Never Surrender (Uncharted Secrets, Book 4): Endless Horizon Pirate Stories

by Cristi Taijeron

  “Her? Who?” I asked, but before responding he stomped off to take his stand at the quarterdeck.

  Contrary to his strange reaction to the ship beckoning on the horizon, the power of his speech was solid and convincing. I still couldn’t quite understand exactly what he was saying, but I was moved by his intensity nonetheless. The saucy rumble of his gritty voice helped to inspire my interest in the prospect of taking the ship he called Ysabel, but the way his eyes reflected the image of her Spanish flag alarmed me. The men hooted and roared in excitement as he rallied them about, but I could tell Captain Cardozo was after more than the goods in Ysabel’s hold.

  Jumping to their quarters, each man prepared their weapons as well as the ship. While we sprinkled sand across the decks to give us traction and to soak up any possible blood that might be shed, the sailors clapped on more sail, increasing our speed so greatly I had to brace myself as she came about. Jutting off of a wave like the porpoises I’d often seen swimming beside her, Beleza dipped down quick enough to knock me off balance. Holding on to the gunnel to keep myself from falling, I realized I had not yet seen her go so fast. The weather gauge was hot on our lee, forcing us towards our prize so swiftly it seemed the winds and tides were in favor of us eating her whole.

  Once again, the men who were normally lazy and drunk, transformed into mighty warriors, chanting and growling like wrathful beasts as they drew up on Ysabel’s wake. The height of their excitement fed my own, and the sight of our captain pushing the helmsmen out of his way to take dominion of his mistress, reminded me we were in good hands.

  For a brief pause in time, I watched him.

  During these chases, Captain Cardozo had a dangerous way of reminding me that I was indeed a woman on this pirate ship. The flame in his eyes expanded to a full-blown wildfire, extending from his being and spreading across the deck on the winds of the orders he fired at his men, heating my feminine senses with the flame. Watching his black hair whip in the wind as he flailed his arms around, and observing the way Beleza moved under his reign of her, left me wondering what it would be like under the heat of his body in bed.

  Knowing how stupid it was to think of such things at a time like this, I continued in my work alongside my fellow sailors—hooting and growling just like they were.

  With the deck prepped and ready for war, I took a moment to ready the pistols Cardozo had taught me to shoot. Haunted by the dastardly hunger blazing in his gaze, I figured I might finally end up using them for defense. When Ysabel responded to our warning shot with a fire of her own, I was sure of it. Ysabel was not going to surrender. Cardozo shouted for the men to ready the guns. He wouldn’t stand down either. This would be war.

  Coming alongside the merchantman—where the Spaniards had already begun blasting us with their musket balls—Cardozo ordered us to give it right back. Lowering behind the breastwork to take cover, we opened fire. The volley of gunshots raged across the deck as we came broadside, dropping our men like worthless flies. After watching the man next to me hit the deck like a sack of sugar, I felt a horrendous burn in my arm. It had been grazed by a bullet! Shit. For a brief moment I stared blankly at the blood coating my sleeve. The sound of Cardozo’s order to blast off the chain shot snapped me out of my woeful trance. There was no time for pain.

  “Fire!” he roared with the same intensity of a great gun, but the sound of all six guns igniting at once was like nothing I’d ever heard. Beleza rumbled wrathfully as the fire burst from the guns. But the successful sound of Ysabel’s rigging being torn apart by the chain linked balls, was crushed by her subsequent blow to Beleza’s hull.

  Time seemed to slow as the explosion ignited. Remembering the way Midnight explained the destruction of the mighty iron beasts, my heart rate picked up at a dangerous pace. I wanted to run. There was nowhere to hide. Then it hit. Pieces of our ship and our men flew into the air around me. I nearly screeched like a woman as a splintered timber projected into my calf. By powers beyond me, I was able to contain my cries as I ripped it out of my skin. But when I saw that one of my fellow Englishmen had been split in two by the perilous blast, I was unable to resist the heave of vomit that expelled from my gut.

  Blast after blast, the two ships raked each other from bow to stern until I was certain there’d be nothing of either of us left. Ears ringing, body burning, choking on smoke, I thought I’d entered the pits of Hell, but no, no, this was only the gates.

