I already shared the beginning of my Golden Age of Piracy story, and this week I want to give you another scene.  The last excerpt introduced you to my pirate captain, Red Ballantyne, but you get to know him better here, especially since he takes over the narration.  Red and Tam go on to alternate narrating the rest of the story.

This is early, so there isn’t a lot of background needed–you can read the preceding scene here.  In sum, Tam has already asked Red for a job on his ship and been turned down, but when officers of the Royal British Navy showed up at the tavern, Red needed Tam’s help to lead him through the crowd to the back door.  That’s about it so far–except that “Tam” is short for “Tamara,” something Red doesn’t know yet.

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            I don’t know why Navy men can’t stay in their own kind of tavern—do you suppose Navy officers even go into taverns for the pleasure in it, or are they too restrained for that?—and just leave me alone.  Me, I’m Red Ballantyne, captain of the Ocean Rose, handsome, debonair and charming, effective with any make of weapon and loved by many women in many ports.  That’s what the stories say.  If they’re not saying that, I’d like to know the reason why not.  The stories should also be telling you that my Rosie is the finest ship that ever sailed any seven of the Seven Seas.  Sure, I’m only intimately familiar with ships in the Caribbean, but I’d still wager money that Rosie’s the best anywhere, barring none.  I’d give you my word on it except that I’m a liar and a rogue, so my word isn’t worth much. 

            Rosie really is something special, though.  I was very much wanting to get back to her, as I pushed through a crowded tavern with the Navy in pursuit.  It was lucky that me and the kid I was following belonged in this sort of place.  We were suitably unkempt; my coat’s the same color blue as the Navy’s, but the effect is different when you wear it open and cut off the cuffs and lapels.  We belonged, the Navy didn’t, and in some crowds that makes a difference.  This crowd let us through without hardly noticing they were doing it.  They tripped the Navy when they thought they could get away with it.

            As for the occasional shouts of “Stop him, in the King’s name!” and other nonsense like that…  They shouldn’t have bothered, because that was ignored.

            I ignored the shouts too, and concentrated on following the kid—Tam, that is.  I don’t know exactly how I first got mixed up with him.  He showed up at my table, a skinny boy with ragged brown hair and big blue eyes, asking for a job; probably had wild ideas about the pirate life.  Looked pleasant enough, enthusiastic enough, looked like maybe he really knew some of what he claimed to know about sailing, but he’d probably never picked up a gun in his life.  Besides, what did I need to hire some random kid for?

            However, the kid was in the right place at the right moment to help me make a fast exit from the tavern.  I see no point in entering a fight that can be reasonably avoided.  I’m too fond of my neck at its current length.

            We made it to the kitchen, which was barely less crowded than the rest of the tavern.  Lots of pots and food and fires and pretty girls that I sadly didn’t have time to appreciate.

“So where’s this back door?” I asked the kid.

            “Through the storeroom,” he explained, pointing to a door visible between the flurries of kitchen workers and serving girls.

            I didn’t have time to appreciate them, but the girls noticed me.  I didn’t belong in the kitchen, of course.  Me being Red Ballantyne of the Ocean Rose might have had something to do with it too.

            I flashed a charming grin.  I’m very good at that.  I’ve done it many times.  The stories ought to mention that too.  “Don’t mind me, just passing through,” I said, and kept walking.

            I moved faster when the Navy reached the entrance to the kitchen.  I’m a big believer in politeness, but sometimes you just have to shove.

            “Stop him, stop him!” the Navy officer in the lead was yelling, but no one did.  They didn’t stop the Navy either, and I slipped into the storeroom ahead of His Majesty’s servants by a narrow margin.  The kid had ducked in ahead of me, and I shut the door nearly on the nose of a Navy sailor.

            God bless all storeroom doors that can be locked from the inside.

I can’t say I liked that storeroom.  I like big open spaces, and the occasional crowded tavern.  This place was small and narrow and cramped, with tall shelves that looked like they wanted to fall on me.  On the positive side, it had a door leading outside.

“Thanks for the help, kid,” I said, pulling open the door.  “Circle back around into the tavern and the Navy won’t remember you.”  They’d be too busy chasing me.  Did I mention I have an impressive price on my head?  That’s probably been implied.

“Are you going back to the docks?” the kid asked, following me out into the narrow alley behind the tavern.  “To your ship?”

“Where else would a sailor on the run go?  Oh hell, there’s a problem,” I realized.

“Why?  Where else would you go?”

“Exactly.  Nowhere else.  If it’s that obvious, the Navy’ll have thought of it too.  If they’re not already watching the most direct route from here to the docks, they will be soon.”

The kid seemed less bothered than me.  “So?  There’s lots of back ways to the docks.”

I had thought of that.  The trouble was that I’m a sailor, not a landsman—I know multitudes about sand bars and currents and navigating certain passages between islands.  I don’t know so much about the back alleys of towns, at least not this town.  Gale Port, Anguilla was not a place I was intimately familiar with.  I said so.

I had to give the kid points for initiative.  “I know the back alleys,” he said instantly.  “I could show you how to get to the docks.”

If I’d stopped to think about it, I probably would’ve said no and figured a plan myself.  I could’ve done it.  But as it was, the Navy would figure out soon that I’d gone out the back.  Getting through the tavern to circle around and be back here wouldn’t take them more than a minute or two, which meant I didn’t have the time to think.  So I told the kid he could show me the back ways.

That determined, we made a rapid exit.  I see no dishonor in strategic retreating.  And so what if it is dishonorable, I didn’t become a criminal for the honor in it, and I don’t fight or retreat with an interest in honor.  The point is, after all, to stay alive.  If the Navy wants to play by the rules, all the better for me, because I don’t believe in following rules.  Not anybody else’s rules, anyway.

So me and the kid headed through a lot of back alleys.  I didn’t know where we were going, I didn’t know if he knew where we were going, but there wasn’t much I could do about it if he didn’t.  Not the most reassuring situation, and if I was the type to worry, I might’ve.  Good thing I’m not that type.