“Camilla Sforza,” Camilla replied, tipping her own drink back and draining it. Ale was not her drink nor, she suspected, would this ale have been a sterling example of its breed, but it was wet and far better than the sour greenish beer and harsh rum that had passed as drink aboard the Espri’d’mar. It wasn’t much of an alias, her mother had been a Sforza before marrying but it was unlikely that any alias would survive more than a few hours once Domenguez got ashore and rounded up a few bully boys.


“It does spark my interest,” she confessed, “I came to the New World searching for something, and I think this might be just the place to start.”


“And what skills will you be bringing to the enterprise,” Hasting asked with disarming neutrality. Camilla made an expressive Medici shrug, as though the question was of little import. Hastings was not one to let go once his teeth sunk into a bone.

“Can you sail?” Camilla shook her head.

“Can you navigate a ship in storm, or guide a ship of a lee shore?” he pressed. Camilla shook her head.

“Are you a purser? A cooper? A surgeon's mate?”  Camilla shook her head again, though in truth she was probably better educated than any purser or surgeons mate in Free Sail

“A gunner, a topman, a crackerhash?” Camilla shook her head in blanket denial. Hastings leaned forward on clenched fists, his eyes flicking to his Captain who had yet to intervene.


“Then what, pray tell, can you add to our task?” he asked with heavy irony. Camilla smiled at him, exposing her neat white teeth.


“Why master Hastings, I can play the fiddle, I can dance a reel, and I can fight,” she replied putting an emphasis on the last word. Hasting snorted audible.

“You are very pretty I grant you but fight…” he drew his cutlass as if to underscore his point. Camilla whipped her pistol from her sash and fired in a single fluid motion. There was a metallic clang and Hasting’s sword flew free of his hand. The sword landed point first in the wooden flooring, quivering like a struck bell. Hastings cursed and shook his jarred hand. Camilla blew the powder smoke away as though dispelling pipe smoke in a drawing room. She lowered the pistol and set it on the table, cocking an eyebrow at Sir Edmund who was softly chuckling.

“Well, it always helps to have someone on hand who can dance a reel,” he admitted, his twinkling eyes laughing in delight.