The Only Life For Me
Tales Of A Navigator
CRISTI TAIJERON
Copyright © 2015 Cristi Taijeron
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are a product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN-10: 1517654033
ISBN-13: 978-1517654030
Edited by Janine Lieber
Cover Artwork by Megan Dinsdale and Cristi Taijeron
Reign-Creative.com
Interior design by Cristi Taijeron
Endlesshorizondesigns.com
To those who fight against the odds and rise above the rules to pursue their dreams
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Sarah
Thank you for diving headlong into my fantasy land.
It has been a joy sharing our daily gossips over the
life and love of pirates on the high seas.
Janine
Thank you for your support and encouragement, but most of all, your friendship.
Megan Dinsdale, Designer At Reign Creative
Thank you a million times for the fabulous cover artwork, and I love that we get to share our
author experiences together.
Capt. Nikko Lorenczi,
Commodore Of The Left Coast Privateers
Thank you for sharing your seafaring knowledge and vibrant pirate captain commands.
George Roland Brown
Thanks for always knowing what a pirate would say,
and for saying it so well.
Judith Sparhawk
I cannot thank you enough for allowing me to use your marvelous photo for the cover of this book. You not only captured the breathtaking view, but the smell of the salty air, the feel of the wind in the sails, and the overall essence of freedom on the high seas.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Tales Of A Navigator was inspired by the hero in the Justified Treason series, Sterling Bentley. This buccaneer navigator came alive in the light of true pirate history, and I became fascinated with his life story and the possibilities his past might reveal about who he was. Wanting to hear more of his world-traveled adventures, and to see how he came by the scars he bore, learn why the women of his past love or hate him, and find out how he earned his name as one of the most respected navigators on the wrong side of the law, I started writing these short stories. In these tales, I not only experienced the milestones in Sterling’s young life that made him into the man who blatantly chose his life of piracy, but I also found a world of short and daring tales full of action, adventure, and honor on the high seas. I hope to continue adding to this set as time goes on.
The Only Life For Me
As Told By Sterling Bentley
Bridgetown, Barbados 1661
Sitting on a bench at the end of the dock around sunset, I waited for my father, Captain Mason Bentley, to finish his business. I had already sharpened my knife and polished the blade until I could damn near see my reflection in the metal, and I wanted something else to do. I didn’t like sitting still, and I knew the matter he was dealing with would take much longer than I had patience for. So, I decided to clean up my spyglass while I listened in on his talk with Mark Parkston, the owner of the ship we just sailed in from London.
Mister Parkston was an arrogant ol’ nobleman who my father had no interest in working for, but as my father often said, Sometimes you have to do shit you don’t want to do in order to survive. He was living proof of that statement working as hard as he did, and even though he detested Mark Parkston, he agreed to haul his expensive furniture across the Atlantic—during hurricane season—in order to keep us fed.
As if the weather was not dangerous enough, we were attacked by pirates halfway through the sail. Hearing my father explain to Mister Parkston about the damage they inflicted upon his beloved ship, I relived the memory in my mind. At first sight of their black flag, I became worried for our men and our cargo, but those sea rogues were no match for my father’s experience with such things. He used to be a buccaneer, so he knew all the tricks of the pirate trade and was able to use their own terrorizing tactics against them. His unexpected approach allowed us to sail away with no loss of life, but Talon was beaten beyond the point of mid-ocean repair.
The latter end of the trip we ran through a storm that battered our already damaged ship, and worst of all, cost us the life of a good man. Before my eyes, Johnson was swallowed by the stormy swells that crashed across the deck. I would never forget the sight of his hands slipping loose of the jack line I held tight to, and I’d forever remember the sight of his helpless body drifting across the tormenting waves before he vanished into Davy Jones’ Locker.
Those of us fortunate enough to survive the treacherous weather, were now here on Barbados, tired as hell, but proud of our success and damn well ready to get paid for our hard work. Yet, as I listened in on Mister Parkston’s reaction to my father’s report, I realized he had his own opinion of the job well done.
“You fought the pirates?” he shrieked like a man gone mad.
“That I did,” my father calmly answered, with his muscular arms crossed over his strapping chest. “And it is because I made that choice that every piece of your furniture is accounted for, sir.”
“What kind of reckless fool are you, Mason Bentley?” The pompous little coxcomb pointed at my father’s face like he was a child in trouble. “I just had this ship built and it’s worth more than…more than your measly life, that is for certain.”
Pausing for a moment, my father glared at Mister Parkston’s pointing finger. Whether out of wisdom or fear, Mister Parkston lowered his hand. Once it was neatly placed back at his side, my father continued, “Would you rather I have handed over your cargo, and possibly your whole ship?”
