Many of the pirates I've known were hired to be soldiers on the sea, then when the war was over, they were accused of piracy. England, in particular, was not gracious to men they considered criminals more than soldiers.
Whole crews were hung. Ships stolen.
When they're backed into a corner, and their choice is to kill or die—that's when people choose piracy.
I quickly climb up the rope, feet landing on the slippery deck between two lifeless bodies. Across the small vessel are three other crew members fighting Knick and the large boy. I sprint over to give my aid—to whoever I can.
I jump into the fight, blocking a hammer swinging through the air toward Knick and then throw my shoulder into the sailor's chest, pushing, pushing until he's at the railing. Then I bend over and pull his legs up in one swift motion so that he falls overboard into the water with a scream and a splash.
The next assailant is a younger fisherman, his face only just starting to grow hair.
"I'll take this one," I tell Knick, and the anger in the boy's eyes morphs into fear.
Knick pauses, eyebrows pulled low as he considers me, then he turns to help the other fighter.
The fisherman boy takes a defensive stance, holding a rusty knife out towards me with a shaking hand.
I put my own knife into my belt loop and hold up my palms towards him. "I don't need to hurt you. Just jump overboard."
"No. I'm not just giving the ship to you mongrels!" he spits.
"It's already done. You’ve lost."
The boy looks around. There is only one person left—a man with grey in his hair, but he fights the remaining pirates valiantly. The smaller boys are already pillaging the cargo holds. I doubt there is much to find. This is a poor lot.
"That's my dad," the boy says. "I can't leave him alone."
"The quicker you leap overboard, the more likely I'll be able to help him too. The way I helped that last one." I nod over the railing where the sailor is splashing through the water, hollering as he does.
The boy looks over at the water, and I take that moment of distraction to my advantage. I push my shoulder into his chest, grab at his sword hand, and push him over the railing.
Even if I don't manage to save his father, I guarantee he'll be happy his son is safe.
I rush over to the last fight, quickly parry the final fisherman's swing, and knock the iron bar out of his hand, I push him up against the sail, forearm digging into his throat.
The large boy rushes at us, knife ready to gouge him.
I put out my foot and trip him. He rolls the ground and leaps back up, knife pointed at me now. "What the hell!" he says.
I turn towards the fisherman. "Surrender," I say.
"No."
I take in a deep breath. Curse bravery. Always makes this so much more difficult.
"We have the ship. You die now or you jump overboard with your son and live to fight another day."
"He's alive?" he asks, eyes shifting from anger to desperate hope.
I nod.
"That isn't how this works, Bluff,” Knick says between his teeth. "We don't leave survivors."
"I do,” I say, looking the fisherman in the eye. "Whenever possible."
"You're a shitty pirate," the large boy shouts.
"Always have been." I don’t mind stealing, but I hate killing. My crews never minded that, though. I brought easy sailing and protection against many foes—supernatural or otherwise.
The fisherman looks around, realizing how far he is from the edge of the ship. Right smack in the middle. "I won't make it," he whispers to me.
"You will if I hold them back."
He blinks at me, realizing what I'm saying. I'm going to fight my own crew to give him the chance to escape. What he doesn't know is that it's not actually my crew. Either way, I'm risking my own life for his.
And that’s all right with me, other than the thought of leaving Whitley alone. Without me, though, the price on her head will be significantly lower. Stede won't have any need for her. Maybe she'll be okay. I hope she will.
"Go now," I shout as I push him towards to my right side and spin towards Knick and the other boy, knife held out. Knick leaps towards the fisherman, but I grab him by the left wrist.
His right swings towards me, and his fist connects with my temple. Black spots splatter across my vision.
Then the glint of a blade passes my remaining vision, warmth spreads across my head, salty liquid reaches my lips—blood.
Whitley
I cross my arms to ward off the icy harbor breeze as we row slowly towards the ship Knick and Bluff managed to commandeer.
I try not to think about what it took to obtain our escape vessel. I try not to dwell on what lies behind us, what's still chasing us even now. We're supposed to be moving towards something good, or at least better than what I had, but the pit in my stomach is growing and I don't like it.
The Freedom is waiting for us. My freedom is waiting for me. And I'll see Bluff again in only minutes. So why is my soul screaming at me to leap into the steady waves of the Hudson River?
Escape, something whispers to me.
I look down at the spraying water hitting the side of the boat. I watch as it tosses and turns. Blue and green, fading all the way to black in the depths.
I only look up when the boat bangs against something, jerking me to attention. We're already at the ship, ready to climb aboard. I blink and cast off the hypnotizing fog from my mind.
I climb up the rope ladder shakily, but determined. The feeling of unease does not dissipate at all. I climb over the railing of the ship, realign my skirt to be sure nothing is sticking to me oddly, then look up.
My heart freezes, registering several uncomfortable things, one after the other.
First, it's quiet. Though there are several people aboard, no one speaks.
Second, they're all watching me. Anticipation clouds their expressions.
Third, each one of the ragtag group of child mobsters holds a weapon—a rusty knife, iron bar, rope— gently at his side.
