“You are quite a mistress of battle—like some pagan goddess.”
“M-Milady Vixen?” the captive said in astonishment.
“What did you call me?” she growled.
“He said,” Tom repeated, “Milady Vixen. By the blood spilt, no better nickname could you own.”
“Milady Vixen,” she said with a smile. “I could take to the sound of that.”
That was how she got her infamous moniker. Soon the seafaring world would tremble at the very mention of her name. On that bloody deck a legend was born.
Standing at the wheel, she took a lungful of air; savoring the salty sweetness of it, she watched the ship sail past the dock. Just beyond where the hawsers had been tied, her mother waved goodbye, arm-in-arm with the former master of the vessel. As she pulled her gaze back to the horizon, the newly rechristened vessel—and its renamed captain—headed back out to sea. The brigantine sported a new flag flying atop her tallest mast, a red fox’s head with its jaws agape biting into a crown. Along the prow of the eight-foot privateer, the crew had lovingly carved the name The Sea Fox, and this same crew had sworn upon their sword hilts to serve her faithfully. Or at least until she proved unfit for command, whichever came first.
“’Tis a fine day, is it not?” Her new first mate grinned.
“Why, Ginger Tom, I cannot find it in my heart to disagree with ye.” She smirked. “I have a lusty crew, a wind at my back and a good ship under my boots. What more can a girl ask for?”
“Where are we headed?”
“I have business with the King of Effingham. I feel we should tug his whiskers a bit by sinking a few of his smaller vessels. I heard the fluets are running this time of year betwixt Gaston and Effingham.”
“No doubt escorted by a schooner or two.”
“Aye, but where be the fun without the risk, Tom?”
The redhead just laughed.
Just a brief note, so you understand a bit of this nautical jargon. A fluet isn’t something you play with a drum accompaniment. It’s a ship, a three-hundred-ton cargo vessel with two masts. It was a cheap vessel to build and often carried a crew of twelve or more. A schooner, however, held up to seventy-five men and carried cannons, and was a typical fast prowler of the waves. But back to our tale, before I bore you with such technical details and you lose interest.
“I don’t mind tugging Effingham’s beard, but there’s a prize on your head already. Or have you forgotten?”
“I aim to get it raised to some indecent amount ere they catch me.”
“You’re dicing with the Devil, you know. We make one slight mistake and we’ll all be fitted for hempen halters.”
That means a hangman’s noose; just thought you’d like to know.
“We can outmaneuver the schooners or just pour enough shot into them to send them to the briny deep,” Milady Vixen said. “Nothing worth having isn’t worth a little trouble, aye?”
“Trouble can be avoided, Vixen. Seeking it out is a foolhardy enterprise.”
“You never stop worrying about me, do you?”
“Of course not; I owe you my life, don’t I? A poor coin I’d repay you in if I didn’t try to bash some sense into that thick skull ye have.”
“You say the sweetest things.”
He blushed to the roots of his already red hair, and this made Vixen laugh even harder. Laying a hand upon his shoulder, the new privateer commander eased some of his discomfort.
“Come, let us not tarry, for booty awaits us.” Milady Vixen laughed.
* * * *
I will not bother to tell you the red-handed deeds and rude battles that occurred during the next six months. However, suffice it to say the newly christened vessel quickly became the scourge of the seas. In a scant half year, the very name and flag of the Sea Fox struck bone-rattling fear in every honest sailor’s heart. The tales told by the survivors—for Milady Vixen left enough to do exactly this—made the blood run cold in the telling. Most captains, seeing the red fox’s head upon the snapping banner atop the main mast, simply struck their colors and gave up their cargos. Stories of the commander of the Sea Fox never failed to exclude the hatred she bore toward those who sailed under the Effingham flag.
“She is cruel as she is beautiful,” one mariner stated. “A bit of poisoned chocolate you cannot resist.”
Vengeance is a fine thing, but often those gripped by it will take it too far. The red mist of righteous indignation can cloud the vision like the blinders on a horse. Too often men and women ride willy-nilly down this cruel road only to find there is nothing but death awaiting them at the end.
