Following The Dream

THE PIRATE’S DAUGHTER AND A KING’S RANSOM

Chapter One

DEADEYE PETE

She listened from the stool at her father’s feet while he told the story of her naming. At fourteen years of age she could recite every word from memory, as it was with most of his tales. Still, she never tired of hearing them or the sound of her father’s voice. 

She watched him now, comfortable in his chair beside the hearth, the glow from the evening’s fire softly lighting his face through the smoke that hung in the air. She knew he would be leaving soon, abandoning her and her mother for ship and crew. It was his life, their life together. A seafaring man’s family expected such farewells. And, though she knew all this, it still pained her that he would go. 

She pushed the sad reminder aside then perked to catch her father’s next words.

“You know, your mother and I went ’round and ’round about it: Elizabeth, Cassandra, and Alexandria—all proper names of which I would choose none. Each night your mother would present me with another and I would dismiss it.” He pinned her with a look and said, “She wanted to name you Matilda.” 

Her father’s hands flew up in the air and came down with a sharp slap. “Godawful name that one. No child should bear it.”

Blue chuckled. She rather liked the name Matilda.

He father continued. “Well, for fourteen days we were at it; I the proud rooster, your Mother the hen, pecking at me every moment she could. On the fifteenth day, I went to sea, and I thanked the Lord God almighty.

“It was our second day out when a storm swept down. In the dead of night the titan struck in a raging fury. Rain fell enough to drown a man should he be too long in it, and winds with the force of a thousand fists battered our sails. The waters churned in all directions, spinning and pitching the ship aft to bow, port to starboard. Then it was over. As quick as it had fallen, the storm lifted. 

“Why, it was only by grace that we’d not lost a single man, though a few had taken the beating badly. We counted ourselves fortunate until the rising sun revealed what the night had kept from us: yards, splintered and tangled, twisted in sail and shroud; crosstrees loosed from their masts; our bowsprit shattered, its sail completely gone. But it wasn’t until I ordered the ship about, that I discovered the cruelest blow. Our rudder had been lost. With no way to steer the ship we were helpless, adrift, a doomed crew. 

Her father leaned forward, his voice dropping low, his eyes shimmering with the reflection of the fire’s glow. 

“That day I nearly wept. In my despair, I looked heavenward for forgiveness; into a sky colored deep and rich like the cerulean found on an artist’s palette and the color of my newborn daughter’s eyes.” 

A warm smile creased her father’s face. “I knew right then and there what had to be done and I set the crew to work. 

“We labored day and night piecing together what we could for sail, masts and yards. Not a stick of furniture did we spare; all were put to the mend. My own table, I had whittled down for a rudder. I tell you true, child. Why, we toiled until exhaustion forced us from our feet and we fell to sleeping right where we had stood. I confess, there were times I feared the task too great. It was then I would look to the blue sky above to remind myself of you and my determination would be renewed.” Her father stopped, took a deep breath and then a draw from his pipe. “For three weeks we worked to set our ship right and when finally it was whole, we made for port.

“Oh, ho, we looked a sorry sight, like beggars limpin’ to town, but we were a happy lot for it. Nor did I dally on the docks, but collected my horse post haste and made straight for home. There I found your mother weeping, believing me lost, for my time away was long. I soothed her as best I could and when she’d calmed, took you up in my arms and spoke your true name. Hello, my sweet and bonny Blue. I bid you fair morning.”

Her father’s expression turned expectant. “Now to pay homage to the bard. A drink would do me well.”

Blue knew his game and though she thought herself past most childish folly, she played along all the same, cherishing the time spent together. “Ah, is it homage you wish? Then perhaps a taste of my mother’s mead would suffice.” 

“I’ll have more than a taste young lass.” Her father rose to his feet, and towering over her, raised his hands over his head, clawed like a bear, and growled.

Blue let out a playful squeal, sprang up from her seat and dashed off giggling while her father called after her. 

“Fly, my little bird, fly!” 

Blue scurried out from the parlour room down the steps to the ground floor kitchen. Ignoring her mother at work there, she took up a lantern and then proceeded to the cellar where she found what she needed. 

With bottle in hand, no time wasted, she returned to her father’s side. 

He eyed her, teasingly. “And how am I to drink this nectar? I have no cup, no flagon? Perhaps, I should forgo the vessel and swig from the bottle as a vagabond would.”

Blue did her best to keep a straight face. It wouldn’t do for her to break the spell. “For heaven’s sakes, no!  Good bard, I beg your patience a moment longer while I fetch a vessel fit for such a gentleman as yourself.”

