by Barry Sadler
"Off a tombstone. Now, who the hell are you?"
She was tall for a woman. Even sitting at the table her eyes were on a level with his, and her build was athletic; Casca realized with surprise that she had been the crewman he had seen leave the battle and go toward the captain's cabin. She had fought, then, alongside the men. And if he needed proof, he saw when she moved her arm the dried blood on the leather sleeve. She must be pretty good. He knew his men.
But she was also a woman. The waistcoat had the bulges in the right locations, and when she leaned over the table for the bottle, not asking him for it, but merely leaning over and taking it, he could see down the wide opening of her shirt the obvious contours of her breasts, not big cow-like boobs but the interesting kind that made one want to coddle her.
"Who are you?" she repeated. "I thought I knew all the Brotherhood captains. Are you new to the business?"
"Yes."
"You got a fucking name?"
The way she said it was... well... different. Neither the word nor the kind of explosive rat a tat tat spacing of her speech was what one might expect from a lady of quality. On the other hand the kind of impish amusement in her changeable eyes they were either gray or brown depending on the way the light hit them and the impression she gave that life was the laughing joke of a child made any tagging of her as an ordinary whore out of the question. She was simply something different.
"Name," she repeated. "You got to have your pump primed? Ain't you never seen no woman before?"
That did it. Casca grinned. He looked at her and spoke solemnly: "Methinks the laddy doth protest too much."
She threw her head back and roared with laughter, and with her head back there was a graceful sweep to her neck. A mature woman, but a young one. Maybe twenty four. Maybe twenty five. She stopped the laugh as quickly as it had begun, but the merriment was still in her eyes. "Shakespeare! Forsooth the man hath read Shakespeare! A pirate captain who quotes Shakespeare! Scarface, art thou the Bard of Avon come back to life to ride the waves 'neath the Jolly Roger? Is thy name William?"
Casca didn't know what the hell she was talking about, and the thought that maybe she was making fun of him pissed him off a little. He said sourly: "Captain Cass Long." Then to play whatever game she had started with the words: "At your service, ma'am."
Her eyes again glinted with the impish light. "And I bet your service would be fucking good, too, Captain Long. Only I do not intend to be serviced at the moment. You have missed the rutting season, Scarface."
Casca had had enough of it. "Who the hell are you, anyway? And why have you got him tied up?" He pointed toward the big giant.
"Oh, him."
"Where did you get him?"
"We fished him out of the water. Around dawn. He was hanging onto a hatch cover."
"You tie up everybody you fish out of the water?"
"I do if I remember seeing him at the Governor's Palace in Virginia. I think he's a spy for Governor Spotiswoode."
"Spy?" That had been Blackbeard's excuse for marooning him. What was going on here?
''Yes"
"And what were you doing in the Governor's Palace in Virginia?" Where was Virginia, anyway? Was that the colony just above Charles Town? Casca wasn't too sure of his geography.
"And wouldn't you like to know, Captain Cass Long or whatever your name is, Scarface.”
"He's no spy."
"How do you know?"
"He was McAdams' bodyguard."
"What? How do you know that?"
"We were on Blackbeard's ship together. Going to meet Tarleton Duncan."
"Ah!" She thought about that for a moment, then got up, went to the giant, took a dirk from the sheath at her waist, cut his ropes, and pulled the gag from his mouth. "If you know McAdams, then whatever you say is okay. But this one here... he seemed a little odd."
Casca tapped his own forehead. "Sometimes a belfry doesn't carry a full set of bells."
She looked puzzled. Then she understood. "Ah!"
Casca did not tell her he was certain that the giant only pretended to be retarded. Instead he said: "But he's an excellent fighter."
"Is he now? Then what was he doing floating on a hatch cover in the middle of the ocean?"
"I don't know. Ask him."
