A sudden knock sounded against the hard oak door, shirking Sheriff Thompson from his thoughts.

“Come on in,” he allowed, taking off his glasses. He coughed on the parchment before him, finally emancipated from months inside the ancient filing cabinet. “If you can stand the dust-mites.”

From outside the door, Lamar’s boots clumped loudly as he brought the strong, familiar scent of seawater in with him. “I’ll rough it,” he said, waving his hand in front of his face.

“Just the person I wanted to see,” John Thompson announced as the boy closed the door behind him.

Lamar smiled, flipping his blonde hair due for a clipping behind his ears. “No, no, no, you’re just the person -I- want to see, oh bringer of freedom,” he said contently, leaning his lanky body up against the wall. “I just left the ship for the last time.” He chuckled before giving a long sigh. “It was hard saying goodbye to the Crow’s Nest and Benjamin Patterson…but I think they’ll both find ways to cope without me.”

John watched the boy with an unsteady nod and long sigh. He cleared his throat.

He didn’t want to do it to him.

“Lamar, I called you here myself because I didn’t want the court system interfering.” He looked to the side as he got up from his desk. “As they somehow always do,” he muttered.

Lamar’s brow caved. “Court system?” he echoed, disturbed. “Am I in trouble? I haven’t done anything."

The sheriff took a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily to collect his thoughts. “Lamar…you’re being made to stay with the fishermen. Your papers have you signed on for six months more.”

Lamar’s broad jaw buckled. It took a second for the information to seep in. “Let me see those.”

Reaching underneath of his desk into the crate of them, John looked up Lamar’s name and with a sigh handed him the statements. Brow furrowed, Lamar flipped through the pages he signed his life away to. “This is a small town, Lamar,” John told him as he watched the youth flip disbelievingly through signature after signature. “Word got around that you were planning on leaving before your contract closed, and it’s my job as the keeper of peace in this town to enforce the laws and conditions that you’ve agreed to. They wanted to get into it legally, but I kept the court at bay.”

Looking upon the condemning statements, Lamar’s voice was soft and serious. “I did not sign these.”

John knew it wasn’t right, but he was doing Lamar a favor. If he fought this now, he could kiss any chance of a career with the government good-bye. “Lamar, you signed them at the beginning of the term. Three shipment runs. You’ve only been on two-”

Lamar’s fist clutched the papers and found his desk with a bang.

“I…didn’t…sign these, John.”

Rubbing his forehead, the sheriff gave a sigh. “Lamar, I’m going to be straight with you. I could give you some sermon about how you must have overlooked a page or how you must be trying to avoid your responsibilities or how you must not have understood the clauses specified by you employers…but we both know that’s not true,” he said softly.

Nodding vigorously, Lamar’s features brightened slightly. “Okay, then you can just explain to them that there’s been a mistake. We’ll fix this up, and I’ll give them my leave tomorrow.”

A silence ran in front of John’s answer.

Lamar’s nod followed, in need of no words to explain the situation. “But this is Tripper Harbor…and that’s not going to happen…is it?”

The sheriff shook his head. “You have to look at your gains, kid.” Lamar turned away, not wanting to listen.

John got up from his seat in hopes of reasoning with the lad. “If you turn this into a legal matter, they’ll ruin you. They’ll win. They’ll make you do the time anyway and furthermore, they’ll never make you a lawyer. You’re smart, and you know that.”

Reason sunk into Lamar’s mind like a shilling into the shallow pond, and his eyes shut at the familiar sting of defeat.

John thought about putting a hand on Lamar’s shoulder, and then thought better of it.

“It’s just six months,” he said.

