The Pirate King

by J. P. Sheen

“Jaimes,” he whispered, desperately, “Y-You p-promised…”

  A flush crept up Jaimes’s neck. His eyes flicked to the Head of Parliament, who was trying to look abysmally unobservant. Then he looked at Blake and declared, “I am your legal guardian, and you’ll do as I say!”

  His voice was cold. Aloof. Authoritative. Like he was already the King, and Blake his lowly subject.

  Blake’s eyes went wide. Fury cascaded through him until he felt that he could do anything, anything at all. He could whip the Sea Captain bloody and be drowned in a scarlet waterfall, laughing all the while. He hadn’t a merciful heart. He hadn’t a heart at all.

  The carriage bounced along, hitting one pothole after another. Soon Blake couldn’t even hear the ocean anymore.

  So this was what it felt like to suffocate.

  That night, Blake had another nightmare about Keel Cutlass’s demons.

  Like before, he endured their torture until he finally managed to cry out for help. Waking with a start, he found himself locked up one of the Swift’s whitewashed cells. Eventually, he stopped shaking and fell back asleep, but his dreams only grew worse.

  He was aboard the HMS Swift, and the middle gun deck was strangely abandoned. Instinctively, Blake knew he’d just chased Eselder across the deck and somehow gotten him trapped in the galley. He himself stood in the doorway, looming over the boy who crouched between the stove and the cupboards. The rage that seized Blake at the sight of that innocent, terrified young face was violent, bestial, and utterly beyond his control. It took him over, screaming of a pain that Eselder wasn’t responsible for and demanding a compensation that Eselder couldn’t give him…

  Or could he?

  With a sick grin, Blake shut the galley door behind him, never once taking his eyes off the lad. Eselder flinched, and Blake’s heart leapt with vicious excitement. He advanced triumphantly on his helpless prey, but when his fingertips were inches from the boy’s shirt, Blake felt a horror so piercing that he gave a sudden jerk and tumbled backward. Hiding his eyes so that he didn’t have to see Eselder’s face, he roared at the top of his lungs.

  Blake’s eyes shot open. For the second time that night, he sat up and imagined Eselder fast asleep in his hammock, yards away from the white galley door. His mouth went dry.

  Is that why I’ve been getting friendly with the lad?

  Blake buried his head in his hands, feeling like he might vomit. Everything about his body felt disgusting as mud and vile as sin. He wildly shook his head.

  No, it’s not! It’s not!

  But all his interactions with Eselder flashed before his mind’s eye, and it seemed to Blake that he finally saw the dark undercurrent behind them all. Why had he grabbed Eselder’s shoulder right then? Had he really just been trying to comfort the lad? Blake lowered his hands and stared at them like they were scuttling spiders. And why all the stories? The feigned interest in the boy’s paternal woes?

  Unbidden, an absolutely sickening thought came to him, as though Keel Cutlass’s demons were still whispering in his ear.

  Is it because he looks so much like Jaimes?

  A wave of nausea hit him. No, it wasn’t! He despised his brother with every fiber of his being, but it hadn’t always been that way, and he knew that he was capable of feeling affection that wasn’t sick and twisted!

  Maybe before you left Moanamiri, came the whisper, but what about after? You’re not like other people, Blake.

  Blake stared at the bulkhead.

  He changed you.

  Blake felt too ill to sit upright and argue with his inner demons. He closed his eyes and tried to escape by falling back asleep, but the more he tried to push the dream and the memories away, the more they swirled together in an anguished, fiery haze.

  I was telling the boy stories, that’s all, damnit! I’m not a monster!

  Blake inhaled, and when he squeezed his eyes shut, tears spilled out.

  No, you’re not, agreed the whisper, you’re vermin.

  Blake growled. He was tired! So tired, and he just wanted to sleep! But the dream and the memories kept pounding on his groggy consciousness like tidal waves, refusing to let him alone. He had horrible thoughts, twisted thoughts, diabolical thoughts about himself and Eselder. The more he fought them, the worse they became, and as soon as Blake felt a shred of relief, they slammed on his brain even harder, knocking him back down again. He could have lived with the agony of those dark thoughts…if agony was all he felt. But the truth was that he felt enticed, tantalized, aroused by every single filthy one of them, and he wanted to surrender to the deep, deep pleasure that was spreading through his body.

