Terry Deary - The Pirate Lord

First published 2011 by
A & C Black
Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP
www.acblack.com

This electronic edition published in March 2012 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

Text copyright 2011 Terry Deary
Illustrations copyright 2011 Helen Flook

The rights of Terry Deary and Helen Flook to be identified as the
author and illustrator of this work have been asserted by them in
accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

eISBN 978-1-4081-8107-2

A CIP catalogue for this book is available from the British Library.

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Sit by the fire. Go on, you look as wet as a herring. When the mist rolls in off the sea, it goes through you like theres ice in your blood. Sit down. Ill fetch you a pot of my best ale.

There you are, sir, you should warm through in no time. The maid will light a fire in your bedroom and itll be like toast when youre ready to go up.

Yes, Im the landlord of this tavern. I own it. Its the finest tavern in Cornwall and I sell the finest ale. The names Tom, sir, Tom Pennock.

I know what youre thinking. How does a rough fellow like me come to own a tavern as fine as The Golden Hind? Ill get the maid to fetch you a bowl of the best lamb stew you ever tasted not mutton, mind you real lamb. And if youve a half hour to spare before bed, Ill tell you how I earned my money.

I made it at sea, sir. And, no, I wasnt a pirate well, not really. If I was a pirate, then so was the greatest man that ever sailed the seven seas.

Youll have heard of Francis Drake Sir Francis Drake they call him now. But I knew him back in 1577 when he was just plain Captain Drake to us.

I was ten years old when I first saw him. I was a skinny little lad, no higher than the rail on a poop deck. But I ate too much.

That lad eats too much, my father said. Hell ruin us. Bread for breakfast, cheese for dinner and cheese for supper. Eat, eat, eat, thats all he ever does. Hell have to go!

Go, Father? I said. Go where?

To a master you work and he feeds you. Then your mother and me will be able to feed ourselves. A couple of your sisters are already serving in great houses. Its time for you to go, my lad.

I could work with an ostler, Father, looking after horses. I like horses.

Ha! my father jeered. Youd end up eating them. No, theres a ship in town. The men at the inn said the captains looking for crew.

That was the only time my mother ever spoke up for me. If you spent less time in that inn, Father, drinking away our money, youd have more to feed our little Tom.

Father just snorted. Hell have to get a job some time. The sooner he starts, the sooner hell make his fortune.

Fortune, Father? I asked. Can a sailor make a fortune?

Any man can make a fortune if he puts his mind to it.

So why havent you made a fortune, Father? I asked.

Shut up, son, and get your sea-boots on. Youre off to see the sea.

He laughed at his joke.

I didnt.

I cried. Im not ashamed to tell you, sir, I cried like a baby. I stood on the deck of the ship, the Pelican, and I sniffled.

Men and boys lined up on the sun-warmed planks. Some joked, some chatted like magpies and some stood grim-faced and angry. I was the only one weeping.

Suddenly, a cabin door opened and I had my first sight of Francis Drake. He wasnt a tall man, but he strutted around like our backyard bantam cock, eyes fierce in a wind-burned face, chest puffed out and beard ruffled by the breeze. Everyone fell silent.

The captain walked along the line, greeting some men as old friends. Welcome on board, Jed Trickett I see youre back for another shot at the Spanish, George Archer? Ah, Edward Marston troublemaker, shirker and drunkard. Get off my ship!

The man called Marston cursed Drake, spat on the deck and rambled back along the gangplank. He was halfway across when he lurched to the left and fell into Plymouth harbour. Everyone laughed and even I dried my tears and smiled.

Captain Drake reached me and asked, Who have we here?

My father jabbed me with his finger.

Tom Pennock sir, I said.

And you want to serve our Queen Elizabeth, do you, Tom?

I didnt know what he meant. Father spoke up. Hes the hardest-working lad youll ever meet, Captain. Take our Tom with you and hell kill twenty Spaniards before breakfast then swab the decks to clean up their blood.

Drake laughed. Then hes the lad for me. Ill set you to work as a cabin boy serving in the galley you know what a galley is?

No, sir.

Its the kitchen where we cook the ships food and when we go into battle, youll be a powder monkey, Drake explained.

Hes a monkey all right, Father laughed.

A powder monkey fetches gunpowder from the store below deck for the gunners. Its hot work and you have to be fast on your feet. Think you can do it?

I had no idea if I could do it or not, but I said, Yes, sir. I already knew Id have walked into the mouth of a cannon for that great captain.

Drake nodded at my father. Hell do. Take a golden sovereign from the ships purser on the foredeck.

Father grinned and almost ran to the man with a chest of treasure. He hardly stopped to wave goodbye.