Meanwhile, at the shop, Sammy hurried to pce the crate of books in a corner, pulled out a few volumes, and began arranging them on the new arrivals shelf alongside the test popur novels, including those by Daniel Defoe, Jonathan Swift, and, of course, Eliza Haywood, hoping to sell a few. She knew her grandfather would rather burn them than see them gather dust; she knew him too well. After all, she had lived with him since she was little, growing up in a modest house near the cliffs, across the harbor.

  The girl finished her tasks for the day and prepared to leave. She grabbed her straw hat from the coat rack in the backroom, secured the doors and windows, and stepped out of the shop, heading toward the Swan Pond Tavern.

  On her way, Sammy encountered several townspeople, greeting them as she passed—the bcksmith, a harbor innkeeper carrying a barrel, and a sturdy Bck man hauling bundles of cloth. A pair of young women stopped to greet her. One was a strong-built blonde, the other a slender redhead, both dressed in fine linen, wide skirts, and corsets. They wore straw hats adorned with ribbons or flowers and carried parasols. They were the baker’s twin daughters, considered part of the local gentry.

  “Hello, Miss Van Buuren, we were just heading to the shop, weren’t we, Betsy?” said the blonde.

  “Oh yes, Abby,” Betsy, the twin, replied.

  “Miss Swift, we closed early today, but is there anything I can help you with?” Sammy asked with a smile.

  “We wanted to know if you’ve received the test novel by Eliza Haywood,” said Betsy.

  "The Masqueraders; or, Fatal Curiosity," Abby added.

  Sammy smiled and shook her head.

  “It hasn’t arrived yet. We already pced an order with London, but we did receive a batch of novels—you might be interested.”

  The two young women beamed.

  “What’s the title?” Abby asked.

  “Who’s the author?” Betsy added.

  “The title is The Legend of the Uncharted Isnd by Virgilio Coppieter. It’s an excellent book, full of adventure; it keeps you on the edge of excitement and suspense.”

  The twins exchanged gnces.

  “Is it a pirate story?” Abby asked.

  Sammy nodded with a smile.

  “It’s a great novel. If you enjoy the genre, you’ll love it. If you’d like, I can send two copies to your home right away.”

  The young women hesitated, making a doubtful expression.

  “We’d rather wait for the test Eliza Haywood,” Betsy said.

  The two dies bid her farewell and continued on their way. Sammy sighed and kept walking, crossing the town square, where vendors were beginning to pack up their stalls. All of it unfolded under the cold bronze gaze of Gustave Hawk’s statue—the isnd’s current governor—standing imposingly in the center of the pza.

  When Sammy arrived at the tavern, the main hall was still moderately busy. The walls were adorned with nautical objects, a portrait of the King of Engnd, depictions of famous buccaneers, and reproductions of naval-themed paintings. The tavern’s owner, Sally Morgan, had once been a feared pirate but had decided to retire from that trade and dedicate her ship, The Swan, to smuggling and transporting goods, as well as running the Swan Pond Tavern. Sally was at the bar, tallying the day’s sales, when she saw Sammy enter.

  “You’re early,” she remarked.

  “My grandfather wanted to close the shop earlier than usual, so here I am to help.”

  “Everything all right with Mr. Van Buuren?”

  “Nothing serious, just… writer things,” the girl replied, about to head to the kitchen but then paused.

  “Sally, we received a batch of books. You might be interested…”

  “What novel is it?” Sally asked, still jotting down numbers in her ledgers, gsses resting at the tip of her nose.

  "The Legend of the Uncharted Isnd by Virgilio Coppieter" Sammy said with a seller's smile.

  Sally gnced at the girl, bent down, pulled out a worn-covered book from under the counter, and pced it on the bar.

  “I already read it,” she said. “And I wouldn’t read another novel by that Virgilio guy. Bored me to tears.”

  With that, the pirate resumed her calcutions. The girl narrowed her eyes in resignation, sighed, and walked away.

  The girl entered the kitchen, which had a rge stone hearth with iron pots hanging from chains, where stews, soups, and broths were being cooked. From the ceiling hung all kinds of pans and pots, as well as sausages and cheeses, kept out of reach of the cats that occasionally came in for an inspection. At the back, there was a door leading to a storeroom where barrels, sacks of flour, potatoes, and all sorts of vegetables were kept, along with preserves. The cook was a plump woman known as Mrs. Marley, who was assisted by two girls, and her temper was well-known throughout the port.

  “How can I help?” the young woman asked after greeting them.

  “You can bread those fish for frying,” Mrs. Marley instructed.

  Sammy nodded, put on an apron, and got to work.

  At that moment, Cody Harris walked in—a nky, thin boy with blond hair, a freckled face, and blue eyes. Sammy and he had known each other since they were babies. Like her, he was an orphan and had grown up with his aunt, Connie Harris, who was the nddy of the Van Buuren's shop. Sammy had always been adventurous, often crossing swords with the ruffians on the beach, while Cody, more easygoing, shared her love for adventure novels and the dream of traveling the world.

  “You’re here early,” Cody said.

  “Your powers of observation are truly impressive,” Sammy replied sarcastically as she worked.

  “Why did you close early?”

  Sammy stabbed the knife into the wooden board and pced the floured fish into a pot.

  “My grandfather got depressed over some news from the publisher,”Sammy Said.

  “He wrote another novel?”

  Sammy looked around cautiously and whispered:

  “I’m going to tell you a secret, but you have to swear not to tell anyone!”

  Cody raised his right hand and pced his left over his chest.

  “He published it under a pseudonym, hoping it would be a success,” Sammy said.

  “Really? What name did he use?”

  Sammy lowered her voice to an almost inaudible whisper.

  “Virgilio Coppieter.”

  “He wrote that novel about…?” Cody began to say, surprised.

  Sammy signaled him to be quiet.

  “But it didn’t work. According to Grandpa, that kind of adventure story doesn’t sell anymore.”

  “So what does sell now?”

  “Romances, like the ones by Eliza Haywood.”

  Cody stuck out his tongue in disgust.

  “I prefer adventure stories,” he said, grabbing a wooden spoon and holding it up to Sammy.

  “En garde!,” he challenged.

  Sammy looked around and found a rolling pin.

  “Let’s see how brave you are,” she said, wielding the utensil like a sword.

  They began py-fighting, drawing the amused attention of the kitchen assistants as they cshed their wooden weapons, reenacting a sword fight from a boarding scene in an adventure novel.

  The kitchen assistants ughed until they were caught by Mrs. Marley, who emerged from the storeroom carrying a sack of potatoes.

  “ENOUGH!,” she shouted, dropping the sack to the floor. “If you’re going to py, go to the beach! this is a workpce! And you, Cody, don’t you have tables to tend to?”

  The two quickly straightened up and returned to their tasks, as did the kitchen assistants.

  “Next time, you won’t be so lucky,” Cody said before leaving.

  “I’ll be waiting for the challenge,” Sammy replied, continuing to bread the fish.