Page 41 of Maggie and the Pirate’s Son

Kes trilled in reply.

“I don’t actually know if you’re a girl or a boy, but you’re pretty all the same.”

She offered another bite of beef, and Kes took it without hesitation, scrutinizing Maggie’s every movement. She held out one more piece to distract the bird, and caught it with her other hand, letting it snag the beef before she settled it into the basket Langley had given her.

“Shh, shh, shh,” she crooned. “You’ll be all right.”

Standing on the platform, leaning out over the rail, she took one last longing look for her big grey and white ray, this time through the captain’s spyglass.

She almost missed it—would have done if not for the way the sunlight glinted off the sails. Not her ray, but way out almost as far as she could see, there was a ship, sailing fast. It flew a black flag with a white blob.

She squinted through the spyglass, relaxing her left eye, and twisted the shaft as Bash had shown her. The white blob morphed into a fish, not unlike an illustration of Jonah’s whale, with a cutlass beneath. After the rumors of ghost ships that circulated like currency, Bash would want to know about this straight away.

Maggie climbed quickly back down holding the guide rope as Bash had taught her, an angry squawking bird rattling the basket at her side.

The moment her feet touched the deck, a rousing cheer went up from the circle of men, and Bash picked her up and swung her around.

“Careful,” she exclaimed, holding the basket out of harm’s way, until he set her down again.

“Well done,” the captain said in a cold, begrudging tone.

“How’d you do it, Magnus?” Duffy asked.

“Magic,” Bash whispered, nodding at her reverently, and Maggie felt hot all over.

“Magic,” Samson grinned, nodding along with Bash.

“Huh?” Duffy asked.

“Sorcery, innit?” Bash teased. “Forenoon watch,” he bellowed, jerking his head toward the tops. “Man your posts, you lubbers. Double up!”

“Wait,” Maggie called, a little breathless. “Sails,” she said, and the deck fell silent.

“You saw sails?” Dutch repeated.

“How many masts?” Bash asked.

“One. A sloop, I think.”

He smiled at her and she practically melted into a puddle of wanting.

“What banner did she fly?” he asked, darting a glance towards the captain.

“Black. With a white round fish or whale and a sword on it.”

Another silence fell, this one palpable. The air practically hummed with excitement. And then the men erupted into more cheers, jumping up and down, pushing and shoving, and tossing her about. Samson did a back flip. It was quite the stramash.

Bash waived the men up the rigging, and then hovered as the captain approached Maggie. She offered him his spyglass, but he pushed it back to her chest.

“Keep it.” Then he patted her shoulder and walked away.

“Shall I take the hen for you?” Roo asked, nodding at her basket of kestrel with a toothy grin.

“No!” she exclaimed. “If you thought it was bad luck to shoot her, you don’t want to see what will happen if you eat her!”

“Found the Whale,” Roo pouted. “Seems like good luck to me.”

“What will you do with her?” Bash asked.