I swallow as I notice they are partially blocking something from my sight. I take a step forward, heart stinging with every difficult beat.
There is a body in a chair, slumped forward. The only reason he's not on the floor are the ropes restraining him. Blood covers half his face.
"Knick!" I holler in anger.
The crowd shifts as Knick steps forward, hands in his pockets.
"What did you do?" I manage to force out through trembling lips.
"You should ask him, not me," Knick says, his voice so full of ease that I nearly leap at him.
"I can't," I spit. "He's unconscious." I look at Bluff's limp form, blinking rapidly, then back to Knick, fear lacing my words. "Is he even alive?" I whisper, afraid to hear the answer.
Knick rolls his eyes. "Yes. He's alive and will likely wake soon. Head wounds just bleed a lot. It's not as bad as it looks."
I force a long shaky breath, blowing out slowly.
"We have a seat for you too," Knick says, moving closer to Bluff and patting an empty chair next to him.
I grit my teeth. "Are we prisoners?" I ask. "Are you going to tie me up too?"
"Not if we don't need to."
I walk slowly towards Bluff, bending over to check his wound, and see his chest moving with shallow breaths. I sit in the chair and cross my arms.
"On with it, boys. We have a ship to get to."
"What happened?" I ask, eyebrows still pulled down in anger.
"He broke our rules, fought against us. Made it a whole lot easier to do what needs to be done."
"And what needs to be done?"
Knick looks out at the coast of New York as the sails are hoisted and turned, pulling us slowly out to sea.
"You're worth more than we could resist, Whitley. I am sorry about that." He looks to Bluff, who stirs in the chair.
My stomach sinks.
"Knick?" I say, voice cracking. "Which ship are you taki
ng us to?"
Bluff
My vision is still black, but voices drift into my consciousness. Whitley's voice.
And what needs to be done?
She's scared. I don't like it. I try to force my mind into focus. What's happening?
You're worth more than we could resist, Whitley.
I don't know whose voice it is, but it's not a friend's. I groan and attempt to force my muscles to move. I’m not successful.
"Bluff?" her sweet voice sings at me. It makes me dizzy. I don't like the feeling.
Reminds me of unwelcome memories.
"Are you all right?" she asks.
I groan again, but my head is slowly clearing. A rope itches my wrists. There’s pressure around my shoulders. I’m tied up pretty good, I realize. A moment later I'm able to hold my head up and blink my vision back.
Soft fingertips graze my cheek so gently I have to resist the urge to move into the touch. She's dangerous, remember? I tell myself. This feeling, it isn't safe.
Resist. There is so much more at stake.
"What happened?" I manage to force the words from my cracked lips and sore throat.
"I was going to ask you the same thing."
I wince. "Where are we?"
"The fisherman's ship you—they—got for us. Headed out to sea."
"Headed where? To what ship?"
There's a pause, and though my head throbs like I'm a hundred feet below the surface, pressure about ready to explode my brain into little bits, I turn towards her.
She presses something soft against my head, and I wince at the sting. I was cut in the head, I remember now. Stupid. Always making stupid choices to save people I don't even know.
It never turns out well for me in the end.
"What are you doing?" I ask in a whisper.
"Trying to clean off some of this blood, see how bad your wound is."
"It's fine. I've had worse. I'm more worried about our current destination, because if it's the wrong ship we won't live long enough for it to become infected." Well, that’s not necessarily true. All the signs suggest Stede wants us alive, but his intentions, I have no doubt, will be worse than death.
She pulls her hand from my head. "I don't know. I asked, but Knick didn't give me an answer."
"Dammit.”
"What?" she whispers.
"He would have answered if it was one we liked. The only reason he'd avoid it..."
Whitley swallows.
"Can you untie me?" I ask her under my breath, unsure who's watching.
"I don't know," she whispers. "They're watching us. They'll notice."
"All right. I should be able to do it myself, it'll just take longer."
"Wait!" Whitley says, her voice suddenly brighter.
"What?" I ask, looking up searching to find what's given her hope.
"It's The Freedom, I can see their privateer flag."
I strain to turn my head in the direction she's pointing. She's right, it is The Freedom, but the sight doesn't give me quite as much hope as it does her.
I shake my head. "I'm not sure so sure even that's a good thing."
"What do you mean?" she asks. "How could it not be?"
"Knick tied me up, almost tied you up. Said you were worth a lot. That line didn't sit well with me."
She looks down at the ground, she agrees.
"Something has changed," I say.
"But that crew, The Freedom, they're your friends. Like family, you said."
"They're pirates."
"But..."
"Your father is family too. How much did he sell you for?" My hands curl in fists as I watch her face wince in pain. I don't like her pain, but it's important she gets this. We are not safe on The Freedom any longer. "I don’t know what their intentions for us are, but they can’t be good."
Whitley
The Freedom grows larger and larger, and despite what Bluff said, I can't stop the hope from bubbling up. I believe him— that something isn't right, that climbing aboard that ship won't be like before, but it's still better than the alternative.
