Staying in character, Lee Buckley resisted his laughter and stormed across the deck with his officers following behind him.
Taking a seat next to Marty, I sliced open a new bottle of rum and laid back to watch the show.
Chapter 8
Smoldering Dreams
As Told By Charlotte Bentley
Squeezing between the jurors to take my seat, I found the only spot available to be right next to Joseph Rolland. Nervous as could be, but not wanting to show him how uneasy I was, I simply tipped my hat in greeting before plopping down beside him.
His degree of drunkenness was clear in his expression as he slurred, “Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.”
“Hello, master sailor,” I said in an awkwardly formal tone.
“Master sailor?” He belched. “My mates call me Rolland, you know.”
Pleased to know he still wanted to be friends, I smiled. “All right, Rolland, what do you think? I bet this bastard’s guilty.”
“Oh, I am sure of it. Look, here he comes now.” Rolland pointed towards Lee Buckley, who was—along with his guards—dragging the man in question across the deck.
“This is him, your honor.” Buckley rolled out the poster Sterling had drawn and flashed it to the crowd.
Setting our sights on Sterling’s animated rendition of Corky, Rolland and I joined the roaring laughter.
“Ah, I don’t look like that. That’s not me.” Corky winced at the ridiculous drawing.
“Silence!” Faron Flynn smashed his gavel on the barrel. “Is your name Corky Hamilton?”
“‘Tis my name, to be sure,” the drunk ol’ bloke answered.
“Then you’re the man we’ve been after.” Flynn took a shot of rum, then straightened his white wig.
Corky lowered his head in defeat.
To all of our amusement, Rolland picked up his violin and played a weepy tune.
The crowd lost it with laughter again.
I slapped Rolland’s shoulder. “That was good.”
He bowed gracefully. “Tis my pleasure to offer you amusement while you work so diligently to cast judgment on these poor souls.”
Rolland and I laughed and joked throughout the ridiculous mock trial, and continued to drink together as the festivities turned into a party on deck.
Smashing his mug against mine for cheers, Rolland chuckled, “So, uh, Black Rose, I hear you ripped that nobleman’s heart out of his chest with your bare hand.”
“What? No! Good Lord, no. That is not even close to what happened.”
“I know.” He smiled. “The story has worsened each time I’ve heard it, though, so I figured I’d get right to the worse one.”
“Shit.” I slapped my forehead. “These men gossip like little old ladies.”
“That they do. They have all kinds of nicknames for you, too.”
“Like what?” I squinted with curiosity.
“Besides Black Rose and Bentley’s Black Rose, I hear them calling you Black Blood, Bloody Rose, Rose of Death, and my personal favorite has to be just plain Blackness.”
The dramatic tone in which he expressed the names led me into a laughing fit. “Oh my. If my father could see me now.”
He laughed, too.
After we joked for a while about the absurdness of the rumors, he patted me on the back. “Don’t worry, mate. I know you better than that. You still have the good heart your father raised you with. Just don’t forget it, Blackness.”
Though he finished his heartfelt comment with a joke, the way he was looking at me caused my cheeks to heat up like the morning sun. Catching myself gazing too deeply into his warm brown eyes, I looked away and scratched my head. “Sometimes I wish I could forget about that good heart of mine. All this shit would be a lot easier without that nattering little angel chirping in my ear.”
“I know. Mine won’t shut his flapping ol’ lips, either.” He swatted at his shoulder.
I laughed and raised my mug to cheer with his.
Noticing Rory heading in our direction, my happy mind flushed with worry. I’d been trying my best to avoid him after whatever the hell happened during that drunken night on Tortuga, and so far I had succeeded. Not wanting to answer to him now, or ever, it crossed my mind to bolt away, but it was too late. He was standing right in front of me. Shit.
After offering me a slight nod, Rory asked Rolland, “So what’d you pick as your prize for spotting the sails?”
Rolland patted his new pistol. “I got another gun to match the other I earned the same way. I could make my living spotting sails at this rate.”
