Category Archives: Pirates

Are you using one of these crappy passwords?

locked mouseHow many times are we advised to use strong passwords to protect ourselves? So many times that we tune out the advice maybe?

Even in the face of multiple warnings and the occasional cautionary tale like Target getting hacked, people are still using easily guessed and insecure codes to protect date. Splashdata compiled a list of the 25 most commonly used passwords, and they got their data from stolen files offered for sale.

Are you using one of these? Or anything like them?

Rank              Password  

1

123456

2

password

 

3

12345678

 

4

qwerty

 

5

abc123

6

123456789

 

7

111111

 

8

1234567

 

9

iloveyou

 

10

adobe123

 

11

123123

 

12

admin

 

13

1234567890

 

14

letmein

 

15

photoshop

 

16

1234

 

17

monkey

 

18

shadow

 

19

sunshine

 

20

12345

 

21

password1

 

22

princess

 

23

azerty

 

24

trustno1

 

25

000000

Well, stop it. Stop it right now. You wouldn’t put a front door made of tissues on your house, and that’s not too different from these passwords.

The issue with strong passwords is that they can be tough to remember, and that makes us a bit lazy.  Here’s some advice from Webroot about making something strong enough to protect you and easy enough to recall.

Don’t be the friend with the password so simple even *I* could crack it. Unless you’re my kid and it’s on your Facebook account.

Did I say that out loud?

 

A little look back

Sigh, thinking about what I was doing a year ago. I was worrying if readers would take a chance on a noob author, and scared that the reviewers would laugh and point at some egregious error. Mostly, fighting the butterflies that infested my middle, butterflies the size and temperment of vultures.

It’s not quite a year since my very first publications, and everything on this blog has happened in what seems like a massive blur. Three novels, six short stories, all out in eleven months. Of course, the writing took longer, but somehow, like labor and delivery, that hard part fades in the joy of seeing the offspring. Every now and then, when my confidence flags, I open the folder that has my PDFs in it and just look, reminding myself that I can string some words together that someone liked enough to publish, and others liked enough to read.

The pirate anthology came out last July 15th, and Fire On the Mountain last July 23. A party is in order, don’t you think?

Free Read: A Drink at the Club

Revisiting the main characters from “Cannons and Honor” generated this small story. A prompt from Eden Winters — Leigh Westman receives a drink and a note signed JB — set me to work.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fans whirred slowly overhead, moving the heavy air in a semblance of a breeze, the coolness bought with the efforts of an Indian laborer turning the crank that drove the belted fans in unison. There were clubs in town, meant for the East India Company sahibs, where one could get a drink containing actual ice, brought at great expense from the far Himalayas, but this was not one of them.

Not the poshest, not the lowest, this club was modeled on the clubs left behind in London; there were drinks, meals, and rooms to be had, lest members need to stay in the city over night.  The attraction tonight was that Jessamy could not accompany him into this males-only preserve. For the first evening since Die Zigeuner was taken, Leigh Westman could evade his sister’s misplaced concern about his “dreadful experiences” in their recent encounter with the pirates. Captain John Bull was much on Leigh’s mind as it was, but not in any way he cared to explain to Jess.

“Once Jessamy is settled in her marriage, I am free to find my own way in the world.” Major Rotherby-Sims would relieve Leigh of his last ties to England. “Perhaps, perhaps… perhaps I shall go to sea after all.” He spoke to himself, ignoring and being ignored by the others who took their conviviality in this room.

He blotted the fine mist of sweat from his upper lip and contemplated the depleted state of his glass, some Dutch spirit mixed with the quinine water that was sovereign for warding off the malaria endemic to the region. The taste and the intoxication made him suspect he’d want another dose before returning to the hotel and his sister.

Though he had made no signal to the bartender nor to the silent Indian boy who carried glasses both full and empty, another fizzing goblet appeared at his elbow. “I did not ask for this,” he told the server, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. His purse was too near empty to doctor himself with another glass of indulgence.

“Compliments of the gentleman across the room.” The boy set down a visiting card and gestured minutely to the far corner. The copperplate print read George Vaughan, Esquire, of Courtland, Herefordshire, a name that was completely meaningless to Leigh. No one he knew in England, nor from the City, nor from the voyage. Puzzled, he turned it over to see the hand-inked note on the back.

Once again, JB

JB? No. It couldn’t be.

No. Leigh had put aside any hopes of seeing the dashing pirate captain again. Perhaps someone from the ship was playing a trick, hoping to see the fallen hero make a fool of himself, roaring about and threatening duels over the dishonor done him, or someone hateful, wanting to see him leave in upset over the remembered shame.

Since he would neither challenge John Bull to any duel that required weapons, though a dawn encounter wasn’t out of his desires, nor feel shame in what had been a joy as well as the saving of his sister, someone was bound to be disappointed. Leigh didn’t look around, but instead stowed the card in the inner pocket of his jacket. He would drink the gin and tonic, and drink confusion to the sender.

