Queen Of My Nightmare (Uncharted Secrets, Book 2): Endless Horizon Pirate Stories

by Cristi Taijeron

  I squinted in irritation. “Why do they think that?”

  “To put it the way Perk said it, It’s those ghastly eyes of his. They look like the sea, they do, and the way he reads the sea bloody well proves he’s got some mystic connection to the deep.”

  Amused by this explanation, I waved my hand at him in a spell-casting manner. “You never know when you will need a witch around.”

  He nodded his head in approval. “I like you more all the time, Midnight.”

  “I’m just glad to finally be somebody. It’s nice having a purpose. I can’t thank you enough for giving me a place to stand, and for teaching me to be strong enough to hold my place there. Had I not known how to defend myself, I never would have been brave enough to run away.”

  “Ah, damn it. I taught you to be strong enough without me! What was I thinking? I should’ve kept you like a sweet little flower in a vase so you’d never ever flee.”

  “I’ll never run away on Tortuga again. So, you can rest at ease while we are here.” I winked.

  “It is a terrible place.” He laughed, golden arms tempting every bit of my passion as he rowed along.

  He looked at me as if he was plotting something. “Of all the places you’ve been, where’s your favorite?”

  “There is much I like about London, but before my father died I truly liked Barbados, too. The town was nice like London, but smaller, and the beaches are beautiful.”

  “It is nice there. Calm and all that.” He agreed with little enthusiasm.

  “I don’t take you as the kind of man who enjoys calm and all that.”

  “I don’t. I could live on these filthy ships and visit these nasty islands all my days, but I prefer the quiet shores of the secret beaches the most. Hunting, fishing, one with the land. That’s my favorite way of living.”

  “Secret beaches? Why have we not done anything like that, yet?”

  “We haven’t been in need of such a place as of late. That’s usually for careening, or refitting, or hunting. Our keel is slick, our ship is lean, and our hold is full. It’s been a downright successful few months if you ask me.”

  “Well, I hope we get to a secret shore soon. I want to draw more maps!”

  “We’ll get there eventually, my sweet.”

  Rowing back to the ship, we talked and talked without a dull moment between us. I loved his company as much as I enjoyed my nights in his bed, and though I’d miss his affection once we headed out to sea, I was also looking forward to the adventure. There would be new horizons to admire and new shores to chart. At this point in my life it was hard to tell if I liked being Midnight or Hannah better, but either way, I was enjoying my life more than I ever had before.

  Chapter 9

  Kiss the Gunner’s Daughter

  “She’s Spanish.” Mason smirked as he observed the upcoming ship in his spyglass.

  “Why do you sound unenthusiastic this time?” I asked as I eyed the slow moving ship.

  “This low on the course at this time of year, she must be a merchantman.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means we have an easy treat laid out on the platter before us. Tasty and all, but like a little snack it’ll only keep us satisfied for a wee bit.”

  Remembering the horrendous battle we waged in the west, I chuckled, “Easy sounds good to me.”

  The crewmen agreed to go in for the snack.

  After a long and strenuous chase against an unfavorable wind, we caught up and blasted a warning shot from the portside. No matter how many times I heard it, the brain rattling blast of a great gun would forever shiver my spirit. Though my nerves ran wild while anticipating the worst, Estrella de Plata surrendered quickly, and without dispute, the captain allowed us to board her.

  While observing her sleek trim line and modern amenities, Mason and Ziare decided that they liked Estrella de Plata better than Esmerelda. Right in front of the surrendered men, Mason organized a vote concerning which ship his men preferred. The majority easily voted to take Estrella de Plata.

  With the decision made, they presented their offer. “All right, Sharky Boy, give them their options. Either, we trade ships and they can live. Or, they get in their longboats to drift away and maybe they’ll live.”

  To me it seemed the choice was not a difficult one to make, but the Spanish captain sounded rather disgruntled in his response spoken in Spanish. I had no idea what he was saying, but Shark was shaking his head as if the man was a fool, and Mason looked angry. As soon as the Spanish captain began flailing his arms, Mason grabbed him by the collar, spun him around to face the crowd, and held his cutlass against his throat. “Cerrar la boca, arrogante tonto.”

