Blackbeard's Revenge (Voyages Of Queen Anne's Revenge Book 2)

by Jeremy McLean

  BLACKBEARD'S REVENGE

  Book 2 of:

  THE VOYAGES OF QUEEN ANNE'S REVENGE

  Jeremy McLean

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without written permission from the author of this novel.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental… Or is it?

  Copyright © 2015 Jeremy McLean

  All rights reserved.

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  Prologue

  The sun sent a gift of heat and light down in waves upon the open sea. Storm clouds advancing from the east, and the growing winds, were the only reprieve from the scorching.

  "Cap'n, there be a storm brewin'," the helmsman said over his shoulder.

  A tall, well-built man sauntered up beside the helmsman, a distinctive snap sounding as he thrust his one wooden leg to the lumber of the ship. A pipe was in his mouth and he blew great puffs of smoke into the air, carried off by the rising winds. His dark, grungy, salt-and-pepper hair was held in by a tricorn hat and covered his wrinkled, piercing eyes. The hair did not cloud his vision as he peered at the clouds. The man let the sea air into his nostrils with an almost animal ferocity.

  "Aye, but she be a storm of man, not the Lord." After taking another puff of the weed and eyeing the east, he turned his attention to the crew. "Hoist the sails! A guest is comin' and he's not the type to be left waitin'."

  None questioned the peculiar message from their captain. The crew was fully aware of his perception and long since past wondering how he divined his knowledge. And, as if to reward their blind faith, a ship approached from the east.

  The ship, a second-rate ship according to the British Navy's standards, flew no flag and carried no mark of distinction to any country or man. Nearly one hundred guns over three decks and with a crew of over seven hundred souls made the ship fearsome to behold. A ship so large should be hard-pressed to manoeuvre delicately, but it moved as deftly and gracefully as a swan in a pond. The second ship sailed next to the first ship so close they appeared as one from afar.

  If the second ship moved like a swan, then the captain was a falcon. He gracefully jumped across the railings to the waist of the first ship. As he passed, the crew of the first ship removed their caps or bent their knees. The second captain paid the crew no heed and headed straight to the helm where the first captain still stood.

  "Leave us, Bertram," the first captain ordered the helmsman. "These old sods need to have a conversation."

  "Aye, Captain." Bertram locked the helm and left.

  The second captain threw the first captain a bottle of aged scotch.

  "You come bearing gifts?" The first captain asked, then took a long swig of the scotch while walking to the middle of the quarterdeck. "So, am I in the presence of the Lord of Gifts today? Or Stormbringer?" The first captain gestured wildly. "Benjamin perhaps, or Albert? The Red Hand, or the Golden Horn? Or what is it you're called these days? … John? … Jack?"

  The second captain raised his eyes for the first time, showing his aged face. "What about in the presence of a friend?" The man smiled, showing more wrinkles. He was well groomed with short black hair and a few grey hairs peeking through. His eyes, though softened in the presence of a friend, were just as piercing, if not more so.

  The first laughed heartily. "Of course!" He grabbed the second man and the two hugged each other tightly. The first eventually pulled away and held the second at arm's length. "You are always a friend, and always welcome."

  The two sat leisurely and passed the scotch and weed back and forth. Once the introduction was complete, the crews lost their formality and reserve and mingled together, swapping stories and alcohol like best friends reunited.

  When the weed was spent and the scotch, like the stories, nearly depleted, the first captain decided to start business. "So, Benjamin, what brings ye here? Not playing dog today, are ye?"

  Benjamin laughed bitterly. "No, not today. I've arrived to ask a favour if I may be so presumptuous."

  "Speak and it shall be done. You know I can never refuse the Golden Horn's will."

  "Even if the Gold is tarnished?" Benjamin cast down his eyes.

  "Tarnished Gold is still Gold, no?" the captain said with a laugh hoarse from age and too much pipe.

