by J. P. Sheen
Captain…
Despite his angry thoughts, a worm of pleasure wriggled in Blake’s gut. Did he really look like a sea captain? Of course he did! He was Drake Ransom’s son! He’d never be mistaken for an ordinary seaman. No one else had his special gift.
He stared at the shot glasses.
I can’t look like a coward…but I can’t take the risk!
“Fine,” said Sideburn Man, shrugging, “If yer too chicken, we’ll find someone else − ”
“I’ll do it!” Blake sneered. Then he blinked and panicked. But it was too late. The tavern cheered, and Sideburn Man beamed.
“Step up then, mate, step up!”
So, we’re mates now, are we?
As a furious Blake walked toward Sideburn Man, he heard the ocean’s faint cry.
Run, Blake! Hide in me, and you will be safe…
Blake stood rigidly, looking down at the shot glasses. The liquor looked like black tar.
“Sit down, mate, sit down!”
Sideburn Man’s invitation oozed friendliness. He slid a shot over to Blake, who refused to budge.
“C’mon, mate, wha’ d’ye ‘ave to lose? I’ve a sack of gowld ‘ere fer the first man ‘oo downs these wee devils…and if ye can’t…”
He shrugged, grinning all the wider. Everyone watched and waited. Blake looked over at the window. It was too dark to see outside anymore. Tolger would tell him to leave.
But Tolger was not here.
Bitterness enveloped Blake. He picked up a shot and stared at the inky liquid. He wouldn’t drink it. He would escape through the door, and the ocean would hide him from sight.
He looked up. Everybody looked back at him with soulless eyes.
“Down the ‘atch, mate,” suggested Sideburn Man. His grin was foul and twisted. Blake was tempted to dash the rum in his ugly face and bolt. But the man’s words tightened the noose around his neck. He was trapped.
The pirate threw his head back and downed the shot, and another, and another.
It seemed impossible that there was any more flesh to tear from the Navy captain’s bones. So much blood already stained the sand, but the crowd’s lust was insatiable. They shouted for more, and Drake Ransom gave it to them in abundance. But Blake didn’t shout along with them. He just stared, for all appearances shocked into silence, while he tried to figure out how he really felt at the sight.
Blake watched blood drip from his father’s whip. It glinted in the firelight.
He was afraid of the answer.
Drake Ransom spotted him. His hairy hand reached out and pulled Blake forward, close to the raging bonfire.
“See my son!” roared Drake Ransom. His voice was slurred from too much drink, but it still resonated powerfully. “See the future Black King!”
The crowd had no idea what he was talking about, but they cheered anyway. Drake Ransom looked down at his son, and Blake became a small and weak thing in his shadow. He felt the bonfire’s heat and his father’s harsh grasp. Anything Drake Ransom commanded him to do, he would do it.
His father twisted him around so that Blake was forced to look at the pitiful man at his feet. He would never forget that image as long as he lived. The Lady would make sure of it.
“Here is one who would stop you!” shouted Drake Ransom, “He is your enemy! Filthy dog!”
He spat at the crumpled form. Blake flinched.
“This is what you must do to anyone who would get in your way!”
Drake Ransom’s prisoner weakly lifted his face. Pain was fast eclipsing the defiance there, and Blake saw the plea in his eyes. Did every soul present delight in his agony? Would no one help him?
Would Blake not help him?
“What do you say, Blake?” Drake Ransom growled, “What is your answer to this Navy rat?”
Blake trembled as the Navy captain’s eyes locked onto his, begging for an advocate, a shield from the tortures that were about to resume. He looked at Drake Ransom’s bloodied whip and then at the Navy captain’s ripped flesh. It looked nauseating. Revolting. It made him want to throw up.
Then why did he feel like smiling?
Drake Ransom waited. Everyone was quiet.
Blake spat in the prisoner’s face.
The crowd cheered. Roaring with approval, Drake Ransom shoved Blake back and raised his whip, paying no more attention to his son. Blake watched his whip fall over and over again. He heard the Navy captain crying out, but he didn’t feel ill anymore. He didn’t feel much of anything.
He was dead inside.
Night descended on Brackenpool.
