The Gypsy Seraph

Chapter One // P R E S E N T

The crew of the Endeavour was panicking—and with good reason. Their ship had been attacked by a ship captained by pirates and the lord on board was not too fond of pirates.

Lord Cutler Beckett was in a foul mood. He'd been irritable that morning, before the attack, when Commodore James Norrington had informed him of a delay in their plans—the weather they had encountered had slowed them significantly and blown them off course. No longer would they be able to reach England within the week—an extra two would be needed to regain the lost distance.

So, angry and snappish, Beckett paced his quarters, Commodore Norrington quaking slightly off to the side of the same room. The commodore was not a man who was likely to give in to fear easily, but Beckett, when he was irate as he was now, terrified him.

"Sir," the commodore began, taking an extreme effort to keep his voice from shaking, "the Endeavour has sustained heavy damage to her stern and port side. Seawater is pouring in fast from several gashes in the hull."

"And what am I supposed to do about it?" Beckett snapped.

Commodore Norrington flinched. "Sir, we'll need to make port with people who can help us."

Beckett whirled on the young man. "There are no near ports. The closest port is in Spain, who is not friendly with the Company as of now, and Africa, which is riddled with pirate riff-raff like the scum who put us in this position in the first place!"

"There is an island chain," Norrington began, praying he would not offend the lord, "called the Azores. It's populated by Portuguese people, I believe, some of whom speak English. They may or may not help us. But there's no harm in trying."

"No harm in trying," the lord echoed. "There certainly is harm in trying when it reveals the weakness of the East India Trading Company to our enemies!"

The commodore flinched. "Of course, Lord Beckett, but I'm afraid we don't have a choice."

Beckett, realizing the young commodore's superiority at sea, sighed. "How long does she have if we keep going as is?"

"With the men pitching the water we take on, perhaps three or four hours, if we can work with a skeleton crew. Without it, we have less than two."

Beckett swallowed. "And how long will it take, by your estimation, to reach the Azores?"

Norrington ignored the hitch in Beckett's voice as he mentioned the name of the island chain. "Just over an hour, I think."

The lord clenched his jaw and turned to his desk. "Fine," he snapped, forcing the word from his throat. "Make way for the Azores."

Commodore Norrington strode from the room and onto the deck. "Make way for Sao Miguel!" he yelled. When no one moved, he clenched his teeth and ground out, "Lord Beckett's orders!"

Everyone scrambled to get moving.