The Sublime and Spirited Voyage of Original Sin

by Colette Moody

Celia approached her. “Hmm. It does seem a most remarkable coincidence, doesn’t it?”

  “Those two siblings are up to no good. I’m not sure what they gain by dividing us, but clearly that is their plan.”

  “If the gypsy were here, perhaps she could tell us.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  As darkness fell over the quiescent sea, Original Sin began to methodically close in on her prey. It was decided that the best time to strike would be around midnight, when the majority of the Belladonna crew was asleep.

  Gayle, Celia, and Andrew ate supper in uneasy silence, dispelled only by periodic bursts of cordial small talk. Gayle advised that they should all have no more than a single glass of wine with their meal, as they would most assuredly need their wits about them later.

  When they had finally pushed their empty plates away and were somberly pondering their fate, Gayle finally addressed something that she had procrastinated in doing all day.

  “All right, it’s time for the unpleasant bits.”

  Celia seemed concerned. “How unpleasant?”

  “I have made sure that the skiff is loaded with provisions. Should things this evening take an unfortunate turn, I need you both to be on it.”

  “On it and headed where?” Andrew asked.

  “The provisions include a compass and a map. If it appears that Original Sin will either be taken or sunk, cut the lines, drop the skiff into the sea, and row east toward the islands. Your chances of reaching land safely are about sixty to sixty-five percent.”

  “Is there a plan with slightly better odds?” Celia asked, her chin in her hand. “Something in the eighty-five percent, or better, range?”

  “These are the best odds I can get you, amor. If you stay on board and the ship is taken, you would be giving yourself over to being violated in a myriad of ways.”

  “Lovely folk, these pirates,” Celia muttered.

  “Now for the troubling part.”

  “So, being ‘violated in a myriad of ways’ is the good part of this proposition of yours?” Celia asked. “I can’t wait to hear the troubling part.” She swigged back the last sip of her wine. “Might I get devoured by wolves?”

  “Unlikely. I need you to take Anne with you.” She said the words hurriedly, trying to lessen their bite.

  After a moment of silence, Celia appeared horrified. “You expect me to look after that debased and vulgar trull?”

  “That is precisely why I deemed this the troubling part. I had a feeling you might take exception to this request.”

  “Take exception? I’d sooner see that common slattern ignited and heaved over the side.”

  “Celia, mind your words,” her father told her.

  She looked sheepish for a moment. “Well, fine. We need not set her on fire first. But she’ll not share my seat in our voyage to safety.”

  Gayle gazed at her warmly. “Even if her only other option is death?”

  Celia blinked twice. “Am I supposed to find that thought distasteful?”

  “Aye, a bit.”

  “Well, it is filling me with some emotion, but I believe it’s amusement.”

  Gayle arched her eyebrows in surprise. “I understand how you feel. I hold many of those opinions myself. But I can’t simply leave her on the ship to perish when the whole reason she is here is because we brought her. She is by and large one of the most vexing women I have met, and I’d certainly trust her no further than I could throw her. But I likewise cannot abide her imminent death when I can do something to prevent it.”

  Celia was silent for a while, then said with a sigh, “All right. I’ll take the witch along with me. But I make no promises about the condition that she arrives in.”

  “You’ve a deal. Just don’t kill her. That’s all I ask.”

  “Then the bargain is struck. And will you, in turn, promise me that you’ll take no careless chances?”

  “I, careless?”

  “You question it as though you have never taken an unnecessary risk, Captain. And you are well aware that I know better than that.”

  “You, madam, have my word. I have no desire whatever to sup with Hades before my time has come.”

  Their eyes locked for a palpable moment. “That is good to hear,” Celia replied. “For I have not yet tired of your company.”

  Andrew awkwardly cleared his throat, and Gayle looked at him in chagrin, abruptly reminded that they were not alone.

  *

  As the moon rose higher in the sky, a thick fog began to roll in. Gayle recognized this occurrence as providence and knew that the time to strike had arrived. If ever Original Sin were to be able to advance, it would be now. Stealthily they quickened their pace and the crew prepared for their attack.

