The Pirate King

by J. P. Sheen

  Distracted by his exotic surroundings, it took Eselder awhile to notice that Blake was glaring at him. When he did, his smile vanished, for the seaman looked forbidding.

  “So,” said Blake coldly, “You’re the prince.”

  Eselder’s shoulders drooped.

  “That’s right,” he said, feeling he ought to apologize for the fact. What would happen now?

  There was a pause, during which his stomach growled loudly. Blake ignored it and folded his arms.

  “Lord Birkenbee?” he demanded, raising thick eyebrows.

  Eselder pondered the wisest course of action, and then offered Blake his meekest, most apologetic smile. Blake narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Eselder’s docile countenance. Then he grunted, as though unimpressed. But Eselder saw a look of amusement flash across his face.

  “Lying little toerag,” muttered Blake, “I should leave you to fend for yourself. Serve you right!”

  “What if they catch us?” Eselder asked quickly, not masking his fright very well. Blake stopped making callous threats to reassure him, “The harbor was packed, Eselder. I doubt they got a good look at us.”

  Eselder frowned doubtfully. Between his tattoos and maimed back, Blake looked very memorable indeed. To his surprise, Blake frowned back at him, eyeing him like he was a loose cannon that might suddenly explode.

  “Keep a lookout, would you?” he suddenly asked. Before Eselder could ask why, he slipped into the yard and reemerged moments later, wearing a baggy shirt that was soiled under the armpits. When Eselder saw it, his conscience smarted. He couldn’t approve of thievery, though they were in a tight spot. But he didn’t want to say anything either, for fear of angering the only soul for miles around who cared about him. Blake was quick to notice his disapproving expression. Looking very displeased himself, he snapped, “Don’t be a prig, Eselder, I left behind some money…a dem sight more than this shirt’s worth, too.”

  He sniffed his sleeve, and his nose wrinkled. “Smells like blue cheese.”

  “What money?”

  With a roguish grin, Blake pulled a blue velvet pouch from his pocket and shook it. Eselder heard coins jingle about, and guilt pricked him even more sharply. Now they were paying for stolen goods with stolen currency; that hardly made things better!

  “What?” Blake demanded in mock surprise, observing his crestfallen look, “You weren’t aware that our escape is being funded by a most generous benefactor? A certain Captain Charles Thornhill?”

  Eselder blinked. Then he grinned, rather wickedly. Well, he didn’t mind that.

  Blake seemed pleased by his reaction. Returning the grin, he put the pouch away and remarked briskly, “First things first. We’d better find food before we pass out. What d’you say, Eselder? Unless, of course, you ain’t hungry?”

  Eselder’s smile widened. Perhaps things weren’t going to be awful after all! His stomach enthusiastically seconded Blake’s proposal, and they set off down the street.

  Blake located a bustling harbor side market and proceeded to stroll confidently past vendors selling seafood, fresh fruit, and dried beans. Eselder trailed after him, casting nervous glances at the ships docked nearby and keeping a lookout for any short, mustached fishermen. The smell of fried dough lured them over to a peasant woman’s cart, before which they hovered like vultures.

  “Fresh mango turnovers, sir,” the woman supplied in response to their hungry stares. Eselder looked hopefully at Blake, who drew out his velvet pouch.

  After purchasing a mountain of turnovers, they found a spot on the low dockside wall and scarfed down their first meal in two days (not counting, in Blake’s case, Thornhill’s beef and cheese, which had really been more like a light snack). By the time Eselder had gobbled up two turnovers, his fingers and chin were a slimy, sticky, yellow mess. Imagining with pleasure what Kingston’s courtiers would think if they could see him now, he ate another, and another, and another, until mango nectar ran down his wrists and oil stained his fingers shiny.

  “It’s like feeding a horse!” Blake exclaimed in amazement.

  “Ahm ‘ungry!” Eselder insisted. It was difficult to sound pitiful with one’s mouth stuffed with sugary dough. After he demolished another turnover and gave no indication of slowing down, Blake declared, “Make that a team of horses! Dammit, boy, you’re going to eat all our coin!”