  Apparently, Mason spoke Spanish.

  Whether it was the blade at his throat or the words Mason spoke, the man silenced immediately.

  After a curt but civil discussion with Sharky Boy, the man agreed to trade ships. Ziare led a group of our crewmen to escort the Spanish men over to Esmerelda, while Mason led another group to transfer the goods. It was my job to help the latter, because Mason had already told me to stay near him until we sailed away clean. As we stripped Esmerelda bare, from guns to sails to lines, to most of the food in the galley, I realized why the Spanish captain was so resistant to make the trade. Yes, they would have a ship, but that was it. Esmerelda was not much more than a wooden raft by the time the transfer was complete.

  With Feather following behind Mason and me, we carried a chest full of navigational tools and charts down the gangway. “It’s so damned hot down here,” I complained.

  “Aye. This southern sea is the worst. You know, the Cumana salt flats are not far from here, and that’s where prisoners are sent to mine. The sun reflects off of the white salt, burning their faces like a fire. I reckon any man working those fields would rather be locked up in a dark, dank prison cell with the rats.”

  “I think I would. I hate this kind of heat. The cool weather is another thing I miss about London.” Reaching the door that would most likely lead to my new chartroom, I opened it. To my dreadful surprise, a crazed man leapt out from under the desk. Though it happened so fast, I saw his face in slow motion. Skin white as snow, with hair dark as night, the man had a fire in his eyes made him look unearthly. My terrified mind imagined him being Seth’s tormented ghost.

  I am completely unsure how I did not scream like a woman as he jumped at me, wailing Spanish words, but as Mason ran a knife through his throat, I let out a ridiculous sigh of relief. The ghostly man fell to his death, but as Mason pushed his way passed me, a second man leapt out after him, dagger drawn. While I wondered how many of them were hiding under that desk, another came out. Neither of them looked like tormented spirits, but their Spanish cursing made it clear that they were out to avenge their crewman’s death.

  Mason somehow tackled them both and hopped to his feet quick enough to run his sword through one of their guts before he rose, but the other man got up and jumped on Mason’s back like a monkey. He didn’t seem to have a weapon, but when I saw him chomp down onto Mason’s shoulder with his nasty ol’ teeth, I realized that I needed to help my lover.

  I stabbed my knife blade into the attacker’s back. The horrendous thump reverberated through my being, ringing out in ghastly harmony with his mortifying scream. But the murderous symphony was quickly followed by the loudest sound of all. Death. The silent sound of death.

  When Mason threw him to the floor, I saw that it was not my knife that had killed him. No. Mason had stabbed him right through his mouth with his cutlass blade.

  Sickened by the sight of the solid and sharp piece of metal bursting out the backside of the man’s head, I quickly looked away as Mason retrieved his sword.

  Hiding behind my hands, I heard him chuckle, “That ought to teach him to keep his teeth to himself.”

  I let out a delirious laugh.

  Ripping off his ivory shirt that was now covered with the blood gushing out of the horrible flesh wound on his shoulder, Mason s
aid, “And today I learned to wear more layers during times of engagement. Just when you think you know it all.” Letting out an exhausted laugh, he shook his head.

  As I watched him cleaning the blood off of his cutlass—with three dead bodies piled up around him—I realized that if it had been Mason Bentley with me in that bunkroom on the way to England, I never would have been stolen.

  Awed by his fearsomely heroic act, I whispered, “Thank you.”

  “I need my navigator.” He winked. “Let’s go topside and find out who the hell didn’t check every door and every cabinet like I told them to. He might end up missing more than a chunk out of his shoulder.”

  Walking behind him, my artistic eye became enchanted by the sight of the blood dripping down his shoulder. “This may be a bit morbid of me, but I like the look of the blood coating your tattooed B. Bloody Bentley could be one of your aliases.”

  “Ah, that makes me wish I could see it. You’ll have to paint it for me later.”

