"Rraaaah!"

With a bestial roar I would have expected more of a primordial monster than of my silent ice block of a husband, Mr Rikkard Ambrose barrelled into the line of soldiers, wielding his knife like an insane serial killer on psychotropic drugs. The man who had been shouting to shoot at me went down first, the knife hitting him in the gut so hard it went all the way through and came out the other side.

"Guh!"

Grabbing the whole man like a piece of meat on a shashlik stick, Mr Ambrose swept him up into the air and hurled him at three of his compatriots. Not waiting to see how they went down, he whirled around towards the remaining four soldiers, a stolen rifle in his hands.

Do you want to know something interesting about soldiers? When they shoot, they form up in a line. Probably a good idea, normally, so they don't shoot each other. But if someone was standing at one end of that line with a rifle in his hand...

Bam!

...it's not such a good idea.

The bullet went through the first man right into the second, and through him into the third, who was hurled straight into the last man standing. Rushing forward, Mr Ambrose lifted the butt of his rifle and brought it down onto the man's head.

Crack!

The sound echoed across the ocean. As it faded, I suddenly realized how quiet it had become.

I swallowed.

"Is...is it over?"

A moment later, my question was answered by an explosion of cheers. The pirates rushed forward, past the unmoving bodies of their foes, straight towards Mr Ambrose. Tensing, I tightened my grip around my pistol—then nearly dropped it when they lifted him up and hurled him into the air.

"Hip, hip, huzzah!"

"Hip, hip, huzzah!"

"Great work!"

"That's the stuff, lad!"

I clung to the ladder and watched as my husband and employer, Mr Rikkard Ambrose, the son of a noble lord and the most respectable businessman in all of Great Britain, was being carried on the shoulders of a bunch of pirates. Pirates who were cheering for him.

Hasn't my world gone crazy enough yet?

Right then, the first mate clapped his hands. "All right, all right! Calm down, boys! Everyone, put down the lad and grab the booty!"

"Aye aye, Sir!"

"Not that booty! Let go of my arse, you bloody idiot!"

"Um...right away, Sir!"

"And send those redcoats to Davy Jones' locker!"

"Aye aye, Sir!"

After that, things went rather fast. A quick check of our own ship revealed that the cannonball indeed had only grazed us. The damage was patched up, and a part of the crew was redirected to the other ship, which had now been commandeered as part of the pirate fleet.

Mr Ambrose was among those ordered to return to the original vessel. When he returned to the pirate ship, another cheer went up, and hands rained down on him from all directions, clapping his back and shoulders.

"Great job!"

"You got your sea legs fast, matey!"

"You, too, Freddie! Come on up!" Suddenly, I found myself tugged up onto the deck, and my back was assaulted by heavy slaps. A moment later, the wickedly grinning face of Jackal appeared in front of me. "Saw you take a pot shot at those bloody redcoats! Good one, Fatty!"

My eyelid twitched. "Why...thank you. I don't know what to say."

Because nonverbal violence is so much more satisfying.

"For a moment there, I thought you were just gonna sneak below deck and hide in a corner like a coward. But you proved me wrong, Fatty! You've got backbone! Almost as much as you've got fat. Ha!"

"Thank you so much."

Could I maybe duel him again? Would Gaptooth mind if I killed off one of his men?

"Don't worry about it!" He threw an arm around my shoulder, clamping my arms to my side and thus avoiding a knife to the gut. "The least I can do is teach the fresh meat the ropes! Get it? Fresh meat? Because you're fat?"

"Hilarious. I can hardly contain my laughter."

"Well, I can't!" With one more burst of laughter, he gave me a last slap on the back and then strolled off to share his amazing joke with everybody else. Good thing, too. Five seconds more, and I probably wouldn't have been able to resist going for his throat.

And speaking of people I wanted to strangle to death...

"You!" Fuming, I stalked towards a certain despicable pirate / businessman / husband. Stabbing a finger into his chest, I glared up at him with the ferocity of a pissed-off grizzly bear. A pregnant grizzly bear. "Don't you dare pull stunts like that again, do you hear? Don't you dare!"

"Certainly not."

"Good!"

"Next time, I shall use a completely different one."

Don't strangle! Don't strangle! Don't strangle!

Although...I was among pirates. Could it be that strangling was socially acceptable?

"Ha!" My thoughts were interrupted by a guffaw, and I turned around to see Jackal pointing at the both of us. "You two are like an old married couple."

All the other pirates burst out laughing.

"Ha, ha," I said. "Ha."

"Ha," Mr Ambrose agreed, icily. Which, all things considered, was probably the closest he had ever come to laughing.

"All right, you louts!" The first mate barked from the other end of the deck, interrupting the moment. "Enough wasting time on scuttlebutt! Get back to work! And you, Fat Freddy, get back into the galley and warm up another pot of stew!"

I took a deep breath, eyes flicking to the discarded bowls of food still scattered across the deck. "Aye aye, Sir! Straight away, Sir!"