Rory—who had already proved himself to be a mighty fine sailor—went on to ask Rolland a million questions about his techniques.
Being utterly relieved that Rory had no interest in me, I easily slipped away as they talked.
Spotting Sterling with Faron, I walked in their direction. Still wearing Abbott Thatcher’s white wig, Faron waved his arms and stomped his feet while acting out some overdramatized rendition of a tale. Sterling was laughing so hard he could hardly stand up straight. Excited to join in on their humor, I hurried along, but to my surprise, Faron waved his hands at me. “Stay back, bloodsucker.”
“Bloodsucker?” I squinted.
“Aye, I heard you slurped up that old bloke’s neck blood like a ghastly little bat.”
Taking a sip of my rum, I cocked a brow. “That’s what I’m drinking now.”
Sterling poked my shoulder. “And for a moment there I thought you were drinking rum, after you swore off the liquor.”
I hummed like I was thinking. “Um, I think I would rather break that promise than drink blood.”
“Well, let them believe it’s blood, sweetheart. All these exaggerated tales going around will build you a nice shield. These blokes are outright afraid of you, Black Rose.”
Looking around at the foreboding group of drunken rogues, I giggled. “What a joy to know I am considered a monster amongst those who terrorize the high seas. But you, my darling, you can call me Rose of Death.” I bit at him like a seductive little bloodsucker.
“A joy?” he laughed. “Ah, Rose of Death, I believe you’ve lost your very mind.”
“And I don’t miss it much, honestly. But I do miss my rum.” I held my empty mug upside down.
“I can help you with that problem.” He smiled and refilled my mug from his flask. “But the others—though they plague me daily—there isn’t a damned solution to be found.”
X
“There it is.” Through the lens of my spyglass I could see the low lying hills of Silversand protruding from the sheer aqua waters surrounding the island. Though we were still too far to see the white sandy shores, we were close enough that seagulls were flocking about, squawking as they circled the ship. Lifting my spyglass, I got a closer look at the island I adored. The trees, shimmering in the sunlight, swayed in the salty breeze, and up high on one of the hilltops I spotted a waterfall hiding in the thicket. I couldn’t wait to start calling that place home.
Overwhelmed with anticipation, I met Sterling at the helm to share my thoughts. “Maybe we can use the money we get from selling Thatcher’s shit to buy ourselves a piece of land. Then we can start building something on it once we get our gold. Oh! I think we should build a treehouse like Zenzebe’s sister lives in. I want to go see them right away when we get there! After I get a coconut rum, of course.”
“Whatever you wish, my queen.” He winked.
“I like when you say that.” I smiled.
While I babbled on with my ideas for decorating our new home, Sterling stared off into the distance, nodding his head to agree without much interest in my rambling.
To test his attention, I added, “And I want to decorate our headboard with the skulls of our enemies.”
“Nice, very nice,” he said.
“That is not nice. It is awful and disgusting. Are you even listening to a word I say?” I playfully shoved his shoulder.
“No. Honestly, not at all. I don’t ca
re about that shit one bit. You can do whatever you want to whatever place we live. As long as I can see the ocean, I won’t bother you with my opinions.”
Thinking of the way he let me decorate our cute little house on Jamaica, I sighed, “I liked our house in Port Royal. It was very nice there.”
“It was,” he agreed. “Because you made it nice. Just like my cabin. If it was mine alone it’d be plain and boring.”
“Do you think you’d keep it clean if I wasn’t around to tidy up after you?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had anything to care for except my navigation tools. I take good care of those, and before you came along I used to wash my clothes every now and then, so maybe I’d clean my room.” He shrugged his shoulders like he wasn’t sure.
“What about the times you lived ashore with your father? Did you cleanup after yourself then?”
“My father was all about pride of ownership. He used to say, If you have but one schilling, it ought to be shiny, and if you have but one coat, it better be clean. He was one dapper son of a bitch, and he kept the places we lived at as tidy as he kept his appearance. So to answer your question, with the way he was always barking at me to pick up after myself, I never had a chance to make a mess.” Sterling laughed.
