Chapter Text
“Hey. Toothpick.”
Jackie didn’t shout, but her voice carried anyway. Frenchie, who was lounging on the maintop while he worked on a new song, poked his head out and looked down. “Are you talking to me?”
“Who else?” Jackie raised an eyebrow at him. She looked more unimpressed than angry, so Frenchie figured they were off to a good start.
He slung his guitar over his back by the strap and started climbing down. “Could be Roach,” Frenchie reasoned, watching his feet so he didn’t get tripped up.
“You see Roach out here?” Jackie countered.
“Er, dunno,” Frenchie replied. He looked over his shoulder, realized he shouldn’t do that while coming down the ladder, and turned back round to focus on climbing. When he made it down to the deck, he spun round in a slow circle. “Nope, no Roach. Probably in the galley already. He always gets up early—”
“Yeah, whatever,” Jackie interrupted. “I don’t really care.”
It was early morning. Other than a few folks sleeping on deck, nobody else was around. Frenchie waited, tugging restlessly on his vest. A few seconds later, Jackie announced, “Me and the Swede, we’re not looking to hang around on this ship forever. This has been more of an extended vacation. But we’ve got shit to do: husbands to see, a republic to rebuild.”
“Oh, right.” Frenchie nodded. “Yeah, we can drop you off wherever you’d like. Roach might wanna do a going-away dinner to something…” Looked like she’d need to talk to Roach after all.
“Nah, you’re not listening to me,” Jackie told him.
“I’m not?” Frenchie asked with a frown.
“I said republic to rebuild,” Jackie repeated. “That means cash.”
“Swede’s been getting his cut on every raid—” Frenchie started to point out.
“More cash than that,” Jackie interrupted. “We need a big score.”
“Big score, yeah,” Frenchie replied. He chewed on his fingernail as his wheels started turning. “Yeah, we can find you something good. And maybe…” He turned his attention back to Jackie as a thought struck him. “Hey, does that mean you’re coming along on a raid?”
Ever since Frenchie had been voted captain, Jackie hadn’t shown any interest in his style of raids, which were more like grifts—better suited to his talents and brand of leadership, (usually) less bloody. And Frenchie was fine with her not joining in. She’d made it more than clear that she wasn’t on his crew, and he’d never really expected her to be. While the Swede liked getting nt on the action, Jackie was just along for the ride.
“I s’pose I’d better,” Jackie answered casually. “Double our take, make sure the rest of y’all don’t fuck it up. You’ll be doing your usual bullshit?”
“More fun that way,” Frenchie told her. “You’ll like it.”
“Don’t count on it,” Jackie said.
“Right, fair enough,” Frenchie conceded.
“Find us a ship loaded up with treasure,” Jackie instructed. “Make up whatever roleplay nonsense you want, I don’t care. I just want my money.”
Frenchie nodded. “Strictly business,” he confirmed.
* * *
As it turned out, Jackie wasn’t quite as uncaring about the details of the grift as she let on. At first, Frenchie figured he’d just make a role for her in The Waylaid Ambassadors, their go-to con for raiding swanky ships.
“You could be the wife of the Egyptian ambassador,” Frenchie offered. “Pair you up with Olu. He’s really got the swing of things, so he can give you a—”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Jackie informed him, “and I’m not just playing somebody’s wife.”
“Aren’t you, like, lots of people’s wife?” Frenchie wondered.
“They’re my husbands,” Jackie corrected. “Whole different vibe.”
Frenchie didn’t see how that worked, but he figured he ought to take her word for it, so he just shrugged. “Okay—not Oluwande’s wife, then.”
“If I’m doing this, we’re doing it right,” she emphasized. “Jackie’s not a team player. Jackie runs the show.”
Frenchie rubbed his mouth to cover his smile. So she was indifferent to all his roleplay nonsense, eh?
“Sure that’s how you wanna play it for your first time out?” he asked innocently. “Some of the others get a bit nervous at the start of a new grift. Usually takes the Swede a couple rounds to really get comfor—”
“The Swede’s my Scandinavian stallion, and I love that man to death,” Jackie broke in. “But we’re different people. He needs a nudge sometimes to boost his confidence. That’s not a problem I have.”
That was all Frenchie needed to hear. “Right-o,” he replied.
Later in the week, they pulled The Waylaid Ambassadors. According to Jackie, the ship looked like “chump change,” so she didn’t go aboard. But even though these particular posh nobs didn’t have any more gold than usual, Frenchie swiped something that made it well worth their while.
“Lucius!” he urged as soon as they made their getaway. “Have a look at this!” Handing over a fancy-looking card and envelope, he said, “It’s an invitation to a hoity-toity party. When is it?”
“How’d you know it’s for a party?” Lucius asks.
“‘Cause that’s what a fancy invitation looks like,” Frenchie explained. “I used to handle these back when I was in service. When one of them showed up to the house, you knew you were about to start powdering the good wigs.”
“Fair point,” Lucius admitted.
As the scribe looked over the invitation, Frenchie asked, “We didn’t miss it, did we?”
“No, it hasn’t happened yet,” Lucius told him. “It’s five days from now.”
Frenchie grinned. “Perfect! Can you make a few cards just like this, with different names on ‘em?”
“Yeah, the calligraphy’s nothing too outrageous,” Lucius remarked. “Should be pretty straightforward.”
“Great!” Frenchie replied. “I’ll work out the details on how many we need and let you know.”
With that, he hurried below deck and headed to the sofa room—Stede’s old quarters, where Frenchie kept all his captainy stuff. He grabbed the blueprints for the latest grift he’d been putting together and went looking for Jackie.
Frenchie found her and the Swede hanging out on the beakhead. “Hiya,” he said.
Jackie turned her head, giving him a lazy look. “Don’t you knock?”
“We’re outside,” Frenchie pointed out. “I found a big score for you.”
With a slight tsk, Jackie kissed the Swede, telling him, “Let’s take five, tart apple.”
“Okay,” the Swede sighed. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand out of her shirt.
“Tart apple?” Frenchie asked, not sure he wanted to know.
“It’s her name for my ass!” the Swede supplied eagerly.
“Could take a big juicy bite outta one of them cheeks, couldn’t I, baby?” Jackie purred to him. Without looking up from her husband, she asked, “What you got?”
It took Frenchie a second to realize she meant him. “Er, big posh shindig,” he replied hastily. “Rich folks from various ships in the surrounding area, all congregating in the same spot. It’s next Tuesday, and I thought you might wanna take this one out for a spin.” He held up his blueprints.
Jackie peered at Frenchie’s drawings. “What the fuck am I looking at?”
With a proud smile, Frenchie asked, “How do you fancy being the queen of Nubia?”