by Ryan Gilbert
Riggs dropped some coins into the bartender’s hand, giving him a nod as he pushed away from the bar.
“Safe travels, my friend,” the old man said.
“Aye. Same to you,” Riggs replied.
The Captain had all the information he needed. Now, he just needed to find Dawson. He looked over to Thomas, but his crewmate was still stuck trying to get information out of the drunken men. As quickly as he could, Riggs ducked out of the tavern. If he was going to find Joseph Dawson, he was going to do it alone.
Once outside, Riggs hurried away from the tavern. He held his coat close, the brisk night air blowing past his face. The sun had fallen below the horizon, blanketing the sky in eerie darkness. Clouds floated in the sky, the light of the moon illuminating them as they passed by it.
By now, the streets were nearly barren of people. The families of the town had just tucked their children into bed, and the honest workers were getting some much-needed rest. Every couple yards, Riggs would see one or two people, but they seemed harmless enough. They were mostly just men making their way back to the port, eager to board their ship once more. Other than a brief nod of the head, they did not bother the pirate captain.
Before long, Riggs reached the building about which the bartender had spoken. The red and brown bricks stuck out against the other buildings that surrounded it, the streetlamps further accentuating the strange design. Keeping his distance from the building, Riggs surveyed the windows, noticing that one was open. As he made his way closer to the building, he could hear giddy laughs and bottles tapping against each other.
Quietly stepping up to the front door, the Captain gently tapped his knuckles on the wood. Almost immediately, he heard someone rushing to the door. It opened a crack as a young woman peeked through the opening.
“Who are you?” she asked anxiously.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, missy. I’m Captain Striker.”
“What do you want?” she asked quickly. From how the woman was acting, Riggs could tell that Dawson must have terrified her.
“I heard that a Joseph Dawson lived here,” answered the Captain.
The woman turned to an unseen person, and Riggs could hear some whispering. It was too faint for him to understand, but he could tell that there were at least two people on the other side of that door.
The woman reappeared, frantically asking, “How do you know that? Who told you about him?”
Reaching his hand into his coat, Riggs readied his pistol, preparing for a fight.
“The old bartender from down the street. He said that Dawson had been causin’ a bit o’ trouble for ye.”
“Oh, you must have spoken with Simon Waller. God bless his soul.”
At that, the woman opened the door fully, welcoming Riggs into the home. He could see the man with whom she had been talking, a fellow that looked around her age. He held a musket in his hands, even though his hands were shaking as he rested it against the wall. Once he saw that Riggs had noticed it, he tried to explain.
“You can’t ever be too careful, especially with… him… upstairs.”
With a knowing nod, Riggs said, “If ye don’t mind, I’d like to take care of your house guest. He has somethin’ of mine, and I need to take it back.”
The couple pointed up the stairs, not even trying to stop him. The husband grabbed the musket and followed his wife into the kitchen, locking the door behind them both. Riggs was left alone to deal with Dawson.
He crept up the stairs, taking out his pistol and pulling back the hammer. With each step, he could hear the laughs getting louder and more rowdy. He could make out two distinct voices. There was the higher tone of a woman’s voice and the gruff sound of a man hardened by battle. Every couple seconds, there would be a squeal of delight and a belch, something Riggs had heard many times during his time in Rebelde. When he reached the top of the steps, he walked across the landing, right to the door where he heard the most noise.
Holding up his weapon, Riggs rapped on the door with his hand. In an instant, the room fell silent. When no one came to answer the door, the pirate captain yelled, “Joseph Dawson?”
From behind the protection of the door, Riggs heard, “Leave me alone. I ain’t done nothing.”
Bracing himself against the railing, Riggs kicked the door, obliterating the lock and swinging it open. He leveled his gun at the first thing he saw.
Something fell off of the bed with a yelp, and he swung his pistol to face it. A barely clothed woman crawled around the bed, covering her head to shield herself. Where was Dawson?
