“Then call me a fool. As for rats, I find them most admirable creatures. I had a pet one for a time. Our cabin boy—Andrés—and I trained it.” Nicolas purses his lips and looks thoughtful. “I have often wondered what happened to the young man. You would not know, would you?”
“Would I know what happened to your cabin boy?” Norrington says. “Oddly, I do not keep track of pirates. That is a matter for the law. I only concern myself with those brigands who interfere with my personal business.”
“Perhaps Andrés interfered with your business. Then you would know what became of him.”
“Do not try to distract me with your nonsense. You like to talk when you ought to be silent, and to be silent when you ought to talk. I have attempted to be fair with you. I have offered you clemency in return for the name of your employer. He is my enemy. Not a boy who plays at pirating.”
“Since the Crown executed my captain, I no longer have an employer.”
The two navy men lift their pistols, but Norrington waves them down.
“You are fortunate that I am a man of patience,” Norrington says. “If I were not, you would be dead.”
I rock forward, but Nicolas subtly puts a hand back to stop me.
“I suppose you are going to claim you did not realize I was on that ship last night?” Nicolas says.
“Of course I knew. I was teaching you a lesson, boy. One you seem incapable of learning. I want Robin Hood of the Bay. Now, step aside and introduce me to him.”
We both go still. Then Nicolas slowly glances back at me.
“Come, come,” Norrington says impatiently. “Do you think we cannot see him right there. He may be short, but he does not quite fit behind you.”
The two lackeys snicker.
I take a slow step out, even as Nicolas makes a noise of warning. The trees cast this spot into shadow, and I can only guess that Norrington and his men cannot see me clearly. Once they do, they will understand their mistake.
Even if they do not realize I am a woman, they cannot confuse me for Nicolas’s employer. As a man, I am a whiskerless and pink-cheeked boy.
Yet when I do step out, their expressions don’t change.
“You are one of Lancaster’s brood, I presume,” Norrington says. “You lot cannot keep your noses out of other people’s business. Almost as bad as the Thornes. At leasttheydo not run about the countryside playing at being Robin Hood. How old are you, boy? Sixteen, yet?”
I stand there, dumbfounded into silence. He hasn’t mistaken me for an older man. Not even mistaken me for agrownman. He sees a boy. A soft and smooth-cheeked boy. And yet somehow, I am more likely to be Robin Hood of the Bay than Nicolas—ten years older, educated and well spoken, and in the sort of physical condition one would expect of such a hero.
But I am not a man of color. To Norrington, a mere boy, as physically unprepossessing as I appear, is a more likely candidate than Nicolas.
“Speak, boy,” Norrington says to me. “I asked your name.”
I hesitate only a moment. I want to tell them they are mistaken. Nicolas trulyisthe one they seek. And yet how does that help him? The only reason he corrects their error is out of fear they’ll target an innocent. What if, instead, they target a real person... one who doesn’t exist in this century? A specter for them to chase, leaving Nicolas be?
Then I put my hand on my gladius and stand tall. “I am called the Kestrel.”
The two men burst into laughter. Even the corners of Norrington’s mouth quirk as he shakes his head.
“I presume you do not know what such a thing is, boy. Do you imagine some terrible bird of prey? It is an American sparrow hawk. Called such because it hunts nothing bigger than sparrows.”
I lift my chin. “As you have pointed out, I am small of stature myself. Yet the kestrel is still a bird of prey, and a fierce one, and if I may be so bold, is that not a sparrow on your buckle?”
Norrington looks down.
“That is a grosbeak, crécerelle,” Nicolas says. “Yet you are correct. It is indeed akin to a sparrow. Perhaps Lord Norrington should not be so quick to dismiss you. But no, Norrington, this is not my employer. It is a young man of my acquaintance who has no part in my machinations.”
Norrington rolls his eyes and tells Nicolas to stop the ridiculous pretense. As they argue, I catch movement to my left. I glance over and give a start. It is the man I saw with Miss Jenkins. Her father, I presumed, or a male member of her household acting as escort.
The older man walks right up behind one of Norrington’s lackeys. Then he steps in front of the man, who doesn’t even startle. Norrington himself keeps talking to Nicolas.
“You can see me, can’t you, child?” the man says. “Can you hear me?”