Miya Black, Pirate Princess I: Adventure Dawns Page 14

  "Heh. You're a fish, ain't ya darling?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "Your man there minding it for ya?"

  Miya looked back at Sola, who was standing on the deck, arms crossed.

  "My 'man'? Well, I guess so, but—"

  "So what are ye bothering me for? He looks big enough."

  "I just thought—"

  "Can't see anyone stealing a ship that ugly anyway."

  Miya bristled.

  "What? Did you just say 'ugly'?"

  "Eh, don't take it personal, fish. Heading into town?"

  "Yes, I need to take on supplies. We have a long journey ahead of us," said Miya.

  "Huh. Mind yerself, then. Not everyone's friendly as me."

  The dock worker sniffed and spat again, then lit a smelly cigarette and leant against a pile of crates.

  "Well ... okay. Whatever."

  Miya turned and waved to Sola, who nodded back at her, then she made her way up the pier, looking at the ships as she passed them, trying to guess what kind of person might be captain of each, and looking out for any that seemed like they might belong to Badger Pete or his gang. There were dozens of ships docked here, mostly sloops, flat and sleek, with a few merchantmen and trade frigates mixed in, as well as a couple of fat old galleons.

  Traders, thought Miya. Just traders. If Badger Pete's gang are here then they're hiding well.

  The docks were quiet, and the people around barely even glanced at Miya as she marched by. Neither the people nor the docks were particularly clean, but then they're docks, Miya thought, they're not supposed to be clean. The water around here smells weird, though, kind of sour.

  Miya made her way off the docks and climbed the steps into town, looking around with shining eyes. People were everywhere—here, near the docks, it seemed like it was packed to overflowing. She counted five pubs on the dock front alone, the patrons spilling out onto the streets, drunkards singing and shouting and fighting noisily. It smelled awful, like garbage on a hot day mixed with the reek of cheap alcohol and stale sweat, but Miya ignored this (as best she could, at least).

  "Girl! Hey, fancy girl! Better turn back now!" came a call from a tall man wearing a greasy overcoat, this drawing howls of laughter from those he sat with. "It only gets worse the deeper you dig!"

  Drunk, thought Miya, ignoring him as she walked past the pub, heading further into town. She looked around for a place to buy supplies as she made her way along the busy street, but it seemed like they only had two kinds of building here—pubs, taverns, bars or otherwise 'places to get drunk', and those unmarked. What people that weren't staggering around in the streets drunk were mostly sat on crates or barrels or leaning against walls, talking in hushed tones or staring at her—in fact, now that Miya was further away from the docks, almost everyone not rendered senseless by drink seemed to be paying an awful lot of attention to her. Well, Miya reasoned, it's not every day a pirate as young as me walks into town, I bet. And, the thought struck her, these ARE pirates! My parents LIED to me! Pirates don't just live in stories or in distant, savage lands, here they are, right here, just a couple of days sailing from home! There's no way you could just call these guys 'raiders' or 'smugglers', these are genuine pirates! Dozens of them, hundreds of them, a whole town FULL of them! 'There might be a couple still around, I suppose', hah!

  It took everything Miya had to keep herself from smiling happily as she walked through the streets (she figured wandering around grinning at everything wasn't really a very good pirate-y look).

  "Oops," she said, as she almost walked into the back of a tall man with no hair. He was shirtless, with a large, complicated sea-dragon tattoo on his back. Miya quickly looked away as he turned—then she steeled herself and looked right back at him.

  "Hello," she said. "Excuse me for nearly bumping into you."

  He looked back, his cold blue eyes fixed on her, then he smiled, showing broken and blackened teeth.

  "No problem," he said, his voice not nearly as rough or threatening as Miya had imagined it would be. She nodded to him and walked past, and he turned to watch her as she walked up the street.

  "Trader, trader, trader." Miya muttered to herself as she walked, turning several corners in her search for a place to buy supplies, making her way down street after dirty street. "You'd think they'd make it easy, for goodness sake, it's like they don't WANT you to spend money."