  The feel of a massive hand wrapping around my arm was quickly followed by a brash tug to my feet. Cardozo was pulling me towards the gunnel. “Board her!” he wailed, waving his cutlass with his free hand.

  Pedro’s men had already braced our collapsing ship to the strong standing hull of our prey with grappling hooks. While they tugged her close to our rim, the brave few from our crew began leaping across the gap.

  “Vai, Vai, Vai!” Cardozo’s monstrous voice rang out over the terrifying sounds of bullets whizzing through the air. The feel of him shoving me into action hit me as hard as the shot that grazed my arm.

  This was it. No turning back. Making the leap, I landed sloppily on the enemy deck—which was indeed the very pit of Hell. Rising as swiftly as I could, I brandished my dagger. It was hard to tell who was who through the blinding cloud of smoke, but assuming they all wanted to kill me, I stabbed at anyone who bumped into me. Dodging the foreboding shadows, my sense of smell was annihilated by the metallic stench of blood, and my ears were engulfed with the grueling sounds of skulls being bashed in and flesh being torn apart.

  Slipping on some kind of mush, I fell to my knees. There, below the rising cloud of smoke, I saw Cardozo. Viciously waving his heavy cutlass like it was feather light, he easily slashed through a group of men. As they fell around him, I saw another heading in his direction. Towards his back. The man had a dagger. So did I. Hopping to my feet, I cocked back like Jackson had taught me and tossed the knife just as swiftly as I did at the targets he trained me with. The solid piece of steel stabbed into the running man’s back, quickly dropping him to his belly. Seeing him fall, Cardozo ran his blade through his back, halting him for good.

  Before I had to fight anyone myself, a Spaniard blew a horn. The world fell silent around me. Only the groans of the injured and the lapping tide remained. The rising of their white flag signified that they’d had enough. Which was good, because so had I.

  In the stillness, I looked for Cardozo. He was by the main mast. His coat sleeve was torn, his eye was swollen, and what I could see of his white shirt was covered in red blood. The battle may have tamed, but the fire in his eyes remained. Pointing his bloodied sword at the Spaniards, he roared, “¿Donde está Rodrigo?”

  Rodrigo? Who the hell was Rodrigo?

  One of the Spaniards fired back with a haughty rebuttal. Wishing more than ever that I could understand their language as they argued, I readied my pistol, sweating with fear.

  Apparently, the man wasn’t giving Cardozo the answers he was seeking. My captain grabbed the Spaniard by the collar, spun him around in his grip, and held his gun to his head. “Digame ahora o te mato!” he roared, shoving the gun into the man’s temple.

  “No! Nunca!” the man shouted.

  Cardozo pulled the trigger.

  With the man’s brains splattered all over his face, Cardozo threw his dead body to the deck and started pushing through all the men. Grabbing them by their collars, he shouted in their faces—spit flying from his mouth as he wailed.

  It seemed the rest of our crew was just as stunned as I was by our captain’s unexpected outrage. But taking note of their shock, I shook off my discomfort and took charge.

  “Pedro,” I called to the quartermaster. Still unable to speak a word in their tongue, I waved my pistol around gesturing for him to continue stripping the surrendered of their weapons.

  Snapping out of his worrisome trance, Pedro regained command.

  Feeling better about our reign of power on this cursed Ysabel, I treaded lightly behind Cardozo.

 
Just as I caught up to him, it seemed he found the man he was looking for. “Rodrigo,” he hissed, voice seething with painful hatred.

  “Capitán Don Diego y Rodrigo.” The man boldly stated his ridiculously long title. “¿Quien diablo es tú?”

  I wasn’t sure about the words he spoke, but from his expression, it seemed Rodrigo had no clue who Miguel Cardozo was, and that caused Cardozo to pause.

  They stared at each other hatefully. Between their disdainful gazes, I heard my heart beating loudly in my ears. What the hell would happen next? Would they draw swords? Would they fire pistols? Did Rodrigo still have weapons on his person? If a fight broke out would we let them duel or would we intervene?

  More unsure about what to do than I’d ever been about anything, I held tight to my pistol as I waited in suspense.

  Cardozo pulled his sword. “Me lleve a los esclavos.”

