Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8 Nate took off, joining the stampede of terrified soldiers rushing away from the docks. He ended up alone in an alley, huddling in the doorway of a stone building. He knew trying to hide was useless. No building would protect him from the force of a cannonball. But he couldn't just stand out in the street. He squeezed himself tighter into the doorway and tried not to think about the

gruesome stories Papa's men used to tell, about men who'd had their heads blown off by cannonballs. What a fool Nate was! He'd never make it out here on his own! He wasn't tough like Slash O'Shea. When Slash was just fourteen, the merchant ship he worked on was destroyed in a storm. Only a few men survived, including Slash. And what did he do next? He joined the British navy. England was in the middle of a huge war with France and Spain. Slash was stationed on a man-of-war, on the cannon deck. He was a powder monkey, which meant it was his job to rush heavy bags of explosive gunpowder to the men loading the cannons. Powder monkeys had to be small and fast like real monkeys — and as brave as lions. Because cannons didn't just kill the enemy. Sudden sparks, too much gunpowder… any small mistake could cause an accidental explosion. It was one of those

fiery accidents that left Slash without his right hand. After that, the navy didn't want him anymore. But Slash didn't curl up like a little shrimp. No! He went on to be the greatest pirate ever! Thinking about Slash calmed Nate down a bit, and put that strong, shimmering feeling inside his chest again. Nate closed his eyes and pictured Papa's face. He tried to imagine Eliza's hand gripping his. When Nate finally opened his eyes, the explosions had faded. The smoke had mostly cleared. Those British warships must have sailed away. Nate unpeeled himself from the stone wall. Now he just wanted to get out of this battlefield. And if he couldn't escape on a boat, he'd just have to walk. The whiff of gunpowder still prickled Nate's nose. But the danger seemed to have passed. The soldiers on the streets were back to work with their shovels and axes. Nate walked north, hoping

to find the road out of the city. He passed a big lawn that had been turned into a huge army camp. Every inch of grass was covered with tents — row after crooked row of the grimiest, droopiest tents Nate had ever seen. Nate wove through a crowd of soldiers building an enormous wall out of dirt and rocks. A man's voice shouted out from somewhere behind him.

"Nate!" Nate ignored it. There had to be dozens of Nathaniels in this city. But then the voice shouted out again. "Nathaniel Fox!" Nate's heart stopped. His mind spun until he understood who it had to be: one of Storch's men! His wretched uncle had a whole crew of muscled bullies he hired to collect money from people who owed him. And now one of those men had tracked Nate down. He was going to drag him back to Storch for more beatings. Nate took off in a panic. He sprinted across the street. He had just made it when a strong hand grabbed hold of the back of his shirt. Nate wriggled and squirmed until he wrenched himself free. He whirled around and raised his fists, ready to fight.

He lifted his chin and stared dead-on into the face of the man chasing him. And then Nate's mouth fell open in shock. It was a young soldier with a goofy, gaptoothed smile. A mop of bright red curls spilled out from under a crumpled green triangle hat. Before Nate could say anything, the man grabbed Nate into a crushing, joyful hug. It was his old friend from Papa's crew: Paul Dobbins.