Lamar’s eyes opened to stare out onto the bustling harbor beneath a cheery blue sky contrasting above somber blue depths. Staring downward, the dark water mirrored his thoughtful eyes. The distant call of seagulls and billow of gargantuan sails mixed with the strong scent of briny water. “I know it may not seem like a big deal to you, sheriff,” he said reflectively. “You grew up on the water. Your family, your father was a sailor. Six months is a spit in the dirt compared to the time your father spent out there among shipment and the sea.” Lamar turned to face him. “But it’s not for me, John. It’s not my call. Oh, I watch the others. Benjamin Patterson…Mickey Fenner…Patrick Flank…it’s second nature to them. You can see it in their eyes. Their love for the sea’s in their bones; every part of them knows it and feels it. There is no place on earth they’d rather be, and when they’re at their best, they’re on the sea or staring at it, wishing they could be.” Turning back to it, Lamar gave a sad sigh and long gaze, the sheriff wouldn’t soon forget. “But it’s not for me, John. And every moment I’m out there being where I shouldn’t, it’s just that much more time I’m wasting where I could be where I am called.”

Lamar calmed down, thinking sensibly. “I’ll do it, John. You know I will - because there’s no way for me not to.” He stared the sheriff in the eyes. “But I’ll be doing a disservice to myself and a disservice to those who need me here when I do.”

John put the hand on his shoulder. “It’s just six months, Lamar,” he repeated.

Grabbing his bag, Lamar shifted back his shoulders, ran his fingers through his uncut blonde hair, and looked back at John with disappointed eyes.

“No, it’s not. Not for me.”

* * * * *

Two hours later, Sheriff Thompson was still thinking about Lamar’s idealistic speech given earlier that morning. Chuckling, John kept at his work, beginning to feel better about the decision made. “I think he missed his calling…he’d make one hell of a poet…” he murmured to himself.

And next, the only warning John got was the cacophony of short, pattering plods against the silence before Pearl stomped into his office and plopped herself down in front of him, her thin, lanky arms in a cross and her sharp face in a glare.

Looking up from his desktop, he pretended not to notice her obvious contempt. “Just the person I want to see.”

He lied. He’d rather eat his boots than take another look at Pearl Patterson.

She didn’t say anything, so John took the initiative, taking out a different set of community labor papers. There was no sense in watching her give him dirty looks all day. “You’ll be cleaning up the mess on docking section four. The ship’s in pretty bad shape, so it’s you’re job to make sure the crew never knows that.”

Pearl frowned, arms still tight around her sides. “My family’s going to starve,” she let him know.

John went on, unfazed. “The courthouse is going to take months possibly years and thousands of government dollars to repair,” he said, looking up at her. “I suggest you get down there now.” He looked at her tattered green dress. “And bring an apron. It’s bad.”

Pearl sneered, ignoring his last remark. “They shouldn’t have a hard time paying for it. They’ve stolen the better part of our labor for the past fifteen years now.”

The sheriff frowned. “Can the attitude.” When her mouth clamped shut, John let out a deep sigh, regretting his rebuke. “Look, your little rebellion didn’t go unnoticed. Take pride in that. But for that kind of reaction, you have a price to pay.” John waved his hand to the door. “Hopefully, it’ll teach you not to damage town property every time you get your knickers in a twist.”

“Nothing else has,” Pearl sassed. “What makes you think this will?”

Ignoring her, he arched his neck towards the door, good-natured. “Shut up, get out of here, and start fixing up that schooner for set-sail. Report back when you’re finished.”

“You don’t even care what this is going to do to us,” she insisted, more animatedly this time.

John struggled for control. “I did the best I could, Pearl.”

“Yeah?” Pearl rose to her feet, hands on her hips. “Well, it’s not good enough, John Thompson.” Part of him couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Pearl, do you have any idea what I do to keep this town up and running? What I put up with everyday, aside from little delinquents such as yourself? You should be on your knees thanking me that I didn’t let Governor Walker decide your penalty. Do you know what that man would have done with you?”

Pearl made a face. “Oh, spare me. Save the tales of your heroic deeds for your memoirs.”

Upset, John remained unmoved. “I don’t have to justify myself to you.”

“Good, then stop trying,” she threw back. Snatching an apron off of the bureau to the side, she prepared to leave.

Shaking his head angrily, the sheriff placed himself between Pearl and the door. “Is this how you want to live the rest of your life, Pearl?” The comment momentarily shocked her to silence. “Regretting the choices you’ve made, and then refusing to accept the consequences? Hiding behind some kind of rebel vendetta?” He laughed bitterly. “Pearl, you blew up a courthouse!”

