The Pirate King

by J. P. Sheen

  “I see we have a critic in the room,” he growled, “This story clearly doesn’t interest you. Would you care to rejoin your shipmates, Your Lordliness?”

  He watched as the cabin boy thought fast.

  “No,” said the boy, with a meekness that clearly cost him, “Do go on, please.”

  That only fanned the flames of Blake’s cruelty. The pirate folded his arms and scowled until the boy practically begged him to finish his tale. Heaving a resentful sigh, Blake launched back in.

  “The Blood King was thought to be the more powerful of the two Sea Kings. At his word, fire became a ravaging beast, springing forth from nothingness to devour and destroy. It’s said that the Blood King can set the blood in a man’s veins on fire, and that no soul can endure such a torture.”

  Blake paused, and his pride surged.

  “But the Black King…he was the master of water. When he called to the deep, it would respond. He could split the sea in two with the power the Crown lent him, and create whirlpools and tidal waves that could drown whole fleets…and he belonged to the sea, and it to him.”

  Blake smiled, fingering his pearl.

  “For generations, the Sea King’s Crowns were passed down as an inheritance from father to son. It was only after a Sea King died that a new King could be crowned, because the Crowns somehow always knew their rightful wearer…I guess it was that gipsey magic.”

  “Over time, though, the Crowns were lost. Many sought them, but none could find them. It was rumored that the last Black King had hidden them somewhere no living soul could reach them to claim their power…none, that is, but his own descendent.”

  “Where?” the boy whispered, “How?”

  “The ocean’s deep,” Blake revealed, “For this Black King possessed a marvelous gift…the power to breathe underwater…and this gift remains in his bloodline, even to the present day.”

  “Centuries went by. No one believed in the Sea Kings anymore. It became an old wives’ tale told to children after the caravans set up camp at night. Those myths kept the Sea Kings’ memories from dying out. The Sharid women kept them alive, just like they keep their campfires burning bright, poking and prodding the embers through the long nights.”

  Blake hesitated, for that was where the legend ended. Then he continued.

  “Not so very long ago, a young man went hunting for the legendary Crowns. For years and years, he wandered like a nomad on the high seas, tracking down those with knowledge of the old sea legends, surviving shipwrecks and storms, facing countless deadly perils…and making a few enemies along the way. Everywhere he went, people laughed at him. Thought him mad. Told him he was throwing his life away. But at long last…”

  “He proved them wrong!” the boy supplied fervently.

  “He gave up and opened a whaling business that fell under within a few months. He spent the last few years of his life living under a bridge in a poor village off the southern coast of Elioth, catching crabs and selling them at market for two shillings apiece.”

  The boy hotly exclaimed, “He did not!”

  “That’s life, boy. Wouldn’t your papa agree? He wouldn’t like it, I wager, if I filled his son’s refined head with wild notions about Sea Kings and gipsey magic.”

  The boy huffed, nostrils flaring. “Thankfully for you, my father doesn’t care twopence about me! Tell the truth, sir! He found the Crowns, didn’t he?”

  “No. He went whaling.”

  “Then what about the pearl?”

  “What pearl?”

  The boy did not condescend to respond but merely glared.

  “He found it in a whale’s belly,” supplied Blake, rolling up his handkerchief and stuffing it inside his pocket.

  “You said it came from the bottom of the ocean!” the boy exclaimed furiously.

  “Gullible little lad,” murmured Blake, twiddling his thumbs and rolling his eyes to the top deck to avoid the boy’s outraged stare.

  To his great relief, the ship’s bell started clanging loudly, signaling the end of the watch. The deck immediately erupted in a thunderclap of commotion. Seaman sprang to their feet, grabbed their bowls, and folded up their tables. It was time to get back to work and let another swarm of seamen below deck for their supper. The cabin boy assisted Blake in latching his table to the bulwarks. Then he said awkwardly, “Thank you. For the story.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Blake grunted ungraciously.

  The boy wavered there, holding Blake’s empty bowl. That made Blake very uncomfortable.

