Chapter 2

Emma rose before the sun did. She had told Robin she would be gone by the first light, and she intended to keep that promise. She had slept for less than two hours, but she had stayed up to carry out her plans after all the tavern's customers had filtered out into the streets or into their rented rooms. She still had to finish the last of her preparations before she could be out the door.

Through sleep-fogged eyes, she gazed at the interior of her wardrobe, looking over her bodices, her gowns, and petticoats one last time. She gathered the simple jewelry she had into a small purse and stashed it in the one satchel she would leave with. Anything she couldn't easily trade would have no value where she was going. Robin would be able to sell off most of what she was leaving behind, she told herself. She didn't have the time to do it before departing, and she felt she owed him for his generosity.

Drunken sailors had a way of misplacing their possessions, and she was thankful for that fact now. Robin kept a full crate of these items from the tavern and inn, but hardly anyone ever came to reclaim anything. After sailing off, how could they? Emma had been able to find most of what she needed in there, but she did end up pilfering one pair of knee breeches from Robin. She left him a silver coin in exchange, which was more than a new pair would cost.

She saw more sailors of a reputable variety than she did pirates, but she knew their garb. The breeches weren't quite what a cabin boy would wear, but she would have to make do. She pulled them on over old, knit stockings. The breeches were too big for her slender form, but that was all the better. She didn't want anything to reveal the shape of her figure.

Now came the complicated part. With lengths of cut linen and much uncertain fumbling, she bound her breasts down to her ribs. It took her several tries, but finally she was able to convince herself they were flat enough. Still, she was thankful that her shirt did not fit too tightly. She swung her arms around her sides a few times to make sure that the wrap was secure. Everything stayed in place.

She lined her eyes with kohl as she'd seen many of the seamen do. To complete the effect, she opened a container of tar that she'd found, smudging it onto her hands and face. For the first time in her life, she begrudged her lack of calluses. If anyone saw the smooth skin of her palms, they would know she was not truly a sailor. She would simply have to keep them hidden until they roughened up.

She paused at that thought, then shook her head. She didn't plan on staying aboard that long. As soon as they reached the next port, probably, she would disembark and begin her new life. She had worked her way up from the streets before. She could do it again. What was important right now was putting as much distance as she could between her and Robin's family.

Glaring at the purse that had caused so much trouble, Emma wondered (not for the first time) why she'd told Robin she'd already sold it off. Something about it had called to her, and she couldn't bring herself to part with it just yet. She palmed it and tugged its drawstring open. Her fingers slipped inside the pouch to fondle the gems and jewelry inside. A ring of twisted gold caught on her nail, and she tried it on for size. The items were beautiful, and would fetch Emma a pretty penny, but she couldn't imagine what the queen wanted with them. Surely, she had full chests of larger stones.

Emma replaced the ring and closed the purse back up, stuffing it next to the pouch of her own jewelry, which paled in comparison, but would still fetch her some coin. What she had packed was purely practical. She carried nothing of sentimental value, because she had none. She slung the bag over her shoulder and took one last look in the mirror, tying her hair back and attempting to shove it up under her hat.

It wouldn't fit. There was too much of it. No matter which way she tried to pin it to her head, she simply could not get the hat to settle correctly on top of it. With a heavy sigh, she dropped her satchel and threw the hat down on her mattress. She found her pair of shears nearby and steeled herself, taking in her reflection.

When she was little, she had imagined having a mother who would stroke and brush her long golden locks. It had never been a reality, of course, but sometimes when she was falling asleep, she could almost feel a loving hand on her temple.

It had to go. The illusion had to be complete. With a sharp inhale, she hacked into the first handful of hair, then watched the strands fall to the ground. There was no turning back. At the end, the hair she had left fell in a short shaggy mop around her ears. The cut was choppy and uneven, but it would serve. Taking up her hat and bag again, she admired her handiwork. She couldn't even recognize herself. There was no way that anyone else would. Anyone who saw her on her path would see a teenage boy bound for the docks.

She didn't bother with goodbyes, preferring to slip out noiselessly.

The harbor was about halfway full, so she had to read the names on the back of the vessels she passed until she found what she was looking for. The Jolly Roger was not the biggest ship there, but it wasn't the smallest, either. It was better cared for than most, it appeared. While some of the ships in the yard were worn and barnacled with peeling paint, the Jolly Roger boasted a hull of shining deep blues striped with lines of bright yellow. Even as she looked on, men were aboard scrubbing the ship's decks.

"Oi! You there!"

Emma looked up to see a portly man in a red knit cap staring down at her from the stern.

"Why are you lurking about?" He demanded.

She cleared her throat, and tried to speak in lower, rougher tones than her natural voice. "Heard your ship needed a new cabin boy. I'm here to offer my services."

His eyes narrowed skeptically. "Aren't you a little old for the job?"

"I'm fifteen," she lied. Any male her true age would already have sprouted a beard. Saying she was younger would be the best excuse for why the skin on her cheeks was so smooth.

The man considered her for a moment, before shouting back over his shoulder. "Captain!"

"What is it, Mr. Smee?" The captain's tall, dark, leather-clad form came into view, his hand resting casually on the hilt of the sword in his scabbard. He wore the same scarlet vest he had the night before. Her heart skipped a beat when his piercing blue eyes met hers. His black brows furrowed, and she was sure he would recognize her. After all, he'd gotten a close look at her just the previous night. Still, he said nothing and gave no hint that he'd ever seen her before.

"This boy is looking to sign up for the life, sir. Heard we had an open spot."

Captain Hook cocked an eyebrow. "Is that so? How old are you, lad?"

"Fifteen," she repeated it confidently, but it didn't seem as though he believed her. Perhaps she was just being paranoid.

"You ever worked on a ship before?"

"No sir." She couldn't lie about that one. Although she was a quick learner, it would be obvious at first that she really didn't know what she was supposed to be doing. If the crew caught her in one lie, they may start to suspect the others. She didn't want to give them any obvious reasons to distrust her. "But I've always liked them. I've heard about you and your ship, Captain, sir. They tell tales about Captain Hook and the Jolly Roger."

"And? What do you think, lad?"

"I think I'd like to serve on board, sir."

He threw his head back as he laughed, showing her his sharp profile. "Now there's a good answer. What's your name?"

"Emerson, sir."

"Emerson." He drew out the syllables of her pseudonym, his eyes sparkling. "Smee, help the lad on board and show him where he'll be sleeping. We cast off in an hour."