The Pirate's Revenge by Kelly Gardiner

and a pair of canvas trousers, just the right length; two white linen shirts, laced at the throat; an officer’s long boat-cloak; a brown leather baldric that looped across my chest to hold my sword, and a pair of fishermen’s sandals. Very bloody fancy, as Jem would say.
    Carmella had to help me get the shirt over my bandaged arm and lace up the sandals. She tied my sore arm in a sling around my neck. I gazed at her in wonder. ‘Where did you get all these?’
    â€˜Don’t ask me, Miss. It was Madame. She must have had them stashed away somewhere, but she’s been awake sewing all night getting them the right size for you.’
    â€˜Please thank her for me.’
    Carmella looked abashed. ‘Uh-oh. I justremembered, I wasn’t supposed to say where the clothes came from. She told me it was a secret.’
    I threw her a wink. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll thank her myself then.’
    But I never got a chance.
    After breakfast, as I was sitting in the sun by an open window, breathing in the orange blossom scent from the courtyard, there was a knock on the door.
    â€˜Cygno,’ called Carlo. ‘Are you receiving visitors?’
    â€˜Don’t be silly, Carlo, you are always welcome.’
    I turned my face to greet him. Shuffling into the room behind him, hats off, were the Vella brothers.
    â€˜Ricardo!’ I cried. ‘Francesco! Where have you been?’
    They were a sorry but welcome sight. Francesco wore a black eye, the bruise now turning a nasty yellow, while his brother had a ragged gash across his forehead. They stood together, elbows touching, just inside the doorway.
    They had both somehow scavenged old uniforms from the Knights’ galley fleet — shirts flapping open at the neck, striped trousers held up by wide waistbands. Ricardo had a heavy blue jacket with silver buttons hanging from his shoulders, and his feet were crammed into shoes far too small for him. It was almost reassuring to see Francesco’s grubby toes flexing and wriggling on the cold marble floor.
    â€˜Cygno, you are wounded,’ Francesco whispered.
    â€˜Only a little,’ I said. ‘You’ve been in a fight, too, by the looks. Don’t your uniforms look splendid? Come in, come in.’
    â€˜We cannot come in,’ said Ricardo. ‘There is no time.’
    â€˜We have come to fetch you,’ said Francesco.
    I stood up slowly. ‘Has the Mermaid come back?’
    â€˜ Iva , she awaits you. We have a cart outside. We must leave now.’
    Francesco cleared his throat. ‘The men of the Mermaid have voted. We have decided. It is time to take you home.’
    Home?
    I looked around me: at the white drapes that shimmered like sails in the breeze; at the huge bed piled high with pillows; at the cool paved floor, the tiled washstand, the tall windows, and the gilt edging on the fireplace. My family’s whole house was smaller than this one room, and yet I did not fit here. I was the wrong shape.
    I picked up my sword from its stand beside the bed, and slung the baldric over my shoulder.
    Carlo took a few tentative steps forward. ‘Please stay here, Cygno,’ he said. ‘You are part of our family now.’
    â€˜Thank you, my friend,’ I said, gently, ‘but I cannot. I will see you again, soon.’
    He put out his hand, and I shook it firmly. ‘Farewell.’
    â€˜How do you say it in Malta?’
    â€˜We say sa a .’
    â€˜ Sa a , Carlo,’ I said. ‘Please thank your family for being so kind to me, especially your mother.’
    He nodded.
    â€˜Tell her,’ I said, my voice wavering, ‘please tell her it’s time for me to go home.’

11.
The inland sea
    On board the Mermaid , everything seemed just the same, except that now I was going home.
    As we rowed out to the ship, I admired her lines. She sat so beautifully in the water, so fine, as if she were a noble white horse or a gull sweeping