Norrington's Darling

Children

POV: Zuri Sparrow

A splintered broom thingy lay in my tiny hands, a bucket of something beside me. I didn't know what it was. I never wanted to. I dunked the broom thingy into it and slapped it back down on the deck. I grunted as I struggled to move it against the wood—the broom thingy was twice my size.

One of my father's crewmen took pity on me and helped me slid the broom thingy across the boards. I grinned up at him and he smiled at me. I noticed he was missing a few teeth just like I was. I wondered when his would grow in.

Standing by the mast was my brother, watching nets get pulled in. A few fish floundered in them; it was Jack's job to cut them free, determine if they were female or not, then either throw them back to sea or into a bucket. The ones that when into the bucket were covered in red—Jack had been told to push a pointy thing—a knife, Mum called it, into them until they stopped moving.

From a sailor, I'd learned that was called death.

I stumbled and fell on the deck. It hurt. I cried out.

"Careful, dear!" cried Mum.

"Back up, you've got the rest of the deck still!" called my father. I'd learned to address him as 'Captain'—everyone else did. "Stab that fish again, Jackie, it's still flailing."

Jack did as he was told. My mother flinched.

Though our mother treated us likes we were just out of swaddling clothes, our father had thrown us into the life of the ship very quickly. Jack and I were three—and that, to the captain, meant we were ready to be pirates.

By the end of washing the deck, I had to start over—Jack's net area was covered in that red goo that was impossible to get out of the wood once it stained. And the captain did not like stains.

I made my brother help me. And then we collapsed together into a tiny but comfortable bed.

"Shove over will you?" I grumbled. "Your elbow is in my back!"

"Not my fault," Jack snapped, "that we're still in the same bed we were in seven years ago."

We were ten, now. I'd learned the meaning of death. I knew the fish Jack had been catching were dead now—killed by a three-year-old who knew not what death was. 

We'd learned of death because one of our crewman had died. Another had been killed. Our crew had attacked a British EITC ship in vengeance.

So maybe what Jack had done to the fish wasn't death. Maybe it was more like murder.

But that was how we ate. So we kept doing it.

I'd stopped swabbing decks. I'd moved on to fighting and watching from the crow's nest, while Jack cleaned fish or joined me. The crew got the idea our father was grooming him to become captain when Captain Teague could no longer do it.

But now that it was deep into the night, we were finally allowed sleep.

And Jack's elbow was still in my back.

I shifted, accidentally elbowing Jack in the groin, to get away from his prodding, bony limbs. He smacked me for my injury to his groin. I smacked him back for smacking me.

A few minutes later, our mother separated us from smacking each other. We fell asleep the instant we stopped fooling around.

I tapped my brother's shoulder. "He's watching me," I whispered.

"Who?" he demanded.

I nodded in the man's direction. He was eyeing me—I wore plenty to cover myself, but he could clearly tell I was fourteen and growing into myself. The pirate's gaze settled on my chest and my hips, a hungry look in his eyes.

I knew that look. I didn't like it.

Jack stood up and marched over to the man. "Get your eyes off my sister," he snarled, punching the man. The pirate stood and raised a fist to pummel my brother, but Jack was witty and fast. He dodged the blow; it landed on another person. He stood up. A brawl started between the two men. Fists began to fly and hit others. Soon the entire bar was in uproar.

Captain Teague watched his son with pride.

The barman weeded Jack out of the crowd and threw him out for starting the fight. Captain Teague disappeared and I went in search of my brother.

He was sitting at the docks when I found him, legs dangling just above the water. He looked up when I sat beside him.

"Thanks," I said.

Jack wrapped an arm around my shoulder. "Not a problem, sister." He pulled out a rum bottle. "Care for some?"

"Gimme the bottle, Jack," I said with a breathy laugh.

He grinned, took a swig, then passed it to me.

My quill scratched against the paper, candlelight flickering in the cabin. Jack rolled over from the bed. We'd grown up sharing one and had yet to stop—sleeping was difficult without each other.

"You done with that letter yet, Zu?"

"Not yet," I said. "It's gotta be perfect."

He rolled his eyes. "Who're you writing to, some navy man who's got good grammar?"

I blushed.

"Oh no, you actually are, aren't you?"

"Jack—"

"ZU!"

"Oh, shut up," I snapped.

"What's his name?" Jack asked after a long, tense silence.

"Norrington."

"I meant his first name."

I hesitated. "James," I said at last.