Unbinding of Mary Reade
Page 1
Praise for
THE UNBINDING OF MARY READE
“The Unbinding of Mary Reade is a rollicking, breathtaking adventure full of heart, passion, wit, and intelligence. I was turning pages fast as a wind fills a sail, marveling at the talent that is Miriam McNamara.”
—An Na, Printz Award Winner and National Book Award Finalist for A Step from Heaven
“A captivating account of gender, feminism, agency, and all manner of desire—most importantly, the desire to be free. Badass, through and through.”
—M-E Girard, Lambda Literary Award Winner and William C. Morris Award Finalist for Girl Mans Up
“Issues of gender identity and who and how to love make The Unbinding of Mary Reade resonate as strongly in the present as in the past. Action-packed, this romantic tale is bound to entice teen and adult readers alike.”
—Cordelia Jensen, author of Skyscraping and The Way the Light Bends
“The Unbinding of Mary Reade is a stunning debut—intense and unforgettable, thrilling to the very last page!”
—Melanie Crowder, author of Audacity and An Uninterrupted View of the Sky
“I dare you not to yell huzzah! at least ten times while reading The Unbinding of Mary Reade, a swashbuckling girl-power adventure about owning who you are and loving who you want. Mary is an unforgettable heroine who is tough yet tender, a survivor who’s got swagger and courage. I’d join her pirate crew any day!”
—Heather Demetrios, author of Bad Romance and Exquisite Captive
“This is the pirate novel we’ve been waiting for. Epic and confident, with a plot that sizzles and then ignites like a powder keg. Longing and love tangle in nuanced, powerful combinations as Mary takes to the high seas and meets her match in Anne Bonny. An unstoppable romance, an unforgettable adventure.”
—Amy Rose Capetta, author of Echo after Echo
“Fantastic, unique, and inclusively diverse young adult fiction … You had me at ‘queer pirates.’ *grabby hands*”
—Tor.com
“Canonically queer pirate girls? Yes, please.”
—Barnes & Noble Teen Blog
Copyright © 2018 by Miriam McNamara
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Sky Pony Press, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
Sky Pony Press books may be purchased in bulk at special discounts for sales promotion, corporate gifts, fund-raising, or educational purposes. Special editions can also be created to specifications. For details, contact the Special Sales Department, Sky Pony Press, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018 or info@skyhorsepublishing.com.
Sky Pony® is a registered trademark of Skyhorse Publishing, Inc.®, a Delaware corporation.
www.skyponypress.com
www.MiriamMcNamara.com
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.
Cover design by Sammy Yuen
Cover image credit iStockphoto
Print ISBN: 978-1-5107-2705-2
E-book ISBN: 978-1-5107-2711-3
Printed in the United States of America
For Al
We have shaken loose from our moorings
We could go anywhere from here
CONTENTS
Chapter One: Caribbean Sea—1719
Chapter Two: London, England—1704
Chapter Three: Caribbean Sea—1719
Chapter Four: Wapping, London—1707
Chapter Five: Caribbean Sea—1719
Chapter Six: Wapping, London—1717
Chapter Seven: Caribbean Sea—1719
Chapter Eight: Isla de Cotorras—1719
Chapter Nine: Wapping, London—1717
Chapter Ten: Isla de Cotorras—1719
Chapter Eleven: Wapping, London—1717
Chapter Twelve: Isla de Cotorras—1719
Chapter Thirteen: Westminster, London—1717
Chapter Fourteen: Isla de Cotorras—1719
Chapter Fifteen: Westminster, London—1717
Chapter Sixteen: Isla de Cotorras—1719
Chapter Seventeen: Isla de Cotorras—1719
Chapter Eighteen: Westminster, London—1717
Chapter Nineteen: Isla de Cotorras—1719
Chapter Twenty: Isla de Cotorras—1719
Chapter Twenty-One: Wapping, London—1717
Chapter Twenty-Two: Isla de Cotorras—1719
Chapter Twenty-Three: Isla de Cotorras—1719
Chapter Twenty-Four: Isla de Cotorras—1719
Chapter Twenty-Five: Wapping, London—1717
Chapter Twenty-Six: Isla de Cotorras—1719