  Maybe one of these unmarked buildings is actually a trader, she thought, trying to surreptitiously peer inside them as she walked along. But then what kind of sense would that make, to be a trader without a sign? How is a captain supposed to—

  "Ah," she said, as she finally spotted something that wasn't a pub—a small shop entrance with 'SUPLIES' written above it. The streets were clearer here, just a few dozen people, mostly sat against walls or in alley entrances.

  "Finally," Miya muttered, as she strode over to the shop. Inside was dingy and dim, a large, open room filled with crates and barrels, lit by a single dull lantern. It didn't smell entirely wholesome, but Miya figured you took what you could get in this kind of place.

  "Hello," she said to the man sitting in a corner. "I'd like to buy some supplies, please. By the way, there are two 'p's in 'supplies', I thought you might like to know."

  The man was tall and skinny, bald on top but with scraggly brown hair down past his shoulders, wearing a stained vest that might once have been white and brown trousers tied up by a bit of rope. He smiled at Miya (she assumed it was a smile, he opened his mouth and showed some teeth at least) and stood up.

  "Much obliged," he said, his voice deep and raspy. "You're a smart one, I can see that straight off. Can't try to cheat you, I'd say."

  "I should think not," said Miya, privately thinking that this probably wasn't a very nice person.

  "What kind of supplies you after?" he asked.

  "Water, dried meat, dried fruit, and some limes or lemons."

  "Ship's biscuit?"

  "No ... no, I have enough of that," said Miya.

  "Let's see then," said the man. He pulled a dirty old blanket off a stack of crates, pulled out a dry, shrivelled lime. "This what you after?"

  "Not really, but I supposed it'll have to do."

  "Eight bits a crate."

  "Eight bits? Am I hearing you correctly? Eight bits for a tiny crate of those sorry excuses for limes?"

  "Them's lemons."

  "Lemons are yellow," said Miya.

  "These were too, last month."

  "Ugh. Maybe I'll pass on those. Um, what else do you have?"

  "Dried meat?"

  Miya inspected the tough-looking scrap the man held up.

  "What kind of meat is it?"

  "Dog, mostly. Some cat."

  "You're kidding, right?"

  "Nuh."

  "Don't you have real supplies here? Show me the good stuff," said Miya. "I can pay."

  "You are a smart one, ain't ya?" said the trader. "Seems I can't get anything past you."

  "Just show me the real supplies," said Miya. "I don't have all night."

  "Neither do I. All right, come into the back here."

  "I don't mean to tell you how to run things, but you'd probably do better business if you didn't make it so difficult for people to organise supplies," said Miya, as she followed the man through a curtain made of knobbly white beads threaded on string, to a slightly cleaner, slightly more organised section of the shop. He grunted as he indicated a stack of crates.

  "Take a look at these," he said. "Might find something more to your liking."

  "Good," said Miya, inspecting a crate of slightly fresher lemons. "These will do. Eight bits a crate, you said?"

  "Two and eight for these."

  "Two and eight? Are you crazy?"

  "Supply and demand, love. Prices getting drived up what with this mess over the other side of the chain. People stocking up, lot of blood leaving for quieter parts."

  "Mess?"

  "Ol' Badger Pete stomping his way
down the islands. Bad for business."

  "Huh. Well, anyway, Two and eight is ridiculous. I'll give you half that."

  "Make it seventeen bits."

  "Fourteen seems fairer."

  "Fairer, yeah. But seventeen is what I'm offering."

  "Fine then, fifteen," said Miya. "Now let's see about your other supplies."

  After some further haggling and hard pushing, Miya eventually negotiated a decent deal on the supplies she needed.

  "Far as I figure," said the trader, "you owes me eight clear."

  "More like six and eight, for those of us that can count."

  "Call it seven and everyone's happy," said the trader.

  "Call it six and eight and I'm happy," said Miya. The trader thought for a moment, then shrugged.

  "Sucker for a pretty face, that's all I am," he said, as Miya paid him. He dropped the money into his pouch, then nodded at the stack of crates Miya had just bought. "How you getting all that to your ship?"

  "Oh. Right," said Miya. "Good question."

  "You ain't got someone to help you out?"

  "Not really," said Miya.

  "So you're in town all on your lonesome? Wee girl like you?"

  "Yes," said Miya, annoyed at the 'wee' part. "Do you have any men I could hire to help me?"