Before Riggs could even react, a fist jabbed him in the face. Dawson grabbed the pirate by the back of his coat and yanked him further into the room. Every’s former crewmember tossed Riggs over the bed, bashing him against the wall. The Captain recovered quickly, getting to his feet just as Dawson dashed out of the room.
Rushing out of the room, Riggs reached the railing just as his target was scrambling to get down the steps. The Captain threw caution to the wind as he vaulted over the railing, crashing into Dawson just as he reached the middle of the stairs.
The two fell down the stairs and landed on the floor in a heap. A breathless Dawson scrambled to get to his feet as Riggs tackled him through the entryway of the building. The collision knocked the wind out of Dawson for even longer, slowing him down just enough for Riggs to grab onto him and pin him against the brick wall. The fleeing man tried to escape but all he received was the barrel of a gun pressed against his neck.
“I’m goin’ to ask you again… Joseph Dawson?”
The former pirate nodded his head vigorously.
“Care to tell me why ye were runnin’?”
Dawson looked down at the pistol and then back up at Riggs. He relaxed a little, knowing that he had been caught.
“What’s it matter to ye anyway? Yer just going to kill me,” he said, using one last bit of spite on Riggs.
The pirate captain laughed, allowing his cockiness to show. He pressed his arm against Dawson’s neck and shoulders, moving the pistol away from his fellow pirate.
“I’m not here to kill you, Dawson. I just want information.”
A look of surprise appeared on his face, obviously startled by what Riggs had said.
“Information? What information?”
“I want to know about your captain… Henry Every.”
Shock spread over Joseph Dawson’s face once he heard the name. He pushed himself back against the wall, even as Riggs relaxed his hold on him.
“What do ye know about Every?” asked the Pirate King’s former crewmate.
Riggs took a step back, watching Dawson’s eyes flit back and forth, unable to focus on one single thing. Hearing his captain’s name after all those years had sent an unwelcome jolt down his spine.
“I know that your captain is alive.”
Dawson’s jaw dropped.
“That’s bloody impossible. Everyone was searching for ‘im. He’s got to be dead.”
Every’s crewmate tried to run, but Riggs dragged him back against the wall.
“He was. Magic brought him back to life, and now he’s tryin’ to destroy us all.”
“How the hell do I fit into this?” asked a frightened Dawson.
Riggs kept his pistol at the ready, prepared for the situation to turn ugly.
“I need you to help find your former captain.”
Without a word, Dawson pushed past Riggs, running down the street. The Captain gave chase, latching on to the pirate’s shoulders and dragging him into an alley. He rammed Dawson into the wall, knocking the wind out of the man for a couple moments.
“I want to kill him,” Riggs growled, yanking his sword out of its scabbard and holding it against Dawson’s neck.
“So ye want me to be the piece o’ meat dangling in front of his face? Not gonna happen,” said the former pirate.
“Aye, mate… it will happen, and I’ll make sure of it.”
The man looked down at the sword, defeat starting
to show in his expression. He started to calm down, his breathing slowing to a normal pace.
“How did ye find me? Of all people, why did ye have to find me?”
“Thank your friend Thomas Jones for that,” Riggs said with a grin.
The look on Dawson’s face changed from fear to bewilderment. Suddenly, he seemed very confused. He looked lost, like he did not even comprehend what the Captain was saying.
“Who’s Thomas Jones?”
Perplexed, Riggs tried to explain, “He’s a pirate who you told about your time on Every’s crew. He’s the one who led us straight to you. He told me that he came across you at one o’ the taverns in town.”
Now, it was Dawson’s turn to laugh as the grin fell from Riggs’ face.
“I know everyone I’ve drank with. Ain’t ne’er met a Jones before.”
Quicker than Riggs could react, Dawson kneed the Captain in the gut and broke free. He grabbed Riggs by the jacket and bashed him against the brick wall, temporarily knocking the pirate senseless. Before the Captain could even pull out his pistol, Dawson had escaped, disappearing into the maze of streets and alleys.
“Damn it,” Riggs cursed, angry at himself.