  Benjamin's smile was melancholic. "I suppose so." He took another swig of the scotch before passing the bottle back to the captain. "Have you heard news of my successor?"

  Despite the din of the two crews, despite the storm which now surrounded the horizon, despite all the noise, the word successor caused a hush to spread over the two ships. Those drunk instantly sobered, and those laughing became silent. All eyes turned, and all ears perked, towards the two captains.

  "I never thought I would see the day." The captain opened the scotch bottle and finished the remainder in one great gulp.

  "You know of whom I speak?"

  "Aye, I heard 'bout a fledgling youngster causin' a stir in the New World and Old. Uses your old ship, fer God's sake, of course I know who yer talking 'bout." The old man laughed hoarsely. "Need me to show him how things were done in our age?"

  "No, he's running errands right now. I need him to remain unspoiled before he's ready to hatch, but my sources tell me the Black Plague is moving on the boy as we speak."

  At the mention of "Black Plague" the first captain held fast for a moment before solemnly setting the empty bottle on the deck with a clang. "That is bad news. The egg is liable to be broken if the Plague ain't stopped."

  "Exactly. Thus, I am asking you to stop Plague. I am asking you, William Kidd, the Tsunami, to do this for me." Benjamin's nonchalant demeanour belied the gravity of his request.

  The crews, mainly silent until then, began whispering amongst themselves on the events unfolding.

  "You're askin' for a lot," Kidd replied.

  "I would not ask anything of you I believed you could not accomplish."

  "Aye, even at yer boldest, yer reasonable. So, what do ye want me to do? Kill him?"

  "No, just keep him occupied until the egg is ready, or cripple him, whichever you prefer," Benjamin smirked.

  "And how will I find this egg of yours to keep an eye on him?"

  "I have someone on the inside. They can provide you with updates on his whereabouts."

  Kidd nodded, rose and strode to the edge of the quarterdeck, overlooking the crew. "Ready yerselves, boys! Soon we see if a Tsunami can stop the Plague. By the Sound of the Golden Horn!"

  "By the Sound of the Golden Horn!" The crews repeated, raising their glasses and bottles before drinking. The old hymn was the battle cry from the olden days when all the world's best pirates followed Benjamin Hornigold, and it meant Kidd's crew approved of the deal struck.

  The two crews separated soon after, knowing full well a great battle would soon happen between William Kidd, one of the Pirate Warlords who fought in the War of the Horns, and Edward Russell, one of the Immortal Seven, the Admiral of the Black.

  1. Catch Two & Twenty

  Six Weeks Ago

  The guard kicked a large plate of food, or something akin to food, into the prison cell. The plate clanged as it skid through a slot at the bottom of steel grates and across the dingy stone floor.

  The guard's lamp illuminated the food and the men in the cell. The prisoners closest to the grate—rough, filthy men—shielded their eyes from the fain
t light. Satisfied, the guard moved on, leaving the lamp in the corner opposite the cell, illuminating just enough to eat by.

  The prisoners' bodies were caked with dirt, bones exposed due to lack of muscle and fat, and their beards and hair unshaven. Bruises covered their bodies from beatings, white and red disfigurement peppered their flesh from the hot iron, and long bloody messes covered equally long scars on their backs from the lash. Craven sinners rotting in desolation in their communal hell.

  Despite their ravenous hunger, none dared to move. He hadn't taken his share yet.

  A man of above average stature and build slowly rose. His once-tanned skin was now lightened by lack of exposure, his strong arms were thinner from poor food and exercise, and his wavy black hair and long black beard matted with grease. Though his form was diminished, his spirit was not. His eyes carried the same strength as a year ago, and kept the devils of the prison at bay.

  Edward Thatch sauntered to the plate of food and took his share, along with some for two others. Edward took what he needed, then sat back down in the dark of the cell. After he was seated the frenzy began, the strongest and fiercest fighting for their pathetic morsels.

  Edward handed a share to an old man, and another to a young boy. Together the three ate in reflective silence after the fighting in the cell stopped.

