The Pirate King

by J. P. Sheen

  Blake scowled as he parted with his shilling. It wasn’t really the money that made him so angry. He hated it when Jaimes flaunted his nauseating goodness!

  Jaimes placed the shilling in the beggar’s cap, and Blake was helpless against the mindless rage that bombarded him. Struggling to keep his fists in check, he refused to speak to Jaimes all the way to the decrepit Carp and Mackerel, Yaletown’s cheapest boarding house. As they climbed single-file up to their cramped attic room, the pair remained in stony silence, and Blake let Jaimes believe it was because of the shilling.

  It was so easy to sneak after Eselder when the galley cook sent him below to fetch the crew’s supper rations. Blake sat down on the ladder and waited until Eselder shuffled into view, panting and lugging a huge sack. The cabin boy noticed Blake and stopped, looking afraid.

  The hold was a gloomy place, a veritable maze of crates and barrels shrouded in lantern light and shadow. Blake hoped that his glare looked particularly evil. He leered, “Well, look what we found! A rat in the hold!”

  “Please. Just go.”

  Somehow, the soft plea made Blake feel foolish. He rose aggressively, and Eselder stepped back into the light. Blake halted. The cabin boy’s face was a horrible mess of yellow bruises, and a long red cut ran down his left cheek. For a moment, Blake was appalled. Then he allowed an ugly scab to form around his black heart.

  “Stupid little fool!” he laughed, “I warned you! Nobody gives a shit about your gallantry, least of all Kurzon or Bull!”

  “This wasn’t because of Bull; it was because of you!”

  Blake was so taken aback by Eselder’s vicious tone that he stepped back.

  “This was my warning not to associate with you anymore! Thug Kurzon told the other boys to find me when I was alone, and they did this…he told them to keep an eye on me too, and they’ll come looking for me if I don’t get back soon, and if they catch me with you, they’ll…”

  Eselder trailed off, looking angry and desperate.

  Black fury boiled up inside Blake, annihilating everything else. He turned and kicked a crate so savagely that he stubbed his toe. He cursed and started punching the crate over and over. Crimson stained the splintered wood, and bloody skin peeled back from Blake’s knuckles, feeding his rage. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small shadow dart forward.

  “Where d’you think you’re going?”

  Blake jumped and blocked the hatchway. He and Eselder stared at each other, their chests heaving. Then Blake took a step forward, and Eselder took a step back. If the lad had any shred of intelligence, thought Blake, he’d cry for help. But he didn’t. Instead, his hands balled into defensive fists. Oh, so the boy intended to fight him, did he?

  Blake’s fist flew back, and Eselder stumbled back with a gasp. Blake froze, reading the terror stamped on the boy’s bruised face. His anger slowly drained away, leaving him sick to his stomach. His glittering eyes darted from the crates and barrels, to the firelight, to the shaking boy in front of him. Suddenly, he felt like his stomach was full of fishhooks, all biting and tearing at his innards. He lowered his arm and stepped aside, giving Eselder access to the hatchway. When the boy didn’t move, he hissed, “Go on then, boy! They’re waiting for you!”

  Eselder just stood there, looking too frightened to move lest Blake was pulling some kind of trick on him. Those eyes, those infuriating brown eyes!

  “Go, damnit!” Blake roared, not caring who heard him. With a yelp, Eselder abandoned the sack of peas and shot like a bullet up the hatchway.

  “You forgot your bloody sack!” snarled Blake. He picked up the fifty-pound bag of peas and flung it up the stairs after Eselder, who hollered as it hit the top stairs and burst open. Dried peas came raining down the steps, but Eselder didn’t come back for them. His feet pounded down the orlop deck as he raced away, leaving Blake alone in the shadowy hold.

  15

  The Offer Of A Lifetime

  After a supper of toast and charred cod, Jaimes read the newspaper Master Simmons had lent him while Blake admired his new treasures and dreamed of a silver crown.

  “Moorton got elected to the House of Lords even after that scandal with his maid!” Jaimes announced with disgust. He leaned over their oil lamp, straining to read in the dim light. “I wish I could change the state of the government!”

  “I nearly got eaten by an eel today, and I found this giant shell,” Blake said excitedly, “I wonder if I could sell it? I wish I could voyage out to sea!”

