Skull and Crossbone

Jakia

Chapter One: Childhood's End

It doesn’t make much difference to me nowadays, but my childhood was one of the worst imaginable. I tried to make the best of it, because I always was something of an optimist, even though my situation wasn’t an easy one to look at positively.

When I was six, my parents took my older brother, Jeremiah, and I on a ship destine for Saint Martin in the Caribbean isles. We took with us only the clothes on our backs, a small bag filled with our few valuables, and 300 pounds. Jeremiah told me that our parents wanted to start a new life in Nassau, a life completely devoid of any rembrants of England and the life they left behind there.

I don’t actually remember the journey---I was only six at the time. You’d think I could remember spending months on an overcrowded, smelly ship, but I don’t. In fact, there’s a lot of things I don’t remember that I think I should. My parents, for example, died on the journey here from sickness. I can’t remember them. I don’t remember a name, a face, a voice. Jeremiah told me that our father’s name was…Roger? Richard? It started with an ‘R’, I’m sure. And Mum’s name was Ann. Maybe Anna. Possibly Adah, to be quite honest, I’m not particularly sure. I was never a real observant child. I also cannot seem to recall England, though I spent the first few years of my life there.

My memory, for what little it retains, begins in Nassau. I remember, clear as day, standing on the docks in what felt like an ocean full of people, my head pounding as if it had been slammed against a wall (it just might’ve), and Jeremiah holding my hand, screaming at me: “Joseph Swanzo, you best not let go of my hand, not if you value your life at all!”

(That’s my name, by the way—Swanzo. Joseph Swanzo, technically, but as far as I can remember I’ve always just been called Swanzo. Only my brother and his wife ever bothered to call me Joseph. I suspect that the people on the docks always called me by my surname, and my childish self identified with that name faster than it did to Joseph. Eventually, I just started introducing myself as Swanzo.)

Jeremiah looked after me after that. I’m surprised he didn’t just abandon me—I know that what I would’ve done at sixteen, if I had to look after my six year old brother. Luckily for me, Jeremiah was quite different than the way I was.

We didn’t have anything in Nassau. Our parents were dead, of course, so it was only the two of us. The three hundred pounds were stolen, and our only belongings taken as payment for our mostly-safe passage to the new world. We were actually very fortunate not to have been taken as slaves or any other form of bondage. I credit Jeremiah for that. He could be a real smooth talker when he wanted to be. He was a quiet fellow most of the time (unlike me, who never learned to shut up), but when he talked, people listened. His voice was crisp, his accent clear, and there was always a subtle tone of authority that carried when he spoke. I guess that’s how he managed to get married in the first place, because it sure as hell wasn’t for his looks, I promise. Jeremiah had the poor misfortune of being one of those fellows who was unnaturally tall and lanky. All arms and legs, my brother was. Skinny, too—no muscles at all. His black hair was long and stringy, and his nose was as crooked. His beady brown eyes, though, were always warm and friendly, if a bit sad looking.

It was a good thing he wasn’t the fighting sort of guy, though, because he would’ve died a lot sooner if he were.

I don’t remember much else. I remember sleeping in the streets, with Jeremiah’s shirt draped over me like a blanket. I remember being miserable and sickly a lot, and feeling cold all the time. God, I grew to hate the cold! --And people! Miserable, ugly people, who would scowl and shout at me, who sneered with ugly looks on their faces as they watched me huddle around a self-made fire. What I remember most vividly, though, is the hunger pains, and the dirt that wouldn’t wash away.

If I sit on the docks some starless night, the wind in my hair, I can almost hear Jeremiah (who had sixteen should’ve had better things to do than raise me but did so anyway) singing to me some nameless lullaby. If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend it’s Jeremiah who tosses my hair, not the wind.

I missed him more than I let on.

XXX

Then suddenly, Maria was there. I don’t know how or why she was there, she just was, and boy, was I grateful. I remember Jeremiah waltzing up to the shabby street corner I stayed at while he worked at the docks, picking me up and whirling me around, laughing gleefully. It’s one of the few times I can remember Jeremiah being truly happy.

He said to me—“Joseph Swanzo, our lives are about to change for the better!” He twirled me around a bit more, my childish body a rag doll in his arms, but I didn’t mind. I was as ecstatic as he was, though I wasn’t for sure why.

