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Chapter 3~ Where is the Captain?
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It happened at noon that very next day. The sun was blindingly bright and the heat had everyone in a viciously terrible mood. The captain had even come out of hiding to feel the coolness of the breeze. The first mate had reported that we were close to Cochin and would make port today. The entire crew was certainly in the mood for relaxation.
I watched Reyes from a distance most of that day. But he continued with his cold, quiet demeanor, and we both pretended that yesterday never happened. However, the more I thought about it, the worse I would feel. I was turning back into a version of myself I’d left behind on a pirate ship that was now—most likely—somewhere at the bottom of the ocean. Gulls flew alongside the ship, squalling along with the brassy songs of the crew as we worked. We were in the midst of a wonderfully distracting moment.
But, it hardly lasted. Reyes saw it first—a proud and royal-looking ship approaching as we sailed closer to the cliff shore. No one had thought much of this vessel over the last hour because it was justified to have royal ships sailing this part of India. But it had remained silently treading behind while it gathered more glances and whispers. The lad saw it first and had, for the first that I’d ever seen, stopped working. He halted carting around pounds of rope and stared. As I’d been watching him all day, I looked to find what was so captivating.
The ship, as close as a league behind us, had raised French colors. This wasn’t to be a concern. After our arrival to Bengal, Captain John Wright secured safe passage home for us through the French East India Company. And though the “protection” was just a crisp slip of paper with gold ink, it put Captain Wright at ease. But, not many of us were thinking of that. We kept wondering why the ship kept getting closer and closer and why the captain hadn’t come out to see.
Then, the French flag came down and no one aboard was focusing anymore. Half of us was sure the captain of such a ship would’ve been quite dim to take down colors so near us. The other half, however, feared what colors would be raised next. We were a strong crew, sure, but not strong enough to survive a pirate attack. Reyes dropped the load of rope in his arms. It hit the deck with a gruesome thud that made us all look closer. The ship had raised a new flag—an English flag. An enemy flag.
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Silence. Absolute silence. Then, a war cry erupted from the ship behind us. I slowly rested my hand on the pistol in my belt and thought of how I was going to survive this. For years now, the English had been a strict enemy of the French, our generous benefactors. And as an Indian ship, we weren’t in a good position. It suddenly became chaotic everywhere. Men ran for weapons; some tried silently fading away or talking others into surrendering while a few began chanting prayers in foreign tongues. I watched Reyes. To my surprise, I saw no fear in him. He drew a short blade from his sash and readied himself. As I observed his curious focus, I realized that I hadn’t shot a gun in three years. And I never again thought I would.
The English ship had grown close enough to see aboard—royal sailors acting like bloodthirsty pirates. As the ship rounded the side of us, our first mate and quartermaster pushed through the frantic crowd to the very front, pistols held out in the tightest fists. We were wordless except for the pitiful prayers whispered in the back. Where the hell was Captain Wright?
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A long, wide wooden plank fell from the English ship and clattered aboard our own. Even the wind had halted in sheer anticipation of what would happen next. Then, from the mass of savagely excited men appeared a figure—tall, slender, and red. He walked over to us like we were business partners of his. You could tell immediately. This was the captain. And what a captain, indeed!
He was a middle-aged Scottish man with a weather-beaten, hollow face that looked like it’d once been quite respectable. His hair was all black and grew tight to his head like mold. And he sported a splintery black mustache that made him appear right out of a fairytale. He dressed in a long coat with many buttons and a blood-red sash tied around the waist. He perched a strange, rounded black cap on his head and wrapped up his hair underneath in a bandana. His aged ears sparkled with small, round silver earrings that glinted in your eyes when he walked. But his eyes were what caught me off guard, so much that I forgot I was holding a gun. His eyes were pits of nothing. They lacked a spark of anything good or kind and reflected back my own face, like looking straight into a watery mirror at night. These were the eyes of a corpse and not of an upright man. You could not read him. And he always seemed to remind you of some wicked person you’d met long ago.