For several moments I sit silently, trying not to pay much attention to Bluff's tense shoulders and occasional jerking movements that could expose his attempt to escape his rope bindings.
I'm not even sure what we'd do once he got free. Fight the crews of both ships? This one, I guess he may be able to succeed. Maybe, just maybe, we could defeat the mob of kid pirates, take control, turn the little ship around, and flee.
But that's only if we do it before it’s too late, and The Freedom is getting closer with each passing second. Bluff's shoulders relax, and I wonder if he's come to the same conclusion.
"It's still better than Stede," I say quietly without taking my eyes off the sails now shadowing over us.
He's quiet for a long moment. "We'll be headed towards Stede, don't get that twisted."
"Perhaps," I say even lower. "But it's a detour. Gives us more time."
Bluff bites the side of his mouth, then nods slowly. "I'd feel better if it wasn't a crew that knew me well."
"Why?"
"They know my tricks. They'll be prepared for them. This crew, for example,"—he nods his head toward a few of the children pirates at the bow—"wouldn't see it coming if I threw Knick overboard, took his skin, and ordered the ship to turn around. But looks like it’s too late."
I clench my jaw. I hadn't even considered that.
"We’ll figure it out," I whisper, heart pounding, just wanting to say something positive. There has to be a way out of this.
He turns to me, eyes wide yet soft. What is he thinking?
He nods. "Guess we're in this together."
I give him a small smile and try to hide the sadness that suddenly floods me. To me, we've been in it together for a while. But have we really? He was planning to sail away without me. I don't know what changed his mind—was it the kiss? Or because he knew Stede was coming? Or something else? He's always so secretive I can't quite figure him out.
Then there's the words he shot at me, stabbing me in the chest, twisting even still, as we fled Stede's crew back in New York. I don't care...
I look back to The Freedom. The crews of both ships work quickly to tie the ships together, throwing over a ladder to allow crossing.
After a few shouted conversations between the two ships, Rosemera's father, Captain Taj, climbs aboard the fisherman's ship, his bull-like piercing back in its original place. He doesn’t so much glance in our direction before approaching Knick.
"They'll be negotiating for a while, I'd bet."
"So, do we have a chance for escape while they're distracted?"
Bluff shakes his head. "Not a chance. It's the time they'll most expect it."
Before the last words even exit his mouth, three large pirates leap onto our little ship with reverberating thuds, sharp swords in hand. All three sets of eyes turn our direction, then they approach.
The first, I recognize as a pirate called Ink. He’s the kind of bloke I wouldn’t easily forget—massive, with tattoos covering every inch of exposed skin, even on his face. The next I’ve seen but don’t remember his name. He’s covered in black hair—his head, his face, his bare chest. He too is large, but carries as much fat as he does muscle. The third is smaller than the other two, with a kinder face. His skin is darker, his nose wide, and he has an uneven scar all the way down his right arm.
"Timmons," Bluff says casually to the smallest man.
"Got yourself into a good one this time, eh?" Timmons replies.
"Apparently," Bluff says, reclining in his chair like he's comfortable in the ropes. "How much you planning to gain from our lives?"
Timmons raises his eyebrows. "Just her life. You're safe, so far as we know."
“Right,” he spits. “You’re still going to turn me over.”
Not for the first time, I question my trust in Bluff. How much do I even know about him? So very little. Why did he save me to start with? Why did he come back? Wh
at's in it for him? I know there is something.
"Remaining alive and being safe are two very different things," Bluff answers.
I blink.
"What's Stede want from you anyway?" The hairy pirate asks the question I’m thinking.
"He wants to control me. Just like everyone else."
The largest pirate, Ink, turns his beady eyes to me, looking me up and down. "Didn't peg you for one to fall in love with a high-class broad."
I let out a sudden cough at this. What? Is that what they assume he means by control?
Bluff doesn't look at me, but every muscle on his face tenses, his lips tipped down into an intense frown, his eyes lowered in anger. "Don't oversimplify this, Marvin." He spits the name like he's spitting a bug from his mouth.
"Don't call me that."
"Then don't insult me."
As much as I don't think for a second this is somehow all about love, I do wonder that he considers it an insult.
The pirate leans down to put his face inches from Bluff's, but when he doesn't flinch, he grabs Bluff’s neck and squeezes. Bluff writhes in pain instantly, crying out in agony.
"Cut it out," Timmons shouts, and the large pirate releases Bluff with a smile on his face.
"Just a reminder to the lad, that's all."
"He's still an ally," Timmons says.
"A friend," Bluff says through sharp breaths. "And I'll remember that."
I cross my arms and lean back in my chair, uncomfortable. I don't know what to think about all of this, but I don't like the way they look at me or talk about me... even Bluff.
Is it an act? Is it to protect me? I'd like to think so, but my aching gut tells me otherwise.
"Like he's ever getting out of this one. He'll be an ornament on the prow of Stede's ship in a fortnight."
"He wants me alive, not dead," Bluff spits.
"Then she'll be one. Whichever. She'd make a prettier one, anyway. But freedom is one thing you'll never have again."
Sea of Treason (Pirate's Bluff Book 1) Page 13