  “You’d better get moving, boy,” he said brusquely. The boy’s shoulders sagged a little. Without another word, he obeyed. For a split second, Blake felt spooked, watching the brown head disappear into the tangle of sweaty limbs.

  “Boy!” he called out, realizing that he hadn’t even asked the lad his name.

  The cabin boy stopped and turned, looking stunned.

  “It did. Really come from the bottom of the ocean,” Blake said.

  The boy’s thin face lit up, and Blake was taken aback. His smile was shy. Artless. Not what you’d expect from a snooty nobleman’s son.

  With a start, Blake realized that he was grinning back at the boy. It was a genuine smile, too, not a smirk. And he couldn’t deny it, either.

  The smile felt good.

  12

  Coconuts And Cannon Drills

  Blake fired, and the coconut burst.

  “Ha!” Blake crowed. He’d hardly been aiming at all!

  A stick cracked behind him. Blake whirled around, his forefinger on his flintlock’s trigger. He lowered the pistol, scowling.

  “I almost lodged in a bullet in your brains,” he told Jaimes, who emerged from the tangle of ferns and hala trees, “Why are you here?”

  “What are you doing?”

  Blake sat on the sand and got out his powder flask. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “You won’t be shooting coconuts aboard the Blessing,” said Jaimes, bending over to pick up a white shard.

  “The prodigy speaks,” Blake mumbled, rolling his eyes. He poured gunpowder down his pistol’s muzzle. “So glad you’re around to instruct idiots like me.”

  A piece of coconut whacked him upside the head.

  “Hey!”

  A furious Blake sprang to his feet.

  “You listen, Blake, and you listen well!” Jaimes snarled, “You’ve got to make up your mind, same as me!”

  “I’ve already made up my mind!”

  “Oh, you have?” Jaimes demanded. He stormed over. Blake defensively raised his flintlock, but Jaimes didn’t try to seize it or him. Rather, he came up close so that the pistol was actually pressed against his shirtfront. Blake started to move, but Jaimes said coldly, “Stay where you are.”

  Something in his voice made Blake obey. They remained like that: Blake with his gun against Jaimes’s chest.

  “If you join our father’s crew,” Jaimes began, “There will come a time when the Devil’s Blessing will run down another ship. There will be a fight. If you win the fight, our father will line the men up, single-file on deck. He will assign you a man. You’ll get out your gun…that gun, the one you’re holding in your hand…”

  At this point, the gun in question was trembling.

  “…and when Father gives the command, you’ll end his life. His body will flip over the ship’s side and splash into the sea—”

  “I get the picture, damnit!” Blake roared. He rammed his pistol into his sash—the red one that looked just like Drake Ransom’s—and shoved Jaimes backward.

  “Why do you always have to ruin everything?” he shouted.

  “Because you have to face reality sooner or later!” Jaimes shouted back, “And you don’t want to do it when your gun is already aimed at a man’s chest! You may do something in that moment you’ll regret, Blake Percimillus Ransom!”

  “This is what I’m good at!”

  “Nobody’s asking you to change, Blake! You could use your talents to protec
t people from the likes of Drake Ransom!”

  Blake stared at Jaimes while sharp blades stabbed at his chest. Either his father or his brother was right about the world, and if Jaimes was right…then there was something desperately wrong with Blake. How could he protect people if he wanted to hurt them, too?

  Jaimes blabbered on, “You could join the Navy, become the commander of a grand ship, just like you always wanted!”

  “Stop telling me what I want!” yelled Blake, “I’m not a boy anymore, Jaimes!”

  “You’re not a man yet either!” Jaimes countered fiercely, “Though you’re swiftly becoming one! What sort of man are you going to become, Blake? One like Father? He plunders merchant ships for a living, and he only engages the ones too weak to make a stand! He’s murdered men in cold blood and let his men rape the women onboard. You know this, Blake! He brags about it—”

  “Shut up!” Blake shouted, covering his ears, “You’ve made your point! Now leave me alone!”

  Jaimes looked like he’d prefer to wrench Blake’s arms down and force him to listen, but in the end, he did as Blake asked. For a long time, Blake stood alone on the seashore, glaring at the water. He was glad nobody was around to watch him wipe his eyes.

