by Toby Tate
Jonathan considered Caesar’s words, and kept listening.
“Someone else is involved, a person we have yet to discover. Someone called him up from the dead, probably in hopes of finding the treasure, or maybe even the book itself.”
Jonathan stared dumbfounded at Caesar, wondering if his grandfather knew about the bottle and scroll they had found inside the Adventure. But he doubted it.
“You’re telling me there is someone following us, or watching us, someone who is hoping to find Blackbeard’s treasure?”
“Since the day I first felt the presence of Blackbeard—of the demon that possesses him—I understood there was another force behind him, that he could not have risen by his own power. It is the work of someone who understands Vodun, or a similar religion. Someone who was able to cast a spell to empower the demon to reanimate the bones of Blackbeard. That is why I called you, told you about the demon. I need your help to stop him. I am too old to do it alone.”
“But who besides you would have such power? Who would know the ways of Vodun in the United States that could perform such a feat?”
Caesar shrugged. “The world of mysticism is not restricted to one man, my son. It can be accessed by anyone who has the will and the perseverance to do so, and the mind to understand.”
Jonathan wondered exactly how much his grandfather knew, and how much he was telling. “Why hasn’t Blackbeard spoken to you, other than the time at the house? According to the history books, you were inseparable from the time you joined his crew.”
“Teach was my friend, but he was a man. He had the feelings and desires and heart of a man. A demon has a heart of evil and its desires go beyond that of mortals. It craves power, the power of immortality, because it knows it has but a short time. Any time it can gain upon this earth is worth any price. So, you see, things like friendship and loyalty no longer have any meaning to him. He exists only to fulfill his desires. The ultimate narcissist, you might say.”
Jonathan nodded, trying to imagine living without the need for love or friendship, and found that the thought of it made him profoundly sad. He wondered if that was how it felt to be a demon, cast into darkness for all eternity, knowing there was no hope but that which could be temporarily gained from possession of an earthly body. Was that how the Death Defier felt?
Jonathan stood and stretched his arms above his head, trying to keep above the black lake of despair and hopelessness the discussion with his grandfather had brought on. He swayed slightly, balancing himself, trying to gain his sea legs as the boat rocked back and forth and side to side in the water. He turned toward the bow, looked out across the waves scanning the horizon.
A boat approached from well off in the distance.
Fifty-eight
Jonathan blinked and rubbed the sea spray out of his eyes. There was definitely a boat on the horizon. He reached under the console and pulled out a pair of binoculars, and glassed the approaching vessel. Sea water sprayed up from the boat’s stern, and Jonathan estimated it to be doing about thirty knots. It seemed to be heading straight for them, and there were several dark-skinned men aboard. He didn’t like the looks of it. They were miles out from Miami and a mayday call would take too long for the Coast Guard to answer. Their only hope was to pray that the men on the boat weren’t pirates. Though Aiden did have guns on board, thanks to his paranoia, they would be no match for a gang of organized criminals.
Caesar watched with mild interest, seemingly unperturbed by Jonathan’s sudden intensity. “Pirates?” he asked.
Jonathan looked over at him. “I don’t know. They might be. Or maybe they’re just curious. It’s hard to say. They’ll be on us in another couple of minutes, though, and the question will be academic. In the meantime, I suggest we do whatever we can to prepare.”
Caesar laughed. “And do what? Hit them with cannon fire? We’re on a yacht, my son. We have no defenses other than a couple of pistols, and I would be willing to bet they would be no match against the high-tech weapons they are likely carrying.”
Jonathan stared blankly at his grandfather, momentarily at a loss for words, and then said, “Well, what would you suggest we do? Throw up our hands and surrender? They would probably kill us, and God only knows what they will do when they find we have a beautiful woman on board.”
Caesar held his solemn gaze, as if waiting for Jonathan to finish his rant. Jonathan’s annoyance at his grandfather was building. Several choice words formed in his mind, but he held his tongue.
“There is only one thing we can do,” Caesar said.
Jonathan crossed his arms. “And what, pray tell, is that?”
“Call Blackbeard.”
“Blackbeard?”
“Yes. Call him to the main deck and tell him what is happening. Then I suggest the rest of us go below. Things may get ugly very quickly.”
Jonathan shook his head, then raised his binoculars and took another look at the oncoming boat. It looked very much like Aiden’s boat, but smaller and more aerodynamic. Obviously built for speed and maneuverability, as opposed to leisure. All the better for chasing down its quarry, Jonathan thought.
As he watched, he saw the men simultaneously reach behind their heads and pull something down over their faces.
Masks. They were all wearing black ski masks. They reached down to the deck and picked up weapons—some pistols and what looked like semiautomatic or automatic rifles.
“They’re definitely pirates. Several of them, and they’re not coming to have coffee. They’re well armed with automatic weapons.”
Caesar, unflustered, remained in his seat.
Jonathan looked over at him and shook his head. “Don’t you care that we’re about to be raided, or worse?”
Caesar‘s smile faded, but he remained calm. “Of course I’m concerned, but there is no weapon better than the one we have below deck. His name is Edward Teach. Now go and call him.”
