 | Chapter 1 Copyright 2005 by Rod Harden All rights reserved |  |
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The sun had been up for an hour but the fog remained impenetrably thick around the HMS Christofer Remyngton. Mr. Cleese, the First Mate, paced the main deck. He didn't like his ship sitting motionless, bobbing like a cork on the water, but he dare not set sail again until he could get his bearings. They hadn't been able to take a reading since early the previous day, before a fierce storm had blown them off course.
He was peering off to port, seeing nothing but white and mist, when he heard the lookout's call. "Sails, ho!" cried the young man perched high up in the rigging. Cleese shouted in reply. "Where is she, lad?" "Aft and starboard, Mr. Cleese. About a hundred yards. And closing, sir!" Alarmed, Cleese ran to the starboard rail. Still he saw nothing. Were they about to be rammed? It hardly mattered; there was no time to take action. They were sitting ducks. What madman would be underway in this soup? "Mr. Cleese!" called the lookout again. "She's come about. Pulling alongside us, she is, sir." "Can ye make out her colors, lad?" "No, sir! ... Wait... I can just... Mr. Cleese! Lord save us! She's flying the skull and crossbones!" "Curses!" shouted Cleese. He dashed over to the wheel and rang the ship's bell. "To arms! To arms!" The smaller, fleeter brigantine already loomed in the mist, so close Cleese could spit on her deck. Grappling hooks rained onto the Remyngton's deck and found purchase, binding the two vessels together. Piercing the haze, planks were extended, bridging the gap between the two vessels. A deep gravelly voice seemed to emanate from the very clouds. "Prepare to be boarded!" Cleese and the handful of crew who responded to the call to arms drew their swords. A small band of musketeers worked frantically to load their weapons. But it was already too late. All at once, the pirates boarded, some scurrying across the planks, some swinging on ropes from the other ship's yardarms. In the space of a drawn breath, the Remynton's deck was crawling with pirate vermin. The scruffy gang soon surrounded Cleese and his men. Most had swords drawn, but many also held loaded flintlock pistols, aimed at Remynton's huddled crew. From the midst of the pirate's ranks, one stepped forward. "If ye value yer lives, lay down yer weapons." The voice was the same as the one that that had called moments before. "Never!" announced Cleese. "We shall fight you to the death." "Will ye now?" said the pirate captain. "That would be right foolish, Mister. All we want is the treasure on board. And yer weapons. And yer provisions and supplies. Surrender these without a fight and ye shall live to sail another day." Cleese swallowed hard and glanced back toward the captain's cabin. Where was that worthless drunken bastard? Still sleeping off his binge from the night before, no doubt. Best he stay put anyway for now and not draw attention to what else was in the cabin with him. "We have little in the way of treasure of board," said Cleese, "and I have no wish to die for it. You are welcome to it as far as I'm concerned, as well as whatever supplies you need. But how can I trust you to let us go?" "Ye can't, now can ye? There's the dilemma. Choose wisely." One of Cleese's men panicked and lunged with his sword, but he collapsed to the deck after just half a step. The crack of the pistol was deafening. It seemed to reverberate against the fog itself. The pirate captain waited for the sound to die away, never taking his eyes off Cleese. He smiled grimly. "Me men are handy with the pistol, are they not, Mr. Cleese?" "Yes, they- Wait! How do you know my name?" "I know many things. Now, have ye made yer decision? Ye have three seconds until you and yer crew join this fool in an untimely death." Cleese threw his sword to the deck at once. "Lay down your weapons, men!" "Excellent," laughed the pirate. A small contingent of the brigands immediately rounded up the crew and guarded them while the rest hurried toward the hold. Before Cleese joined them, he turned to the pirate captain and said, "You know who I am, so it's only fair that you tell me your name." "Aye!" laughed the pirate. "Only fair, as ye say. Me name's Skyles. James Skyles. But most people know me as Greenbeard." "Greenbeard? That's unusual." "Aye, but all the good colors were taken already. Blackbeard, Redbeard, Bluebeard... I was going to use Brownbeard, but it didn't flow quite right if ye see what I mean." "Yes, I suppose." "Now, Mr. Cleese, ye can take yer place with the rest of the crew. I'll just be seeing what lies within the captain's quarters." "Nothing!" shouted Cleese, too quickly. "I mean, um, it's only the captain in there. He's sleeping off a drunken binge, and... and..." "Arrr, ye make a poor liar, Cleese. There be more than just a drunken captain beyond that door. I believe there be treasure there as well." "Treasure? No, I swear, there's no treasure in there." "I'll be the judge of that, Mr. Cleese." With that, Greenbeard turned and walked aft. Cleese could only watch as, without breaking stride, the pirate kicked the door in. The loud snap of the shattered latch was greeted by barely stifled female cries.
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