“Back to it or we all go down!” Billy commands.
The men return to their stations, leaving only Billy, yourself, and Robin on the quarterdeck.
“Ya didn’t really kill Bullock, did ya, Saltboots?” Billy asks. “Oh, don’t bother, I can see it in your eyes, mate. ’Twas quick thinking, lest we descend into madness. Robin, do us all a favor and wrap the captain for burial. We’ll hold a service on the morrow.”
Robin lifts Bullock like a sack of flour and takes the corpse away to sew the man into canvas. Billy throws his head in the direction of the cabin and bids you to follow. Once inside, he claims the captain’s decanter, opens and pours the red liquid into a pair of crystal goblets, then hands one to you.
“Well done, Saltboots. Ya might’ve just saved the ship. When we get t’Boston, I’ll see Rediker and the others hanged. Here’s to you as a true seaman, and why ’tis we never say die!”
He toasts, and you share the drink with an echoed, “Never say die!”
“So who was it truly killed Cap’n Bullock?” Billy asks after you’ve both finished your drinks.
“I honestly don’t know, Billy. It’s like the man slit his neck himself.”
Billy tugs at his muttonchops thoughtfully, and you clear your throat. The alcohol burns; must be that you’re only used to diluted rum in your daily rations. But Billy notices it too, rubbing his own neck in response.
“This’d be some shite port wine. Personal stock? Ya can keep it—”
Then he makes a gagging sound and his other hand comes up to his throat. His face blooms red, then purple.
“Billy!” you cry. “Are you all r—”
Then you feel it too: your airways constricting as your throat expands. You can’t breathe! In a desperate bid for air, you go for the bloody captain’s knife on the floor, but Billy’s own survival instincts kick in and he tries to wrestle the knife from your grasp. If only you can breathe again, you’ll be free!
Through the pain, a dire realization comes through: Captain Bullock wasn’t killed by his own knife… the man was poisoned!
THE END
Oppressed
Your naivety towards shipboard discipline speaks volumes. Do you think the Royal Navy is a stranger to those who would shirk their duties? Likely, as one of the newest “recruits,” they were already watching you, expecting you to try something like this. You’re easily caught and brought before the Master and Commander on the quarterdeck. Now what?
Captain Longwick is to make an example of you, it would seem. You’re told to “kiss the gunner’s daughter”—meaning, in this case, to bend over one of the long guns and drop your trousers. Then the Captain unfurls his cat-o’-nine-tails whip and proceeds to flog you violently. You think you’re going to keep a stiff upper lip about it, but the barbs of the whip bite into your skin, pulling flesh away as they retreat for another round. Involuntarily, you scream out in tremendous pain. That only seems to make the commander’s blood rise higher; he lashes you all the more fiercely.
What’s worse is what comes after. The men of the ship now view you with suspicion. In a carefully rationed world, one who would merit extra attention without pulling their weight is a decided negative. So you get the worst helpings in the kitchen: rotting and festering food. The surgeon declines to look over your wounds, and soon they too rot and fester.
James tries to support you, sneaking food away, but you know if he’s caught stealing, he’ll share your fate, so you refuse your cousin’s gifts. With your wounds preventing you from being able to sit or lie down, a lack of sleep seals your fate. A fever comes in less than a week. A week after that and you’ve fully wasted away.
Once you’ve expired, you’re sewn into your hammock and unceremoniously dropped into the briny deep.
THE END
Out of the Loop
The men disappear on their errand while you continue the rounds, not letting imagination get the better of you. It’s just as well, because only minutes later, there’s a break in the sky.
“Saltboots! Impeccable timing. Come, record these measurements!”
It’s Joe the bosun, manning the helm. He uses an astrolabe and records the constellations and their distance from the horizon. Once you’re at his side, he starts reciting the measurements aloud so you can record them onto parchment. It’s a frantic, excited pace, but you’re able to keep up until he’s finished reading the heavens.