“I met a fellow today at the docks—a privateer for England! He’s going to get me a job on his ship, gonna help me get an’ education and all!” He hugged me tightly in his arms, as if letting me go would cause him to wake up from what must’ve felt like a dream to him.

“I promise you, Joseph—you and I aren’t e’er goin’ t’ go hungry again. Our lives are goin’ t’ be different, better—oh, it’s goin’ t’ be so much better…”

(It was a lie, of course. Most of what Jeremiah told me those days was a lie—an unintentional lie, but a lie, still. I can’t blame him for it, though, because at the time he really, truly believed it to be the truth. Don’t fault him for it—my brother was the honest sort, and I’d hate to speak of him as a dishonest man when he really wasn’t.)

The next morning, Jeremiah took me to a secluded part of the docks and proceeded to attempt to get me to look somewhat presentable. He scrubbed my head ‘til it was red and raw, tugging at my hair so harshly that black strands came out in chunks. I don’t think it was healthy, all that washin’ and scrubbin’, but Jeremiah would not be deterred from his mission, which was to make me look presentable. I thought I looked ridiculous, myself, with Jeremiah’s shirt rolled several times so that my hands came out at the sleeves, but Jeremiah was proud of his work. He even combed my hair—an arduous task, rest assured—so I guessed that whatever was about to take place was of most importance. Jeremiah had even found the time to clean himself up, which didn’t take nearly as long as it did for me. Still, he looked nice clean-shavened and with his shirt tucked in. It made his arms look not so long.

Maria’s family wasn’t wealthy. Not really. They were barely middle-class and it showed. Still, as a child who no longer remembered what the inside of a house looked like, the brass knock on the door looked particularly refined indeed. Jeremiah knocked on it three times, all the while mumbling under his breath either to me or himself, I can’t be sure.

After what felt like eternity, the door opened, revealing a particularly bemused young woman with a flushed face and perhaps the biggest blue eyes I’d ever seen. She obviously wasn’t expecting us at all, the shock on her face apparent enough that even I caught it. Her blue eyes went wide at the sight of us as she stared, speechless. Her lofty brown curls were tied back in a loose, hurried bun, her sun-kissed skin gleaming.

I could not have known at the time that this blue-eyed woman would be the person to raise me for the next eleven years. That she would be the only other person to truly know and remember Jeremiah Swanzo, that she alone would be the closest thing I’d ever known to a mother, or a sister. I could not have known that I’d spend the next eleven years living in that house under her care. No one did.

Jeremiah stood flabbergasted as the blue-eyed girl looked at us condescendingly. He wasn’t expecting her to be there anymore than she was expecting us.

“Is this…910 Mausery…Captain Nicholas Jones…talked on t’ docks…”

It was strange seeing Jeremiah stutter and fumble in front of Maria. As I’ve said before, if there was one thing Jeremiah was really good at, it was talking. Seeing him stutter was one of the strangest things I’ve e’er laid eyes on.

The blue-eyed woman looked at Jeremiah intrusively, her eyes darting from Jeremiah to me and back again. I think she was sorely tempted to slam the door in our face. Instead, she took a deep breath and counted to ten.

“Yes, this is 910 Mausery, home of Nicholas Jones. What business is it of yours?”

Jeremiah took off his hat and bowed cordially. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am. My name is Jeremiah Swanzo—I talked to the good captain on t’ docks t’ other day, and—“

“For God’s sake, Maria, let t’ boy in!” A deep voice echoed throughout the home. The woman, Maria, rolled her eyes at her father’s call, winking gently at me soon after.

“Very well then, Mess. Swanzo, you can come in.” She opened the oak doors wide and expected us to follow her in the inner rooms of the house.

Keep in mind that I was only seven at the time, and had spent almost a year sleeping on the streets and living off simple rations. In reality, the Jones’ family was middle class, and their home reflected that personably. Their decorum was plain, and the house was old, in need of repair.

But it was the nicest house I could remember being in. The musky brown walls were glimmering in the candlelight, and the portraits on the walls were fascinating, e’en if they were only of dead people I didn’t know.

Maria walked in long, tantalizing strides until we neared a large sitting room. She then slowed her steps considerable into a graceful, ladylike strode, pausing every few seconds to look over her shoulder at either my brother or myself.

