A lump caught in my throat.
"Apology accepted," Buzz said easily. "Why haven't we reached Rackham's Cay yet? You said it was an easy two-day sail, and that was... Let's see..." He counted on his fingers. "One, four, eight days ago? Two is less than five. Shouldn't we be there by now?"
Pixies and arithmetic do not compute.
I pressed my lips together, hoping he'd give up, but then he kicked off his cogs in order to calculate on his toes.
"When Revenge is in good repair, with prevailing currents and a good tailwind, going east from Neverland to Rackham's Cay takes two days, though the westerly return requires four days due to inclement conditions."
Buzz fluttered his wings in agitation. "Are you saying we're heading back to Neverland? Are you mad, woman?"
"Don't be absurd." I rolled my eyes and tried to put it in the simplest terms possible for the pixie, "We'd have already reached our destination if Revenge weren't on the verge of sinking."
"Whew! That's such a relief to hear!" Then, he panicked. "Wait! Revenge is sinking? We're going to drown!"
If I'd been the pious sort, I'd have been on my knees. "Rest assured, if the ship goes down, we'll evacuate to the tugs."
"What about you, Captain?"
"A captain goes down with her ship."
Buzz snickered. "Given that you're half mermaid and able to breathe underwater, that's not half as heroic as it sounds."
"Call it a pirate truth."
We shared a good laugh, but soon Buzz posed another pointed question. The sprite had a bad habit of that. "Does that mean if Revenge sank, you'd go to live with the merfolk? Is that why you cling to your humanity?"
"It's not just the ship—it's the crew."
Awkwardness came between us. I believe we were both relieved when the lookout in the crow's nest called out, "Land ho!"
I surged upright. "Where?"
"Six miles due east!"
Across the ship and the tugs, the good news brought heads up and smiles to faces. The crew cheered, except for her master and commander. I had to verify before I endorsed it. Hand over hook, I hauled myself through the rigging to the crow's nest.
The lookout, Christopher Robbins, was a lad of twelve who was the youngest member of the crew... and the smallest. He barely took up any space at all. Christopher had light brown hair, hazel eyes, and an endearing smile. Like many serving under me, he was also a former Lost Boy who'd been abducted from his home by Peter Pan. He always wore a red scarf tied about his neck, a gift from his mother, whom he spoke of fondly and often.
Weariness made me clumsy. I dumped myself into the basket, landing with a heavy thud. The abrupt entry startled the boy. Christopher shrank from me anyway, pressing against the far side of the crow's nest.
I chose not to notice. I often had this effect on children.
Chuckling, Buzz skipped from my shoulder into flight. He zipped through the air, trailing shimmering pixie dust, and landed on Christopher's wrist. "Hey, now! None of that! Are you a pirate or a parrot, Mr. Robbins?"
Christopher surged off the wall. "I'm a pirate!"
"Right you are! You're a pirate, and I'm a pirate now, too!" Buzz danced a jig along the boy's forearm to his elbow and then his shoulder, covering the lad in pixie dust. The sprite chanted, "Aloft there, aloft there! Our jolly bo'sun cried!"
Buzz sang on. In the middle of the second rendition, Christopher joined in, "Blow high, blow low, and so sail we!"
Shocking, really, the racket one small boy and a tiny pixie can produce. The kind thing to say would be their enthusiasm made up for their total lack of talent. It didn't. Nevertheless, their exuberance affected other members of the crew, who joined in.
I did not.
Oh, I loved music, but merfolk crafted dark enchantments with their voices. Every time I sang, I surrendered another shred of my humanity and transformed a little more into a siren. So I don't sing.
Ever.
I listened, peering through a brass spyglass designed for one-handed use. The dark silhouette of an island loomed on the horizon. My cynical heart may have even skipped a gladdened beat to see the end of our difficult journey. I calculated the distance: the boy had gotten it right.
"What's the word, Captain?" Mr. Charles Mullins, the first mate, shouted from the quarter deck where he stood at the helm. The man walked with a limp because one of his legs was longer than the other. The crew called him Charlie Cattywampus.
A hush fell over the ship as they awaited my answer. Children and pixies aside, the crew understood our peril. I drew a deep breath. "Rackham's Cay, dead ahead! We'll reach it by sundown!"