“Make haste, then! Cap’n will want these numbers ’fore he notices the skies’ve cleared. Tread lightly, he’s in one-o’-his moods.”
Nodding your understanding, you rush towards the captain’s cabin, trepidation and exhilaration swirling in your breast. Knocking on the door, you hear a muffled reply and a clattering from within. You knock again, and the door creaks open. Must not have been latched….
The door swings wide with a lurch of the ship, and Captain Bullock falls forward into your arms. He makes a hideous gurgling noise, crimson bubbles frothing from his lips. His body falls prone and the unexpected weight of the man brings you both down outside the cabin.
You roll the captain onto his back to find the source of the suffocation, only to see his throat’s been cut! Completely severed, ear to ear. There’s a bloody knife inside the cabin, lying only a few feet away. Captain Bullock continues gagging for breath, blood pulsing from his wound, then—with one more sickening gasp—the man expires.
A cacophony of boots clatter on deck as the crew rushes towards the commotion. The first to arrive is Chips, who looks aghast with horror. Here you are, kneeling over the body of Captain Bullock, the man’s blood on your hands. Joe arrives only a few moments later; more and more of the crew appear by the second.
“What’s happened here?” Joe asks.
“Saltboots… killed the cap’n,” Chips says, ashen-faced with shock.
You shake your head, trying to find the words.
• Point out the knife and cry, “No! I found him like this! The killer must still be inside!”
• Tell them about the conspiracy of men you saw in the moonlight.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Out to Sea
Following the stream of birds, you end up on the leeward coast of the island. Turns out there’s a natural bay on this side, with rocky cliffs that cup the sea in such a way as to provide a natural updraft for the birds. So many of them are attracted to this area because it’s easy to glide in the thermals before diving down into the waves to hunt for prey.
But… no signs of fresh water. After this hike to a dead end, you’re thirstier than ever. Better not make that mistake again. Where to this time?
• Back to the birds’ preferred circling area. If they’re looking for food here, they must be doing something else there. Like, drinking fresh water, hopefully.
• Look for animal trails and see where multiple paths converge. They need fresh water too, and they’ve discovered the island’s secrets long ago.
• Seek a low-lying part of the island near broad-leaf vegetation. That’s a natural spot where you’re likely to find ponds or streams.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Overindulgent
“To my success?” Captain Longwick parrots back. “Did I sail the Hornblower myself? That might’ve proved difficult, what with my lone firing of the rear cannon battery to keep the Dons at bay. And how I had time to tend to the wounded, keep the pumps running, feed, arm, and clothe the men whilst I was simultaneously making repairs! No, Ward. Tonight I will toast to the crew, to their success. A ship is not one man, you’d do well to remember! If you should one day earn the King’s commission as lieutenant, I should hate for an officer nurtured under my command to toast to their own successes!”
“Aye, sir. No, sir. Of course not. We will certainly toast to the Hornblower and our fine crew. I only meant as the Captain, you deserve recognition for leading us to victory, sir.”
“Don’t grovel, Ward. It’s unbefitting an officer candidate.”
“Aye, sir. Do you really th
ink I’d have a shot at lieutenant?” you say, taking the opportunity to change the subject.
“I think if you’re seriously committed, I can lend you some pertinent books on the subject. The examination for lieutenant shouldn’t be undertaken without due preparations.”
“Aye, sir. Thank you, sir!”
• Captain Longwick is watching you carefully now. Accept his books and spend the evening studying to show him how committed you are.
• A night to celebrate, indeed! Head back to the Hornblower and toast to the events of the past, the gift of the present, and those challenges yet to come.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Over the Precipice
You rush in and swing with the drawknife, hoping to knock his hand clear of the pistol. The ship lurches under the swell of the approaching storm and your aim is not so precise. The large, two-handled blade connects with the meat of the man, right at his neckline, and (true to its name) draws a huge ribbon of flesh away as easily as a butcher with salt pork.