  Gayle took Celia by the hand and pulled her into their quarters before the battle began so she could ensure she was completely prepared for all eventualities.

  “We have only a matter of minutes. Did you inspect the skiff as I asked?”

  “Aye, I did.” Celia slipped her arms around Gayle’s waist and gazed into her eyes. “You seem to have it well stocked, though it is missing one thing.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “A captain. I never travel without one.”

  “I see.” She pulled Celia to her and caressed her back lovingly. “Any captain in particular?”

  “I suppose not,” she murmured, moving under her touch. “Though it should be a woman. With smoky eyes that cast come-hither glances. And she should have a thoroughly wondrous mouth, one that I’ll have need of on a very frequent basis.” She kissed Gayle deeply. “Mmm, you’re hired.” She pulled her mouth away and held her even closer. “You meet all those requirements nicely.”

  “I do love you quite thoroughly,” Gayle said.

  “Do you?”

  “Aye, Celia. I ache for merely a glimpse of you, or the sound of your easy laughter. You have completely bewitched me.”

  “I love you too. And though it is the most unfamiliar sensation, it now feels as compulsory to me as breathing in and out.”

  They kissed again, but a knocking interrupted them. “The Belladonna is in sight, Cap’n,” someone called softly through the closed door.

  “I’ll be there presently,” Gayle called. She tried to quash her feelings of worry. “’Tis time, amor.” Celia nodded solemnly, and Gayle reached onto her thumb and removed her silver dragonfly signet ring. “Here, take this token from me. Wear it until the battle is won.” She slipped it on Celia’s thumb.

  Celia stared at it but said nothing in return. Instead, she pulled off her opal ring and slipped it onto Gayle’s ring finger. “And you hold this for me. Let its enchantment guide your sword, my love. I need for you to stay safe, as I cannot bear the thought of this world without you.”

  “I need the same from you. Protect yourself and your party, and God willing, I will come to collect you all.”

  “I promise.”

  They kissed again, this time tentatively and with great heavyheartedness. Gayle pulled away, but Celia captured her hand and tenderly kissed her palm.

  With enormous reluctance, Gayle turned and left the cabin. As she strode out to the deck to meet her crew, she took stock of her own weaponry. In her baldric she had her cutlass, as well as two loaded flintlock pistols and a blunderbuss. At her waist was her trusty silver dagger, and another was tied to her left forearm, ready to be drawn. She was resolute that she not be caught unarmed.

  “Diego,” she called quietly. “Have you caught sight of their lookout?”

  Diego, as accurate an archer as he was with both a cannon and a rifle, stood off the starboard bow with a large, ornate recurve bow and a quiver of broadhead arrows. Aside from the sheer beauty of the inlaid wood, this bow was equipped with an impressive range, as well as remarkable power and accuracy with which it struck its targets. “Not yet, Cap’n,” he whispered back, peering through the fog.

  The crew stood at the ready as Original Sin silently skulked closer to its quarry.
Gayle watched as Diego peered off through the darkness. Finally she could periodically spy, between patches of fog, the crow’s nest, as well as the lookout in it. With great artfulness, Diego pulled his loaded bowstring back and took aim and an arrow sang through the air.

  *

  With as much discretion as possible, Molly pulled her breeches back up and buttoned them, scurrying deftly down the rigging. Her time aboard ships disguised as a man had taught her that the easiest time to tend to the call of nature was when it was dark—especially on ships like the Belladonna that had no indoor privy, just seats of easement mounted directly off the bow for sailors to sit on and defecate through.

  She did love the sea, but the life of a sailor could certainly be a shitty one. She chuckled at her unintentional pun.

  Just then, a strange noise came from above—a muffled gag, followed by a resonant thud. Peering upward to the crow’s nest she saw the arm and head of the lookout limply dangling over the platform, his body seemingly caught in the rigging. It was too dark to make out any more details, and pockets of fog further impaired her view.