A brouhaha swept through the crew. From the main ship to the longboats and the dinghy, they celebrated with cheers and shoving. The celebration caught like a fever, to which I alone was immune. Without any warning at all, Christopher charged from behind and wrapped his arms around my waist.
The collision caught me unaware. I was thrown forward and my thighs smashed against the side of the crow's nest. I almost dropped the spyglass and an irritable snarl tore from my throat.
"Mr. Robbins, kindly unhand me!"
"Sorry, Captain!" The boy released his hold and met my glare with a wide grin. He glowed like an angel, completely covered in pixie dust. Flapping his arms like an awkward bird, he shouted, "Hey, Buzz, let's fly!"
"Mr. Robbins, contain yourself!" I lunged for the lad and missed by a hair. Christopher tumbled headlong out of the crow's nest. Heart in my throat, I clutched the rim of the basket, helpless to do anything but watch.
Buzz dove after the boy. "Wait! Remember to think happy thoughts!"
Christopher plummeted and then soared. He darted through the air over the main deck, crowing, "Woo-hoo-hoooo!!! Look at me! I can fly!"
Buzz zipped after the boy, frantically shrieking warnings: "Duck!" and "Look out for those lines!" and "You're going to hit the mast!"
"Ballyhoo! Stop being much a worry wart!" Christopher somersaulted and planted his feet against the mast, standing perpendicular to the deck. He sprinted up the spar, performing cartwheels and flips.
In short order, Mr. Robbins's antics landed him in trouble. He got into a literal tangle—hung from a ratline wrapped about his ankle. I was too tired for a proper rant. With a heavy sigh, I climbed into the rigging to cut him free.
Dangling upside down, Christopher asked, "Captain Hook, why aren't you happy about sighting Rackham's Cay? Everyone else is!"
A fierce scowl overtook me. "I am not happy, Mr. Robbins, because I know better. The gods do not love me."
Sure enough, an hour later, the lookout warned, "Sails! Sails!"
"How stands she?" I shouted from the fo'c'sle deck, coming from my rounds.
"Four ships bearing eastward off our stern."
"Ready the cannons!" I bellowed, and the gun crews, their numbers depleted because of those assigned to the tugs and the bilge pump, leapt to it.
While the crew prepared for battle, I called for a conference with Mr. Mullins, who had the wheel, and Mr. Smee. We convened on the sterncastle about the helm.
Mr. Mullins gripped the wheel tighter. "Captain, the ship's in no condition to turn and fight!"
"I've no intention of turning, Mr. Mullins. We're going to flee for all we're worth."
Now, it was a rare occasion when my cutting sarcasm met with relieved sighs, but Mr. Mullins did just that. The contrary Mr. Smee, however, wrinkled his nose, pushing his spectacles to the bulbous tip.
"Your pardon, Captain Hook?"
"Yes, Mr. Smee?"
"Do you suppose there's a chance those ships are from Rackham's Cay? They might be friendly—merchants, perhaps?"
"Mr. Smee, have you ever known merchant vessels to pursue pirates? If that's our new reality, earning our living will be a dream from here on out."
Mr. Mullins sniggered against his hand.
Smee reddened. The bo'sun had Gaelic blood running through his veins, and I've yet to meet an Irishman with the sense to quit a lost
cause. "They might be fellow pirates."
"Captain John Rackham, my former second mate, could be the commander of that fleet and I'd still choose to run. Maybe those ships mean us harm, maybe not. I'm not going to hang around to find out."
Smee gathered himself. "Aye, Captain. Permission to assist the gun crews?"
"Permission granted," I said and Smee left.
Mr. Mullins cleared his throat. "What's our heading, Captain?"
"Stay your course, Mr. Mullins."
Blood drained from Mr. Mullins face, turning him twelve shades paler. "But sir, that'll take us into the mouth of Cook Strait!!"
I stared through him. "I know that, Mr. Mullins."
Revenge limped for Rackham's Cay under full sail and with the pull of all three tugs. Despite our determined efforts, the other ships gained on us like a swift-approaching death.