  Broken. Filthy. Vermin.

  The waves became a whirlpool of fire. There was nothing he could do, and with a gasp, Blake started to drown.

  No, no, no!

  He roared a curse that was as dirty as his thoughts. Seconds later, a pockmarked marine thrust his ugly mug against the barred window and snapped, “Keep it down, stripey!”

  That helped break the grip of Blake’s imagination, and after the soldier left, he shuddered. On the mast top. He’d manipulated Eselder, turned him against his father, filled his head with dazzling images of the high seas, and then offered to let the boy escape with him…

  But he wouldn’t. Eselder was better off aboard the Swift than gallivanting across the high seas with someone like him.

  That resolution brought Blake a measure of relief. He even managed to fall back asleep and, for the remainder of the night, he blissfully forgot about the HMS Swift, her cabin boy, and the flogging that awaited him at dawn.

  Eselder couldn’t bear it.

  A gray pall blanketed the sky, and the sea was as still as a corpse. The entire crew was gathered on the quarterdeck to witness Blake Ransom’s flogging, and though Eselder huddled at the back of the crowd, his ears weren’t spared the sound of the cat o’ nine tails thrashing its victim. Thug Kurzon kept on striking and striking. How long could a man endure such torture?

  Hot tears dripped through Eselder’s fingers, and he didn’t care if anyone saw them. He peeked out from behind his hands. Some of the men watched the proceedings with interest, even enthusiasm, and though they were the minority, they were the ones Eselder took note of. Hatred blistered his chest. One day, he hoped they found themselves on the wrong end of Kurzon’s whip while their shipmates stood around and gawked!

  Eselder lowered his wet hands and looked at the poop deck, where Captain Thornhill stood flanked by Lieutenant O’Shea and Mr. Farrow, the head midshipman. The pigtailed captain watched the flogging, for all appearances unruffled. His supporting officers, on the other hand, looked visibly distressed.

  Yet nobody said anything.

  This was all his fault. Eselder trembled. If there was anything he could do to save his friend, he had to do it. Despite his heroic thoughts, however, he did nothing. Nothing at all. He was absolutely terrified of that cat o’ nine tails, that it would turn on him.

  Kurzon’s whip struck flesh. Eselder flinched.

  Blake had put himself in harm’s way to come to his defense. That was why he was being flogged right now. What about Eselder? Would he do the same?

  The cat o’ nine tails struck again. And again. And again.

  Eselder sprang forward and began pushing his way through the mob. With angry oaths, the men tried to shove him back, but he refused to let them. His chest blazed with a heat unmatched by the sun. Unjust, unjust, unjust! The mantra throbbed in his brain like the drumbeat the Royal Marines had played as they’d bound Blake to the mainmast.

  He broke through the mob right behind Thug Kurzon. All he could see of Blake was his bare back, covered in stripes and saturated with blood. Kurzon lifted his whip, and Eselder saw its red-soaked cords. A wave of sickness hit him, and he swayed on the spot. No! He couldn’t afford to swoon! Eselder steadied himself and opened his mouth.

  “Stop!”

  His voice came out shrill as a whip’s crack, but at least it had come out.

&
nbsp; “I said, stop!”

  Thug Kurzon turned, looking livid at the interruption. Blood dripped from the knotted whip, splattering the deck Eselder had scoured spotless so many times. Eselder wanted nothing more than to flee far away from that terrifying whip.

  “I...I…”

  He pointed at Kurzon. His arm felt unnaturally heavy.

  “I…”

  Rough hands seized him from behind and pulled him back toward the crowd. Thug Kurzon turned to face the man whose arms were tied about the mainmast. Blake was completely at his mercy. But Thug Kurzon had no mercy.

  Why didn’t Captain Thornhill speak out? Surely, he could see that Blake’s punishment was inhumane! Why didn’t he command Kurzon to stop?

  Command…command…

  Eselder’s mind was a whirlwind of panic. He gave a surprisingly strong jerk, broke free, and ran out into the center of the deck before his accosters could snatch him.

  “I c-command you to s-stop this!”

  Chuckles floated across the deck. Eselder ignored them and faced the poop deck. Captain Thornhill looked incredulous at being addressed.

