Skulls & Crossbones

by Andi Marquette

  "I was in the museum, on dry land, when I saw your sword stuck into a mast. I pulled it out, hit my head, and woke up here on your ship. Perhaps my friend is playing a trick on me. Perhaps the museum is getting back at me for touching their prized artifact. I don't know how much they've told you. But all I want to do is get out of this silly reenactment and go home. I've hit my head and I need someone to examine it. If you can please just forget about all this crazy pirate business and take me home."

  Robert froze, studying her like he was trying to decide if she was crazy. It was clear that he was a talented actor.

  "You say that you came across my sword, in a . . . museum?" He said the last word like it was new to his vocabulary.

  "Yes."

  "Well, that can't be, because it's right here." Robert stood up and came around the desk, displaying the sword that hung at his side.

  Clare looked down at the sword with a frown. She had to admit that it looked a lot like the one that she had pulled from the mast. Maybe someone on staff had handed it to him while she was unconscious.

  "That looks exactly like the one I pulled from the mast."

  "And you say you found it in a museum?"

  Clare nodded. "Yes, the same one you work for. Now, please, let's just stop this charade and get me home."

  Robert sat back down at his desk, pulling on his chin in thought.

  "Well, you're going to need a change of clothing, because we're not going back to shore for another week. In fact, we're probably more than a week away at this rate, with the wind dying down. My ship is scheduled to rendezvous with another ship tomorrow. After our meeting, I'll hand you over to them, and they can take you back to shore."

  "As long as it's not the Gusto," Clare said under her breath as she rolled her eyes. "You know they can't be trusted."

  "How did you know that we are meeting the Gusto?" Robert looked horrified and suspicious at the same time. "Those are secret plans." Clare was tired of playing around. Maybe if she sped up the final act it would all end, and she could go home. She talked at him like he was a small child.

  "Everyone who can read history books knows. You're double-crossed by Snake-Eyed Sam, and he gives your coordinates to the Gusto, and they attack in the night. During the fight, you manage to throw your sword into the mast, getting it stuck for centuries until I come and pull it out. Snake-Eyed Sam stabs you in the back, becoming the Scourge of the Seven Seas. Now that we're done with all that, can I go home?"

  Robert turned pale and looked down at his sword. Clare felt a moment of guilt, as if she'd spoiled his big scene. He was such an excellent actor, she was sure that he'd find work elsewhere. Besides, reenactments probably didn't pay much at all.

  "Look, I'm sorry to spoil your fun. I'm sure you can find another person to act out these scenes with you. Just not me."

  "You don't understand," he said, his voice solemn. "We've never had a stowaway board the Red Lichen. Our ship only docks at secret locations, and every man or woman that walks these planks must pass by Snake-Eye himself. Here you are, wearing clothes that gleam like they've never been touched, with not a drop of sea water on you, and not another ship in sight." Clare was beginning to think that Robert had no idea what was going on. Perhaps the museum curator tricked him as well?

  "Listen, I'm from the museum tour and I'm not meant to be here in this ridiculous pirate world of yours. I was supposed to leave hours ago with my friend."

  Robert smiled. "You are exactly where you should be. You see, I had this sword hexed by a witch off the Barbary Coast last winter. She said that if someone double-crossed me, the sword would set things right again. Superstitious as I am, I never thought it would really work." He looked back at her. "All it needed was a catalyst."

  Clare stepped forward to get a closer look at the blade. "What do you mean?" It glowed ever so slightly in the dim light as if it were coated in moonshine. The familiar hum of the metal rang in her ears.

  Robert looked up at her in awe. "It seems that the magic worked. Here you are."

  Clare put her hands on her hips. "You mean to tell me that you're really Captain Robert, and I'm back in the 1700s because I pulled your sword out of the mast?"

  Robert nodded. "That's right. The second of May, 1765."

  "And this isn't a reenactment?"

  "Whatever that is, whatever netherland you came from," Robert replied, "nay, this isn't it."