The setting sun hung like a great blood orange on the western horizon when I finally identified them. The four-ship convoy flew under the black-and-gold standard of the Blackbay Emirate. Three vessels of lighter tonnage flanked the largest ship like a harem. The flagship, a 984-ton frigate, had a battery of forty-four cannons and two hundred crewmembers—more than double Revenge's capacity. We were outmanned and outgunned. Under optimal conditions, we would have enjoyed the advantage of speed and maneuverability.
Circumstances weren't optimal.
"Well," I said darkly, lowering the spyglass. "I was right—the gods do hate me."
"Why do you say that?" Buzz asked. The sprite lounged on the poop deck's balustrade.
"That behemoth is Conquest, commanded by Admiral William Kidd. The others are Frances, Madeline, and Regina, named after Kidd's mistresses."
"It doesn't sound like you and Admiral Kidd are friendly."
I snorted. "William Kidd is an obese, odious man with breath that could kill a sewage troll."
"That's horrible halitosis!"
"Quite. The first words he ever spoke to me when we met years ago were, 'Madam, you are absurdly tall for a woman!' To which I'd replied, 'And you, sir, are absurdly tall for a leprechaun.'"
Buzz giggled, and his pixie aura charged delightfully bright.
"It was downhill from there." I gazed through the spyglass again, measuring distances and performing calculations. Rackham's Cay had a fort with a full battery of guns capable of blasting the enemy fleet to smithereens. Unfortunately, the fort was located on the opposite side of South Island.
"Are we going to reach the port before they catch us?"
"No, they'll overtake us by the time we reach Cook Strait. They'd have caught us already, if they weren't setting their pace by their slowest ship."
Buzz rubbed his diaphanous wings together, chirping like a cricket. "I thought those smaller ships looked faster than the big one."
"Good observation. The ones with sharp clean lines, those are corvette-class ships, and they're fast."
"Why don't they overtake us, then? What's holding them back?"
"Ego."
"Ego?" Buzz quizzed.
"Ego. The smart decision would be to send the corvettes after us. They carry fewer cannons, but in our current condition, that hardly matters. Admiral William Kidd, however, can't have that."
"He can't?"
"No, indeed not."
"And why's that?" Buzz asked, but then he emitted a sharp cry of insight and provided his own answer. "Because of ego!"
"Among pirates, Kidd's ego is said to be so enormous it'd keep even the most waterlogged ship afloat."
"Ooohhh," Buzz said, stroking his chin. "We sure could use that right about now."
A snort darn near choked me. I coughed into my fist to clear my throat. "Kidd could never permit another captain to claim credit for the kill shot that destroyed the most notorious pirate ship to ever sail the Neverland Sea... To become renowned as the man who killed Captain Hook."
Buzz whispered, "Admiral Kidd dislikes you that much?"
"Let's put it this way. Should Kidd take me alive, I'll be keelhauled."
The pixie's aura turned ashen. "Is that where you're dragged by ropes under the hull of the ship?"
"Yes."
His cherubic face worked. "But you can't be drowned."
"Precisely," I said grimly. "I'd be ripped to shreds by the hull's barnacles."
Buzz flinched. "Why does Admiral Kidd hate you that much?"
"His brother tried to take my ship. I killed him." To stave off any further inquiries, I added, "It was war, and it was years ago, but I've heard reports that the mere mention of my name still sends him into a blind rage."
"He must be stewing in his own juices right now." Buzz cast a nervous glance toward Conquest, as though Kidd might come flying and go for our throats.
"More than likely." I savored the vision it evoked. A smug smirk twisted my lips, but then a notion smacked me. I inhaled sharply, Ah-ha echoing through my mind.
"Uh oh! I know that look! We're in trouble now!"
Mr. Smee called out, "There's Cook Strait!"
Dead ahead, a stretch of ocean passed between towering obsidian cliffs. The ocean churned dark and tumultuous there, full of whirlpools and riptides. Thirteen miles across at its widest point, it divided the North Island and South Island of Rackham's Cay. The channel was notorious for its hidden dangers: sandbanks and gravel bars riddled the passage. Many ships had tried and failed to navigate the treacherous strait, as evidenced by the sunken wrecks strewn across the rugged bottom. It was named for Jayden Cook, the first captain to conquer it.
That was a different time, another life. Yes, I knew this strait's every ebb and eddy like a lover's caress. Escape, so close, yet so frustratingly distant.
