1Daughter of the Pirate King （Daughter of the Pirate King, #1）
Tricia Levenseller
For Alisa,
my sister, friend, and first reader
“LET US NOT, DEAR FRIENDS, FORGET OUR DEAR FRIENDS THE CUTTLEFISH.”
—CAPTAIN JACK SPARROW
Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End
Chapter 1
I HATE HAVING TO dress like a man.
The cotton shirt is too loose, the breeches too big, the boots too
uncomfortable. My hair is bound on the top of my head, secured in a bun underneath a small sailor’s hat. My sword is strapped tightly to the left side of my waist, a pistol undrawn on my right.
The clothing is awkward as it hangs loose in all the wrong places. And the smell! You’d think men did nothing but roll around in dead fish guts while smearing their own excrement on their sleeves. But perhaps I shouldn’t complain
so.
Such precautions are necessary when one’s being invaded by pirates.
We’re outnumbered. Outgunned. Seven of my men lie dead on their backs.
Two more jumped overboard as soon as they saw the black flag of the Night Farer on the horizon.
Deserters. They’re the most cowardly filth. They deserve whatever fate
comes to them. Whether they tire and drown or get claimed by the sea life.
Steel twangs through the air. The ship rocks from the blasts of cannons. We
cannot hold out much longer.
“Two more down, Captain,” Mandsy, my temporary first mate, says from
where she peeks through the trapdoor.
“I should be up there, shoving steel between ribs,” I say, “not hiding like some helpless whelp.”
“A little patience,” she reminds me. “If we’re to survive this, you need to stay put.”
“Survive?” I ask, offended.
“Let me rephrase. If we’re to succeed, you really shouldn’t be seen performing impressive feats with the sword.”
“But maybe if I just killed a few of them…” I say more to myself.
“You know we can’t risk that,” she says. Then she adds abruptly, “More men
have boarded the ship. I think they’re headed this way.”
Finally. “Give the order to surrender.”
“Aye, Captain.” She ascends the rest of the steps leading to the deck.
“And don’t get yourself killed!” I hiss after her.
She nods before traveling through the trapdoor.
Don’t get killed, I say again in my head. Mandsy is one of only three I trust on this ship. She’s a good gal, very bright, optimistic—and a good voice of reason, which I desperately needed during our voyage. She volunteered to come,
along with two other girls from my real crew. I shouldn’t have allowed them to
join me, but I needed their help keeping these worthless men in line. Life these
last few weeks would have been so much easier if I could have had my crew on this venture.
“Lay down your arms!”
I can barely make out her cry through the sounds of fighting. But then things
calm down. Cutlasses clatter to the wooden deck almost instantly. The men currently under my command had to be expecting the order. Praying for it, even.
If I did not order the surrender, perhaps they would have given up on their own.
By no means does this crew consist of the bravest bunch.
I climb the stairs, lying in wait just belowdecks, staying out of sight. I’m to
play the part of the harmless cabin boy. If these men were to discover who I truly am …
“Check belowdecks. Make sure no one’s hiding.” It’s one of the pirates. I can’t see him from where I hide, but if he’s giving orders, he’s either the first
mate or the captain.
I tense, even though I know exactly what comes next.
The trapdoor lifts, and a hideous face comes into view, complete with a foul,
scraggly beard, yellow teeth, and a broken nose. Meaty arms grasp me roughly,
hoisting me off the ladder and tossing me onto the deck.
It’s a miracle that my hat stays on.
“Line them up!”
I stand as my weapons are removed by the ugly pirate. Then his foot jams into my back as he forces me to my knees, along with the rest of my men. I look
down the line and relax as I see Mandsy. Sorinda and Zimah are unharmed as well. Good. My girls are safe. To hell with the rest of the crew.
I take a moment to observe the pirate barking out orders. He’s a young man,
perhaps not even twenty years of age. Unusual, that. Young men are not usually
the ones giving orders, especially among crews such as this one. His eyes are alight with the victory of the battle. His stance is sure, his face confident. He’s probably a head taller than I, were I standing, with dark brown hair the color of a seal’s coat. His face is pleasant enough to look at, but that means nothing to me when I know he belongs to this crew. He notices Mandsy in the lineup. Her hat