The Pirate King

by J. P. Sheen

  Eselder smiled. He stared at the Gallant Horseman’s crooked head, trying to distract himself from his fluttering stomach, which reminded him that he would be dining with his parents in less than two hours. The Gallant Horseman shielded his eyes and pointed arrogantly into the distance. Heaving a bored sigh, Eselder followed its finger and found himself gazing at the royal stables. He flushed. The statue’s smile suddenly looked vindictive.

  A second later, Eselder dove behind the monument and flattened himself against its base. His tormentors had emerged from the stables, shoving each other and talking loudly. When he thought it safe, Eselder peered around the statue. Three of the stable boys were walking toward the servants’ quarters. Usually there were four. Well, at least he hadn’t been spotted.

  Relieved, Eselder was about to leave when he heard an unsettling noise. It sounded like someone crying.

  It came from the stables.

  Eselder hesitated and then crept closer, watching out for his enemies. He listened intently. Yes, he did hear sobs.

  Suddenly, he felt horribly ashamed of the way he had behaved for the last several days. A large part of him wanted to tiptoe away. Whoever was crying in there likely had a story he, a child of Kingston Court, couldn’t possibly understand.

  Besides, who wants you butting into his life?

  Eselder hesitated. But what if the stable boys had another victim? If he walked away, what would that make him? Heartless, that’s what. A self-absorbed prat.

  Swallowing, Eselder approached the stables. The doors were wide open. When he got close enough, he glanced over his shoulder and poked his head inside. The place seemed abandoned. Of course, it was hard to tell since the only light in the stables entered along with Eselder.

  This place needs a good clean, Eselder noted with wicked satisfaction, stepping inside. The pungent odor irritated his nose a good deal. So his tormentors were lazy as well as cruel.

  Eselder’s quiet footfalls sounded on the brick floor, announcing his presence. Horses poked their heads out of their stalls, blinking mildly at the intruder. The sniffles abruptly ceased. Fighting down his embarrassment, Eselder inquired, “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  He received no answer. Should he leave? After all, no servant would want to be comforted by him. Eselder lowered his eyes and turned away. Then a faint whimper drifted toward him from the back of the stables. The sound made his heart ache.

  Emptiness. And darkness filling the void.

  The horrid thought entered his mind quite unexpectedly. Eselder turned back around and walked quickly past several rope-lined stalls.

  “Hello?” he asked. There was a long, tense pause.

  Then someone sneezed.

  “Bless you,” Eselder said instinctively, before going stock-still. A red flush crept up his neck. He recognized that sound. Sneezing. Hay fever. One of the stable boys suffered from it dreadfully.

  This was one of them.

  Eselder’s hands balled into fists. This boy was no piteous lamb in need of coddling! He had stood there with his mates, taunting Eselder between violent sneezes, making him feel every bit a clumsy, royal oaf.

  The prince glared at a chestnut mare. Consolation! That was the last thing this boy deserved! A slap in the face was more like it, followed by a good kick in the arse! What was he crying for?

  Eselder’s fists uncurled. He looked at the horse, helplessly.

  …What was he crying for?

  The mare, as expected, did not tell him.

  Eselder looked at the cobbles with a troubled frown. Then he looked back up, his face set with determination. But before he could make a move, forward or back, he was distracted by a distant commotion. The stable boys were returning!

  Eselder fled for the door. No, they were right outside! He’d never make it! He froze, looked left and right, and ducked under rope and into a stall just as the stable boys came in, chattering and laughing.

  “Still blubberin’, Pip?” one of the boys sneered, “That’ll teach you to mind ‘oo yer talkin’ to!”

  Pip did not reply. Another stablehand wheedled, “Don’t leave us ‘angin’ like that! Tell us more, Dick!”

  Tell them somewhere else, Eselder pleaded, crouched behind the stall’s wooden gate. He glanced nervously at the stall’s other occupant, but apart from a snort and a skittish sidestep, the horse did not act up.

  “I dunno,” sighed the boy who had taunted Pip. He spoke to his peers like they were toddlers. “Da knows I can keep a secret…but I dunno ‘bout you lot…”

  “Aw, c’mon, Dick!”