Her face scrunched up in anger. “Yeah, I know. I was there, remember?”

“This is how criminals start out, Pearl,” he said, a little more calmly this time. “You’re too smart to spend your intelligence avoiding responsibility.”

“It was just fireworks, John,” she said knowingly as she smoothly crossed her arms. “It was a childish prank, alright?”

“No, it wasn’t,” the sheriff whispered. “It was a sign of things to come.” Pearl stood, looking at her fingernails – pretending not to be concerned.

Impulsively, the sheriff took her by the shoulders – as he might his own daughter. “Hey, look at me.”

Reluctantly, she did, and looking into his eyes, found humanity. She stopped in her tracks, overconfidence draining from her face.

“Do you want this to be your life?” he asked honestly. “You owe it to Ben – and yourself – to be better than this. Pearl, this town is going down the economic sewage pipe. We both know that. We’re smart, and we both know that it’s the government that’s doing it to us.” He paused as Pearl’s entire being embraced its own humanity. “Other people don’t have the wits to see that. But we can’t blow up courthouses to show it to them. We can’t do that because we know then that the government will bring us down because we’re smart and because we’ve proven that we know its them.”

Pearl’s silence allowed him to continue.

“But if we lay low. If we keep our information whispered to our peers and in our own minds, then someday when we become powerful. When people will listen to us, and what we think and do matters most. We can look back and say that we were good people, who followed the law. We won’t be criminals, and we won’t be on the government’s level. We’ll be better than them. And then, no one can turn the truth away.”

Staring with wide eyes forward, Pearl stood flabbergasted – the words John had offered her spinning inside of her mind.

Awkwardly putting her shoulders back where he found them, John took his place behind his desk amongst his papers and warrants. Quill in hand, he waved to the door. “So get out there on docking section four.” Though Pearl didn’t smile, her eyes shown with a respect that hadn’t been there minutes before.

John’s smile was terse. “It’s pretty bad, but I think you can handle it.”

A sideways smile in place, Pearl nodded, sauntered out the door, and threw the apron over her shoulder. “Yeah, whatever…” she said, defeatedly.

When she left, John couldn’t help congratulating himself.

Sheriff John Thompson – advocate to the oppressed, incognito rebel leader, and teacher of virtue to truly talented but struggling delinquent adolescents in search of their calling.

He nodded fitfully.

Now, if only he could find a way to fit that on his door…

* * * * *

Pearl stormed out of the offices, wishing she could be mad at the sheriff for talking sense into her, but reluctantly remaining grateful for his compassion. She flipped the apron over her shoulder. She should be counting herself lucky instead of counting the hours aboard a smelly sea ship.

As she exited the sheriff’s office doors, Jack popped out from behind the door, following Pearl down the road like a lost puppy. “So what did he say?” he asked hurriedly. “You doing time?”

Pearl stopped to smile and roll her eyes. “No, I’m not doing time,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. “Thompson doesn’t throw kids in jail.”

Jack arched an eyebrow. “But you blew up a courthouse.”

“Oh, yeah? Did I? So did you!” Pearl exclaimed, her brownish-blonde hair billowing backwards as they made their way to the breezy harbor. “Or have you forgotten so quickly how I spared your sorry little behind from hell to pay?”

Cheeks blushing, he looked down. “Well, I am grateful for that much.” His tune changed just as quickly as the last. “But it was your idea,” Jack whined insistently.

“Haven’t you been listening to Preacher Richards? Free will, Jack. It’s a killer, these temptations a young man such as yourself has to face these days,” Pearl answered, grinning. “Tragic, really.”

Jack chuckled…and then grew surprisingly solemn. Jogging alongside of her as she grabbed a bucket, he watched her lower it into a spout to be filled. “My parents heard…” he mumbled.

The news caused Pearl’s neck to turn to face him, her freckles scrunching as her eyes squinted in the morning sun. “What did they say?”

Jack paused sheepishly as the sound of city streets being trudged, ran, cobbled, galloped, and wheeled upon mixed with the busy chatter and laughter of passersby.

“They don’t want me to see you anymore.”