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Isla de Cotorras—1719
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Isla de Cotorras—1719
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Isla de Cotorras—1719
Chapter Thirty: River Thames—1717
Chapter Thirty-One: Caribbean Sea—1719
Chapter Thirty-Two: Nassau—1719
Chapter Thirty-Three: New Providence—1719
Chapter Thirty-Four: Rotterdam—1717
Chapter Thirty-Five: New Providence—1719
Chapter Thirty-Six: New Providence—1719
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Rotterdam—1717
Chapter Thirty-Eight: New Providence—1719
Chapter Thirty-Nine: New Providence—1719
Chapter Forty: Rotterdam—1717
Chapter Forty-One: New Providence—1720
Chapter Forty-Two: Rotterdam—1717
Chapter Forty-Three: New Providence—1720
Chapter Forty-Four: New Providence—1720
Chapter Forty-Five: New Providence—1720
Chapter Forty-Six: New Providence—1720
Chapter Forty-Seven: Rotterdam—1717
Chapter Forty-Eight: New Providence—1720
Chapter Forty-Nine: New Providence—1720
Chapter Fifty: New Providence—1720
Chapter Fifty-One: Caribbean Sea—1719
Chapter Fifty-Two: New Providence—1720
Chapter Fifty-Three: New Providence—1720
Chapter Fifty-Four: Caribbean Sea—1719
Chapter Fifty-Five: New Providence—1720
Chapter Fifty-Six: Caribbean Sea—1720
Chapter Fifty-Seven: Caribbean Sea—1719
Acknowledgments
“Now we are to begin a History full of surprising Turns and Adventures; I mean, that of Mary Read … the odd Incidents of their rambling Lives are such that some may be tempted to think the whole Story no better than a Novel or Romance …”
—A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pyrates
CHAPTER ONE
CARIBBEAN SEA—1719
MARY DOVE INTO THE JOLLY BOAT, FLATTENED HERSELF BETWEEN THE benches, and prayed no one noticed it swinging from its goosenecked davits. She struggled to catch her breath, her gasps almost drowning out the smattering of gunfire, the desperate shouts of the crew, and the cries and moans of the injured littering the deck.
She squeezed her eyes shut and again saw the wild, screaming men with gold earrings, brightly patterned bandanas, and cutlasses in their teeth, crawling up the grappling lines—rogues clearing the path before them with their bullets, firing flintlocks with both hands—swordsmen slinging themselves on board from the taffrail carrying swirling blades—men barefoot and naked to the waist, all shades of sunburned, brown, a
nd even the darkest black—all men—
But one?
Mary was sure she had imagined it.
She squinted over the side of the jolly boat, the thick smoke a steel-colored curtain. There she was. A girl pirate. There was no mistaking it. Unlike Mary, the girl wore a red velvet dress and had long, auburn hair, everything about her curving and feminine—except for the way Mary had just watched her cut down one man and shoot another.
Mary guessed the man fighting by her side was the pirate captain. He wore a coat, unlike the other pirates, one made of chintz swirling with red, cream, and green, and britches to match. His face was handsome, soft at the mouth and eye, framed by thick brown curls that hung to his shoulders.
Movement beside the jolly boat caught Mary’s attention. Paddy’s thinning blond hair appeared as he peered over a tarpaulin-covered crate, then his eyes, staring at the pirates with a fierce expression. The red-haired girl pointed up to the poop deck, where Kapitein Baas was playing sniper with a few of his best men. The pirate captain looked up and narrowed his eyes. He cocked his head, aimed his pistol through the fog, and fired, but the angle of the poop from the quarterdeck blocked his shot.
From Mary’s vantage she had a clear view of Kapitein Baas, no ladders or masts to hinder her gaze. She had a clear view of Paddy, hunched behind the tarpaulin with murder in his eyes. She looked back at the girl who stood like a man in her skirts, and the handsome pirate reloading his pistol.
