All the great pirates stole their first ship. And most of them—their second and third. I only stole one, but that was because I never lost her. Work smarter, not harder as they say.

-Excerpt from ‘Learning the Ropes’ by Blackeye Fenn

Rose stumbled through the cobbled streets of Highbream. Despite it being her first time drinking—and being drunk—she was having to support the meandering Trent.

He had at least done her the courtesy of telling her how to get to his favourite inn before going unresponsive. Was it the second left after the Glassy Wench, or the third? She took the second.

A stone clattered to the ground behind her. The hairs on her neck bristled and she whipped around to face the… empty air.

The noise had been what it sounded like and nothing more. Wimp. She turned back towards the direction they were headed.

There was a flash of moonlight, reflected from metal. She froze.

Blocking the exit of the narrow street, there was a man wearing an eyepatch across his left eye, and a fearsome scar running down his right cheek. In his hands he clutched a knife, long enough that it could almost be called a shortsword.

“Two little drunkards, alone at night and ripe for the picking,” he rasped, the words choking through tar-stained lungs.

If it were any other fifteen year old girl caught in her situation, they would have been terrified. She glanced over her shoulder once more.

Another bandit had appeared to block their path of escape. His eyes were a dull brown and bloodshot with yellowed corneas. His blade was shorter, but serrated and just as deadly.

“Trent, a little help would be nice,” she muttered. Despite her request, she didn’t expect much from the near comatose pirate and propped him against the wall.

He burped and staggered before crumpling into a heap on the floor. After a moment Rose heard rumbling snoring from the man. She kissed her teeth and slowly moved her hand to her belt.

Both men started to advance, each step thudding on the cobbles. They moved slightly off-beat with each other, creating a staccato rhythm. Rose counted the steps until the man in front of her was a few metres away.

“Hey Kerridge, she’s got a pretty face—why don’t we have some fun before we make off with their money?” cackled the shorter bandit from behind her.

The thud-thud halted. “She’s a little young, I don’t want the guards to catc-”

Bang.

Skill up!

Pistols 6 > 7

Skill up!

Firearms 3 > 4

Skill up!

Precision 1 > 2

A red hole appeared right beside the man’s eyepatch, a single crimson stream leaking down into his one working eye. It glassed over and he tumbled to the side, smacking into the stone wall of the street before falling limp to the ground.

Her new favourite scent danced in the air as she whirled around to face the stunned bandit. Vile man. The moonbeams sparkled off her dagger and a thin, crimson line painted itself across his neck.

Those dull brown eyes widened a little before his blood sprayed across her face. It was warm. She revelled in the coppery tang on her lips.

Skill up!

Blades 6 > 7

Like his partner in crime, he too fell to the cobbles as a corpse. Good riddance. Rose wiped the blood from her dagger and replaced it in her belt.

“No fair, little Rose. Having so much fun without me,” said Trent. He slurred his words and burped to add a little flair. “Waste not, want not.” He lifted coin pouches from both men, along with their weapons.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Oh, how gracious of you to join me. You could’ve had your fun if you weren’t asleep.” He didn’t need her support to walk now, so she refilled the gunpowder in her pistol.

Despite his newfound athleticism, he wasn’t able to hold a real conversation. The rest of the journey to the inn passed by in relative silence, save for the odd hiccup.

The inn itself was cosy. Nothing grand—it had just two floors and they were greeted by an elderly woman who scoffed at Trent’s state and threw them a key without even asking for payment.

However, the beds were comfortable and the pillows softer than the ones back home. Sleep didn’t interest her at that moment. Her gaze turned to cracks of light leaking from a door in the corner of the room. Finally.

She sunk into the hot bath the moment it was full, not caring that it was a little beyond bearable and singed her skin.

Rose turned bright red, boiling in the soapy water. It was a slice of heaven. Once she felt truly relaxed, it was time to work. She scrubbed for forty-five minutes to get all the caked dirt, blood and viscera from her body.