Foreplay on the Forecastle!
The two ships rocked and rolled against one another like two lovers embracing at the height of passion. The creaking of the wood, the thudding of their sides against one another and the snapping of their sails sounding across the water were like the cries of a lovemaking couple. Above this all, overpowering this lovely sound, the rude din of battle was roaring.
Upon the forecastle two pirates stood back-to-back, locked in mortal combat, keeping at bay the dozen determined red-coated soldier-mariners armed with cutlasses, sabers and bayonets. Their opponents were not so obliging. Muskets roared, spitting out smoke and lead. The screams of the dying and the hoarse shouts of the victors rang out everywhere. The dark-skinned woman’s rapier flashed like lightning, while her companion’s cutlass crashed like thunder. Bright blood flew through the air to splatter hotly onto the deck.
“One more prize,” Ginger Tom yelled without looking. “What harm can it do?”
“Shut up and fight,” Milady Vixen snarled at his sarcasm.
Flicking the tip of her blade through the eye of a lunging Marine, she grinned in a feral manner. Her foeman hit the deck hard with a thump, and blood splashed onto her black boots. She was in her element.
“I told you this was a trap!” the first mate stated.
“Can we pick a better moment for this conversation?” she answered tightly.
The pirate craft had spotted a fat prize from the ports of Gaston wallowing through the waves and pounced upon it like a cat does a mouse. However, once bitten into, the taste wasn’t to the eater’s liking. Like Queen Anne’s cherries, what had squirted forth from the cargo hold wasn’t what the pirates had expected. Rather than a terrified and craven crew, the Sea Fox’s hardies had discovered the ship, like the aforementioned candies, held a hidden surprise. This cargo ship was overflowing with seamen.
Are you blushing? Dear me, child, it’s an expression—what a dirty little mind you have! I pray you to quell your reaction. All better? Very good; let us continue.
Two secreted squads of Gastonian Marines quickly laid low a goodly portion of milady’s cutthroats, and now the struggle was both epic and desperate. The rapid boarding and even quicker fight that had been at the forefront of the pirates’ minds had turned into a grisly reality. In short, Milady Vixen’s reputation had bitten her on the hindquarters. Whether or not they would survive the injury had yet to be seen.
The red-coated soldiers had them hemmed in good and proper when monkey cannon upon the poop deck shocked all into silence and statue-like poses. Beside that small weapon a dandy stood, stroking a long, curling mustache like he was surveying some grand ball at court.
“Hold, all of ye!” he sang out in a manly tone. “Put up your arms!”
Lowering her needle-like sword, Milady Vixen stared at this strange being as if he were some sort of mythical mermaid. Her rogues moved like sleepwalkers toward the forecastle while the red-jacketed Marines picked up, loaded and trained their black powder weapons upon the stumbling lot. Wiping her rapier on a dead man’s coat, Vixen rammed the weapon home in its sheath.
“I do say we have caught a princely prize,” the man shouted. “Setting our trap, I would never have thought our bait woul
d attract the most bloodthirsty of buccaneers.”
He strode off the poop, down the stairs and toward Vixen’s position. Graceful, he walked as if he had not a care in the world, safely waltzing in his stronghold.
A floppy hat sat at a comical manner upon the deep black curls of his head. A pair of long, strange feathers trailed behind it. His long, sharp face was white, not from a lack of sunshine, but a thick powdered dusting only broken by a pair of red-rouged cheeks. On either side of his abnormally long nose peered a pair of crystal blue eyes that twinkled with a strange amusement. His frilly white shirt, deep blue captain’s coat and shining brass buttons looked as prim and well kept as ever a dandy’s would. His long legs were encased in golden knee-length breeches with a pair of silver buttons marching down the sides. White hose and polished black buckled shoes completed his ensemble. A slender and overly ornate blade rode on his left, while a silver chased flintlock pistol was stuffed into a red sash that squeezed his middle.