  After a while though, Blake started to look less angry. He cocked his head. Then he cocked his pistol. Captain Blake Ransom, Navy commander and pirate hunter. He rather liked the sound of it.

  Blake took aim at a coconut and fired. Water splattered the sand, and moist green chips went flying. He smiled.

  Later that evening, he stormed into their family’s pili hut. Their mother was clearing away supper, stacking gourd bowls on top of each other. Jaimes was still at the table, trying to read by a single candle’s light.

  “And you wonder why you’re going blind,” Blake grumbled.

  Startled, Jaimes looked up. Blake hated what he was about to say.

  “Come outside,” he said fiercely. The command made him feel more in control. Jaimes conceded without a word, though Blake observed how gingerly he laid his book aside. His brother was nervous. Good. Blake let him be nervous as they walked outside to where their mother couldn’t overhear them. They sat down near the spot where Jaimes had nursed Blake’s burned hand over five years ago. Only then did Blake make his announcement.

  “I’ll go with you,” he said bitterly.

  Jaimes looked relieved and confused.

  “Go? Go where?” he asked like a dunce.

  Blake smirked. “If we refuse to join Father’s crew, we bloody well can’t stay here, can we?”

  “So, you’ve decided—”

  “We’ll have to abandon ship,” Blake interrupted eagerly, “That’s what we’ll do! We’ll tell Father that we want to join his crew. We’ll leave Moanamiri aboard the Devil’s Blessing and as soon as we get the chance, we’ll desert and make our way from there! Leaving Mother behind, sadly. Oh, well. I suppose we can always come back for her once I’ve passed through the Navy ranks. When I’ve got a crew of my own or whatnot.”

  “Glad somebody’s thinking this through,” remarked Jaimes with a small smile. Blake grunted, but inwardly, he was pleased.

  “We’ll have to decide where we want to go,” he went on, “I propose—”

  “I was thinking Kingston,” Jaimes said quietly.

  “Where’s that?” Blake demanded, miffed at being interrupted and for being ignorant when it came to geography.

  “It’s the capital of Elioth. A huge city with—”

  “Is it by the sea?”

  “No…” Jaimes sounded reluctant to go on. “It’s inland, but—”

  “I have to stay close to the sea,” Blake said with an air of finality.

  “But why?” Jaimes sounded close to losing his temper.

  “I just do,” said Blake, helping matters immensely with his transparency.

  “Why though? Help me understand! Don’t you look out there…” Jaimes gestured at the distant cliffside and the waters beyond it. “…and see a great blue expanse fencing you in? For seventeen years, that’s what I’ve seen.”

  “I see. You popped out of the womb and went, ‘Dem that ocean! It’s fencing me in!’”

  “Don’t be a clotpole. You know what I mean.”

  “The Lady.”

  Blake felt a tremor just saying her name, but he went on, “She told me to stay near the sea.”

  Jaimes sighed. “Don’t you wonder if you dreamed up the Lady in Blue, Blake? You were just five years old, and really, have you ever seen her again?”

  Blake looked down so that Jaimes couldn’t see his face.

  “I have sea breath, don’t I? Anyway, my fate is bound to the sea. My soul is bound to the sea. The Lady told me so. If I leave the sea, I’d leave it behind as well. It’d get torn right out of me. It…it would kill me, Jaimes.”

  “You’re exaggerating. Just a little, I’m sure.”

  “Think what you like,” Blake replied. He picked up a stick and started drawing a boat in the sand. “It doesn’t change the truth. I must answer the call of the deep. It’s my destiny.”

  “To be drowned?” Jaimes asked dryly.

  “To become.”

  “Become…what?”

  “The sea.” Blake’s dark eyes shone, and he didn’t sound like himself when he said, “I think I must plunge deeper and deeper until I am lost to this world, and truly and actually become the sea.”

  Jaimes’ expression hovered between unsettled and annoyed. “I want to understand. I truly do. But that did not help.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t do any better,” Blake shot back, throwing his stick into the neighbor’s pigpen. It hit a sow, and Blake felt a jab of satisfaction at her pained bleat.