He scrambled to his feet and rushed out into the street, but there was no one to be seen. There was nothing except the glowing flames of the streetlamps. Riggs kicked the ground in frustration. As he slid his sword back into its scabbard, Dawson’s words kept repeating in his head.
“Ain’t ne’er met a Jones before.”
As much as Riggs had hoped to be proven wrong, his suspicions had been confirmed. Jones was not at all who he said he was. Now came the task of finding out who he really was. Was he part of the Navy? Was he just a lying scallywag? Riggs clenched his fist as he walked down the street, ready to beat the information out of his new crewmate if he needed to.
He could hear the voice of Marcus Garrett cackling in his ears. He did not care anymore.
With every step, the anger boiled even hotter in his mind. His arms swung at his sides, his knuckles white from how tightly he was clenching his fists. Time seemed to pass so quickly. It felt like mere moments before he arrived back at the taverns. His crew was already gathered in the street, discussing what they had found. Once they saw their captain, they rushed to his side.
“Captain, what happened to you? It looks like you’ve been in a fight,” said Eli, observing Riggs’ dirty coat.
He ignored his crewmate, heading straight toward Thomas.
“Jones… you’ve got some explainin’ to do.”
“What do ye mean?” asked a confused Jones.
Right as the last word left his crewmate’s mouth, Riggs punched him across the face. To the Captain’s surprise, Jones rolled with the punch, spinning around and grabbing his captain by the arm. The move caught Riggs off guard, sending him stumbling past the liar. Turning back around, he tried to swing again, but Thomas jumped backward, away from the angry pirate.
“Riggs, what the bloody hell are you doing?” shouted Coral Jack.
Stalking after Jones, Riggs replied, “I’m takin’ care of a liar. I’m not lettin’ one of my crew betray me again.”
As he slowly backed away from the Captain, Thomas said, “I’m not going to betray you, Riggs. From the looks of it, I brought you to Dawson.”
Eli and Coral Jack tried to stop their friend, but Riggs just pulled out his pistol, keeping his crewmates at a safe distance. With them and Valera watching, he aimed the gun at Jones, demanding answers.
“Dawson said he never met you… and I’m inclined to believe ‘im.”
“So you’re going to believe the man who is known as the biggest drunkard this town has ever seen rather than the crewmate who led you right to ‘im?”
Cocking his pistol, Riggs said, “Aye.”
Jones locked eyes with his captain, saying, “I know you haven’t trusted me once since you met me, Captain Riggs, but ye must keep one thing in mind. I want Henry Every dead just as much as you do. You have to believe me on that.”
Riggs said nothing.
“I am Thomas Jones, Captain. If you want to kill the one person who knows everything about Henry Every, then go right ahead.”
Thomas stopped right at the entrance to an alley, raising his outstretched arms. Riggs’ finger twitched as it neared the trigger. He did not want to have another traitor in his midst. He had already let Jones deceive him before. The last person to deceive him had killed one of his friends and kidnapped the love of his life. He was not going to let something like that happen again.
Not again.
Just as he was about to pull the trigger, he snatched the gun by the barrel and jammed it into his belt. He had no choice. Jones was right. Even if he had lied, he was the only one to know anything pertinent about Every.
“Never… ever… lie to me again,” the Captain said begrudgingly, “If you do, I swear I will kill you.”
Jones stepped forward and laid a hand on Riggs’ shoulder.
“I understand, Captain,” he said, surprising all of the crew.
Before he could react, Riggs noticed a man in the alley, leaning against the wall. He was basking in the shadows, barely even able to be seen. A hat covered his head as it seemed to the crew that he was just staring at them.
“Oi! Move along now, mate,” Riggs shouted at him.
The man did not move.
Hurrying past Riggs and Jones, Eli said, “Didn’t you hear my captain? He said to move along.”
Still, the man did not move.