Over the next few hours, I slaved away in the galley. I swear, if they threw away my hard work one more time, the redcoats wouldn't be the only ones who would be swimming with the fishes tonight!

Hm...

I just realized...was it weird that I didn't feel particularly guilty about having shot what was, to all intents and purposes, an innocent man? More than that, an officer of the British Royal Navy?

Well, look at it like this: you know what the British police do to suffragists back home, because they can get away with it. What do you think the army and navy get up to in the colonies? Especially with women and children?

All right, suddenly I felt a lot less guilty. Long live the pirates, harbingers of justice!

Finally, I was finished and, huffing and puffing under the weight, grabbed hold of the pot and wobbled out of the galley. Dang those ravenous sons of bachelors—!

"Need some help?"

Blinking, I looked down—and found a small, thin figure standing beside me, gazing up at me with eyes that seemed far too large in his face. His thin, almost emaciated face.

I made a decision.

"Yes. This thing is far too heavy. Here." Putting the pot down with a thunk, I pulled my personal bowl from my apron pocket, filled it to the brim with steaming hot stew, and handed it to the little fellow. "You can help me carry that."

Then, picking up the pot that suddenly felt significantly lighter, I started down the passageway and towards the sailors who were waiting to help me lift the pot up the ladder. The moment I reached the deck, I was set upon by a pack of hungry wolves, also known as my dear fellow crew members. The last in line for food was Mr Ambrose, who had been diligently doing repair work till the very last minute

"Here you go." With a sweet smile, I handed him a bowl of stew, to which I had not added quite a bit of extra salt. Nope, not at all. And if any had found its way in there accidentally, it was purely his fault for bloody risking his neck earlier!

"Hm."

Would it kill him to say thank you?

Well, all things considered, most likely.

Lifting the bowl, he reached for the spoon—then stopped his hand, and instead dipped his finger into the stew, carefully tasting it. Dang it!

"Hm...quite adequate."

Wait, what?

"Um...really?"

"Indeed." Cocking his head, he licked his finger again. "Your cooking is getting better. Marginally."

I felt heat rise to my cheeks. I was blushing! Why the hell was I blushing? I shouldn't feel good about being complimented about my cooking! Was I turning into a good little housewife while dressed as a man on a pirate ship?

"Ehem, well, thank you, I—"

I stopped, my eyes suddenly narrowing in suspicion. No, that couldn't be, right? Surely, not even Mr Rikkard Ambrose would go so far as to join a pirate crew to teach me how to cook, right?

I scrutinized him for a moment longer—then shook my head. Nah. I must be imagining things.

***

Three days later...

That bloody bastard! He had gotten us to join a pirate crew to teach me how to cook! And the worst thing? It was working! I had moved on from stew (alternately tasteless or overspiced) to omelettes and various examples of seafood. Seafood which actually tasted good. Gah! The eternal shame!

"Freddy, my mate!" An arm appeared around my shoulder, squeezing heartily. "Those little crispy things are bloody marvellous!"

Ah, yes. Him. The pirate who, after kicking my non-existing bollocks, trying his best to murder me and repeatedly insulting me to my face, decided all that would make us the best of friends. And the worst of it was...

"Here, take that! I found that on the navy ship in the officers' quarters." Grinning widely, he handed me a bag of sweets. "After all, you can't be the only one handing out tasty stuff, right?"

...I couldn't stop myself from liking the bastard! He was like a big, scruffy dog that just bit you in the butt and now was giving you innocent puppy-dog eyes like he couldn't hurt a fly.

"So, Freddy!" The aforementioned annoying canine threw an arm around my shoulder and stole another shrimp. "How are you doing on your first jaunt out onto the seven seas with our merry band of misfits?"

I opened my mouth to answer—then suddenly clutched my stomach and rushed towards the railing.

"Blluuurgh!"

"So...not very much, then."

"Bleeeargh!"

"Ah." Snatching another shrimp, he patted my back, then held up the bag of sweets. "You won't be needing those anymore, I suppose?"

"Don't you dare!"

I made a grab for the bag, and he danced out of my way, chuckling. "Now, now, no stealing. We're all honourable people on this ship, aren't we?"

"Despicable pirate scum!"

"There's no need for foul language, you know? We're all gentlemen here. Mwahahaha!"

"Up yours, you barnacle-bearded bastard!"

Was I actually bantering with a man who had tried to murder me yesterday?

I lunged for the bag again, and this time I didn't miss. With a smirk, I lifted it in triumph. "Ha! Got it!"

"That you did!" Smirking equally widely, Jackal pulled out a whiskey bottle that looked more expensive than everything he owned put together and took a deep swig. "That you did. God, you're an all right fellow, Freddy. I'm glad to be here with you."

I blinked. "You are?" Why, thank you! I'd be happy to stab you a few more times if that's how one makes a good impression on you.

"Oh aye! Lazing around, looking at the ocean while sipping a nice drink with a mate..." He took another swig. "Why do you think I joined up with the pirates in the first place? It was all to get away from my wife. Bloody women!"

