Book 1 in this new series introduces the reader to life in 18th Century England, where, despite being one of the freest countries in the world there were rumblings of discontent amongst the citizens and Jake Frake is no exception to this endemic restlessness.
From an early age he has developed an independent mind and spirit, a trait that is not openly welcomed for someone of his lowly class. Fate and circumstance leads him to join a band of smugglers and he furthers their cause. Jack himself is sentenced to eight years of servitude in the Colonies and he embarks on a sea voyage aboard the Sparrowhawk, destined for Virginia.
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
While researching Sparrowhawk he lived in the Virginia Tidewater, working as a freelance writer and copyeditor. He currently lives in Las Vegas, NV.
"We were keeping an eye on him, lad. We've been looking over his shoulder so to speak, ever since he arrived in these parts months ago. He and his men have snared a few smugglers, but no one from our gang. He hasn't made a move without our knowing about it. When he left on his nocturnal patrols, I slipped out through my window in your inn and was right behind him."
"How did Mr. Skelly know you were arrested?"
"Mr. Skelly?" chuckled Smith. "That'll tickle him. I wasn't the only Skelly man there, young Jack. When Farbrace cuffed me, word got out to Skelly, and he planned my bail. In fact, we knew the Rover was heading for Gwynnford before the town did."
"Why did you let them arrest you?"
"It wasn't a matter of choice," answered Smith, snapping the paper. "It was a matter of by whom. I was going to be arrested; there was no arguing about that. But I knew why Admiral Harle was there-we'd got word he was on the road, looking for French agents and spies, and apprising invasion points. Now I can't speak French, but I can imitate a Scot, and you might have noticed there aren't many Scotsmen in Gywnnford. So it was a Scot he got. The Admiral was the least worst of my possible fates. If Parnell or that lieutenant got his hands on me, well, that would've been the end of my illustrious career. I'd planned to speak, but you beat me to it with your shovel."
"Why did you pretend to have a dead tongue?"
"To avoid having to answer so many questions," replied Smith, snapping his paper again. "Eat your stew, or I will turn mute."
Jack Frake spooned a few mouthfuls. "Where are all the men I heard talking?"
"Being paid."
"You look different."
"In my former life, I was an actor."
"What's an actor?"
"An actor is someone who entertains others by being someone else. Sometimes he is paid with money; other times, with rotten fruit. He usually plies his trade in a theater." Smith relented and explained the theater to the boy, and offered to show him the make-up kit he had retrieved from his room at the Sea Siren.
After a few more mouthfuls of stew, Jack Frake asked, "What may I call you?"
"Me? Why, Smith, of course." Smith noted the look of disappointment on his auditor's face. "It is my real name. You may consult the parish register of St John's in Wapping, if you doubt it."
"May I call you Redmagne?"
"Even though I haven't a single lock of red hair?"
"Yes. I think that ought to be your real name. Methuselah Redmagne."
"Methusula," said Smith. "All right. Redmagne I am." The newly named smuggler turned his attention back to the Gazetteer, now not entirely displeased with the boy's incessant curiosity.
"Did the Sparrowhawk go to Gwynnford?"
Redmagne frowned and dropped the paper. "What do you know about that?" he asked with sharp astonishment.
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