"I did. Without satisfaction." Suddenly her eyes narrowed and she turned back to Casca. "McAdams. Tarleton Duncan. If you were on your way with Teach to meet Tarleton Duncan, then what are you doing captaining such a ragtag and bobtail crew? And with such a miserable excuse for a ship?"
Casca grinned. He gave her own words right back to her. "And wouldn't you like to know, Katie Parnell, or whatever your name is?"
That's when the storm hit, the storm that had been brewing all day. Whatever Casca might have found out from Katie or she from him had to be put aside when the first blast of the gale force wind nearly threw the brig on her beams. Then came the thunder, lightning, torrential rains, high seas and gusting winds. They fought the storm for most of the night, the brig pitching and rolling, plowing her bow under the invincible waves, rolling so far abeam that the yardarms would have pointed at the sky had the sky been visible. And all in pitch blackness.
Less than an hour before dawn the storm suddenly ceased or they had waddled out of it as quickly as it had hit, and in the ragged gray opening torn in the sky a full moon shone. By daylight even the sea was calm, and the following day was perfect, the brig gliding gently over a blue sea touched occasionally with tiny whitecaps from a soft breeze.
And it stayed that way for days. A pirate's life? This was more like a vacation at sea or more likely an outing for women on an inland lake. Casca didn't complain. Hell, a, man took what he could get. He would ride with it. Of course, one ride he did not get. Katie Parnell could take care of herself, and though Casca felt he would eventually bed her, that pleasant state of affairs did not come to pass yet. Nor did he really learn who Katie was. He got hints. What he put together seemed to be that Katie's mother had been the mistress of some important man in the colonies somebody very high up and this man had been Katie's father. She knew a hell of a lot about government at the top level. And she apparently knew a hell of a lot about some other things, too. But what was she doing in the Brotherhood? All Casca could get out of her was the implication that, as a woman, she would never be allowed to use her talents in the respectable world, but as a pirate she could be whatever she was damn well capable of being. But whether this was the truth or not he could not tell. Katie liked to lie when it was just for the fun of it. She was certainly not your normal everyday woman.
But she was a source of information. Casca learned more about pirates and piracy talking to her than he had so far being one himself. For one thing, the business of the Brotherhood was just that – business. Almost all the pirates had connections, those that didn't didn't stay in the trade very long. Many were "silent partners" to merchants ashore. Sometimes a cargo of sugar, adroitly handled by the merchant ashore, returned more gold to the pirate than the capture of a Spanish "treasure ship." And there was connivance in high places. Governor Eden of North Carolina apparently made no bones about his associations even to the point of attending one of Blackbeard's "weddings."
It was at the mention of Blackbeard 's weddings that Katie came closest to acting like a woman or rather showing a woman's anger. Blackbeard, she said, had been married more than a dozen times fifteen, sixteen, nobody knew the exact number of times and each time to a young girl, usually in her mid-teens. What made Katie furious was the fact that on each wedding night after Blackbeard had enjoyed the girl as long as he wished, he would then call in his officers and turn the girl over to them five, six, however many it happened to be and they would use her for the rest of the night. Nice people, these pirate captains. And what did she know about Tarleton Duncan?
The expression on her face grew thoughtful, and, since she was standing with Casca at the rail of the ship, she looked out toward the far horizon. "I don't really know wh
at it is that created the whispers about Tarleton Duncan. In fact, I don't know what the whispers are, though I suspect it's because I'm a woman that nobody tells me. But there's something. Something odd..."
Casca had to leave it at that. What really got him, though, was Katie's assertion that most pirates weren't odd. Casca just happened to have known the oddest, Blackbeard. Most captains were pretty ordinary men. "Prove that," Casca challenged her.
"Well, take Stede Bonnet. Major Stede Bonnet. Just an ordinary bored man. He was living off 500 pounds a year in real estate in Barbados. On the quiet, and because he was bored, he fitted out a sloop from that island so he could become a pirate. He wasn't too competent, and even though the ship belonged to him personally, the crew put in under the command of one of his foremast men, a certain Edward Teach."