Leigh lounged back in the wicker chair, trying to catch a bit of the manufactured breeze, and took a sip of the new drink. Making no point of looking around, he checked again for familiar faces. Finding none, he concluded that it had been a hoax, and refused to ponder it further. Except… JB?

How he wished to see the man again, so much so that the suited businessman returning from the jakes outside turned into that captain in his mind. No, a similarity, that was all. The man took his seat again and raised his glass, pausing in a small toast before sipping.

His own glass in midair, Leigh stopped. There would be no disguising the sailor’s tan, but there was also no disguising the impish cast to the stranger’s eye, nor the recognition within it. That was the captain himself! Only a few drops of the gin shook out over the rim, and then Leigh took a drink, needing to wet his suddenly dry mouth.

A drink from afar and a visiting card — the captain was not pressing the acquaintance. Nor was he taking a terribly great chance that Leigh would expose him, either, though how could he be so sure? Had he taunted other of his captives, knowing that to expose the pirate was to expose oneself as a sodomite, no matter how willing or unwilling? Or even — how true?

The liquor did not help him think. Leigh set down the glass and retrieved the card, turning it over in his fingers and trying to decide what to do. Looking up, he saw only steady regard from across the room. He had to know.

A few steps put him at the captain’s table. “Ah, Mr. Vaughan, I did not expect to see you here.”

“Nor I to be here, actually.” The captain rose to shake the offered hand. “My ship was meant for Goa, yet here I am. Fortunately, my club at home has some reciprocity, or I should be in sad straits. Do join me?” Leigh sat, marveling at the charade they both worked to maintain. “How is your sister, Mr. Westman? Anticipating her marriage?”

“She is well, thank you, and will be a lovely bride. We leave tomorrow for Bangalore.”

“Tomorrow. So soon.” My, my, there was a note of regret in his tone.

“Indeed. And you?”

“Off to sea again, I am expected, you see, and must not disappoint. An early evening for you then?” The hope lay muted in the captain’s eyes, for there were too many in that room who could never hear or see anything but a meeting between equals.

“Perhaps.” Leigh thought fast — he had not spoken for a room here, only asked to go to the bar when he arrived, but he might yet procure them some privacy, for plain talk if not for more.

“I am in room sixteen here.” Captain Bull took another drink from his glass, leaving it nearly as full as before.

Better yet. “I — am also on that hall.” Leigh rose. “Shall we adjourn?”

Extremely early for trying to sleep — the heat of the day had not yet broken, but Leigh did not wish to sleep in room sixteen. Nor did he wish for his own heat to break, though he could have wished for rather less of it for the few moments it took to finish their beverages and take leave of the public rooms. Leigh followed the captain to the guestrooms at the far end of the club.

Never had he been so glad for a door to shut between him and the world.

“How did you–? Why–?”

“Shhh, Leigh, the walls have ears here and we are not exploiting your insincere screams now.”  Then there could be no speaking, for the captain had taken Leigh in his arms and crushed their mouths together. It took long, glorious minutes of shushing before he broke away to whisper answers.

“Why? Because I wished to hear the news, and how — the late Mr. George Vaughan decided to be the sort of hero who balks at pirates taking his possessions, which left me with rather more visiting cards and such than I usually take. The identity will be useless when his ship does arrive from Goa and word gets around, but for now, his club membership has given me a prize more than I ever expected to take.” Iron strong arms drew Leigh more tightly to his chest. “I did not know if you would be so glad to see me again on dry land.” Hot lips and hard cocks crushed together — how could the captain possibly doubt Leigh’s delight?  “To find you here and willing — more treasure than I could have hoped for.”

“So willing,” Leigh breathed softly, for the tread of others could be heard in the hallway, “but pressed for time — Jess expects me back at a reasonable hour. So plunder me, Captain.”

The pirate John Bull could take nothing that Leigh was not anxious to give.

Piracy

It’s a back-handed compliment, I suppose, to have written something good enough that people want to steal it. I just don’t feel particularly complimented. “Fire on the Mountain” turned up on a couple of blog-type sites as something the writer enjoyed (yay) and on a known pirate site.

There’s no talking to the admins at this particular site: an anti-piracy group I belong to has made it clear that trying is an exercise in futility, and one must go to the hosting site to get the downloadable file taken down. This I did, and the response was admirable–the file was down in a matter of hours. No telling how many times my book had been stolen before I found it.

Yes, stolen. Downloading this way is theft. The social contract is that I have something you want, a story, and you have something to exchange for it, money. Doing it any other way is theft. I’ve heard the arguments elsewhere, so spare me the entitled whine. Or get ready to clean my cat box and trim my hedges: I’ll take it out in trade.

