger. Archie spotted the name on her bow and racked his brain for the small bits of Dutch language that lingered there. The Jolly Roger, that was it. He suppressed a smirk. Her crew looked anything but jolly as the Queen Anne’s Revenge drew alongside and grapnel hooks were thrown to her deck, catching her railings and drawing her fast.

  There weren’t but a handful of sailors aboard, and though they didn’t appear the least bit happy, they also didn’t seem anxious to be boarded. At least they had sense enough not to offer any resistance.

  Their captain came to the railing and waited as the ships were secured. He was a short, portly man with a balding head and a dour expression, whether from being boarded by a pirate crew or just his usual appearance, Archie wasn’t sure, though he was betting on the latter. The man came forward, scowling for all he was worth, and approached Blackbeard without an inkling of fear. He thrust his sword out toward the captain with the still-smoking beard, hilt first, giving Blackbeard complete control of his vessel and crew, without uttering a single word.

  The smoldering, black eyes of the captain regarded the man for a moment before taking the gleaming handle. Then he smiled, and addressed his first mate, “Mr. Moreau, if you’d be so kind as to send for Mr. Smee. As the lads check yon bonny ship and her cargo, the good captain here and meself shall take our tea on the deck.”

  Archie felt his jaw drop. Never before had Archie heard of any pirate offering a merchant captain teatime as his cargo was being confiscated. No guns fired, save for the single warning shot. No one had even so much as drawn a pistol or sword. The entire chain of events went so smoothly that Smee was pushing a small table to the center of the deck, befitting it with a pristine white cloth, cups of tea, and small biscuits.

  Archie was beginning to admire Blackbeard more and more. The man looked fiercer than anything Archie had ever seen, but there was also cunning and wisdom behind those black eyes that made him believe if there were ever a pirate ship to be on, this was it. He made himself a promise in that moment. He would do everything in his power to be as much a pirate as the man who sat, with the fuses still lit in his beard, taking a dainty sip of tea with his captured prey.

  He spotted Harper on his way to the Jolig Roger, and decided that he would offer his assistance. He was now more than ready to be a full member of the crew—so long as they didn’t make him climb up the rigging every five minutes. He paused just long enough to chuck his shoes behind a coil of rope so he would be able to find them again, and then ran to catch up with the squirrel, who had made it onto the deck of the Dutch ship.

  “She’s carrying sugar.” A triumphant Harper grinned at him over the casks and sacks that filled the hold. “She’s plumb full of it!” His voice ended in a happy squeak and the squirrel hopped from one foot to the other, giving Archie the impression that they found gold instead of the multitude of sweet granules that surrounded them. He resisted the urge to dance around too, less perhaps it wasn’t that big a deal, but from the wide grins on the faces of the pirates around them, it seemed obvious that it was valuable cargo indeed.

  “There will be no need in moving all this.” Moreau appeared, face creased in a wide smile as he took in their cache. “I will inform the capitan we will take the ship with us as we go. Take her crew aboard the Anne and put them in irons below her decks. Move lively, lads, lest they change their minds about being so hospitable in giving us their lovely sweets.”

  Several pirates scurried from the hold, eager to imprison the merchant sailors while Moreau turned to Archie. “So do you wish to take your share of our plunder and join our crew under the black flag?”

  “Yes.” The statement was simple, but held all the power that a single word possibly could as Archibald had never wanted anything so much in his entire life.

  They left the Jolig Roger and Moreau disappeared for a moment, then came back with a large leather-bound book in his hands with a detailed picture of the Queen Anne’s Revenge embossed on its cover.

  “The ledger of all souls aboard,” he explained, taking the book to the small table where the two captains sat, warily regarding one another over a small porcelain teapot. “If you would excuse the intrusion, mon capitan,” Moreau waited until the dark gaze of Blackbeard fell upon Archibald, “This good fellow wishes to become one of the crew.” He set the book and a quill with ink amongst the plate of biscuits, then backed up and gave Archie a firm shove toward the table.

  “So ye want to join me crew.” Blackbeard sounded bemused. “Why should I let ye? Are ye carpenter or sailmaker, per chance?”

  “No, I am a cook.” The lie slid off Archie’s tongue so easily it even surprised himself, but it was the only thing he could think of that might keep him off the rigging as a pirate.

  “A cook that reads, now that’s a rare find, I should think. Thank me lucky stars, I should, as fate has smiled so sweetly on me this day.” The deep laugh that rumbled from Blackbeard in response to his own joke not only startled Archie, but also seemed to unnerve the Dutch captain whose hand shook as his teacup clattered to the saucer. “What be yer name, lad?”

  “Jameson.”

  “Well, Jameson, make your mark and join our merry crew.” Blackbeard shoved the book toward him.

  Archie took the quill, noticing the marks happened to be a line of Xs, as if the majority of the crew couldn’t so much as sign their name. He dipped the sharp edge into the ink, and at the bottom of the page, changed his life forever.

  His ears registered the strange tinkling of bells again, though his brain didn’t recognize it as he stared down at the name he had written.

