A | B | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14A | 14B | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19
PART I
MARCH, 1780
ATLANTIC OCEAN, TRADE ROUTE
“CAPTAIN, I NEED TO SPEAK with you privately.”
Celia stood in her door looking at her second lieutenant soberly. It had to be dire for Papadakos to rap her door at midnight whilst she and Judas were clearly in the midst of bedsport and the crews were only at the beginnings of the night’s festivities. “Aye, Paulo. Come in.”
She opened the door wide and turned to cover her body with the kimono hanging neatly over the back of a chair. She cast a strained smile at Judas, whose face betrayed his tension. Of course he would know this was no trifle.
“If you would be so kind … ” she murmured, gesturing vaguely toward the door.
His dark eyebrow rose, but he said nothing whilst he pulled on his breeches and complied with her request, closing the door softly behind him.
Papadakos took a deep breath and drew close to speak very low. “Two of the boys were getting into trouble aboard the Silver Shilling and overheard plans for the mutiny of Captain Judas.”
Celia gasped. “Are they sure?”
He nodded.
“What in God’s name for? He told me he would rather kill than flog, but—”
“His hold is full of gold—and that’s the only thing in it.”
Celia’s breath left her in a whoosh and she sat on her bunk, a trembling hand over her open mouth. “God’s blood,” she whispered, horrified.
“Just before the Silver Shilling reached us, she’d taken a fleet of British warships bound for New York.”
“A pay ship!”
Paulo nodded. “A king’s ransom.”
“Bring the boys to me.”
Soon enough she was faced with two terrified ten-year-olds who stuttered and sputtered through their story, sobbing and hiccupping. She wasn’t sure if they were frightened of her punishment for being where they oughtn’t to have been or of the men they’d overheard whilst they explored the Silver Shilling’s orlop.
She suspected the latter.
She speared the German boy with a glance. “Your English is not savvy,” she growled. “Are you certain?”
The child gulped. “They were speaking Vlaams, Cap’n.”
Good Lord. ’Twas the mercenary marines, who were mostly some German variant. Damn the man for his inability to deviate from Royal Navy protocols.
Celia sat still, looking at the floor and searching her mind to put together some counter to this. “Thank you, gentlemen,” she said absently. “Leftenant, give these two an extra ration of grog and bread, and bid Captain Judas to join me.”
It was only a few moments until Judas had seated himself beside her on her bed. Celia did not know how best to impart such news but bluntly:
“You are about to be mutinied.”
“I know.”
She gasped. Her head snapped up to see him calm, a bit of a smirk on his face.
“What I do not know,” he continued cautiously, his slight amusement gone, “is by whom.”
“My boys tell me they overheard Flemish.”
He nodded somberly. “Aye, then, now I know who it is.”
“This is what has you so taut?”
“Only since we took our last prize.” Celia said nothing. “I … have put down a few mutinies in my career, but never have I been mutinied nor have I known of one solely over cargo. I assume, then, you also know what I have in my holds.”
She nodded impatiently. “Surely, you must have known before you took the pay fleet—”
“Of course I did,” he scoffed. “You asked me why I carry a full complement. That is why. I needed every sailor and soldier I could get my hands on to take that fleet. One first-rate and two second-rates.”
Celia gaped at him, a feeling of utter awe leaching into her body. “You—” she squeaked. “Alone?”
His eyelids lowered and he gave her a smug grin. “Aye,” he drawled. “Three men o’ war down, twenty-three hundred men. Sinking the patrol frigates in Virginia was child’s play by comparison, as we were preparing for much bigger prey, but it was an excellent drill.”
“You knew that fleet was there!”
“I did, and I was actively hunting it.” He wrapped his hand around her head and brought her ear to his mouth. Celia closed her eyes in utter ecstasy. “But I thank you for your lessons in piracy all the same, Madam.”
She jerked away from him then, jumping up from her bunk to stalk across her cabin. “You played me for a fool,” she hissed.
“Oh, ho!” he chortled. “Says Fury Prometheus, bringing the fire of piratical wisdom to hapless, helpless, idiot British Navy commanders. Do not make the mistake of believing you and the Hollander could take me.”
Celia’s back stiffened as shame filled her, and she took a deep breath.
She looked over her shoulder, but not at him. “You are right. It was not well done of me and I apologize.”
“Och, Fury, c’mere and let me soothe your feathers.”
