by Noah Harris
“I can. Why is there an ‘S’ engraved on one of the barrels?”
Captain Seawolf grinned. “I’ll wager you can guess.”
Thomas thought for a moment. “Not silver?”
“The same.”
“So, the legends are true.”
“About that and many other things. Yes, indeed, silver is deadly to a lycanthrope.”
“Then why carry a silver bullet in your pistol? You could kill yourself.”
Captain Seawolf chuckled. “Why do you carry bullets that could harm you? It’s not yourself you need to harm.”
“I see.”
Captain Seawolf studied him with a glittering eye. “It takes a certain kind of man to run a ship like this. One has to know who one’s friends are, and who might be his enemies. A silver bullet will kill a human just as dead as it will kill a lycanthrope, and it’s best to be prepared for both.”
The captain strolled away. Thomas kept up his gunnery practice, improving far too slowly for his liking. As he fired and reloaded, fired and reloaded, he ignored the chuckles of his shipmates and mulled over what the captain had said. Later that day, he borrowed a bullet mold from Gonzalo, went to the kitchen, and melted a couple of silver coins in a skillet over the stove. Carefully he poured the liquid metal from the pan into the mold. Waiting a minute for it to cool, he popped open the mold, removed the bullets, and filed them until they were smooth.
Then he put them in his pocket. Captain Seawolf was right. It was good to be prepared. He hadn’t been prepared in the tavern fight, and it had nearly killed him. He hadn’t been prepared when the Spaniards stole on board, and that had nearly killed him.
From now on, he would be prepared for anything.
The ship as a whole had only one worry. On their first day out of port the man on duty in the crow’s nest had seen a sail far to the stern. The next day, the lookout on duty spotted it again. Both men felt sure it was not the Guerrero or the Monsoon. The arrangement of the sails looked different, but they could not say what ship it was. The ship was far to their rear, so far that it could barely be discerned from the top of the mast and not at all from on deck.
At one of the Manhunter’s regular meetings, the crew discussed turning about and checking on the ship but then decided against it. “It’s not following us,” Frenchie said. “Ships sometimes ply this route. It’s not the Guerrero, in any case, so what’s the worry?”
So, they continued their steady way southeast, paralleling the coast. For several days, they did not see the ship, and for a time they thought they had lost it and gave it no more thought. All talk now focused on the supposed treasure ship. Thomas endured several ship’s meetings in silence as the crew discussed how best to scout the mouth of the River Amazon. Only the navigator and a few of the crew had been to these waters, and the talks went long into the night, full of supposition and ill-informed argument.
And all completely pointless. At times, Thomas wanted to shout out that it was all a sham, there was no gold shipment, but there certainly was a possible treasure buried on an island not far from where the great river emptied into the Atlantic.
Thomas kept his peace until one night after Osier had given him an especially strong treatment. Thomas had that serene, relaxed feeling that came with a good riding. He lay draped over the werebear, still enjoying the afterglow of their sex.
He could not call it lovemaking. Osier was too dominant, too much after his own pleasure. Making Thomas orgasm was almost an afterthought, and the lycanthrope was always on top. There was no question of doing it the other way around.
So, while his body felt completely at ease, fully satiated, his mind whirled around and around with the questions he still hadn’t asked.
Now, he had to ask them.
“So, what are we going to do about the treasure?” Thomas whispered. They were tucked away on the far end of the deck, a good distance from the nearest coupling, but still he didn’t want to risk the others hearing.
“I’ll handle that,” Osier said with a dismissive tone.
“We’ll be there in a few days. What then? What will we tell the others?”
“I have a plan. Don’t worry,” Osier said, the irritation audible in his tone.
“So, you’re not going to tell the others? I knew it. But then how are we going to get to the island?”
Osier growled. “Looks like you haven’t been fucked enough, boy.”
He turned Thomas over and gave him a long, hard ride. By the time he was done, Thomas was barely conscious and too drugged by pleasure and musk to even think of asking any more questions.
“Sail ahoy. Far off the stern!”
The call from the crow’s nest made Thomas look up from whittling a marlinspike to squint at the horizon behind the ship. He didn’t see a thing.
“It’s the same arrangement of sails as before. That ship is still following us!” the lookout called down.
Captain Seawolf stomped onto the deck with his spyglass in his hand. Fixing it on the horizon, he stood in silence for a time.
“Hard to see,” he announced at last, “but it does look like the same ship the lookouts described the last two times. I’m beginning to wonder if this really is a chance encounter. We’ve passed half a dozen good ports of call and she still hasn’t shoved off.”
“What shall we do?” Roaring Randy asked, twisting his moustache. “I don’t like another ship nosing around our business.”
The navigator was at the helm and called out, “There’s only a couple of hours of daylight left. I say we keep this course for the rest of the day and then sheer off due east as soon as it gets dark. We’ll lose her in the open sea and then loop around behind her. Then we can see if she’s just a merchant vessel or something we need to worry about.”
There was a hurried ship’s meeting and nearly everyone approved the navigator’s plan.