  A. Jameson.

  Blackbeard glanced down at the book before shutting it with a quick snap that caused the Dutch captain to jump in his seat. Handing the book back to his first mate, Blackbeard smiled, a small gleam of white teeth hidden beneath his beard.

  “Welcome to the Queen Anne’s Revenge.”

  4

  So Now Ye Are a Pirate

  THE WEEK THAT followed was grueling. Never had Archibald figured that the job of cooking for a few pirates would be so difficult. Simply getting the oven the correct temperature was almost impossible. Then, of course, there was the fact that he didn’t know exactly how to cook anything past the basics for a simple tea. Feeding a crew of over two hundred was by no means a piece of cake. Not that he had cake to give them, anyway. That particular item was above his skill level and would never grace his menu as long as he was cook. His crewmates were lucky to get burnt stew, which they ate for quite a few meals in a row. Naturally, this caused a few of them to mumble various curses and threats as he scooped out their rations, should he not improve his culinary skills quickly and to their liking. The fact that he was taller and looked more imposing than those dissatisfied souls seemed to be the only reason they had not made good on their threats thus far, but
Archie wasn’t fool enough to think he would be able to intimidate them much longer. After all, if anyone forced him to eat the slop he had been calling food, he would have been more than irate himself. Something was going to have to happen—and soon—before he ended up being tossed over the side of the ship as fish bait.

  He was in the process of stirring yet another pot of sludge—named stew—wondering if perhaps he should have lied about knowing how to make sails or build ships, when Smee came hobbling into the galley.

  “Ye can’t feed the poor louts the same thing day in and day out,” he advised, “It gets ’em in an awful mood, ye see.”

  Archie sighed, deciding it was time to confide his secret with someone. And if there was anyone on board that would be an acceptable ally, it was the old man who knew how to drug people. “I am not a cook,” he told Smee solemnly, giving him the full effect of the truth as he stared him straight in the eye.

  “Ye don’t say!” Smee feigned shock, placing a gnarled hand over his chest as if in the beginning throes of a heart seizure.

  “Yes, I do say.” Archie nodded sadly. “I haven’t a clue how to make anything more than a simple pasty for tea.”

  “I don’t think ye can even make that.” Smee smacked the burnt chunk of flour named the “pasty” on the side of the table, as if expecting to dent the wooden leg. “I’m thinkin’ ye best tell the cap’n that ye aren’t cut out for cook duty.”

  “So he can feed me to the fishes? I think not.” Archie folded his arms across his chest, unwilling to contemplate telling Blackbeard the truth of the matter.

  “Aye, well. Ye can’t keep going on the way ye are. The crew will murder ye before the cap’n has the chance,” Smee observed, then sighed, “Suppose I best show ye a thing or two then? Else ye might be layin’ at the bottom of the sea soon.”

  “I suppose I could use a bit of your help.” Archie nodded.

  Smee hobbled to the pantry and looked in. “Why haven’t ye given the lads their bread ration? There be plenty in here.”

  “It would seem we have a bug infestation,” Archie noted as he walked over and took a chunk of bread and showed it to the old man, pointing out the small black creatures that wriggled there.

  “Ach! ’Tis naught but weevils.” Smee shook his head despairingly and picked up a plate, smacking the bread hard enough that the little beasties fell free and crawled about on the flat surface, “Any sailor knows there be nothing to fear from a weevil. A bit of extra crunchy meat you may not see mayhap, but nothing that’ll kill ye.”

  Archie watched in disdain as the old man took a bite of the bread. He wrinkled up his nose. He had considered himself a pirate ever since he signed that book, but apparently he wasn’t as much of one as he thought. Of course, at the time, he didn’t realize eating bugs was a requirement.

  “All right then, laddie. What say we fix ’em up something worth eatin’, eh?” Smee collected an odd variety of items from the pantry and started banging around with pots and pans.

  Archie watched in amazement as the old man bustled about, demonstrating full knowledge of the galley with its cantankerous oven. He stopped long enough to hand the crock full of stew to him. “Here. Throw this overboard, aye?”

  Archie turned to do as he was told, the old man’s voice carrying after him. “The pot, too. It’s ruint.”

  He made his way up the steps and across the deck, chucking the pot into the sea, much to the crew’s delight.

  “Maybe he’s giving up as cook,” he heard one pirate say hopefully.

  “Aye, me bowels haven’t been the same since he came aboard,” another chimed in as he made his way back down to the galley.

  In the few moments he was away, Smee was busy and the pot that started to bubble smelled enticing. Surprisingly so, Archie noted, for it being cooked by a man who had just eaten bug-infested bread.

  “Here, cut these up.” Smee thrust an armload of potatoes at him and handed him a knife. “Make yerself useful instead o’ standin’ there gawking at me.”

  By the time Archie finished chopping up vegetables, the aroma from the galley attracted the attention of several of the crew. They were, undoubtedly, curious and hungry for something other than Archie’s sludge.

  “Get gone,” Smee ordered, “It will be done soon enough. Ye won’t be dyin’ of starvation if ye wait a bit longer.”

