Chapter Text
London, England - 1715
penelope
I hate London. The woman beside me gives me a harsh look and I realize I said that out loud, but I wasn’t lying. I fucking despise this place. It’s too crowded, it smells like sewage, and there are far too many people.
I stalk away from the offended lady and into the first bar that I see. The place is practically empty, except for an old man in the corner and a young bartender with golden curls and their back to me.
I perch on a barstool, tapping my fingers on the counter. The boy, I see his features clearly now, turns around. He’s fair skinned—apparently never been on the sea—broad shoulders and face, but he’s thin and his skin stretches over his bones like he hasn’t had a decent meal in a long time. There’s what’s left of a bruise on his cheek, and his eyes are red-rimmed. Yet he seems almost happy to see me.
“‘Ello!” he says brightly. I instantly regret coming in.
“Greetings,” I say as poshly as I can. God, I hate city-folk.
He smiles at me. I need to up my intimidation game here, but it seems cruel of me. He seems almost sweet, which is not one of my usual classifications for people.
“What brings you to the Sailor’s Widow?” He asks much too peppily for the sentence he just uttered.
“What?”
He laughs, “The Sailor’s Widow is the name of this fine establishment.” He waves his hands around.
The dingy bar doesn’t seem to be a particularly fine establishment to me, but I don’t dispute him.
“Of course. Well, travel, I guess.”
He nods sagely, “It’s what they all say.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He smirks, “It’s what everyone who has a secret says. You seem like a woman with secrets, so I assumed you are like all of the others.”
His words catch me off guard, and I feel as if he has figured out my entire life story with one glance. I deflect.
“Then why are you here? Travel?”
“Ran away from home,” he answers plainly.
Again, he catches me off guard. I thought he was just some plain city boy trying to feed his family by working at a rundown pub probably owned by his father… Apparently, I am a hypocrite. I was all worked up about him figuring me out, when that’s all I’d been doing since the moment I sat down.
“Where were you before this hell hole?”
He laughs at my idea of London but doesn’t seem offended like that woman. “Wales, which might be more dreary than this hell hole .”
I roll my eyes.
“What do you want?” he asks.
“What?”
“Most people who come into pubs want something to drink.” He smiles again, like the whole world’s a joke to him.
“Oh, a pint of your strongest.”
He pours me a glass and sets it in front of me. After my first sip, which proves to be absolutely vile, but strong (I cannot complain about his ability to follow directions). He shoots me a rakish smile. “Now you owe me something.”
I knew there was a catch.
“I told you about me, now you have to tell me about you.”
“Well, whatever your name is—” I bide my time.
“Simon Salisbury,” he answers me like it was a question. “And you are?”
“Penelope Bunce,” I sit up straighter, haughty, “but most just call me Captain.”
His eyes widen, and I smirk. He knows who I am because everyone knows who I am. My reputation precedes me. Very well.
“You’re the Captain Penny…” he sounds awed, and I don’t blame him. I would be awed if I met me.
“The very one.”
“You look younger than I thought you would…” he says, tilting his head quizzically.
“I’m twenty-two.” I tell him, “According to my crew I’ve been twenty-two for five years. They aren’t the sharpest daggers in my belt.”
He chuckles at that, which almost makes me smile. Almost. He doesn’t say anything else for a while, instead he busies himself with something behind the counter.
“Take me with you.” He says finally, and his voice is too low for him to be joking. He even leans towards me over the counter. At least he’s bold.
“You’re joking.” A last-ditch effort.
He shakes his head, “I mean it, Pen—Captain, take me with you. I hate this place, and will do anything to leave it. I can be useful, I swear it.”
“You’re gonna have to ditch the Salisbury then.” I tell him, “It’s far too posh. Did your parents give you a middle name?”
“Snow,” he answers.
“That’s more like it.” Simon Snow does have a good ring to it , I think to myself. “Meet me at my ship at midnight, you can prove your worth then.”
“Really?” he says, sounding surprised.
I down the rest of my ale, feeling that I would enjoy drinking pure kerosene more, and nod. “Don’t be late.”
simon
I’m far too excited for my own good. I’ve already packed my meager belongings into an old carpet bag. I walk down to the docks, looking for the hulking masts of The Magick. It’s easy to spot, for it’s the most impressive ship in the harbour. I’m starting to think this was a really bad idea.
“Simon,” Captain Penelope steps out of the shadows, scaring me half to death.
I give a strangled yelp and she rolls her eyes at me.
“Optimistic, are we?” She gestures to my carpet bag.
“I figured—” but she interrupts me.
“Come aboard, Simon.” She leads me onto the deck by my arm, I have no choice but to blindly follow. She snatches my bag and sets it down on the deck. My pulse quickens.
“Rhys!” she shouts into the darkness.
A rugged looking sailor appears, carrying a lantern.
“Aye, Captain!” He says, saluting her. Sighing, she gives him a slight nod of approval.
“Gareth!” She shouts next, “Bring the sword!”
Another man, who looks similar to Rhys, comes out of the shadows carrying a beautiful sword with an engraved hilt. It’s the most beautiful weapon I’ve ever seen. Not that I’ve seen many.
Gareth walks towards me with his head bowed. And then he hands me the sword. Not knowing what else to do, I take it.
The metal is cool against my skin, but it doesn’t feel unnatural in any way. In fact, it feels like I’ve held this very sword my entire life.
Captain Penelope walks away from me and then turns, two daggers glinting in each of her hands. And then she pounces.
This is how I’m going to die.
My sword—I guess that it’s mine now—raises up of its own accord. The Captain’s daggers don’t get anywhere near my skin. Everything starts going in slow motion, and I swear I’m running on sheer luck, blocking every blow Captain throws at me. Already, I’m getting tired, and I know I can’t keep up this charade of skill for much longer.
This is how I’m going to die.
Suddenly, her foot connects with my shin, unbalancing me. I fall to the ground; my sword clattering to the deck in front of me. Useless.
This is how I’m going to die.
I tense up, waiting for the blow that will end my life. I can practically feel Captain Penelope’s gaze on the back of my neck. It feels like she’s burning a hole into my ratty shirt. I feel ridiculously calm for the situation. I’m ready.
This is how I die.
I close my eyes.
And the blow never comes.
Instead, the Captain reaches down for my hand lying limp on the deck. I look up. Her daggers are sheathed, and the look in her eyes is almost admiring.
I take her hand, and she pulls me to my feet. The rest of the crew gathers around her and I. There’s no way I can escape now. I feel like I’m being judged.
She smiles wickedly.
“Welcome aboard The Magick, Simon Snow.”