Taylor breakfasted at the squire’s inn, before Trelawney handed her a note addressed to Edward Vernon, telling her that the man could be found at a little tavern, down by the docks, whose sign contained no words, but the image of a spyglass.
She was full of excitement when she headed out, feet feeling like they were barely kept to the cobbled road. Her roving over more ships, and the exotic men that crewed them.
She picked her way through the dock’s hustle and bustle, until she saw her destination.
The sign of the tavern in question was newly painted, with a street on either side, with doors opening onto both. The windows had neat red curtains, and the floor was cleanly polished. She could see inside clearly, despite the tobacco smoke.
The customers were mostly seafaring men, and talked so loudly that she hesitated at the door. Her senses assaulted, and her memories speaking of the trouble a sailing group could bring.
A man came out of a side room. His left leg was cut off close to the hip, with a crutch lifting his right shoulder. He moved it with a practised dexterity, hopping lively.
He was very tall and strong, with intelligent eyes and a broad smile. He whistled as he moved between the tables. Laughing with his guests, and playfully slapping a shoulder here and there.
A brief fear crossed her mind, of the Captain’s warning, but this clean and pleasant man was nothing akin to Black Dog, Pew, or in-fact the Captain.
Taylor crossed the threshold, and walked right up to the man. He was propped up on his crutch, and was speaking to a customer. “Mr. Vernon, sir?”
“Aye, that be my name. What might I call you… Lad?” Vernon took the letter and opened it, glancing over it with surprise.
“Taylor Hawkins, sir.”
He took her hand, giving a thorough shake, “Our new cabin boy! Pleased I be to see you.”
Taylor had wondered what the squire was sending her off to do. Delivering her own name, and becoming a lowly cabin boy, wasn’t quite what she had been expecting of the tiny trip.
“Morgan, Morgan, here!” The man turned, and one of the sailors nearby stood up unsteadily, and walked over with a wide gait.
“Aye, Ed?”
The man clapped an arm around her shoulders, “This here, is our new cabin boy. Our Taylor. Now, Morgan, what do we do to the newcomers to our crew?”
Taylor braced firmly, expecting a trauma or other equally welcome prospect to arrive.
Morgan punched a fist into the air, and announced loudly, “A round of drinks! A rum for our new cabin boy!”
The inn yelled loudly as once, and drummed fist on table, and foot on the floor. Taylor’s ears noticed, if not her eyes, that some of the feet hitting the ground were more a sort of wooden stumping. Seemed that the Captain’s old warning wasn’t all that specific.
“He’s a bit stupid.” Vernon mentioned as the drinks started coming out, to cheers of the customers, “But Tom Morgan is an honest sort of man. One to have your back, when the waves be up.”
Taylor nodded politely, and then found her politeness exceeded, as Morgan caught her by the wrist and pulled her up onto a table. Thrusting a mug into her hands, before beginning to thump out a little ditty on the edge of the table.
She found herself standing alone, and on full display.
She caught the eye of Vernon, who was watching her carefully, judging whether she was fit or not, to join his crew. They’d handed her a couple hints, but it was up to her to impress.
Taylor took a large swig from the ale mug, letting it run from the corner of her mouth and down her chin. Then she issued forth a large belch, before raising the mug and beginning to sing.
> “Old Billy Riley was a dancing master,”
> “Old Billy Riley, Mr. Billy Riley, oh!”
The new ship’s cook raised an eyebrow at her choice, but she saw his fingers twitching, itching to move along with the beat that she was pounding out, fully voiced.
The other sailors were right into it. Yelling along proudly with each and every syllable, though that might be more the rum than any musical gifting on her own behalf.
Morgan was singing low, and she could hear his baritone voice deeply throbbing and shaking the wood of the table, as he followed along with her. In another life, the man might have been part of a royal choir, singing out the proud words in the King’s Navy.
> “Old Billy Riley, master of a drogueur,”
> “Old Billy Riley, Mr. Billy Riley, oh!”
Taylor found herself tapping the back heel of her boots. Solid and firm, they didn’t just give a good sound, they felt like this was the purpose that all boots had been made for.
Somewhere in the background, one of the sailors had taken up a pipe and were beginning to whistle along with the lively jig. The impassive face of the proud cook was showing no weakness, all the same. No indication to join in on the song.
Every word that Taylor was singing, she had to admit… She only knew it because of the old Captain. The man had been a terrible guest, and brought a chaos down on her, but he had also given her the gift of adventure, and of daily music.
