The Pirate's Revenge by Kelly Gardiner Page B

throat.‘I got it all in my head. I just need someone to take it down.’
    â€˜Of course,’ I said. I took out some fresh ink and sharpened the nib of a pen, while he waited nervously, still standing just inside the door.
    â€˜I’m ready,’ I said, pen poised. Writing hurt my arm, but there was no way I’d admit it. Jem had never asked me for anything before.
    â€˜Right then. It’s to Alice McGuire, Topping Lane, Cheapside. That’s just across from the baker’s.’
    I nodded. ‘Is she your mother, Jem?’
    He chuckled. ‘Hardly. She’s my missus.’
    All these months I’d known him, I’d never guessed he had a wife back in London. I suppose I’d never asked, never even wondered.
    â€˜Go on.’
    â€˜You won’t tell no-one what I say?’ he said.
    â€˜I promise.’
    He coughed again. ‘Here goes.’
    He spoke each word carefully, as though he’d redrafted and rehearsed the letter a hundred times in his head.
    Dearest Alice,
    Don’t you worry about me, though I fear for you and the lad and hope all is well with you both. There’s three pounds in this letter to tide you through. I hope no pick-purse steals it.
    I’m near Catania, that’s in Sicily, on a decent ship nowadays, with good fellows, and earning my keep. I reckon soon we’ll make our fortunes if this war keeps up. Then I’ll be standing onyour doorstop just as if I never left, and never will again.
    Kiss the lad for me.
    Your husband,
    Jem McGuire
    He waited for me to finish writing the last few words. ‘Does that sound all right?’
    â€˜It’s perfect,’ I said softly. I blotted the paper dry and handed it to him. He folded it carefully.
    â€˜How old is your son, Jem?’
    â€˜Going on five, now.’
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know.’
    â€˜Haven’t seen him since he was a babe in arms,’ he said wistfully.
    â€˜But you could go home any time you wanted.’
    â€˜Oh aye?’ he said. ‘How?’
    â€˜Just … sail.’
    â€˜That easy, eh?’ He tucked his thumbs into his belt, and narrowed his eyes at me. ‘Let me tell you something, Cyg. We all want to go home — you’re not the only one.’
    I bowed my head.
    â€˜It’s been three years since Diablo took my ship,’ he went on. ‘I wasn’t sailing master then, mind, just a bosun’s mate. He attacked us just off Sardinia. Horrible fight it was, too. Most of us slaughtered. But he needed crew, so after the battle the living got a choice — sign on with him, or hang.’
    He shrugged. ‘Here I am to this day, same as you, same as Moggia or Max. Only now we got our own ship. No fear of hanging. We just need to turn alittle profit, and most of us would vanish off home — wherever home may be — faster than flying-fish, and no fear.’
    I looked up at him at last. ‘How often do you send letters home?’
    â€˜Whenever I’m in port and can find a scribe.’
    â€˜Does she ever write back?’ I asked.
    â€˜She might, I suppose, but I’ve never been in one place long enough for a letter to find me.’
    â€˜So many years.’ My mind wandered, as always, to my own father, wherever he was.
    â€˜Jem?’ I asked. ‘You are oceans away from your family, and yet you send them word. Don’t you think, if my father was alive, he’d have written to say so? Somehow, surely, he would have found a way. You do.’
    â€˜I can’t tell what lies in another man’s mind, Cyg. But I do think, if your father was anywhere about, he ought to have made himself known to you.’
    â€˜Maybe he doesn’t know where I am, either.’
    â€˜You’re getting to be famous in these waters, you know,’ he teased. ‘All of Sicily seems to have heard of the maid on the Mermaid . Last week the harbour master