  Eselder paused, an unbitten turnover halfway to his mouth. His stomach was already distended, making him feel very greedy indeed. Very slowly, he placed the flaky pastry back onto its paper scrap.

  “Never mind,” Blake said, more kindly, “Go ahead, Eselder.”

  Eselder gave the turnover a ravenous glance. Then he snatched it up. It was gone in the blink of an eye.

  Meanwhile, Blake eyed the setting sun.

  “We’d best find somewhere to bunk for the night,” he remarked, “We’ll look for a ship in the morning.”

  So that was what they did. Together, they left the dingy seaport and tramped down the white shoreline until they came across an old boardwalk. At its end was a lonely merchant’s brig being loaded with crates of fresh fruit. It wasn’t exactly Kingston Palace. But it would do.

  As the sunk sank wearily below the horizon, Blake gestured underneath it.

  “Tonight, we’re sea-gipsies,” he said, “And we sleep under the stars.”

  Eselder liked the sound of that. He ducked under the gray planks, scaring off a couple of tiny crabs. He quickly discovered that sea-gipsies had to settle for hard, lumpy beds. Still, he thought, he’d rather be here under this creaky wharf than in his four-poster at Kingston Palace.

  To his great irritation, Blake drew a line in the sand and peevishly announced, “That is your side; this is my side. Keep your royal arse off my side!”

  Eselder scowled. He wanted to be the child right now. Frowning sulkily, he nudged the sand with his toes. Nor did he appreciate being reminded of his royal backend.

  “We’re free and clear, boy! What’s the matter with you? Still hungry?”

  Eselder shook his head.

  “Then what, boy, what? Spit it out, or let’s get some sleep!”

  Eselder shook his head again, angrily.

  “Ah…”

  Blake blew him off with a disgusted wave of the hand. Flopping down on the sand, he shut his eyes, but Eselder remained where he was, propped up against a splintered beam. The crushing weight he had felt at Kingston Court was returning, and with frightening speed.

  His father and mother were alive and well. He was glad about that, of course; he wasn’t a complete wretch. But the news that had been such a relief aboard the Swift now filled him with a guilt-ridden dread. His father still needed a confounded successor. That meant he had to go back to Kingston. He hadn’t a choice.

  “Oh, yes, I do,” he muttered.

  “Shut up, boy,” Blake snapped, not opening his eyes, “I’m sleeping!”

  “I don’t want to go back to Kingston!”

  The declaration spilled right out of Eselder’s mouth. Blake sat up quickly and stared at him. Eselder flushed. He had sounded so foolish, like a whiny infant! Probably he had just lost all of Blake Ransom’s respect…if he’d had any to begin with. But it was too late to back down now.

  “You’ve never lived at court,” he said desperately, almost pleadingly, “You don’t know what it’s like! So many people, so many diversions, with every possible luxury a person could want…and I was so miserable I wanted to die.”

  His tone made it clear he was not exaggerating. For once, Blake withheld a snarky quip. He quietly asked, “What about your father? Surely he must be worried sick, with his son missing.”

  Eselder snorted, though he wiped his eyes.

  “With how much attention he paid me, I’d be surprised if he’s noticed I’m gone,” he muttered. There was a long silence, during which Eselder formed sandy mounds with his toes and listened to King Jaimes’s prickly voice in his head.

  You’re exaggerating again, Eselder. I have a kingdo
m to run, and that takes up a great deal of my time.

  Eselder knew that all of those claims were true. Justifiable, even…maybe. But it didn’t change the way he felt inside. It didn’t take the hurt away.

  “So you don’t want to go back to Kingston,” Blake spoke up, “What do you want, then, Eselder?”

  Eselder looked at him, stunned. Nobody had ever asked him that before. He didn’t hesitate long but stretched his hands out toward the fiery sunset and red, roiling waves.

  “I want that!” he cried, with as much passion as he could muster. When he turned back to Blake, he found the seaman grinning at him.

  “What?” he asked, turning bright red.

  “You may have been born at Kingston Court, Eselder,” Blake observed, “But you weren’t made for the shallows. Your spirit belongs to the deep. That much is clear.”