That night, Thomas went to bed early and alone. He was troubled. They were approaching the mouth of the Amazon, where the tropical sun was hot and the waters unfamiliar. They’d been caught in numerous unknown currents and had been forced to make abrupt changes to their course. Also, their map for this region was vague and misrepresented the eastern curve of the South American coastline. More than once, they had to move farther out to sea when they spotted the cloud banks that normally clustered along a coastline or saw seagulls swooping through the air. They wanted to stay out of sight of other ships, and with that one ship, they had singularly failed to do so.
Something about that ship bothered Thomas more than he wanted to admit. It gave him a strange premonition. Two different lookouts had seen it, and both insisted it wasn’t the Guerrero or the Monsoon. Could it be another pirate ship? Perhaps someone from the Conqueror had survived and signed aboard a different vessel, filling their heads with tales of a stolen treasure map?
He heard movement beside him and ignored it. Just some sailor settling down to a hard-earned rest. Navigating these waters proved to be tough work, and their journey would last a thousand nautical miles. They had many more hard days ahead. Then a warm body snuggled up against him, and a shock of sweet-smelling hair tickled his nose. He inhaled deeply and smiled.
Without having to open his eyes he knew the color of that hair - a bright blond. It was Radbert. He knew the young German’s scent. Strange how mating with a lycanthrope had made him more aware of the sense of smell.
Radbert snuggled closer, pushing his ass up against Thomas’s crotch.
“Put your arm around me,” Radbert whispered.
Thomas obliged him.
“Why have you been ignoring me?” the German asked.
“I haven’t been. I’m just tired.”
“I’ve missed you.”
Thomas found that surprising. It had been Radbert keeping them at arm’s length. Thomas held him a little tighter.
“And what are you looking for tonight?” Thomas asked, nibbling at the youth’s neck.
“Just this. I’m tired too,” Radbert went
on. “Let’s go to sleep together. Tomorrow night, as well. And sit beside me in the mess hall.”
Thomas felt a warmth that was not lust pass through his body. He buried his nose in that sweet smelling hair and whispered. “All right.”
They fell into a deep, restful sleep.
The next morning, Thomas came up on deck to find the crew worried and watchful.
They had not eluded the mystery ship. It had anticipated their move out to sea and was still behind them. It had even shortened the distance between them. The vessel still sailed well off the stern, but now the sails could be seen from the deck even without a spyglass.
Thomas went to the stern railing and stared. Those sails looked familiar. He did not want to think what he suspected was true, and yet he could not ignore the chance. He got onto the rigging and clambered all the way up to the crow’s nest.
“She’s got a good wind to her sails,” the man in the crow’s nest said as Thomas stepped into the small enclosure. “She’s been chewing away at the distance between us little by little.”
“Lend me your spyglass,” Thomas said.
The man handed it over and Thomas trained it on the faraway ship. His heart turned to ice.
It was the Virtue.
Captain Stone’s final warning came back to him:
“Thomas Treadwell, you catamite! You sinner! I will hunt you to the ends of the earth! I will not rest until I have taken my vengeance upon you! If you go to the farthest icy wastes of the north, I will be there! If you sail across the ocean to the shores of Africa, I will hunt you! If you flee around Cape Horn to the uncharted waters of the Pacific, you will find me there! I will track you down, Thomas Treadwell, and woe betide you when I do!”
There could be no mistaking. His old ship was following them. Following him. Thomas stared, and stared. He felt paralyzed. As if in a dream he handed the spyglass back to the lookout and clambered down the rigging.
He stood on deck for a moment, unsure what to do. Gathering his courage, he approached Captain Seawolf.
“It’s the Virtue,” he said.
The werewolf let out a low growl and scowled at the sail off the stern. “I told you not to leave your enemies alive. Blast you, now you’ve delayed us. Bah, it is no matter! That man is mad to chase a pirate ship with a merchant vessel.”
“Second sail off to stern!” the lookout called down.
“What!? On the same course?” Captain Seawolf asked, cupping his hands around his mouth so the lookout high up in the crow’s nest could hear.
“It is difficult to tell. It’s on the horizon, well behind the other ship. But she’s a big one. Perhaps a ship of the line. Change heading and see if they follow.”
The navigator changed to a course heading due south. Within a few minutes the word came down.
“They are cutting across our route!”
“Helmsmen, turn hard to the east. We’ll try to outrun them. Maggie, get your crews ready. There might be work for you this day!”
The gunners and deck crew scrambled to prepare for a fight as the men aloft unfurled every sail. The Manhunter headed straight east, out into the open ocean, and straight for a dark, forbidding line of clouds on the horizon.
As Thomas noted before, fights at sea seemed to happen in slow motion, as did the actions in his dreams sometimes. There was no sudden charge and clash of arms. Instead, they sailed all through the morning and into the afternoon. It gave Thomas too many anxious hours to wonder what awaited him, too many hours to think about the consequences of his last actions aboard the Virtue.
The Virtue did not close any more distance on the Manhunter, nor did she lag behind. Thomas marveled at how the merchant ship could be pacing the Manhunter, which was better designed for speed than his old ship. Captain Stone must have removed all his cargo.
Which meant he was no longer acting as a merchant. Instead he was devoting his time to hunting down Thomas.