  Tense, Molly began to look about for the crewman’s assassin. Now, drifting into a swatch of mist so thick she could not see more than a few feet, she strained in the hopes of hearing another ship. She snatched up a belaying pin in case she needed a weapon and slowly crept toward the aft of the ship, the hairs on her body standing on end.

  “Lad,” a sailor on guard duty called to her. “Did you make that sound?”

  She shook her head, all the while still trying to glimpse the origin of the danger. “It came from up there,” she said nervously, gesturing behind her.

  Before the guard could even turn in the direction Molly was pointing, the bow of a large ship broke through a wall of fog, appearing as though it had just manifested from thin air. Molly knew at her first sight of the prow, with its figurehead of Eve holding out an apple, that it was Original Sin.

  “By Satan’s bollocks,” she murmured, as the ship closed from about a hundred yards away.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” the guard cried. But before he could list off anyone else from the New Testament, Molly cracked the belaying pin into the back of his head. It took her no time to rid the unconscious man of his cutlass and his pistol, then begin to wave her arms wildly at the approaching ship.

  “Cap’n,” Gleeson whispered to Gayle as he peered through a spyglass at the Belladonna. “Someone on deck is wavin’ at us.”

  Gayle looked through her own spyglass. “Trice me, I believe it’s Molly,” she exclaimed under her breath. “Blimey, she’s a wily scrapper.”

  Suddenly, the posted helmsman of the Belladonna began to loudly ring a brass bell and call, “Beat to quarters!” He shouted the command only once before an arrow sailed through his chest and he tumbled backward onto the deck. But the alarm had been sounded, and the crew was already starting to pour out from below decks.

  “Blast. Gleeson,” Gayle commanded, “fire the swivel gun at their decks, but mind Molly. She’s there at aft.”

  “Aye,” he said, lighting the breech-loaded gun with his linstock. With a flash, grapeshot filled the air and began to rain on the Belladonna crew to the fore of the ship.

  Their screams filled the damp night air as the shrapnel cut them down.

  “Starboard battery,” Gayle called. “Mount the muzzles.”

  Twenty-four men manned the six cannons on the starboard side of Original Sin, and at Gayle’s command, they took aim as their ship continued to close the gap between it and the Belladonna.

  Molly sprinted from the aft of the ship to the bow, wanting to get as far from the line of fire as possible and hoping that as soon as they were positioned, Original Sin would board them.

  Though about eight Belladonna crewmen had been either killed by the first strike or left so maimed that they could do little but writhe on the deck in pain, others rapidly dashed out topside to replace them. They scrambled to load their cannons so they might fire back.

  The gunner’s mate appeared from below deck, looking somewhat inebriated as well as completely panicked. Molly sneaked up behind him, glanced quickly about her, and ran her cutlass through his chest. In the pandemonium, no one seemed to notice.

  As Molly peered over to those now manning the guns, her heart lurched when she saw one gunner loading a fire cannon. This small device launched burning projectiles solely intended to ignite the sails and rigging of the target ship. “Lucifer’s bumhole,” she exclaimed.

  Three of Original Sin’s cannons launched more grapeshot at the deck of her prey, and again it ravaged the exposed crew of the Belladonna. But not all crewmen were incapacitated, and as the attacking vessel got within twenty-five yards, a single heavy cannon fired back at them.

  Gayle and the gunners on deck ducked quickly at the sound of the cannon blast, though many men were struck by shivers—the jagged pieces of flying wood caused from the impact of the shot.

  She commanded that the sails be furled and three more cannons discharged at their foe. Another round from the fire cannon was unleashed on Original Sin, and within a matter of moments, the searing projectiles had done their job and the ship was ablaze.

  Andrew quickly pulled Celia by the wrist to the waiting skiff. “Come, daughter. We must flee.”

  “But, Father,” she said, not wanting to give up so quickly. “The fighting has only just begun.”

  “Our ship is in flames. For us, it is over.” When they reached the skiff, Anne was already seated in the vessel, quietly crying. Andrew picked Celia up by the waist and put her into the rowboat.

  Celia realized that her father was right. Original Sin was on fire near the bow, as well as farther back on the starboard side. She frantically searched for Gayle, but saw only smoke and heard nothing but pandemonium.