All the while, I did not speak. I was far too fascinated with this old house to waste my time with words. I wanted to reach out and touch the walls at the point where the shadows met, but I knew from the uneasy glares Jeremiah kept sending me that I Better Not or Else.

Maria stopped suddenly at another oak door, far plainer than the one at the front, and opened it slowly. She walked in first, gesturing for us to follow close behind.

We did. If the musty corridor had held my attention before, then it was gone now, for the simple beauty in the sitting room spellbound me.

It was plain and simple and old, like the rest of the house, but at the time I didn’t know that was a bad thing. Covering the walls were shelves and shelves of books, none of which I could read but none the less fascinated me. On top of a wooden table sat maps—piles and piles of maps, all from places I could never imagine.

That wasn’t even the most fascinating thing about the room. No, the thing that caught my attention the most was the large, lofty window on my right. It was such a beautiful view! From there, you could see the sea and the lighthouse, the busy docks that kept Nassau alive.

From that window, I realized when I was much, much older, you could see where Jeremiah had worked every single day, in rain, in the sunshine, in the miserable cold weather that sometimes plagued the colony…The captain would’ve been able to see it all.

I was snapped out of my daydream when I begun to hear voices. We apparently were not alone in the old house (not that I ever fully believed we were.)

Maria bowed swiftly before two other in the room, waving her hand exaggeratedly before us. “Your guests, Father.”

An older woman, too old to be Maria’s mother, though perhaps another relative of some sort, glared haughtily at Maria, disapproving over her actions. But the man (who I assumed was Maria’s father) just smiled warmly at Jeremiah and me.

“Greetings, Mess. Swanzo,” He shook Jeremiah’s hand firmly. “Greetings, greetings! I trust you found your way here with ease?”

Jeremiah nodded. “Yes, of course, sire. Lovely house, by the way.”

The old woman gave an approving smile before setting her sewing down beside her. “Welcome, Mess. Swanzo.” She then turned her attention to me; her polite smile just a little frightening. “And just who might you be, little one?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but Jeremiah stopped me. “This is my little brother,” He announced, keeping a firm hand on my shoulder. I bowed my head in respect, not speaking and trying my hardest not to fidget too much.

“Yes, I see the resemblance.” The old woman crooned. “But what is he doing here?”

It was a question I was wondering myself, and I was partially grateful the old lady had asked it.

“Aunt Prudence, don’t be rude,” Maria chided mockingly, batting her eyelashes.

Jeremiah’s face turned red, fast. “Well, Ma’am, I just don’t like leaving him by himself…he’s awfully young.”

(He left me by myself every day, but he didn’t like to.)

Aunt Prudence was not satisfied with that answer. She shot my brother a stern glare before asking the worst possible question she could have asked at the moment.

“But why isn’t he at home, with your parents?”

Jeremiah’s smile fell instantly, his face paling before he spoke. “My parents are dead, ma’am.”

Silence haunted the old house like a vengeful ghost, floating around awkwardly throughout the room.

“My condolences.” Aunt Prudence attempted to correct her error—“But what of the rest of your family?” –she just couldn’t shut up now, could she?
Jeremiah’s eyes were always sort of sad in their own way, but they looked exceptionally somber in the candlelight of the room. “We don’t have any other family, ma’am.”

“No family?” Aunt Prudence flabbergasted. “None at all? No aunts, no grandparents—“

“None, ma’am.” My brother explained in his soft, sullen voice. “My parents took us here to the New World to start over—they died from sickness on the ship here.” He sighed quietly, and, as I later learned, quite deliberately. “We have nothing here.”

This seemed of interest to the captain, for he rubbed his grizzly chin thoughtfully, studying my brother. “Where’d you come from, savy?”

“England.”

Good answer, for the captain smiled warmly. “Ay, and would you swear allegiance to the Queen?”

“But of course, sir.”

“Then I don’t see why you haven’t gotten a job on a ship of some sort.” The captain noted, genuinely curious. “That’s what most men your age do. That, or take up a trade or somethin’.”

Gently, Jeremiah’s hand on my shoulder tightened. “I can’t leave my brother, sir.” He explained, our tragic little story coming full circle now. “He’s all I have, and I’m all he’s got. I can’t leave him behind, and the sea an’t no place for a child.”

