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However, watching the disappointed faces of my companions is too funny.

They don’t want their Lady Captain to know they’re itching to wet their wicks in the colonial ink wells.

A quick three-penny-upright will put them in the best mood for the long journey back to the Caribbean, but they don’t know I think that way.

If they were with my sister, Sabs, they wouldn’t hesitate in asking for a whore’s ransom.

She’s the scandalous sister, while I’m the stick-in-the-mud.

“Here’s ten pence apiece,” I say as we chain the cart to a post in front of Sissy’s.

“Fill your bellies as well as empty your cocks. Then, head straight back to the boat—no other stops or falling asleep—lace your breeches as you run up the gangplank. I will maroon your arses in Boston if you’re late. Captain’s orders!”

“Aye, aye,” the two shout with salutes before sprinting through the doors.

As I enter the tired tavern, all eyes lift from their tin plates to stare at me.

The four tables run the length of the room without an empty seat.

Velvet-coated noblemen sit beside grubby peddlers as they shovel meat pie into their faces and gawk at me.

Working girls sneer in my direction as they pet the wigs of the noblemen and avoid the wandering hands of the peddlers.

They needn’t worry about my competition.

I tried earning on my back on one of our parlays ashore and couldn’t do it.

Sabs loved bedding strangers, so I thought I would give it a go.

After all, she ended up happily married with a clutch of young on the way.

If her husband hadn’t bequeathed his position on Patricia’s Wish to me, I’d be destitute.

But I forgot Sabs was warm, jovial, and sensual… while I’m…a good woman.

“You haven’t any coconut water, do ya?” I ask the dour woman behind the bar. She shakes her head as she polishes a grimy glass with a stained, damp rag.

“Just gravy, barley water, light wine, and milk if you’re not on the grog,” she says with a smile that’s missing a few teeth.

“Light wine,” I reply, not knowing what that is.

It’s got to be better than grog or barley water.

I count out seven pence, then toss them back into my pocket and add a shilling to the sticky bar top.

I twist around to put my back against the bar.

Men often sneak up on me if I lean over the bar, and I’m not in the mood to fend them off—or the whores who want their attention. “Keep the change.”

“Oui, for that lot, you can get a plate of pie and a bed for the night—empty or otherwise,” the barmaid says with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

Poor woman’s nails are worked down to the quick.

There’s a line where she’s expanded out of her wedding band, which hangs from a cord around her neck.

Her stringy hair sticks out of her soiled bonnet in every direction like arrows on the street signs outside.

“I want you to have it, that’s all,” I reply with a bittersweet grin. The woman won’t ever see more than the inside of this bar, her home—which is probably upstairs—and the business end of her husband’s marriage rod—if he doesn’t prefer her girls.

“Well, if you need anything—” she pauses to bite the coin to verify it’s real silver “—let me or the girls know. I’ll refill your cup all afternoon; just raise it.”

“There is something you could help me with,” I say, cringing at the thought of staying all afternoon while Eze and Greenhorn paint her girls with their unborn children. “I‘m looking for a highborn satyr—”

“Hybris,” she whispers with a wistful sigh, clutching the rag to her bosom.

“He’s a regular?”

“I should know a pretty thing like you would be after a beard-splitter like him. He’ll service you just right, but he’s not on my payroll. No, he’s part of that Astor family. Upright gentleman, like his father, but his mother is a piece of work—”

“We’ve met,” I say, winking at the barmaid. I can guess the situations that formed her opinion of the rich couple. “I’m the captain of the boat taking Hybris on his latest adventure—”

“So, you’re here to collect him. I should be sad to see him go—although my girls will cry more tears than me,” she says with a belly laugh that blows the stench of barley water and meat pie over me. “He’s in the dry stock with Lady Penelope.”

“In the pantry like a common—” I close my lips on three-penny upright because I just told my men to avail themselves of such a lady’s services.

They’re cheaper than the whores upstairs and the girls working the floor because they don’t live in the brothel.

Their home is the alley behind the building, where they are always on the job, earning pennies to eat.

“No three-penny-uprights here, dear lady,” the barmaid replies, losing some of her shine toward me.

“No offense, I’ll collect Hybris and be on my way.

” I tip my hat like Chub taught me and throw the rest of the rancid wine down my throat.

If anything, I’m thirstier after drinking the foul liquid than before.

I can’t wait to get back to the Caribbean and drinks that refresh you without drunkenness.

Sliding off my too-tall barstool, my boots clap when I hit the floor.

Conversations stop as I pass the tables.

Eyes burn holes in my back. Retreating to the boat to wait for the guys is best. I don’t belong on the mainland.

They can’t see that I’m Other , but somehow, they know.

I may sound like an island girl, but they suspect I’m something else—not a pirate, not a lady.

“Hybris, Hybris, dig that snout in there!” The shouts on the other side of the pantry door are from a female having the time of her life. I smother my giggles with my hand.

“Now, Lady Marrs,” says an indistinct male voice. No doubt the muffling is from the strumpet’s skirts. “Someone could hear you and tell your husband—”

“Her what?!” I shout as I throw the door open.

I’ll tolerate the illicit affairs of men and women because only the gods can judge us, but never adultery.

An adulterer hurt me worse than a sword through the innards, and I won’t tolerate anyone else being hurt in that manner…

but I’m not on the high seas…where I’m in charge.

A man the size of a house jumps to his feet behind me.

“Okay, in we come,” says the satyr kneeling at the feet of a highborn lady.

His face shines with her nectar. Her marriage box weeps between her open legs for all to see.

The shoe locked at waist level by a frayed leather strap costs more than the fee to dispatch this arsehole.

I’m dragged into the pantry while I collect my jaw from the floor.

The door slams behind us and clicks to lock. “Can you use that thing?”

“What?”

“The sword on your belt,” the satyr says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Do you know how to use it, or is it for show?”

“She’s not your type,” murmurs the noblewoman as she pulls his face back between her thighs.

“You will not continue this affair in my presence! I am Captain Betts of Patricia’s Wish, and I will not tolerate this conduct!”

“Wait your turn, peasant,” snaps the woman as she rocks her hips against his face.

She presses him to her while maintaining eye contact with me.

I can’t believe this woman is getting off!

I should behead them both and be done with this.

Her eyes bug out, and her jaw drops as she finds her pleasure.

It’s like a boat sinking. I don’t want to watch, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the spectacle.

I’m boiling with rage. I wish them every curse, plague, and pox known to this world!

“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” says the satyr between puffs of air. “We can allow this pirate to dispatch your husband and escort us out of the pantry.”

“I’m a believer in love, but I refuse to dispatch anyone in the middle of a bar. You should’ve let go of your husband when your feelings shifted,” I say, moving a shelf of root vegetables that are obstructing a window. “We can climb through here and be on the boat before he breaks down the door.”

“I’m not going on a pirate ship! There are rapists and murderers aboard,” shrieks the woman.

I glare at her. “Do you think I’d run a boat of rapists and murderers?”

“That would put you at risk,” she concedes, biting her lip. “But I refuse to leave my husband! I won’t be destitute for some filthy Other .”

Hybris rocks back on his butt as if she slapped him.

She steps over him like he’s a sack of potatoes and throws the door open.

On the other side, the giant man glowers at us.

He picks her up with one arm and swings her aside.

Before I know what I’m doing, I place myself between the simpering satyr and the giant with my sword drawn.

No hotheaded husband is taking the other half of our bounty from my crew!

“You and I are on the same team,” I tell the giant. “He’s a menace, but so is she. If you take care of her, I’ll make sure you never see this son-of-a-biscuit-eater ever again.”