Loving the way his face lit up while reminiscing on the tales of his youth, I asked him a few more questions about his home life with his father as we sailed closer to shore. Though his father was rough and domineering—working his boy like a deckhand and expecting no less of him than he did of his crew—it was plain to see that Sterling loved and respected him dearly. In fact, the more I learned about their relationship, the more I came to see that Mason Bentley was indeed the best friend Sterling ever had.
Enjoying his stories, the weather, and the scenery, I seemed to lose track of time. Realizing that we were nearing the cove where my favorite little town in the world resided, I perked up and looked towards the bow. “Look, those are the rocks that lead to the lagoon.”
Gold and grey rocks protruded from the greenish water, looking like little islands amidst the shallow bay. Remembering how pleasant it was walking along the white sand, I lost myself in daydreams of wading out into the bay and climbing upon some of the rocks. Oh, maybe I would want to head there first.
My pleasant daydream was brashly interrupted by the sound of Sterling shouting to the sailors. “Cut out the sails. Bring her about to portside and tack to the east. Signal to Flynn to follow.”
“What is it? Why are we stopping?” I questioned while noting his alarmed expression.
“Smoke.” Sterling pointed over the hillside. “Too much to be coming from a celebratory flame.”
“Can you see over there, Toby?” he shouted up to the boy in the crow’s nest.
Without waiting for his answer, I climbed up there to take a look myself. While Toby and Sterling yelled back and forth, I took in the dreadful sight with my own eyes. The beautiful town I had adored—and hoped to call home—was now nothing but a smoldering pile of rubble. The horrific scene broke my heart. To make matters worse, the ships lined up in the harbor were all waving Spanish flags!
Holding tight to the rigging as Wicked Rose came about, I thought back on all the stories Sterling had told me about the Spanish burning down the town on Tortuga this same way. The war waged between the Spanish and the buccaneers seemed to be never ending, but Silversand was nowhere near the stronghold Tortuga was. The pretty little paradise I adored, and the lovely people inhabiting it, were surely doomed.
As soon as Wicked Rose steadied on her new course, I made my way back to the deck.
Rory leapt down behind me. “Excuse me, Quartermaster Black Rose.”
“What is it, Rory?” I asked without looking back at him.
“Well, I figured you should know that, uh, well, Doubloon’s Shadow is in the harbor back there.”
“No!” I stopped in my tracks. Suddenly quite interested in what Rory had to say, I turned to face the young sailor who never dared to look me in the eyes. “Is Doubloon Spanish?”
Still hiding behind his hat brim, Rory fidgeted with the buttons on his coat cuff. “When he wants to be. That bastard speaks more languages than I knew existed, and he seems to improvise, adapt, and overcome every scenario he faces with a wit so keen, no one ever questions his position or his loyalty.”
“Well, blow me down. I think I revere him as much as I hate him.” I shook my head in awe.
“He’s a dreadful fellow. I mean, you make me nervous, but he scares me to death,” Rory confessed.
Humored by his admittance of his fear for me, I resisted the urge to chuckle as I asked, “So what was it like sailing with that bloke?”
“He was rigid, and unapproachable, but when I did hear him talking, he was very well mannered and level headed. I never saw him lose his temper, yet his shadow on the ground seemed to scare the shit out of everyone who crossed his path.”
Thinking back on the way Voodoo Doubloon slowly and silently knocked his men off one by one in that dark alleyway, I said, “Reputation can go a long way, but killing your own crewmen in cold blood, can go a lot further.”
Rory shuddered like he was traumatized from simply hearing of my experience with Doubloon.
“Thank you, Rory. I’m going to go let the captain know.” I patted his back and left to talk to Sterling.
Sterling couldn’t have cared less about the dreadful news. Without a lick of concern over my worries, he went over to meet Flynn at the gunnel. “So much for that heading, eh, Flynn? Where to now?”