  Eselder went warm with pleasure. He smiled shyly, his fingers digging through the sand. He rather hoped Blake would go on. Nobody had ever said anything so kind to him before. At Kingston Court, no one in their right mind would have suggested that the Crown Heir was made for anything except a privileged, bourgeois life, where the dearth of familial affection was made up for by second helpings at the supper table. Eselder shuddered. He couldn’t go back to that—he couldn’t!

  “Can’t I stay with you?”

  The exclamation burst out of him in his misery. At first, Blake looked startled. Then his face relaxed into an expression that was almost gentle. He offered Eselder his usual crooked smile, but this time, his eyes didn’t flash with lightning. A disturbing sort of darkness marred them, though it seemed to Eselder it wasn’t anger. It looked more like sadness. Or pain.

  Eselder frowned, fighting back tears. He had no right to go throwing himself as a burden on anyone.

  He opened his mouth to beg Blake’s pardon and ask him to forget about it just as Blake opened his mouth, and Eselder was so desperately interested in what he was going to say that he closed his mouth right as Blake did the same. They both looked down at the sand, flushing. It was incredible how loud insects could be at night. Eselder had never known.

  At last, Blake broke the uncomfortable silence. “Eselder…your father…”

  Eselder’s heart sank. Here it came. Blake was going to tell him, and probably very kindly too, that he dared not keep Eselder around lest he get accused of kidnapping the Crown Heir, and so suffer the King’s wrath.

  “King Jaimes,” Blake added, as if Eselder didn’t know who his father was. Eselder steeled himself for Blake’s objections while preparing to argue the opposite case: that King Jaimes likely thought his son was dead, and honestly wouldn’t care if he was so long as he could just get himself another heir, and that there was still hope for that, so…so…so Eselder ought to stay with Blake.

  Since most of that was a lie and Eselder knew it, it was probably a good thing that he never got the opportunity to say it.

  Blake swallowed and went on, “I don’t think he’d—”

  At the very worst time, Eselder’s mouth decided that it was time for a huge, gaping yawn. Blake saw it and pounced.

  “Look at you!” he crowed, “It’s way past your bedtime, young man!”

  “But—”

  “What did I tell you before?”

  “Um…”

  “Children should be seen and not heard. Actually, they…”

  “Shouldn’t be seen either, if it can be helped,” Eselder finished irritably.

  “Your memory is spot-on. Shut up and go to sleep.”

  “I’m not tired!” Eselder snapped and yawned again.

  “Well, I am,” retorted Blake. He flipped onto his stomach. “Stay up all night, if you like. But it’s going to be another long, hot day tomorrow, and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

  Eselder scowled at Blake. Then he felt a pang, seeing thin red lines crisscrossing Blake’s shirt. Blake’s wounds must have reopened; they had to hurt terribly. Eselder stared at the bloody splotches, feeling something close to veneration. Blake had gotten those wounds defending him, trying to protect him from harm. Would his own father have done the same?

  Eselder frowned. Though part of him wanted to deny it, deep down, he knew he would.

  He looked away, down the seashore. The sky was dark now. One by one, stars were coming out to twinkle over the ocean. Their heart-to-heart was over, and so was the day. Perhaps it was time to get some sleep. But why couldn’t they sleep down by the water? It was so beautiful out, with the full moon and the stars shining and the—

  “Ouch!” he hissed, slapping his neck.

  “Shut it,” came Blake’s low grumble.

  And the buzzing, biting mosquitos!

  Rubbing his neck, Eselder lay down. For a while, he struggled to find a comfortable position on the sand. In the end, he decided that lying on his back was his best bet. Unfortunately, that was right when Blake started snoring like a wounded rhinoceros. Accepting the prospect of a long and sleepless night, Eselder stared at the black sheet over his head. He couldn’t believe that he was actually here, on this beach, sleeping under the stars, in the middle of the Palean Sea, halfway across the world from Kingston Court! If King Jaimes could see him now…he’d never recognize his son.

  You weren’t made for the shallows…

  A shiver ran down Eselder’s spine.

  Your soul belongs to the deep!

  Eselder smiled, his eyes bright and full of hope. Then he closed them, and quickly drifted off to sleep.

  21

  Under The Stars

  All was dark, and silent as a tomb.