  The prison was made of hard grey stone hastily assembled with no regard for comfort. The stones were misshapen and set haphazardly, making sitting and sleeping a chore. Water leaked in from God knows where, causing an incessant drip, drip, sound every few seconds which lent to the dank atmosphere and stagnant smell. No fresh air could creep its way down to the basement and through the sweat and odour from thousands of days of compounded sweat and faeces.

  "Can you tell me another story, Edward? Please?" the boy asked, as he had almost every day before.

  The child's small frame belied his imaginative and intelligent mind. He was not yet aged enough to grow facial hair, but the blond hair on his head was long and shaggy from the years he'd spent in the dungeon. He was born in this prison and protected by his mother until she died. He had heard stories about the sun and sea and the outside world, but never saw them firsthand.

  "Perhaps later, Edmond. A year has passed since I last laid eyes on the sun and my beloved. I feel I need time to reflect." Edward slowly ate the mouldy bread and gruel.

  "Now, are you referring to the vast and untameable ocean, or your beloved Anne?" The old man on the other side of Edward spoke up.

  The grey-haired gentleman possessed a beard longer than Edward's, a sharp nose, and keen eyes not yet dulled by his old age. When Edward arrived, the elder was nearing death's door, not having the strength to fight for his portion of food and relying on leftover scraps. Edward fought for the old man, and now he had a little skin on his bones and more strength to lend to his wisdom.

  Edward chuckled at the old man's penetrating question. Maybe both, Charles. Edward's mind drifted to Anne, his love. The last time Edward had seen Anne was after he was captured and forced into the brig of a battleship. A fleet of warships from the British Navy descended on Edward and his group of pirates aboard his ship, the Freedom. The fleet was there to 'save' Anne, the daughter of the Queen of England.

  Anne's father was gracious enough to take Edward but freed his crew as a last request. And, by Edward's estimation, it was only due to Anne's pleading to her mother that he was imprisoned instead of being executed. During his prison term, Edward had had a hard time deciding which would have been the worse fate.

  Another man, large in stature but too thinned by malnutrition, also laughed, but haughtily. "That's all ye have left: stories. No use thinkin' bout them no more. We ain't leavin' here, least of all a little shit as you."

  Even through the long hair and beard the man showed his yellow and grungy teeth in a sneer. His face and body were square in appearance, and in his prime he might have taken the appearance of a wall when standing.

  He sat with his hands draped over his knees as he gestured to their surroundings. "This is the hell of hells. No one sent here will ever be let free because of our 'crimes against the state.' Any who think we's gonna be leavin' here is a sorry sod indeed."

  "No one asked you, Simon." Edward, sitting cross-legged, turned his scornful gaze to the middle-aged man. Most would flinch and think twice about what they said after Edward's stare, but not Simon.

  "Yea, well I's tired of hearing talk about the outside. Talk of the like is no use to us here. Jus' brings back bad memories."

  "There's no harm in allowing the boy to dream."

  "There's always harm in dreamin'. See where dreamin' got you. We all heard the story: You wanted freedom, so ye fought against the marines and ye ended up here. Nothing good never came from dreamin'."

  "You're wrong, Simon. The realisation of the dream was the cause of our downfall. If I hadn't tried to achieve my dreams then I wouldn't have ended up here, but because I did this is the inevitable cause. And if you only dreamed of your revolution, instead of being a fool and lighting a bomb, you wouldn't be here."

  Simon rose from his seated position and Edward followed suit, meeting him in the middle of the small cage. "Who're you callin' a fool, you dunderwhelp!"

  At Edward's six-foot-four height, the top of Simon's head barely reached Edward's chin. "Careful what you say, Simon. I might break your other arm this time. Remember how long the first one took to heal?"

  Prisoners in other cages whispered amongst one another at the beginnings of the fight. Several in Edward's cage also goaded the two on. The guard heard the commotion and smacked his club against the bars.

