Tides of Mutiny Read online

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copyright © 2021 by Rebecca Rode

  Cover art copyright © 2021 by Leo Nickolls.

  Cover copyright © 2021 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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  JIMMY Patterson Books / Little, Brown and Company

  Hachette Book Group

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  JimmyPatterson.org

  First Edition: September 2021

  JIMMY Patterson Books is an imprint of Little, Brown and Company, a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Little, Brown name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The JIMMY Patterson Books® name and logo are trademarks of JBP Business, LLC.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Rode, Rebecca, 1981– author.

  Title: Tides of mutiny / Rebecca Rode.

  Description: First edition. | New York : Jimmy Patterson Books/Little, Brown and Company, 2021. | Audience: Ages 12 & up. | Summary: “A sixteen-year-old girl hiding as a cabin boy must fight for her place in a world that executes female sailors, all while falling for a mysterious stowaway who could destroy everything”—Provided by publisher.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2020050441 | ISBN 9780316705752 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780316705714 (ebook)

  Subjects: CYAC: Seafaring life—Fiction. | Pirates—Fiction. | Secrets—Fiction. | Disguise—Fiction. | Princes—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.R639535 Ti 2021 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020050441

  ISBNs: 978-0-316-70575-2 (hardcover), 978-0-316-70571-4 (ebook)

  E3-20210721-JV-NF-ORI

  Contents

  COVER

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  MAP

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  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  DISCOVER MORE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  JIMMY PATTERSON BOOKS FOR YOUNG ADULT READERS

  For Lisa, who taught me that there’s more than one way to change the world

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  It was the boots that tipped me off.

  There were other signs too—the cap pulled low over the young man’s face, the hunched shoulders. Rather than watching the busy dockworkers around him, he stared resolutely at the mud near his feet. Even the too-bright and well-fitted shirt looked out of place despite the smear of dirt staining the front.

  His shiny pointed boots, however, were completely impractical for a rainy day. Impractical for anything, really. Particularly taking a stroll about the harbor this early in the morning. This was no common sailor.

  “Are you listening?” Father asked.

  I snapped my gaze back to him and leaned against the ship’s rail. “I’m always listening.”

  A heavy sigh meant that he thought otherwise. “I know you like to go ashore with the men, but it’s too dangerous this time. Perhaps in a month or two when the festival is over.”

  And when King Eurion has better things to do than kill innocent girls, I wanted to add. But it would have been a waste of breath. Father never went back on his word once he’d declared it. Besides, I couldn’t deny that the very air around Hughen’s harbor had changed since I was here last. We’d had to pay extra for our usual berth. Raucous laughter had been replaced by quiet gossip exchanged among extra dockworkers. Most worrisome, though, was the increase in security. A patrol party passed by every ten minutes, its soldiers scanning faces in the crowd. It took everything I had not to adjust my disguise each time their gazes slid over me.

  It didn’t mean I had to like it.

  “I know there are… things… you need in town,” Father continued as a gust of wind swept his graying hair into his eyes. He brushed it aside with an impatient jerk. “Give your list to Dennis. He’ll get them for you before the day’s done.”

  I snorted at the thought of Father’s crabby first officer selecting fabric for my chest bindings. “I’ve made the journey into town fifty times. Nobody ever pays me any heed.”

  “Then we’ve been lucky fifty times. I won’t risk our luck running out on the fifty-first, not with the city on alert like this.”

  I was losing this battle terribly, but I refused to yield. “They’re looking for women sailors, not a captain’s boy.”

  He lifted one thick eyebrow. “They’re searching for pretty faces, feminine features, and high voices—all three of which you possess. You’d see that if you used my looking glass on occasion.”

  I scowled. I’d perfected the art of hiding in plain sight—strutting about, training my voice to sound lower. Eating like the others. Nobody climbed the ratlines faster than I did, and I practiced with my axes nearly every day. I’d fooled hundreds of men over the years as crew members came and went. Yet none of that mattered to Father, the most paranoid man in the Four Lands.

  He stood there watching me, his white shirt fastened right up to the collar as always, bright against skin weathered by long days at sea. A tiny shaving cut lay under his crooked chin. I’d lived on the Majesty for eleven years now, and I still didn’t know what he looked like with a beard. Whether his day included meeting a client or sitting alone by the constant sea, every last hair would see the blade of his razor.

  To my surprise, he placed his hands firmly on my shoulders. In an instant, the stern merchant ship captain was gone, replaced by my father. “Lane. I mean it. They’ve erected a new sign on the way into town, a big Jilly Black. Whether you agree about the danger or not, you’ll remain inside my cabin or belowdecks until I return. Do you understand?”

  My frown deepened. I’d been Lane Garrow since I was five year-days old, yet he still felt it necessary to lecture me. Did he truly think I could forget that the pompous king Eurion’s palace loomed on the cliffs above us right now?