  Clare stumbled backward, as if someone had punched her in the stomach. Everything felt all too real—the ship, the molestations of the dirty pirate, and the charm of Ravishing Robert himself. This would not happen at any reenactment. She'd been in denial, and now it smacked her in the face. She felt lost, alone, and scared. She'd been set adrift in the oblivion of time past, and had no idea how to get out of this mess. It all seemed so wrong, like it was supposed to be Tara and not her. Tara would have loved this, and here she was cringing in the face of adventure.

  The world is what you make of it, the reassuring voice in the self-help videos played in her head like a bad song. You, alone, control your destiny. Well, if she could set things right, maybe the magic would let her go back. Clare sighed, coming to terms with her precarious situation. At least he was handsome. "You're right," she said, standing up straighter with eyes hard as steel. "I'm going to need a change of clothes."

  Night fell sooner than she expected—a dark shroud that bled the ocean and the sky together as one endless nightmare. Clare adjusted her bandana and rolled the legs of her trousers up. Next, she tied a belt around her slim waist and sheathed a slender sword.

  There was a knock at the door. Robert had given her his study for her safety, and she was relieved to see his face.

  He took one look at her garb and smirked. "Begad, you look like a natural pirate."

  She laughed, despite the dire circumstances. "Well, let's just say that I've had a lot of experience playing pretend."

  "You'll get your sea legs yet. Soon, you'll be an old sea dog like the rest of us."

  Clare smiled, even though it was the last thing she wanted to become. "I'm getting more used to it."

  He entered the study and closed the door behind him. "I've informed my most loyal crew members that an impending attack is probable and set up watchmen on all sides. But I don't know for certain who will side with us and who with them. Snake-Eye has a loyal bunch of followers." He sighed. "I always suspected he'd be the death of me. You'd think he'd give me the black spot in judgment and stay true to the pirate code. But no, the blackguard has to stab me in the back."

  Robert sat down on a stool in front of her. "My heart is too soft. I rescued him from a prison in Calcutta. I just couldn't leave him chained to the wall to hang. He offered to serve underneath me. He said I needed someone with more of a cutthroat edge to balance out my moral inclinations."

  Clare shook her head. "Don't you believe him. What is a man if he has no heart and no honor?"

  Robert listened and nodded. "A sad man, indeed." There was a stirring above, and Clare knew that their time had run out.

  He looked at her protectively. "Stay by me and make sure you keep a grip on that sword."

  "Just watch out for Snake-Eye," Clare instructed. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."

  "I can lock you in here where no one can get near you," he offered.

  Clare shook her head. "No, I want to see to it that you are safe. It's my only way to set things right and go home."

  Robert raised his eyebrows in a challenge. "Very well. Come with me. We'll see just how accurate your history books are."

  They surfaced into the black of night. A man holding a telescope ran at them with wild eyes. "Sir, I see another ship coming at us, a man-of-war."

  Robert nodded as if he accepted the inevitable with open arms. "Get the men ready. Load the cannons."

  "You think they'll attack?"

  Robert looked into Clare's eyes and then back at him. "I'm certain of it."

  It did not take long for the ship to overtake th
e Red Lichen. The wind was on their side.

  The first round of cannons exploded around her, and Clare thought that she'd go deaf. Splinters of wood flew as the lead balls careered throughout the ship's innards. Clare decided she was safer on deck, anyway. She would rather see the enemy coming at her.

  Pirates swarmed around her, shouting all manner of curses at the enemy ship.

  "Of all the bilge-sucking scallywags—" The pirate nearest her stopped his litany when he noticed a lady in his presence. "My pardons, Miss. I—"

  "Not to worry," Clare said, as she unsheathed her sword. She took two steps to the prow and shouted, "Come and get it, you traitors!"

  The man grinned at her and raised his sword as well, repeating her phrase.

  The ship came up beside the Red Lichen. Twice as big, it blocked the moonlight and loomed over them like a predator over its prey. Clare clutched her sword as the ship floated closer. Robert was calling out commands at her back. "Broadside! All hands on deck!"

  Before she knew it, enemy pirates swung on ropes, dropping around her like bombs. Clare held up the sword and deflected a blow. A skinny man who looked like he suffered from scurvy and rotten teeth clanged her sword with his. He grinned and took another swipe.