  “Sure, we can!”

  Eselder heard Pip emerge from his hiding place. His heart thumped hard as the boy walked toward his hiding place…but he kept going, thank heavens. Perhaps he thought Eselder had successfully bolted.

  “Then shut the dem door!” Dick snapped, sounding pleased, “Confound it, am I the only one ‘round ‘ere ‘oo ain’t plumb daft...”

  The other boys hastened to appease him. A crestfallen Eselder listened as the stable doors slammed shut. He was trapped.

  “Da told me. It’s ‘appenin’ tonight!” Dick declared, adopting a self-important tone, “The Liberteers bin plottin’ fer months, an’ they’re ready! Tonight, they’re gonna march on the palace!”

  The boys whooped like the Liberteers were heroes. Eselder shrank back. March on Kingston Palace? What were they talking about?

  “It’s ‘igh time, me Da says,” Dick went on impressively. All the stable boys, including Pip, agreed that it was high time for those accursed nobles to get what was coming to them. Eselder’s cheeks grew hot. He could picture the lot of them gathered together, feeling secretive and important. It was clear what was going on. This was a conspiracy against the Crown! He’d tell the King about it at dinner, and he hoped he crushed these boys’ wicked hopes!

  Commoners!

  How ignorant they were, looking for someone to blame for their troubles!

  You’re all commoners! Nothing more, nothing better!

  He longed to tell them so, to watch their faces crumple with fear as he revealed himself. Instead, he huddled in the stall’s corner, and it was he who was afraid…

  Afraid of what they would do if they discovered him.

  “Ow long ‘ave we bin trod down by them aristocrats, kicked about like animals?”

  It sounded as though Dick had memorized his Da’s speech.

  “Liberty! Equality! Prosperity!” he crowed, “It’s what every man wants, ain’t it?”

  Isn’t it, Eselder couldn’t help but correct.

  “But ‘oo’s ‘oldin’ us down? Them white-nobs, that’s ‘oo! Nay, we won’t stand fer it no more! Let ‘em try to stop us! We will ‘ave our rights! And if they ain’t cooperative, well then, we’ll escort ‘em…ever so nice and polite ‘cause that’s ‘ow they like it…down to the gallows!”

  Eselder’s blood ran cold. The gallows. He envisioned that horrible rope swinging back and forth from its wooden perch. He felt ill.

  “Them aristocrats!” spat Dick. The stable boys hissed, and Pip sneezed. A long time had already gone by, and still Pip had said nothing about Eselder. Dick, on the other hand, wouldn’t shut up.

  “They act so ‘igh and mighty in their palace while we crawl in the dirt! Well, the Liberteers plan on makin’ their views known…aye, to the King ‘imself! We’ll storm the palace, and if ‘ee won’t ‘ear us out, well, ‘oo says this country needs a monarchy to prosper? We’d pro’bly do better without the ‘ole bloody royal family!”

  The boy’s speech was poisoned with hate, and Eselder felt its full blow. Was the King really in danger? Were they all in danger? Eselder was not feeling very kindly toward his father right now…but to plot the King’s demise…

  What did we do to deserve such hatred?

  It was not his fault that he’d been born into the aristocracy and these boys into the peasantry. Indeed, he had often wanted to trade places with them! But even he knew that was simply impossible.

&nbs
p; Could he make a break for it? Eselder squeezed his kneecaps. No, it was too dangerous! They would catch him for sure. After all, Eselder noted ruefully, it wasn’t as though he ran very often.

  “Y’know, mates…” Dick’s voice carried recklessly through the stable. “Someday, we might just find ourselves livin’ in that fancy palace. And as fer me,” he added amid a multitude of sniggers, “I shouldn’t mind takin’ His Royal Highness’s apartment fer meself…wonder ‘ow the prince’d fancy the royal dungeons? Shouldn’t mind, so long as royal’s in the name…they’re all so bleedin’ full of themselves!”

