Lust in the Caribbean

by Noah Harris

  A couple of other crews had already arrived, taking two of the four corner tables. The crew of the Manhunter quickly took another. This time, Thomas kept his back to the wall and his eyes on the crowd. Guards peered in at them from the open windows, resting their muskets on the ledges.

  “Take it easy, lads,” Captain Seawolf whispered. “No sudden moves, and let me do the talking.”

  Osier showed up a minute later, sauntering in with a relaxed, cocky air. He sat next to Thomas. One of his broad, strong hands reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, sending a delightful feeling through Thomas’s body.

  Thomas wrestled with the confusion he had dealt with ever since Osier had taken the Spaniard’s map for his own. He wanted to submit to this man, who had given him pleasure unlike any he had ever experienced before. All he had to do was become one of Osier’s clique, and he would enjoy the man’s touch and part of the treasure, too. True to his word, just that morning Osier had given him his half of the dead Spaniard’s money, and it had come to a fair sum.

  It was agonizingly tempting to submit, but at the same time, the rational part of his mind screamed that the werebear could not be trusted.

  More crews filed in. Those who couldn’t get a corner table lined up with their backs to the wall, eyeing the other crews with open suspicion. The sound of shouting in English and Spanish came from outside, rising in volume and anger. Thomas fingered his musket nervously. At least he could hit someone at this range. The room was getting crowded, and the other crews stood far too close. If gunfire erupted at that moment, the slaughter would be worse than the night before.

  The shouting died down, and an elegant Spaniard entered, clothed in red silk and equipped with a fine silver-handled rapier at his belt. Five deadly Spanish pirates, each carrying a blunderbuss, another strapped to their back, and a host of other weapons flanked him.

  Thomas and the other men of the Manhunter traded glances. The Spaniards looked itching for a fight, and with those scatterguns, they could sweep the entire room.

  Despite that, the Spanish captain appeared calm. He gave the assembly a jaunty bow and took his place against one wall as two other crews made room for him and his men.

  “Where are the rest of them? This is barely one fifth of their number,” Matthew whispered.

  “I’m sure they’re not far,” Thomas said.

  The Weasel entered, his peg leg thumping on the floor. While he had a sword and a dirk on his belt, he carried no weapons in his hands. Instead, he toyed with the slow match from a cannon. Unlike the others, he came without bodyguards. He didn’t need them. His men lined the windows and encircled the building. Everyone got the message. If there was a fight, the ruler of Cutlass Cove might get killed, but so would every pirate in the room. Their ships anchored in the bay were under the watchful guns of the fort and earthworks. To start something would mean quick and brutal eradication.

  The Weasel put his hands on his hips and addressed the room: “Gentlemen! I am most happy you could all come. As you know, we have much to discuss, but first, let’s have a bit of Cutlass Cove hospitality!”

  This last phrase was shouted out the nearest open window. A moment later a file of topless women of all races minced in, bearing platters of tropical fruit, cold ham, and bottles of rum and Madeira wine.

  As the ladies distributed the food and drinks and took their places on the laps of various pirates, the Weasel turned and bowed to the crew of the Manhunter.

  “I apologize that I could not arrange sufficient hospitality for all my guests.”

  There was a chorus of snickers. Thomas frowned. He was not used to having his preferences mocked. For so many years he had remained invisible, immune to contempt, and since joining the Manhunter he had not needed to defend himself against such aspersions.

  Captain Seawolf, on the other hand, took it in stride. “Never mind, my old friend. The food and drink will be sufficient.” Under his breath, he said to his crew, “Don’t touch a damn thing.”

  Thomas examined the plate and bottle that were set before him. They did not appear to have been tampered with, but his captain’s caution was probably not a bad idea. The crew of the Guerrero seemed to agree. They didn’t touch anything, either.

