Page 46 of Dark Water Daughter

Mary. He tossed out my name as if we were friends.

I snorted. “What are you doing here, Mr. Grant?” I demanded for a third time.

He plastered a smile back on his face and gave a sweeping bow. “I’ve gone on the account.”

“What?”

“I’ve become a pirate.”

“You joined Demery’s crew?”

He nodded and rested a hand on his cutlass, one foot forward and slightly turned to the side in a dandy’s pose. “I have. It was time to start a new life, and Ifigured—hoi,pirates are the highwaymen of the seas, so my skillset ought to transition well. Provided I don’t have to sail anything. Luckily, Demery said he’s in need of a man like me.”

“You really want that noose, don’t you?” I trembled, a bone-deep shudder of tension and anger.

“What’s life without the threat of death?”

“Pleasant?”

“Insufferable.”

I stewed for an instant before another question struck me. “How long have you been aboard? Not since Whallum, surely?”

His response was a smile that reminded me of a dog caught chewing a shoe. He shrugged. “Well, you were rather unsociable after we picked you up.”

“You’ve been here the whole time?”

“Ah, I see you two have been reunited.” Demery strode into the room with a large ledger under one arm. Passing us, he stepped up to the table and set the book down. “Mary, if you wouldn’t mind?”

I was about to demand why Demery had taken Grant aboard, but self-preservation stayed my words. Besides, between my frayed nerves and trembling hands, I felt wearier with every passing moment. I should have stayed in my hammock.

I shot Grant one last look and joined Demery at the table. He opened the ledger and fetched quill, ink and drying powder from a trunk, then set them out.

“These are the ship’s articles. Her accord,” the captain informed me, tapping the open page. “See here, ‘Every One shall obey civil Command. The Captain shall have two full shares of allPrizes.’—that’sme—‘Theywho are found Guilty of Cowardice in the Time of Engagement, or should Murder Another, shall suffer Death.’So on and so forth. You see how it is. Everyone aboard this ship signs. Everyone aboard this ship is held to account. That includes you. Do you understand?”

I was privately shocked that pirates would have such a code of conduct but didn’t comment. Instead, I wanted to know, “DidCharlessign?”

Demery flipped farther into the book and stopped on a page that was only half full. Both it and the one before it was scrawled with dozens of names and dates, interspersed with signs for those who could not write and occasional sums in the margins. More than a few names were crossed out with single, black strokes. But the last one stood out clean and sharp, its flowery scrawl taking up twice as much room than any other.

‘Charles Addison Grant, on the 14th Day of the First Turning of the Bountiful Moons, in the 20th year of the reign of Her Majesty Queen Edith. Ambassador.’

“Ambassador?” I looked between the two men.

“A man of good education who I can send ashore to parley with various powers over the course of our journey,” Demery returned, uncorking the ink and passing me the quill.

“I am educated, charming, persuasive, and willing to do bad things.” Grant sat in a chair across the table and glanced at my hand, hovering, quill poised. “Are you going to sign?”

I couldn’t help thinking that the scars on Grant’s cheek would likely hinder his reputability in the future, but brushed the thought aside. Demery was looking at me with expectation too.

I flipped back to the articles and read them slowly. But despite my efforts, half the words fluttered away. If Demery and his crew were captured, this ledger might send me right back to prison, if not the noose. Sure, I could plead innocence as the ship’s Stormsinger, but there could still be unpredictable repercussions.

I dipped the quill in the bottle of ink, holding it there a heartbeat longer than was necessary, then signed. I signed as large as Grant had, my mother’s maiden name sealing my fate within its graceful letters.

‘Mary Firth, on the 24th Day of the First Turning of the Bountiful Moons, in the 20th year of the reign of Her Majesty Queen Edith. Stormsinger.’

Demery sprinkled drying powder over the page and blew it away in a swirling gust, then closed the ledger and smiled at me. “Welcome, Ms. Firth. Now, let’s find you something to eat, and I’ll tell you what’s next.”

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