Celia looked at him then, suspicious, for with just a few words, he had sounded exactly like Dunham. She could not ascertain if that was his natural accent without the Oxford glamour or if he were playacting.
“Are you Scots?” she asked slowly. “A lowlander?”
His smile grew. “No. Of that, you can be sure. Would you be in more sympathy with me if I told you I had planned to ask you and the Hollander for assistance?”
She blinked. “Is that why you sought us out?”
Judas’s expression hardened. “I wanted you, Madam, but a good commander does not disregard any collateral benefits.”
He had refrained from reminding her of his role in the fact of her continued existence and she could not fault his logic otherwise, so she huffed and went back to her bed to plop herself upon it. He wrapped one of his enormous arms around her shoulders and pulled her in to his body until her head was lying upon his shoulder.
“I will inform Maarten he is to host nuncheon tomorrow for all our officers,” she muttered, ashamed of how she had spoken to him the day before. “I cannot think he will have an objection to the added duty of putting down a mutiny.”
“Thank you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
She looked up at him soberly. “In truth, would you come to Algiers with me if I asked?”
“Aye,” he whispered. “I would do … almost anything for you.”
Except forsake your duty.
She didn’t say it. She didn’t have to. He glanced away.
With a bitter heart, she arose and went to the door, opened it, then bellowed for the boys and Papadakos.
“Go to the Mad Hangman and fetch a Dutch and Flemish boy,” she said when they arrived. “Take them to the Silver Shilling. Pretend to play, run, and explore. Find out everything you can. Report to Leftenant Papadakos every hour. Do not get caught.”
Their eyes shone bright with pride when they stood straight and saluted. “Aye, Cap’n,” they said gravely, then scampered off.
“Do you think that’s wise?”
Papadakos gaped and Celia whirled at Judas’s voice coming from behind them. “Are you questioning me?” she snapped.
Judas grimaced and put up his hands. “Apologies, Captain.”
Celia cast him one last glare before turning to her officer. “See that they are given sweets at breakfast mess, then put them to bed in Kit and George’s bunk and send another two pairs out. Change the pairs at each watch until we have come back ’round to these two.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
Once the door was closed, she charged across the cabin and stuck her finger in his forehead. “Don’t you ever do that to me again,” she snarled.
“I was wrong,” he said stiffly. “I admitted it and apologized. What would you have me do, Fury?”
Celia looked down and to her right, seeing nothing. What would she have him do? Had it been one of her trusted officers or Maarten who’d questioned her, she would have simply said No, but I’m doing it anyroad.
Why was it different when Judas said it?
What if Dunham had said it? Oh, aye, she would have bitten his head off, too.
Suddenly, the thought of sailing past Gibraltar between her lover and her father did not seem quite so … tempting.
Her safety or her pride?
Her hands were clasped gently in much larger, warmer, more calloused ones and she looked at him, her lover—her beautiful lover who could not wed her even if he wanted to. He was pressing a long, soft kiss to her knuckles, looking up at her with those heartbreaking ice blue eyes, his lashes long and black.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “If I knew how to grovel, I would.”
She nodded haltingly and looked away. “We must rest. The morrow will be … demanding.”
If you don’t want to wait 2 years to get to the end, you can buy it here.
iron sharpens iron = let’s help each other become better writers
I’ll admit I haven’t been following the story. It’s just not my cup of tea. Nothing personal. But I did read this one all the way through.
A common piece of writing advice is to avoid the word “said”. They say use a different verb or modify “said” with an adverb. I disagree. Just write good, authentic dialog. Let the reactions be evident in the replies. There is no need to describe every gesture and facial expression explicitly.
If you dislike my feedback, I freely admit that I much prefer the minimalist style of Hemingway, because it lets the reader engage their imagination more. Give the reader freedom to see the story with their own mind’s eye.
I’m convinced that Frank Herbert’s wife wrote much of Dune given the amount of detail and attention given to each character’s emotional state and internal monologue. If that is the case, good for her and him, it made the book better.
Also, Mary Shelley deserves more credit for writing the first true science fiction novel.
My hat is always off to people who write fiction and subject it to public scrutiny. It reminds me of my open mic comedy days.
Last, here is a man with a video called How to think like a woman, which I am linking to for the sole purpose of annoying Mo and provoking a response.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z5uWJ0F_9_0
Funny. That’s what my kid does.
XY?
I hope?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c-ecbGNxEHM
I don’t know what your motivation in pointing out my “errors” is, but at this point, you’re coming across as bitter and angry, so I hope things get better for you.