“That it isn’t.” The captain agreed. “Come along, my boy, I wan’ ask you something ‘ere…”

He led Jeremiah away briskly, talking of business and other things I can’t remember now. I just know I was left behind with two strange women who seemed to have forgotten I existed.

Maria’s blue eyes followed Jeremiah out the door, a strange smile glued on her face. “He’s rather attractive, isn’t he, Aunt Prudence?”

(She must’ve been drinking seawater—No sane woman would’ve been attracted to my brother.)

Aunt Prudence sighed before returning to her beloved chair, taking out her needle and thread once more. “Calm yourself, Maria.”

But Maria didn’t listen. “And so noble! Oh, I hope Father hires him to be part of his crew…then I could see him more!” She sat down in the chair beside her aunt gracefully, slouching over on the armrest, staring at the door.

“Maria, sit like a lady.” The niece ignored her. “Honestly, get your head out of the clouds, girl.”

“So noble...and so sad! An orphan, raising his brother all on his own…”

“No more tragic than any other story I’ve heard.” Aunt Prudence noted nonchalantly.

Maria whipped around in the chair, glaring at the old woman coldly. “Aunt Prudence, you have a heart of stone! Why are you so cruel?” He eyes became rather dreamy again as she turned towards the door.

“I’m only honest, Maria. And practical.” She did not lift her eyes from her sewing. “As you should be as well. Chasing after street boys…you’re as bad as your mother! Next thing you know you’ll be married to some riff-raff, gypsy boy who’ll leave you as soon he gets the chance to…”

If there was an art form to ignoring Aunt Prudence, then Maria had mastered it completely. She wasn’t listening at all to what her aunt was saying, nor was she even pretending to pay attention. If Aunt Prudence noticed, she wasn’t bothered by it, and continued her batter faithfully.

All the while I stood in the room, carefully hidden by well-placed shadows. I wanted so desperately to move to, do something, but I was afraid that if I did so much as breathe wrong then all hell would be let loose and I would face the unholy wrath of someone, be it my brother or this bitter old woman here…

“I bet he was a gentleman, back in England!” Maria exclaimed suddenly, her voice still holding it’s lovesick eminence.

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. I tried to stop myself from it, stifling my giggles, but it was no use. The damage was already done.

(Seawater. Had to be. They always said funny things happened to you when you drank seawater, and this girl must’ve drank a ton of it…)

Aunt Prudence gasped, dropping her sewing in shock. She had forgotten I was even in there—apparently she assumed I followed my brother out with the captain. Her wrinkly face turned beat red as she stuttered and stumbled out a mouthful of questions.

Maria’s reaction was more kind. She didn’t gasp; instead, she smiled warmly at me, as if she had known I was there the entire time.

“Hello there,” she said sweetly. “You don’t have to stand in the shadows, you know. You can sit by me if you’d like.” She scooted over in the oversized armchair, patting the excess space beside her. I didn’t move.

“I don’t bite, I promise.” She laughed, watching me with bright eyes.

Tentatively, I moved from my shadowy haven towards her. I climbed up into the chair that seemed gigantic to my seven-year-old frame of mind, and sat meekly beside her.

She smiled at me again. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced—my name’s Maria.” She shook my hand politely. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Swanzo.” I mumbled, squirming in the seat beside her. She chuckled good-naturedly, more amused than annoyed.

“Your first name, sweetie.”

“Joseph.” I whispered, unsure of why she was speaking to me.

“That’s a nice name.” She said cordially. “Do you like it here, Joseph?”

I told her that, yes, I did like it here, in this old house with its strange smell and odd-colored walls, and it was the truth. It was world’s better from the streets I’d been raised on.

Even though Maria was nice and as sweet as could be, I had a hard time warming up to her. No one—save my brother—had ever treated me with kindness or compassion in Nassau. Everyone on the streets either scored or ignored me—I grew up with a great dislike of people because of that.

I sat with Maria for a long time, watching the sunset in the western sky. It was nice and warm here, reminding me terrifyingly of a home I could no longer remember.

After we’d been sitting there for a few hours, Maria brushed a stray lock of hair out of my face. “Are you afraid, Joseph?”

I was; I am.

She smiled. “Don’t be—I’ll take care of you, Joseph.” She kissed my forehead lightly like a mother would, wrapping her arms around me tightly.

I believed her.