  The Weasel didn’t seem put out by this rejection of his hospitality, instead moving to the point. “Gentlemen, I don’t know what the problem was between the Conqueror and the Guerrero, and I don’t care. I don’t know who started the trouble or where, but I do know that the crew of the Conqueror brought that trouble into my demesne. That is not acceptable. Whatever differences you have outside of this island stay outside. When I heard of the slaughter in my town - my town, gentlemen - and heard who was responsible, I knew the Conqueror had to go to the bottom. That’s why I helped the Spanish when they attacked. My town guards also hunted down some remaining crewmen of the Conqueror who still lurked on shore. You can find what’s left of them staked out on the beach a league to the east of here. They’re a bit stinky, I’ll warn you.”

  “They were the last. As far as I’m concerned, last night’s trouble died with them. The Spanish crew is welcome to stay so long as no other will be coming after them. Will they, Captain Ortiz?”

  “They will not, Señor Bartholomew,” the Spanish captain said with a slight bow.

  “Glad to hear that. Now then, we don’t want any similar experiences, do we? Several crewmen of the Manhunter and the Rumrunner got killed in the crossfire at the Hope and Anchor. I’m afraid they’ll be denied blood money since all their murderers are already dead and whatever treasure they had in their hold went into the drink with them. As for the damage to the Manhunter, my apologies. You were anchored at the wrong place at the wrong time. Accept as my gift enough lumber and nails to repair the damages. Was anyone injured?”

  “No,” Captain Seawolf said, “and I thank you for the lumber. I was dreading paying the inflated prices the merchants charge in this hellhole.”

  The Weasel grinned. “Glad I could spare you some trouble. Now then, I want to spare everyone else some trouble. I founded this place as a haven where pirates could offload their goods without fear. Where men of the sea; and even the occasional woman like that master gunner of yours, Seawolf - can relax for a time free of care. This attack has disrupted that. As you know, there have been similar unpleasant incidents in the past, although none so bad as this. I want to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  “Here it comes,” Captain Seawolf muttered.

  “The problem, gentlemen, is that visitors to my town don’t consider it their own. They see it as just another port, this one with no police looking to put a noose around their necks. I want you to feel more than welcome in Cutlass Cove, gentlemen, I want you to feel like this is your town too, which is why I want to suggest making this a nation.”

  A discontented mutter went through the room. Thomas got the impression that the Weasel had brought this up many a time.

  “I suppose suggest is the wrong word. Gentleman, let me show you a piece of history, the dawning of a new era.”

  From within his coat he pulled out a flag and unfurled it. It had a blue background, and on it were stars arranged like the islands of the Southern Antilles. On the upper left corner, within a black rectangle, was a small white skull and crossbones.

  “Behold the flag of the Kingdom of Free Caribe!”

  Everyone stared at it in silence. Then a few titters broke out among the crowd.

  “And what are you, Weasel?” a one-eyed pirate from another crew asked, “The fucking king?”

  The Weasel puffed out his chest. “Indeed I am. You find that funny? Then you don’t have to dock here.”

  “Perdón?” Captain Ortiz blurted.

  “That’s right, from now on I am the king, and this is my kingdom.”

  “Says who?” someone grunted, “and by what right?”

  “I say, and I do it by the same right as every other king who ever founded a dynasty, by force of arms. I have this island and I
intend on keeping it with my own army and navy, the same way that the island on which I was born is kept by the English king.”

  “You’re mad,” Captain Seawolf said.

  “Mad? No, just seizing an opportunity. Look, gentlemen, we have been disorganized for far too long. Pirates are hunted down all over the Seven Seas, and we’re so disunited that we don’t lift a finger to help one another. Remember a couple of years ago when the Lancer and the Imperial joined forces to take that big Spanish gold shipment? Worked together just fine and got the money. Split it fairly, too, from what I heard. But then as they sailed together out into the Atlantic, the Spanish navy swept down on them. If they had stuck together they could have fought it out, but instead the Imperial fled, leaving the Lancer to her fate, and what a bloody grim fate that was. Well, as you all know, the Imperial didn’t get a very long stay of execution, because the Spanish chased her down and sank her just like they had sunk the Lancer. All hands lost on both ships. What a waste. Disunity, gentlemen. Disunity led to their deaths. And as we’ve seen, pirates aren’t even safe in Cutlass Cove. Bodies and driftwood will be washing up on my shore for weeks.”