Not errors. Just honest feedback from the sort of guy who wouldn’t read your stuff anyway. Please understand that I do not in slightest mean it to be mean-spirited.
I know a lot of my stuff sucks even if people here and elsewhere are too polite to say so.
Bitter, angry, sarcastic? Eh, guilty, I guess. But not because of any of my interactions here and certainly not with you.
When I was proofreading Monsters & Mormons, one of the submissions was something I very much did not like. I mean, it totally violated everything I thought I knew about writing and it made me uncomfortable. I wanted to nix it. Now, you have to understand, *I* am the one publishing it because it’s my publishing company, and I can nix it if I want, right? But no. I went to my publishing partner and the anthology’s editor, and they asked me to break down what I didn’t like.
Turns out, I was completely and totally unfamiliar with this author’s genre. Everything I hated about it was what all those people out there who love that genre love. I was more careful after that to research and respect other people’s genres.
Okay, so … why are you bothering? If your only feedback is “I counted all the times you used ‘said’ as a dialogue tag and there were too many,” then … okay. Thanks?
But I’ll indulge you in this.
There are five people in that scene. They have to be differentiated somehow because going without tags (as one could in a conversation between two people) would be confusing for the reader.
“Said” as a dialogue tag is almost invisible. Readers expect it to know WHO was speaking. Littering a thesaurus’s worth of dialogue tags through a relatively short section would be pretentious.
Except, I did litter a relatively short section with speech tags you apparently didn’t notice:
murmured
gasped
whispered x3
growled
gulped
continued
scoffed
squeaked
drawled
hissed
chortled
asked
muttered
snapped
snarled
Maybe you don’t remember, but I have in the past praised your writing. I can’t write comedy or satire, so I appreciate those who can.
And honestly, you’re being a dick about women writers.
Writing a dialog scene with 5 different characters is hard for any writer to pull off. Writing a good dialog scene with just 2 characters is hard enough.
I appreciate your praise of my work, and I respect yours. I’ve been silent about it for the most part because I feared this very reaction if I spoke truthfully.
You are a good writer. Many people enjoy your work. By all means, continue. I know all writers want feedback, especially the negative sort. That’s how we grow and improve.
visual aid: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yJ-Z_DW0AuE
I don’t care for a lot of SugarFree’s stuff either except for the Subaru horror story written from the dog’s perspective. That one was really good. He should send that in to the New Yorker or Playboy.
Speaking of which, we should all try sending in short stories to the big wig rags.
Dude.
You counted the “said”s and you trashed women writers. So, if that’s your truth, fine, but there was nothing constructive about it.
“Oh, my! This soup is delicious!” ~ Mrs. Peacock
(My adopted go-to phrase IRL to create distraction amidst discord in mixed company.)
I noticed that you avoid the word “said”, both in this episode and the others I skimmed. I thought that was noteworthy and deserved some commentary.
Trashing women writers? How? By saying Mary Shelley deserves a better reputation? By saying one of the great sci-fi novels was probably co-written by a woman? That wasn’t sarcasm.
Maybe someday, I’ll give Pride and Prejudice another try. I rented and watched the movies out of morbid curiosity.
Read a screenplay if you don’t want said said.
That’s good point. Many stories could be improved if the author picked a lane: novel or screenplay?
It’s hard to both at the same time.
I think My Life Story would be better as a screenplay. Certainly funnier. Different stages in Evan’s .. life, recovery, adventure, whatever, transposed within scenes of my different professions.
The dive into phlebotomy may be the driving arc of the fictional tale, but it’s also a chance to develop character, and so many humorous bits can be added to that.
My autobiography may be easier to write, but far less fun to read (or see). A great chance to throw in characters and jokes I’ve picked up in my odd circuit ’round the sun.
Writing a Tight-Five stand-up routine is my current ‘goal,’ I suppose. If I have a dream of being anything, other than writing in general, performing my material is likely the pinnacle.
“I prefer the minimalist style,” he said.
“But that shreds the context and leaves a very bland page. And a lot of people, like the target audience, want the picture painted so they can simply sink into the scene.”
I’m done with my argument over your personal preference being not the way the story was written.
Yeah, here’s the scenes you wrote for me to immerse myself in:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xY7m4KzYR4Q
Not bland at least, right?
Purple prose is a thing. Deal.