  Clare retreated until her back was to the mast and ducked as his sword cut through the wood above her head. She kicked him in the crotch, and he doubled over, not expecting such a thing from a cabin boy. She kicked the sword from his arm next and kicked again until he fell, holding his stomach, to the deck. She brought her sword up, but just couldn't bring herself to kill him. Instead, she grabbed his arm and pulled him to the rail. With one heave, she pushed him overboard.

  Clare looked up just in time to locate Robert. He was fighting two men at a time in a dashing dance of bravado. Just as she cheered him on, she smelled the reek of Snake-Eye and turned to see him creeping up on the captain, dagger in hand.

  "Robert, behind you!" she screamed, but he was too entangled in the sword fight to defend himself. He took one brief look behind him, and his face paled as he saw his long-time first mate coming at him. Clare realized that she would have to fight Snake-Eye herself.

  Gathering up her wits and her sword, she lunged and ran into Snake-Eye. They fell onto the blood-stained deck. Snake-Eye's body squirming beneath hers made her gag, and it took her a few moments to collect herself. He'd dropped his dagger somewhere on the deck, so he wrestled with her instead, holding each of her wrists in his grubby hands.

  "Wicked wench!" he yelled, spittle flying as he struggled with her. He pulled her close, and she thrashed about against his grip. He pinned her, both her arms against the deck and both her legs trapped beneath his boots. For a moment, they froze in silent drama, treacherous pirate and urban university student. His marble eyeball stared blankly at her, and she saw a shadow of her reflection disappear into its misty depths.

  Clare had seen enough zombie movies and action films to know what to do. She lowered her head down toward his chest, holding her breath against the stench, and then whipped it up, head-butting his chin. He staggered back, holding his jaw in his hands. Clare took up her sword and swung, slicing his upper arm. The feeling of the metal cutting flesh made her stomach churn, but she was not going to let history repeat itself. Thinking about all the people he would kill as the new pirate king, she lunged and stuck the point in his gut. He looked at her in shock. She pushed the blade deeper, and he sank onto the planks in defeat.

  The battle raged around her, and Clare stood motionless. It seemed like such a waste of human souls, such a sacrifice for an unworthy cause. Robert dashed over to her side to catch her just as she started to fall.

  "By the Gods! You did it, you saved my life and killed Snake-Eyed Sam!" Clare trembled at the idea that she took someone else's life and the fact that she'd come so close to death herself. Fighting tears, she looked up at Robert.

  He took her into his arms and held her close, running his hands through her hair and down her back. His words were soft whispers meant for her ears alone. "You are the greatest woman pirate I've ever known."

  Clare locked eyes with his and, before she could protest, he pressed his lips to hers. To hell with it, she thought, and kissed him back, her lips moving against his, asking for more. For a moment, the clamor of the battle muted in the surging beat of her heart.

  They were interrupted by a cannon blast that shattered the mast above their heads. All at once, the sails and rigging fell from the sky. A piece of wood from the loft hit her head. Clare blacked out, the chaos fading into silence and oblivion.

  "Clare, are you all right?" Clare recognized Tara's voice and opened her eyes. A stone statue of Robert towered over her. She was beneath his hardedged chin. Tara's face hovered above hers, haloed by the fluorescent light. "She must have fallen and hit her head." It was a man's voice that she didn't recognize. "Clare, can you hear me?" Tara asked.

  "Yes, I can hear you." Clare sounded more annoyed than anything else.

  She moved to touch the bump on the back of her head, but Tara held her arm down. "Get me a cold compress and some ice!"

  There was movement around her. Some of the other tour participants were trying to help.

  Tara fell back with a wash of relief. "You scared me for a moment there." Clare looked around. The sword lay at her side, and a circle of faces peered over her, all eyes wide with concern. One face stood out in the sea of eyes and concerned expressions. She blinked in doubt, but when she opened her eyes he was still there. He came forward and put a warm hand on her forehead. "My sincerest apologies, Miss."

  "Robert? Is that you?" Clare's voice broke on the words.