Though he didn’t point anymore, Mister Parkston did resume with his haughty, condescending tone. “You could have run away, or something. Anything but behave in a way that allowed my precious ship to be beat on like a worthless slave.” Straightening his wig that had fallen lose during his shouting, he then continued to banter about the condition of his ship. Never once did Parkston say thank you to the man who risked his life and the safety of his crew to deliver his precious belongings to him, and never once did he express a moment of awe over the clever ways we overcame the many obstacles we faced in order to complete the job.
I could tell my father was upset, but he kept his composure, and continued to answer the angry man with an even tone.
How could he stay so calm while that codpiece tore him to shreds? Just from listening I wanted to punch him, or maybe smash his powdered face against the crate they stood next to. It was painfully obvious that Mister Parkston had no idea what it meant to be a man of your word, and certainly had no clue about how dangerous it was out there on the tides. As for me, I had spent most of my fourteen years at sea, and that storm was the worst I had ever seen, not to mention that it was my first time facing off with pirates. My father, on the other hand, had survived bigger storms and conquered rougher battles than most men could conjure in a nightmare, so he had faced the terrors of the journey without second guessing a move that he made. Failure was never an option for him, and as far as he was concerned, cowardice was equivalent to death itself.
Mason Bentley was a hell of a captain and a solid rock of a man that most men would be proud to sail for, and if Mister Parkston knew a thing about life outside his fancy
walls he would be praising my father for his courage, and commending him for his dedication to the job and the lives of his men. But he wasn’t.
Eventually, their dispute led them up Talon’s gangway—where I assumed they would be assessing the damages. I thought about following behind them to hear more, but my father told me to leave him alone as he dealt with this. I often wished he would let me in on more of his business matters, but in his mind, I was still a child. So, like a child, I wandered down to the beach and started gathering rocks to keep myself entertained.
Feeling my feet sink into the moist sand, and hearing the grains crunch beneath the soles of my shoes, I decided to take them off. Next, I removed my hat so as to fill it with more rocks than I could carry with just my hands. Once it was full, I wandered towards the waterline, and then one by one, I skipped the stones across the glassy surface of the sea.
The colors of the evening sky, and the feel of the gentle wake rolling over my bare feet, set my soul at ease. Something about being near the ocean made me feel so alive. I loved the endless expanse of the horizon where the water met the sky, and I understood the patterns of the tide so well that I thought I could feel the pull of the moon tugging at my blood. The ocean and the elements surrounding it were all a part of me, and it was my dream to one day use this passion of mine to become the navigator of my father’s crew.
As my thoughts sailed back to him, I remembered that he would expect to find me waiting patiently on that bench once he was done with Mister Parkston. Figuring it best to head back in that direction, I plopped my hat back on my head, and then sat down beside my shoes. While wiping the sand from my feet, I kept my eye on the dock to see if my father was done, but also to keep sight of the ships filling the harbor. The way the sails and rigging lines of the ships were silhouetted before the gold and red colors of the evening sky, inspired me to want to paint them. I had drawn plenty of maps and island shores while studying navigation, but I had yet to paint a scene like this.
Just as I decided to ask my father if he would buy me some paints during our shore leave, I heard him call my name. He sounded angry. Once I spotted him by that bench I’d abandoned, looking around with his fists balled up at his sides, I was sure of it. Knowing there would be hell to pay for defying his orders, I yanked my shoes on and ran to the dock as fast as I could.
Reaching the wooden planks, I waved to him. “Here I am. Sorry I wandered off. I just went down to the beach. But I…”
“Stop.” He sliced his hand through the air. The grit in his growl, as much as the steely expression on his leathery tanned face, stopped me in my tracks.
Knowing how he hated when I rambled on and on, I shut my mouth and stood with my arms at my side as I faced him. “Yes, sir.”
Sealing his full lips tight between his mustache and goatee, he stared me down with his cold green eyes. Feeling small under his gaze, I stood taller and held my head higher. Though I had grown much in the last year, he was still so much bigger than me. His shoulders and chest were broad and wide like an ox, and his arms were big and sturdy like tree trunks. No matter how tall I had gotten, how much my muscles had strengthened, or how tough I had become, I always felt like a child when I faced him.
His disgruntled scowl didn’t make me feel any older. “I don’t care to hear where you were or what you did there. All that matters to me is that you weren’t where I told you to wait. Now, with this damn delay out of the way, let’s get the bloody hell off this Godforsaken dock before I kill somebody.”
“Yes, sir.” I saluted him, then waited for him to lead the way.
Following in his footsteps as he stormed across the wooden dock, I watched his brown ponytail bounce on the back of his emerald colored coat. I could only assume he was burned raw through over the outcome of his argument with Mister Parkston, and I wanted so bad to know what had happened between them, but I didn’t dare ask about the details. Not yet, anyhow.
X
My father didn’t speak to anyone at the bathhouse as we washed up, and he didn’t say a thing to me as we sat down to eat, but on our way to the tavern he told me he had plans to meet a few of his mates there. This meant—that as usual—I had to sit at a table in the corner, like a child, and wait while he handled his business.