Pearl’s eyes widened at the news as her heart slowly dropped. She didn’t cry, much as she wanted to; she’d cried enough recently.

“I’m that big a temptation, huh?” she asked conversationally.

Jack offered a sideways smile. “They just don’t know you like I do.”

Forcing a laugh, Pearl brushed against his shoulder warmly. “Good thing, too.” She leaned a head against his shoulder, to which he instantly put two arms around her middle. “’Cause then they really wouldn’t want you to hang out with me.”

The two laughed, walking side by side with her pail of water through the center of town. The smell of recently caught fish, roasting chestnuts, and fresh manure from the passing beasts of burden spiraled through the air along with the breeze of the sea, lingering lazily along the docks.

Pearl should have been bothered by the scent, but wasn’t.

They were both so caught up in the sights and sounds of the city that neither of them saw Gregory McVerden make his way up behind them.

A true bully and opportunist at heart, Gregory jumped in between the two and elbowed Jack in the side.

Gasping as her friend gave a cry of pain, Pearl hurriedly dropped her belongings and ran to Jack’s side, where he struggled to rise to his feet. Greg grinned boorishly, looking down upon his handiwork. “My! Don’t you two look like the kissin’ couple.”

Pearl defensively stood in front of Jack. “Get lost, Greg.”

Greg neared all the more, proudly strutting up to the tomboy’s rancor. “Snugglin’ all nice and close back there.” Greg looked down at Jack and spit into his hair. “Is that what you thought you were doing, Harding?”

Rage rising within her small frame, Pearl jumped to her feet. “Leave him alone, McVerdon.” Pearl once again asserted herself between to the two, staring up into Greg’s smirking face.

He grinned, looking her up and down. “Why do you hang out with this sea-scum when you could be among my select few?” he asked. Greg slinked an arm around her waist and pulled her up close. “My dad works in the courthouse you know…we could get you out of work…”

Revolted, Pearl put both hands up and pushed his big dumb mug away. “Just get out of here, Greg,” she seethed, helping Jack to his feet and grabbing her pail of water. “Or next time I get rebel-righteous and need to screw something up - it might just be your face.”

With a snarl Greg approached. But Pearl wasn’t worried. In return with a calm smile she swung the pail backwards and sent cold seawater in a deluge into his face.

With a girlish shriek, the boy squirmed back and forth, his body shocked by the freezing cold water.

Jack stumbled to his feet, looking at a cursing, sputtering, wide-eyed Gregory. “Let’s move.”

For a second, Greg stood, shaking himself off in shock, and Jack and Pearl put that second to good use. They took to their feet, efficiently becoming lost in the crowds of people nearing the docks.

Momentary fury writhed through Greg’s eyes but soon fell victim to his ever-powerful conceit. “Yeah…that’s right! Run while you can, Pearl,” he called to the two. Reaching up, he wiped the dirty water off of his face. “Because someday it’s gonna come down to some fisherman’s cabin boy or me! And when you see what I’m gonna have to offer you, you’re gonna beg me to take you back.”

Race-walking alongside her, they chose to ignore him, and Jack passed her a grin. “Nice move.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what happened,” Pearl commented. “It was like the pail just wanted to be thrown into his face, so I went with it.”

They didn’t look back, but if they would have, they would have seen a big, smug smile on Gregory McVerdon’s face. “And I’ll be here waiting, Pearl!” he let her know. “When you have no other choice, I’ll be here waiting.”

* * * * *

Murphey’s blaring snore gurgled so heavily that it shook the parapets.

Jolted awake from a drunken slumber by his old friend’s biological foghorn, Pete gave a heavy groan to his grouchy headache and weakened bones demanding a further two or three more hours of sleep.

Fortunately, Peterson wasn’t used to listening to that inner warning system, and it was as easy to ignore its demands now as it was at any other time.

Swinging his booted feet off the mattress, a loud yawn escaped from between his lips as he stretched out his body in the morning sun.

The morning sun… Blimey, that reminded him. What time was it?

Aside from an even stronger moan via Murphey’s sleeping form, Pete’s sudden gasp was next heard.

