Page 23 of Blow Me Down
“No, certainly not! They are businesswomen who have made their own choices, and taken charge of their lives, which is always a good thing. Just remember that we are not here to judge. And besides, if I get an investment scheme going, they might just be able to retire early.” I got a whiff of the boy’s foul odor as the breeze whipped through the narrow alleyway between Tara’s weavery (which I’d stopped in briefly earlier) and a blacksmith’s shop. “Phew. You need a bath.
I’ll see that you get one when we get to Renata’s.”
“Tarts get the pox,” he said blithely, walking right through a pile of donkey manure. “Me ma said they do. The pox eats away at ye until ye’re nothin‘ but bloody pustules and scabby sores and boils that erupt all over yer—”
“Rule number two: You are to make no references to tarts, the pox, or pustules, oozing or otherwise. Sores and boils are also verboten.”
Bas fell silent as we marched along. I began to mentally compose a plan of action for the boy, so that when I did find my way out of this world, he’d be in a better place than where I found him.
“Old lady Jenkins, she had a bath last year,” Bas said suddenly, distracting me from my thoughts.
Warm yellow light from oil lamps spilled out the open windows of Renata’s house, creating dappled pools on the cobblestones outside. Laughter, the sounds of a fiddle, and several delighted shrieks of the female variety accompanied the light, giving proof to Renata’s claim that the house did very good business. I debated taking the boy around the back way, so he would be spared the sight of the ladies flirting with their prospective customers, but trusted that he wouldn’t see anything he hadn’t seen a hundred times before.
“Did she? Good for her.”
“Aye.” Bas waited for the count of five, then added with morose glee, “She died a se’ennight later.”
Chapter 6
Although we live by strife,
We’re always sorry to begin it…
—Ibid, Act I
The next two days were hell. If I thought I’d gone through bad patches in my life before, I was mistaken—nothing could compare to the nightmare I found myself in.
“This be a yar ship,” Pangloss, Bart’s first mate, told me as he emerged from a tiny captain’s quarters in the aft— back—part of the ship. “She’ll do well in beatin‘ to windward and close-hauled sailin’.”
“Well, of course she will,” I said, wondering whether I could possibly pull off pretending I knew what the hell he was talking about.
“I’ve always had an eye for a good ship design, and this one be the best,”
Pangloss told me. “She’s got a bluff bow and a fine run aft, and the mast is set forward in the hull. See those oak leeboards? They be hung well forward amidships for balance, ye see.”
Then again, it never hurt to learn something new. “Er…actually, I don’t see.
I’m afraid this is my first time on a ship like this.”
“Yer first time in a sloop?” Pangloss asked, running a hand down the polished side rail. “Never say it is! Well, then, ye’ll be wantin‘ a bit of explanation about her so ye can appreciate just how fine a beauty she is. Ye see the mast?”
“Yes,” I said, looking up at the tall mast, which was about a third of the way from the front of the ship. “It’s big.”
“Aye. Sloops have only a single mast, and fore-and-aft rig.”
“You’ve lost me,” I said, frowning up at the mast. The sails, kind of a yellowy white in color, were bound tightly around the poked-out bits, which Pangloss said were called spars.
“Ye have a boom-and-gaff mainsail there,” Pangloss said, pointing up to the mast. “Then ye have a forward triangular staysail which we call a jib. And aft ye have a mainsail that be controlled by yer boom. Do ye see that?”
“Yeah,” I said, wishing I had a nautical dictionary. “What’s that pointy bit on the front of the ship?”
“That be the bowsprit, lass. It’s what makes yer ship one of the fastest vessels to sail. If the wind be favorable, ye can make eleven knots.”
“Ah.”
“Ye’ve got fourteen cannons aboard, as well. That with yer speed will let ye hunt all but the biggest of prizes.”
“Fourteen, eh? Cool.” I looked around the deck of the ship, a warm glow of ownership filling me. It may not be real, and heaven knew I didn’t want to stay here, but for the moment, at least, I had a fast, deadly ship, and the sudden desire to pillage and plunder and fire off all fourteen cannons in a dashing display of might and power.