That’s the last thing I wanted to do.
Walking down the alley, I festered in my irritation over his plans for me. It was so ridiculous for him to shove me aside like a worthless dolt when my hard work had been an equal part of their success. On board, it was my job to cater to the overall operation of the ship and the crew, everything from keeping the deck cleanly sanded to helping the cook ready the food. Without being told to, I kept the sails neatly trimmed and managed the condition of the rigging lines, not to mention that I had been assisting the navigator so often that I could rightfully claim responsibility for the success of our speedy arrivals.
My father respected my passion for the art of the sea, and there were even a few times he let me guide him out of a bind, so I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t let me take on the job as my own. I wanted to be more than a damn cabin boy, and after surviving the dangers of the sail we'd just conquered, I figured it was bloody well time for him to let me join him as an equal.
Before we parted ways, I braved the nerve to ask, “Can I meet with you and your mates this time, sir?”
The word no rolled from his lips so quickly I knew he didn’t even consider my request. His lack of care for my interest frustrated me so much that I stepped out of my bounds and snapped, “No? Why the hell not?”
Instantly regretting the force of my tone, I braced for the slap he would surely serve me for disputing him in public.
It felt like time stood still as he looked me up and down. His weathered skin didn’t move with any sign of expression, and his solid jaw was stout as ever. Rather than slapping me, or even saying something to put me in my place, he turned his back to me and walked away as if I’d never said a word.
Standing there like an idiot, I watched him sit down and thought that a slap to the face would have hurt less than being ignored like a fool.
Deciding it best to accept my place at my shitty little table in the back, I plopped down in my chair and tried to act like I wasn’t sulking.
While I sifted through my duffle, looking for something to do, I was greeted by a female voice, “Hey there, handsome. Can I bring you something to drink?”
Looking up—expecting to see the typical older woman with her tits oozing out of a corset and a face only a drunk man would admire—I was stunned to set my sights on a pretty blonde girl who was about my age. Glossy curls draped over her bare shoulder, her eyes were a pretty blue color, and though her smile was sweet, there was a scar across her collar bone that made her look tough amongst all her taffeta and lace. Liking her face as much as the way her tits were nearly spilling out of her corset, I sat up straight and deepened my voice, “How about a mug of ale?”
With a sweet, yet sarcastic smile, she tickled my arm. “Are you old enough to drink ale?”
Annoyed that she also saw me as a child, I huffed, “Yes. I’m old enough to do whatever the hell I want to do.” Realizing I sounded like a craggy ol’ bear, I lightened my tone as I pulled out my bag of loot. “And I have enough money to buy you a drink, too. So, I’ll take a pitcher of ale, if you’d like to join me.”
“I suppose I could do that.” Her pretty cheeks reddened a bit before she turned around.
I watched the way her hips swayed beneath her colorful skirts as she wandered toward the bar. My delightful fantasy was rudely interrupted when an old man slapped her arse as she passed. “Come see me later tonight, you tasty little tart, you.”
She forced a smile at the man, but didn’t look at him again as she made her way back to me with two mugs and a pitcher of ale. Sitting down next to me, she poured me the first drink.
Accepting the mug, I asked, “So, what’s your name?”
“My name is Tallie, and you are?”
/> “Sterling. Sterling Bentley. I usually stop in here when I am in port, but I haven’t yet been lucky enough to lay eyes on you. When did you start working here?”
“I came over from England earlier this year, and I have only been working here a few months.” Her expression saddened a bit, but she quickly perked up and laid her hand on my arm. “So, you’re a sailor, huh?”
“That I am,” I boasted. “We just sailed in from England today.” I told her a little bit about my recent adventure, then asked, “What brought you across the sea?”
Removing her hand from my arm, she started twiddling her fingers. “I left home with my father, but, well, he died on the way here. I had nowhere to go, so, uh, well, I work and live here now.”
I could tell she didn’t want to talk about her past, and I got the feeling she wasn’t fond of her newfound profession, so I found other things to inquire about. Before long, I learned that she could play the harpsichord, she loved theater, and hoped to one day find a better way to make use of her talents. I liked the way she hid her crooked teeth behind her hand as she giggled, and the way her cheeks got all rosy when I looked in her eyes made me want to kiss her. But I was having too much fun talking with her to bother with that, yet.
After finishing her mug of ale, she said to me, “You know, Sterling, I am not used to the men in here asking me so many questions.”
Thinking back on my father’s comments about showing princesses and prostitutes the same amount of respect, I scratched my head and said, “Oh, uh, I just like talking to people and enjoy hearing their stories. It honestly didn’t cross my mind to speak to you any differently than anyone else I would have a drink with.”
A wide smile crossed her pretty face. Without bothering to hide her teeth this time, she said, “Don’t worry, I like it.”
The Only Life For Me (Tales Of A Navigator): Endless Horizon Pirate Stories Page 1