The night was filled with bustle, getting everything stowed in their rightful places.

Irritatingly, the squire entertained an entire posse of friends. All of them coming to wish him a good voyage, and a safe return. Mostly though, Taylor suspected that they came along to get drunk.

They were loud, and messy, and she was expected to clean up after them. It was exactly like being at the Nightingale, but she didn’t have the power to kick out any of the worse morons.

She was dog-tired and unslept, when, a little before dawn, the boatswain sounded his pope, and the crew began to man the many-spoked wheel, which Vernon helpfully told her was called a ‘capstan’, when he caught her looking.

She was more weary than she ever had been at the Nightingale, but the thrill that rushed through her, as the shrill whistles sung out, and the men bustled into their places, preparing the ship for its journey.

“Aye.” Vernon leaned on his crutch, standing beside her, before slowly beginning to sing with an exceptionally deep voice.

> “Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish Ladies,”

Her eyes widened, as the entire crew sang out the next line as one, moving as one, as they did it.

> “Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain!”

At the exclamation, they drove the bars before them. Muscles bulging, slickened by the ever wet weather of England.

In that exciting moment, she was back in the Nightingale, listening to the voice of the old captain. Hearing his croak and roar, as the ship came alive.

The anchor drawn up, dripping from the side of the bow, the Coronet rolling upon the gentle waves. The sails drew down, catching the wind and tossing forward violently, lurching the ship into movement.

Taylor was grinning, as the entire thing moved forwards, out of port, and towards a voyage of adventure.

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The voyage was fairly prosperous. The ship proved herself, and the crew were capable of seamen. The captain thoroughly understood and knew his business.

Samuel Arrow served in decent way as a mate. His knowledge of the sea was deeper than expected, and he often took a watch himself, in easy weather. The coxswain, Israel Hands, was a careful and experienced seaman who seemed to be able to be trusted in almost anything.

Surprisingly, Hands also seemed to speak at length with Vernon, often.

Aboard the ship, Vernon carried his crutch by a lanyard around his neck, to keep both his hands as free as possible. It wasn’t uncommon to see him wedge the crutch against a bulkhead, and then sit on it like a chair.

Getting on with his cooking, as if he were safely ashore and the world was relentlessly tipping from side-to-side about him.

Moreso, in the heaviest and worst of the weather, the man could be found using a line or two, rigged into place so that he could pull himself about, hand by hand. The strength and muscles to do it as easily as he could, certainly caught Taylor’s naive young attentions.

The entire crew respected and obeyed him. Vernon was almost like a second first-mate, able to quickly spot a problem and bark orders to correct it, before the ship might face a danger like a swirl in the waters, or a hidden coral.

He had a way of talking to each and every sailor on board, treating them with some service or another. A line prepped, or a bag of caramels, or an argument settled.

To Taylor, he was utterly, unwearingly, kind. Always treating her about the galley. She found that rather than assisting, he generally had her sit and relax, catching some sleep lost or the like.

The galley itself, Vernon kept entirely clean, the dishes always burnished and sitting in a cage, ready for use. The scraps were regularly touted out for the sailors to use in fishing or the like. The galley was kept with military precision.

“Come along, Hawkins.” Vernon said with a smile, “Come and have a yarn.”

The man leaned up against the side of the ship, whilst Taylor sat on the edge and smiled with her face into the wind. She absolutely adored living here. It was a hard life, but she could see the rest of her life spent on the freedom of the seas.

“She’s a handsome craft.” Edward knocked on the wood, “Your squire has done well with this one. How are you keeping?”

Taylor shrugged, “I had expected that I might get motion sickness, but the sea, she seems to invigorate me, not burn me down.”

“Aye, you’ve got the spirit o’ the sea, to ya.” He gave a gentle chuckle.

A drifting thought occurred to Taylor, and she looked at him curiously. There was only the doctor who knew what she was, apart from the cook, and he did not find it to be a problem upon the seas.

“You’re a fearless, lad, aren’t ya?” Edward said, trying to prompt the conversation to keep going.