Faron fanned his face with his hat. “My men are saying something about a friendly village in the trees on the other side of the island. They say it’s called Silverhook. I guess it’s a good place to gather provisions, and they’re all riled up about the place’s whorehouse, or whore-hut, should I say.”
“It’s more like a tent.” Pete belched. “But there’s pretty island girls and good food there. I say we go!”
The men all cheered to agree.
Flynn was all for the notion, and since Sterling made no mention of the pirate hunter who was surely waiting for him in the bay, all but my one lonely vote was in favor of the stupid idea.
As Wicked Rose and Endless Horizon made their way around the coast, I approached Sterling at the helm. “Just so you know, I think you are a very stupid man.”
He laughed. “Why don’t you go ahead and elaborate on that one.”
I babbled on about all the things I was worried about, but he only shrugged his shoulders like it was no big thing. “I don’t give a shit, Charlie.”
“You should. That man is frightening. And if he sends you back to Lloyd—”
“He isn’t going to.” Sterling swatted me off like a mosquito.
Horribly annoyed by his lack of concern, I snipped, “Your confidence will be the death of you one day, Sterling Bentley.”
“Unless your lack of confidence in me kills me first.” He pretended like he was plunging a knife into his heart.
Not at all amused by his dramatics, I stepped closer to him and whispered, “Apparently the bay full of Spanish ships was not enough to persuade the men to beach on a different shore, but perhaps they would have made a better choice had they known the vile pirate hunter after your throat is also back there.”
“That’s none of their business.”
“It will be the business of anyone standing near you next time Voodoo Doubloon throws those knives.”
“Look, Charlie.” Grabbing my shoulder, he pulled me against him and glowered at me with an extremely serious expression. “I know you think I’m a big, fat idiot who can’t think a thing through for himself, but that isn’t the case. No matter what those town-burning Dons and that blood-hungry pirate hunter have to say about it, we need provisions, and according to the men who have been here, this is a damned good place to stock up. Plus, if I try to talk them out of this, and anything goes wrong thereafter, they might end up taking out their aggressions on me.” Pres
sing his hot lips against my ear, he whispered, “You know how important it is for me to keep my command, and it isn’t because I like being responsible for everyone’s lives.”
Knowing damned well what he meant, I exhaled in defeat. “I know. It’s so nobody messes with me.”
“That’s right. We have a loyal few who I know you’re safe with, but we’re bloody well outnumbered by the ones I don’t trust. So if it makes them love me because I took them to a damned whore-hut, then I’ll take the blasted risk.”
“Well.” I jerked away from his hold. “There is simply no way to argue with that.”
“Of course there’s not.” He flashed me with a ridiculous smile. “We’ll just stay for a night. You can say hello to your witch friend, the men can enjoy their sluts, and we can gather up the shit we need. We should be out of here by sunrise.”
“Sunrise,” I grumbled as I walked away.
Reaching our ridiculous new heading, I examined the interesting layout of the area. Like a small scale version of Port Royal, the rock-covered land mass on the right defined the inlet, and at the end of it, a tall rock fortress stood guard over the natural harbor. Beyond the narrow entrance, the water was a deep turquoise color, only leaving a thin strip of aqua lining the white sand of the crescent-shaped shore that was surrounded by tall trees. Off to the left, I saw another rock fort guarding the river delta behind it. Though it was clear that the massive river canyon divided the area from the burning wreckage of my smoldering dreams, I was still a bit wary about this visit.
As Wicked Rose drew near the guard tower, slow and cautious, Sterling commanded the crew to ready their weapons and the great guns in case anything went awry.
Obviously fretting over the same concerns, the war-painted natives manning the tower requested our identities with arrows drawn. “Who is your leader and what brings you to Silverhook?” the native man painted like a zebra asked while aiming his readied musket across our deck.
The tension between our groups was as thick as the heat of the day, but beyond my fear of the situation and my irritation over the weather, I stood solid beside our captain as he introduced himself as our leader.
Gunpowder & Gold (Justified Treason, Book 4): Endless Horizon Pirate Stories Page 13
