1635: Second Chance Bird by Eric Flint

Author:Eric Flint [Flint, Eric]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction, Alternate History, Germany, Canada, 1632, Grantville, Eric Flint, alt history, 30 years war, Ring of Fire
Publisher: Ring of Fire Press
Published: 2013-06-18T14:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-four: Anchors Aweigh

The decks of the Second Chance Bird at anchor in Castaway's Cove

Nobody was up early the next morning except the few unfortunate marines assigned to the watch. Pam woke to a splitting headache and after some debate swallowed a couple of her precious aspirin with the carafe of water Pers had thoughtfully left for her the night before. "I'm giving that kid a promotion," she mumbled through dry lips.

After a while the drum corps marching band in her head settled into a less driving beat and she decided she might be able to get dressed. This took much longer than usual, considering the clothing was of an unfamiliar design and her hands felt like she was wearing oven mitts.

"That's the last time I drink that much," she growled, ignoring the annoying voice in her head reminding her that she said that every time she had a hangover. Finally managing to pull her new boots on, Pam made her way to the door. She opened the door, allowing a shaft of bright sunlight into the room and closed it again as quickly as she could. The beam of light still seared in glaring orange across her closed eyes.

"Dear God, I swear, I'm going straight." She sat down for a while, cursing herself for not thinking to bring her up-time sunglasses on this little jaunt. Looking around, she found a floppy hat with a wide brim that resembled the ones she had seen Dutch merchants wear. She put it on, trying not to think about how it had ended up here. It was a bit large, so she tied a scarf around her head to make it fit better. She caught a glimpse of her red-eyed, exotically-clothed self reflected in a silver platter on the table and laughed aloud.

"I'm either a pirate or a pimp! Grandma would be so proud." Pushing her hat's brim low over her eyes, she made her way out of the door into the late-morning sun.

The decks below resembled a zombie movie. Everyone seemed to be stumbling along in slow motion, their usually tanned faces bleached a deathly shade of gray. Except for Gerbald.

Gerbald was the proverbial cat who had dined on canary. Pam watched him swagger around the decks, grinning as only a man who had gotten totally laid the night before can. She rolled her eyes at him as she gathered him up and headed out to find the bosun. They found him running his hand over the junk's delicately curved, crimson- lacquered railing, Pam wasn't sure over the noise of the surf, but she thought he might be softly cooing. He looked up with a grin that made Gerbald's giddy expression seem droopy in comparison.

"Captain Pam, Herr Gerbald, good morning! What are your orders, ma'am?" The bosun, a cheery sort to begin with, was as bright as the new dawn, in the highest of spirits. Apparently he was immune to hangovers and Pam stilled an annoyed twinge of jealousy.

"Well, I think we ought to discuss that.

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