Nick Meets Alex

“Come, Nicholas,” Jean Lafitte ordered. With a flourish of his large, feathered hat, and a hearty adieu to the crew remaining aboard, Jean hopped onto the plank and walked down to the dock.

This was the moment Nick had dreaded, for while Jean had spared Nick’s life after the capture of the merchant ship he’d been apprenticed to, it was Pierre Lafitte who would decide his fate. A ship’s boy on his first voyage, with no friends in this new land and no means to return to England. Nick was stuck and at the Lafitte’s mercy—not a good place to be.

The air was thick enough to drink. Nick would’ve given his right arm for a stiff Devonshire breeze. By the time the top of the masts disappeared from view, his shirt was soaked, and he was fully engaged in a losing battle with the local insects. So many mosquitoes. Nick swatted at his arm and waved his hands around his face. They buzzed at his ear, taunting him.

Jean ducked inside a brick smithy, a dark place guarded by large men who glared at Nick when he passed.

Tossing his hat onto the stand, Jean swaggered into an office to the side. A man sat behind a desk, scratching into a ledger. He did not look up when Jean plopped into a chair in front of the desk and propped his boots on the edge.

The man shoved his feet away. “Tell me you didn’t bring trouble back with you this time, Jean.”

“I brought no trouble back with me,” Jean said with a grin, waving for Nick to enter the office.

“Who’s this?” asked the man.

Jean motioned back and forth between the two. “Nicholas Blackburne, allow me to introduce my brother Pierre. Pierre, this is young Nicholas.”

“I told you not to take survivors.”

Nick did his best not to recoil, though he dearly wished he could disappear into the wall.

“You should’ve seen him clambering in the ropes, mon frère. We could use another topman who ain’t afraid of heights.”

Pierre rose from his chair, his eyes fixed on Nick as he circled around his desk to stand in front of him. It was like looking at a wolf—Nick didn’t know whether to look him straight in the eye or avoid direct contact. Taking a deep breath, he looked levelly at the pirate.

Lifting Nick’s shirt, Pierre jabbed him in the ribs. “He’s nothing but skin and bones. He won’t last a month.”  

“Nothing a few good meals won’t fix,” Jean said.

Nick’s mouth watered at the mention of food. It’s not that he hadn’t been fed enough on the merchant ship, but he’d developed a terrible hunger lately. He was always hungry. His trousers were a good inch or so shorter than when he’d left England, and he supposed his burst of height had something to do with it. Too bad he’d only grown straight up and was as narrow and spindly as he’d always been.

“He climbed up the mast, you say?” Pierre asked, looking over his shoulder at his brother.

“All the way up. Sat on the top.”

Pierre’s eyebrows shot up, and while his expression didn’t soften none, there was something else in his eye that gave Nick hope that he’d live to eat another meal.

“How about joining my crew, lad?” he asked.

As if Nick had a choice in the matter. He’d seen what’d happened to the men who’d tried to fight off Lafitte’s gang. “Aye, sir,” he replied.

“There’s a smart lad. Prove yourself capable, and you’ll do well enough.”

Nick had to learn some skills fast. He could climb and swab decks finer than most, but that wouldn’t keep him alive for long. He was replaceable. If he didn’t learn something that’d make him valuable, and soon, he’d always be at the beck and call of the Lafittes. He’d always be in danger.

Before he could give the matter further consideration, the First Mate burst into the office, holding a squirming bundle of black hair at arm’s length. Shoving her forward, he said, “Found this one tryin’ to sneak into the ship’s hold.”

In a flurry of hair and flailing arms, the girl wiggled out of his grasp, kicking him in the shins and raising her small fists by her face. “Ye touch me again, and I’ll draw yer cork good, ye scurvy knave.”

Nick bit his lips together. He admired her spirit, but given the scowls on Jean’s and Pierre’s faces, he dared not show it.

Pierre raised his hand, threatening to cuff her, but holding back. “You will address the First Mate with greater respect, young lady. Has your governess taught you nothing?”

The girl twisted her lips and crossed her arms defiantly.

Pierre lowered his hand with a sigh. “I have told you—repeatedly—to stay away from the ship.”

“I was bored.”

“How did you get away from your governess this time?” Jean asked, his lips twitching at the corners.

The girl lifted her chin. “Tied her hair to the post of her bed.” Puffing up, she added, “It’s me best knot. She’ll have to cut her hair if she wants loose.”