Rain pounded on the Blue Barrel’s roof, and lightning flashed through the windows. The tavern’s occupants were shadows in the candlelight.
Blake grinned savagely and took a swig from a bottle. His coat was thrown away, his sleeves rolled up. He stomped around, his bloodshot eyes flashing with triumph.
“I knew I could do it!” he crowed, “I knew it! I’m a Sea King!”
He stamped hard. His foot hit the floor so suddenly that he stumbled back. Blake clumsily regained his balance and chuckled. Who knew that he was so close to the ground? He felt so high up, like he was flying.
“It’s because I have sea breath!” Blake shouted. He wanted everybody’s attention!
He certainly got it.
Some people looked nervous and some hid awkward smiles, but Sideburn Man openly grinned. Blake’s chest blazed with pleasure. They should all admire him.
“That’s how I beat you!” he cried to Sideburn Man. He wheeled around and nearly tripped over his own feet. His arm swung, barely missing a tankard.
“I can stay underwater for, for a whole day, if I wanted to…a, a whole year and more! It’s what I have, right here!”
Blake jabbed at his throat. His uncut nail stabbed flesh. He frowned. It hurt. He didn’t want to hurt. Why was he hurting? He was an all-powerful Sea King! Nothing should be able to hurt him!
“Do you know why?”
He stormed over to another table. A barrel-chested sailor gasped and snatched back his hand before Blake’s boot came crashing down on it. Clambering onto the tabletop, the pirate beamed. Now he really was higher than everyone!
The men seated nearby saw the black fire in the drunken man’s eyes. Several of them glanced anxiously at the door, but everyone else in the tavern was struggling not to laugh out loud. He really was providing them with a spectacular show, the poor idiot.
“It’s because I’m a Sea King!” Blake bellowed, kicking a tankard and sending it flying. Several people ducked.
“I’m the Black King! Do you know who I am?” Blake turned in a slow circle so that nobody escaped his finger. “Does ANYONE in this damn place know who I am?”
The taverngoers looked at one another, the smiles slipping off their faces.
“Do somethin’, Blackjack!” hissed the barman. Sideburn Man folded his arms and leaned back, as if enjoying the show.
“Soon enough,” he replied easily, “Give Thug Kurzon a leetle more time.”
“But Blackjack! He’s tearin’ the whole place apart!” complained the barman, watching Blake stomp off for another drink.
Blackjack turned glittering eyes on the barman. “You wouldn’t want to upset Thug Kurzon, would ye now?”
The other man looked afraid.
“Just get him out of here,” he said shortly. Blackjack shrugged and turned away.
Meanwhile, Blake had gotten hold of a sword and was now blocking the doorway.
“Watch!” he barked needlessly, and even Blackjack looked nervous at the sight of the violent drunk wielding a blade.
“I will summon a tidal wave!” Blake declared. He flailed his arms and knocked over a pitcher. Ale splashed all over a brawny sailor, who didn’t complain. There was something chilling about the drunkard, something so unnerving that no one dared lay a finger on him. No one wanted to attract his notice. No one wanted to be his next target.
“See? Now you’ll pledge your loyalty to me! You w
on’t betray me…you wouldn’t dare…”
In the blink of an eye, Blake’s expression morphed from exhilaration to hatred. He glared at the paralyzed crowd.
“No,” he growled, low and deep, “You won’t do it. You’re all LIARS!”
He furiously kicked a chair. The woman next to it flinched and tried to take a discreet step backward, but Blake noticed and advanced on her. The woman backed away. With a squeak, she slipped on her gown and landed on her bottom. Blake almost descended on her, but then his attention switched back to the tavern.
“I’ll show you! I’ll show you all the Black King’s power! Then you’ll fear me!”
His arms shot up, and several people actually flinched. This time, however, there was no pitcher to knock over. For a while, Blake remained very still, blinking stupidly.
Lightning flashed. It briefly lit up the tavern before shadows engulfed it once more.
Blake waited. Nothing happened. Slowly, the hammering on the rooftop faded to a miserable trickle. The barman looked desperately at Blackjack.
Blake gave up and lowered his arms.
“I’ll show you all!” he repeated furiously, “I’ll drown this port and everyone in it! I’m the Black King!”