But, he walked right over, two hulking and well-armed officers beside him, and peered at our quartermaster in front. The quartermaster stared straight down the barrel of his gun with his lips pulled back in some relaxed smirk. This man’s eyes drew over all of us then landed on me for just a second longer. I almost lost my grip on my gun.
“You ‘ave no business ‘ere,” grunted the quartermaster.
The captain turned back to our leader and flicked his wrist. The officers beside him revealed guns in both hands and aimed at us all up at the front.
“You don’t know who I am, do you?” the man said in a low hum that seemed nearly harmless.
The quartermaster spat back with fire, “We know exactly who you are. And we want none of your kind aboard this ship.”
“You should’ve thought about that before throwing your souls into the harbor, mate.” He spoke in a rich Scottish accent that was quite new to my ears. Continuing, he demanded, “Where’s the bloody captain of this rig?”
“I am the captain.”
“You’re the captain?”
“Yes.”
He laughed. “No, you’re too bullheaded to be captain of anything. Perhaps a mate or maybe even a master.” The man in red bore his black eyes into those of the quartermaster when he finally said, “What’s your name, lad?”
The quartermaster erupted. “I am no child!”
“I’m not talking to you, you cockeyed shit!” His gaze drifted down to me, my lips slightly trembling but my gun still pointed. “You…”
The quartermaster tried. “His name is—”
A stinging ringing hit my ears suddenly and many of us hissed and covered our ears. But the quartermaster was bent over the floor. The captain had retrieved a gun that remained pointed at the quartermaster. When I saw the blood oozing from the quartermaster’s knee, I realized what’d happened.
“DID I ASK YOU!?” he roared and swung the loaded pistol around at the rest of us, “DID I ASK ANYONE ELSE!?”
What was once a group of solid-as-steel men was now a flock of wingless and horrified chickens huddling together for safety. I was the last of our men still pointing his gun. The man lowered his pistol and smirked again.299Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡabDCaVkC9e
“Your name, lad.”
“Hemingway. Edmund.”
For a split second, his eyes flickered with something fiery and alive. “Hemingway…As in Gretchen Hemingway?”
Gretchen…My sister…
“How do you know that name?” I pressed.
“You look like a smart one, Edmund. And I’d like to keep as many bloody men alive as possible. Believe me. But, I can’t do that if I don’t get the information I desire.”
How does he know about my sister?
“Now, let’s try it again, yes? Where. Is. The. Captain?”
The last thing I was searching for on my journey on this goddamn ship was danger. And this man dripped in nothing but peril and ruthlessness. My immediate response was to shoot him dead in the mouth. But, dammit, I couldn’t. I just hate it when the people I’m supposed to kill give me a reason to not kill them. I had no reason to protect John Wright anymore other than out of miserable, foolish pity. So, I lowered my gun and pointed all the way to his closed-up quarters. He followed my finger up to the top of the ship and smiled. Suddenly, his hand latched around my arm as he chortled, “Let’s pay a visit, shall we?”
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I had never been inside our captain’s quarters. Not many of us had. One of the intruding men broke open the door and snapped the lock away with the same ease as breathing. Much to this new captain’s disappointment, the place was barren—but not of luxury. Not at all. I hadn’t seen this much evidence of lazy wealth since being aboard The Fancy. The floors were dressed in soft, dense rugs and on the walls hung tapestries and paintings and maps of all sorts. The bed was fitted with pounds of blankets and silk pillows. And local drinks sat in glittering glass bottles in a large nearby case. But not anywhere was there a single weapon.
The grip on my arm grew tighter rapidly.
“Where is he? Where’s the captain?”
“Not sure,” I tried, “He must be hidin’.”
“Hiding!” scoffed the man, “What kind of yellowtail captain is he?”
“John Wright is his name. And he’s not much.”
Only then, my captor noticed a cracked-open door hidden along the back wall. Without any more hesitation, I was pushed ahead. The door led down a dark staircase to what I could only assume was more storage space. Below lied barrels of mead, rum, and rolls of silk. And in the corner, you could hear the sniveling moans of Captain John Wright. He was hunched on the floor, wedged between two barrels, when we found him. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of shame when this new—more adequate—captain glowered down at his lesser.
