Preface

THE GIRL

Ihad to get away from her. For her I would bury myself in the sand, I'd throw myself off the tallest building, I'd tie a rock to my ankle and sink to the bottom of the cursed ocean.

"Why do you keep touching it? My hair is nothing special, just plain old brown. Like dirt or something filthy." The girl I loved giggled.

Pain and indignation shot through my heart as her silky strands wove through my fingers. "Rummy, don't you see that it's the same shade as the boat dock after the fiercest of storms? The dock always survives and graces us with the most gorgeous shade of umber. That's what color your hair is."

Escape. I had to escape her.

Gulls squawked overhead and the salty smell of the ocean sat heavy on my reddening skin. Coward. I was a fucking coward. A crazy fucking coward, I realized, as I stared down at the ship, willing my legs to move.

"I'm here to respond to the ad for a seaman," I said to myself, willing my voice into a gruff, unnatural tone. Sailors stayed at the inn I worked at, and I'd memorized their tone, the way they'd walked, and often imitated them to make Rummy laugh. But now it wasn't for show, or to impress the girl who didn't love me back. No, this was my grand audition. My role? Spineless lady sailor.

Which would work against me more, I wondered? The fact that I'd never set foot on a boat in my life, or the tiny detail that I was a woman, and women never sailed. I was betting it was the latter.

But I'd pulled my hair back into a tight knot at the nape of my neck, stolen a hat, britches, boots, and a men's shirt from the lost items at my small seaside inn. If they didn't look too closely, they might not notice. I looked like a scrawny sailor boy if you didn't look too hard and if I caved my spin inward to hide my breasts. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I sucked in a breath and creaked across the sandy and splintery dock.

Men bustled aboard the modestly sized sailboat. Or was it a ship? What was the difference? Hell if I knew. Maybe it should have crossed my mind that not knowing the answer to the most basic of sailor questions meant this was a bad idea– but no, we've established that I was being a fool. A stupid, lonely, rejected fool.

Anywhere but here. The depths of the sea, an old creaky boat, it didn't matter.

An old man with a long gray beard and skin that looked like sun-worn leather squinted down at me. "What'd ya want?"

Oh, oh, this was it. Time for my line.

I'm here to respond to the ad for a seaman.

I'm here to respond to the ad for a seaman.

"I'm here for some semen!" I croaked.

Red embarrassment shocked against my cheeks as I stumbled over my words, correcting myself, willing my tone into low self-assurance.

"Come aboard, lad," the old man called, passing me a rope as my feet left land.

"Yes, rope, I'm great with rope. And sails," I added as men eyed me briefly before carrying on with their duties.

I followed the long-bearded sailor, trying not to trip over the heavy ropes, as he chewed on a pipe. "Whatcha know about porridge?"

"Uh," his question was not on my list of study topics for pretending to be a sailor, but surprisingly I did in fact know a lot about porridge, having been on breakfast duty most every morning at the inn. "Lots, actually."

"You like rum?"

"Never had it, it uh, smells weird to me."

The man stroked his beard and regarded me as if I were a lunatic. I knew I looked and sounded like one. He was about as tall as me, and I was only five foot three, but he was all tendon and age, whereas I was soft and inflexible. The motion of the vessel as it rocked in the still of the dock was already causing me to wobble, and I assumed he noticed it too as he looked at my feet. "Trade boots with me and get into the galley. We set sail at noon. Men'll want their supper at sundown."

The weight of the rope pulled at my shoulders as I chased the weathered sailor down a narrow, smelly set of stairs into the lower part of the ship. He gestured to a small wood stove, sacks of potatoes and oats and other dried goods in sacks. "This here's the galley. I'm Captn' Fig, welcome aboard." He roughly took the rope from my sweaty, feeble grip and slung it over his shoulder.

His parting words slapped red across my face again.

"Holler when yer ready for that semen. Sure, there's several boys ‘round here that would oblige. Though you dress strange for lady, I don't think they'll care once we're good and out to sea."

My feet slipped on a wet slosh of saltwater, and I tumbled into a lumpy bag of potatoes as the ship jolted forward. There was no turning back now.

I'd never go back.

Never see her again.

Little did I know just how much I was leaving behind.