Paddy wanted to kill the pirates.
The pirates wanted to kill Kapitein Baas.
Mary only wanted to escape this fight alive, make her way to Nassau, and be reunited with Nat—but as her eyes caught the girl pirate again, she paused.
The girl looked in her direction, and Mary’s insides knotted up. Then the girl shouted something and pointed to the forecastle. The two pirates erupted into the melee surrounding them, and in seconds they’d hacked their way through the worst of the fighting. Mary barely scrunched down in time to keep out of their sight as they approached. Her breath rasped heavily on the wood of the bench beneath her cheek, and she forced herself to quiet the sound. She remembered the outline of Paddy’s hunched back and prayed he wasn’t seen.
“Quick, see if you’ve got a clear shot,” the pirate girl panted. Mary peeked above the gunwale again. She could have reached out and touched them. The girl whipped left and right, pistol raised, but no one approached.
“I’m still blocked, damn it.” The gentleman pointed his pistol at the poop deck, then dropped the weapon and pulled himself up on the foremast shrouds with one arm to aim again. The girl let her weapon lower slightly as she turned to gauge his angle.
Paddy’s musket bobbed over the tarpaulin while the pirates’ backs were turned. Mary’s stomach tightened as he slowly brought the barrel of his musket to bear on the gentleman. The click when Paddy cocked the hammer seemed a little thing, but Mary saw the girl’s shoulders tense, her head tilting slightly.
Mary didn’t dare breathe or move. The pirate captain squinted back up at the poop, trying to perfect his angle.
Mary imagined Paddy’s trigger finger tightening ever so carefully.
The girl whirled around, roaring as she slammed a fist into the barrel of Paddy’s musket as it fired. The shot ripped into the forecastle wall and Paddy stumbled onto the deck on his hands and knees. The girl kicked the musket out of Paddy’s reach and leveled her flintlock at his head, her teeth bared and chest heaving.
“No!” Mary yelled, standing and pointing her musket at the girl’s head at the same moment that the pirate captain whirled and brought his weapon to bear on her chest. The jolly boat rocked wildly beneath her feet, and she struggled to keep her balance. Her breath caught in her throat, but she held her ground. Now was her chance to earn her freedom, instead of sneaking off and hoping no one shot her.
Mary deliberately shifted her weapon away from the girl and pointed it up, toward the poop deck. She saw the pirate captain’s expression shift slightly, and he put up a hand to stay the girl. Mary crouched until she was in the same position she’d been in before. Kapitein Baas came into view, as clear as he’d been earlier.
Mary had watched sailors shoot at seagulls from the quarter-gallery balconies, squinting down the musket’s length at their targets. She imitated their position now, cocking the hammer fully as Paddy and the pirates watched her in disbelief. The kapitein’s inhumanity had earned her hatred many times over as they’d crossed the ocean, and it was easy enough to imagine him an animal now.
Mary pulled the trigger, the recoil knocking her to the bottom of the jolly boat as it jerked beneath her. She dropped the musket and scrambled to the gunwale to see what she’d done.
Up on the poop a few men rushed to bend over the prostrate form of Kapitein Baas.
The pirate gentleman hopped from the shrouds, smiling broadly. “Well, young man! Looks like you hit your mark.”
She nodded curtly, clutching the gunwale to steady her shaking hands.
The pirate captain sprinted for the sterncastle steps. The pirate girl stayed, her pistol still held to Paddy’s head. Mary stood awkwardly as the girl’s gaze flicked over the skinny length of her and up to her face. The girl had eyes so brown they were nearly black. Deep-set, but not in an unattractive way. Like a hawk.
“Don’t shoot him,” Mary said, her eyes darting to Paddy.
Mary’s pulse sped up as the girl smiled lasciviously, lowering her weapon. “Anything for you, young marksman.” Then she whirled, skirts swishing, and followed her man.
CHAPTER TWO
LONDON, ENGLAND—1704
MUM TOLD MARY OVER AND OVER, AS THEIR FEET STUMBLED ACROSS the cobblestones, that once they got to Granny’s Mary must be quiet.