  X

  Sailing away from the ship we had called home for a while, Mason gathered his men and called out, “Whose job was it to search the cabins?”

  Isaac Smith, a tall, well-built Englishman with a face that was only handsome when his toothless mouth was closed, stepped forward. Duffy White, a short round fellow, whose hair had whitened well before its time, joined Isaac center stage.

  After nodding at them with an emotionless gaze, Mason spoke to the crowd, “As you dirty dogs know, all of our fen-sucked lives rest in each other’s dirty hands. There are times when you look at the man next to you and wish that wasn’t the case, and there are other times when you can’t thank the Lord enough for blessing you with brethren so true to our code. Well, right now, I’m looking at these two blokes wishing I hadn’t trusted my life in their lazy hands.”

  Scowling at the accused, the crowd booed.

  Mason hushed their negative roar with a simple brush of his hand. The instant they calmed, he let the crowd know how these men had failed him. Though they tried to mumble out a few flimsy excuses, their fate was set. I was about to find out which punishment the crew saw fit for Isaac Smith and Duffy White.

  A few voted for keelhauling, and others shouted out for a hanging from the yards, but one surprised me with a joyful offer to eat their shoulders to avenge the captain’s injury. Though Mason seemed to like that idea best, when Shark hooted, “Make them kiss the gunner’s daughter,” the crowd roared in wild approval. So it seemed the punishment fit for this lazy crime was to kiss the gunner’s daughter. Whatever the hell that meant.

  “All right. Who’s first?” Mason clapped his hands together, looking forward to the chore.

  Amidst the roaring crowd, Isaac braved the nerve to step forward. With his head held high and his chest thrust out proudly, he said, “I’ll go first.”

  “Come on over, boy.” Mason waved him in with both hands. The moment Isaac came within arm’s length, Mason threw him over the barrel of a great gun and beat the hell out of him with his fists. The crowd jumped and roared as their captain pummeled their crewman’s face, but knowing he was next, Duffy winced in terror.

  The brutal beating was brief, but the damage to Isaac’s face was horrendous. Swollen eyes, a bloody nose, and his thin lip was split clean open. If he had any teeth in his head he might have lost one, yet, to my surprise, the beaten man raised his hands before the cheering crowd and took a bow.

  They welcomed him back into their group with pats on the back and friendly insults, then returned to cheering as Duffy rushed forward to take his turn. Duffy was hardly as proud to take his beating, and his exit was nowhere near as gracious as Isaac’s, but the crowd cheered just the same.

  The moment the punishment was complete, Mason silenced the audience. “And that is that! Not another word on the matter.”

  The men filtered off to do their duties as if nothing had happened. As for me, I stood there in shock as I watched Mason wipe the sweat off his forehead. Sink me was the only phrase my mind could conjure up. He was one hell of a man.

  “What are you doing standing there like a senseless dolt? You have a course to chart, Midnight,” Mason said half-joking.

  “Oh, uh, yes. I…”

  “Get on your way, mate.” He nodded his head towards the gangway.

  “Yes, sir.” I respectfully responded, and went on my way to the chartroom. I didn’t ever want to end up on the wrong side of the crew who would follow their captain to hell and back if he said it was the best course to take.

  The men had voted to refit Estrella de Plata on a secluded shore. According to the pages of my rutter, there would be a chain of small islands to the east, so Shark and I set a course in that direction. Well, he mostly listened to me plan out loud, but having someone there with me helped to lighten the burden of responsibility.

  Plus, I liked the way he handled the exposure of my identity. He never looked at me different or treated me different now that he knew, but I certainly felt more comfortable in my skin knowing that I could be myself around him. Not that I acted girlish, but I just didn’t have to worry about being caught in my lie when he was around. The Spanish-African buccaneer boy was the only other person in the world who had a clue as to who I was, and this endeared him to me. Shark Bite and Mason Bentley were my only friends in the world.

  While I made my marks on the map, Shark rambled on about the events of the raid. “I think it’s funny when Bentley speaks Spanish.” He started mocking the things Mason said, laughing as he drank his rum.