Once again, Blue darted from the room, down the stairwell and back to the kitchen. She went straight to a green-lacquered cabinet that stood against the far wall. The cabinet, a wedding gift to her parents from a long-dead relative, had been the subject of some envy as confessed by their neighbor, Mistress Shepherd. Blue too hoped one day to have the cabinet for herself. She let her fingers trace over the woodwork, feeling each minute detail of the bird carved in relief on a cabinet door. 

“What are you about?” her mother asked.

The sound of her voice pulled Blue from her daydream. “Father requires a cup,” she replied, opening wide the cabinet door to expose an array of neatly arranged pottery. She quickly chose a cup and plucked it from the shelf, dislodging another in her haste. It tumbled from the shelf, landing with a splat in the scrap pail at her feet. 

“Really, dear, a girl your age should not be so clumsy.” 

“Yes, mother,” Blue replied, retrieving the cup from the slop. She wiped it clean then checked to see that it had not cracked. Thankfully this one hadn’t. She’d been responsible for too many chips and cracks and didn’t enjoy the scolding that had accompanied them. 

She returned the cup to its place and left to rejoin her father. She found him slouched in his chair, his arms out to both sides and his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

 “Good bard, perish not for I bring you a chalice.” 

He opened one eye, peered at her and then smiled as he watched her fill the cup. “Ah, a reprieve. Do keep her steady, girl, we shouldn’t want to waste any to the floor.” 

Blue giggled, sloshing mead as she poured. “Then you should take it from me before any more is lost!”

Her father did just that, and taking the cup from her hand emptied it with one deep draw. 

Of course, like the dutiful daughter she was, mostly, Blue refilled it, and as she watched him sipped, she let slip the question that had been on her mind. “Father, what of the man they call Deadeye Pete?” 

No sooner had the words passed from her lips did her father begin to choke and spit, spewing mead from his mouth in every direction. For Blue, there was little she could do to avoid a drenching. 

“What has happened here?” 

Blue looked to find her mother, hands on hips, standing at the parlour door, her head shaking in disbelief. “There are days that I wonder if I haven’t two children in this house. What has happened here?” her mother repeated.

Finding her father’s expression and her mother’s complaint all too funny, Blue burst into laughter. It rang through the parlor bringing a chuckle from her mother and setting a frown on her father’s face.

“Quiet! I will have quiet this minute!” her father bellowed springing to his feet. “Tell me now! How came you by that name!” 

Never having seen her father so angry, Blue reeled back in shocked surprise, tripping over her footstool and falling to the floor. She looked up at him, wide eyed and bewildered. “Forgive me! I . . .” Her tongue caught in her mouth. 

“Mister Pergamum, my husband, calm yourself,” her mother began. She had stepped full into the parlor and was making her way to Blue. “Is this room so large that we need raise our voices to be heard?” 

She fixed her eyes on Blue. “What was said to upset your father?” 

“I said nothing out of turn,” Blue answered. She wanted nothing more than to get to her feet and regain some of her dignity but found it impossible to separate herself from the stool tangled up in her skirts. 

Her mother stooped and freed the stool. “Certainly something was spoken to bring him to such a state?”

Blue climbed to her feet, taking a moment to compose herself before she answered. “I only asked that father tell me of Deadeye Pete.”

Surprise flashed across her mother’s face. “And how is it that you came to hear of this man?”

“In Wolfsmouth,” Blue replied. “The day father’s ship last came to port.” 

Her mother turned her eyes to her husband and gave him that all-too-familiar knowing look. “Then it seems the time has arrived for your father to discuss with you matters of another nature.”

Perseus Pergamum turned away from his wife and daughter, setting his gaze on the hearth and its dwindling fire.

Though his wife may have wished it, he would not have that conversation. Not now, and in truth, not ever. He would not have his daughter burdened with the knowledge. It was the very reason he had chosen the lonely valley for their home. It was isolated, shielded from those outside his confidence. His daughter would never be privy to the common talk of the town’s people and he would be able to keep her from discovering his dark past, or so he had believed. 

Perseus turned from his thoughts and the fire to retake his seat in the tufted cushion chair. “Marguerite, I would speak to our daughter alone.” 

“As you wish.” She cast a look of caution to her daughter.

Perseus watched his wife leave and then redirected his gaze to Blue. She had reclaimed her seat on the stool, her head hung and sniffling back tears. 

He looked on her with uncertainty and no small sense of fear for what she might have learned. 

 Reaching out to her, he cupped her chin in his large calloused hand, and ever so gently lifted it up. With his thumb he tenderly wiped the lingering tears from her cheek. “Forgive me for letting my temper fly. It was only that your question took me by such surprise. Little bird, exactly how is it you came to hear of this man?”