  Rodrigo began spitting some defiant words. Cardozo leapt across the gap between them and grabbed Rodrigo by the throat.

  Pedro and I held off any of the men who wished to stand up for their captain. As the two shoved passed us, Pedro pointed at me to follow. I did.

  Rodrigo spit and cursed all the way to the hold, but Cardozo said not a word as he shoved him along.

  As if the fear in my heart was not sickening enough, the vile stench of sweat and human excrement filling the room, made me want to vomit. And the sight of the thin, beaten men, who I knew had been kept as galley slaves, caused the bile to erupt from my churning gut. Hands on my knees, I heaved and heaved like an idiot, my pile of vomit adding to the terrible smells of the godforsaken area.

  With nothing left to expel, I forced myself upright. Through my watery eyes, I saw Cardozo aiming his gun at Rodrigo. He pointed at the slave chains and demanded, “Liberalos. Lo hará.”

  He wanted Rodrigo to unchain them.

  “No es que no.” Rodrigo defied his orders.

  Cardozo bashed him across the face with his pistol.

  Rodrigo, as proud as could be, continued to argue.

  Cardozo lost his mind.

  Shoving Rodrigo to the deck, he began pummeling him with his fists. Hit after hit he bashed on his face, unleashing shouts of pain and anguish as he did so. The entire time, Rodrigo fought back, cursing without regret, but his defense was helpless against the mighty fists of Cardozo’s revenge.

  This dreadfully emotional act of violence continued until Rodrigo could no longer fight back. Watching Cardozo stand up, I thought it was over. I wanted so badly for it to be over. But the half-conscious Rodrigo muttered an insult that caused Cardozo’s eye to twitch. Growling like a beast, Cardozo grabbed a boarding axe, chopped a slave chain loose, and proceeded to beat the hell out of Rodrigo with it. I turned away as he assaulted him with the heavy chain, but there was no escaping the gruesome sound of the heavy metal links tearing through the man’s flesh, battering his bones, and making mush of his organs.

  I hid my face until the room fell silent.

  Not wanting to look at the bloody pulp that once was a man, I turned to face Cardozo, fixing my gaze on him and him alone. His face was so covered in blood I hardly recognized him. The harsh way he was breathing made him seem more animal than man. As he stared at the bloody mess covering the floor, the blank expression on his face made me wonder if I had ever known him at all.

  After what seemed like an eternity had passed, Cardozo turned to face the slaves—who had been frozen stiff with fear like I was. Over the tormenting silence, he greeted them with the words I would never forget. “Like me, you now are free.”

  Chapter 10

  Silenced by Revenge

  Waking from a terrible nightmare where I was surrounded by death, drenched in blood, and weighted down by heavy, heavy chains, I shot up in my hammock. Inhaling a startled gasp of air, I ended up choking on the rancid odor filling the place. Good Lord, these snoring hogs smelled awful. Sniffing my own armpit I realized I was an equal offender of the stench. As soon as we get to Portugal I shall find a way to take a hot bath, I thought, as I lay back down. But there was no rest to be found. The gunshot wound on my arm ached and burned, and though the doctor had stitched me up well enough, there were still splinters of wood lodged in my leg.

  Coming to terms with the fact that sleep was not mine for the taking, I hopped out of my hammock, grabbed a bottle of rum, and headed for the deck. Perhaps a breath of fresh air would do me good.

  In the dark of the night I made my way to the moonlit deck.

  After letting the watchman know what I was up to, I took a seat near the starboard gunnel where the moon shone brightest. What a beautiful night it was. The crisp air was chilly, but the wind was light. Bundled up in my battered red coat, I leaned back and enjoyed the view. In the mystic blue glow the timbers looked clean and even, the rigging lines made for a lovely black web over the light blue sky, and the neatly furled sails seemed extraordinarily white. The reflection of the moon streamed unbroken across the ever moving face of the sea, and the stars in the distance flickered like little pixies lighting the night.

  While staring into the endless horizon, I thought about the way I used to compare my mother to the moonlight on the bay. Like this scene before me, she gave just enough light to entice the imagination without showing anything for what it truly was. The moon itself reminded me of her lovely face, and the luminescent glow was like her white-blonde hair, but most importantly, the darkness surrounding the entire scene resembled the cloak she shielded her secrets with.