XXX

Almost a year later, Maria and Jeremiah got married, uniting our two broken families officially, though in reality we’d been family since the day I met them. The good captain had given Jeremiah a job on his ship as a crewmember, taking my brother under his wing and teaching him the ropes of sailor life. For the times they were at sea, I stayed behind with Maria and Aunt Prudence.

Aunt Prudence was a horror to live with. Apparently she and Maria’s deceased mother were raised as nobility, but whose family quickly lost most of their fortune. Even poor, Aunt Prudence was a stickler for rules and traditions and things that were ‘appropriate’. She forced me to learn how to read, write, sit up straight, en-un-ciate words, and to use proper table manners. She simply could not stand our peasantry way of life, and did everything in her power to bring small touches of her old life into ours.

I think she hoped to marry Maria off to one of the few wealthy gentlemen in the colony, and was most disappointed with the captain gave Jeremiah permission to marry her.

The captain was a jolly man whose company I greatly enjoyed. He was a privateer, a seadog on behalf of Queen Elizabeth of England, and a sailor all his life. He was antsy on land, always anxious to be out at sea, taking down those “filthy Spanish dogs” and looting their treasure.

He was, for all intents and purposes, a kindly, old grandfather to me. He told me the most wonderful stories and was always sure to have a piece of sugary candy to give me. He taught me the truly valuable things in life that Aunt Prudence would’ve been appalled by, had she known. He taught me how to use a compass, how to read and draw maps, how to navigate using the stars…all the useful things I needed in life, I learned from him.

“The difference between a privateer and a pirate,” he explained to me once. “is that one has the law on his side, and the other doesn’t.”

He sat me down on his knee and told me, very seriously: “Always do things with the law on your side, boy. It’s ne’er a good idea to ‘et in trouble with the law. No, you want England to have your back if yea can.”

(I didn’t listen to him, of course, though perhaps I should have—a lot of what he said was true. I have a thick skull, though, so I always have to learn things the hard way.)

Jeremiah, too, was as I had never known him before—happy. Truly, genuinely, happy. And he was always the happiest whenever Maria was nearby, for there is no doubt in my mind that he truly loved her. He would’ve gone to the ends of the world for her.

And she for him! While they were courting, Maria used to read to me love letters he would send her. Dreadfully boring stuff, really, but Maria had no one else to share them with, and it got me away from Aunt Prudence’s lessons for a while. I blame my romantic ideals on her: she made good and well that I knew exactly how to talk to a lady, how not to talk to a lady, and For the Love of God Don’t Act Like Your Brother When You’re Older.

Those few years were some of the best of my life. I had a roof over my head, food in my belly, and I was surrounded by people who cared about me a great deal. For seven years, all was right in my little world. We had our ups and downs, of course, but for the most part, those seven years were perfect.

My life, in case you can’t tell already, does not stay happy or stable for very long, and so our happy little world soon came crashing down around us.

Jeremiah died.

My brother, my savior, the sole person who cared for me when no one else did, the last of my blood and kin…was gone. And even worse, he wasn’t coming back.

I remember it vividly. It was a miserably warm day, rain pouring down like sweat steaming through a gray day. I was barely fourteen years old, lounging around lazily in the open sitting room, studying old sea charts, per usual, when I heard the messenger arrive by horseback. I thought nothing of it, figuring it must be another of Jeremiah’s or the captain’s letters, no big deal.

How wrong I was.

I’ll never forget how pale Maria looked when she walked into the room. She’d been ill for a while now (she was with child, we later found out), but even then she looked unnaturally pale, almost like death itself.

She handed me the message wordlessly. The message itself was surprisingly short and characteristically damp. It told briefly that there had been a bloody battle, that the crew had lost and been taken captive. Jeremiah was killed swiftly trying to save the life of another captive (“So noble!” Maria sobbed, “Always…always, so noble!”)

The captain still lived, but for how long no one knew. He was gravely injured, and his left leg was to be amputated to stop the infection from spreading. He had yet to regain consciousness at the time of the message, and at his age it was doubtful that he ever would.

I was numb. Jeremiah was dead. But that wasn’t right…surely the letter was wrong…it couldn’t be Jeremiah…not our Jeremiah…not my brother…

But it was. Soon, the body was found and brought to us, his living kin. It was horrible to look at. Aunt Prudence wouldn’t let Maria in the room with the body, (a good idea, seeing as she was pregnant at the time) but I get the feeling she snuck in and saw it anyway.

