The men hissed and booed around us, some amused and some annoyed by the show that had started.
Rolland stepped in front of me before I could respond. “You aren’t doing shit, Harold. Shut your fat mouth and walk away afore we have some real trouble here. Dirty, go get Bentley.”
“Real trouble?” Harold shrieked. “You blokes voted a woman in as your quartermaster and you’re going to berate me about causing trouble? You know bloody well there’s only one reason to keep a woman on board.”
“Don’t you move, Dirty!” I pointed at him. He appeared torn between me and Rolland’s opposing commands. “This is my problem, not Bentley’s.”
“Belay that racket, the both of you!” Dirty shouted. “There be enough wind in the lot of you to get this tub up to speed.” Sitting down in the shade, he grumbled, “I’ll be damned to hell afore I let this senseless jabbering ruin what little drunkenness I have left.”
I fanned my hand at Dirty. “I’d rather enjoy the last of my buzz without such problems myself, but I believe we have some issues to resolve first.” Glaring at Harold, I said, “Now, Mister Harold. Whether you like it or not, I am the quartermaster of this here Wicked Rose. Voted in fair by all the hands on board—”
“I didn’t vote for you, yet now I have to suffer the bantering of your squawking little voice just because they were stupid enough to. Shit, I reckon your combined stupidity be the cause of this windless curse.”
Offended by his insult, the crew rose up with anger behind me.
I held them off. “Stay back, boys. Mister Harold has just as much a voice as the rest of us, and if he thinks I am unworthy of my position, he has the right to call me out.” I held my arms out at my sides and smiled wickedly. “So what is it you’re aiming for, Harold? Would you like to raise a vote to throw me out of office? Or perhaps—”
“Chirp, chirp, chirp. All I hear is a nattering bird chirping when you talk.” Pulling a flask out of his pocket, Harold took a drink, then mumbled as he walked away, “Perhaps I’ll just dream of the one thing you’d be good for once I get to my hammock.”
Refusing to allow myself to be humiliated before my crew, I ripped a dagger off my belt and threw it past him. The moment the knife landed in the mast pole in front of him, he stopped in his tracks.
The men booed in suspense. Harold turned to face me. Staring him straight in the eyes, I said, “Now that I have your attention, I can finish my sentence. I was going to give you the option to duel me.”
“Ah, I won’t be fighting no wench.” He fanned his hand at me.
“Oh? I see. You’re all tough talk, degrading and insulting this wench, but when she calls you out, you run off to cry in your hammock.” Pulling up my sleeves, I waved him over. “Let’s go, big boy. Fisticuffs, me and you.”
Rolland grabbed my arm. “Nobody’s fighting, Charlie. You’re drunk.”
“I’m not half as drunk as I wish I was.” I quickly shook loose from Rolland’s hold and shouted at Harold. “You’re either going to respect me as your quartermaster as I intend to respect you as my crewman, or you’re going to have to fight me. What will it be?”
Harold stared at me with the most abhorrent look—which clearly stated his lack of interest in respecting me. I waited silently while he made up his mind. The crew stood still and quiet behind me. The tension on deck was as thick as the windless heat that had driven us to this state of madness. As much as my better conscience hoped we’d be able to come to terms, the half drunk, half delirious demon on my shoulder was rooting for a war of fists.
The wide swing of Harold’s fist sliced through the air. Though it seemed for a moment that my demon had gained his favor, Rolland’s fist thrashed across Harold’s jaw before I even had a chance to react. The men roared in excitement as Rolland took on the fight that was supposed to be mine. As I watched them pacing around each other, clenching and unclenching their fists, I stood with my jaw agape.
“How about some entertainment, boys?” Rolland shouted. After the buildup of tension, they were more than happy to support his idea.
“Ah, you think you can handle this ol’ boy in the ring, eh?” Harold hissed at Rolland while ripping his shirt off. Beneath the hair coating his chest, I could see that Harold was in decent shape for his age, and both of his large biceps were tattooed with an anchor.