“Who is this strutting peacock?” Ginger Tom inquired.
“By the mother who bore me, I know not,” she replied.
“By Aphrodite’s rosy cheeks, I do believe we have ensnared none other than Milady Vixen.” He chuckled.
“And who would you be?” she queried.
“Me? I am the Marquis de Poste.” Saying so, he gifted her with a mocking little bow.
“A Gaston noble?”
“Quite so.”
“Why would you bring such a sudden halt to our enjoyment?”
“We had hoped to capture another member of your brotherhood, but instead find ourselves with a more interesting catch.”
“You have a proposition for me, I take it?”
“Hah!” The Marquis de Poste laughed merrily. “You see to the quick of things, milady.”
“Divulge your mind to us, and I will see if we can strike up an accord.” Vixen smirked.
“Vixen, are you mad?” Tom hissed at her.
“Crazy like a fox.”
“Would the lady and her accomplice join me in my stateroom for a brandy?” the gentry-mannered man asked.
“Lead on, Marquis,” she said with her own bow.
If Vixen thought the Gastonian nobleman was overly decorated, his attire paled in comparison to the splendor of his cabin. Ermine-draped chairs, ornate crystal decanters and bottles of expensive vintages were contained within. Taking a seat in front of the pair of privateers, the white-faced man stuffed snuff-laden fingers under each nostril and gave a deep sniff. Vixen put her boots up on the table, just to see if she could annoy the pampered gentlemen. He ignored her.
“It has come to the attention of His Majesty, Louis IV, the monarch of Gaston that our biggest competitor on these seven seas would be most vexed by a further loss of cargo from their vessels. Since His Majesty wishes to gain supremacy in the marketplaces across the world, he has endowed me with the power to provide certain documents to sea-wolves like yourself,” Marquis de Poste stated in a lofty tone.
“Ye be offering the likes of us Letters of Marque?” Ginger Tom gasped out.
“Of course. A more likely ship than the Sea Fox could not be found, for I hear yon Milady Vixen is gripped by a particular and violent humor when it comes to those flying the banner of Effingham.”
“Aye, I hate the very sound of the name,” Vixen growled. “So you provide us with these documents, and in exchange you get what?”
“Half your plunderings, and all warships of His Majesty’s nation will turn a blind eye to your—efforts.”
“A quarter.”
“Pardon me?”
“A quarter of the booty; I will not surrender half. I have, after all, needs that must be maintained.”
“This is not up for negotiation.”
“It is if you wish my help. If safe passage near Gastonian guns and half of the loot is all you offer, I must decline your generous offer.”
“You would additionally have the gratitude of my monarch.”
“You can keep his gratitude, for I know all too well of the kindness of nobility.”
The Marquis’ shoulder shook lightly, and a smirk twisted up his waxed mustache.
“You are as cunning as the moniker of your vessel.” He smiled, lifting a glass of sparkling wine.
“Then we have an agreement?” Vixen said with a nod.
“We do.”
“Where do I put into port to give you the king’s share?”
“Port de Luna—do you know it?”
“Aye, I do.”
“How will your Navy know us to be friendly?”
“I have a blue pennant that you must fly beneath your own flag.”
“Then let us tug the beard of the King of Effingham.”
“Madam, I cannot express my delight at your words.”
The Marquis de Poste stuck out a perfumed hand, which she took.
* * * *
The ships had long since departed their separate ways. Sailing to the northeast, the Sea Fox prowled in search of the red lion flag of Effingham. The day proved uneventful, with the exception of the chance meeting with Marquis de Poste’s baited trap. Evening had fallen. Sitting at her desk, Vixen watched her second in command pace like a caged tiger in front of her.
“You are mad!” Ginger Tom shouted at her.
“Calm yourself, Tom,” she cooed.
Striding around the captain’s quarters, his shoulders shaking with rage, the tall pirate admonished the woman seated in front of him. The bemused smile upon her face made him even more irate with each passing second.