  At ten o’clock, Jaimes blew out the lantern, and they climbed into their cots. Blake stared at the stars through a small hole in the roof. Jaimes was too proud to tell Master Simmons that they lived in an attic.

  “I’ve been thinking, Blake,” Jaimes began tentatively. Blake stiffened. “I could probably find a better job farther inland, and—”

  “Go then! But you’ll be leaving without me!”

  “You didn’t even let me finish!”

  “I won’t leave the sea!”

  “Well, I’m sick of the stinking sea and this stinking town!” Jaimes snapped, “There’s no future for me here! At best, I could take over the shop one day! That’s not what I want!”

  Blake scowled as his brother continued to pout.

  “I want to go to university; I want to change this nation for the better! I want people to listen to what I say, instead of laughing at the apprentice who thinks he can talk politics!”

  It was difficult to sympathize with such a boring dream.

  “I stayed here for you!” Blake reminded Jaimes, “I didn’t go out to sea like I wanted, and you said this was a fair compromise! Anyway, I’ve been thinking too. Perhaps we should go our separate ways, come spring. You needn’t worry about me. The sea will look after me.”

  Jaimes snorted. “No, we need to stay together.”

  “I can’t ignore the call forever, Jaimes.”

  Jaimes remained silent, as if Blake’s silly remark didn’t even merit a reply.

  “Well, I will go to sea soon,” Blake said stubbornly, “I hate being landlocked!”

  He hugged his blanket close to his chest, trying not to notice the darkness around him.

  Jaimes broke the tension. “What were you doing all afternoon, Blake?”

  Blake grinned. What else?

  “Exploring the depths of the sea!” he bragged. He barely heard Jaimes’ wistful murmur.

  “I wish I had such a unique gift. But I could become a representative in the House of Commons…or more, if given a chance to educate myself.”

  Blake frowned. He did wish that Jaimes could pursue his dream, dull as it was. If it made Jaimes happy, it would be worth it. But not worth Blake leaving the sea.

  “Do you know what night it is, Blake?” Jaimes asked quietly.

  Blake stared at a silver moonbeam shining in through the roof.

  “It’s the full moon,” Jaimes said softly, “And the Lady in Blue will be walking on the water.”

  He couldn’t imagine how much his words hurt.

  “You used to look forward to the full moon,” he reminded Blake, who swallowed a treacherous lump in his throat. As if he could forget.

  “I know,” he replied carelessly, shifting to face the wall. “I’d better go to bed. I have to get up before dawn…like usual.”

  “Any time you want to work for Master Simmons past nightfall, be my guest,” Jaimes responded grumpily.

  “Oh, you love it, I know it.”

  “Of course, I love dealing with snooty customers who turn up their noses when they hear that their sugar came from Charlottesville instead of Laville—”

  “Did I tell you I was almost eaten by an eel?”

  “Good night, Blake.”

  To the entire crew’s delight, Thug Kurzon fell ill shortly after the sea storm. The bosun was quarantined inside the surgeon’s cabin, and the rumor spread that he was afflicted with a severe case of the bammywobbles, a common but painful seagoing illness marked by a high fever and watery stools
that periodically shot out of the sick person’s wobbly rear end.

  “I went to deliver ‘is supper the other day, and it’s true,” whispered Cheddar over breakfast one morning, “’Ee’s moanin’ an rollin’ in his hammock like a cry-a-baby!”

  The cabin boys snickered, and Eselder inwardly shared their glee.

  For several glorious days, life aboard the HMS Swift was almost tolerable. Bored of Kurzon’s commission, Cheddar and the cabin boys grew negligent in keeping a sharp eye on Eselder. The crewmen were less on edge, Kurzon’s spies weren’t so bold without their ringleader to back them up, and, if anyone were to ask about his feelings on the matter, Eselder wouldn’t have hesitated to voice his hope that Thug Kurzon would die a very painful, wet, and smelly death.