I was able to trace the places where he was stabbed; the life-taking scar lined his chest like a bolt of lightning. The house smelled like death long after the body had been buried, and the summer was haunted with endless gray days.

There would be a lot of death in the following years, my brother’s death being only the first. The good captain lived only two more months, but he never did wake up. Aunt Prudence, too, would die a miserable old maid later in the fall. The old governor of the colony died at the start of the new year, a much younger replacement sent in his stead. A minor famine struck the island, killing several, but no one I knew. Even my nephew (Nicholas Jeremiah the Second, but we just called him Little Nicky) would not last long, for come next winter came another bout of sickness, and his fragile infant body could not fight it. Jeremiah’s death was only the start of bad things, the first among many that would serve to strike us down one by one.

XXX

How Maria and I survived those years is still a mystery to me. It wasn’t that we were stronger than anyone else, or braver, or more important. We just simply were, that’s all. Some people called it luck, but they are foolish. There was no luck in the life Maria and I lived.

I can look back now and confess, but I was an unruly young man in those horrible years. I was rebellious, arrogant, and ungrateful, not to mention rude and mildly dangerous in a fistfight. I fought with Maria most of all. If she would’ve had any sense at all, she would’ve kicked me out into the streets I came from, but she had too much heart to do such a thing, though I would’ve deserved it if she had. She put up with my arrogance, my greedy, sinful ways, and when I screamed at her she listened with closed ears and a hardened heart. I was so horrible to her. I yelled, I screamed, but most of all, I blamed her for all the misfortune in my life. Had I any decency at all, I would go to her now and apologize, but my pride stops me every time.

I worked at a nearby tavern, and hated every minute of it. Maria finally had enough of my lazy ungratefulness, and forced me to earn my keep for once in my life. But what I really wanted to do was to leave the colonies all together, to sail the Spanish Main and see all the things I’d heard about.

“Absolutely not.” Maria told me sternly. “You’re too young.”

But that excuse was falling faster, because I was getting older every day, and men younger than me were already made captains of their own ships.

“What would you do on a ship?” She asked me bitingly. “Get yourself killed?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I’ll never know if I never go!” I’d argued. The truth was I knew what I wanted to do, what I could do. I knew how to navigate, how to read maps, and how to travel by the stars. Things most sailors eventually learned but few knew starting off. I was a few steps ahead of them.

Maria looked so awfully sad for a moment that I almost regretted saying anything to her at all, her eyes closed and arms crossed painfully. “Would you really leave me behind, Joseph?”

It took me four years to be able to say: “Yes.”

XXX

Mr. Bookfield was the owner of the tavern I worked at, a bitter old man with three sons and no one to take care of him and his shop. He had tweedy eyes and a baldhead I cursed every time he turned his back. He hated me, but he was so awfully fond of Maria, so I managed to keep a job. He always gave me the worst chores, too—scrubbing dishes and mopping up human wastes that found their way onto the tavern floor.

Remember now that I truly hated people. Maria I didn’t hate. Jeremiah and the captain, too. But that was it. Everyone else I scorned, mostly because they had scorned me. Now, though, I was older, and I should have learned better, but I didn’t. Maria tried to teach me right from wrong, that it was better to forgive and forget that to hold a grudge forever, as any good Catholic woman would have. But I simply couldn’t. I hated those people, hated them, hated them, as they had hated me! Me—an innocent, naïve child who had nothing in life—and they scorned me for it, as though I could help my poor upbringing!

My time spent at the tavern did little to help that. For now I was older, smarter, and was able to put names with faces. I had no faith in humanity now, especially when I met the regulars at the tavern. Rude, vulgar men who cheated on their wives and fought and drank and just had the most wonderful time doing it that they came again the next night. No wonder I was so awful to Maria—look what I dealt with every night!

I wanted more than anything in the world to leave. To go far, far away from this place. How, I didn’t care. I just wanted out. Even thought I hated working at the tavern, I always kept my eyes and ears open, for the tavern was the perfect place to find the unemployed, and sea captains looking for a novice navigator knew that well.

Which, incidentally enough, was how I met Jaq.

XXX
END CHAPTER

Reviews, questions, comments, spelling/grammer corrections are much loved and overly-appreciated.

Jak