  Tara laughed nervously and put her hand over her face in embarrassment. "No, honey, that's our tour guide." She shook her head empathetically. "I'm sorry, my friend's hit her head and—"

  "No problem," he waved her comment away, "I get that all the time."

  "What happened to the other tour guide?" Clare asked, still groggy.

  "What other tour guide? Roland's been the only guide here."

  Clare sat up and looked around. The museum was bigger than she remembered. A fountain gurgled at the center of the glass-paned room, complete with ships and waves carved out of marble, and balconies to other galleries lined the walls. A high-domed ceiling was painted in glittering stars.

  "I'll take care of this." The man who looked like Robert shooed Tara away. He knelt down beside her and took her hand in his.

  "My apologies. I just had someone check this exhibit the other day, and the mast was stable, held by cables on either side. I had no idea how it came loose."

  "It's all right," Clare managed to say, studying his face. He looked so much like Robert, she had to shake her head to get the pirate's image out. "As the owner of this museum, I would like to make it up to you. Let's say dinner tonight?"

  She heard Tara gasp. Clare looked into his eyes and saw him for the first time. He wasn't Robert, but he had the same alluring charisma and bright eyes. "Okay."

  He looked pleased. "Nice to meet you, by the way. I'm Roland. I'm a descendant of Captain Robert. You must remember from the tour?" Tara chimed in. "She wasn't paying attention to the tour. She hates pirates."

  "No, I don't," Clare corrected her quickly. She smiled at Roland. "I'm a pirate wannabe."

  Road Pirate Wanted

  Victoria Oldham

  "Goddamn rain," Chris said, her eyes glued to the road in front of her. She downshifted again as the drops of rain merged into sheets, obscuring the white line on Interstate 25. The rig shifted behind her, and she hoped her cargo was tightly packed.

  Through the torrents on her windshield, she saw hazard lights up ahead. She slowed down even more, and her headlights showed a woman, her clothes plastered to her body, standing beside her Lexus with the hood up, talking into a cell phone.

  "Nice," Chris said. As a long-distance trucker, she was often in the habit of voicing her thoughts as a way to keep herself company.

  It was near
ly midnight and there were no other headlights on this stretch either in the rearview mirror or coming toward her, she pulled the rig over in front of the woman's car. She put the hood of her jacket up, jumped out of the cab, and ran over.

  "What's the problem?" she shouted above the driving rain.

  "I have no idea. The tow truck is on its way, but because of the weather it's going to take a while," the woman shouted back in a voice just deep enough to be sexy without sounding like a smoker.

  "Come sit in the cab. I've got coffee and some towels. I'll wait with you 'til the tow truck comes."

  Chris saw the woman's hesitation on her face and the way she held herself stiff, but then a huge crack of lightning lit the sky, followed by thunder that rattled the windows of the car, and the woman nodded quickly.

  Chris ran to the passenger side of her cab, opened the door, and gave the woman a hand up, which allowed a view of her tight ass and perfect breasts, all dripping wet.

  When she climbed in on her own side, she grabbed towels from the back and handed them over. She also grabbed a dry sweatshirt and handed her that as well.

  "Thank you so much. I'm Shelly, by the way." She held one hand out as she toweled her hair with the other.

  "Chris Connelly. Not a problem. It's a bitch to keep going in this rain, anyway."

  She watched Shelly run the towel over her face, arms, and hair. She moved fluidly, like she knew every part of her body and just where it was wettest. Chris licked her lips quickly and swallowed. She'd been alone on the road for way too long. Even the last overnight truck stop hadn't provided the usual working girls to take the edge off .

  Shelly picked up the sweatshirt and bit her lip. "Do you mind if I take my shirt off ? I don't want to get your sweatshirt all wet, and I'm freezing." Chris nearly laughed out loud, but shrugged like she couldn't care less. "No problem. Don't want you catching cold." She watched as Shelly turned toward the window in an effort at modesty and quickly pulled the soaked material from her skin. A black lace bra sat against perfectly tanned skin. Chris grinned when she saw the skull and crossbones tattoo on Shelly's left shoulder. Then she saw Shelly's reflection in the window, and that hard nipples were tenting the black lace over her full breasts.