The watermen pulled alongside and Billy said to them, “I would be pleased if you would forget all about the presence of this vessel.” And then he pressed into their hands two coins, pieces of eight, and from the look on their faces it was clear that Billy had just bought their undying loyalty.
Billy stood, tossed his seabag aboard the low-sided brig, grabbed Elizabeth ’s, and tossed that as well. “Come along, then,” he said to her matter-of-factly, man to man.
Elizabeth nodded. Her palms were sweating and she knew if she held her hands out straight she would see them shake. She felt very exposed, as if her disguise was just the merest wisp, as if it should be clear to everyone that she was not a man. But the boatmen and the boy from the inn had not given her a second look, and she tried to take some comfort from that.
But again, the boatmen and the boy would not leave Billy Bird to die of thirst on some barren strip of sand if they found out, would not have their way with her until they were satisfied and then cut her throat, as the pirates would.
Billy stepped out of the boat and up the brig’s side and Elizabeth stood and followed him, not nearly as sure on her feet as he, certain that her every move would betray her sex. She tried to step with a self-confident air, the kind of cock-first swagger she associated with men such as these, but that only made her feel pathetically obvious in her deception.
She took hold of the cleats mounted on the brig’s side. Her leather gauntlets-Thomas’s gauntlets-were ill- fitting, though Billy himself had restitched them with a care and delicacy that surprised her. Her shoes did not fit right either; handkerchiefs were stuffed around her feet to hold them in place. But despite these encumbrances, and the strange sword hanging from her waist, she managed to get aboard in a credible manner.
Billy was talking with a rough-looking man, a big man with a battered cocked hat on his head, a long, dark broadcloth coat, a cloth tied around his neck in the manner of seamen, all but hidden under a thick beard, cutlass, pistols thrust in his belt.
Elizabeth stepped through the gangway. The man glanced up at her; Billy followed his eyes, said, “Ah, Mr. Vane, this here is an old friend, who will be taking passage with us. William Barrett, younger brother of Malachias Barrett. Do you recall Malachias Barrett, from Port Royal, some years back?”
Vane frowned, then nodded, slowly. “Yes, yes, I do.” He extended a hand to Elizabeth, and Elizabeth, who had anticipated that, grabbed it lustily and shook, squeezing back as hard as she could, which she feared was not very hard.
“I told William we would give him passage to Boston. He’s just cargo, I fear, never the seaman that old Malachias is. William, Mr. Vane here is quartermaster, runs the show, pretty near.”
Vane nodded, released Elizabeth ’s hand, and Elizabeth nodded back. “Welcome aboard, William,” Vane said.
“Pleasure,” Elizabeth said, and Vane turned back to Billy and the encounter was done, and if Vane had any suspicions about their passenger’s gender then, he gave no indication that Elizabeth could see.
She was tense, she realized, every muscle in her body taut. Now she forced herself to relax, to let her muscles loose, like untying the laces of a bodice. She crossed her arms over her chest in what seemed to her a masculine stance, and ran her eyes over the brig.
She had seen just one pirate ship before, the one that Thomas had captured at Smith Island back when he had command of the guardship, and she had heard his tales and Bickerstaff’s of what others were like.
The deck she stood on now did not resemble those descriptions, she had to admit, nor did it remind her of the one she had seen. There were none of the empty bottles kicked into the scuppers, none of the tangles of cordage and discarded remnants of meals and men passed out in various places around the deck.
Rather, it was fairly tidy, shipshape, more like the respectable merchant vessels she had been aboard- Thomas’s guardship, the Plymouth Prize, or her namesake Elizabeth Galley. There were a few men on deck and they were working at something, talking quietly, and paying no attention to the business of their captain and quartermaster.
She heard Billy Bird say, “Very well, then, three bells in the middle watch,” and she turned to him and he turned to her and he said, “Come along, William, we have some hours before the tide turns and we can get under way. I shall show you your cabin and let us have a glass together.”
He led her aft, under the overhanging quarterdeck and through a door in a bulkhead that led to the after cabins, a series of doors lining a narrow alleyway dimly lit by a few lanterns swinging from the beams overhead. At the far end of the line of cabins, the door to the great cabin, the captain’s domain. Billy opened the door, gestured her into his rather finely appointed quarters: wine rack, sideboard, polished cherrywood table amidships, various weapons mounted on the bulkhead and ceiling.
“Very nice, Billy. I had thought that pirate captains did not enjoy the full privacy of a cabin, that the others were free to come and go aft as they pleased.”
“Dear William, will you please stop referring to us as pirates? We are merchants, free traders, and as captain of the vessel I enjoy all the luxuries of any captain, including the absolute privacy of the great cabin.”
As he said that he pointed emphatically over his head. Elizabeth followed his finger, saw a skylight in the deck above, like a little raised house with glass ceilings. Those ceilings were propped open, allowing the night air into the cabin, allowing anyone on the deck above to hear whatever was said in the great cabin below.
Elizabeth looked down, nodded her understanding.
“Now, young sir,” said Billy Bird, “as a favor to my good friend Malachias I shall allow you my own personal sleeping cabin.”
He crossed the day cabin, opened a door on the starboard side. Within was a small sleeping cabin, much smaller than the pantry at Marlowe House, fitted out with a hanging cot, washbasin, chamber pot, and a chest lashed to the deck.
“You may take your rest in here,” Billy Bird said, “but lest you become too relaxed, be aware that on a ship one might be called out, day or night, at a moment’s notice. You are free to sleep through any of the regular emergencies, but anything truly grave will require you to be on deck. So, pray, always be ready to appear on deck.”
Elizabeth nodded. The message was clear. No lacy shifts or feminine sleeping gowns. The disguise was to be maintained at all times.
“And when do you think we shall see Boston?”
“Ah, Boston,” said Billy, “ Boston I think will be no more than a week, perhaps ten days’ sail from Charles Town, if the wind favors us.”
“Charles Town?”
“Yes, quite. I fear we have some business there, which we must attend to first. That is the other consideration.”
“Goddamnit, Billy, why are you telling me this now?”
“Well, dear Billy Barrett, I am kind enough to tell you while we are still affixed to Virginia ’s soil. If you would rather go ashore and arrange another passage, then we can still do that. But where you will find simple merchants more discreet than us, I do not know.”
Elizabeth glared at him. He did not tell her about Charles Town because he wanted her aboard, still hoped for a casual fuck, she was quite certain of that.
“Forgive me, Lizzy,” Billy said, so softly that he would not be heard on deck, “but in truth I did not want to discourage you, not when it was clear to me that you had no choice. We shall be in Charles Town and then up to Boston in less time than it would take you to find another vessel sailing direct from this dismal outpost, and that is not even considering the danger you face of arrest.”
“Humph,” Elizabeth said.
“And what is more, I could not let you face the dangers of Boston alone. I absolutely have to be with you in your quest. Knight-errant and all that.”
At that Elizabeth smiled, her defenses shot through. “Damn your eyes, Billy,” she said, but there was no malice in her words. She had never succeeded in being angry with him, never for more than a few moments at a time. “Very well, I’ll wait patiently as you go about your no doubt honest business in Charles Town. And, please, tell me, I have forgotten to ask, what is the name of your honest merchant brig?”
“Why, she is called the Bloody Revenge. It is a name the men insist upon, though I daresay it is a bit… bellicose… for honest merchant sailors such as we.”