The final slivers of dying daylight streaked the western sky. The hourglass had run out. To our rear, Conquest and her harem loomed ever nearer, the flagship at the front of the convoy. The enemy vessels swarmed with activity. Maintaining distance was paramount to our survival. Between the four ships, we were vastly outnumbered. I'd sooner scuttle the ship than allow Kidd to capture her.
Conquest had a taller profile and the advantage of higher decks than Revenge. Two carronades on the frigate's fo'c'sle were aimed at our stern. Those isolated guns didn't pack even a fraction of a broadside's destructive force. We were already in range, but Kidd hadn't fired yet. From the vector of his approach, I deduced he meant to turn and fire the frigate's full starboard artillery across our aft.
Over the course of the past hour, I'd had wax earplugs distributed to every man and woman aboard Revenge, including the crews of the longboats and dinghy. The tugs and the pumps remained hard at work; the understaffed gun crews stood at ready.
Stomping steps heralded Mr. Mullins's arrival on the quarter deck. Panting heavily, he slid to a halt, a pewter mug in either hand. Foaming ale sloshed over the sides. "Captain Hook! Your ale."
"Well done." I snatched a mug from Mullins's grasp.
A stolen glance at Conquest showed she was ever closer. On the fo'c'sle deck, Admiral Kidd watched through a long glass. His stout figure, clad in the peacock-colored finery he favored, made him easy to pick out. More importantly, it meant he had a clear view of us.
Good. This show was for his benefit.
Zephyrus exhaled a warm breath laden with sea spray into my face. Revenge's sails swooshed heartily. I offered the god silent thanks. Despite everything else that'd gone wrong this voyage, the west wind had never failed me. I thrust my tankard aloft, heedless of the fizzing fluid spilling over my hand.
"Mr. Mullins, a toast!"
Mr. Mullins raised his mug. "A toast!"
Admiral Kidd's shout carried across the water. "Hook! What do you think you're doing?"
"Can't you see we're busy drinking, Kidd?" I demanded, showing him my tankard. By now, I'd managed—quite deliberately—to spill half the contents on the deck. Rotgut. I detested the swill, but sacrifices must be made.
Kidd howled my name, "Hooooook!"
Taking a deep breath, I tilted my head bac
k and downed the ale so fast it spilled across my face. I released a rude belch and tossed the tankard aside. "Kidd, I'd run you through, same as I killed your brother, but you're not worth the bother!"
Kidd flushed beet red, pressure building like a kettle. "How dare you, Hook! I'll see you hanged!"
"I propose a song!" A lump stuck in my throat, such was my loathing of singing. I forced the refrain of an old sea shanty from my throat. The first note past my lips summoned mermaid magic.
"Way-hay, up she rises!"
"Way-hay, up she rises!"
On the Blackbay fleet, the enemy had ceased their furious preparations for battle even as the ships continued to plough through the surf. Officers huddled together, no doubt speculating what we were up to, while the common sailors tapped their toes, resisting the temptation to join in...
For now.
"Way-hay, up she rises!"
An agonizing spasm ripped through my abdomen. The muscles in my gut locked, and the searing pain spread to my chest. My heart throbbed and I gasped, struggling for every breath. My transformation to a mermaid had resumed. Now that I'd begun singing, I was afraid this time I wouldn't have the strength to stop.
I pressed on and my crew joined in. "What shall we do with a drunken sailor?"
"What shall we do with a drunken sailor?"
"What shall we do with a drunken sailor?"
"Early in the morning..."
A white squall of power brought me high. The pain blossomed into pleasure, and all reluctance deserted. Everyone within hearing range succumbed to the seductive sway of the siren song, including my own people—to a lesser degree, because of the earplugs. A mermaid could enrapture men with her voice, even to the point of luring them to their deaths, but as a half-blood, I could only exert influence. Stopping cost more than I can say. It hurt, body, and soul, because a part of me craved the ascension. The song was as much a siren call to me as to the men who heard it.
But to pursue it meant forsaking my ship and crew...
No! Resistance welled from the depths of my stubborn soul and a final discordant note tore from my throat. I staggered and caught hold of the railing.
Hook: Dead to Rights (Captain Hook and the Pirates of Neverland Book 1) Page 13