“Mate, he told you to…”
The rest of the words never even reached the tip of Eli’s tongue. He laid a hand on the shadowy man’s shoulder, and the man tumbled over. The streetlamps bathed a bloodied corpse with light, every bit of skin cleaved from his body. Eli shrieked and jumped back, knocking over some barrels. The shocked crew saw the exposed muscle tissue, some of which was ripped from the bone itself. Valera clutched her stomach as she caught sight of the glossy eyes staring at the ground, blood sliding over the pupil. The smell had just started to accumulate near the corpse.
Kneeling down next to the dead body, Riggs tried to figure out how the man had died… other than from the lack of skin. Before long, he saw cuts running down the center of the chest, almost like he had been opened up like a coat. At the corpse’s side, Riggs spotted several footprints, each with splotches of blood surrounding the outside.
Turning to Jones, he asked, “Did Every do this?”
From the stern look on his crewmate’s face, Riggs already knew the answer.
Jones said, “Yes… Henry Every has arrived.”
At the outskirts of Lewes, Joseph Dawson ran like his life depended on it. He could not tell if that pirate was still chasing him or not, but he did not want to stop and check. He needed to get away from there before anyone else came looking for him.
As he reached the fields of grass just outside the town, Dawson slowed for a moment to catch his breath. Panting and wheezing, he came to a stop, resting his hands on his knees. His eyes darted back and forth, watching for any sign of movement. His ears listened for any sound that seemed out of place.
So far as he could tell, no one was following him any more.
Dawson let out a quick laugh, finally able to relax. If that pirate had found him, then there were certainly more out there searching for him. He could not stay in Lewes any longer. All he had to do was walk away from the town, and he would be free, his crimes and his past unknown to anyone. For the first time in a long while, he actually felt like a free man again.
Taking a few steps forward, he started the long walk through the fields. He would have to get used to it. The fields stretched for miles.
Still laughing to himself, Dawson reached the top of a hill. As he turned around to see Lewes for one last time, he caught a glimpse of several shapes slowly moving toward him. They looked like men, but they were extremely thin. The darkness of the night kept their features concealed.
Panic se
t in as soon as Dawson heard the clang of swords.
The former pirate whipped around only to find himself face to face with a man holding a torch. A large hat blocked Dawson’s view of the man’s eyes as he stumbled backwards.
“Get out o’ my way, ye bugger,” he said, trying to get past the mysterious stranger.
The man only kept creeping forward.
“Are ye deaf, mate? I said get out o’ my way.”
Dawson tried to push past him, but the man just swung the torch at him, knocking flaming embers against Dawson’s bare chest. The former pirate fell to the ground in pain, his skin burned.
“Joseph… Joseph, don’t you remember me?” the stranger asked, plunging the tip of the torch into the ground and reaching out to Dawson.
The flame instantly flooded the man’s face with light, and Dawson’s mouth gaped in horror. Flesh hung from his face in a drooping mess. The man’s lips had been pulled back to reveal the yellowed teeth beneath them. Flaps of skin hung loosely from his neck like a mast with no wind. Right above where the man’s shirt clasped, a bloody gash could be seen running all the way up to his chin.
However, the most terrifying parts were the man’s eyes. They were nothing more than glowing orbs.
“C-C-Captain?” Dawson stuttered in fear.
The skeletal teeth seemed to form a monstrous smile. The tips of finger bones ripped through the skin of the man whom Every had murdered. Blood coated the bones, paralyzing Every’s former crewmember with fright.
Dawson tried to back away from the nightmarish sight, but he immediately bumped into several other members of the Arch Pirate’s skeleton crew. He let out a scream of terror as the bony figures pushed him back into Every’s grasp.
Every’s finger bones wrapped around Dawson’s neck, lifting him into the air. The terrified fugitive tried to escape his dead captain’s grip, but the skeleton was too strong.
“Do forgive me, Joseph. I need this life more than you ever did,” said the King of Pirates.
Raising his glowing orbs to the sky, he shouted, “Tolle hunc et sacrificium domina amet ut homo in hoc mundo iterum.”
As Every began the incantation, the wind started to blow stronger. The loose dirt started to form a whirlwind around Every and Dawson, terrifying the former pirate even more than before.