Jean turned away, his shoulders shaking.

Pierre, on the other hand, glowered at the girl. “I will not allow my own sister to act like a hoyden.”

Nick swallowed his gasp. She was their sister—a Lafitte?

Flailing her arms upward, she exclaimed, “She don’t know nothing about sailin’. How’m I supposed to cap’n me own ship if I’m wastin’ time with her?”

Jean rose from his chair, crossing the room and laughing.

“Where are you going?” called Pierre.

“I told you the governess was a waste of time.”

“What would you have me do? Treat her like a boy?”

Jean shrugged. “Treating her like a girl—is it working?”

Pierre narrowed his eyes, training them on his little sister in much the same way he had done to Nick minutes ago. Reaching out, he squeezed her arm and poked her ribs. “She’s too weak. I don’t trust the men enough to allow her near them, and she’d never be able to defend herself as she is. She’d be a curse aboard any ship.”

“I wouldn’t! I’ll get strong. I’ll learn, and I’ll beat all of ‘em,” the girl said, slapping his hands away.

Jean bent down to her level. “Oh yeah, Alexandra? And who’d be willing to waste their time teaching you?”

“I’ll teach meself. I’ll do it all on me own.”

Pierre shook his head, turning away. “We have stronger young men who will pull their weight sooner than you ever will.” He glanced over his shoulder at Nick, and that was when Alexandra noticed him. Her look was as sharp as a sword as she took him in from top to bottom, inspecting her competition.

Great. Just what Nick needed—a young girl with deadly older brothers out to prove she’s better than him. Annoyed, he glared back.

Pinching her lips into a thin line, her nostrils flared. “I’ll show ye. Ye just wait.”

Jean laughed and stood to his full height. “That will take a lifetime. Why don’t you go back to the schoolroom where you belong and leave the business to us?”

Thus dismissed, Alexandra stormed out of the office. Pierre resumed his place behind the desk, and Jean handed him a folder of papers from the Quartermaster.

Not knowing what to do, but eager to depart from his present company, Nick left the office and walked out of the blacksmith’s shop. One sniff of the breeze carrying the mouth-watering aroma of freshly baked bread was enough to determine Nick’s direction. Following his nose, he rounded the side of the building. And he stopped short.

Alexandra grasped the handle of a sword, grunting and poking out her tongue as she attempted to lift it more than a few inches off the ground. Arms stretched, shoulders by her ears, she turned to the side before she lost her grip. She looked so young—no more than six or seven years old, and on the short side. Stomping her foot, she reached for the sword again. It was almost as tall as she was.

Nick knew he should leave. Alexandra was trouble. He was her competition. But the fire in her eyes, her spirited determination, drew him closer. He wanted her to succeed. He wanted her to prove herself to those who doubted. He wanted to help her.

Before she cut herself, Nick grabbed the sword from the ground. Gripping the weapon, he took a moment to appreciate its balance, how it felt in his hand. It wasn’t as heavy as Alexandra had made it look. Then again, he’d been hoisting his own bodyweight up and down lines for months. Gently, he tipped the sword down and leaned it against the back of the shop.

She scowled at him. “I don’t need yer help.”

Lord, she was a prickly one. “I weren’t gonna offer,” Nick said. “I’m new here, and I figure I need to learn how to get on yer brothers’ good side if I’m gonna make anything of meself. I meant to ask for yer help.”

Standing a little taller, she looked at him askance. She didn’t trust easily, but neither did he. The way Nick saw it, he was safer taking his chances with a little girl who knew her brothers better than anyone else than with a salty sailor who’d think nothing of slitting his throat for his rations.

Finally, she nodded. Spitting into her palm, she extended her hand. “I’m Alexandra Lafitte, but me friends call me Alex. Me pa called me Lexi. I suppose I can be yer friend, so ye can call me Alex.”

Nick spit into his hand and shook hers. “I’m Nicholas Blackburne.”

“What do yer friends call ye?”

“Don’t rightly know. I don’t have no friends.”

She pondered that for a moment, then released his hand. “I’ll call ye Nick.”

That sounded fine to him. “Bein’ that we’re friends and all, maybe ye won’t mind a suggestion?” He motioned at the sword. “It seems ye could start with something smaller.”

Alex bunched her chin. “If I master the sword, me brothers’ll have to admit they’re wrong.”

The sword. That’s where Nick would begin. Later. Right now, he’d help Alex, and the sword was too much for her. She needed something lighter, smaller. Something like … a dagger. Peeking down at her, he said nonchalantly, “Yer quick, ain’t ye?”

