Pirate King by Laurie R. King Read Free Book Online

true that last spring Mr Hale went to the cinema with Agnes Ayres?”
    (“Ooh, can you imagine being her?” “I can imagine being her in The Sheik , cuddling Valentino!” “More than cuddling, I’d like—” “Shh, darling, the children!” “Who are you calling—?”)
    “I really don’t know.”
    “Did he meet Valentino?”
    (Instant silence, as all ears awaited the answer.)
    “I don’t know.”
    (“I’ll bet he did.” “I heard Valentino was supposed to be our Frederic until Daniel got it.” “Can you imagine ? On a ship with Valentino?” “Did you see The Young Rajah ?” “Wasn’t he the dreamiest ?” “No! Mama wouldn’t let me!”)
    “How long before we get to Spain?”
    At last, something I could answer. “I think we put in at Coruña the evening before we arrive in Lisbon.”
    “Where’s Coruña?”
    “In Spain.”
    “But Lisbon’s in Spain.”
    “No, Lisbon’s in Portugal.”
    “Isn’t Portugal part of Spain?”
    “No, it’s a separate country.”
    “Have you ever met Valentino?”
    “Have I— Heavens no.”
    “Would you like a table for that?”
    “I don’t— What? Oh, yes, that’s very thoughtful of you.” The child in the too-short frock and too-large shoes settled a small table at the head of my deck-chair. I arranged my books, bowl, and flask on it, and thanked her. She appeared to be chewing cud, or some similarly tough substance. “What are you eating?” I asked her.
    “Bibi gave me some chewing gum. It’s Doublemint. She gets it from America. Want one?” She held out a packet.
    “No, thanks. And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t chew around me.” Not unless you want to encourage me to use that small bowl on the table .
    “Okay,” she said cheerfully, and spat it onto the deck. I closed my eyes, and asked her to take it with her and find a wastebin for it.
    “When weel we be given a place to rehairse?” I opened my eyes. Neither the questioner’s accent nor her appearance fit our crew—would not fit many places, come to that. She was as tall as I, but dark, her lithe form dressed in what appeared to be stitched-together scarves. She wore a turban-like hat of multiple colours of scarf. Her feet were bare. And blue.
    “I’m sorry, who are you?” I asked.
    “Graziella Mazzo.” She stretched out an artistic hand. “I teach the girls to dance.”
    “Very well. I’ll find out where you can practice, and when.”
    The ship’s horn blasted away the next question, and the girls jumped and squealed and rushed off to the rail to watch the lines fall and the land recede. The wind would soon pick up—the rain, too, by the looks of the sky, although the bit of overhang above me should keep the worst of it off. I put on my fur coat, stretched my legs onto the chair, and picked up a book.
    “The porter said I’d find you here,” Hale said. He looked curiously at my little encampment.
    “As you shall until we dock in Lisbon. I get sea-sick, down below. And people tend to be rather put off by holding a conversation with someone who is retching over a basin the whole time.”
    “ ‘Thou, luxurious slave! Whose soul would sicken o’er the heaving wave.’ ”
    “Please!” My upheld hand stopped him from further Corsair lines.
    “Er, well, will you be able to …?”
    “Oh, I’m fine, so long as I’m in the fresh air,” I lied. “But it does mean you’ll need to come up here if you need me.”
    He gave a mental shrug and pulled up a stool, to go over some of the last-minute business, including la Graziella’s temporary dance studio. We finished about the time the girls grew bored with the process of leaving England behind, and they returned, to fling questions at him for a while.
    He stood up and interrupted the rapid-fire attack. “Could you girls line up by height for me? Left to right, shortest to tallest. No, you’re not taller than she is. That’s right. Is Bibi here? No, of course not. She is on board, isn’t she?” he asked