Francesca De Tores

'A gripping tale of one woman's extraordinary adventures ... Saltblood is a triumph of the imagination' ELODIE HARPER, author of 'The Wolf Den' trilogy 'A ravishing picaresque told with fireworks, finesse and gusto' PAUL LYNCH, author of Prophet Song 'Saltblood is exquisite. The writing is sumptuous and lyrical, the story fascinating' LOUISE O'NEILL, author of Asking for It and Idol In a rented room outside Plymouth in 1685, a daughter is born as her half-brother is dying. Her mother makes a decision: Mary will become Mark, and Ma will continue to collect his inheritance money. Mary's dual existence as Mark will lead to a role as a footman in a grand house, serving a French mistress; to the navy, learning who to trust and how to navigate by the stars; and to the army and the battlegrounds of Flanders, finding love among the bloodshed and the mud. But none of this will stop Mary yearning for the sea. Drawn back to the water, Mary must reinvent herself yet again, for a woman aboard a ship is a dangerous thing. This time Mary will become something more dangerous than a woman. She will become a pirate. Breathing life into the Golden Age of Piracy, Saltblood is a wild adventure, a treasure trove, weaving an intoxicating tale of gender and survival, passion and loss, journeys and transformation, through the story of Mary Read, one of history's most remarkable figures. 'Startling, fresh and brilliant' ANNA MAZZOLA, author of The Clockwork Girl 'A wonderful tale and so exquisitely told ... Master and Commander meets Thelma & Louise' JAMES OSWALD, author of the 'Inspector McLean' series 'A thrilling, gender-shaking roar of a tale every reader will enjoy' NEIL BLACMORE, author of Radical Love

An epic historical fiction debut inspired by real life female pirates

Saltblood

Laura Dobie

Grandmother lends us a book of ancient myths, and so I believe all bodies are as loose as the bodies in those stories. Zeus changes into a swan to have his way with Leda; Daphne changes to a tree to escape some other cockish god. I figure there is a truth running through these tales like a thread of gristle through meat: that you can be one thing, and then another. Sometimes it's a threat; sometimes it's a promise.

In spring, Swallows make a nest under the eaves and from my window I watch the clutch of five tiny chicks growing and I don't tell a soul. I never knew that birds hatch bald, looking nothing like birds at all. I watch them gradually take on their bird-shapes, and then their proper feathers, and I tell nobody - not even Kitty. It is a novel feeling, to have a secret that isn't a sin.

We walk side by side in silence - as much silence as the deck of a ship of the line allows. The men gape at Mrs Turnbull, for on any ship a pretty young woman is a tremendous novelty. They stare so nakedly that I understand why she has stayed below - and I cannot but feel a gratitude for my disguise, and the freedoms it has won me.

That night Payton takes too much rum and corners me astern, weeping, and says to me again, 'Look what you made me do.' Men will blame anyone but themselves for their own desires. I pity the whores too, for I don't doubt they also bore the burden of his rage and shame, which is now grown so heavy that I fear the Walcheren will founder beneath it. He will assuredly talke me down with him.

It is a serious thing, to take a person's stories from them - for what remains, then?

'And anyway,' Anne says, when she has done with embracing me, and all the crew besides, 'we cannot raise a baby aboard a ship, nor is the pirate life one for children.'

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