Steel

Cooper gave her an odd, considering look. Then shook her head. “Blane’s looking for it, too, I reckon. I’m lucky I got to you first. Hell, you’re lucky I got to you first. Assuming you’re not spying for him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about at all—who is Blane?” Jill’s hand clenched on the handle of her borrowed rapier. Not that she could do anything with it; that guy Henry proved that. The wire wrapping on the grip pressed into her palm; she wanted to hit something with it, no matter how little good it would do.

“Settle down, there. Know what I think? However you got here, whatever it means, you’ll lead me to him. Then I’ll have done with him for good. Now, what to do with you in the meantime?”

Just let me go, Jill thought, but to say it would have sounded whiny, weak. She had a feeling these people wouldn’t think much of her at all, if they thought her weak. So she kept silent and glared.

The captain put a hand on her hip. “You look like you’ve had a lot of soft living, but anyone on the Diana who expects to eat gets put to work.”

“I don’t know anything about sailing,” Jill argued.

“You don’t have to, to scrub the deck.”

Why would anyone bother scrubbing the deck of a sailing ship that was constantly getting wet, salty, and stepped on? You’d have to scrub it every day.

“Captain,” the black man said, his smile sly. “She should sign the articles if she’s going to be on the crew.”

“I don’t know if she is, Abe,” said Cooper, answering his grin. Jill blinked at them both, confused. “Jenks, fetch the book.”

“Aye, sir,” said the bald man in a sandpaper voice, and he ran from the deck to the cabin below.

“Can you read, girl?” the captain said.

“Of course I can.”

The laugh in Captain Cooper’s eyes grew brighter at that, and Jill bristled at the thought they were making fun of her. This was all a bad joke.

“The articles keep the law aboard a ship like ours. Read ’em through.” Jenks arrived with the book, which Cooper opened and handed to Jill.

The book was a slim, tall thing; she needed two hands to hold it and had to tuck the rapier under her arm. It was bound in leather and water stained. The articles only took up one page; the rest of the pages were filled with signatures. Her eyes needed a moment to focus on the dense writing, black ink on a yellowed page. The handwriting was crooked, cramped, and hard to read. S’s looked like f’s and whole words were abbreviated, and the author seemed to assume she’d know what it all meant. But she’d said she could read and refused to ask for help. The others didn’t comment on how long it took her.

The articles stated that the crew elected the captain and quartermaster and could remove them at any time by an organized vote, which seemed awfully orderly and civilized. There were punishments—flogging—for crimes: Theft, murder, and rape were specifically noted. The articles also laid out the compensation a crew member would get for injuries sustained in battle—different amounts of gold for hands lost, legs lost, and blindness—and described how prizes were to be split—everyone got an equal share, even the captain.

“You’re pirates,” Jill said, reading the page again, approaching full-on panic. She had to get out of here.

The captain laughed. “Pirates! We’re enterprising business folk!” The men around her chuckled at the joke, and Jill blushed. “Lass,” the captain continued. “If you’re not on the crew, then you’re a prisoner and you’ll stay locked up below.”

This was crazy. Could she tell them just to drop her back off at Nassau? But their Nassau wasn’t her Nassau. Nothing but water surrounded them. Where could she go?

What were the chances that any of this would apply to her? She could be careful and follow the rules, avoid offending anyone—though according to the articles fighting among crew was prohibited and she’d already broken that one in her duel with Henry. But she hadn’t been crew then. And she wouldn’t fight in any battles and be in danger of losing limbs. Surely she’d get home before that happened. Somehow she’d wake up from whatever dream this was.

If she were on deck—not locked up—she had a chance of escaping. They had to stop at land sometime. Then she’d run. Then she—she didn’t know, but she’d figure it out.

The captain turned to the next page in the book, revealing rows with a few names, but more X’s. Most of the people who’d signed couldn’t read. Jenks had also brought a pen—no, a feather, a long quill with most of the feathers shaved off—and a little bottle of ink. He held the ink while Marjory dipped the pen in it, then handed it to Jill.

“So what’ll it be? Crew or no?”

Jill didn’t know what other choice she had. She took the pen and signed her name on the next open space. Her writing looked large, round, and clumsy next to the other signatures. The others leered like they’d won a victory.

Surely it didn’t mean anything, she thought.

Cooper blew on the ink to dry it and handed book and quill back to Jenks.

“Welcome aboard, Jill. You’ve met me. Your quartermaster is Abe”—she nodded at the smiling black man—“and first mate is Jenks.” The bald man snarled. “Now you’ll scrub the deck.”

Jill stared. She didn’t even know what scrubbing decks meant. Scrubbing with a mop? A brush?

“And give me that sword, won’t you? And you’l