  “That’s bad for business. From now on we’re going to get serious. The reason we keep losing, the reason hardly any pirate has ever lived to see his tenth year on the high seas, is because we only look out for ourselves. That’s going to change. From now on, we’re going to imitate the nations we feed off. That’s the key to success. This island nation is open to all of you who wish to become citizens. There are no taxes, but there will be port fees.”

  “Port fees!” many shouted.

  The Weasel raised a calming hand.

  “They won’t be any higher than you’d get in an honest port, I assure you. You’ll have the protection of the port and the fees will help me pay for more ships and guns.”

  “And maybe some better gunners,” Captain Seawolf grunted. Thomas chuckled. He wished Maggie were around to hear that.

  “We will have the rule of law, gentlemen. I’ve drawn up a list of laws and the penalties for breaking them. They’re mighty less harsh than what you’ll find anywhere else. I will not interfere with your personal lives or your fun. Even the crew of the Manhunter will be able to do as they please as long as they don’t do it to normal men. The main rule you’ll have to consider is that as citizens, you will be obligated to help your fellow citizens on the high seas and keep the peace with them wherever you are. That will keep us from having any more incidents like the Lancer and the Imperial, or the Guerrero and the Conqueror. It will make everyone safer, and being united, we can see off any attacks from the other countries. Once other crews see how well we’re faring, recruits will flood in. Before too long, we’ll have a fleet to match any kingdom in the world!”

  The pirates looked at one another. Thomas didn’t think the Weasel was mad. His visions of glory weren’t even all that impractical, for if they stood united against nations constantly at war with one another, who could stop them?

  Captain Seawolf seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because the mocking smirk that he had kept on his face for much of the Weasel’s speech had vanished. “And if we refuse?” he asked.

  The Weasel shrugged. “You may reprovision your ship and leave this place in peace. But you may never return unless you change your mind. While I will not declare you outlaw, you will not be a citizen and you will not be under my protection. You’ll take your chances like the rest of the freebooters.”

  A man entered, went up to the Weasel, and whispered in his ear. The ruler of Cutlass Cove frowned, then rolled his eyes. He gave the man a curt nod and dismissed him.

  “So anyway, gentlemen, that’s my offer. If you don’t like it, you are free to stay here until your ships are ready to set sail, and then it’s farewell to you and no hard feelings. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have a kingdom to run. Some fisherman on the far end of the bay was found in his shed with his throat slit. Now who the hell would kill a fisherman? This is why we need order, gentlemen. Good day to you.”

  He strode off. The captains and their crews started talking among themselves about the Weasel’s offer, but Thomas didn’t listen. They had missed some other important news - that Osier had committed murder, obviously to keep the man’s mouth shut because he intended on cheating his shipmates out of a chance at whatever was in that cave on the map.

  Thomas felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He looked up.

  Osier stood above him.

  “We’re safe now, lad,” the werebear said in a voice low enough that no one else heard amid the general babble. “How about we celebrate with a little fun tonight, eh? You have a strong sword arm and a sweet little ass. You’re smart too, aren’t you? You know which side your bread is buttered on. You and I can go far together.”

  That night, Thomas lay restlessly in the dark end of the sleeping deck. He had no desire to join in the sport occurring between his shipmates just a few paces away. Even when the young German he was so fond of gave him a come hither look he was not moved. He needed to be alone, and he needed to think.

  Half of him thought he was in great danger and the other half chided himself for a fool. He had no real idea what Osier was up to. If he wanted to keep the map for himself without anyone knowing, he could have killed Thomas on any number of occasions, so he obviously thought that Thomas was loyal and wanted to include him in whatever he was planning. But Osier hadn’t told the captain or anyone else as far as Thomas could tell. That meant he didn’t want anyone else to know. He wanted the treasure for himself and a small number of people who would help him fetch it.