Blood sprays like a fountain, and the cooper’s mate screams in horror. The Master-of-Arms lets loose his own blood-curdled howl and tries all the more frantically to claim his pistol. You’ve come too far for that, so you swing and get the blow as originally intended—a cleaving hack to his wrist that will leave the man needing a hook for a hand for the rest of his life.
With so much blood loss, the rest of his life is only a few minutes. The Master-of-Arms falls to the deck, and you drop the drawknife next to him as the bloodlust wears off.
By now, you have the attention of the whole watch. Lieutenant Dalton and Mr. Magnus pull you away from the body, muttering something about a swift trial.
Await that trial from the ship’s brig.
Over Your Head
James nods and you turn back to the bar, but your cousin spins back and plants his fist squarely against the phantom kisser’s nose. With a terrible crack, the man stumbles back, and the tavern goes briefly silent. All eyes go to the four of you.
The other winds up for a drunken punch and you duck down from its path. James steps forward and socks him one right in the nose too. The whole tavern erupts into fighting; a powder keg that you just lit the fuse to. Glass shatters over heads, chairs crack against backs and shoulders, and fists generally let fly.
You back away, hoping not to get caught in the fray.
“Town rats!” someone yells.
“Press gang!” cries another.
“Run for it!” sounds the general refrain.
The commotion intensifies, and someone gets thrown through the front window. Several others are stabbed, beaten senseless, or bludgeoned to death around you. It’s total chaos, but you can’t find a way out.
James stands at the front of the tavern and is taken by the town guard when they storm the bar. Nothing you can do to stop it. Finally, a stampede of sailors looking to avoid the press gang crashes through a rear entrance, and with a heavy heart, you’re swept away in the current.
* * *
The next morning, James stands before the High Court of Admiralty, along with many others. It’s a public event, perhaps designed to instill order in the rowdier parts of London. The magistrate goes on about duty, telling all present that due to lack of volunteers, they’re now pressed into service in His Majesty’s Royal Navy. It’s hard to concentrate on the man’s words, truth be told, because it’s all you can do not to call out to your cousin. James looks more distraught than ever.
What are you to do?
• Volunteer to join his ship! Your cousin needs you. Surely if they’re this desperate for fighters, they’ll allow you the concession of joining James’s ship.
• Wait out the sentencing, then ask if he’d like you to deliver a note to his mother when you head back home to Buckinghamshire alone.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Parlay
The Portuguese captain looks at his terrified men, then to the lusty pirate crew, and finally to you. He sizes you up, then says, “Times must be lean, when men of fortune wear rags. Very well, the ship is yours. I only ask that you leave us enough supplies to survive the journey.”
You nod, then turn to Rediker. “Do it. It’s best if we’re known as a crew you’d want to surrender to. Leave them what they need to survive the trip home, take the rest. I’ll entertain the Porto captain.”
In a shockingly peaceable standoff, the crews don’t move against one another, as the captain crosses over to the Deleon’s Revenge and the pirate raiders move in to sack the Dos Santos.
Not wanting the captain to fret, you escort him into the cabin for a drink. In this way, he won’t be able to see any transgressions committed by Rediker and the men against his own crew. Out of sight, if not out of mind.
“I am Captain Vasco da Ferro of the Dos Santos. I must admit, when I think of a pirate captain I imagined gold rings and silk and leather. You look like the hands aboard my ship.”
“I’m Captain Bloodbeard of the Deleon’s Revenge,” you say, trying to remain cordial. “Let me offer you a drink. Brandy?”
He looks around at the selection and eyes Bullock’s crystal decanter. He indicates his interest and you nod. Opening the decanter, he gives it a sniff.
“Port wine, no?”
“Couldn’t say. Haven’t tasted it myself.”
“Your former master must have been a man of distinction. I myself have a magnificent palate for such things. I can tell you the region, even the year,” he says pouring himself a glass and offering one to you as well. “So, Captain Blood… beard? Why do they call you this?”