  “You are the captain of this ship! I command you to put an end to this! I am…”

  Eselder steeled himself.

  “I am the King’s son!” he shouted.

  A shocked silence followed this bold proclamation. At least Eselder had successfully gotten Thornhill’s attention. Now he needed to plead his case before all was lost! Eselder tried to hold himself as his father did, proud and aloof and authoritative…but he had never learned how.

  When nobody responded, he tried again, less confidently, “I am Eselder, the C-Crown Heir and the King’s son! I c-command you to s-stop this now!”

  Lieutenant O’Shea and Mr. Farrow hesitated and looked to their captain for his next command, but Captain Thornhill just squinted mutely at Eselder. His fleshy lips curled into a thoughtful frown.

  In the end, it was Thug Kurzon who broke the silence. Lifting his tanned face to the sky, the bosun began laughing heartily like Eselder had just shared his favorite joke with them all. Amid Kurzon’s laughter and Thornhill’s silence, Eselder stood there with his arm outstretched, sweating and shaking like a leaf. He had used up all his courage…and he had still failed.

  Blake allowed the sight of the ocean to consume him.

  That was how he kept from crying out when the cat o’ nine tails ripped open his back. Over and over, he directed his silent scream across the water. Eventually he couldn’t hear, or see, or taste, or feel anything but pain. Kurzon was going to flog him until he died or begged for relief. But he would not beg.

  Blake pressed his forehead against the mizzenmast. Kurzon was breaking him, piece by bloody piece. His resolve cracked. He began to reconsider.

  “Mercy,” he whispered.

  That was when he heard Eselder.

  “Stop!”

  Aye, make it stop!

  Nobody heard Blake’s moan except the wind, which carried it far out to sea.

  “I c-command you to s-stop this!”

  Blake closed his eyes. There was nothing Eselder could do. Everybody aboard this ship was out for his blood. It bathed the deck in plenty, but they hadn’t seen enough of it yet. Bloodlust. He knew the feeling.

  “You are the captain of this ship! I command you to put an end to this! I am…I am the King’s son!”

  Blake flashed icy cold. He spat bitter fluid onto the deck. Suddenly, he couldn’t bear for Eselder to see him like this, tied to the mast and whipped like a dog. He didn’t want Eselder pleading on his behalf. He didn’t want the boy doing anything for him! Tears of rage blocked his view of the ocean.

  “I am Eselder, the Crown Heir and the King’s son!”

  Shut up, shut up!

  “I command you to stop this now!”

  Thug Kurzon started to laugh, and who could blame him? Eselder was a liar, and a pathetic one at that. There was no way that Eselder—that pathetic, hopeless boy—could possibly be Jaimes Ransom’s son.

  Jaimes…

  Blake’s legs finally gave out. He sagged against the mast.

  Thug Kurzon stopped laughing, and Blake heard him turn around. His lips quivered wildly at the thought of more pain, but he wouldn’t beg for mercy. He’d rather die first. He wouldn’t make a scene in front of Jaimes Ransom’s son.

  “Wait a moment!”

  At Captain Thornhill’s urgent shout, Kurzon hesitated. The crew held its breath. This flogging had turned out to be more exciting than they had anticipated.

  “I could swear that I…you there, boy! I recognize you!”

  Blake heard hasty footsteps descend from the poop deck and pound across the quarterdeck.

  “The Ashtown Gala, perhaps?” asked Captain Thornhill, now very close by.

  I know that voice…I do, I know it…

  “Perhaps,” Eselder replied coldly.

  Blake didn’t want to hear Thornhill’s answer, but he couldn’t help it. The captain hooted triumphantly, “I knew I recognized you! I never forget a face! Yes, it was the Ashtown Gala! I met your father there, too! This…this is the King’s son!”

  Pandemonium ensued. Blake was forgotten. While everyone else went berserk, he neither moved nor spoke. Of course, he couldn’t really do much, lashed to the mainmast. Except try to convince himself, despite the surmounting evidence, that Eselder was a filthy liar.

  What are the odds…he can’t be…he looks nothing like Jaimes!

  Except that he did. The spitting image, in fact. Sans the ridiculous spectacles.