As I tweeted the last time this came up
Derp consistently comes across as the sort of blowhard who thinks he knows more than everybody else and wants to make certain you all know that.
So the plot and not something else thickens this time.
The spirit is willing, but the flesh is spongy and bruised.
Stop spying on me!
This was rather fun. I don’t trust their mutual deception, but neither do they, and that’s rather the point, methinks.
Trusting 10-year-olds effectively plan and successfully carry out espionage is a highly dubious strategy. Sounds like a helluva good time for the kids, though, as long as they escape discovery /capture. (Hence, the fun!)
With a dream orphan servant, I’d want a tween Calvin (& Hobbes) to help carry out my nefarious schemes. (Or noble ones… what do ya know?) This is also not the wisest of plans.
(I’m sure he’d be off engineering naval designs bordering the cutting-edge and bombastically futuristic. Much cryptid involvement. The Transmogrifier was fantastic for meals and morale. He’s still working on the Duplicator. Much military investment into that one. Susie would still be around, natch, with neither ‘knowing’ what to do. Hobbes mostly naps on deck, slinking to the spots of sun and shade he prefers. The crew knows not to fuck with him. He’s the only thing keeping Calvin in check. And what with the tackle-tackle munch-much. (Sadly, not the hot-lesbian fuck-buffet. Sigh.)
I wonder how much of themselves they’ll give up for each other.
(I’m ‘mostly’ sure they kinda-sorta ‘will’ make sacrifices for another. I’m also suspecting they will end up backstabbing to some extent, but perhaps with the feeling the moment necessitates it, rather than it being out of spite or pure piracy. If they do, that could be a fun curve, but I imagine the pair are more long-term. But hey, it’s all testing ground for the relationship.
Like rent disagreements turned up to piratical disputes! Or that argument with the doc when I tried to get an abortion! He *insisted* I wasn’t a Birthing Person, so no-go. Sucks adjudicating with a fucking Essential Worker.)
That never ONCE occurred to me.
Life has been beating me down lately with how utopian my view of people’s self-awareness and honesty is. What I mean by that is, if I’m talking to someone, I assume they’re conversing with me in good faith. It doesn’t occur to me to think, “This person is being sly with me.” So then when they ARE sly, I get all flustered and like, “But that’s what you said!” “No, I didn’t.”
ANYWAY. My characters all dress each other down and they all accept that they were the asshole in that whatever situation they are being called out for. Imagine my surprise when lately I actually start talking to people and they don’t do that. They may be right and I wrong, but the convo never gets anywhere near resolution. Nobody lets anybody else talk long enough to understand, much less listen.
Of course, then I tell myself that if fiction followed real life, nothing would ever get resolved and it would be 300,000 words of people yellong over each other. Fiction, unlike real life, has to make sense. It has to be relatively linear and the plot has to be pretty tight, so there’s not a lot of “And so while all THAT was going on, I had to deal with THIS OTHER THING and then as if THAT wasn’t enough…” and NONE of it is related to your plot or the characters’ goals.
And so. In my mind, having 10yo boys who think of Celia as a mother they love and don’t want to disappoint (how the ship’s children see Celia is brought up way later in the book) seems perfectly reasonable.
What would be the period correct types of sweets?
Turkish Delights?
Maple sugar hard candies.
LOL I have no idea. Probably something made with honey.
😱
Legit, not the answer I expected.
Sweets made from honey can last along time.
Given the colonial trade cycle (slaves, molasses, rum) – something molasses based?
I didn’t put that much thought into it. “What shall I give these boys to reward them for their loyalty? CANDY!!!”
Rum?
Beaver sap ?
Hmmm
I’m home for at least two days.
HEY YUFUS!
The year 1757 marks the first record of George Washington ordering 20 pounds of chocolate. Throughout his life, he continued to buy chocolate. He bought quantities as small as one pound and as large as 50 pounds, which he purchased three months prior to his death in 1799.
https://www.mountvernon.org/inn/recipes/the-washingtons-and-chocolate
Chocolate was primarily consumed as a warm beverage in the 18th century, which is how the Washingtons frequently enjoyed it. Most often it was served with breakfast, similar to coffee or tea. Hot chocolate was prepared by grating chocolate into boiling water, milk and water, or wine and water. Then spices and sugar were added. Next, the drink was frothed and then served.
