Grantville Gazette 37

'The Second Chance Bird.' She worded it in English as Pers had. 'That's what we'll call her!'

Pers quickly translated this into Swedish and another great cheer went up. Pam took the fresh cup Pers held out to her and raised it. 'Here's to the Second Chance Bird! God bless her and all who sail on her!'

Pam thought the sound of the cheering had grown a bit hoarse, but they bellowed away at full volume once again anyway. Feeling her duties had now been performed, she gave everyone a deep-almost too deep-bow, managed somehow not to pitch headfirst over the side of the stage and returned to her seat amidst thunderous applause. She was smiling so hard and so wide that her face would have hurt had she been able to feel it.

The lojtnant, who was seated beside her and who rarely said anything beyond that which was required by the diligent prosecution of his duties, turned to Pam and, addressing her in the most genuine and admiring tones, said: 'Captain Pam . . . you sure know how to party!' Pam raised her cup to his and they knocked them together with a sloshing clunk, drank them down and in unison signaled for more.

Off the hosting hook, Pam began to relax and really enjoy the festivities. It was hard to believe these jolly fellows were the same intent and nearly-dour men who toiled so hard in silence throughout the day. They have been through a sea change, she thought and then started laughing. The lojtnant asked her what she was laughing about and she tried to explain but just got more and more mixed up until they were both snorting with laughter, him still clueless as to the phrase's meaning. Gerbald pitched in, trying to help and soon they were all laughing so hard they could barely speak and weren't even sure why.

Pers looked on, frowning with a mother-ish kind of concern, wondering how he was going to get them all to bed and praying no enemies would come across them in such a debilitated state.

During their exploration of the Second Chance Bird's many holds and storage rooms, the men had found musical instruments and were now bringing them out. Pam saw something slightly resembling a violin but round-bodied and with only two strings, what might be a hammer dulcimer, some long- necked apparatus that could be distant kin to a guitar, oddly-shaped drums, cymbals and other unidentifiable noise makers. Apparently the junk had once boasted a small orchestra, very likely for the entertainment of its august owners and their distinguished customers. Many of the Swedes could play an instrument. It was a seaman's tradition, but their own fragile pieces had been lost with the wreck except for a tin flute or two.

The men started warming up with the foreign instruments, creating a cacophony that would make an alley full of amorous cats cover their ears with their paws. After a few minutes, this transformed into something resembling a tune. Soon enough they were playing a rollicking sea shanty that Pam could recognize as one she had heard many times on the voyage around Africa, a real foot-tapper made somehow thrilling by the unusual sounds forming its melodies and harmonies. Now that the band was in full swing, the five luminaries managed to get down from the stage without falling. Anyone who wasn't playing music was dancing. The Second Chance Bird was a floating party, the long suffering crew indulging at long last in the comforts of civilization.

Pam clapped as she watched Dore and Gerbald spinning about in some kind of folk dance. Suddenly Dore grabbed Gerbald by the scruff of his neck and dragged him into a passionate kiss. Gerbald's eyes went wide for a moment, but sensing there was nothing to do but enjoy this shocking public display of affection from his wife, embraced her and kissed her back. When they finally parted, both looked as embarrassed as kids caught necking in the library. The men raised a ribald, but also encouraging cheer. Pam felt like the queen of the May, surrounded by a bunch of men, some of whom were not bad looking at all, no sir, all eyes on her and appreciative of her charms in a delightfully non-threatening way. Ahh, what fine gentlemen, she thought as she took turns whirling about the deck with one fine fellow after another. Another good thing about time travel! In this century they still make them like they used to.

The party wound down as the hour grew late and the revelers finally grew tired, or in some cases, completely incapacitated. It was well past midnight and Pam thought she should probably have passed out by now herself, but she had somehow fed on the positive energy around her. She felt stupendously drunk, but also calmly aware. She saw the bosun, who she had been talking with just a moment or three before, was now curled up under the mainmast like a big gray tabby cat and finally had to admit the party was over.

Head held high but beginning to feel drowsy, Pam allowed the attentive and long-suffering Pers to escort her to her cabin. She walked with the careful, mincing steps of the intoxicated, carefully stepping over the snoring sailors who hadn't made it to their bunks below decks. As she slowly climbed the stairs with Pers literally bringing up her rear, Pam chuckled to herself that it was the only teenager in the group who had got stuck with taking care of all the drunk adults. What a fine example we are setting for today's youth. Pam thought with pride. Someday I hope Pers has children of his own to put him to bed when he gets shitfaced.

Pers guided her to her bunk and gently aimed her so that when she fell her head was near the pillow and most of her body off the floor. He picked up her dangling legs and placed them on the bed, then located a light blanket which he covered her with. Even a balmy night like this could get chilly before dawn.

Pam was still awake, or semi-conscious at least. She reached up to take Pers' hand and squeezed it softly. 'Yer a goo'boy, Perzzz.' she mumbled, eyes mostly closed, her face the very portrait of pickled contentedness.

Pers smiled down at her and gave her hand a squeeze back, which he doubted she could feel. 'I didn't know my real mother very well,' he told her as he very gently lifted her head and slid the pillow under it. 'I was so young when I left . . . but I do know one thing: You are a lot more fun than she was. Sleep well, dear Pam.' He stroked her hair lightly and turned for the door. Before he closed it behind him he could hear the gentle breathing of the fast asleep.

A little while later Pam opened her eyes again, awakened by noises nearby. Listening carefully she heard muffled thuds and giggles coming from the cabin beneath hers. Gerbald and Dore's cabin. Dear Gawd! She grabbed a couple of pillows and crammed them over her ears to shut out the far too intimate sounds emanating from below. It must be like their second honeymoon. No, it was probably their first honeymoon. Pam looked up at the cabin's ceiling, softly lit by dim starlight reflected off the waves and through the open windows. Yes, she was happy for her friends and yes, maybe just a tiny bit jealous. To distract herself she reviewed the day's triumphs. Memory became mixed with dream as the waves rocked her back to sleep and the last clear thought she had before drifting off again was, I'm Pam Miller, pirate captain! Who'd have ever thunk it?

Chapter Thirty-Four: Anchors Aweigh

The decks of the Second Chance Bird at anchor in Castaway's Cove

Nobody was up early the next morning except the few unfortunate marines assigned to the watch. Pam woke to a splitting headache and after some debate swallowed a couple of her precious aspirin with the carafe of water Pers had thoughtfully left for her the night before. 'I'm giving that kid a promotion,' she mumbled through dry lips.

After a while the drum corps marching band in her head settled into a less driving beat and she decided she might be able to get dressed. This took much longer than usual, considering the clothing was of an unfamiliar design and her hands felt like she was wearing oven mitts.

'That's the last time I drink that much,' she growled, ignoring the annoying voice in her head reminding her that she said that every time she had a hangover. Finally managing to pull her new boots on, Pam made her way to the door. She opened the door, allowing a shaft of bright sunlight into the room and closed it again as quickly as she could. The beam of light still seared in glaring orange across her closed eyes.

'Dear God, I swear, I'm going straight.' She sat down for a while, cursing herself for not thinking to bring her up-time sunglasses on this little jaunt. Looking around, she found a floppy hat with a wide brim that resembled the ones she had seen Dutch merchants wear. She put it on, trying not to think about how it had ended up here. It was a bit large, so she tied a scarf around her head to make it fit better. She caught a glimpse of her red-eyed, exotically-clothed self reflected in a silver platter on the table and laughed aloud.

'I'm either a pirate or a pimp! Grandma would be so proud.' Pushing her hat's brim low over her eyes, she made her way out of the door into the late-morning sun.