She shrugged and dropped back down to the deck, “I have known fear. Known it often enough to know she’s a bitch, and digs her claws into you at every opportunity. Listening to her is not worth the trouble.”

“Fear can be a terrible thing, or it can be a thing o’ safety.” Vernon cautioned.

“Safety does not come with many rewards.”

He nodded, “Aye, that be fair. All the same, I would be watchin’ your back, lass.”

Taylor’s face went violent and her eyes flashed about, “Don’t.”

“Just a slip o’ the tongue.” Vernon replied, entirely unconcerned. “And I would be watchin’ ya back for you… Lad. I really would be havin’ that.”

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Something of the tone caught her, and her cheeks flushed. Taylor looked at him in surprise, “You… Are you thinking of me, like…”

She lowered her voice, “… A woman?”

“Knowing that you are, your legs are worth a gander.” Edward gave a chuckle, “Watching you, swinging overhead, coming down the rope like one who been sailin’ all their life? It is quite a thing. Worth more than a glance.”

She frowned, “But… You have a woman. That… Well, I’m afraid to say she is quite strange.”

“Me lady upon the land.” He nodded, “But things between us never been something of a surety. She don’t expect me to stay, nor keep myself. Nor do I expect a thing o’ you.”

That hesitancy confirmed everything for Taylor. That was the kindness that told her, that now she was free of the reins of the Nightingale, and without her father leaning over her, that choices were hers to be made.

He had not only opened the possibility, he had done it out here in the open. He could not pursue her here, could not back her into a corner. She was in the open air, and he was on a crutch.

Taylor had to admit to herself, that she had been interested in him almost from the first. He was so headstrong, but kindly. There wasn’t a soul aboard the ship that he treated as lesser, or without regard.

She had known sailors and drunks, her whole life, and the only other person who had ever shown her the same kindness, was the doctor.

The only question, of course, was whether this open dialogue came with the expectation that she would fall into his arms, or it was him declaring that he was willing to work for her attentions.

She also wasn’t too keen on the idea of him having a lady by land. Taylor had to admit that she was a little possessive for that sort of thinking.

She didn’t get a chance to give him any sort of answer, as the whistle sounded out, and orders were barked. Taylor was instantly moving up the sheets, completely free of concern for height, feeling the exhilarating wind in her hair.

Not a single doubt - she loved the sea.

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Trelawney and Smollet were on very distant terms with each other.

The squire made no bones about the matter, he absolutely despised the captain. He could often be found complaining loudly to Vernon or Arrow, criticising everything from Smollet’s gait, to their breathing.

Smollet, on the other hand, never spoke a single word that wasn’t either an order, or a response to a request. He did not seek to find bearing with the crew, or those that had hired him.

Everything that he said was short, sharp, and dry. Not a singular word wasted. The squire did try and force him to confess that he was wrong about the crew, seeing as how well they were performing, but the captain never did say a word either way.

The one thing that seemed to please Smollet, was the ship. He had taken a downright fancy to it. “She’ll lie a point nearer the wind, than a man has a right to expect of his own woman.”

“You’re feeling better then, about this cruise?” Livesey replied.

The captain’s face fell again, “I have spoken my piece, and on it I will rest. Never do I say a word not meant, or not meant for listening. That is the last time I will repeat myself, doctor.”

Taylor, for her part, hadn’t exactly meant to overhear the delicate conversation. One that the entire crew had just about heard, because it had happened on deck within sight of everyone.

Vernon had cautioned her about that sort of thing. If you needed to discuss something private, then there was exactly two places on the entire ship where it could be shared.

The first, was the captain’s bunk. Not a single soul would dare to hang about and try to overhear anything there, and the wood did a little to dampen the sound of things.

The second, was the kitchen. Not because it was so very private, but because there was no hiding yourself inside. Everyone knew who was present, and that allowed them to adjust their tone and speech to fit.

Unfortunately, private was not something that happened much between the squire and the captain. Taylor passed them by often enough to know that things were worsening between the two stubborn men.