https://www.foodtimeline.org/foodcandy.html
“Candy…The ancient Egyptians preserved nuts and fruits with honey, and by the Middle Ages physicians had learned how to mask the bad taste of their medicines with sweetness, a practice still widespread. Boiled “sugar plums were known in the seventeenth-century England and soon were to appear in the American colonies where maple-syrup candy was popular in the North and benne-seed [sesame seed] confections were just as tempting in the South. In New Amersterdam one could enjoy “marchpane,” or “marzipan,” which is very old decorative candy made from almonds ground into a sweet paste. While the British called such confections, “sweetmeats,” Americans came to call “candy,” from the Arabic qandi, “made of sugar,” although one finds “candy” in English as early as the fifteenth century…Caramels were known in the early eighteenth century and lollipops by the 1780s…”Hard candies” made from lemon or peppermint flavors were popular in the early nineteenth century…A significant moment in candy history occured at the 1851 Great Exhibition in London, where “French-style” candies with rich cream centers were first displayed…But it was the discovery of milk chocolate in Switzerland in 1875 that made the American candy bar such a phenomenon of the late nineteenth century.”
—Encyclopedia of American Food and Drink, John F. Mariani [Lebhar-Friedman:New York] 1999 (p. 54-5)
*drool*
My favorite sweetmeat.
Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down!
-That cunt from the Sound of Music
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iU2hy0L5lgg
That’s kind of funny, and annoying
My favorite Mary Poppins parody is the “Scary Mary Trailer”:
https://youtu.be/2T5_0AGdFic?si=aOhQliu305yCwzTc
How can you have any pudding if you don’t eat your meat?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n5diMImYIIA
Thanks cavalier
Fun fact- Julie Andrews showed her tits in the movie “S.O.B.”
🥃
For Suthen just because he’s an early riser. A little morning wood!https://youtu.be/vEjCDriXwnI
I am late but thank you Festus. Debbie Harry at that. She truly was something.
The commute begins my penultimate day of work before four-days off, each filled with some odd-to-interesting medical something-or-other. Should be relieving in many ways, helping my hips with a procedure under “conscious sedation” and meeting with vocational rehab to see how and where they might see me.
I’m hopeful for a relaxed morning, hopefully without ‘dispensing’ orders to customers in their cars. I will also be watching for those electric shocks. Previously they came between ~7-8am or so. I will be paying ‘eager’ attention, eager to see if or what consistency or pattern this shit has. Very strange sensation.
Onward, upward, y’all. May your days pass the tedium as swiftly as mine makes the clock whirr ’round.
I believe that “conscious sedation” is the same as what I got during my heart cath- best morning of my life.
Seems you get a combo of fentanyl/versed. Let me tell you- when administered properly, in a clinical setting, fentanyl is a LOT of fun.
Enjoy yourself.
Ooh! I strongly, strongly approve. Two LONG needles are gonna go through my groin into the gap between femur (titanium, now) and my pelvis.
That’ll be unusual. Im not allowed to drive home, and I wanna pul a Kramer. ‘Extra fun sedation, please!’
Ooh! Severe thunderstorm warning w 80mph winds! We were ordered to go to the back bay, where I currently am!
Weather scares Noblesvillians. This is good.
Yay, Saturday!
🥳☀️🍖
There’s a big rib roast waiting to be cooked in the fridge…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-JJAXwAaA2w
🎶🎶
https://www.wfmz.com/news/area/lehighvalley/second-man-charged-with-stealing-from-klecknersville-rangers-fire-company/article_6adf3804-27f5-468b-ac7d-324636c82a80.html
The one guy just really needed a bulldozer. 🤷🏼♀️
I showed this to tax deduction #3. He said: “Ah, yes. Megalophobia. My favorite phobia.”
https://x.com/AMAZlNGNATURE/status/1913285183358255502
https://youtu.be/-qAmPImaiV4?si=lGubvxBbQe4VeuU9
Santa is frightening
suh’ fam
whats goody yo
TALL WEEKEND CANS!
Good morning, homey, cav973, Sean, and EfE!
Morning.
Why are mornings always terrible?
I’m going to get Tres Ver 2.0 for breakfast. Please encourage our weather to hold off for at least an hour after I get back.
I need to mow again.
Maybe because you don’t go to sleep soon enough at night?
I think we dodged a bullet a little while ago, based on the radar blob to the north. I don’t know that we’ll be that lucky with the impending blob to the west.
What’s sleep?
“Impending blob to the west”
One of my ex’s from Camden is coming over?