  "I've got men," said the trader, and Miya saw two figures enter from the front. "Although they ain't much for helping. Now, I said eight clear before, didn't I? But let's be fair and call it ... everything ye've got."

  Miya's eyes narrowed. She glanced back at the two men that had just entered, saw the glint of steel in their hands.

  "Do you have any idea who I am?" she said, quietly.

  "Some rich little runaway thought she could play at being pirate, that close to the truth?" said the trader. "Come on, darling, this don't have to go hard. We don't want to hurt ye, just trying to make a living."

  " 'Play at being pirate'? Do you know who my father is?"

  "Some rich trader or another, who cares?"

  Miya shook her head slowly. "Black Boots himself, one of the most feared pirates ever to sail the Necessary Ocean."

  "Never 'eard of 'im," said the trader. "And even if I had I wouldn't believe you. Heh, you might as well say Heartless Jon's your father."

  "No," said Miya. "He's my grandfather."

  The trader laughed harshly, and the two thugs behind Miya joined him.

  "Yeah, right. Come on, girl, give us yer money. Don't make me get impatient."

  "Don't make YOU get impatient? I'm the one waiting here, for you to realise your mistake and apologise. And it had better be a good one, too," said Miya.

  "Now, now, girl," said the trader. He reached out to grab Miya's shoulder, but she darted to the side.

  "Don't you DARE touch me!" she cried, outraged. This drew another laugh from the three men surrounding her.

  "Oh, quite the princess we got here, eh?" said the trader. Miya drew herself up proudly.

  "Yes, actually. You see, perhaps the reason you've not heard of Black Boots is that he retired some time ago. These days he goes by Tomas Black—KING Tomas Black, of Clover Island."

  The trader eyed Miya a moment. "Ah," he said. "King Tomas, ye say? And you're his daughter, ye say?"

  "I certainly am," said Miya.

  "Well, that's a different story then, ain't it?"

  "I should think it is."

  "Reckon a king'd pay handsomely to get his beloved daughter back safe and sound, right lads?"

  "What?"

  "Sorry darlin', game just changed. We was planning on robbing ye and sending ye back home with yer bottom spanked, but if yer father's a king, well ... kings got money, see. We're gonna have to ransom ye."

  6

  Not Just A Princess

  "What? But ... but ..." Miya's eyes filled with tears. "But he's not just a king! He's a famous pirate! And my grandfather really is Heartless Jon!"

  "Of course he is, darling," said the trader, as Miya sniffed, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Now I said before we don't want to hurt ye and that's true. We'll take real good care of ye, wouldn't want your father to get all vengeful and such, right? Just want a nice clean transaction, cash for daughter."

  Miya looked at the men surrounding her, the two thugs behind her, knives in hand, the trader in front of her leaning almost casually on a water barrel. She sniffed again.

  "You ... you don't want to hurt me?"

  "Nah, we ain't that way."

  "Good," said Miya, as she turned and swung her leg hard, driving a booted foot up between one of the thug's legs. She plucked the knife from his hand as he doubled over then spun to slash up at the second thug, opening a shallow gouge in his nose. Blood splattered over her as she turned to face the trader, who hadn't moved, shocked into inaction.

  "How's this for playing pirates," she said, driving the knife down hard into his hand and pinning him to the barrel. He screamed in pain as Miya turned and ran, burst out of the shop and onto the street, straight into a group of drunken men.

  "Oh, entertainment's here!" slurred the one she'd landed on. "Girls falling outta the sky into me lap! They don't call me Lucky John for nothing! Come here, love, give us a wee kiss."

  Miya punched the drunk in the nose and leapt to her feet, stumbling in the first few steps as she ran down the road then finding her stride, short legs working hard. She turned to glance behind as she heard a shout, saw the trader staggering into the street, clutching his wounded hand.

