The Pirate's Daughter: Prologue

"Father, we've been through this before. I don't want to study the maps you've made and I couldn't care less about navigational skills. I don't want to be the second greatest pirate captain to ever sail the seas. I'm only on this wretched ship because mother is ill."
A tall boy of perhaps fifteen reached the shoulder of a man who could only be his father. They were both of the same build; slim, but not scrawny. Both of them wore their dark brown hair in a ponytail, the difference being the son's was neat, with barely a hair out of place, while his father's untidy hair was in need of a wash and crowned with a captain's hat. They both stood with their hands on their hips, feet apart, each trying to wear the other down.
"I just can't understand why any boy of mine would want to do anything but sail. There's so much pleasure to be gained from sailing. And so much more from piracy."
Here, he winked at his son. The boy looked away in disgust. As much as he hated being on the dreadful ship, he knew what the crew did when it landed so preferred to stay on board, unless there was something he needed. He often thought about the number of half siblings he may have gained through his father's years of piracy.
"I can't believe you sometimes Father." He scowled.
"Son, I've told you before, it's Captain while you're here." His father sighed.
"I've changed my mind. I can't believe you ever. Father."
The boy stormed off the deck to his quarters. When he was there, he jumped into his bunk and stared at the ceiling. He glanced towards the door where he could see his father cautiously approach the door and look in. When their eyes met, the boy angrily rolled over so all he could see was the blank wall.
How long he lay there, he didn't know. He may even have drifted off into sleep on more than one occasion. The next thing he was aware of was a rocking sensation. He dismissed it, but it continued so he sat up and looked around. He couldn't see anything through his window; it was too dark outside his quarters. Slightly alarmed, he ran to the door and threw it open. Running up the stairs, he rushed onto the main deck and looked out.
What he saw scared him almost to death.
A cannon ball soared over his head and fell with a splash! into the water. Looking over the side of the ship, he saw his father's cannons being put into action. He couldn't see his father winning this battle. The ship was already sinking, water was fighting its way onto the ship through a newly acquired hole. Looking around, the boy could not see his father.
"He's on the poop deck, trying to get us out of this, even though we all know it's a futile attempt." Said a voice behind him.
Whirling around, the boy saw the cook coming out of the galley.
"I was finding my pistol, just in case." The cook continued. "If you've never fired a pistol or cannon, go to your quarters. You will be summoned." With these words, the cook whisked off below deck. To do what, the boy had no idea, but he certainly had no intention of sitting quietly in his quarters.
Dashing to the poop deck, he located his father and ran over to him.
"Son," The captain said. "I'm sorry. I've brought you to your death here. It's the end of us all. There's no chance of escape." He stopped trying to steer the ship and put his hand on his son's shoulder.
The boy looked into his father's face and for the first time, he saw emotion. He had never known his father to care about anything but his ship and the sea. He couldn't bring himself to lie, even in these last minutes and say that he didn't blame his father for this. Before he could summon any words at all, a louder bang was heard and his father's body became rigid for a split second, before falling limp. The boy knew his father was dead, even before seeing the bullet wound. He looked across at the enemy ship and saw straight away who the killer was. He wore a bandana over his hair with blond strands poking out. His lean frame was donned with patched up clothes that seemed to hang off him. Hatred seared the boy's veins as he saw the man. Knowing he could do nothing for his father, he sprinted below deck to his quarters and went to his chest of draws. His father had given him a medallion only weeks before. He'd said that it would always belong to the oldest male child of his bloodline. The boy rummaged through his belongings until he found it and after turning it over his hands, he put it round his neck and after a last look around his cabin, left it and ran up to the deck. Just before he arrived, he slowed down. He knew this would take more luck than skill, but he would still have to use all of his skill if he hoped to make it out alive.
Keeping as low down as possible, he made his way to the far side of the ship. All the fighting was taking place at the other end, the one he had just come from. He knew there was a ladder around his end somewhere. It led right down to the bottom of the ship on the outside. As he reached out to grab the rail, an explosion sounded right next to him. Looking down, he saw the bottom half of the ladder had been blown off, meaning he'd have to climb down and jump six metres into the sea. He gulped and scrambled down as much of the ladder as he could. When he was hanging by his arms, he stopped. He was scared. He hung there for several seconds before remembering the look on his father's face. With a sudden desire to avenge him, he let go and plunged into the ice cold water. When he resurfaced, coughing and spluttering, he swam right up to the ship and pushed off from the side. As he swam, he cursed himself for not taking his boots off first. He kicked as hard as he could to stop them weighing him down.
He knew roughly how far they were from land and in what direction he should be heading for. The first part of his journey, however, was still perilous. He was almost hit by a cannon ball on more than one occasion and the force of it pulled him underwater for several seconds before he was able to get to the top of the water again.
After he had cleared the battle scene, he slowed his pace for a while. He still had a way to go, but knew that the port was closer than ever. Thankfully, he had been there before and befriended one of the locals around his own age.
As he swam, he thought of his father's last moments and the cook's last words to him. What would he have been summoned for? Was there something else his father had wanted to say, other than sorry? But it couldn't have been words for advice, as he believed that his son, like the rest of the crew, was doomed to die a pirate's death.
It was getting dark and the boy was exhausted when he finally saw land. He put on a burst of speed and it wasn't long before he was able to collapse on dry land. He woke up, covered in sand several hours later and knew from the lack of light that he wouldn't be able to find anywhere comfortable for the remainder of the night. He pulled himself onto his feet and tried to work out exactly where he was. After working out which way the town was and consequently where the market would be the next morning, he started walking. Barely any time passed before he found the place. A large square, currently empty of market tents stood before him. On the edge were a number of shops. Crawling onto the steps of the nearest one, he hid himself as much as possible and closed his eyes, knowing that if he kept them open he would never be able to stop looking around him, and eventually drifted off to sleep, with visions of his father's killer walking in and out of his dreams.