The other, unidentified ship proved the fastest of the three. In the morning, it remained invisible to all but the man in the crow’s nest, but by noon the entire crew could clearly see her sails on the horizon. As the sun sank low in the west, it dazzled the pirates’ eyes and they had trouble focusing on her, but they could tell she was keeping her course and moving in on them.
They could also tell that it was most certainly a ship of the line.
That could mean only one thing—Captain Stone had called on the aid of his brother in the Royal Navy.
There was no way the Manhunter could fight that sort of firepower.
The crew had a ship’s conference to discuss what to do as the clouds swept over them and the seas began to rise. A strong wind blew to the north, carrying the smell of rain. Some suggested turning north and going at all speed through the approaching night, hoping to elude their pursuers. Others said this was too obvious a ploy and that they should keep going east. Frenchie suggested turning around in a wide circle and heading west.
“They will not expect that,” the quartermaster asserted. “With the seas such as they are, and that rain coming, they will not see us in the dark unless we ram into them. If we’re lucky, we’ll be out of sight by sunrise.”
Everyone thought about that. It was a risky move, but it offered a chance to break free. If the sun came up on the morrow and the Virtue and that ship of the line couldn’t see the Manhunter, they wouldn’t know which way to turn. Plus, the bad weather may continue for a day or more, obscuring visibility and making it easier to elude the other two ships. Of course, eventually Captain Stone and his brother would steer a course south along the coast as the Manhunter had been doing all along, but the pirates might have gained enough distance that they wouldn’t be spotted again.
So as the darkness settled over the sea, the captain ordered all lights on deck extinguished and all portholes closed and covered. The navigator steered the Manhunter southwards in a wide circle before turning back towards the coast of South America.
Thomas went below decks, feeling uneasy. This was all his fault. The captain was right. He should have killed Stone while he had the chance. Now, he had endangered the entire crew.
When he entered the sleeping deck he expected to hear sharp words cast in his direction. Instead he found an orgy going on. Only one lamp remained lit and the nude men writhed and undulated in near darkness, rocking in time to the swaying deck. As an extra precaution, the crew had extinguished most of the lanterns below decks, even though all the portholes were closed and covered. They did not want to run the risk of even the smallest sliver of light being visible to the other ships.
He saw Hiro and Seamus in an ardent embrace. Thomas smiled. They had obviously recovered from their wounds. He stepped through the heaving crowd at his feet, heading for the sleeping area. A man rose up to meet him, his erect cock brushing against Thomas’s trousers, his arms wrapping around his waist. “Stay a while, Thomas,” the man said.
“A storm is brewing and a battle is in the offing, and you’re all humping one another?” Thomas asked in amusement.
“Why not? Live for today!”
Thomas gave him a kiss, patted him on the ass, and extricated himself. He was not in the mood.
He was near the other end of the deck when he heard a long, low rumbling growl come from one side. He looked over and saw Osier reclining there, fixing him with that fierce gaze of his.
Thomas licked his lips and trembled. Letting out a little cough to clear his throat, he said, “Good night Osier. Sleep well.”
He turned and hurried away before the werebear could reply. He retreated into the sleeping area, which was pitch black.
Radbert’s voice came out of the shadows. “Is that you, Thomas?”
“Yes.”
“Over here.”
“Ah, good! I need you beside me tonight.” Thomas found him, bent down, and gave him a luxuriant kiss.
“Let me just relieve myself before coming to bed,” Thomas said.
“All right, but don’t take long.”
Thomas headed to the privy, having to feel his way in the dim light. As he passed by Maggie and Fanny’s quarters, he could hear gasps and thrashing within. The ladies were living for today, too, it seemed.
He did his business in the privy, smiling at the memory of Captain Seawolf telling him not to use it for its alternate purpose. How far he had come! Not two months before he had been living his true life in hiding. Now, he could be himself.
Thomas grimaced. And yet he remained confused. He felt a bit trapped by Osier. Nothing had brought that home like Radbert’s renewed affection for him. Whatever hesitation and coolness the German had felt for him seemed to have disappeared. As exciting as being mounted by a werebear could be, it was so much nicer to snuggle by Radbert’s side!
He finished his business and started heading back. As he approached the women’s cabin, the door opened.
Thomas stopped in shock. Bill Husk walked out.
The marksman saw him and smiled. “Why the startled face, Thomas? Haven’t you seen a man leave his lover’s cabin before?”
“Y-you’re normal!”
“We are all normal, Thomas, just in different ways.”
“B-but, you were sleeping with the lady lovers?”
“Just Fanny. Maggie wouldn’t have me, and I must say I feel the same about her. She’s manlier than some of the men on this ship.”
Thomas thought for a moment. He had noted before that Bill Husk never comported in the public part of the sleeping quarters. He had always assumed that he had a special lover among the crew. Never had he suspected that that lover was Fanny.
The two made their way down the hall, keeping their hands out to steady themselves on the walls. The waves were picking up.
“Does Maggie know about this?” Thomas asked in a low voice.
“Of course. She was licking Fanny’s breasts while I rode her. I’d never betray one such as Maggie. She’d aim her cannons high and knock me straight out of my perch on the mainmast.”