Caesar’s words finally took hold. Jonathan turned and looked behind them at the ladder leading down to the galley. He smiled at Caesar. “I’ll be right back. Can you take the helm?”
Caesar rose from his seat and looked at the big teakwood steering wheel. He nodded at Jonathan. “Be glad to.”
In less than a minute, Blackbeard was climbing up to the pilothouse, Jonathan close behind. Blackbeard stopped beside him and looked out over the bow. “Are those the pirates?” he asked simply.
Caesar looked at the approaching boat, now almost upon them. “Yes. There are several men with guns. I fear they will try to board us and possibly steal the boat, maybe even kill us.”
As he spoke, Aiden came up the ladder, then Lisa. They stood in the background, watching as the boat drew near.
“What the hell’s going on?” Lisa said.
Jonathan turned and looked at the pair. “Look, these people are extremely dangerous, so I suggest we all get down below decks while we can. Let’s go.”
He held out his arms and ushered all of them—with the exception of Blackbeard—back down the steps and into the galley.
* * *
Blackbeard eyed the yacht’s throttle and steering wheel, then grabbed the throttle and gradually began to slow the boat until it came to a complete stop. That should make it easier for them, he thought.
The pirate speedboat came up alongside and a couple of masked men pulled the two boats close with long grappling hooks, and then tied them together with thick nylon rope.
Teach heard the men speak, and realized he understood the language. Haitian.
He grinned broadly as one of the men climbed over the side and advanced toward him. The man kept a sleek, black AK-47 assault rifle trained on Teach’s skull.
“I am going to feast on your blood, and then I will devour your souls,” Teach said in perfect Haitian Creole.
The Haitian pirates stood on the bow of the boat as it bobbed up and down in the water, watching in stunned silence as Teach began removing his clothes.
Fifty-nine
T
he four of them, Jonathan, Caesar, Aiden, and Lisa, huddled together in the yacht’s center sleeping area, the one currently in use by Jonathan and Caesar, and prayed that the pirates had not seen them, or were at least too preoccupied to bother looking.
At first, Jonathan could hear the footfalls of the men from the other boat as they boarded the yacht, then silence, followed by shouts of alarm, an inhuman, bellowing roar, automatic weapon fire, and screaming.
He knew what the screaming meant—Blackbeard had changed and was now ripping them limb from limb. Jonathan looked over at his grandfather and saw that his eyes had became glazed and his lips moved slightly, unintelligible words forming upon them. The demon had once again pulled him into its mind and now Caesar was seeing everything it was seeing, like a camera, watching, but helpless to take any action of his own.
Jonathan was curious, more so than the others. He had to know, had to see exactly what Teach had become. He elbowed his way through the group and put his hand on the door knob.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going? You’ll give us away if you go out there.” Lisa’s loud whisper was full of venom, and she sounded as if she were ready to strike if Jonathan so much as flinched.
Jonathan glanced back at her. “Believe me, those pirates have more to worry about than us. They’re too preoccupied to be bothered about anything other than killing that demon. Besides, I have to see him, I have to know what it looks like.”
Lisa’s eyes seemed to soften a little, but she refused to budge. Jonathan tried a different tact.
“Aren’t you the least bit curious? Don’t you want to know?”
Lisa sighed. “Okay,” she whispered,” but do it quietly.
They slowly opened the door and stepped into the main compartment, then turned and peeked through the window that overlooked the forward main deck.
What Jonathan saw looked like something out of Dante’s Hell. Blood and body parts were scattered across the deck like pieces of a ghastly jigsaw puzzle, glistening dark red in the sun. Bits of tattered and torn cloth and guns were added to the mix, some with the fingers of severed hands still on their triggers.
And in the midst of it, a huge, steel-muscled four-legged creature covered in black fur advanced on the remaining gunman, who fired every round of his AK-47, to no effect. The bullets were no more than an annoyance to the demon, whose skin swallowed them and healed over as if it had never been penetrated. He watched in horror and lurid fascination as the animal stalked the man, who finally turned and jumped back over the side and onto his own boat. He attempted to untie the two vessels, dropping his useless gun into the water and fumbling with the knots, but Jonathan knew there would be no escape.
The sudden leap of the creature onto the other boat was startling, and Jonathan watched as the man backed away from it, turned to dive in the water, and was caught from behind by an oversized hand-paw. The creature held the Haitian in the air, turned him around and looked into his eyes, reveling in the fear, and Jonathan could see it bare huge fangs, still moist with the blood of its victims. Then it was upon the man, rending and tearing him to pieces so quickly that the Haitian pirate did not even have time to scream.
Jonathan and Lisa looked at one another, and then back at the carnage. Jonathan’s mouth felt like it was full of cotton.
“Jesus,” he said, as much a prayer as it was an exclamation.
When the beast had finished its gruesome task, it lumbered to the starboard side of the other boat and leaped over to the yacht with surprisingly feline grace. Yet Jonathan could see, now that the creature was closer, that it was neither feline nor canine, but a mix of the two. It also resembled a bear in the shape of its head and its pointed ears, but the musculature was more well-defined, the fur not quite as dense as that of a bear. A were-bear-wolf was the only description Jonathan could think of. The yacht actually dipped under its weight as it moved across the deck towards them. The deep rumbling breaths the beast took as it walked reminded Jonathan of an angry rhino, or the snorting of a bull. He could also see, with mild disgust, the creature’s huge member swinging back and forth between its legs like an oversized salami.
