The Pirate's Booty (The Plundered Chronicles Book 1)

by Alex Westmore

  “Anything else, sir?”

  Grace leaned back. “I wanted ya ta be the first ta know. We’re heading straight ta Portugal. No stops. No plunder. We’re goin’ after yer friend... ”

  “Shea.”

  “Aye. Shea. We’re cuttin’ a fine path. I want ya ta be ready, and make sure ya keep Big Red with ya when we land.” Grace held her hand up. “It’s not a request.”

  Quinn studied her a moment and then started for the door. “Thank you, Captain. I’ll carry him on my back if that means finding Shea.”

  Grace scooped up the coins. “I thought as much. Ya got a good heart, Callaghan. I am only sorry it can’t love the woman it wants.”

  “You and me both, sir. You and me both.”

  ***

  It turned out finding Drake would take longer than Captain O’Malley had originally planned, especially since she was making a beeline for the continent. Still, in the pre-dawn morning, two ships approached from the west. Sitting high on the water, they made a run at the Malendroke hard and fast.

  “Fuckers. It’s the Spanish,” Grace said, lowering the telescope and handing it to Innis. “Those sons a’ bitches think the two a’ them can route us? Pfft.”

  “Captain?” Innis stared through the scope with his right eye since one half of his face was still swollen and bruised a deep purple. “They are empty.”

  Grace looked out at the approaching ships. “I know. We can’t outrun them. We’re going ta have ta fight.”

  “Against two galleons, sir?”

  Grace paced the deck. “Swing her about!” To Innis, she said, “We’re going after the smaller ship. Dump three-fourths a’ our men on it. Keep enough on the Mal ta make a run fer it.”

  “Sir? Ya are gonna outrun an empty Spanish ship?”

  Grace turned to him. “I can always replace this ship. Good, loyal men are harder ta come by, so yes. If we can secure the smaller ship, the galleon will have ta choose ta either follow after me or regain their lost ship. Get the men ready.”

  “Aye, captain.” Innis took off and rang the bell.

  “Callaghan!” Grace yelled.

  Quinn was at Grace’s side in an instant. “Sir?”

  “I want ya ta lead the men against the smaller ship.”

  Quinn stared at her. “Lead. The. Men? Me? Oh sir, I don’t think––”

  Grace held her hand up. “Not yer job ta think, man. The men will follow ya. Ya’ve proved yer worth. I need someone these wankers will listen ta. Yer a good decision-maker. And besides, I wasn’t askin’.” Captain O’Malley turned and barked more orders before returning her attention to Quinn. “Take the Firsts and Seconds aboard. Head northeast. No matter what ya see behind ya, do not engage. Do not come back. Do not play hero. Ya are responsible fer the safety a’ my crew. Ta that end, nothin’ else matters. Nothin’. Else.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m responsible fer the safety a’ this ship. Enna more questions?”

  Quinn swallowed hard. “No, sir.”

  “Then why are ya still standin’ here? Go. I’ll meet up with ya at the docks in Oporto.”

  “Oporto. Yes, sir.” Collecting herself, Quinn checked her weapons, threw her shoulders back and began issuing orders as the ship swung about and cut through the water toward the smaller Spanish galleon.

  The men hesitated only a moment until Captain O’Malley yelled that Quinn was in charge.

  Innis blinked. “Sir?”

  “I need ya ta run this ship, Innis. Callaghan can save our men, but I need ya ta save our home.”

  Innis stood taller. “Aye, captain.”

  As Quinn and her men waited for the Malendroke to draw nearer to the smaller ship, she turned to Connor. “Why don’t we use the ship ta attack the galleon?”

  Connor sighed. “She doesn’t think we can take ’em, or ya better believe we’d be goin’ after them full bore.”

  Quinn frowned at him. “Do ya?”

  “Ya can’t get ennawhere second-guessin’ the captain. If she wants us ta run, we run. It’s as simple as––”

  The cannons on the larger ship fired but came too late, the balls landing just shy of the port side of the Malendroke.

  “Ready ta board, men!” Quinn yelled in her loudest man-voice. “Fight back ta back, short swings, and stay together!”

  “Leave no one alive,” Captain O’Malley commanded.