“Don’t ye strike that tone with me, young miss. I’ve had about as much of this farce as possible! The crew thinks you mad for taking on such a fool’s errand. Half of them have a bounty on their heads for just being a member of this vessel and are terrified by the prospect of dancing the hempen jig in some Effingham square! The other portion is convinced you have a death wish!”
“We have, with this document, new ports to which we can sail without fear of attack. This will increase our booty and permit us free reign without looking past our stern for Gastonian men o’ wars.”
“Ye only wish to wreak bloody havoc on Effingham! Damn the consequences and double damn the fate of those serving beneath you.”
Vixen pouted at him. In the past, this expression would quell the fiery temperament in Ginger Tom, but she soon found he was no longer to be swayed by soft looks.
“I am captain and my word is law!” she snarled. “Any Jack Tar who thinks he can do better is welcome to try my steel. Be it you or any other of the crew.”
“I ought to take you over my knee and whip your behind,” he fired back.
“Make any attempt at it and you’ll find yourself swinging from the mizzen mast or sporting a second mouth!”
She rose to her impressive height. Instead of backing down, her first mate took a pair of steps and stood nose-to-nose with her. Lips writhing in anger, his blue eyes flashed with the same emotion coursing through his strong frame. Hands fell to sword hilts, flexing and trembling for the first sign of the other’s attempt to draw steel.
“Ye are as stubborn as ye are beautiful,” he hissed.
“’Tis one of my finest qualities,” she snorted.
“You will have us all gripping Davy Jones’ hand soon enough with this insanity.”
“Trust me, Tom.”
“Trust? I cannot think of one reason for me to follow ye!”
“You owe me your life.”
He drew back as if slapped. The white teeth he bared ground in frustration to the point that Vixen thought he would shatter them. Tom’s back stiffened. He cut off his heated retort and crossed his arms in defeat. He was beaten but not bowed; she knew it as sure as her own feelings. The reminder of his debt seemed to soil t
he conversation.
“As you wish, Cap’n,” Tom growled.
He turned on his heel and stormed out without another word. For some reason, her comment began to sting her own feelings. The slamming of the door made her cut the thought off short, but it returned quickly enough to vex her for the rest of the long day.
Do Ye K’wanta Mutiny?
Two weeks have passed since the marquis’ proposal, and yet Tom has slunk around me like some sulking child refusing to talk except for ship’s business, Vixen thought darkly, her hand on the wheel. Argh, I have impugned his honor, and yet he makes no move against me. Yet the same cannot be said about K’wanta! He has been preaching sedition below decks and stirring the crew’s feelings against me. I will have to deal with him shortly or face a mutiny.
Looking up in the rigging, she saw the big black man sneering at her while he sewed a patch on the canvas. The unbridled hatred in his eyes was clear even at this distance.
K’wanta had never forgiven the former captain’s sparing of Suga, Violet and Tom. He had been looking forward to a tasty meal of flesh but found his appetite suppressed by a whim. Like most bullies, the cannibal hadn’t choked down this particular brand of mercy well. But back to our story.
“Milady Vixen,” a man croaked out. “A word, if’n ye don’t mind.”
“Avast yer blubbering, Dobbs, what be it?” she answered.
“We need to take on fresh water, and the fruit onboard has gone bad. The men have asked me to tell you this so scurvy will not overtake them.”
The ship’s quartermaster was a tiny, bent creature who squinted out of one eye. The patch upon his other was decorated with a jolly roger halfheartedly sewn on with white thread. He looked as if he was already wracked by the disease he had named.
“Fetch me my charts,” she commanded. “While ye be at it, make sure the first mate comes along with them.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
I’ll put an end to this pouting spree Tom is on, if I have to keelhaul the stubborn bastard! Vixen stated to herself.
Dobbs left, and she watched as K’wanta scuttled like a spider down the ropes with a narrowed set of eyes. Quickly the tall man was surrounded by mutineers, each one glancing in her general direction. As she saw them nodding heads and fingering their weapons, Vixen knew the time had come.
The Swashbuckling Yarn of Milady Vixen Page 4