For the first time since I last saw her in her Kraken form, my sister smiles.
Help is on the way, but will he reach me before my human form drowns?
10
Captain Teeth
“Eze pull the gangplank. Master of Sails, are we ready to weigh anchor?” I shout the final orders to leave Trinidad’s harbor. By now, half the boats docked on their pier have spotted the Spanish Galleon on the horizon, butPatricia’s Wishcan outrun them all. Instead of a massive slaver’s vessel, like theWhydah, our girl is an English man-o-war we stole in Carolina. She’s faster, sleeker, and turns on a needle. We will engage with the Galleon first and, by the law of the sea, be the ones to plunder her. Whether or not the Galleon has treasure, she will fill our larder and armory.
Sometimes the best booty is found in the kitchen, not the cargo hold.
“Sails unfurled, Sir. Throw the lines, lads,” Chub yells in response to my order. The pirates who untied the sails scramble onto the deck to untiethe tow lines that hold us to the docks.
“Stop, stop,” yells a daft wench from the boardwalk. She holds her modest dress to her knees as she runs toward the boat.
I do a doubletake. She’s the spitting image of my Sabs, but Sabs wouldn’t wear a high collar like that—not when she claims I mistook her for a strumpet. This irritant’s hair fans over her shoulders, where Sabs’s hair hangs around her hips. It’s the same color…is blazing red a common color in the Caribbean? What am I saying? Sabs wasn’t raised in the masses of the Caribbean—she’s a Kraken, so ask my arse if there’s a redheaded island somewhere.
“Permission to board,” she yells while stepping onto the gangplank.
The insolence!
“Permission denied,” I shout to Eze, who obediently pulls the gangplank toward him. Irritating woman rides the gangplank as it’s yanked aboard. She wobbles on worn shoes at odds with her fancy-collared dress. “We weigh anchor to engage the Spanish Galleon—not the place for a highborn lady.”
“You can’t leave,” she shouts on the verge of hysterical sobs. Great, a delicate woman aboard is the last thing I need. She storms across the main deck and dares to approach me on the sterncastle deck. I have many female crewmembers who would kill a soldier to protect the boat—women I respect with my fullheart—not like this delicate flower. “You must help me find my sister—”
“We must claim our prize, madam! Look around you,” I sneer as I cross by Chub at the helm. “We aren’t errand boys for the harbormaster. We’re pirates!”
“If I help you claim this prize, will you return to Trinidad and help me rescue my sister?”
“No,” I snarl. “Chub, full spin to the east. Master of Arms—is the crew equipped?”
“Aye, aye,” shouts Barrel, who runs our armory. Blimey, a sword in every hand and a single shooter in every holster. Finally, someone who recognizes what must happen before they are told.
“Master of Cannons—"
“Four balls each and stocked with powder,” yells the new gunnery we picked up in Aruba. What’s his name? Did we rename him? Avast ye, I’ll have to ask Chub when we’re counting our spoils.
“Don’t open the hatches until I give the order,” I command. Chub gives me a wink and a nod in my peripheral vision. After months of studying, I finally learned Captain Magda, Captain Branko, and Ol’Blackbeard’s maneuvers. If I have to spend another minute at the map with the little figures, I’ll lose my temper and blow the models to smithereens. However, the toil will be worth itif our boat is in one piece after today’s battle.
“Please—” Oh hell, is she still on deck? We’re at seventy yards and closing in. At twenty-five yards, I’ll give the signal to turn and fire.
“You belong in the kitchen—”
“Well, I never—”
“The kitchen is where we have a false wall with a safe room for delicate people. Catalina will let you in and take care of you. Don’t be difficult and go,” I shout in her face. She squeezes her eyes shut as locks of red hair blow backward.
“If it’s all the same to you,” she says, smoothing her lacy collar against her neck. “I’ll stay by your side. If you die, you can’t retrieve my sister.”
“Bloody hell,” I reply, smearing my hand down my face. “If you stay by my side, crouch below the railing. I’m the target for their cannons, but your red hair makes you an easier mark.”
Finally, the wench shows some sense and pales at my warning. With one last nod to Chub, I stomp across the deck to the front of the boat. My little shadow crouches lower than the railing as she shuffles behind me. I’ll taunt the enemy from the forecastle deck by swinging out on the bowsprit to distract the snipers and cannoneers. Other boats sink when their captain is shot, but my quartermaster is the real brains behind this operation.Patricia's Wishwillcontinue her attack as long as the enemy fire doesn’t hit the helm he holds or the kitchen where his lady love resides.
“Turn the sails south,” I yell as my boots hit the forecastle stairs. The order repeats across the boat, called out by those on the deck as they tug the lines holding the sails and those on the ratlines as they kick the booms holding the fabric. The last to call the order is Chub, who tilts the wheel to turn the ship’s rudder. The boat turns left and circles the Galleon like a shark.
“Are you going to ram her or fire at her?” The wench breaks my concentration with her nattering, repeating the same question until I’m compelled to answer her.
“Right now, we’re stopping the prize so she can’t use her momentum to jog away. See? She’s dropping anchor,” I reply, handing the wench my spyglass.