  Connor and Quinn turned to her. “Not even oarsmen?”

  “Not even.”

  When the Malendroke was close enough, Quinn turned to her men. What had she gotten herself into? It was one thing to be a crewmember taking orders from a great captain––it was another thing altogether to be the one responsible for so many lives.

  Suddenly, her respect for Captain O’Malley doubled.

  “Yer not alone, laddie,” Tavish whispered from behind. “And the moment ya act like ya are is when ya will start makin’ mistakes. Ya can do this. They believe in ya.”

  Quinn stared at him. “You’re putting your life on the line for someone you don’t even know.”

  Tavish laughed. “Don’t kid yerself, laddie. I’m puttin’ me life on the line fer gold. That’s me mistress. Now, are ya gonna make the call or what?”

  Quinn threw her shoulders back, withdrew her sword, and held it high in the air. “Fer Clan O’Malley!”

  With that, dozens of crewmembers cried out as they boarded the smaller galleon and embraced their foe in a deadly dance both sides knew they had to win.

  Quinn landed on the deck with far more grace than the Firsts, who came out swinging, drawing first blood.

  Second blood.

  Third blood.

  The Spaniards fell to the deck so quickly, Quinn knew something was wrong.

  It was too easy. These pirates fought not at all like men who knew how to swing a sword. These men were not, in fact, pirates at all.

  At all.

  “Hold yer ground!” Quinn ordered. “These are shills! Phonies! Stop fighting!”

  The men hesitated.

  Connor stepped next to her. “Do as Callaghan says. These men are not fighters.”

  Holding their prey at bay, the crew ceased their killing.

  “Connor, ya and four others guard the hold opening. Be prepared fer the real ship’s fighters ta come from below. Do not doubt me on this, Connor. We’ll not kill men who cannot fight back.”

  “Aye,” Connor nodded, before taking six men with him to the entrance to the hold.

  Unfortunately for the men of the small galleon, they continued to fight even though it was evident they had no chance of winning.

  As Quinn’s long sword reverberated against the Spanish steel of a man who rushed at her, she drove her short sword into the neck of her adversary before heaving him overboard.

  Looking up from the fight, she watched as Grace deftly maneuvered the Malendroke between the two Spanish ships, catching full wind in her sails.

  “Callaghan!” Connor yelled.

  Too late, Quinn felt the bite of a blade as it cut through her upper arm. As she wheeled around to defend herself, she watched as the short sword of her attacker came down on her. Catching the sword in an “X” made by holding her swords together, Quinn prevented the blade from tasting her blood a second time. With the sword caught, Quinn shoved the Spaniard away, where he landed on Murphy’s sword.

  “Murph?”

  The behemoth grinned. “No one ta feed if ya are all kilt.” Pulling his sword out, he half-turned and embedded the still dripping metal into another man.

  Whatever this ship carried was being defended by the real fighters waiting for them in the hold. Quinn’s assessment was realized when the doors flung open and the surprised attackers looked stunned at Connor and his men waiting like buzzards on a branch.

  Caught off guard, the Spaniards in the doorway were cut down quickly and easily, and in no time, Quinn’s men were able to gain control of the ship.

  “Go! Go! Go!” yelled Innis to them from the b
ow of the Malendroke as a cannonball tore through the deck of the other ship.

  Without waiting, Connor and the Firsts brought the galleon about and moved swiftly away from the Malendroke and toward the continent and the country of Portugal.

  “Die where ya stand!” Connor yelled at the black oarsmen chained to their seats.

  “That’s enough, Connor,” Quinn ordered, sheathing her sword before kneeling to the black men chained to the oarsman seats. “Get us ta Oporto without bloodshed and I will set ya free. Otherwise ya will all die here and now. Those are yer only choices.”

  Connor sidled up to Quinn. “Callaghan, the captain said––”

  “I know what she said, Connor, but these slaves are not our enemy, and we need the manpower ta get this ta Portugal. I will not kill unarmed men.”

  Connor opened his mouth, but Fitz stepped next to Quinn and said, “Callaghan’s captain a’ this ship now, mate. If he says they live, they live.”

  Tavish stood on the other side and folded his massive arms across his barrel chest. “Enna questions?”