She might one day miss the sound of his ugly voice, in the quiet of the night.
> “Master of a drogueur bound for Antigua,”
> “Old Billy Riley, Mr. Billy Riley, oh!”
> “Master of a drogueur, Mr. Billy Riley, oh!”
Taylor jumped down from the table, with a splash and catch of the rum in her mug, as she decided to take a more direct approach at impressing the man who seemed to be the one who would be soon standing over her, and guiding her through the journey of becoming a sailor.
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Vernon blinked in surprise as she tapped a quick and loud jig in front of him. She offered him her rum, and he hesitated. Yet, when he did go to take it, she tossed it back into her own mouth and swallowed loudly.
The man burst out laughing, and the music continued. He signalled for another round of rum, before pulling her aside into a smaller and quieter room.
> “Old Billy Riley has a nice unsung daughter,”
> “Old Billy Riley, Mr. Billy Riley, oh!”
The curtains were bright red, and French in style. The tops of them twisted into little folds, despite the material blocking out the street beside them. Vernon fiddled and checked with them a moment, before turning to her.
Taylor frowned, uncertain, as the man approached her.
He put a hand on either of her shoulders, gave a small and proud smile, before leaning in and whispering in her ear, “I know a woman, fighting fierce and strong, when I be seeing one.”
She stumbled backwards, face going completely white in fear.
The man looked calm and kind, as he openly explored her. Eyes roving up and down her, with a hint of pride, and a touch of desire.
Taylor put a hand to the pistol by her hip, and clenched her teeth together. Her skin puckered, and she met his gaze. Trying to engage the man in a battle of wills, as she found herself so far aside from her expectations.
Vernon gave a small chuckle at her approach, and spread his hands plainly. He shook his head, amused. “I once heard the tale o’ another, and she rode the lot of the crew, hard and fast. Never a man as tough as her shell. She were called Anne Bonny, and she were a fighter fierce. You remind me, o’ that one.”
> “Oh Missy Riley, little Missy Riley,”
> “Old Billy Riley, Mr. Billy Riley, oh!”
Taylor moved her hand hesitantly from the weapon, and considered the man standing in front of her. He knew her, or at least something that was precious and silent. Something that could ruin her, if the crew were to learn of it.
There was no safety for a cabin boy among a bunch of buccaneers, if each and every one of them knew that she had a valley betwixt her legs. The men at sea had an unquenched thirst, and were known to cause such chaos that it was considered a hellborn curse to bring a woman aboard.
“‘Course, I ain’t o’ the thinking that you’d be bad luck to us lads. No more than whistling conjures up a storm.” He stated with a shrug, “I ain’t have no need o’ telling no one about it all. But as cabin boy, you likely be my responsibility, ain’t it so?”
Taylor did have to admit, that the squire had put her at the bottom rung of the ship. Having someone like the cook looking out for her, would make everything easier. Especially when that cook already had the respect of the entire crew.
Yet, she couldn’t overcome a lifetime of trusting no one with her secret, especially not to a man she had only just met.
Vernon saw her hesitation, and gave a small smile, before raising a hand. As he did, out of the shadows came someone that Taylor had failed to notice. She gave a broad smile, brilliant white teeth almost blinding against her darker skin.
The woman took Vernon’s hand and kissed the back of it, before looking towards Taylor. “Elle est mignonne.”
“Mains sur vous, sorcere.” Vernon laughed at the woman, and nodded at Taylor, “She likes you, lad.”
The woman walked the two steps over towards Taylor, taking her roughly by the chin with thumb and forefinger, before her other hand circled Taylor’s cheek, sending shivers down her spine.
> “Had a pretty daughter, but we can’t get at her,”
> “Old Billy Riley, Mr. Billy Riley, oh!”
The hand curved round to cup her cheek warmly, as the woman leaned in until they were touching, nose to nose. Warm breath that smelled intensely of fish, ale, and tobacco, enveloped Taylor’s head like a small cloud.
The woman made an amused sound, “Je regarderais celui-la, Ed. La peur est quelque chose qu’elle ne connait pas.”
“That’s enough of that talk.” The cook stated firmly, as the woman continued to float in front of her, the other woman’s breath making her try and hold her breath. “Taylor here, is a good lad. No need to scare him. Sorry ’bout the woman, boy. She got a right protective thing for meself.”