She knew it was never a good thing for the leadership of a crew to be divided, at odds with each other. However, Taylor also knew that crews were often at loggerheads with each other. That didn’t comfort her, as it should. There was something about those two that made her extremely uneasy.

Taylor tried her best to keep her ears open, just in case the crew were to drop any hint of anything. As it was, most of them ignored her existence altogether, making it rather easy.

Her fears were distracted, and her heart hardened, when she fell from her seat in Vernon’s galley in the middle of the night. Her knees struck the planks as she heard the whistle from up above, almost lost to the sound of the thundering boom of heavy storms.

She launched to her feet, when the cook caught her wrist, “Careful now, lad. Best leave this to the crew. You might well look bombed out there, in this.”

She shook him off without a word, and headed up onto deck. The water splashed around her feet, and she was almost blinded by a crack of lightning that seemed to strike the water off to their port.

“Get those sails down!” Arrow bellowed out angrily, “Move it, sailors! Or I’ll be supping on your blasted entrails!”

Taylor glanced up, and instantly headed for the netting. She swung herself around to the side, and moved with all the quickness she could summon. Her feet landing easily on each rope, when she heard a terrified squeal, and a man flashed by her.

She saw his face in that moment, crying out and staring into her eyes as he shot by.

She winced, but didn’t hear the thud from below, as another boom of thunder shook the air. Taylor kept moving, trying not to picture the man’s fear, his last thoughts written across his face.

She cocked a leg, sitting on the beam as if it were a horse, and quickly replaced the fallen man in tying a firm round turn and two hitch. She wasn’t sure if it were the right one, but it would keep the sail in place.

The wind soaked her back and face as she moved forward, and helped the next sailor, whose hands were slipping as he muttered terrified curses. His eyes more upon the stormclouds overhead, then on the job at hand.

As she finished, she saw the other sailors headed downwards, and moved as lithely and quickly as any of them. Demonstrating her place here wasn’t just out of some sympathy that the doctor might hold for her. She needed the crew to know she was one of them.

As she hit the ground, she found a few of the sailors standing in a half-circle, and her throat caught. A rough hand surprised her, landing on her shoulder, but she took a breath as she saw the grim face of Edward Vernon.

“Tis a grim thing.” He spoke, his rumbling voice echoing the angry skies. “Go below, lad. You not need be seeing this.”

Taylor didn’t argue, this time.

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Despite the accident, every sailor aboard the Coronet seemed content with their lot. Aided by how liberally Arrow seemed to treat them all. Double grog went on the least excuse, and to Taylor’s shock, the crew were even given apple preserve on bread for afters.

To add to the spoiled lot, if the squire was hearing it were a man’s birthday, then a barrel of apples was brought up on deck, for anyone to help himself to, as he had a fancy.

The crew did not take long to catch on, and there were a few birthdays.

More than once, Taylor heard the captain complain of it to Dr. Livesay. “There will be no good to come of this. Spoil the forecastle, and you’ll be raising devils. Mark my words.”

The crew had pulled up the trade sails, to catch the wind, and were keeping a round-the-clock watch out for the island, knowing that they were nearing their destination, if it were to be found.

The sun was just setting, and Taylor decided that she might want an apple. She turned about, already halfway below deck, and headed back the way she had come. The man at the helm was watching the sail, and whistling away to himself.

The only sound was his song, apart from the swish of the sea, and the gentle rocking and creak of the ship herself. The Coronet rolled steadily, dipping her bowsprit now and then with a whiff of spray.

Tired as she was, and with no one else really about, Taylor climbed into the barrel. Sitting down and leaning into the side of it to relax, as she flicked an apple up into her hand and took a juicy bite. A wonder they were as crisp as they were, this far from the ship’s berth.

Taylor sat down there in the dark, with the sound of the waters and whistling, the rocking movement of the ship, until her head started to nod.

Just as she was thinking of climbing out, there was a thud as a heavy man sat down nearby. He spoke immediately, heavy and grim.

As Edward Vernon spoke his piece, Taylor felt her heart drop and hands shake.