  "FIVE SILVER FOR THE MAN BRINGS ME THAT GIRL!" he yelled. Miya didn't have to look around to know what kind of interest that sort of offer would bring, just focused on running hard, as hard as she could, ducking and dodging through the crowds. She leapt over a drunkard and turned sideways to avoid another, one hand on her sword as she ran, keeping the scabbard from bumping against her legs or tripping her, ready to draw in a moment if she needed to fight. She could hear the pursuit behind her but didn't dare turn her head to see how close they were; the streets were too packed to take her attention off what was directly ahead of her. Several times she almost tripped over a drunk she hadn't noticed, or nearly ran into someone suddenly walking in front of her. Unsure where the docks were, she turned corners randomly, trusting her instincts to take her where she had to go. As she darted down an alleyway she heard a shout from a window high above—

  "You run, girl! Run like the wind! Dunno who's chasing you but you must have done some right mischief! Good on ya, girl!"

  Miya grinned, pushed against the ground harder, turned another corner and looked up to see the long bright torches of the docks ahead. She leapt down onto the pier and dashed along it, realising after a few seconds that this wasn't the pier her ship was on; she'd come out of the town too far over. She skidded to a stop and was about to run back when she heard shouts and saw a couple of remarkably large men jump down onto the docks. Miya looked around and saw a pile of crates, squeezed through a gap between two stacks and crouched there, panting for a moment before she forced her breathing under control, trying to keep as quiet as possible. The shouts of pursuit became the shouts of searching—she heard a clear "She's on the docks somewhere" and hunkered down further.

  "You getting a good cut from Jacobs?"

  "Nah. Greasy bugger's too damn greedy by half."

  There were a couple of men talking, near to where Miya was hiding. She couldn't help but eavesdrop.

  "Yeah, that's the word I've been hearing. Hardly worth doing, for what he pays. You doing all right on the other thing though?"

  "Other thing's good."

  "You've been through Outlook, right? Easy port?"

  "Dead easy, no questions, no nosy watchmen, and the man doesn't care what happens so long as you pay your 'tax'."

  "High?"

  "Higher than some, worth it though."

  Smugglers! thought Miya. They must be talking about smuggling through Outlook Island! And 'the man', that's Governor Henry! I NEVER liked him, big ugly sneering creep! Oh my goodness, Dad
'll love this. He'll be so impressed when I tell him. But, Miya suddenly thought, he'd be MORE impressed if I could tell him how I actually STOPPED some smuggling! These crates must be their cargo—gosh, I hope they're not planning on loading up any time soon. Well, anyway, what could I do? Alert the local authority! Wait ... I don't think there IS a local authority here. Does Dad know how bad this place is? I mean, yes, it's a dirty exciting pirate port, but still. If he did know then he should have told me. He just always said it's where a lot of ships from outside the archipelago came. Talk about understatement! Anyway, back to the smugglers. I could ... I could toss these crates into the ocean! No, wait, crates usually float ... they'd just pull them out again. All that would do is annoy them slightly.

  No, Miya decided, remembering her main mission, the best thing I can do is get to my grandfather as quickly as possible. Don't get sidetracked! Then after we sort out Badger Pete maybe we can deal to these smugglers.

  With that thought in mind, Miya stood up and squeezed out through the crates, heading back to her ship.

  "THERE SHE IS!"

  Oh yeah, I was hiding, Miya thought, looking towards the direction of the shout and seeing half a dozen thugs and the trader running towards her. She turned and ran up the pier, the sound of pursuit behind her, shouts and harsh laughter and boots against wood.

  "Oops," said Miya, as she ran out of pier, looking around for some way out, a ship to jump onto or something, but there wasn't anything around except a single empty crate.

  "Slippery little devil, ain't ya?" said the trader, as he and his thugs advanced on Miya, trapping her at the end of the pier. They laughed as she drew her sword.

  "Put that thing away, girl. I'll give ye credit for craftiness with that little crying routine back there, but I've got five stout lads and one stout ladette with me here, ye can't fight off all of us. Luck and surprise were on yer side last time, here and now it's math so basic Lug 'ere could do it."

  Miya glanced back, at the dark ocean behind her.

  "Ooh, wouldn't think of doing that, Princess," said the trader. "You're a fresh wee fish so you probably don't know, water 'round here's lousy with needle lamprey. Ugly little buggers. About yay long," he said, holding his hands up, around a foot apart. "Be dozens under the pier here, hundreds maybe. Get the slightest whiff of blood—for example, that red stuff ye've got splattered all over yer pretty wee face—and they go crazy. Sometimes there ain't even bones left once they're done."