  “We’ll set our compass for Elioth,” he continued resolutely, “From there, you can decide if you’d rather stay with me or go inland. Just don’t try to make me come along.”

  Jaimes opened his mouth, but Blake cut him off.

  “I’m leaving everything behind because of you and your bloody conscience! This is the one thing I care about, Jaimes! Don’t try to take it from me too.”

  Jaimes looked somewhat abashed. Twisting his hands, he answered quietly, “Very well. I won’t. If it means that much to you.”

  Blake looked him right in the eye. “It does, Jaimes. More than you could ever know.”

  Jaimes looked at Blake and down at the grass, still wringing his hands. They didn’t speak after that.

  For returning the sea pearl, the spineless swabbie earned himself the lofty privilege of sitting at Blake’s mess. Over the next week, Blake got to know his new messmate very well. He learned that his name was Eselder, for one thing, which seemed all too appropriate. It was a dull name, just like its owner. Commonplace. Half the men in Elioth who weren’t named John were named Eselder, including the richest merchant in Yaletown, a notorious pirate captain, and the Swift’s very own Lieutenant Eselder O’Shea.

  The morning after Blake’s tale, Eselder had shown up at his mess at breakfast and shyly asked, “Do you…do you know any more stories like that?”

  Blake had shot him a look. Did he know any other stories? He had gotten the distinct impression that the boy was managing him somehow, but his pride had been too piqued to give it much thought. He had sniffed, “Oh no, I’ve only been to sea since I was a young lad. I’ve heard and seen nothing of interest. Nothing at all.”

  “Please tell me,” Eselder had begged him, and so, out of the rivers of kindness gushing from his heart, Blake had acquiesced.

  He had nothing better to do, and he was bored, so he told Eselder all the tales he’d been told as a boy, all the tales he had listened to, riveted, beside the fire in his family’s pili hut. The stories brought back a flood of memories, some of which made Blake smile, though most were not so heartwarming. They made him look across the table at the open-faced boy listening attentively to his every word and wonder what it would have been like to grow up in a safe, civilized, Eliothan home, with a father who wor
e a curled wig, worked quietly behind a desk or store counter to support his family, and told bedtime stories without a bottle in his hand and his breath stinking of rum. What would have become of Blake then? Would he still have chosen the same path? Would he have become an upstanding member of Eliothan society, like Jaimes had always wanted? Would he have learned his letters?

  In time, during meals and eventually during free time on the quarterdeck, Blake told Eselder every sea yarn he remembered being told…except for one, for he couldn’t bring himself to speak of the phantom seductress of the high seas, the ravishing Lady in Blue.

  But the stories didn’t stop there. Blake also told a captivated Eselder many equally wild tales of his own adventures on the high seas and beyond…leaving out anything that would brand him as a wanted pirate, of course. He spoke of voyaging to the coasts of Nordinnland and spending months with the Sahil, one of the two tribes of the Sharid-folk: wandering the coastlands in a caravan of wagons and donkeys; sleeping under the stars; watching the women craft beads, pendants, and hair combs from the island’s abundant moonstone; getting his left ear strung with silver like the other Sahil men; and traveling into the villages to sell good-luck trinkets and tell fortunes.

  “You told fortunes?” Eselder piped up, looking astounded.

  Blake grinned and nodded, fingering his earring.

  “But…that’s not very…honest, is it?” asked Eselder, like the goody-two-shoes he had been raised to be.

  “Why don’t you give me your palm, and we’ll find out?” Blake suggested maliciously, extending his own. Looking quite mortified, Eselder declined.

  “There’s something about that island,” Blake continued quietly, shaking his head, “It’s a raw, wild land…with winds that freeze you to your bones, snow that never stops falling, and caves made of blue ice. There’s a hush over the land; I’ve never been anywhere so dark and cold. Sometimes, in the silence, I thought I could hear something crying. Maybe it was the wind or ghosts…or even the land itself. Never could tell what it was saying though. Aye, I’d like to go back there someday, and maybe find out.”