I nearly choked on a piece of candy.

Jackal nodded wisely, not surprised at my reaction. "I know, right? Women are the worst! Luckily, we're out here in the fresh air, all alone and with no nagging wives tugging on our coattails."

"Yes." One of my eyebrows twitched. "Wives can be so inconvenient for men when they want to go kill and rob other people and then drink themselves into unconsciousness."

"I know, right? No sense of fun!"

"And can you imagine what one of them might do if she were here right now, listening in on us?"

Jackal shuddered. "Don't! I don't even wanna think about it." He took another, significantly deeper, swig of whiskey. "Trust me, Freddy, don't ever get involved with women! They're nothing but trouble!"

"Are they now?"

"Oh aye! Don't you ever let some hussy draw you in with her honeyed words!"

"I think the chances of that are rather remote."

***

Once both ships were sufficiently repaired, we returned to the pirate camp fairly quickly. That probably had a lot to do with the half a dozen injured crew members we currently had on board. When we reached the encampment, I was ordered to boil some rags for bandages, and they were taken by an emaciated man with a manic grin on his face and various metal implements in his claws. Probably a torturer. There was a remote possibility that he was a doctor, but the screams that came from the tent full of injured pirates suggested otherwise.

"Now..." With a sombre face, Gaptooth strode in front of the assembled crowd of pirates, accompanied by more screams in the background. "We have won a hard-fought battle. Many among us have sacrificed their lives in order to ensure our victory—" Another agonizing scream rose from the medical tent. "—and many still will. You know what that means."

A sombre silence descended over the crowd. It lasted for a long moment—then, suddenly, a wide grin spread over the fat man's face, and he thrust a tankard of ale into the air. "Let's celebrate!"

Cheers erupted from the crowd. Hats were flung towards the sky, quite a few of them purloined from Navy personnel who didn't need them anymore.

"But, but..." Sputtering, I stared at the men who were streaming onto the beach, lighting fires, pulling out bottles of drink, cutting meat to roast. "People were injured! People died!"

Jackal cocked an eyebrow. "Aye, so what? We're pirates!" Then he clapped my shoulder and strode off towards his fellows. "Save me some whiskey, boys!"

I stood there for a long moment. Then I turned and gave Mr Ambrose a meaningful look. "And you still think it was a good idea to come here?"

Wisely, all he answered with was silence.

That night, the pirate crew feasted and celebrated into the small hours of the morning. Sounds fun, right? Well, not so much when people consider it your job to run around the entire time and serve them second helpings. And third. And fourth. Add to that the little fact that people kept offering me rum and whiskey and any number of other pilfered drinks I couldn't bloody touch, and I was understandably not in a very good mood.

By the end of the night, I was dead on my feet.

Well, I thought, one corner of my mouth twitching as I let my gaze sweep over the snoring bodies of the drunken, unconscious pirates scattered across the beach, at least I'm still on my feet.

A yawn forced itself up my throat and out of my mouth.

Not for much longer, though.

Lowering my gaze, I looked down at the figure of the small boy snoring in the sand at my feet. Bending down as far as my belly would allow, I grabbed a nearby jacket someone had discarded, folded it up, and slipped it under the boy's head.

No, I was not being overtaken by motherly instincts! And besides, nobody was here to see, so if anyone accused me of it, I had plausible deniability.

Turning around with another yawn, I stumbled off towards the southern edge of the camp. I had been offered a bedroll among the other pirates, but had courteously declined (i.e. said "Hell no!") and instead hunkered down in the kitchen tent where, hopefully, I would be able to inconspicuously sneak off into the woods at night when I would need to relieve a certain need.

And I wasn't only talking about needing to pee. Goddamn pregnancy hormones!

So, yes, I was keeping as much distance as possible between me and the males in this camp. It still wasn't nearly far enough for my taste—but it would suffice for the night. Before long, I was safely wrapped in my blankets in the lonely tent, far, far away from my drunken, horny crew mates.

Don't be silly, Lilly. Nobody here even knows that you're a woman! Why would any of them—

That was when I heard the rustling of cloth from behind me. The tent's cloth. A moment later, I heard footsteps approaching from behind.

Oh crap. I just had to put my mouth in it, didn't I?

I tensed as the steps came closer. Heavy steps. A man's steps.

Reaching out, I closed my fingers around the grip of a nearby frying pan.

What do you know? There are advantages to being a cook after all.

There was a rustle. Slowly, I lifted one eyelid just a bit and peeked through the gap. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a dark shadow looming above me. And whoever he was, he was bending down.

My fingers tightened around the handle of the frying pan. Any moment now. Any moment...

Three.

Two.

One.

Now!

-------------------------------------

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

In case you were wondering about my use of the word "booty" - "booty" is pirate slang for loot and American English slang for buttocks. Makes one wonder what it means to American pirates ;-)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob

-----------------------------------------

GLOSSARY:

Davy Jones' locker—pirate slang for the bottom of the ocean.