Free Blaggard's Moon by George Bryan Polivka

shipload of pirates in a silent trance with a tale of two ladies in a fancy carriage. But he could do it. One reason was that pirates weren’t that different than merchant sailors, at bottom, most of them having been exactly that at some point in the past. A fish jumped at the pair of bugs, huge teeth snapping, clicking loudly. It missed its snack by a hairsbreadth and plopped quietly back into the water.
    Another reason, Delaney figured, was that everyone knew Ham would be getting to a fight sooner or later. Most often sooner.
    â€œAnd how will Skaelington be better than Mann?” Jenta asked, incredulous.
    â€œThe city has much to its shame, of course. But there is a cornerstoneof Vast society there as well. We will be able to start anew, as Shayla and Jenta Stillmithers, from a good family in Nearing Vast.”
    â€œStillmithers?” She was shocked. “You’ve changed our name?”
    â€œ ‘Flug’ is not exactly poetry.”
    â€œBut Stillmithers ? Did you make it up?” She felt something escaping her, something she wanted at all costs to hold onto.
    â€œIt’s a gentleman’s name.” Shayla went quiet. Then she said softly, “Now it’s your name. It’s our name. I will hear no more about it.”
    Jenta understood her mother, and knew there would be no changing her mind. This was the life for which she had been groomed. But to leave everything, every familiar thing, even her name, invited by a stranger into a wild world far away, all in the hopes of some great and permanent improvement in their station? It seemed beyond absurd.
    She watched the city streets roll by, wondering if this was the last time she’d see them. Citizens were buying and selling and chatting in the warmth of an early summer day. All of them doing what they knew, being precisely who they were, pretending nothing. It was gentle; it was easy; it was what she wanted. She couldn’t imagine desiring anything more.
    The docks rolled into view soon enough, and the increased bustle of the shipping trade only deepened her melancholy. The carriage rolled to a stop. “I don’t want to leave,” she said.
    â€œOf course not. You can’t see how it will benefit you. But you will see, in time.”
    A coachman opened the door; not the driver, but another servant sent to greet them. The carriage had been driven directly onto the pier, and had stopped at the foot of the gangway. Neither woman moved.
    Jenta wiped at an eye. “Mama,” she said in barely a whisper, “maybe I don’t belong at fancy balls.” There, she’d finally said the words.
    â€œI thought you adored that cotillion you attended.”
    Jenta blanched. Her mother had not mentioned it in years, ever since forbidding Jenta to mention it again. “I did.” And now it came back, as though summoned…the young man with the dark eyes watching, the cup of punch cold in her hand, the sense of serenity and possibility as she spoke to him on the porch. “But Mother, why isn’t such society enough? I don’t ask for more. I can serve. I can work. You do it, and you’re the best woman I know. If I can do that and stay here…who cares what people think?”
    Shayla stared hard at her daughter, trying to will some sense in her. For just a moment, she sincerely wished she had been one of those brutalmothers who convinced their children at all costs to flee from their parent’s example. Almost anything seemed better than having Jenta aspire to be like her. Then Shayla sighed. She moved across the carriage to sit next to her daughter, moved a wisp of hair off the girl’s forehead, then put an arm around her, pulled Jenta’s head softly to her own shoulder. “Don’t fear this. If life in Skaelington isn’t all it should be, if within a year there is no promise of a future even there, then perhaps we shall return.”
    Jenta raised a sad face toward