He turned his back on the Blue Barrel, and a couple men rediscovered their courage. Looking at each other, they sprang up and moved forward to seize him, but Blake didn’t notice. He was too busy searching for the door’s handle. His hand scrabbled madly against wood, missing it several times, and when he finally found it, he couldn’t figure out how to turn it. Finally, Blake snarled and threw himself against the door, right as his assailants came up behind him.
The door burst open. Blake fell through and hit the cobblestones. Spitting a curse, he tried to stand, but his feet got all mixed up and he fell down again. After another clumsy attempt, he lurched to his feet. Hissing and cussing, he hobbled toward the boardwalk across the street. Moments later Blackjack hurried out of the tavern, followed closely by the barman. They looked around, but the pirate was already gone, swallowed up by the fog and the night.
Out on the wharf, Blake headed straight for the ocean.
“This will convince them,” he muttered, “Don’t believe me…I’ll show them all…”
Jaimes appeared out of nowhere.
“Leave him alone!”
He sounded sick with fear, and when Drake Ransom whirled around, he looked it too.
“This is barbaric!” he declared, quaking. Blake stared at him, transfixed by an unwilling awe.
“It’s evil!” Jaimes shouted.
The spell broke.
The pirate crew hurled abuses at Jaimes, and Drake Ransom advanced on his eldest son. Blake cried out as his whip found its mark. Why wasn’t he running to help his brother?
“You think I’m evil?” Drake Ransom demanded.
Jaimes looked terrified. Blood trickled from the cut on his cheek.
“You’ve not seen anything yet, boy! But here, I will educate you!”
Drake Ransom shoved his son into his crewmen’s arms. Blake quickly looked away and covered his ears, but he couldn’t block out the twin cries that pierced the night. The Navy captain screamed while Jaimes wept and begged his father to stop, but his pleas only incited the pirate further.
Then, after a while, Jaimes went silent. Blake peeked out between his fingers, and what he saw chilled him to the bone.
Jaimes’s face was frighteningly remote, as though he no longer saw Drake Ransom striking his writhing hostage over and over. He no longer showed his pain, and he never would again. That dignified, distanced mask became a part of Jaimes that night.
Finally, it was over. Drake Ransom’s victim was dead. Or so Blake thought.
Blood peeled away as the Navy captain opened his eyes. His face was unrecognizable. The shadow of death was on it.
“You belong to a royal line,” he said, looking right at Jaimes. His gaze had a faraway look it, but his voice was astonishingly clear.
“You,” he repeated.
Not a soul stirred. A cowed Blake watched as his eyes moved over Drake Ransom…and came to rest on him.
“Not these,” the Navy captain said, with a terrible certainty. Drake Ransom’s face became demonic. He lashed out with his whip, and the Navy captain was silenced forever. But his prophetic words lingered in the silence.
Blake looked at Jaimes. His brother stood there dumbly, like a statue, and a spark of fury lit in Blake’s chest. The Navy captain was a liar! It wasn’t Jaimes whose gift bound him to a royal line; it was Blake’s! Jaimes wasn’t the special one.
Bill Cockle and another pirate released Jaimes, who dropped to the sand and didn’t move. Blake silently watched his brother as Drake Ransom kicked the Navy captain’s body aside and left, cursing and drinking from his bottle. Gradually, the pirates disbanded until nobody was left but Blake and Jaimes. The silence seemed so great after the uproar that had preceded it.
Blake looked down at the damp red sand, his skin still tingling with shock and vicious satisfaction. Those feelings had welled up within him during the Navy captain’s torturing, like a putrid black wave he wanted to drown in and didn’t know why.
So much for his merciful heart.
As long as Drake Ransom and his crew had laughed, Blake had been able to believe that all was well. But then Jaimes had come along. And like usual, he had spoiled everything.
Blake’s gaze shifted to Jaimes. He saw blood in his brother’s hair, and his bottom lip started to tremble. He hadn’t gone to help Jaimes; he hadn’t done anything. Would Jaimes hate him now, forever? If he knew how Blake had felt during the Navy captain’s whipping…
Blake rubbed his arms, trying to make the goose bumps go away. He wanted to tear off his skin. It felt nasty, like snakeskin. It made him feel disgusting. Maybe he was disgusting.
