Fast Ships, Black Sails--first lines

In honor of finally turning in the manuscript of Fast Ships, Black Sails, which I blogged about here recently, here're all of the first lines from all of the stories (in no particular order).JeffThe week after I first boarded the Able Fancy Hogg spoke to me: "Bootstrap tastes best with water, pounded into little strips of shank, and roasted over an open fire."Avispa Feroz dropped below the scattered cloud deck, a lethal silver dart aimed at the whaling squadron. Her long sailing masts were folded tightly along the length of her bow. A black wasp riding jagged lightning bolts cut through the red striping emblazoned upon her nose.Curator's note: The following pages were found in a cave on an islet eleven miles southwest of Barbados. The narrative is, of course, incomplete, disjointed and unreliable, as is the information contained with its pages.Stars wheeling at his back, Captain Low comes on like bad weather, like something separated from Nature, a different kind of force, one driven by rum and pain and vengeance.Whoever christened the planet Venice named her well. Her golden surface crossed by a million regular waterways, from space resembled a papal orb. Clouds followed the canals in season and emphasised rather than obscured her geometric character.You could feel their heat. Not a metaphor, I don't mean that, I mean literally the room grew warmer when they were in it. They were both so powerful.White, hot sand strewn over with shells and then a great sweep of green; an island rich in vegetation, investigation revealing all sorts of tropical fruits, some of which the crew was familiar with, while others none of them had ever seen before--in the shape of stars, swords and crescents.The ship had no name of her own, so her human crew called her the Lavinia Whateley. As far as anyone could tell, she didn't mind.In the course of researching my unpublished novel Velvet Dogs I heard tell of an elderly gentleman who had in his possession a collection of ancient ship's journals--first-hand records of the great days of sail--and resolved to seek him out and ask him if he would lend me some money.The ship was on fire. I ran down to the aft deck, where, surprise, surprise, a bunch of the Altekar crew were toasting spiky mauve crustaceans on long forks, over a fire made of ripped up deck-planks. On top of other deck-planks.The sky was dark with the first taste of snow as two ships cut their way across the frozen sea. Their sails pulled taut in the wind as they tacked southward, ropes tight and cracking in the cold, and from their triple runners sprayed tails of ice that caught the dying daylight and shimmered in the air.He's almost fifty years of age, Castor Jenkins is, which for a stereotypical Welshman must be reckoned venerable, if not ancient.With a splash, the body of Cracked Mack the Lack went overboard. Captain Black Heart Wentworth, Rat Pirate of the Gully by the Oak, stared after Mack into the turgid brown waters. Wentworth's first mate, Whiskers Sullivan of the beady eyes and greedy paws, slunk deckside, muttering madly about the pitter patter of fleas rushing along his spine so loud he couldn't sleep or shit or make water--and when a rat can't shit or make water, tis a dark day indeed.They'd been five days adrift when they saw the sail on the horizon.Lady Araminta was seen off from the docks at Chenstowe-on-Sea with great ceremony if not much affection by her assembled family. She departed in the company of not one but two maids, a hired eunuch swordsman, and an experienced professional chaperone with the Eye of Horus branded upon her forehead, to keep watch at night while the other two were closed.Grace couldn't see the captain. The Marshal had chained them to opposite sides of the same wall, a partition jutting into the prison cell."Remind me why the pirates won't sink us with cannon fire at long range," said Sir Hereward as he lazed back against the bow of the skiff, his scarlet-sleeved arms trailing far enough over the side to get his twice folded-back cuffs and hands completely drenched, with occasional splashes going down his neck and back as well. He enjoyed the sensation, for the water in these eastern seas was warm, the swell gentle, and the boat was making a good four or five knots, reaching on a twelve knot breeze."The Pinafore's gaining on us, your majesty!" yelled the bosun.