  "What did I tell you twos 'bout fighting? Stop this nonsense or the both of ya get ten lashes."

  Edward and Simon didn't turn their attention to the guard, but both knew he would follow through on his threat if they didn't sit back down.

  "You heard the man, Simon. Sit down before you're hurt," Edward said.

  Simon spat on the ground before turning back and sitting back against the wall. Edward nodded to the guard and he too sat down again.

  Before the guard moved on, a noise echoed down the dark hallway near the stairs. The guard ran to investigate, his keys and weapons clinking and clanging as he moved. When the guard reached the foot of the stairs, he jerked back with muffled "Oof!" and dropped to the stone floor with a crack, knocked unconscious, or dead.

  A dark figure jumped on top of the body and started rummaging around for something until another, taller figure stepped out of the stairwell.

  All the prisoners with enough strength pressed their faces against the iron bars to catch a glimpse at what was happening.

  "Hurry up, Princess," the taller one scolded. "We need to be outta here before they're done pissin'."

  The first one grabbed the keys off the belt of the unconscious guard and turned to the taller one. "You think I'm not aware, Sam? Who was the one who created this plan? Now we need to find Edward's cell, so help me search."

  Until now, Edward had had merely a passing interest in the event. One or two ill-formed attempts at escape happened during his year of imprisonment, and both failed. But the keywords Princess, Sam, and, of course, Edward, piqued his interest now. He also felt sure he'd heard those voices before.

  Edward ran to the cell bars. "Anne?" he yelled.

  At the calling of the name, the two figures snapped their heads around and ran over to Edward's cell. The small one passed the keys to the tall one and grabbed Edward's outstretched hands.

  Edward could see the face of the one he loved in the faint light. Anne's curly red hair glistened from under her hood, and her ocean green eyes glittered from newly forming tears. She kissed Edward's palms and held them close to her face as if she were trying to impart, or take, every bit of warmth she could.

  Despite Edward's dark reverie, he could not help but be brought out of his gloom and into Anne's light. She was as an angel in front of Edward. Every second felt like eternity as if to accentuate th
e horribly long time Edward and Anne had been torn apart, and yet eternity was not enough.

  "What are you two doing here?" Edward finally asked, pulling himself back to earth.

  Sam, working the keys one by one, spoke first. His straight black hair and smooth, pretty face had not changed in the year since parting. "We're here to save ya, mate! This be a prison break." Nor had his confidence bordering on arrogance changed either, apparently.

  "Oh, is that why you stole the keys? I assumed you would become a guard for a moment." Edward's comment was full of sarcasm. Sam stared at Edward with eyes as cold as stone at midnight before continuing with the multitude of keys. "I mean why. Why are you both here?"

  "Is not the action and reason the same? We wish to see you free, my dear, sweet Edward."

  Edward pulled away from Anne's soft cheeks and sat back down against the back of the cell. "You had better leave before someone catches you then. I'm not leaving."

  "What d'ya mean yer not going?" Sam said, losing his place with the keys out of shock.

  "I think the words are fairly clear, are they not? I do not wish to join you, so please leave, unless you want to become a cell mate."

  Sam turned to Anne and threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. "What now, Princess?"

  "Work the keys, I'll handle this," Anne instructed with gritted teeth. "Edward, as much as I'm sure you've grown accustomed with your new surroundings, your family and I went through much trouble to be here, so, please, forestall any objections and join us."

  "Why bother when the end result will bring me back here sooner or later?"

  "So you believe what we are doing is futile? You believe freedom is futile?"

  "I've enjoyed a lot of time to think here, Anne, and despite my bitterness over what has happened, I see no future for me on the sea. If I escape here, I will be hunted down and imprisoned again, or worse, killed. If I am captured at present, then what else can be done to me?"

  "You feel there is no future for you? For us?" Anne held Edward's gaze, but Edward turned away. "No, I do not," he replied. "At least, not one ending without pain."