Immediately, he jumped to his weary feet, collecting his belongings and stuffing them into his burlap bag.

“Murphey!”

His friend’s only response was what had been the last seven hours.

A long, bellowing snore.

Reaching over, Pete whapped Murphey’s mug back and forth to a musical beat only heard by his ears. “By the soul of Davy Jones, Murph, stop the clamoring and get your rank behind out o’ bed.”

The snore stopped midway and Murphey took a deep, cleansing breath…before rolling over to cover his face in the pillow. An incoherent mumble was muffled by the blankets. “Louise, I keep tellin’ ye…if Captain Trevor wants me to join the crew…he can lift me bum up and put me on the ship himself…give a poor sailor his slumber…”

Pete’s confused form made no movement, and the snores returned.

Shaking his head, Peterson nodded and switched to extremes. “Murph, this is for you own good.” Grabbing the nearest half-filled mug, Pete splashed its contents onto Murphey’s drooling face.

At that, the generously proportioned pirate suddenly stirred, licking his lips.

“There,” Pete said proudly. “Get your bum up, Murph. Set-sail. C’mon.”

His eyes opening, Murphey gave a groan and shifted his large body up to its teetering feet. “Mmm…” He smiled lazily, wiped off his face, and licked his fingers before making a conjecture. “1657?”

Blinking, Pete lifted up the bottle from which the contents of the mug had originated and checked the year.

Murph’s eyes widened in question.

Pete gave him an impressed nod of his head. “You’ve still got it, old friend.”

“Score.” Murph burped loudly and fitfully, shaking his face as he dipped his head into a tureen of water that sparkled in the sunlight stemming through the third floor window.

Applying his bandana to his head, Peterson snickered and swung his small bag of belongings over his shoulder. Suddenly, the bag grew lighter and a small thud emanated from off the floor. Reaching down to see what had dropped, Peterson found his hand around the tough leather roll of the ancient map. Smiling, he ran his fingers around its creased sections and frayed edges.

From across the room, Murphey sucked in his breath. “Matey…that be what I think it be…”

Pete smiled and slowly nodded. “Aye… that it be,” he answered softly, opening it up to display its full grandeur.

Watching Murphey gaze in awe, Peterson gently handed it over to the pirate with a reverence seen only in the very religious. Murphey held the map forward like a sacred object unworthy of his heathen touch…and then began to study it.

“Hmm…” he mused. “Which path’re we taking?”

Peterson attached his cutlass to his side and squinted his green eyes in thought. “Western,” he decided. “West down to the isles around the south of the Americas…” He looked at the map, hoping that he knew what he was doing. “Shouldn’t be too complicated. We’ve got a good crew…a good ship…one hell of a first mate-” Peterson was quick to wink. “-and a captain trained by the best.”

As his friend chuckled, a loud knock sounded.

Pete and Murphey looked at each other.

“Ye be friend or foe?” Murph quickly inquired, exposing his blade.

A gentlemanly clear of the throat answered them. “I abstain from such stereotypes as are limiting to me as a tax-paying and patriotic citizen of the state.”

Pete rolled his eyes. “Come in, Noah.”

The alligator wrestler turned second mate came into the room dressed in a strapping set of leather boots and cowhide along with a Fedora to boot.

A hand on his hip, Peterson raised an awkward eyebrow. “You’re just on time, cowboy…” He threw him a pair of sea-faring slacks. “Now get out of those pansy duds and spurs. You’re a pirate today.”

Blinking, Noah quickly changed his pants respectively. “Yes, captain.”

“Good answer,” Peterson said. “Thank you for reminding me that from now on I have to expect certain reactions.”

In response, Noah saluted him.

Murphey shook his head somewhat disapprovingly. “Don’t let the power get to yer head, lad.” But when Peterson didn’t respond, he cleared his throat and changed the subject. “So, what kind of ship is it?”

Securing his boots and locking the door behind him, Peterson went down the stairs along with his growing crew. “A two-masted schooner – a frigate ship,” he answered proudly, sticking out his chest. “Beautiful cut wood, heard it’s an antique. I got it for a great price.”