  Then Blake remembered. Eselder. That was the Crown Heir’s name. He knew that much about his nephew. His what?

  No, no, I don’t want a nephew! I don’t even want a brother. I want to die.

  Blake convulsed and vomited another mouthful of gray.

  All this time, I was getting chummy with Jaimes’s son?

  He retched again. His back was one, great, bloody sore. The pain was excruciating. He wanted to cry out for somebody, anybody to take it away.

  I promised that I would take him with me…

  Blake groaned as the last of his strength fled him.

  “Are you sure?”

  Amid the bedlam, Thug Kurzon spoke. The bosun sounded…hungry.

  Blake’s heart sank like lead. Eselder’s little revelation wouldn’t do either of them any good. The boy had been so, so foolish.

  “I’m positive!” Thornhill declared with confidence.

  Blake could imagine Kurzon standing there, thinking through of the implications of this discovery. He longed to see what was happening, but he was kept in the dark until Thornhill spoke again.

  “Lieutenant O’Shea, see to it that the offender is taken below. Have the surgeon treat his wounds. And you, Mr. Kurzon. Kindly escort His Royal Highness to my cabin.”

  Blake knew it had been coming, but he still groaned as Kurzon stomped toward his next victim.

  Eselder, what have you done?

  “No, I won’t go! Release my friend!”

  Eselder’s shout was shrill and strained. Blake heard the sounds of a scuffle, and Eselder cried out in pain. The sound drove Blake close to mad. He strained against his bonds, but it was no use. He couldn’t go to Eselder’s aid. He dug his brow and his fingernails into the mast, growling as Eselder and Kurzon continued to wrestle.

  Lieutenant O’Shea started protesting, “You can’t—”

  “Captain!” Kurzon insisted angrily.

  “Do it!” Thornhill bleated, “Now!”

  Before he knew it, Blake was clamped in manacles and locked in the brig. His back was on fire, and his only prison mate was an exceptionally bold rat. Still, he was better off than Eselder, who was currently locked up in the captain’s cabin with Thug Kurzon and Captain Thornhill for company. Blake would probably never see Eselder again. Jaimes’s son. He’d been duped by Jaimes’s son.

  His wounds gave a searing burst, and Blake shivered. He’d helped the boy, encouraged him, defended him…
>
  It was a trick, a dirty trick. The world was mocking him.

  Blake’s fellow inmate nibbled his toe. Cursing, the pirate punted it across his cell like a football. No, he could never see Eselder again! He’d never be able to look at the boy without seeing the brother who’d betrayed him.

  Jaimes…

  Blake closed his eyes.

  The boy was Jaimes’s son, and Blake…he’d wanted to…he’d fantasized about…

  He gritted his teeth, fighting down the feral scream that was tearing at his insides. That did it. It was the last proof Blake needed. He was breaking his promise.

  When Blake deserted the HMS Swift, he was leaving Eselder aboard her.

  17

  The Captain’s Son

  Life away from the sea was no life at all.

  Here at Kingston Court, Blake had no relief from his sea longing. It was no longer a wistful ache but a racking pain. Oftentimes, he wanted to cry out to the Lady to come and take him, or at least her gift, away. But he didn’t, because his sea longing was the only thing that Jaimes hadn’t managed to rob him of. He tried to escape over the palace walls numerous times, but the guards always caught him before he got over. He was a prisoner, and Prince Jaimes was the jailer.

  But sometimes, Blake dreamt that he was journeying across a moonlit sea, and on those nights, he’d wake up crying because his hollow chest seemed to be on fire. Other times, he dreamt of the Lady in Blue…not the kindly mother from his memories but the seductress of legend, reaching out with bare arms, bidding him to come and drown with her in the deep. Still other times, he dreamt that he was trapped in a dark place while someone advanced on him with a twisted light in his eyes. Most often, it was Charles. Occasionally, it was Drake Ransom.

  Sometimes, it was Jaimes.

  On those nights, Blake’s heart leapt in terror and excitement, and when he awoke, he found himself trembling head to foot, overcome by an uncontrollable desire. But when the sensation wore off, his body felt like an old, tired, fleshy rag that Blake longed to throw away. Then he curled into a ball atop his feather mattress and dreamt of stringing himself up by his bedframe.