  But how? Osier, although well respected, was not in charge of the ship. He wasn’t the captain, or the navigator, or the quartermaster, or even the master gunner. He was simply a brave and deadly pirate, nothing more. He couldn’t steer the ship on a new course without explaining why and convincing everyone else to go along. So how did he intend on getting to an island halfway down the coast of South America?

  And now that he thought of it, why did Thomas care so much that Osier wanted to betray the crew of the Manhunter? It was every man for himself in this world, especially with a gang of thieves such as this. What did Osier owe the others? Come to think of it, what did Thomas? Sure, they had saved him from being flogged to death on the Virtue, but it wasn’t like they had risked their necks to do it. They had already taken over the ship. And since then Thomas had been earning his keep like any other sailor. What difference did it make to him if they didn’t get a share of the treasure, assuming there really was treasure on that island? They had no claim to it.

  The fewer people who shared the treasure, the greater each man’s share. While Thomas had never gone hungry, he had always been poor. He had never enjoyed the good things in life and had watched his father and mother work themselves into an early old age, toiling on the land. Now his brother was killing himself toiling over the same land. If Thomas got a good haul, he could set himself up in comfort somewhere, and perhaps settle down with some nice man. They could pose as business associates, run a big shop in some prosperous town. He could have a quiet, settled life like normal men. He could think of a certain nice young German who might have a good head for business. All he had to do was stick close to that tough sailor with the wonderful dick…

  Still, the idea of cutting out the others left a bad taste in his mouth. This crew, as bad as they were, as dishonest and deadly and untrustworthy as they were, made up the only group of people where he could be himself. That was a treasure in and of itself.

  And then there was “Weasel” Bartholomew’s strange suggestion. Could he really carve out a kingdom in the Southern Antilles? It was a daring move, but it could work. There was supposed to be a ship’s meeting about it on the morrow. The crew would vote on whether to become citizens of this new Kingdom of Free Caribe. The men and women of the Manhunter would lose some of their freedom but supposedly gain some security, while continuing to enjoy access to Cutlass Cove. Even though Thomas
hadn’t been a pirate very long, he knew this would be a massive change in the life of everyone aboard. It was almost as big a step as changing one’s religion.

  And then there was the fisherman.

  The fellow had been innocent, murdered for a crime no greater than seeing the men who had taken his boat. How could Thomas stand by and let his murderer go unpunished? Had he lost his sense of justice already? And why had he thought of the fellow last, after all other considerations? Was he turning into more of a pirate than he wished to admit?

  Thomas finally fell into a troubled sleep, not having decided what to do about the treasure or tomorrow’s vote. His dreams were haunted by unsettling visions of burning ships and dead men, of bloated bodies floating in the sea.

  And then the dreams changed. They became sensuous, enticing. Firm hands grasped his shoulders, and rough men shared their hard, hairy bodies with his own. In his dream, he could even smell the musk, that delicious scent, and dimly through the veil of sleep he became aware that his sex was as stiff as a board and that his ass, stinging from the previous night’s treatment as it still was, yearned to be filled.

  The next day, as with all days on a ship, there was much work to be done. Thomas helped splice some ropes and assisted the ship’s carpenter in fixing the railing, then he and a few other men swabbed the deck. When his shift ended, he sat on a barrel on deck looking out across the bay. It was a pretty place, with the sun shining down on the palm trees and the ramshackle little town. The port was a good one, protected from both attackers and the elements. He was surprised that the Dutch hadn’t put any settlement here, but it was a bit off the trade routes.

  He wondered if the Weasel really could get the pirates to follow him. When they had left the Dockside Tavern the previous day, more than a few pirates looked like they were seriously considering it, and some of the captains had stayed behind hoping to speak to the Weasel further once he had finished with other affairs.