  “Sit down, Celia,” Andrew said, and worriedly she did so. Slowly, he began to apply slack to the rope that suspended the skiff over the sea. As the boat gradually descended, Celia’s heart was nearly breaking.

  She and Andrew each manned an oar, with Anne continuing to sniffle and openly cry, but no one spoke. They rowed east, as Gayle had instructed, while the sounds of battle continued in the distance—growing ever fainter. The fog remained thick and oppressive.

  When at last Celia could hear only the slapping of the oars on the water, she wanted to join Anne in weeping.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The crew of Original Sin swiftly cast their grappling irons, pulled the two ships together, and began to board the Belladonna. The younger lads carried loads of grenades—wooden orbs filled with bits of iron and gunpowder. One by one, they lit the fuses and lobbed them any place the enemy crew began to gather, such as by the cannons. Gayle watched Hyde cleverly drop several down the hatches to slow the pace of their foes’ emergence on deck.

  The smell of sulphur and the cry of the wounded filled the air as the battle raged. Gayle had already fired and discarded both her pistols, and was now deftly wielding her cutlass as another man emerged to take her on. Several yards away, Molly fought at her side.

  “Good to see ya, Cap’n,” she called, kicking her adversary in the genitals and then running her cutlass through his breastbone.

  “I see you’re managing well.” Gayle struck at her sweaty opponent.

  “Been getting by, I have.” Molly turned and swung her blade at another Belladonna crewman.

  Gayle’s foe lashed out at her, and his blade sliced the air loudly, forcing her to leap backward. “You great prick!” With renewed anger, she swung back, causing her adversary to stumble and fall in his haste to position himself. She thrust her blade through him before he had even fully landed on the deck.

  Behind her, she saw Original Sin ablaze. “Churchill, get everyone onto the Belladonna. The flames are too high to fight.”

  “Aye,” he called from the opposite deck, and darted off to gather all remaining crewmen.

  “If I didn’t trust my own eyes, I’d swear you to be a specter,” Cr
enshaw hissed, appearing before Gayle with his blade drawn. “Haven’t I already killed you once, you piddling whore?”

  She narrowed her eyes in recognition and assumed a defensive stance. “It seems there is no limit to your failure.” She arced her blade at him aggressively.

  “I would have thought the taste of your own blood would have curbed that insolent tongue of yours.” With that, he lunged at her expertly, his cutlass narrowly missing her as she spun away. “But apparently not.”

  “It’s only insolence if it’s not true. And when I say that I’m going to carve out your heart for killing my crewmen, believe every fucking word of it.”

  Their blades clashed, and Gayle advanced on Crenshaw with renewed fervor. He frowned. “What bravado you possess.” He swung at her three times in succession, and she adroitly blocked each blow. “No wonder the wenches vie for your attention. Pity you have no member to properly service them.”

  “Shed no tears for me,” she countered, a bit out of breath. “I manage well enough. Better than one who has a member that lies feckless in his breeches.”

  She sliced across his groin, cutting through his pants and catching him off guard. His eyes flashed angrily. “Bitch!” He advanced on her, but she countered him again. “It’s a pity for you that tavern wench sold you out. But I’ll enjoy returning to her and regaling her with the story of your death.”

  Gayle’s cutlass struck his as she recognized the weight of his heated words. “Desta,” she murmured. “Of course.” She swung her blade into his again, spun quickly away, then struck once more, this time slashing his left side open.

  Crenshaw cried out and moved his hand protectively over the wound as blood began to color his shirt.

  “Are you even trying?” she taunted him.

  He screamed wildly and launched his body at hers without heed.

  Gayle evasively crouched, bringing her cutlass up only as he moved within range. She angled her blade upward, and it ripped through his lower abdomen, embedding itself in his lower pelvis. Slowly standing, she pulled the blade up into his body even deeper as his shriek intensified. She stared him in the eyes malevolently as she sawed up even higher—the cutlass now well into his rib cage. His arms lay at his sides limply as his blood poured onto the deck and his blade fell from his weakened grasp.