  Connor looked from Quinn to Tavish to Fitz and back to Quinn before whirling around and barking orders to the men from the Malendroke. Some began tossing the bodies of the dead Spanish over the sides, while others started collecting weapons and stockpiling them. Still others checked the rigging, while the remainder secured the ship by running the wounded through before adding them to the sea.

  The oarsmen did nothing.

  Fitz turned to Quinn. “Nice sentiment, Callaghan, but them slavers doona speak our language.”

  “One of them must.”

  Fitz shook his head. “Highly doubt it.”

  Quinn looked at the slaves as they sat looking at each other. “Unlock them.”

  Fitz blinked. “What was that?”

  “Unlock them.”

  “Callaghan––”

  “What are they goin’ ta do? Stab us with their fists? Look at them. They appear ta be starving. They are unarmed. I said unlock them.” Then she turned to Murphy. “I want these men fed. See what ya can pull together ta feed them below.”

  Murphy nodded once and took off.

  Fitz glanced over at Connor, who shrugged before searching for the keys.

  Tavish cocked his head at her in question. “Interestin’ move on yer part, laddie. Ya keep surprisin’ me at everra turn.”

  “I need them ta know they’ve not traded one master fer another.”

  When Fitz returned with the keys, he began unlocking the shackles of the stunned and suspicious slaves. Quinn looked around until she saw the Malendroke’s drummer, a tall man named Will whose primary job was to set the pace for the oarsmen by playing his drum.

  “When they are seated and understand what is going on, I need ya ta pick up the pace,” she said to Will. “We need ta get out of cannon range.”

  Will nodded.

  Quinn stepped down into the galley with the slaves. “The faster we go, the sooner ya are free. Free. Does ennaone understand what I am saying? Ennaone at all? We are not yer enemy.” She waited, scanning their faces for any sign of comprehension.

  One thin, lighter-skinned slave met her eyes, as if searching for something. Seeming to like what he found, he finally said something in his native tongue to several others, all of whom sat back down in their seats and grabbed their oars.

  One by one, each row of oarsmen gripped their oars and began the faster pace of rowing which, coupled now with the tall billowing sails, pushed them quickly away from Grace O’Malley’s ship.

  “I hope ya know what yer doin’,” Fitz whispered, leaning into Quinn.

  Quinn watched sadly while the Malendroke’s aft deck absorbed another blow as it fled from the larger galleon.

  “Now we wait and see,” Tavish said, turning to face the two ships. “Yer captain better hope she is right, because we canna outrun that ship, no matter how fast these slaves row.”

  The crew watched and waited to see what the Spanish ship was going to do. Follow? Or attack Grace and the Malendroke?

  One moment.

  Two.

  Three.

  The anticipation was tense and palpable as they waited.

  “She’s taken several hits,” Quinn said to no one in particular.

  “Yeah, but that’s Captain Grace O’Malley, and that captain knows what she’s doin’.”

  Another cannon went off.

  “It’s taking chase, just like she hoped.”

  As the Malendroke slowly moved away from the galleon, Quinn couldn’t help but wonder if Captain O’Malley had just saved most of her crew in one final, sacrificial act.

  ***

  Oporto, Portugal, looked lush and beautiful from the deck of the galleon. The slaves had needed no additional prodding to keep their oars slicing through the water, getting Quinn’s crew there much sooner than she’d anticipated. The powerful rowers seemed to listen to the lighter-skinned man, who spoke to them all every now and again in a language more foreign to Quinn than anything she’d ever heard.

  The minimal cargo in the galleon consisted of some fruit, wine, olive oil, and several chests of coins, none bearing the Medusa image Quinn kept looking out for. The slaves eagerly devoured the fruit.

  “The Spanish must have just begun their plundering. That’s why she’s setting so high,” Quinn noted.

  “Captain’ll like the coin,” Connor said softly. “But she’ll be none too happy wi’ ya disobeyin’ her.”

  “That’s a chance I have ta take, Connor. We needed the oarsmen if we were gonna get away fast enough, and I won’t kill men who are neither our enemy nor a threat ta us.”

  “That wasn’t yer decision ta make. She told ya what ta do. Ya disobeyed her. That, my friend, is never a good idea.”