He glared at Jaimes.
His brother was better than he was, in every respect. He was clever, and Blake was an idiot. He’d been heroic tonight, and Blake a coward. He’d been horrified by their father’s “sport,” while Blake had liked it. Maybe the Lady in Blue had gotten them confused. Maybe she had meant to come for Jaimes all along…but no, she had called Blake by his name. Maybe she regretted her choice then.
Every rational thought drained from Blake’s mind, leaving only a mindless, bestial rage. He wanted to hit Jaimes, to bite and claw and scream at him for making him feel this way.
Instead, he turned his back on Jaimes, and walked away.
“Please!”
The shrill cry cut through the fog, the rain, and even Blake’s drunken stupor. The pirate blinked, irritated by the noise. Hidden in the shadow of a gigantic man ‘o war, he watched as a small figure fled down its gangplank, nearly bowling over the harbormaster.
Blake growled. His patience was wearing thin. The pair had better get out of his way before he drowned them both!
The harbormaster held up a lantern, frowning sternly at the boy who was disrupting the night’s peace.
“P-Please h-help me!” the urchin begged him, “They k-kidnapped me! I d-don’t b-belong with them! I…I’m the prince!”
He reached out pleadingly, but the harbormaster stepped back, seeking distance between his coat and those grubby fingers.
“If you’re a prince then I’m the King of Elioth!” he replied callously.
A pair of seamen finally caught up with the bothersome child. They apologized, and the harbormaster tittered, “It isn’t my affair – just get him away!”
Soon the seamen had dragged the boy back aboard the man o’ war. The harbormaster quickly fled the scene, brushing the boy’s grimy fingerprints off his sleeves. When the coast was clear, Blake reeled forward out of the darkness.
“Stupid boy,” he muttered, “Who does he think he is, getting in the way, eh?”
He had to get closer to the water if he wanted to flood the port, but his vision began to rapidly fade until he couldn’t even see the planks beneath his feet. He tried lifting his
foot, only to discover that it had sunken into the wood and wouldn’t budge. Oh, well. He was close enough.
Blake attempted to summon a tidal wave, but his arms weighed a hundred tons each. Before he managed to lift them high enough, he collapsed. The rain continued to trickle, and shadows swallowed up the lone form sprawled on the boardwalk.
That same night, Blake dreamt of the Sea Captain’s death.
Blake watched his father wield his spiked whip, and the Sea Captain’s screams rent the night. He knew he ought to intervene, but he didn’t. Horror and enjoyment flooded his body, making him shudder.
Then Drake Ransom noticed him and pulled him forward.
“See my son! See the future Black King!”
The crowd cheered, and Drake Ransom forced Blake to look at the Sea Captain.
“Here is one who would oppose your reign! He is your enemy! Filthy dog!”
The Sea Captain lifted his face. His eyes met Blake’s. But instead of showing him mercy, Blake spat at the man and swiftly looked away.
An inner voice prompted him to look back.
He did, and the Lady in Blue was in the Sea Captain’s place, her face reflecting his agony. Blake’s spit ran down her cheek.
Blake gasped and grabbed his throat. He was suffocating! The air was poisoned; he couldn’t breathe! Where was the sea?
Panting and wheezing, Blake watched a shadow pass over the Lady in Blue until she was lost from sight.
He never saw the Lady, even in dreams, ever again.
9
The Man O’ War
Eselder glared at the large sandstone block in his battered hands. This wasn’t what he had expected at all.
The seafaring life had been his cherished dream since childhood, and it was supposed to stay just that: a dream. He could almost hear the world laughing at him. He felt so naïve….and exhausted.
His arms were aching so fiercely that he could barely keep scrubbing the deck. This was a novelty for him. At Kingston Court, if a task wearied or frustrated him, he was free to leave it undone for a while. Aboard this ship, however, he had no control over what he could and couldn’t do. And since Eselder was an ignorant landlubber, he was only assigned tasks requiring minimal skill and hard labor…only, Eselder wasn’t very good at hard labor.