An Extra Scene – “Cannons and Honor”

Cannons and Honor got two opening scenes, one of which was a little late for inclusion into the final ebook. It restates information in the opening paragraphs, just differently- compare it to the more period-flavored opening of the story.

~~~~~~~

“I knew we should not have taken passage on such a small ship, Leigh.”  The fresh-faced little blond in the wide bonnet held onto her companion’s arm as they stood at the taffrail of the Dutch brigantine De Zigeuner. “The East India Company ships are seldom taken by pirates.”

“True, but the cost of the passage on an Indiaman was beyond our means, darling. We could have sent you to Bangalore, where the Major will reimburse your passage as a wedding gift, but then I could not have accompanied you.” The young man patted the hand that she slipped through the crook of his elbow.  “They did say we would go in convoy and be safer, but losing a yard cost De Zigeuner time and company.”  He had fretted about this very thing, without troubling his sister with his worries, though he, too, would have preferred to sail in a larger, more heavily armed merchantman.

“Once we were well away from Madagascar, we should have been safe enough,” commented the purser, who had returned above decks to watch the ship that had been pursuing them for several hours. It had grown larger as it drew closer, but still did not appear to be an active threat. “If His Majesty’s frigates still plied these waters in number, we should not have this worry.”

“There might be one or two, but most of them have been recalled to blockade duty. Dreary work, that—back and forth and back and forth off the harbors, keeping Boney’s fleets bottled up. Important though, don’t want ships of the line boiling out of Le Havre or Brest.”  The brigantine’s second lieutenant paused to add a note to the conversation.

“Small consolation to us now.”  The purser shaded his eyes to watch the pursuer more closely. “Who do you suppose is chasing us?”

“Pirates. Does it matter?” asked the young woman, scorn in her voice.

“Indeed it does. With some upstart, you can’t predict what will happen if they catch us. If it’s Captain John Bull…”

“John Bull! What kind of a name is that! How dare he take it! He’s no proper representative of England if he’s a pirate!” The young woman very nearly quivered with indignation. “And will they catch us?”  Practical concerns could bubble into her mind at times.

“Possibly not. We’ve been tacking through some dangerous waters. Most pirates would have given up by now, but Bull will chase us all the way to Calcutta. The lieutenant hurried on, perhaps because escaping the conversation was as important as the task he was engaged on. He disappeared below deck and could be heard shouting to the men to clear for action.

“He’s John Bull because he’s everything about England gone wrong,” muttered the captain, once he’d taken the spyglass away form his eye. “He fights like an Englishman, he treats his prizes with English courtesy, and he speaks with a Kentish accent, damn him.”  A quick glance to one side. “Begging your pardon, miss.”

“His crews love him, so I’m told,” the purser carried on quickly, before the young man could object to the profanity used before his companion. “A motley of  Malays and Somalis—it’s said he speaks the rogues’ languages.”

“Call them what you like now, but speak softly if they catch us.” The captain looked again through his glass.

“Speak softly to pirates?” the young woman scoffed.

“Speak softly or not at all,” the captain warned her. “They’ve been known to take tongues.”

“Do you think he’s really a deserter from the Royal Navy?” asked another passenger, a portly Englishman with extravagant whiskers.

“Perhaps. Possibly he fled the East India Company—he’s got astonishing abilities to find the best bits of the cargo, no matter where they’ve been stowed.”  The captain had met Bull once before and did not cherish the memories.  “His jackdaws will take whatever appeals to them.”

“To think that he’s of the same nation as Bolitho and Ramage,” the purser mourned.

“He’s as fine a sailor as Aubrey,” the captain said before he shouted more orders to his men. “We might be able to keep enough distance on him to evade. A mixed blessing, that, because we haven’t the armament to shoot back at this distance.”

Puffs of smoke appeared around the trailing ship, pre-empting the question of shooting first or shooting back.   A fountain of water flew into the air. “And as fine a shot, too,” commented the purser. “He’s got the range on us already.”

“What can one cannon ball do?” the young woman asked with grave skepticism. “It’s small. The ship is large. They don’t explode.”

“One cannon ball can turn the decks, boats, and railings into oak splinters that mow down everyone nearby.” The captain shook his head at this astonishing display of naval ignorance. “Nor does it need to be ball shot.  For instance, chain shot can do a great deal of—“

The captain never did finish that statement, because the distant ship had puffed again, though the sound of the cannon did not carry. Something whistled through the air and holes appeared in the sails, which had been set for speed. A terrible cracking sound filled the air—to the horror of all, the mizzen mast came down to drag the sails and yards in the water. A sea anchor could not have slowed the ship more effectively, and the pursuer drew closer.

“What should we do?” the young man asked, not that he could have assisted the crew.

“Stay,” advised the purser, for the captain had stumped off toward the fallen mast to direct his crew. “They know we’re here, going below will not save you. In fact, you especially do not want to be caught below, Miss Westman. I am sorry, my friends, but you are going to have more adventure than you could wish.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Want to read the rest? Get it here.