  From his window, Blake watched the carriage bound for Cribbshire Abbey roll out of the palace courtyard, under the light of a crescent moon. Then he stole out of his massacred bedroom and down the hall.

  In the nighttime gloom, Kingston Palace reminded him of a haunted house. Eerie shadows danced across the baroque moldings and marble pillars, and from their portraits, the eyes of dead noblemen seemed to track Blake’s every move. He dared not even glance at the gold candelabras, for fear that they would transform into the heads of demons. All through his dark journey, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, because he had the horrible feeling that a host of dark creatures were trailing after him, watching his every move, waiting to see what he was going to do.

  He tiptoed up a marble staircase and down a long red carpet until he stopped outside of the doors to the King’s study. Blake hesitated. His trembling fingertips lightly brushed the door’s handle. Then, gathering all his courage, he turned the handle and crept inside.

  The King’s study was dark, lit only by moonlight and a candle stub. Blake’s heart started to thud when he saw Jaimes sitting behind his ornate desk, half-buried under mountains of parchment, his spectacles all but dangling off his nose, scratching away with a goose feather quill and an intensely furrowed brow. For a moment, Blake wanted to back silently out of the room, back into the shadows. Instead, he closed the door behind him.

  Startled, Jaimes glanced up. But when he saw the ragged little waif from Moanamiri, he went back to his writing.

  “Didn’t you just leave for Cribbshire?” he asked irritably. His callousness hurt more than a whiplash. Blake inwardly recoiled but took a timid step forward.

  “Jaimes, I—”

  His blood ran cold. Keel Cutlass now stood behind Jaimes, glaring at Blake with his horrible snaggletooth eyes, his red scar shining like a blood moon.

  Or was it Keel Cutlass?

  The maple trees outside the windows rustled, causing moonbeams on the floor to ripple like sea waves. Shadows moved across Keel Cutlass’s face, and then young Charles Thornhill was in his place. The fair-haired midshipman shook his head at Blake, his eyes flashing a terrible warning. Blake shrank back, .

  The wind moaned, shadows wavered, and the specter transformed back into Keel Cutlass. The demon drew out his butcher’s knife, and in its reflection, the trembling boy saw a red crescent-shaped welt on his forehead. Jaimes’s quil
l kept scratching away.

  “I—”

  Jaimes flipped the parchment over and began scribbling again. Sweat ran down Blake’s arms and sides. He grabbed his throat, gasping for air. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe! Then Keel Cutlass raised his knife, and Blake’s eyes grew wide.

  Charles Thornhill put a finger to his lips.

  Blake squeezed his eyes shut and screamed the truth.

  Jaimes’s quill stopped scratching. Fearfully, Blake opened his eyes. Jaimes stared blankly back at him, candlelight reflecting off his spectacles. Behind him, Keel Cutlass looked enraged. His white eyes blazed with hellfire.

  A finger jabbed Blake’s chest.

  Blake whimpered. It jabbed him again, harder. Then a host of demons joined in, poking and prodding him all over.

  “Jaimes!” Blake sobbed, doubling over, “Help me, help me!”

  He heard a chair topple over and footsteps rapidly cross the room. Then a big adult body wrapped itself around his, hugging him tight. At first, Blake screamed and tried to strike the person holding him, but his arms were trapped; he couldn’t break free! Then he suddenly went still. The poking, he realized, had stopped. Shielded by Jaimes’s strong arms, the demons couldn’t get to him.

  “You promised to keep me safe!” Blake wailed. He grabbed Jaimes’s waistcoat in his small fists and buried his face into it. Tears and snot quickly stained the gray silk. “You promised; you promised!”

  Jaimes hugged him tighter.

  “Come home, Blake,” he whispered. His breath was warm against Blake’s ear. “Come home!”

  Blake felt an agonizing stab like his heart had ruptured. All his pain gushed forth in a black raging torrent, and he blindly sobbed, “I will, Jaimes; I promise!”

  All at once, he felt a change in the arms that held him. No longer did they feel like the walls of a fort, strong and protective and manly. They were still strong, yes, but gentler and tenderer…feminine. Like they belonged to a mother.