Ah, Port Royal in summer. Nothing better, if you ask me. The markets, always buzzing with some level of activity, positively explode with the arrival of hundreds of foreign ships. Spain, France, India- you name it. You can lose yourself in the smells and sounds and sights of the crowd, and the sun's on your face and if you're really lucky, there's money in your pocket. And if there's not- well, there's always a trader dim enough, or a fellow shopper who unwittingly distracts the merchant's attention long enough for you to nick something. I am among that minority. Oh, yes- already I can feel my fingers tingling with the thrill of taking a prize won by skill and cunning. Already I can smell the foreign spices and hear the strange languages and see the odd vessels bobbing in the crystalline water. Yes! The summer markets are where I belong. My home.

No, seriously. I spend my days crouching in a dusty hole, surrounded by trees, just beyond the narrow strip of beach. The water is only a few metres in front, the docks a few more to my right. Not exactly the home of a noble, but so much better than the filthy backstreets. I wouldn't survive a day out there, and that's not because of the poor hygiene. No, here I have access to a bath (of sorts), and living beneath coconut trees has its benefits. I'm small enough to shinny up them when I'm really hungry. Not to mention the incredible privacy it offers-

Ow! Who-? What-?

Ah. Gilbert and Gerard. My old buddies. I pick up the rock that only very recently bounced off my ribs and hurl it back at them, shouting something in gibberish just to scare them. It seems to work, to an extent: they back up, though they are doubled over with laughter.

Good Lord. You'd think, living off the coast of Jamaica, people around here would have a bit more tolerance towards African people like me. But no, they still throw rocks and bottles and pretty much anything they can get their hands on, really. Sooty's Corner, they call it.

Very original, these white people.

But where was I? Oh yes, the privacy. More than satisfactory, actually. Sure, people like Gilbert and Gerard know I'm here- and they let me know about it, too- but you really can't see me unless you're looking for me. Great protection from the rain, and no-one ever nicks it when I'm out and about the markets.

Not today, though. The strange and wonderful ships haven't arrived yet, and it's just the same old merchants selling the same old junk. Not even the locals bother with them anymore. Just one woman today, standing at the end of the docks, holding a lacy purple umbrella over her shoulder. God knows what she's up to. I could be wrong, but looks like she's holding a pretty hefty bottle of rum in that hand. No doubt it'll be hurtled towards me at some point in the near future.

Sigh. Turn back to the horizon, where I've been tracking the progress of three ships all afternoon. They appeared as dim black smudges around lunch time, but one of them has been advancing so quickly I can almost see if moving all the way back here. Wonder who's aboard? You hear all sorts of stories around here, especially at night time. Pirates, sea goddesses, even mermaids. Of course, most of these sailors have so much rum on their brains they probably couldn't tell a dugong from a person, but it makes for some interesting listening. My favourite's the one about that black ship with the black sails. The Black Pearl. Fastest ship on earth, they say. Pirate ship, of course. All of the English ships are called stupid things like Endeavour and Interceptor and so forth. Nothing quite so epic as the Black Pearl. When I was first brought to the plantations, all those years ago, I thought it'd be cool to join those strong men in the fancy uniforms marching up and down. Then I was at their complete mercy, and changed my mind somewhat. Escaping here and seeing their lack of originality didn't help their case much, either.

Not that the likes of me could ever get into Her Majesty's Navy, or any other military service for that matter. Too unreliable. I might shoot myself, or my comrades, in the middle of a battle. Turn the cannon and blow a hole in the deck. Lose control completely, succumb to the flames-

No. Already the smell of smoke has filled my lungs. Deep breaths now, Kalepi. Salt, not smoke. No fire. Calm down. There aren't many people at the docks today, but enough to cause a fuss if I should explode from the jungle screaming.

Just calm down. Close my eyes, take several deep breaths. Deeper every time. I don't know if it actually helps- it's not like I've ever been to a doctor- but maybe I've just been doing it for so long that I've convinced myself it makes a difference.

"Excuse me?"

What the-? Whirling around wildly, preparing myself for another attack. Who said that? Who-?

Oh. Oh dear God.

It's Lady Evangeline Avi. Lady Evangeline Avi, staring down at me with her big brown eyes and her glossy dark curls and her big poufy purple dress. Her right hand daintily holds a lacy umbrella over her shoulder: the other clasps a big bottle of expensive rum.

What do you know. Looks like I discovered the identity of the woman waiting on the docks. Lady Evangeline Avi, in all her glory.

There's a lot of talk generated by Evangeline Avi around here. They say she washed up here in the dead of night not two years before I arrived here, claiming her mother was the famous pirate-hunter Angelica Avi and that she needed lodging here. They say she's a pirate's bastard, but not one of the famous ones (if you can believe the stories) and that he was the reason her mother became a privateer. They say she comes down to the docks in the dead of night every so often, and is greeted by a black ship with black sails (sound familiar?) but no-one ever sees it in the morning. They say she's much too outdoorsy for a member of the elite, poking around the local pubs and conversing amicably with sailors instead of sitting in her living room waiting on an imaginary husband or something. They say she was raised in a convent, but is a servant of Satan, digging up supernatural stories from sailors and swallowing them like Gospel truths.

They say a lot of things about Evangeline Avi.

Help! What do I do? Not once, in the entire two years of my life here, has anyone ever spoken to me without malicious intent- especially not teenage members of the elite. Do I bow? Pretend she hasn't said anything? Be seen and not heard? Calm down now, Kalepi. We don't want our little friend paying us a visit now.