Then it stopped in front of the window directly before them, and bared its yellow fangs, looking more like a grin than a snarl, as if it was proud of itself. He could see pieces of skin and cloth still stuck to the teeth, and Jonathan knew that its breath smelled of human flesh and coppery blood; he started to feel queasy. Its eyes were as red as burning embers, and Jonathan felt them boring into him. A cold bead of sweat trickled down his forehead.
He looked over at Lisa, who was now watching him with a furrowed brow, and began to say something.
Then, his world went black.
Sixty
“We’re about two hours out from New Providence,” Jason said.
Hunter sat in his chair and nodded absentmindedly, staring off into the distance with one foot propped on the console and one hand on his chin.
Jason glanced over at him, smirking. “the Thinker,” he said.
Hunter looked up. “Huh?”
“The Thinker...you know, Rodin’s sculpture representing Dante at the gates of Hell.”
“That’s appropriate. I feel like we’re approaching the gates of Hell right about now.”
Jason turned back toward the horizon. “Maybe we are.”
Hunter returned to his thinking pose. “I just can’t seem to figure out something, though.”
“What’s that?”
“How did Blackbeard, after nearly three centuries under the ocean, manage to bring himself back to life? It seems to me that he might have had some outside help, someone who knew the legend. Someone who knew that he was possessed by a demon and who knew where to find the skull.”
“I don’t think any of that was really a secret. Blackbeard often spent his time boasting about being in league with the devil. I mean, look at his flag—a demon holding an hourglass and a spear. It’s just that most people thought he was only bluffing, making his persona more terrifying in order to frighten his potential victims.”
“Yeah, but there’s someone involved here who knows more than your average pirate buff; someone who knows how to raise bones from the dead and how to control demons. I don’t think that‘s something you can learn from Wikipedia. And I sure don’t think Blackbeard did it himself.”
“So, who do you have in mind?”
“Jonathan.”
“Jonathan? Caesar’s son? But why would he want to raise Blackbeard from the dead?”
“Why else? Greed, the need for power and riches. Can you imagine finding Blackbeard’s treasure? You would likely be the next Bill Gates. Plus, he’s an archeologist. That’s what he does. He’s like a corrupt version of Indiana Jones. And his own grandfather is a shaman. I mean, it all adds up. In fact, they might be in it together.”
Jason slowly began nodding his head. “I see what you mean. You make a good case. I still can’t believe Caesar would be involved in something like that, though. He’s always been a pretty stand-up guy. I think he could have been rich long ago if he had been so inclined.”
“Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe it’s all a setup to get him to cast the spell in that book and make the demon stronger so Jonathan can use it for his own purposes.”
“You think he would do that to his own grandfather?”
“In a heartbeat.”
Jason shrugged. “Well, what do I know? Maybe you’re right.”
Hunter sat up and put his feet down on the deck. “The main thing I’m worried about is what they’re doing to Lisa on that boat. I mean, you have a shaman, a thief, a demon, and that little weird guy with the gun on board a yacht headed for Voodoo country. For all I know, they could be preparing her for a sacrifice.”
“If I remember correctly, they usually require virgins for that purpose.”
“So far as you know. Those may be hard to come by in this day and age.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much. Caesar would be unlikely to
let anything happen to her. Besides, she can pretty well take care of herself, don’t you think?”
Hunter nodded, stood and took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and began raising his arms then lowering them to his sides. Jason watched with amused interest as Hunter’s movements became more complex, as if performed in response to some unheard symphony. His arms and legs moved like the hands of a clock from position to position with the power and grace of a trained dancer. This went on for several minutes until, at last, Jason could no longer contain his curiosity.
“May I ask exactly what it is you’re doing?”
Hunter stopped his movements. “Don’t tell me you‘ve never done tai chi.”
“Oh, is that what that is? I thought maybe you were trying to fly or…”
Jason’s retort was cut off as Hunter’s eyes grew narrow, spotting something on the horizon. He turned toward the bow and saw an object floating in the distance.
Hunter said, “Hey, do you have a telescope or some binoculars?”
Jason slowed the boat to a stop, and then lifted up the seat of the captain’s chair. Underneath was a hidden cache of weapons and ammunition. He looked up at Hunter. “Hey, always be prepared, I say.”
Hunter smirked. “Since when does a Boy Scout carry a gun?”
Jason handed the binoculars to Hunter. “Who said I was a Boy Scout?”
Hunter raised the glasses to his eyes, observing the object. He saw a large powerboat listing to port, and what appeared to be an arm limply hanging over the side. Several fins circled the boat—sharks.
Hunter lowered the binoculars and handed them back to Jason.
“Well,” Hunter said, “it definitely looks like our boy has been through here. He doesn’t even bother to cover his tracks. He thinks he’s unstoppable.”
Sixty-one