"Blackbeard?"
"Yes. Though that name came later. "
"But they still operate together."
"Oh, yes. It's a business, you see, Scarface."
"Just ordinary people."
"Just ordinary people."
But the giant he had traveled with from McAdams' compound was not "ordinary people." Or was he? It was a day or so before Casca could talk to him alone.
"What the hell were you doing in the water?"
"Accident. I was trying to steal a boat, and in the darkness I fell overboard."
"Steal a boat?"
"To come to your aid."
"Mine?"
"When Blackbeard marooned you, I thought it was because you were a spy for Woodes Rogers."
"Aye? Well, now..."
"Why did you vouch for me?"
"Shit, man, everybody to his own business."
"And you don't care that I'm–"
"In the pay of the governor of Virginia? That's your business, fellow."
"And your business?"
"What I contracted with McAdams for to get his niece. And then get my ass to the mainland."
"But you've got a ship of your own now. Why not just go to Charles Town yourself?"
"I thought of that."
"And?"
"Bastards like McAdams have a lot of connections. I might get to the mainland faster by doing his little job which should not be too hard to do."
"You think so."
Casca shrugged.
"But you're officially a pirate yourself now. If you're caught you could be hanged."
"That's true."
The giant was quiet for a moment, then he said: "You know something, Cass Long?"
"I overheard part of your conversation with the woman about which pirates were odd and which were not. The thing is, Cass Long, you're the odd one."
Casca smiled and started to respond, but at that moment he saw two of the Spanish pirates standing by the foremast engaged in what was obviously a very, very private conversation, and the smile left his face. So far there had been no trouble among the Spaniards, the Brotherhood men, the three remaining black slaves, and those of the crew of the brig who still lived. He hadn't been around men who had the potential for explosion for nothing. He knew he might be sitting on a powder keg.
And probably was...
But before he had too much time to worry about it something else happened.
"Sail ho! Two points off the starboard bow!" The lookout's voice came down clear and excited from the mast.
And Casca knew that shortly he would be in pursuit of his first prize as a pirate.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The chase was a brigantine under easy sail, flying before the wind. Casca ordered the brig about, and they went for the brigantine that continued on course, showing no sign that she feared an attack more likely, confident she could outrun them. But with only a few minutes sailing on the new tack it was obvious that Casca's ship was overtaking her. Big Jim, who was now Casca's aide as a deterrent to those of his crew who had shown any desire to heave their makeshift captain over the side, halted by Casca and eyed the brigantine shrewdly for a few moments.
"She's got good lines. If she puts on more sail she'll show us her heels."
At this point there was nothing to do but go for it, though Casca didn't like the feel of it at all. But if he didn't at least make the effort his own crew would probably haul his ass back to the island and throw him off again. Still he'd been sucked into too many ambushes not to be wary. When he put the spyglass to his eye and searched her decks, she seemed innocent enough. The helmsman was at the wheel, the master or mate on the fantail beside him, the crew at their guns. Might as well go in for the attack.
That, however, brought up some problems. As far as Casca could tell the chase was flying no flag. She might be a pirate ship like his own or she might simply be a merchantman, a coastal trader. If she were merchant, what nation? Spanish, and no one would give a damn. But English or American, and he was deliberately committing an act of piracy for which he could be hanged. And for which Katie Parnell could be hanged, too. Hell! Casca thought, how do I get myself involved in these situations?
But the biggest problem was, if he did attack, how in the hell did he go about starting the action? There were times when Casca regretted that he did not have more sea experience. He could see that they were gaining on the prize, but he wasn't sure just what to do next. Slide up beside her and board? But which side?
"Make up your mind, Scarface."
Katie had come aft and was standing beside him. "What?"
"About boarding him."
“Aye...”
"Don't know what to do, do you? Look, you're close to the wind. Board him to leeward."
"What do you know about sailing a ship?"
"A damn sight more than you do. If I hadn't had the bad luck to be born a woman, I'd be a damn better captain than Blackbeard ever will be."