  “I do understand the danger. Really.”

  It wasn’t a promise exactly, but he finally nodded. “Good. I’ll bring you back a crosuit. I’m dying for potatoes myself, ones that don’t stink like Julian’s a
rmpits.”

  I fought a smile and lost. “Agreed.”

  Father gave my shoulders a squeeze. “I’ll see you in a few hours. We’ll dine like lords tonight.” He stalked down the gangplank and past the odd stranger without giving him a glance. The boy still stood rooted in place, a stone in the river of workers, gazing at the Majesty behind me. He took in her grand masts and furrowed sails with the awe of a child. If he’d noticed the exchange with my father, he didn’t seem to think much of it. Or he was better at pretending than I gave him credit for.

  I examined him for a long moment. He was sixteen, possibly seventeen year-days. Medium-oak hair, skin untouched by the sun, slender build. I’d seen most of it before—boys leaving home for the first time, seeking work and adventure and escaping the demands of their parents. But something about this one felt… different.

  Definitely the boots.

  I waited till Father disappeared into the crowd before striding down the gangplank myself, set on driving the boy off. The Majesty took on sailors of all skill levels, but social levels were another matter entirely. He could take his pretty boots and pretty eyes to the Mum’s Commoner across the harbor.

  “Lane!” Barrie shouted, barreling up the gangplank to stop me halfway down. “Be Cap’n Garrow here? You won’t be believing what I just heard.”

  At fourteen, my station partner, Barrie, was the youngest sailor on the ship. He just didn’t know it, since I was supposed to be younger. His hammock was homespun rather than shop made, and he quietly sent most of his earnings home to his fourteen-member family in a distant farming town. He could wander Hughen alone without a second glance. Meanwhile, I had to hide like a scared child. Again.

  “I can believe near anything.” I kept one eye on the stranger.

  “Not this,” Barrie said, breathless with excitement. “That filthy pirate’s been freed. Cap’n Belza.”

  Now I was the one gawking. Dread set me stiff as a board. “What?”

  “It be true. Heard it in town. Two officials be talking about it, then I heard it again from a soldier. Messau’s new ruler set him free for good. Raymus, I think?”

  I tried to speak, but the words felt caught in my suddenly dry throat. “Rasmus,” I managed. “He became khral of Messau when his father died last month. But Belza—are you certain?”

  “Aye. Positive.”

  That was news. The last remaining member of Elena the Conqueror’s pirate crew had rotted in a dungeon in Messau for the past decade. It had been incredibly difficult for the old khral to capture the pirate in the first place. Why would his son free the man?

  “There be even more.” Barrie leaned forward. His wide-set green eyes were a startling contrast to his black hair. It was a combination I wished the skies had bestowed upon me, instead of my rat-brown everything. “They say Cap’n Belza be asking around, looking for someone. Care to guess who?”

  “King Eurion?” The Hughen king had been the one to deliver Belza into the original khral’s hands. Both had been desperate to lock him away, declaring that he’d never see freedom again.

  Barrie’s eyes sparkled. “Our own Cap’n Garrow.”

  My stomach thudded.

  “Captain Garrow,” I repeated dully.

  “Aye. Cap’n Belza—”

  “Nay.” I stopped him with a sharp look. “Just Belza. He’s only captain if he has a ship, and he has no crew either.” Nor would any self-respecting sailor join him. Not when the entire world knew of Belza and his brutal crimes.

  “But that be it—the khral gave him a ship and crew. Now he’s set out to find your father, Lane. He be looking for him now.”

  The fact that Belza was now a privateer on the new khral’s errand was bad enough, but it barely registered. The second-most-deadly pirate in history sought my father. The paranoid man who charmed merchants and refused to carry a weapon and punished crew members who fought with one another. It couldn’t possibly be the same Captain Garrow.

  “Where did you hear this, Barrie?”

  “Everywhere. The entire city be talking about it. Nobody knows why Belza be so insistent. Maybe Garrow and Belza were enemies. Now that Belza be free, he seeks revenge. Some even say—” He caught my expression and swallowed. “Never mind.”

  “What? You can tell me.”

  “You won’t like it, I swear.”

  I paused, the dread sinking deeper into my gut. “Quit playing around and say it.”

  He lowered his voice, his eyes bright. “Some wonder if Cap’n Garrow be one of them. A pirate.”

  I snorted as the dread faded in a single, abrupt rush. “A pirate? Certainly not.” The very idea was ridiculous. Father’s superstitious fears prevented him from even discussing pirates. If he knew that the history book hidden in my storage chest discussed the pirate captain Elena, he’d have burned it long ago.

  Barrie looked grumpy at my dismissal. “But how do you know?”

  “Because I know, all right?” I snapped. “Father is no more a pirate than you are, and I don’t appreciate your implying otherwise.”