“By God’s name, get up, man!” he spat.
Two men came alongside to get the job done. When John Wright was once again standing, I was released and remained watching this soon-to-be shit-show.
“Christ, you’re a mess! Wipe that drool off of your lip. I’m looking for the captain of this…boat. And I’m told that role belongs to John Wright. Now, I am to believe that’s you, innit?”
“No!” Wright said suddenly, mustering up enough strength to push out some intelligible words, “I’m not the man. My name is Frederick Bl…uff.”
The man stared. “Frederick Bluff?”
One of the new captain’s men who’d been searching the room suddenly called out and reported back with a folded slip of paper. Right away, I knew what it was.
“Why, this is a fine bit of cod! Says here you’re just the man, Wright.”
“No! I—”
“Stop your moaning, will you?” he ordered, then said aside, “Bring the fool upstairs and take care of him. In the name of Her Majesty.”
The two men pulled the miserable captain back up to his room, hauling his limp legs up each step.
Just as the door was closing, Wright called out, “Wait! We were supplied by the English East India—” The door slammed. But, the other remained, reading the paper in deep thought. Seconds after the door shut above, a loud gunshot sounded. It was done. Then, this man roused from his thoughts and spoke to the nearby crewman.
“Shit. This may have been a fuck-up,” he said.
The crewman returned an almost-shocked look back. “What the hell does that mean?”299Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3tJ737jK50
“This pass secures this ship for safe voyage through the French East India, but if what the bloke was saying is true about the English East India, this could mean trouble for us. I was sent to gather pirate enemies of England. I’ll be ruined if I return back with one of their own for a prize.”
Pirate enemies?! He thinks we’re pirates?
“Jesus, if I take this vessel, I could be painted like a pirate. Damn! Perhaps it’d just be wise to sell it back to some Armenians instead.”
“No!” barked the crewman, in a way I’d never imagined a crewmember speaking to his captain, “We’re not letting yet another capture slip through our fingers because you’ve lost your balls. We’ve been waiting long enough for this one alone. And I’m sure you wouldn’t want to feel the raw end of a mutiny, Kidd.”
A sharp slap echoed out, and the crewman held onto his face in pain. But the captain snatched back at it and hissed with untamed rage, “Speak to me of mutiny again and I’ll skin you and leave you for dead! I’ll roast your hands and feet until you can smell the putrid stench of your own rotting flesh!!”
He pushed the crewman away and glared in silent fury. It didn’t take me but a second longer to realize who this man was.
Captain William J. Kidd. I hadn’t heard the name until recently those months. William J. Kidd—a man hired by the royal crown to attack pirate enemies but was, however, better known for his reputation for being quite the demanding leader amongst his crew. It was known that Kidd had attained his position by mutinying a pirate ship he’d worked aboard and charming the crew into sailing along with him. From that moment on, he claimed his honesty and goodliness like claiming a divine gift.
Kidd soon realized I was still there and turned back with a suddenly pleasant smile.
“Hemingway. I must thank you for your help. Not many would show such bravery and obedience first facing me. I don’t believe this will be our last encounter. Off with you. For now.” He waved me away and, hesitantly, I went.
Above, in the captain’s cabin, the floors and parts of the walls were painted in dripping blood, and the body of John Wright laid crumpled in a dark corner. Swiftly and silently, I passed through the scene and back into the outside world. All the while, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d relived this moment in my life before. Before Constantine. Before honesty. All so quickly, I’d lost touch of all the evil this world truly contained. And in William Kidd, that evil resided—revealing itself in bursts of hellish wrath.
I recoiled slightly at the shining sun on my face but let it fall on me. When my eyes finally adjusted, I looked down at the crew below, still held at gunpoint by Kidd’s men. There was far too much quiet. Then, I met the eyes of Reyes which said all that had been unspoken. My days of hiding and civil comfort had reached an end. Like it or not, I would find myself sailing on William Kidd’s ship. Like it or not, I would be a pirate once again.
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