The woman dragged a hand across Talyor’s cheek affectionately as leaned back, until the last moment, when the gentle touch became the sharp and sudden scratch of fingernails, biting unexpectedly into her skin.
Taylor gave a yelp of surprise at the scratch, but resisted grabbing for her face.
> “Screw her up, and away we go, boys!”
> “Old Billy Riley, Mr. Billy Riley, oh!”
The woman gave a deep laugh, and kissed Vernon’s cheek, speaking in a heavy accent, “I like her. Do not be hurting her, Ed.”
With that, the woman turned and walked by them both and into the main part of the inn. Vernon shook his head, smiling in amusement as she went, “Now that… That be a fine woman.”
“She is certainly something, sir.” Taylor stated, her cheek still stinging.
He turned to her and grinned, “Oh, I wouldn’t mind her, lad. She’s given you her stamp of approval. That means I ain’t got nothin’ to fear from the sea, in bringing you aboard me ship.”
“Squire Trelawney’s ship.”
“Ah! A slip o’ the tongue. The Cap’n’s ship, to be sure.” The man nodded firmly, and then gave a small hesitation.
> “One more pull, and then belay, boys!”
> “Old Billy Riley, Mr. Billy Riley, oh!”
Vernon looked at her curiously, “You can feel free not to be answering, lad, but I have never got the chance afore. This, my woman, she’s a right something. Most of the lads either shit themselves, or want to drop their pants ’n all. What she be like, to another? If you be answering.”
Taylor gave a small laugh, and looked at the door that had been left shut in the trail of the woman, and shook her head. “I’ve never met a soul like her, before, sir. I wish that I spoke French, to guess what she said about me.”
“She liked you, lad.” The cook repeated, “I found her in the tropics. We were all starvin’, and ain’t found nothin’ that weren’t make us ill. When three of us stumbled onto a native bonfire. They were sacrificing that there woman, to their gods. Thought her a devil.”
“Lord.” Taylor swore in surprise.
The cook nodded gravely, “Truly. But though we weren’t in no fighting fitness, one look at our pasty white skin, they all thought the devils had come for their thing. So the locals gave that there woman to us, and took right off. In her gratefulness, she found us food ’n drink. She a true gift from God.”
Taylor considered it carefully, and spoke quietly, almost afraid to be heard. “At least it seems like she’s happy, here.”
“Lad!” The cook laughed and clapped her round the shoulders, “If that there woman not wantin’ to be here, then she take a sword and pistol, take ’em to a ship, and make for her new haven. Nobody less than God can stay her hand.”
“She’s a fine something.” Taylor tried to appease the larger man.
He shrugged and gave her shoulder another squeeze, “Now, as much as I think I’d like another tot o’ rum, I think I forgotten that the two o’ us best be reportin’ to Cap’n Trelawney.”
His laughter was hearty, and though Taylor didn’t always see what the laugh might be for, she did find herself chuckling along with him.
The two headed out and along the quays, where Vernon made himself the most interesting companion. He hopped at a pace that she struggled to keep to, whilst speaking loud and freely. Telling her of the different ships, as they passed them by.
Their rig, tonnage, nationality, and even explaining the work that was going on. How one ship was discharging, another taking on cargo, and a third making ready for sea. Every now and then, telling her some little anecdote about the ship or the seaman on her.
Vernon caught her eye, now and again, when one of his nautical phrases puzzled her, and gave it explanation in a clear manner, without a hint of judgement. He made it clear, that he was one of the best shipmates that Taylor could have hoped for.
She understood the miracle that Trelawney saw in him, and absolutely agreed.
In getting to the inn, they found the squire, and Doctor Livesey, seated by a fire and finishing a quart of ale. The four of them toasted to the oncoming adventure, with Trelawney louder than even the cook, before he announced that they were about ready to inspect the schooner.
At that, Vernon stood up hastily, and tapped a hand to his forrid, and begged his departure. Needing to make the rest of the men ready.
“All hands aboard, by four this afternoon!” Trelawney shouted as the man hobbled off.
“Aye, aye, cap’n sir!” Vernon shouted back.
“Well, squire.” Said Dr. Livesey, “I don’t put much faith in your discoveries as a general sort of thing. But I will say this, Edward Vernon suits me.”
“The man is a perfect marvel.” Declared the squire.
“And now, Taylor may come on board with us, mightn’t he?”
The squire stood, “To be sure. Take your hat, Hawkins, and let us see the ship.”