Some say the worst thing you can spot at sea is a ship bearing the mark of the broken chain. I disagree. It’s far worse to see two of them.

-Excerpt from ‘Pirates and Perils: How to turn a profit at Sea’ by Edgar Stett

It had been rather surprising to Rose to discover the crew had a war footing. Far from what many common people believed, merchant ships were not easy pickings for pirates, given that many sailors tended to be rough and brawny folk who could handle themselves in a scrap

However, from the few stories that had made it to Fairwater Bay of pirate raids—excluding her story books, because those were embellished for dramatic effect—Rose knew that they tended toward chaotic one-on-one duels and messy sabotage. Until the unfortunate victims were defeated or the brash buccaneers failed to overcome the defences of their prey.

While many ships had cannons, it was a rarity for them to be put to use. At first glance a cannon seemed like an exceptional weapon.

First you chose your payload—usually an iron cannonball—but other options like buckshot or chains were viable depending on your goal. Then all you had to do was light the fuse and wait for it to blast the other guy to pieces, right?

The problem was that everyone had cannons. And the moment you started firing, the other ship would fire right back at you. It was a tragic day for anyone involved when your raid fell flat before you even got to start boarding.

In general, cannons were employed when you had a sizable range advantage over your target, which meant they couldn’t fire back, even if they wanted to, or when you’d gotten close and neither party had anything left to lose. In that instance, it was about letting loose and seeing who came out on top after the gunsmoke cleared.

Unfortunately for the Unrequited Love, the approaching pirate ship was coming from a blind spot. Rose saw the fear painted on the captain’s face as he grappled with the wheel, a desperate attempt to reposition them before they had to engage with the raiders.

She was mesmerised by the fluid movements of the crew. Everyone knew where to go, which ropes to pull and which to avoid. Her whole life she had dreamed of a moment like this.

Admittedly, in her fantasies she had often played the part of the voracious buccaneer charging down a fat cargo ship ripe for the picking, rather than a helpless girl aboard that very same merchant vessel. For the umpteenth time that day she cursed her own short sightedness in crippling herself. Though who could have foreseen a pirate raid in the final days of their journey?

Jade rushed past, clad in the loose fitting blouse and leather trousers that seemed to be her signature. A cutlass, the blade polished and curving into two sharp points, was tucked into her cerulean sash. Along with a little flintlock pistol, they were the first weapons Rose had seen outside of a drawing.

The rest of the crew were equipped with equally terrifying blades and the innocuous pistols, which seemed like artful sculptures at a glance, but had the power to take a life with a single pull of the trigger. It hammered home the reality of the situation.

A booming clap sounded through the air, the first warning she had before an explosion rocked the ship. She turned around to see a cloud of smoke and flying wood, errant splinters tearing small rips in the sails.

Following the opening strike, a deafening salvo of cannonfire erupted from the pirate ship, which had drawn close enough for Rose to see the terrifying rogues readying themselves to board the Unrequited Love.

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Leroy had warned her to stay inside, and looking around now she realised that would have been the smart course of action. There was little Rose could offer the crew in the way of assistance.

She wasn’t weak—years of fishing and helping her mother herd had given her an athletic frame—but she wouldn’t pose much of an obstacle to an armed pirate. There had to be something she could do. Anything.

These people had rescued her from the consequences of her idiocy, saved her life, and if she couldn’t even repay a portion of that debt what kind of woman would that make her?

Across the deck, she saw Bellamy lift himself out of the central cargo hold. Tucked into his belt was a pistol that had been absent when he had entered the underbelly of the ship. Rose had a stupid, foolish idea.

Halfway across the main deck, which had been tricky to cross with the constant interruptions of the crew sprinting to tie one bit of equipment down here or secure the rigging there, Rose felt a heavy hand grip her shoulder and root her in place. Looking down to her left, she could just peek over the edge of the cargo hold. Amongst the litany of barrels and crates, there was one that had a single cutlass left inside. She had been so close.

“Did I not tell you to stay inside, lass? Don’t be an idiot and get yourself killed out here. All this will tide over in a few hours and then one of us can come to get you. We’re ready for these sorts of attacks, but having to look out for an incompetent kid will only hold us back,” said Leroy, a stern expression on his face as he gave her a gentle shove towards the cabin.

Despite her reservations, she relented. The portly chef was right. If one of the crew ended up injured, or worse, because they had to fight while protecting her, that would make the guilt she was carrying from the storm incident far heavier.

So, Rose turned around and started to make her way back towards the inside of the ship, to hide away from the action. After two steps she halted and turned back to Leroy.

“Is there really nothing I can do to help? I hate feeling so useless,” she asked.

“Knowing that you’re safe and tucked away where no one can hurt you is more than enough. The mark of a great sailor is knowing when to face the storms head on and when to weather them. Now, run along before it’s too late.”

Rose stared down at the iron trellises which usually covered the cargo hold, pulled to the side while the crew moved loose objects inside and retrieved their weapons from within. A few more steps and her opportunity would be gone forever. When she looked back at this moment, did she want her legacy to be that of a coward? The woman who hid away like a frightened child at the first clap of cannonfire?

No.

Saltbeard never ran from a battle, at least not in the tales. And the tide rewarded those who braved its ebbs and flows.

Her next step did not take her forward, continuing the journey back inside the cabin, but instead over the edge of the cargo hold. She dropped down, legs shaking a little as they absorbed the impact of the short drop, about the same distance as she was tall.

All of the barrels had been tied down. The last thing they wanted was for the food and water to come loose during the fighting. Perhaps even more vital than that was the crates filled with rolls of Felsilk, the treasured cargo that the Unrequited Love had picked up in the Felmoor Archipelago prior to this voyage.

More rope had been used to tie them down than was used in the rigging. None of that was important to Rose however. Her target lay elsewhere.

A lone cutlass sparkled from the occasional sunbeam that made it down into the hold, lying alone in its crate and waiting for someone to take it up in battle.

Rose flexed her right hand, and winced. The welts still stung, though far less than earlier thanks to the poultice Leroy had applied. She would bear the pain though, if it meant being able to fight.

She had never been an overly driven girl. In fact, the folk of Fairwater Bay would often say she spent too long staring out to sea with glazed eyes and not enough time learning to ply her parents’ trades. When it came to this however, her mind was set.

This moment would set the tone for the rest of her life. An adventure had to begin on the right note.

The handle was worn, the leather wrap frayed at the edges and a slight indent where another’s hand had held the blade in battle. A few copper specks marred the otherwise spotless blade. It was a beautiful cutlass, though it had clearly been a while since it had been wielded.

Rose lamented that it would not end up in the caring hands of a more skilled bladeswoman than her, but at least it would be seeing the light of the sun and if she was successful, quenched with blood.