Privateer's Apprentice by Susan Verrico Read Free Book Online

be a long wait,” he says. “Get to washing!”
    â€œThis tub stinks something awful,” I mutter.
    â€œAye,” he replies, “but no worse than you do.”
    I rub the soap across my skin and it leaves a greasy line. Still, it makes a bit of lather. I hurry to bathe.
    Solitaire Peep has left a linen towel, stained yellow with age, beside the tub. When I am finished, I grab it and wrap it around my waist.
    â€œWashed your bum, did you?” Peep inquires, tossing me a shirt and pants. “We don’t want the birds trailing us and telling our enemies where we be.” He looks up at a flock of gulls, and his taut brown face creases with worry. “They shouldn’t be out here,” he says. “Mighty far from land, they are.”
    â€œPerhaps they have strong wings,” I say, drying off.
    â€œStrong wings or no, they’re too far out,” Solitaire Peep says. “Could be they’ve found something to land on when they tire.”
    I look out over the ship’s railing. There is nothing except water and sky. If the stray birds have found a resting perch, I cannot see it.
    I dress quickly in the new garments. The shirt is fine white linen, nicer than anything I’ve ever owned. I fasten the buttons, savoring the smoothness of the polished bone against my fingertips. The breeches, gray broadcloth with black silk lining, hang loose around my waist, but a long red sash works well as a belt. The garments are of a quality my father never could have afforded for me. I finger the sleeve. “Such fine clothes,” I say.
    Solitaire Peep raises his eyebrow. “Aye, they came from a French frigate whose captain thought to blow a hole in the side of the Queen’s ship,” he says. “We blasted his ship to splinters and then plucked their goods from the water.”
    â€œAnd what of those on board?” I ask, a chill washing over me. “Did you rescue them?”
    â€œWhat do you think, boy?” the first mate says. “They were French.”
    I look away. Solitaire Peep is right. The captain and those on board the other ship were French … the enemy of my Queen. But my mind turns back to auction day and the girl with the basket. Suzanne Le Croix is French, yet she offered me kindness on auction day, when others turned away. Rummaging through the pockets of my discarded breeches, I find the red cloth Suzanne gave me and tie it around my neck,remembering her promise that it would bring me good luck. I pray she was right.
    Peep picks up my bloodied clothes and flings them over the railing. “Save your boots for when the weather turns cold,” he says. “Bare feet work best on deck.” He tosses me a stick that has been whittled smooth. Wrapped around the end is a piece of gray leather covered with wiry hairs. “Clean your chompers,” he says. “Pig bristles make the best scrubbers.”
    Beneath the hot sun, my hair dries quickly. I run my fingers through the tangles, wincing when I touch the threads binding my wound.
    Cook comes through the hatch carrying a small iron cauldron. He sets it in the middle of the deck, and then rings a small bell attached to the handle to call the crew to dinner. After he ladles out chowder for the others, he hands me a bowlful, along with a hard biscuit. “You’ll be sore a day or so, and then good as new,” he says.
    I clutch the wooden bowl tightly, letting the heat warm my hands. Tiny pools of golden butter swirl atop the creamy white chowder. Chunks of potatoes and carrots bob in the broth, along with thick pieces of fish. Saliva fills my mouth at the sight of the rich stew, and I begin to eat greedily. Using the biscuit, I scoop up the vegetables and shove them into my mouth. When the bread can catch no more, I lick the bowl’s rim, unwilling to waste any of the buttery broth. I am so busy eating I don’t see the Captain approach. “A hungry belly is a