"Are you waiting for someone?"

What are you, stupid? Obviously you don't get out as much as everyone says you do if you don't even know about Sooty's Corner.

Keep it civil, Kalepi. She's got a big bottle in one hand, remember. "Oh- ah, no, my lady."

"Do you mind if I sit here?" she continues.

Here? In the dirt? With me? Oh no, I wouldn't want to ruin your pretty dress. God, she's odd.

"I won't if you don't want me to," she adds hurriedly. Whoops! Was I supposed to reply? I didn't think people like her waited for permission from people like me. "It's just that, well- you've got a nice spot, and… Well." She smiles briefly. "I could be here a while."

Her head jerks out to the horizon. So one of the approaching ships must be the one she's waiting for. Well, if she's waiting for one of the two lagging behind, I don't envy her. Compared to that one out the front, they're like turtles-

Focus. One thing at a time. "Uh- of course. Um, my lady."

Warm smile. "Thank you."

Rustle of fabric and a blast of air in my face as she settles herself down, dresses exploding up about her waist. Help! Now what? This is the most I've interacted with humans for years. What's the common etiquette? Sit in silence? Or attempt to make awkward conversation? Dear me, but people are complicated. Suddenly my lifelong solitude doesn't seem so terrible.

"What's your name?" What? She's asking me for my name now? Well. It's been an eventful day in the life of Kalepi, let me tell you.

"Kalepi. My lady." Awkward silence. It seems stupid to ask her for her name, because everyone already knows it. Do I risk like looking a fool for the sake of carrying on the conversation?

Apparently not. Lady Evangeline to the rescue. "I like that name." (God, but she smiles a lot, doesn't she?) "It reminds me of kelp."

Excuse me? Well, if we're getting frank now, let me tell you something: I may not be much, but I am much better than any piece of kelp-

"Oh! Oh, no…" Whoops! Look away, Kalepi, look away! Did she catch me staring? Did she see the demon in my eyes? Oh dear, it looks like I've scared off my guest.

Mind you, that may not be such a bad thing.

No such luck, though. She's too busy apologizing. "God, I'm sorry. It's just that- well, both my parents are sailors and I've sailed with both of them and- what I said before, I meant that as a compliment- I love the sea, really, I do- oh, God, Evangeline, just shut up!"

And we're back to the staring. Am I mishearing, or did she really just use the Lord's name in vain twice? I've been flogged for saying less than that. And they say she grew up in a convent! You know, I'm starting to see the Satan thing coming together now… There's something about her. I didn't notice it before, but it's obvious from this distance. She's nothing like the perfect, powdered women who totter around town in their corsets. Face and hands pitted with scars, and worn fingers (almost as if they've actually done a proper day's work). There's a functioning brain behind those eyes, you can tell- eyes that have seen things. Adventures and secrets.

Which makes you wonder just how much credit those old sailor's tails have. If she wasn't wearing fancy clothes, I certainly wouldn't have picked her out as a noble.

"It's… um, it's OK." What else am I supposed to say? A crazy member of Port Royal's elite just compared me to a piece of kelp. There's not much to say to something like that.

Silence descends once more. Lady Evangeline doesn't look like she trusts herself to say something sensible, and has her mouth clamped tight shut and her eyes fixed on the horizon. Something about the silence unnerves me. She may not be like those pompous women I despise so, but that doesn't particularly endear me to her either. I don't know what to make of her- in fact, I want her gone as soon as possible, but I don't want her quiet, either. Gives her too much time to think. Say something, Kalepi!

"Who are you waiting for?"

Oh, nice one. Good job, Kalepi. Way to keep her calm. Prying into the private life of a noble never did anyone any good. Watch that rum bottle, now… She might have a temper on top of a shady past. If I move quickly enough, I might be able to dodge the blow-

"My father." At the sound of her voice, I almost spring out onto the beach, I'm so tense. As it is, her tone surprises me: not uptight or annoyed, just casual and friendly.

"Oh." Another pause. Say something! "Is he a merchant?"

She laughs like that's the stupidest thing she's ever heard. But not in a mean way. "Oh, God no. He's a pirate."

This time I do fall over. Did she- did she really just openly admit to her father being a pirate? I've seen what they do to convicted pirates. Everyone's seen the bodies dangling just outside port. And here she is, mouthing off like it means nothing! It must be a joke. A sick joke.

So I laugh too.

"That's his ship out there, see?" Leaning in close, extending an arm. And what's this? Ho hum. She's pointing to the one out front, which is lucky for her, I guess. It can't be more than a few hours away, now.

"What's it called?" Forcing myself to stay calm and civil. I need to get away from this psycho, before she eats me or something.

"The Black Pearl."

Oh, come on. Now she must be joking. Even if her father was a pirate, there's no way…

Whoops. Looks like she caught me staring at her again. But if there's any doubt on my face (which, of course, there is) she doesn't take any offence to it. No, she just smiles again and offers a hand. "Walk with me, won't you?"

No. No, I won't walk with you. My life isn't perfect, but it's nice and I don't want to be dragged into any of your nonsense-

Oh, who am I kidding? Of course I want her to drag me away from this monotony. And if I die, so what? I'm going to Hell anyway. I might as well do it somewhere other than this pathetic hole.

So I take her hand. And arm in arm, we go for a walk.