Step, Parry, Lunge

The moon is pale and wane, casting shadows in the alleyway as I slip from one dark space to the next wearing the clothes that Will has sent with me since our last escapade. It is a wonderful and freeing feeling to be able to run through the streets of Port Royal in trousers, something I have never felt before. They are not as hindering as skirts and they do not give me the feeling of breathlessness that I get when I am tied up into one of my frocks.

I have come to the conclusion that you can become virtually invisible when you are a boy. No one bothers you or asks questions of you. You can do as you please, and no one will fuss. Of course, if I were caught out who knows what Papa would do to me. The very thought of it is terrifying and makes me shiver involuntarily.

Slipping through the slick streets, I finally come to the wood and stone blacksmith’s shop with its picture sign hanging over the front door. Mr. Brown’s room is a block down, and so we will not be disturbed. I knock quietly on the damp wood, and instantly it cracks open. Will has been waiting. At first all I can see is a brown eye peering out at me, and then the door opens fully and the moonlight shines upon William’s face.

“I didn’t think you would come,” he says breathlessly, “I almost didn’t recognise you.”

I stifle a laugh. “You’re the one who gave me these clothes silly,” I say, and he smiles at me sheepishly from under his mop of brown hair, which he has neglected to tie back as he usually does.

“I know, Lizzy, but I forgot is all.”

“That’s all right, I forgive you. Let’s get started then, shall we?”

Will shuts the door behind me, and takes two swords down from their racks above. He hands the slightly smaller of the two to me.

“How’s that? It’s not too large is it?”

I weigh it in my hand and execute a few of the moves that Will has already taught me. It is a heavier sword than I am used to, but I do not say anything, because deep down I want to prove to Will that I can do anything he can do if I set my mind to it.

“No, it’s perfect, Will. Did you make it?”

He scuffs the ground with his shoe and taps the point of his sword on the ground, shaking his head. “Mr. Brown made these. I haven’t actually made any swords yet.”

I frown and tuck the sword under my arm, “Why ever not? Surely after all this time Mr. Brown thinks you’re capable-“

“It doesn’t matter whether I’m capable or not,” Will interjects, “I’ve only been here two years, Lizzy. That’s not enough time to learn much of anything.”

I’ve learned to speak French and dance, I think, but I keep that to myself so as not to injure his pride.

“Sorry, Will,” I say, laying my hand on his arm, “I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

He stares at my hand, and at first I think he is going to shake it off, but he doesn’t. “It’s all right. You didn’t know. I shouldn’t have been so harsh with you.”

I take my hand away, and he looks immensely more comfortable.

“All right now, you didn’t come all the way out here in the dead of night to stand around and talk, did you?”

I shake my head, a grin alighting on my face.

“Let’s get to work.”

---

Early in the morning, my eyes heavy with sleep, I climb the rope I have fashioned from bed linens the night before to my open window above. The fire in the hearth has completely burned out, and a chill has settled in. Stripping off the dusty trousers and shirt, I lift my mattress with one hand and stuff them underneath as a temporary hiding place. The smell of dirt and sweat is still on my hands, but I do not wash them off because the smell of William is there too. Bringing my hands to my face, I breathe deeply of the earth and hard work.

The light begins to peek in through the window as I haul in the rope and stuff it out of sight as well. When I have plaited my hair and pulled on a clean nightgown the sun’s rays have begun to bleed into the dark sky and over the window ledge. I draw the heavy curtain across the pane, and just as I hear movement next door in Charlotte’s room, I launch myself onto the bed and draw the covers up to my chin.

Only half an hour later Charlotte knocks on my door and slips inside. Feigning sleep, I open one eye into a slit and watch as she scurries about the room, seemingly on tiptoe, lighting a fire and taking a crisp frock from out of the bureau. When she pulls aside the curtains I blink sleepily and sit up.

“Rise and shine, Miss Swann,” she says all too cheerfully, “How are you this morning?”

I rub my eyes and groan inwardly making a mental note not to stay so long next time. Every muscle in my body aches with use and fatigue. I stifle a yawn, and pray that there aren’t dark circles under my eyes that would give me away. What a night.