“I’d beat you in a race.”

“Agile?” he asked.

“Course I am. More fragile than ye.”

Agile. Fragile. Nick sucked in his breath and pretended to swat away a mosquito to compose himself. He’d only hurt Alex’s feelings if he pointed out her mistake. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Ye’re quick to react?” He reached like he would poke her in the ribs as her brothers had done, and she smacked his hand away.

Good reflexes. As he’d suspected. She’d hit first, then think things through. Not how the vicar’s wife taught him to be, but necessary if he wanted to survive beyond that day. “It’s a pity to waste yer advantages. Let the big oafs lug around those heavy weapons. Ye’ll better them with a knife.”

Silence. She was considering.

“How’s yer aim?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, how’s about we find out?”

She disappeared in a blink, returning with four daggers of varying sizes. “What’ll we use fer a target?”

The largest target was the back of the blacksmith’s shop. Between the bricks were wooden beams that ran from ground to roof. Pointing to the beam in the middle of the building, Nick said, “See that knot in the wood? Let’s aim for that.”

She saw, and she threw. The knife thwacked against the brick and clattered to the hard ground.

With a frown, she shoved another blade at Nick. “Here, ye try.”

He’d once seen a man pinch the steel between his fingers and flick his wrist. Nick mimicked the technique as well as he could, and the handle smacked against the brick.

“Don’t ye know nothin’?” Alex grumbled.

“No more’n ye do.”

Grabbing another knife, she tossed it between her hands. She had a dose of the showman about her, like her brother Jean. Taking greater care, she squinted her eyes, aimed, and threw.

The brick took a beating over the next hour. For all their effort, not one blade had landed in the beam.

Sticky with sweat, arms too numb to raise, and belly rumbling, Nick called a truce. The sun burned overhead—midday or thereabouts—and it was time to make sure he was in the right place to secure his luncheon. Walking to retrieve the blades, he counted, “One, there’s two, and three…” He scoured the ground, scratching his head when the fourth was nowhere to be seen. 

“Over here, ye blockhead.” Alex raised the knife over her shoulder, and Nick stepped closer to the beam—the safest place, in his mind. 

Turning to watch, it only occurred to him how foolhardy it was to stand anywhere close to a poorly aimed, sharp, spinning object when Alex let the blade fly with a frustrated cry. 

Searing pain ached at his shoulder. Nick stumbled back against the wall, sinking down to the ground, stunned. Don’t look down, he thought over and over. 

Alex ran to him, screaming, “Nick! Nick!” Tears poured down her cheeks.

Forcing a smile, Nick said, “Ye got the blade in first for a change. That’s real good progress.” His voice sounded weak and slurred. 

She dropped to her knees at his side.

“Next time,” he grunted, “we’ll work on yer aim.”

“Are ye gonna leave it there, or what?”

Nick dared not look down at his shoulder. He didn’t move, and it was getting harder to breathe. 

“Doesn’t it hurt?” she asked, reaching for the handle.

Strangely enough, it didn’t. His vision blurred, his ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton, his limbs as slow as molasses. Nothing seemed to work right. 

“If it don’t hurt, why don’t ye pull it out?” Alex insisted. She reached for the handle, and that was when Nick looked down and saw the dagger’s blade buried in his shoulder, blood soaked all the way down to the elbow of his shirt. He pressed his eyes closed, but the damage was done. It hurt something fierce. 

He wished Alex would leave him be, but he also knew she’d do no such thing. So when she tugged the handle, he gritted his teeth and held his breath until he saw stars. Every curse word he’d ever heard over the past few months crossed his mind, but not one crossed his tongue. He wouldn’t swear in front of a girl. 

“I’ve done killed ‘im. Me best friend. I’ve killed ‘im!” Alex’s cries echoed distantly.

Heavy footsteps vibrated under Nick’s ear. He was on the dirt, but he was too weak to care. Shouts and clinks and a fire at his shoulder. Nick held on. He didn’t want Alex to take all the blame when he’d been the fool who’d stood in the path of her flying knife. 

She’d called him her best friend. Nick wasn’t sure how he felt about being friends with the little girl. But he doubted he had any choice in the matter. 

Only one thing was clear at that moment: No more lapses in judgment if he hoped to survive Alex Lafitte’s friendship. 

The End… or, rather, The Beginning