Mirroring his gesture, Rolland took his shirt off as well. Taking in the sight of his ridiculously fine upper body, I watched his handsome face lift in a wicked grin. “Maybe. Maybe not. But either way, I reckon we’ll give these boys a good show to keep their minds off the lack of rum, eh?”
Snapping out of my irritated trance, I stormed towards them to break it up. Leo stopped me with a friendly arm over my shoulder. “Let it go, Black Rose. Rolland’s right about the show. You proved your point. Let’s just enjoy the fun.”
Looking at the once angry crowd that was now cheering happily, I figured he was right. But feeling too stubborn to enjoy the festivities, I crossed my arms over my chest. “This is stupid. Simply stupid.”
Swinging swiftly, Harold cracked a solid blow against Rolland’s jaw. Rolland smiled at his antagonist before he swung back. His right fist raked across Harold’s temple. Harold’s head whipped to the side. Before Harold had a chance to regain his balance, Rolland caught his stumble with a hard left-handed blow. The hit knocked Harold out cold.
“That was over too soon!” Toby yelled over the cheering crowd.
“Who’s next?” Rolland waved his hands about, challenging the group with a wide smile.
“I’m next,” Copper growled.
As the enormous, copper haired master gunner pushed through the crowd, I realized Sterling was standing beside me. Looking like he had just woken up, he scratched his head. “What the hell’s going on here, Charlie?”
Thinking about how silly this was, I snickered, “We need more rum, that’s all.”
“We’re out?” he asked—completely oblivious to the day’s events—then pulled a flask out of his pocket. “I got a bit left.”
After he took a sip, I yanked the flask from him and held it up. “Winner gets a shot of rum!”
The men roared enthusiastically.
As Copper ripped his shirt off—nearly blinding me with his snow white belly—I said to Sterling, “Rolland just knocked Harold out in two hits,” I updated him as I pointed towards the men who were pulling Harold’s unconscious body out of the crowd. “But Copper’s almost three times Rolland’s size. Who do you think will win?”
“After feeling a few of Rolland’s punches myself, I’ll bet my clean coat he wins. If we were betting.” He chuckled.
Rolland reached out to shake Copper’s hand. “It’s all for fun and rum, aye?”
“All for fun and rum,” Copper acknowledged, smiling.
After a friendly shake of hands, the fight began.
Copper swung the first wild, sloppy punch. Rolland dodged it with catlike reflexes, then bobbed and weaved out of a few similar swings until Copper finally landed one. As soon as the large, white fist connected with his jaw, Rolland spun around, ducked down low, then shot up to give Copper an uppercut. His red head flung back enough to knock him off balance.
The men jumped and roared, shouting out the names of who they would bet on if they were allowed to gamble. As the fight raged on, I waved the flask of rum around as a reminder of the prize each sought.
Soon enough, they both had bloody faces. Though Copper looked exhausted, Rolland was hopping around like a bunny, light on his toes. Once Copper was good and worn out, Rolland finally swung again. His rock-solid fist bashed across Copper’s temple. Like a tree falling over in the woods, the gigantic master gunner hit the deck with a terrible thud. We all froze in a collective state of fear. I, myself, thought Copper might rise to his bare feet with the wrath of an angry giant, but the silent suspense was broken by a deep roaring belly laugh, “Looks like you get the rum, mate.”
Copper reached out his hand for Rolland to help him
up. Assisting the defeated opponent to his feet, Rolland said, “Good fight, mate. I’ll drink in your honor.”
Taking his victory shot, Rolland asked who was next, but after watching the biggest man on the crew hit the deck, no one else was brave enough to volunteer.
“Then it’s all mine!” Rolland let out a sinister laugh and chugged the last drops of rum we possessed. Belching wildly, he wiped the blood off of his mouth and nodded at the captain. “Problem solved.”
X
She’s Dutch,” I informed the men as I eyed the upcoming ship through my spyglass. “Shall we take her?”
Though we had plenty of meat and our barrels were full of fresh water, our outlandish craving for rum led to a quick and unanimous vote to raid the bitch. “Come about two points portside! All slack! Handsomely! Handsomely!” I shouted.