  Eselder’s blood boiled. What had he ever done to them? The thought of Dick occupying his apartment…vile. He imagined the stable boy lounging on his couch, tearing up his precious books (seeing as the lowborn idiot couldn’t read). Rotten, ignorant, ill-bred vermin…

  He would show them all! He would report this conspiracy to the King, tonight! That would put an end to their ridiculous plans!

  “Come on, this is good enough fer them,” said Pip abruptly, “Let’s go!”

  The others agreed. Eselder heard them throw down their shovels and march for the stable doors. Soon, he was alone. He waited for several minutes and then scrambled to his feet. He was covered in hay and muck. Even in the midst of his agitation, he noted he would have to hurry if he was going to change his clothes in time for supper.

  Cautiously, Eselder tiptoed over to the doors. When he reached them he tore out of the stables and across the palace grounds, as if the Liberteers were pursuing him with outstretched arms and a noose.

  3

  The Sea Phantom

  Every seaman knew of the Lady in Blue.

  Even though she was only a myth, the figment of a lonely sailor’s imagination, many still looked hopefully out to sea when the full moon shone silver on the water. They sought a woman robed in seawater, her hair flowing like a wave, her white arms bare and beckoning.

  But according to the legend, the Lady’s eyes were her most bewitching feature. A mere glance could ensnare a man’s heart. And once under her spell, there was no escape. Obeying her summons, the Lady’s unfortunate victims abandoned the safety of their ships, forgetting that they could not walk on water like her.

  “She is a seductress, Blake, with a siren’s hatred for men,” Captain Drake Ransom warned his five-year-old son, his brown eyes gleaming in the firelight, “If there’s anyone Keel Cutlass fears, it’s the Blue Lady. Once, they fought over a man’s soul. He lost. To this day, his face bears the Lady’s mark.”

  The pirate captain didn’t often return to his crew’s secret haven on Moanamiri, so these stories were few and far between. Blake treasured his father’s every word and never forgot his warning about the treacherous Lady in Blue.

  “She leads men to their doom, and if her gaze captures yours, all is lost! Her eyes contain the spirit of the ocean, Blake, ruthless and wild. Like the ocean, she wants to destroy the men who lust for her…but she doesn’t wish to be caught! Then she is at her captor’s mercy, and she must give him whatever he desires!”

  “Like what?”

  Blake meant the question earnestly, but his father laughed at him as though he had said something foolish. Nearby, his mother sat mending Drake Ransom’s shirt with downcast eyes and a taut face. But at that, she raised her eyes and shot her husband a look she would never dare give to his face.

  Blake noticed it and looked to his brother for guidance. Jaimes hadn’t glanced up from his book all night or turned a single page, but he gripped its cover so hard his knuckles were white.

  Drake Ransom continued to laugh, and as he did, an invisible wave swept in and submerged the little pili hut. It was dark and cold. Blake shivered, wishing Jaimes would join him by the fire. He loved his father’s attention, rare as it was, but being its sole recipient was frightening. Too often it turned ugly, like it had just now.

  Drake Ransom stopped laughing and took a swig from his bottle. Midway through a gulp, he snorted, spraying amber dew everywhere. Blake fought the urge to run away. He sat still until his father noticed him again.

  When Drake Ransom frowned, harsh lines cut into his cheeks, and his eyes flashed.

  “Why are you shaking?” he demanded, as though Blake was doing it to annoy him. Blake blurted out the first excuse he could think of.

  “I’m cold!”

  “Then sit closer to the fire! All anyone in this damn house does is complain! Well, you can go to hell for all I care!”

  The last bit was aimed at his wife, but she didn’t move. Neither did her sons. Nobody wanted to be Drake Ransom’s target.

  “Did you ever wonder how fire grows, Blake?”

  Blake’s head swiveled from his mother to his father. The angry lines had faded from Drake Ransom’s face. The boy quickly shook his head.

  “It’s a flower. A golden flower that grows faster than lightning!” Drake Ransom whispered. Blake’s brow furrowed. Fire wasn’t a plant…was it? It didn’t look like a plant.

  “See? You just have to water it and it grows!”

  The pirate threw his bottle at the fire pit. Glass shattered, and flames roared up so suddenly that Blake gasped and jumped back. Drake Ransom snickered and arranged his features into a solemn, earnest expression.