  Begrudgingly, they left, though one pirate in particular gave Archie a look that chilled him to the bone as he moved to the door. Something wasn’t quite right with that one. Something crazed flitted below the surface of his eyes, something… not… sane. Archie felt the hair on the back of his neck rise up on end as the man muttered, “Finish him… can’t cook… should just finish him here and now. Better off without ’im.”

  “Move if ye would, please.” Smee gave Archie his sweet, grandfatherly smile, oblivious to the pirate who muttered just outside the doorway.

  A strange request to be sure, Archie thought, but he switched places with the old man more for the reason of putting distance between himself and the door than to appease Smee.

  A moment later, the mutterings got louder and the pirate burst into the galley, a knife gleaming in his upraised fist. He faltered upon seeing Smee and the old man spun around, neatly planting his own knife between the man’s ribs. There was a sickening, crunching sound as Smee pulled the knife out and the blank look of the dead settled itself on the face of the would-be assailant as he fell to the floor in a heap.

  Smee set to wiping his blade off on the edge of his apron, and then gasped as he saw the pot on the stove boil over.

  “Curse ye for a fool, Jake Awbry,” he glowered, stepping over the corpse that had landed near the oven. “Leave it for ye to be the one to ruin a decent pot o’ soup.”

  Archie stood with his mouth open, watching as Smee went back to stirring the pot as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

  “Ye could go and grab one of the lads and get Jake on out of here,” Smee said in a conversational tone as if the man below him were merely drunk instead of dead. He turned and looked at Archie. “Well, go on then! It’s not like he’s going to walk himself out from under me feet, now is he!”

  Fumbling, Archie made it around both cook and corpse, and had the good luck of running into Harper. Relieved that he found someone he knew, he stopped the squirrel.

  “Do you think you might be able to help me a moment?”

  “I know less about cooking than you, if that is possible,” Harper said in an odd moment of clear speech.

  “It isn’t cooking that I need your help with.”

  “I beg to differ. You couldn’t cook an egg if the chicken were to lay it in the pan for you.” Harper grinned. “You need all the help you can get.”

  Of all times for the boy to become friendly, this wasn’t the time Archie hoped for. “I need bloody help moving a dead body.”

  “Oh, really? Who is it?” Harper craned his neck to see around Archie. Then he spotted the dead face by Smee’s foot. “Jake Awbry. Can’t say I’m sorry ’tis him. What did you do? Kill him with your cooking?” He snickered, following Archie back into the galley.

  It took several heaves, loud expletives, and odd grunting to get the dead maniac up to the deck. Luckily, no one said a word to them as they dropped his body unceremoniously in a heap by the mast and headed back below decks; Archie to the galley, and Harper disappearing to wherever he had been going to begin with.

  The soup wasn’t burnt, so that made it the first meal in over a week that hadn’t been scorched beyond recognition. It was too bad Archie couldn’t take any credit for it. Smee handed him a platter with filled bowls, then took another himself laden with bug-eaten bread. “We’ll take this to the captain’s quarters first. Best we let him know about Jake so he can sell ’is effects and send the money to ’is widow.”

  Archie was astounded by the complete lack of remorse. By the old man’s tone of voice, one would have assumed the pirate died peacefully in his sleep instead of
being knifed to death, never mind the fact that there was a woman somewhere who didn’t yet know her dear, although insane, husband would soon be lying in the darkest corners of Davy Jones’ locker.

  “Well, come on, then,” Smee urged, as if noticing the slow progress of the lad in front of him. “Soup’s no good cold, ye know.”

  Cold or no, it is a definite improvement from what they had been eating, make no mistake. There was no way anyone was going to complain about the temperature of this meal, Archie thought, not bothering to change or lengthen his stride. They would get there soon enough without any help on his part.

  They crossed over to the hold and climbed the steps, with Archie moving even slower than before. Smee huffed and grumbled under his breath, until the very last when he went quiet. That moment of the old man’s silence unnerved Archie even more as he heard nothing but the sounds of the ocean and creaking of the ship. After twenty-three years of life, he discovered he still hadn’t mastered the art of walking. At least not where the Queen Anne’s Revenge was concerned. Nervousness and the tilting vessel were his undoing as he stumbled, barely catching his footing before he landed headfirst in the captain’s door. Fate, however, was smiling down on him and the soup stayed mostly in the bowls with the exception of a few splashes on the wooden platter.

  “Saint Brendan!” Smee scowled at Archie. “Why on earth do I bother to help ye, I’d like to know.”

  Archie didn’t bother answering him, though he pondered why the old man would invoke the patron saint of whales to protect lukewarm soup. Surely his stew hadn’t been that bad. He was still frowning at the current state of events when he heard the strange tinkling sound again. He hadn’t heard it since that fateful night he stepped in the tavern. Nevertheless, there it was. The sounds of bells, laughing at him again.

  He jerked around to see if Smee had heard the tinkling sound, too. It was plain from the dour expression that stretched from one fuzzy white sideburn to the other that he hadn’t, although it did appear he was considering finishing the job Jake Awbry had set out to do if Archie didn’t soon knock on the door.