  Ah, Midnight, the mysterious artist of the sea. I thought of her daily. For had it not been for the things she had taught me, I’d never have survived this long. But tonight, in the silence, I thought of Hannah. The woman who sang to me when I was a babe and told me stories as a child. Remembering how pleasant it was resting in her embrace, feeling the vibration of her lovely voice as she soothed my soul with her enchanting melodies, my heart began to ache. Those days seemed so long ago, yet remained so clear in my heart. Where was she now? What was she doing?

  I missed her so deeply my eyes began to water, which led me to think back on all the times my father, Thomas, had dried my tears. Imagining his handsome face so close to mine as he told me everything was going to be all right, hot tears began streaming down my cold cheeks. I missed him so much, and I knew where he was. How in the world did he feel about my disappearance? Oh, he had to be crushed. Hell, I ached and wept over the loss of my child and had never even held him. Thinking of that child now, lying all alone under the dirt, a painful chill shot down my spine.

  Oh, bother. I would have been better off in that stupid hammock, wrestling those dreadful nightmares amidst the horrendous smell of those gangly men. Just as I decided to get up and go back to where I wouldn’t be so alone, I heard footsteps heading in my direction. Quickly wiping my wet cheeks, I turned towards the approaching man with my hand tight on my dagger.

  Glad to see it was Cardozo, I exhaled in relief, “Oh, it’s you. What are you doing out here?”

  “Ah, I couldn’t sleep and figured the moon would keep me better company than my nightmares.” He rested his hands on the gunnel and stared across the moonlit sea. “Have you seen any mermaids out there tonight?”

  “Not yet, but I hear they like full moons.” I smiled, happy to have someone to talk to.

  “As do I.” He looked up at the beaming white orb.

  Finding myself all too fond of the way he looked in the moonlight, I quickly turned away from him and started plucking at the splinters in my shin to look busy.

  Sitting beside me, he said, “Me and my brother, Antao, we used to be fishermen, and we would spend our full moon nights in search of mermaids and dragons.” Shaking his head, he laughed. “It is odd how memories of better days can become as bitter as nightmares.”

  Remembering how shitten I felt while reminiscing about my long lost better days, I let out a slow exhale. “I know how you feel. But, I keep telling myself my best days are yet to come.”

  He huffed. “
The way the men are talking, I think it’s all downhill for me, now.”

  Though the plunder taken was plenty—cocoa, tobacco, fabrics, sugar, and enough coin to keep the purser busy dividing it up until we arrived in Lisbon—I don’t think a man among them found it worth the loss of life and damage to the ship, to earn it. Cardozo’s captaincy was already in jeopardy, and by the sound of things, it seemed the thin ice upholding his power had finally cracked. But I hadn’t lost hope. “I know that raid was hard on us all, and I can see why they are upset, but they would be foolish to rid themselves of the skills and talents you offer them. I’m sure you can change their minds. Perhaps if you explain to them the heartfelt cause behind your actions…”

  He shook his head. “The cause behind my actions is the reason they’re angry, Rory. It was my own selfish hunt that cost the life of many good men—including a great deal of the Englishmen who upheld our favor in the votes. There is nothing left to do now but wait to see how the bitter majority wishes to punish me.”

  Devastated by his loss of hope, my heart sank like an anchor, pulling my jaw agape as it fell. As I stared at him blankly, he stood up and patted me on the back. “Thank you for being a friend along the way, mate.”

  Watching him walk away, I realized how much I counted on him. He had taught me so much and been a good friend. I respected him greatly and, well, my whole future depended on him.

  With that thought I realized something else. His downtrodden mood had nothing to do with pirate politics or his place in the world; his future had depended on that selfish hunt he risked all of our lives for.

  Just before he was out of sight, I asked, “Do you think you will ever find what you are looking for?”

  Stopping in his tracks, he lowered his head. “No. I never will.”

  My heart fell as dark as the shadow he disappeared into. Feeling more alone than ever, I shivered in the night air that had become too cold to bear. Standing up—aching all over as I did so—I shook my head. Just like me, Miguel Cardozo had a tormented soul. And the same way my nightmares would not be eased by freedom, it seemed his ghosts would not be silenced by revenge.