  Quinn turned to him. “I’m afraid it was my decision ta make, and ya’d best keep those opinions ta yerself while I am in charge. I’m sure yer not happy that she chose me, but she did, and that’s that. Ya undermine me in enna way and this won’t go well fer ya.”

  “Because ya will sic yer Scotsman on me?”

  Quinn butted him with her chest. These were the first harsh words they had ever had with each other, but she was not going to be disloyal to Tavish, not even for Connor. “I don’t need the Scotsman, Connor. If ya want ta challenge me fer this ship, then by all means, give it a go.” Quinn put her shoulders back and steeled herself for his reply.

  Connor glared at her a moment before shaking his head and starting back up top. “Ya can fight me, Callaghan, but win or lose, yer gonna have ta deal with the captain.”

  Quinn followed him back up to the deck, knowing how true that was.

  “Ennathing yet?” she asked Fitz, whom she’d given the telescope to in order to watch for the Malendroke.

  “Nothing. Them slaves put their backs into it, that’s fer sure. We made decent enough time.”

  “Take a rest, Fitz. Murphy can watch fer a bit.”

  Quinn strode across the deck to find Tavish offering water to the slaves. She stood there a moment, watching him as he kindly held the water jug to the full lips of their captives.

  Captives.

  Quinn suddenly felt like she was well over her head, and she wasn’t at all sure what to do once they entered the port of Oporto. Now she was responsible not only for the crew of the Malendroke but for the lives of the slaves as well, and she had absolutely no idea what that meant.

  As he held the bag up to the lips of a slave, Tavish turned to her. “Yer doin’ the right thing, laddie. We’re no slavers. These poor folks deserve ta be set free.”

  Quinn knelt down and studied the resting slaves. “What would Captain O’Malley do?”

  Tavish shrugged. “Ya ken her better than most, I imagine, but she did tell ya ta kill everraone on board.”

  “I couldn’t do it.”

  “Och, aye, and fer that I am glad. Running an attacker clean through is one thing, but killing a man because someone told ya ta? Well now, that leaves a scar on
yer soul.”

  Quinn exhaled loudly. “Thank you for that, Tavish. I intend on setting them free.”

  “But not in Portugal, aye?”

  Quinn shook her head. “No. Not there. They will only be rounded up again. The Portuguese are good at two things: fishing for fish and fishing for dark-skinned men. I’ll not give them the chance to do the latter to these men.”

  “What, then?”

  Quinn looked around. “We can take them ta Morocco. Let them––”

  “Whoa. Ya need ta rethink this, laddie. Yer responsibility is ta yer men, not these slaves. Perhaps we release them ta another ship?”

  “I can’t do that, Tavish.”

  “Stop right there, mate,” Connor demanded from behind, causing Tavish and Quinn to draw their swords as they whirled around.

  The light-skinned oarsman had stood up. He wasn’t moving. He was just standing there as if listening to their conversation.

  “Easy, Connor. He’s probably just stretching his legs.” Quinn pushed her sword back in. “I’m sure he meant no––”

  “Ya can’t trust these folks, Callaghan. They’re unpredictable, like animals.” Connor rubbed his stubbled beard with his free hand.

  Slowly, the slave turned toward Connor and growled, showing his teeth before tossing his head back and laughing.

  “What the––” Connor started for his sword.

  Quinn held her hand up. “Put yer weapon away, Connor. Where’s he going ta go?” She moved closer to the man, who returned her gaze without hostility. “Ya called the man an animal. I’d be a bit angry if I were him as well.”

  The slave was shirtless, showing no excess fat on a belly that looked like the skin was stretched tightly over it. His eyes, like his skin, were light brown. Nothing about him was anything like the others. Even the way he held himself was different.

  Stepping closer, Quinn locked eyes with the oarsman.

  Yes.

  He had understood the conversation, of that she was sure. They stared at each other a moment before he slowly sat back down.

  Quinn dismissed Connor and Tavish, who were not happy to leave her alone with the slaves.

  “I’ll be stayin’ right with ya, Callaghan,” Tavish insisted. Quinn rolled her eyes and did her best to ignore him.