In Which the Hospitality of the Pirate Kin is Put to the Test

From the diary of Dulcie, Crown Princess of Bentlefay:

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The feast, as it turned out, was to be the main event of a longer programme. Apparently the last respectable person to have set foot on the Golden Gull was Mother, and since that was twenty years ago and counting, Long Bob and the other chiefs were ready to put on a show while they had a captive audience.

First there was a sort of music and dancing exhibition put on by a few of the younger seamen – I say “sort of” because while they were certainly issuing sounds from a bagpipe and a flute, and moving their bodies to the aforementioned sounds, none of it bore any relationship to dancing and singing as we practice it back in the capital. They did things with their feet that I couldn’t even describe, to the extent that I was able to distinguish separate movements of their feet in the first place, and the music was a queer, plaintive chant with the tempo of a happy song and the key of a sad one. It was very stirring, but I was glad when it was over.

Then there was an exhibition in the rigging which was rather wasted on me but which had the four men of our escort looking green and defensive. The crewmen seemed to flicker through the rigging as effortlessly as though they were walking on solid ground, and the ropes and flags rose and fell like magic on Long Bob’s barked command. They moved in such precise concert that I found myself on the verge of the trance state which comes upon me when I watch soldiers on parade and had to pinch myself surreptitiously to keep alert.

Finally, with the crew once again lined up on the deck, the captains took us on a tour of the ship. We had experienced the hospitality of the Porteous for a few days already, and while it was acknowledged to be the jewel of the fleet, it couldn’t even approach the amenities available on land. I couldn’t imagine what a pirate ship would have to offer in comparison, and braced myself to smile and be polite about it no matter what they showed me.

But the Golden Gull is more than the flagship of a fleet, it is home to a dozen men who don’t set foot on dry land more than a few times a year. The number of conveniences that could be crammed into a small space and then built in, fastened down or folded away was beyond my reckoning. The galley alone seemed to have everything Tess had in her kitchen at home, and it wasn’t a quarter of the size. The men slept below deck in hammocks, but their possessions were slung neatly in nets overhead or shut away in low lockers against the inside of the hull.

Long Bob didn’t show us everything – no mention was made of weapons or an armory, and I didn’t ask – but it was enough for me to rearrange everything I had assumed about pirates and seafaring. He kept my hand tucked in his arm solicitously the entire time “so I wouldn’t take a tumble in that pretty dress,” and Lynde, to my great joy, found herself commandeered by Masters as grandly as any court lady by her gentleman, and led about with a courtliness that made her fighting leathers and short sword look foolish.

The last part of the ship we were shown was Long Bob’s own quarters in the stern, which were lavish with brass fittings and polished hardwood, and as much like the captain’s quarters on the Porteous as a bouquet of roses to a dandelion seed. There was a shutter, not a porthole, and a curious ledge outside about two feet wide and one deep.

“How curious – it’s like a little seat,” I said before I thought. “Who on earth would want to sit outside your window?”

Long Bob looked at me quizzically.

“Well, when one of the mermaids comes up for a chat, it’s only polite to make her comfortable, just as you might any honored guest.”

The joke seemed a labored one, but I laughed politely and filed the ledge away with the armory as a pirate secret I wasn’t allowed to be told.

“Now then,” Long Bob went on with a twinkle in his eye. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving!” I exclaimed, and we all trooped below deck for the feast.

The crew’s quarters had been stripped bare, the hammocks taken down and the whole place scrubbed white. A long narrow table had been set up down the middle for the crew, with a short table set on it like the crossbar of a T for the captains and guests. The tables were already groaning with tureens of soup, decanters of wine and rum, loaves of bread in every shape imaginable and gleaming jams and jellies. On the head table was an enormous and perfect whole fish, with discreet grill marks on its side and transparently thin slices of lemon draped over it at intervals. It was like an illustration in a book.

Long Bob made another elegant bow and handed me into my place with his best court manner. Lynde sat on his left with Masters on hers – I think the place had been meant to be Herring’s, since he looked surprised when Masters nipped into it, but Herring came quite philosophically to sit on my right, and the four men of our escort sat at the long table with the crew. The crew was standing at attention again to allow us to get to our seats, but their eyes were on the table just like mine were, and Long Bob didn’t keep them long.

“Fellows,” he said, “this is a historic day. We’re going to fight on the respectable side for a change, and never for a worthier cause. In honor of Princess Dulcie of Bentlefay and the glory of her house, I dedicate this feast!”

There was a cheer, and then a great scuffling as the men flung themselves into their seats, and then nothing but the slurping of soup, the sawing of bread and the clinking of spoons. Long Bob and the other two captains devoted themselves in a similar fashion to the activity of eating, so I really didn’t see why I shouldn’t follow suit.

The feast was divine. There is nothing in the world so deceptively simple as soup: easy to make, but almost impossible to make superlatively. This was superlative soup, accompanied by the queen of chewy yeast breads, and followed by the brave fish that had given its life in the cause of diplomacy. I wondered what they would do for a main course – surely there weren’t facilities on a ship for the large-scale roasting of meats? – and was interested to discover that it was sausages: humble as a rule, but glorified in this instance by the nobility of the boar from whence they came and their delicate infusion of spices.

There was an interval, while we lay back in our chairs and toyed with some salted nuts in preparation for the sweet course, and finally, the sweet course itself, a witches’ brew of sweetened cream, rare fruit and the thinnest and most tender layers of pastry. I have never enjoyed a meal more.

The dishes had been taken away and the last thimblefuls of wine were trickling mellowly into our glasses, when the adventure started.

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