  In his dream, Eselder was back in the gun deck while the storm raged outside. Before his horrified eyes, the ocean burst through the portholes and began filling up the deck. The Swift was going under! He splashed for the hatchway and was halfway up the ladder when a torrent of saltwater hit him square in the chest and knocked him backward. Now it was coming in through the hatch too! Eselder splashed and spluttered, frantically trying to stand. If he didn’t get out of here quickly, he’d—

  His eyes shot open. He was drowning! No, no, he wasn’t…it had only been a nightmare.

  Eselder glanced around the gun deck, his breathing slowly returning to normal. After sleeping in his own private quarters all his life, it had taken days for his sensitive eardrums to acclimate to the endless droning of his crewmates. Now, most nights, he slept like a rock…and probably added considerably to the din.

  Ham Cheddar was drooling profusely on the hammock beside him, a hideous green bruise obscuring his orange freckles. Eselder didn’t quite believe that the injury had occurred during cannon drills as Cheddar had vehemently claimed. The prince fingered the scab on his own cheek and then shook his head. Cheddar would detest his sympathy. Besides, aboard the HMS Swift, it was every man for himself, wasn’t it?

  The thought made Eselder very unhappy. He quietly latched his hammock to the deck above and climbed onto the quarterdeck.

  This was his favorite time aboard ship, for hardly anyone was on deck at this early hour. A silver glow was starting to break along the horizon, and a breeze blew soft and cool on his face. The HMS Swift sailed peacefully across a rippling mirror that reflected the deep gray-violet of daybreak. During this tranquil hour, it seemed that there was nothing in the world at all except the man o’ war and the sea.

  Eselder spotted Blake Ransom sitting on the mizzenmast’s shrouds. He nearly retreated to the quarterdeck’s port side, but something held him back.

  Are you balmy? Don’t go near him! If someone sees you…

  Who? Cheddar and the other cabin boys were still salivating below, Thug Kurzon was somewhere shitting his trousers, and none of the bosun’s minions were in sight.

  It’s too risky! Besides, he’s dangerous! Remember what happened in the hold? He’s a madman!

  Eselder didn’t really believe it. Blake Ransom was angry and embittered, hardened by a hard life that Eselder couldn’t understand…but he wasn’t a madman. He had a violent temper, to be sure, which had gotten the best of him in the hold…but it was difficult to hold a grudge against a man who’d nearly pounded you silly because he’d realized you’d recently been pounded silly on his account.

  Eselder wavered uncertainly. This could be his last chance to speak to Blake Ransom. Soon Thug Kurzon would be up and about (if his overstuffed arse didn’t kill him), and that would be the end of their brief acquaintanceship. Eselder would feel bad if he didn’t at least thank Blake Ransom for sharing his mess and telling him about his adventures…and, most importantly, if he never apologized for the things he’d said on the foc’sle. He rather deserved a walloping for that.

  Eselder inched closer to the shrouds. Like iron on a lodestone, Blake Ransom’s eyes were locked on the only star still shining in the predawn dusk, and Eselder realized with a start that the seaman was quietly singing. It seemed so unlike him that Eselder stopped to listen.

  Somehow, he wouldn’t have expected it, but Blake Ransom had a fair voice: not deep, but low and clear, and so rich with feeling that it danced its way like a magician’s spell into Eselder’s ears and down into his soul.

  “If I sailed through the horizon

  Where the sunrise meets the sea,

  If I sailed beyond the heavens,

  Would they open wide to me?

  See, I’m searching for my lady;

  She was taken by the sea.

  If I sailed on past the sunrise,

  Would she be there to welcome me…”

  Blake’s voice trailed off. Disappointed, Eselder wished he would resume his shanty. He scanned the horizon, trying to think of something intelligent to say.

  “It must get hot, sailing through the sunrise.”

  So much for intelligence.

  Blake started and looked over his shoulder. For a moment, Eselder thought he saw a confused boy looking out at him from the seaman’s dark eyes. It was so jarring coming from the grizzled, weatherworn face that Eselder wondered if he was projecting his own sentiments onto Blake. As the seaman continued to stare at him, Eselder’s embarrassment grew.

  “I just came up to watch the sunrise,” he said apologetically, “I’ll go now.”

  He turned. Then he stopped, steeled himself, and faced Blake again.