Casca looked at her and grinned. Wearing the floppy high boots of Russian leather, dark blue knee britches, a man's linen shirt and a Turkish vest with a brace of pistols slung on a wide sash, a cutlass in the hanger at her hip, and wearing a burger's brimmed hat with a feather in the band, she sure as hell didn't look like any woman. More like a first mate. Or captain. And that intent face. Except for the lack of beard it could be the face of any man eager for combat.
"Well, "she said, "are you going to give the orders, or are you going to stand there and stare at me like some tongue tied schoolboy?"
When he didn't answer immediately, she bellowed, "Port your helm two points! All borders! Standing by to board to leeward! Gunners! Prime your fucking guns!" She gave Casca a sweet smile, then added, "Captain's orders! And lively, lads, lively. Or the captain will have your stinking guts for garters!"
A nudge at his elbow brought him around to see Julio standing beside him, a painful expression on his face. It wasn't caused by his wound, which was healing nicely, but by the usurption of his place as Casca's advisor in matters of the sea. It was plain to see he was a bit jealous of the defiant, vulgar bitch who stood by Casca's side and shouted orders in his name. Casca gave Julio a brisk hug, careful not to further damage his wound and whispered in his ear, "Don't worry, you know how women are. She's just showing off. You take a place aft till we get ready to board. And don't cross over with the first group; you're still going to be a bit stiff for any brisk sword play. Now go on." Julio did as he was bade, still a bit miffed but feeling better.
Katie stuck her tongue out at him and turned back to the business at hand. Casca had to admit she was a hell of a lot better at it than he was. He should have been pissed off, but instead he was just amused. It was impossible to get mad at Katie. Grinning, he said, just loud enough for her to hear, "If diddling your ass is as much fun as listening to you, I've got something to look forward to."
"You've got something to look forward to, all right, Scarface, but it ain't boorading my ass. I decide who I bundle and who I don't, and your name ain't on the list right now."
“So–''
"Dammit, Scarface, you're in pistol range! Ease off a point or you'll be raked by his waurter swivel
before any of our guns can be brought to bear!"
She was right. He gave the order to the helmsman.
"Now come up with him, but edge away a little round aft." The helmsman didn't wait for Casca to relay the command; he knew who was giving the orders.
Casca didn't care as long as she was right. "You just do as you please, madam."
He was being sarcastic, but she took him literally or at least pretended that she did. "All right, now. Come close upon his lee quarter close enough so that your cathead almost touches him. You do know what a cathead is, don't you? Those large timbers projecting out of the side of the ship forward where your anchor is secured. Or, if you're still the bleedin' farm boy I think you are, the part of the ship that looks like the horns of a cow." Now she was grinning.
Damn, but he liked her style. "Let's get this fighting over with so we can start."
"Look out! You'll go too far ahead! Haul your sheets well aft! Put your helm hard a lee! Let the head sheets fly!"
Damn! The woman was a real sailor. Casca gave the orders. They were executed, and the brig shivered her sails and closed the prize side by side. "Gunners! Fire!" Casca ordered, this time without any coaching from Katie.
"Hell!" she said to him. "I figured you knew about guns and–" The rest was drowned in the thunder of their broadside, grapeshot at point blank range sweeping the deck of the prize.
"Grapnels!" Casca ordered.
A moment later, in the dense black smoke from the guns, the two ships came together. The grapnels were thrown, the two hulls lashed.
"Boarders!" Casca ordered, and, cutlass in hand, leaped for the other deck, Katie beside him, her own cutlass at the ready. Both teetering on the gunwale at the same time, momentarily halting.
"There's something wrong, Scarface," she muttered. "Why didn't he fire on us?"
There wasn't time for him to answer. He jumped aboard the prize, Katie Parnell matching him step for step, and for the first time in his life Casca Rufio Longinus felt the odd pleasure of going into battle with a woman he trusted...