Sterling cranked the helm hard to portside, bringing her about. After he ordered the crewmen to raise the Dutch colors, I asked him, “So how are we going to go about this?”
“We’re going to slice through the tide like a razor with our clean keel and lay our freshly sharpened fangs in that bitch’s hull. If’n they have any good sense about them, they’ll stand still and let us take what we need.”
Picking a piece of fruit out of my teeth, I asked, “What if they choose to fight?”
“If they consider their loot more important than their lives, then maybe it is.” He winked at me.
Though Charlotte would have worried about attacking the innocent, Black Rose simply saluted her captain. “Aye, sir. I’ll be sure Copper has his guns ready if’n it comes to blows.”
He nodded in approval, and I went on my way.
Flying the Dutch colors, we made our way towards the merchantman, slow and sloppily. Knowing the ability of our sailors, it was extra agonizing forcing such a disorderly display. The suspense leading up to our unveiling had my heart beating as choppily as the swells we dipped in and out of.
With Sterling at the helm, Copper preparing his gun crew, and Rolland commanding the sailors, I strolled the deck offering encouraging shouts, helping anywhere I could. Though I still dressed as a man by flattening my breasts and covering most of my skin to keep from distracting my crewmen, I was now free to shout commands with my own feminine voice. It was much easier to perform my duties without the worry of upholding a false identity, and after yesterday’s treacherous lack of wind, the salty breeze that cooled my sweaty body made it tolerable to endure the heavy clothes I wore.
The first hour passed slowly, but the breeze kept up, and before long we came close enough to bite. Vakantie was her name. The men onboard were waving as if we were indeed their kin. Apparently they had not heard of Wicked Rose, but when Sterling commanded our men to hoist the colors, I knew the name of our ship would be seared in their minds from that day forward.
I watched their expressions change as our Jolly Roger made her inaugural rise behind me. I saw their mouths moving as they gasped in fear, but all I could hear was the wind slapping at the black piece of fabric as its shadow covered my own on the deck. Turning to see it myself, my spirit lifted with pride. Taking in the sight of the surly death head and the bleeding rose with its vine wrapped around the cutlass blade, I imagined the emotion washing over me being akin to the joy of watching a first born take their first steps. I was outright proud of the claim we were staking on the world!
Whether the men aboard the Dutch Vakantie spoke English or not, the raising of their white flag showed that they clearly understood the order to surrender. Amidst our crewmen’s boastful shouts, I heard Sterling call out, “For the love of rum we board her!”
Slapping my forehead, I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Of all the honorable feats in the world, this must be one of the finest.”
Helping to throw the grappling hooks over Vakantie’s gunnels, I said to Sterling, “Good job on the flag, Captain. Her task of inflicting fear in the hearts of men proved to be a job well-done.”
“Ah, and if’n that fear is enough to keep them frozen stiff throughout the raid, we’ll be drinking to celebrate our success afore sunset.” Liking the way his coat sleeve tightened around his flexing bicep as he tugged on the chains, I smiled slyly and whispered, “And then onto the after sundown celebrations.”
He winked. “One thing at a time, my hungry little pixie.”
With the ships secured side by side, we began the boarding process. Stomping across the boarding plank with my men, each one of us braced with more weapons than the entire crew of Vakantie had between them, I pulled out one of my many pistols and pointed the barrel down the line of silent men. “Goedemorgen, gentlemen.” I greeted them the way Clint, my Dutch sail maker friend, had often greeted me, then asked in their language if anyone spoke English.
“I do,” a young, blond haired man spoke up.
Sterling smiled. “Ah, well, then it looks like you’ll be giving us the tour of your lovely Vakantie. What’s that mean, anyway?”
“Holiday,” he grumbled, not at all reciprocating the light tone Sterling had addressed him with.
“What’s your name, mate?” I asked the English-speaking Dutchman.
“Alexander Koole is my name. What is it you want from us?”
An older grey-haired man started snipping some Dutch words at Alexander. They began bickering back and forth in their language. I pointed my gun at the older man. “Opsluiten.”
He instantly shut his mouth.
Sterling chuckled. “What the hell did you say to him?”