“The men are fond of their nicknames. Last captain who gave me trouble, I opened his throat and gave him a beard of blood.”
At this, Captain da Ferro’s genteel attitude drops. “Please. I did not mean to disrespect. I—I have a wife. Children. This was to be my last voyage. We have a, a plantation de açúcar. Meu deus, por favor.”
The man is so terrified, his wits abandon him and he reverts to his native tongue.
“Relax, Captain. As I said, we only want the goods on your ship. You’re in the safest place, here in my cabin. Now, please. Enlighten me on the origins of this port,” you say, trying to bring him back to the present.
Captain Ferro nods rapidly, bringing the drink to his lips. Yet, he does anything but taste the fortified wine, gulping it down to calm his nerves. He makes a sour face at having chugged the port and sets the glass down, clearing his throat.
“I think this port has soured,” he says, rubbing his neck in response. “Something else, please, this taste, it is—”
You go for the brandy just as he makes a gagging sound and his other hand comes up to his throat. His face blooms red, then purple. He starts clawing at his own neck, drawing blood.
“Captain!” you cry. “Are you all r—”
In a desperate bid for air, he goes for the captain’s knife held at your waist, Captain Bullock’s own knife—the murder weapon from that fateful night. So frenzied is Captain Ferro that he takes the knife before you can stop him, slitting his own throat.
Through the confusion, seeing a scene like déjà vu, a dire realization comes through: Captain Bullock wasn’t killed by his own knife… the man was poisoned! Something in that port is a constricting agent, and now two men have opened their own throats in a misguided bid for breath.
At the sounds of the commotion, Joe and Robin burst into the cabin, ready to defend their captain. They quickly see that there is no need. Their shocked expressions go from the dead man on the floor, to you. What do you say for yourself?
• The man, Captain Ferro, he killed himself.
• Their captain insulted me, so I showed him why I’m called Bloodbeard.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Passive/Aggressive
Barlow ties the bonds tightly, though you make no effort to resist. He looks like he might say something, maybe apologize for the necessity of all this, but in the end he thinks better of it and remains silent.
Y
ou wait and calm your mind, sitting in the room where Barlow left you. It’s not easy to get comfortable, with your hands bound behind your back, and after a while they go numb.
Cannon fire booms from above, signaling the start of hostilities. Boots clatter across the upper decks as the crew rushes from position to position. With any luck, the pirate ship will soon be boarded by the Royal Navy, and they’ll rescue you once they deal with the crew of the Deleon’s Revenge.
You wait, and wait some more. Men scream, gunpowder screams louder.
After some time, both go silent, and eventually you’re discovered by one of the naval crew. Hooray, you’ve been rescued! Though your knight in shining armor doesn’t see it quite the same way. Despite your gagged protests, the sailor makes no effort to free you from your bonds, but instead lumps you in with the rest of the captives.
Once you’re handed over to the nearest colonial governor, you’re similarly lumped in with those to be hanged. Though you plead your case with the magistrate, it falls on deaf ears. Too many of the pirate crew also claim to be forced into conscription, sailing under the black against their will. The Admiralty Court recognizes no such defense. Surely if they did, all save the captain could claim victimization.
As it stands, you’re to be summarily hanged with Rediker and his whole crew.
THE END
Patronizing
“Eccentric?” Captain Longwick replies, with almost a hint of humor in his voice. “I take it you mean his playing at shovelboard. I don’t know if that display was meant for his men or the Spanish, but I suppose he was trying to imply, subtlety and all, that the capture of the Don Pedro Sangre was barely worth his lordship’s attentions. Still, the lesson you should take away, Ward, is that eccentricity is the luxury of powerful men. The same behavior displayed by a subordinate would be called madness, would it not?”
MAROONED: Will YOU Endure Treachery and Survival on the High Seas? (Click Your Poison) Page 24