  He flinched.

  Some of my anger drained away. Barrie received plenty of sharpness from the crew. He didn’t need it from me too. “I only meant to say there are a dozen explanations for this. Belza could have the wrong name, or perhaps the wrong Garrow altogether. My father probably has family members all over Hughen.” Except he never talked about them, let alone introduced us. He resented being asked about his past. I’d learned that lesson one rainy day at age eight.

  It had been a simple question—“Why did you start sailing?”—and one many of the crew were happy to answer. Most sought adventure or dreamed of fighting pirates and traveling to distant lands. Others sought their fortune or escape from climbing debts. With a sly grin, one man had even admitted that he was simply avoiding his angry wife.

  But Father’s answer was a long, cold stare. It was the first and only time I’d ever wondered whether he would strike me.

  “If I ever want to tell you of my past, Lane,” he’d finally said, “I will bring up the subject. Otherwise, you will allow me my privacy. Understood?”

  My childhood mind had invented all sorts of explanations for his reluctance. A father who’d beaten and driven him to the sea. Parents who’d died in a plague and left him to fend for himself. Perhaps he’d been raised by a set of cruel, wealthy grandparents who’d forced him to spend his days with tutors until he’d had enough and run away. None of my imaginings had ever involved piracy. Why would they? Father was the most honest person I knew—far more honest than I ever wanted to be.

  Except there was one secret he would never reveal. Mine. And if he’d lied about that, what else had he lied about?

  That dread was back, heavier than ever.

  “He was never a pirate,” I said again, less sure this time. “The rumor will die by this time tomorrow. My father is the most dependable merchant ship captain in Hughen, and everyone knows it. Especially the crew.” Father respected his men and they trusted him. Surely his reputation would lift him above this silly rumor.

  Barrie folded his arms. “Ignore it, then. We’ll be completely unprepared when Belza be finding us. Which he will. Or you can be getting the truth of it from the cap’n so we can ready ourselves.”

  I flinched. He had a point. We couldn’t escape Belza forever. But I couldn’t exactly ask my father whether he’d served with one of the most deadly pirates in history. He’d either laugh or refuse to speak to me again. That meant I had to find my own answers—and I knew exactly where they lay.

  Every bosun kept detailed records of his crew. If Father had been a pirate, his name would appear on the crew list preserved in town, carved into stone below the queen’s statue. It was less than half an hour’s walk from here. So long as I returned before Father, he would never know.

  “Do me a favor,” I told Barrie. “If anyone asks, I’m staying belowdecks today. That’s where you found me and that’s where I stayed. Aye?”

  “Aye.”
/>
  He’d barely agreed before I plunged past him down the gangplank and into the crowd. My feet moved of their own accord, but my mind ran miles ahead even as my heart lagged behind. This was more than disobedience. It felt like betrayal. Father was the only family I had. Frustrating as his fears were, they were rooted in love. Today I would repay him with the worst kind of doubt imaginable. But I had to prove his innocence.

  More than that, I had to know the truth for myself.

  It wasn’t until I’d nearly left the docks that I remembered the strange boy. Did he have something to do with all this? Whirling about, I scanned the crowd once more. He was gone.

  There are more important questions to be answered, I reminded myself. The seconds already slipped away too quickly.

  The heaviness in my gut felt as thick as the crowd with each step toward town. But this would be nothing compared to the festival crowds in a few weeks. Those could suffocate a person, true as the morning sun. I could imagine it all. Blue ribbons strung through the streets, shop fronts packed with wine and expensive cheeses. There would be no geese or hens hanging from the butcher’s cart here—Hughens were too superstitious—but the fish stands would be packed with fresh seafood. Drunken Messaun guests would stumble about until the sun made its appearance. Khral Rasmus’s arrival would be celebrated with a parade through town ending at the palace. There, the two kings would renew their twenty-year treaty in front of a group of clapping lords and ladies.

  Treaties, wars, politics—Father had kept us removed from all of it, and that policy had served us well for over a decade. The Hughen people could celebrate another twenty years of peace without me. This was my father’s country, not mine. No country on the planet had claim on Lane Garrow. Especially one that would see me dead.

  I walked quickly, sticking to the rails to avoid wagons and the occasional soldier. Only one thing felt exactly the same as before—the heavy, solid ground underfoot. Passengers complained about how our ship lurched and moved about with the sea, but to me, it was beautiful. A perfect balance between ship and water, neither servant nor master. If there was anything unnatural, it was trying to walk on land. Solid, unfeeling land.

  At least Hughen’s seasonal rain had cleared the air some. These docks still reeked of old fish and ill-drained refuse, but the blessed winds had swept most of the stench out to sea. Mud was a far cry better than stifling heat and the sweat collecting in the bindings that hid my criminal femininity.