Without taking my eyes or my pistol off of the nattering old man, I responded to my captain. “I told him to shut his mouth up.”
“Where the hell did you learn that?”
“Clint was always telling Hank to shut up. Now you, Opsluiten, Captain Bentley, we have work to do.” I winked at him.
After laughing at me, he continued with Alexander. “You speak the English, so you’ll do the translating. And if you blokes get to arguing outside my specific requests, me and my Black Rose here will be happy to settle the dispute by removing your tricky little heads.”
Alexander nodded to agree.
Sterling nodded. “All right then, let your captain know we’ll be happy to take what we need without killing anyone if he’ll be so kind as to cooperate.”
While the translator relayed Sterling’s request to his captain, I watched their mouths move in case I was able to pick up on anything they were saying. Not a lick of it made any sense to me—which made me want to learn more of their language. Nonetheless, Alexander let us know we were free to take what we wanted.
Sterling led a group below to raid the hold, leaving me with Yakob, Seminole Joe, and Edward to keep the surrendered Dutchmen still. Looking over our fearsome group, I snickered to my comrades, “I sure as shit wouldn’t try anything funny with you blokes giving the orders.”
Raising his spear, Seminole Joe let out an animated war cry, and Yakob laughed one of his ridiculous laughs, but Edward was silent as the night—which made him the scariest one of us all. Hell, Edward worked under my command, and I still felt a shiver run up my spine every time our eyes met. I could only imagine what the Dutchmen were thinking as the gigantic, silent, African man—wearing a colorful vest completely contrary to his relentless scowl—stared them down with his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“You fellows can sit down if you’d like. This is going to take a while,” I said to Alexander.
As he and his mates got comfortable, he said to me, “Dank je voor not killing us, Zwarte Roos.”
“Zwarte Roos, what is that?”
“It is what he called you. Black Rose. It is a nice name.”
“Thank you, sir.” I smiled politely.
“Why do you do this?” he asked.
“We needed liquor,” I stated with a chuckle.
“You do all this for liquor?” he asked with the strangest look of confusion on his pale face.
“Yes, Alexander. That is exactly why. But I am certain they will find some o
ther things they like as well. You see, we just stocked up on boar meat and filled our barrels with river water, but we finished off our spirituous drinks while careening. We’ve been a mess ever since.”
He laughed. “This is interesting. Do you hunt the boar, too?”
His captain started barking words in his language. Though I couldn’t understand him, I was certain he was annoyed by our newfound friendship. After telling the captain to shut his mouth, again, I said to Alexander, “I myself would rather not kill them, but I can cook the meat rather well.”
“I can hunt, but I cannot cook to save my life.” He chuckled.
Alexander joined in as my mates and I passed the time with dirty jokes and cutthroat stories—which angered his captain greatly. Once our men began passing the plunder over to Wicked Rose, I made my new friend an offer. “Why don’t you come with us, mate? We could use a good translator next time we raid a Dutchy.”
“Me?” He looked behind him to be sure I wasn’t speaking to someone else.
“Yes, you, Alexander Koole. Would you like to sign the articles?”
“What do you mean, sign the articles?”
I began to explain the logistics of our crew, but as soon as I mentioned the equal pay, he said, “I will join. Yes! Dank je, Zwarte Roos. I have always wanted to go buccaneering.”
While Wicked Rose sailed away from Vakantie, Alexander asked me, “How does a pretty lady like you end up leading these men?”
Sterling laid his heavy arm over my shoulder and barked at Alexander, “The pretty lady can tell you how she leads my men after you and your men sign the articles.”
After giving Alexander a light shove towards his cabin, Sterling pulled me along behind him, followed by the other Dutchmen who had joined us. “You got yourself a new friend, aye?” he asked with jealousy ringing in his tone.
“Yes. I do.” I easily confessed the harmless truth. “He is very nice, and I am going to have him teach me his language.”
Slapping me on the arse as we passed through his door, Sterling playfully growled, “You can learn his language if’n you want, but don’t forget where your pretty lips belong.”
Gunpowder & Gold (Justified Treason, Book 4): Endless Horizon Pirate Stories Page 4