  “We use it to keep warm, but it can be plucked from the wood like any flower from the dirt.”

  He glanced at his wife and bent lower.

  “Why don’t you give it a try, Blake?” he suggested. His breath was hot. It smelled bad. Blake shivered as it tickled his ear, and he stared wide-eyed at the fire. He could feel its heat. He wildly shook his head, and his father jeered at him, “What, are you afraid? Are you scared?”

  Then Drake Ransom’s expression cleared. Suddenly, he looked every bit a caring, compassionate father.

  “It won’t hurt,” he assured Blake. But he watched his son like a hawk, and with every passing second, Blake saw the darkness come creeping back into his father’s eyes.

  Blake whimpered. He didn’t want to do it. He didn’t believe his father’s claim that fire was a flower. He was terrified of those huge red claws. He knew it would hurt him.

  But he could not disobey Drake Ransom.

  Blake reached into the fire. At once, blistering pain engulfed his hand. He screamed and tumbled back, but the pain didn’t go away. Flaming talons tore deep into his skin, and Blake didn’t even try to hide his sobs.

  Drake Ransom was laughing again, so hard that he had to wipe away tears.

  “He believed it!” he crowed, “He actually believed it, the stupid little fool!”

  Realizing that he would receive no pity from his father, Blake’s teary gaze fell on his mother. She looked up. Seeing his tear-stained face, she hesitated. Then she bent over and resumed her work.

  The hut darkened once more, and the wave rose to sweep them all away. Or would only Blake be swept away?

  Then Blake felt the wave. It grasped him with two strong hands and bore him away. He gasped for breath and out came a sob.

  He felt the mild night air and smelled the sea. Before the wave crashed over him again, he raised his face to inhale. But instead of water, he saw white jewels glittering over his head. He reached up to pull one down for himself and cried out as pain shot through his hand.

  “Blake, you have to calm down.”

  Jaimes’s stern voice came out of nowhere. Blake was astounded. Had Jaimes been washed away by the wave too?

  Blake grew still. Soon he felt the touch of cool water on his poor, burned hand. It felt wonderful. Slowly, his sobs died down to quiet sniffles. He rubbed away his tears with his free hand. To his surprise, he found himself seated outside their pili hut, his hand resting in a bowl of water and Jaimes sitting at his side. He glanced around suspiciously for any sign of the wave…but everything looked dry and normal.

  “How did I get out here?” Blake demanded sharply. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and was instantly smothered by a handkerchief. He came out gasping but alive
, the tears and snot gone from his face.

  “My hand hurts!” he announced.

  “Blake, why did you put your hand in the fire?” Jaimes asked him quietly. Blake knew what he was thinking. Jaimes thought he was stupid too. All of a sudden, Blake wanted to curse and rage like his father. He didn’t reply.

  “Did Father tell you to do it?”

  Blake stared at the sky.

  “I want a white jewel,” he declared, “A jewel shining so bright that we wouldn’t need a fire anymore. We would just light our house at night with jewels.”

  “Blake, stop pretending not to hear me.”

  “I don’t have to listen to you!” Blake snapped, “You’re not my father!”

  He paused and then in a burst of fury snarled, “My hand still hurts! Make the pain go away!”

  “I’m trying to, Blake. Here, wipe your nose again.”

  Blake threw Jaimes’s handkerchief into the dirt. Jaimes sighed and picked it up.

  “You’re a son of a beach!” Blake shouted. He would have hit Jaimes too, only his brother caught his fists before they found their mark.

  “Blake, stop it!”

  The brothers fought each other, Jaimes grasping Blake’s arms and Blake doing everything he could think of to break free.

  “You’re hurting my hand! Let go, you son of a beach!” shrieked Blake.

  “Stop trying to hit me and I’ll let go!” Jaimes yelled back.

  The tussle continued until Blake got too tired to keep it up. He conveyed his rage with a devastating declaration.

  “I hate you, and I’m running away!”

  His cheeks were burning, but he no longer put up a fight. Very cautiously, Jaimes released him.