“Don’t say a word, Mary. Not one word.”
Mary didn’t know what Granny’s was, or why they were going there. That morning, after days of lying slumped against the wall, oblivious to Mary’s cries of cold and hunger, Mum had finally staggered to her feet and dressed Mary in Mark’s old frock and pudding cap. Mum had told her, with feverish intensity, that if Mary was good there’d be a pasty in it for her, and Mary had promised she’d do whatever she was told.
They walked forever. Mary was so tired she could barely get up the whitewashed steps of the big house Mum led her to. Mum knocked on the door, then clutched Mary to her chest as she begged to come in. A man in a crisp coat and black shoes with bright silver buckles brought them to a dark, wide room stuffed with soft and shiny things, the oily smell of burning lamps making Mary feel dizzy and sick. The yellow of Mum’s hair caught the light as she set Mary down and pushed her forward, toward a frowning, gray-haired woman seated on a beautiful chair.
“Mark, I’m sure you remember your Granny?”
Mum’s hand tightened on Mary’s shoulder. Don’t say anything, Mary remembered, so she didn’t, even though Mark was dead and she certainly didn’t remember this strange woman. Mum continued talking, her voice growing tearful. Mary focused on the woman’s fingers kneading a green velvet cushion. Little strips of color lifted beneath her nails, then settled as she stroked the fabric smooth.
“There’s no one else but you.” Mum’s tears caught the light of the lamps, spotting her skirts as they fell. “You’re all the family we have left.”
“Family indeed, whether I like it or not.” But when Granny looked at Mary her face seemed to soften. “He does have eyes just like his father’s.”
A glint of silver appeared in Granny’s palm. She held out a pretty, shiny coin, and both Mary and Mum reached for it. Granny hesitated, then leaned down and pressed it into Mary’s palm. “You’re a Reade, even if your father died before I made peace with it,” she said. “Come see your Granny once a month, and each time I’ll give you a coin just like this one.”
On the walk back to Wapping Mum bought them a meat pasty and small beer, and that night they slept in a room of their own.
Things were better after that. They had enough food to eat,
enough kindling for a fire to warm the little room they had to themselves. Mum wasn’t so sad. She was even happy sometimes, when there was enough left over for a bottle of gin.
All Mary had to do for it was change her name, and that was an easy thing to do.
CHAPTER THREE
CARIBBEAN SEA—1719
THE PIRATE CAPTAIN EASILY CONVINCED THE SAILORS LEFT ALIVE, BEING exhausted and liking life, to drop their weapons in exchange for the promise of safe passage.
The sun sweltered as the day went on. The brigands slapped each other’s backs and paid the captives scant attention; they were busy passing the rum around, throwing things around in the captain’s quarters, and breaking into the hold.
Sailors fidgeted and picked at their skin as they waited. They’d all heard stories about pirates eating the beating hearts out of captains’ chests while they were still alive, or forcing entire crews overboard into the sea. Mary had heard those stories told countless times by boys on the docks when she was young. But she’d also heard that pirates were just as likely to offer goodwill to their captured crews. They might even find certain enterprising men a place on their crew and a share of the prize money. Equal share, almost, to that of the captain. That’s what the stories said.
Mary forced herself to calm her breathing. She had nothing to fear from children’s stories. She’d taken charge, gotten herself noticed. Baas was vanquished, all of his officers deposed by the pirates. There was nothing between her and Nassau now.
“Hello, lad.”
Mary turned, and the pirate captain was there. He wasn’t tall but he was striking, with broad shoulders and brilliant green eyes. He flipped the lace cuffs off his wrists and leaned against the barrel next to Mary. “Allow me to introduce myself. The name’s Calico Jack Rackham. Captain Jack to you buggers.”
Mary nodded, trying to look hard.
“And you would be …”
She cleared her throat. “Mark Reade, sir.” There, she didn’t sound too intimidated.
Fabric rustled at Mary’s other side, and she jumped when the pirate girl leaned over the gunwale just beside her.