  “I kn-know you despise this phrase,” he said in a spluttering rush, “But I do beg your pardon for the things I s-said about…about c-commoners and the like…”

  Eselder’s pride went into defense mode and stopped up his throat, lest he take another heaping bite of humble pie. Boring holes into the mizzenmast, he swallowed and forced himself to go on, “I’ve no right to judge anyone, b-but…”

  He paused. This wasn’t the time for justifications. “Well, th-thank you for all the stories anyway, and…I wish circumstances w-were different, but…”

  He lost his nerve, shrugged helplessly, and turned again to leave.

  “This isn’t the place to watch the sunrise, you know,” Blake remarked.

  Eselder spun around, his mouth slightly agape. Looking sheepish, Blake went on, “If you want to see it in its full splendor, the mast top is the only place to go. There, you don’t see…”

  He gestured. “Any of this.”

  Eselder cast a despondent glance up the mizzenmast. It stretched on and on, up to the heavens. Fear and desire mixed uncomfortably in his gut.

  “I wouldn’t know,” he murmured. He had another humiliating vision of himself in his middle age. This time, he was a potbellied King who embarrassed everyone at parties by recalling, time and time again, the only adventure he had ever had…though nobody dared tell him so. Suddenly, Mr. Evil Brigand appeared between the fountain of punch and the twittering courtiers. He grinned scornfully, and his eyes flashed like lightning.

  “Have you ever climbed to the mast top?” Blake asked, mercifully jerking Eselder out of his daydream. Eselder gave a sarcastic little chuckle.

  “Don’t you want to?” Blake pressed him. His question threw Eselder off-guard. A longing he didn’t quite understand swelled up within him. Unfortunately, his tongue swelled up as well.

  “Um, no!” he blurted out and quickly rectified himself, “I…I m-mean, yes I do, b-but…”

  Blake leapt to the deck. “For you, Eselder, that’s a confident ‘aye, aye’! Come on, then! No one’s stopping you!”

  Eselder looked up. His tongue undid itself in time to say something dumb.

  “It’s high.”

  Blake raised a thick eyebrow.

  “I m-mean, I c-couldn’t possibly…”

  His brow lifted even higher. Eselder scowled. Why didn’t Parliament go ahead and dub this uneducated sailor the Crown Heir? He’d make a far better one than Eselder! Nobody would dare refuse him anything! Eselder wagered the King himself would have a hard time saying no to Blake Ransom.

>   “I m-mean that…it’s just—”

  Blake cut him off ruthlessly, “If you’re going to be a seaman, you ought to be able to climb the rigging without looking like a dunderhead! And the sunrise will look beautiful from the mast top. Don’t you want to see it?”

  There he went again, transforming from a fearsome brigand into an overgrown boy. Eselder bit his lip, squinting up the mizzenmast. If he fell from that height, he would splatter on the deck like a jelly-stuffed pasty…

  “I would…like to, b-but…”

  Blake shoved Eselder toward the shrouds. “Let’s go! We’re climbing the mizzenmast!”

  Eselder bit back a shrill Oh, joy!

  Blake jumped nimbly onto the shrouds and extended his hand.

  “It’s not as hard as it looks,” he claimed, perched there like an agile seabird. Eselder didn’t believe him, but he simply could not refuse Blake Ransom. Trying hard to ignore the writhing knot in his stomach, he clambered up the bulwarks and grabbed the proffered hand.

  “Easy.”

  “No, it isn’t!” Eselder shot back. Once he got his bearings, Blake let him go, shaking his head as though convinced he was a goner. The knot in Eselder’s stomach tightened. He stared past his feet at the frothy waves below.

  “I can’t swim,” he remarked faintly.

  “Going up!” Blake happily announced.

  He began to swiftly climb. Eselder unstuck a sticky hand to grab at a line. By some miracle, he managed to hoist himself up a little.

  “What remarkable progress!” came Blake’s shout from somewhere high overhead. Eselder growled.

  I will do this! I must!

  For some reason, he felt as if his whole future depended on this one pivotal moment.

  “Do you realize how utterly ridiculous you look?” Blake called down with obvious delight.

  “I hate you,” Eselder muttered. A bead of sweat ran down his face. He hauled himself up a little farther. He’d show the cocky seaman! Just because he’d spent his whole life in the shrouds didn’t mean that Eselder…