After such a thorough cleansing she felt rejuvenated. Sleep came easily. She dreamed of blue crabs and beautiful ships.

***

When they had made their way downstairs into the lobby that morning, the gentle lady who had offered them the room had vanished. In her place was a scowling demoness whose gaze sought to drill holes in the fresh faced Trent.

Only after he had tossed over one entire pouch of the coins they had looted from the would-be bandits did she relax once more. “Until next time, scumbag,” she had said as they departed.

They sat on the wooden docks in Highbream Harbour, legs dangling over the edge of the murky waters.

“Do you see her?” asked Trent, pointing down the line of huge ships that were docked, his finger leading to a medium sized ship with two masts and pristine white sails. “Our prize—The Crown of Salt.”

Rose hadn’t seen the majestic ship at first. Most of the vessels docked in Highbream were galleons built for transporting cargo, with a few sporting cannons to defend said cargo.

Trent had told her their target was far superior to the other ships. She hadn’t seen why, until he’d explained in thorough detail.

The lesson had been accompanied by enthusiastic gesturing and a series of vivid changes in his expression.

“A galleon wouldn’t suit our purposes. We don’t have a crew and they need a large one to sail properly. The Crown of Salt is a newer breed of ship. They call them frigates—originating from a shipyard consortium in Minenblum. Saff & Company. Fingers in a lot of pies, that family,” mused Trent.

His explanation was rather long and winding, and took up the better part of the morning. Rose didn’t mind—the gentle rays of the sun kissed her skin and the ocean breeze smelled of home.

All that mattered was it was small enough for the two of them to sail alone. They would be looking for more crew members, but that could come after.

And the key point—considering that they were pirates—was that the ship could outspeed the vast majority of merchant vessels. That put all loot on the open ocean within their purview.

Of course, it would also let them get away from any naval pursuers. Trent had done his research. There was just one problem.

The Crown of Salt was protected by a rotating guard, twenty-four hours a day. At any given time there were never less than three people protecting the beautiful ship.

To Rose, that simply validated their decision to steal it. Most of the other ships were only guarded by a few lazy crew members—the more valuable a thing was, the more satisfying it was when you stole it.

Or so Trent had said. She was still quite new to buccaneering.

“How are we going to steal it? Unmooring such a big ship with that many guards seems impossible for the two of us,” she said.

“The two of us? My dear Rose, did I not mention. You’re going to be stealing that beauty all on your own. I’m going to be providing… a distraction,” he replied with a shit-eating grin.

Rose gawked at him. Had the man gone insane after their time in the convergence? He was a little wild before… She figured he must have an adequate reason for splitting the task that way.

“So the ship won’t be guarded? After your… distraction?” she asked, emphasising the last word far more than Trent had done. She was quite curious about what he had in mind.

“Don’t worry your little head about that. I have something fabulous planned. It’s been a while since Highbream had a festival…”

At that point Rose left Trent to his mutterings and wandered over to a nearby food stall. She had been eyeing it all morning.

It was a simple affair. A rotund, beefy man turned skewers of fish on a grill. They weren’t even spiced as far as she could tell—and smell.

A wooden sign hung beside the grill declared the stall ‘Fisherman’s Feast.’ It smelled like home.

“How much for two skewers?” she asked.

“Lunch deal—three for two. Two coppers,” he replied, waving three freshly grilled fillets in front of her.

It was only now she remembered that she had no money of her own.

“We’ll take six,” said Trent, placing a hand on her shoulder and four small copper coins in the man’s chunky paws. “I need you on top form tonight. A growing girl needs all the fish she can eat, don’t you think?”

“Right you are. I don’t let my daughters leave the house without cleaning the plate. Nothing better than a grilled and salted fillet,” he replied.

Rose took a big bite of fish, failing to hold back her moan. It was heaven. Salted and grilled to perfection as advertised. Not quite as delicious as her mum’s, but close enough. Trent handed her three more.

Now. How do I steal a ship?