  “I was quite amused by that outburst myself. I didn’t know he spoke the language.”

  “He understands it well enough to speak it. But he don’t like to one bit. Saves it for dire situations, he does, and when he blasts that shit out I have to try hard not to laugh out loud.”

  Catching on to Shark’s rum drunk humor, I laughed, too. “What was it that he said?”

  “He said, close your mouth, you arrogant fool!” Shark’s expressive imitation of Mason’s gestures and accent led me right into a laughing fit. We carried on for a bit, laughing and joking in a way that made me think of how wonderful it was to have friends.

  While enjoying the fun with Shark, I began feeling terribly hot. Fanning myself with the fancy little Spanish fan I found on board, I began to feel nauseous. Trying to focus on my maps, the misery became too much to bear. Leaning over the waste bin, I threw up. Shark jumped up, complaining in disgust. To the sound of him busting out of the door, I continued to vomit until my gut hurt.

  Next thing I knew, Mason was carrying me to my bunkroom. “Are you all right?” he asked while lying me down on my bunk.

  “I’m fine.” I wiped the sweat off my forehead. “I just got hot. Too hot. That room has no ventilation.”

  “The one on Esmerelda didn’t either.” He stated the obvious fact.

  “I know, but I hated that room, too. I want a room with a porthole,” I deliriously rumbled the lofty request.

  “Ah, you want a maid, a doorman, and a bathtub in there, too?” he teased.

  “That would be nice. But for now some water will do.”

  Mason quickly returned with water, but before giving me a drink, he took the black cloth off my head and wet my hair with it. Instantly feeling better, I chugged as much water as I could, and though I felt well enough to work again, Mason told the crew to lower the anchor with the setting sun.

  X

  Three days passed with a few similar spells, but not wanting to appear weak, I did my best to shield my sickness. At any time the island chain I was in search of would be showing up, and the crew was counting on me to get them there.

  Despite my agony, I conquered the feat. Just before noon a cute little tree-covered island appeared, and upon comparing it to the charts in my rutter, I found that it was the first in the chain we had been seeking. The happy crew congratulated their sorcerer of a navigator.

  Midnight drew and added fine details to the pages of the rutter as Estrella de Plata sailed passe
d the islands. Drawing the rocky peaks and the beautiful waterfall on the shore we were currently passing, I realized something. With my heart thumping in excitement, I ran over to Mason.

  “Mason, uh, Captain, look. That’s it. This is the island on that secret map.”

  “What? I’ve been here afore but I’ve never drawn that connection.” He looked it over with doubt. “What makes you think that?”

  “Look at this inlet. And that bay.” I fumbled with the book, too excited to keep a professional poise. “But the most obvious thing is this.” Pointing to the swirly little X shape at the bottom corner of the page, I said, “This shape matches the flow of that waterfall flowing down the peak.”

  “Well, blow me down, it does.” He laughed.

  I shared the details with the crew. They easily altered their vote to make shore on this secret island. Once Estrella de Plata was heading in that direction, Mason smiled at me. “Depending on what we find there I might have to up your pay, Midnight.”

  Anchoring in the sunlit bay, we loaded our longboats with supplies and made our way ashore to scout out the area. Dreadfully terrified by Mason’s mentions of cannibal islanders, I did my best to stay near him without looking like a complete pansy as we trudged through the thick green ground coverage. The canopy trees overhead kept the sun off of our skin, but seemed to encase the heat of the day at the same time. Once again feeling sickened by the cursed weather, I did my best to maintain my composure as we made our way towards the clearing ahead.

  Coming upon a pleasant lagoon with a waterfall sliding down the sheer rock face above it, I was tempted to jump right in to cool my body of the sickening heat. Most of the men did, stripping off every bit of their clothing while doing so. Looking away from the unexpected display of nudity, I knelt by the water to splash my face, and it was there that the debilitating nausea once again took hold. With nowhere to hide this time, I let loose my lunch into the lagoon, sending the naked men jumping and yelling to escape my floating pile of vomit.