Cutlass

by T. M. Franklin

  “Oh, I think you have that wrong.” Kane’s smile fell, his shoulders squared, and his black eyes took on a flinty quality. “You see, Jack, it’s you who are surrounded.”

  And with that, a group of men appeared, stepping out of the trees with their weapons drawn. Jonathan felt the press of a flintlock into his back and jerked suddenly.

  “Now, now, no sudden movements,” a heavily accented voice whispered into his ear. “Wouldn’t want to shoot you accidentally, after all. Much more fun to do it on purpose.”

  Jonathan let out a defeated breath. He recognized that voice.

  “Renard,” he muttered.

  “One and the same.” The pistol poked harshly into his back. “Drop your weapon.”

  He thought about refusing—thought about trying to fight—but when one of Mattias’ crewmen stepped forward with an arm around Sarina’s throat and a pistol at her temple, all the fight went out of him. They were outnumbered again. Kane had won.

  So he dropped his sword, and at Mattias’ direction, pulled the dagger from his belt and allowed it to fall to the sand, as well. His men followed suit, then were herded into a cluster surrounded by Renard’s men as Kane’s retrieved their weapons.

  “Captain Renard has proven to be a valuable ally,” Kane said, standing in front of Jonathan with his sword swinging lightly from his fingertips. “Looks like you’ve made some enemies along the way, Jack. Fortunately, it’s been to my advantage.”

  “And mine,” Mattias added, spitting at Jonathan’s feet. “It appears your luck has run out, Tremayne.”

  The journey back to the Arrow was considerably more tense and less quiet. Kane’s men laughed loudly, pleased with their success, and the crew of the Lady seemed equally thrilled. Jonathan had no doubt that Kane had promised a significant reward for his capture, let alone that of his ship, and he felt sick thinking of the treasure in his hold which was sure to be liberated quickly—not to mention the cutlass and the locket.

  And the Arrow itself. He gritted his teeth at the idea of Kane captaining his ship.

  Renard had left a half-dozen dinghies on the shore, and his and Kane’s men rowed back to the ship—taking Sarina with them—while Jonathan’s crew swam, flintlocks pointed at them the whole way. Through the blur of water on his face, Jonathan could see Sarina sitting grim-faced between the grinning Frenchman and Kane—the bastard—and he considered trying to upend the dinghy, just to see what might happen.

  He didn’t, of course. Even if he survived, he had no doubt that Kane wouldn’t hesitate to kill any of his men—or Sarina—for such a transgression. At the moment, Jonathan’s goals were simple. First, stay alive. Second, keep the crew alive. Third, escape. Fourth, stay alive.

  They treaded water off the stern while some of Kane’s men boarded the Arrow first, then climbed the ropes and fell to their knees on the deck while they waited for the rest of the enemy to board. In the end, Jonathan’s men were locked in the hold, but he and Sarina accompanied Kane, Barton, Renard, and a couple of other crewmen to Jonathan’s quarters.

  “It’s only fitting,” Kane said with a leering grin at Sarina, “since you both have played such a part in bringing me the cutlass.”

  Sarina reddened, and Jonathan could feel the rage radiating off her.

  “You’ll pay for this,” she spat. “And for what you did to my father.”

  Kane laughed. “Perhaps,” he admitted. “But you won’t live to see it.” He rubbed his chin, glancing at Jonathan.

  “I fear I’ve tired of our little games, Jack. Once I’ve gotten what I’ve come for, you and your little wench here will be taking a trip to the Locker.”

  “The Locker?” Sarina stumbled slightly, and one of Kane’s men grabbed her elbow, jerking her along.

  “Davy Jones’ Locker,” Jonathan explained. “He plans to kill us.”

  Rina knew what the Locker was, of course, after living all this time on a pirate vessel. She just couldn’t believe it had actually come to this, and she fought not to look as terrified as she felt, although she feared she was failing miserably. She eyed the man walking next to her—tall and thick with a scruff of black whiskers and arms bulging with muscle—and knew escape was not an option, at least not at the moment.

  Things didn’t look good. The crew was locked in the hold, stripped of weapons and under guard. Even though not all of Kane’s and Mattias’ men had come on board, they were the only ones armed, so they clearly had the advantage. Still, if there was one thing Rina had learned during her time on the Arrow—one thing that Jonathan had taught her—it was to always be on the lookout for an opportunity. They just had to be patient and stay alive, and when the chance presented itself, they would find a way to escape.

  After killing Kane, of course. Rina found she craved the idea, even though she still doubted she could do the deed herself. The man was pure evil and deserved to die, and she was certain no one would mourn his passing. In fact, she was relatively certain many would celebrate.

  So she bit her tongue and kept her eyes open as Kane entered Jonathan’s quarters, Renard and Barton following behind him closely. The other two crewmen stood outside the door, weapons at the ready, and she shared a look with Jonathan before they entered as well, the door closing quietly behind them.

  “Have a seat,” Kane said, setting a large oilskin bag on Jonathan’s desk and indicating the two chairs in front of it with a wave of his hand. Once they were seated, Barton standing behind them with his flintlock at the ready, Kane turned to retrieve the cutlass from the shelf behind the desk. He smiled and drew it from the sheath to admire the gleaming blade.

  “Well, it’s been a bit of trouble, but well worth the effort in the end,” he said, whipping the sword through the air and making Rina jump. He grinned at her and sheathed the cutlass. “This makes the second time I’ve had to steal it, but at least it will be the last.”

  “You bastard,” she snapped. “You could have just taken it. Why did you have to kill him?”

  Kane raised a brow. “Well now, lass, I’m afraid that was your father’s fault. I intended to leave him alive, but he just wouldn’t let things go.”

  Rina’s eyes filled with hot tears of fury, and she blinked them back desperately.

  Kane didn’t seem to notice. “He did seem rather partial to you, though, if that’s any consolation.”

  “Don’t you talk about him!” She felt a squeeze and looked down in surprise to find Jonathan holding her hand. She took a deep breath, trying to rein in her anger. It wouldn’t do any of them any good, and she needed to think clearly.

  “Enough of this,” Kane said, setting the sword on the desk. “Tie them up and help me look for the chest.”

  Without another word, Barton went to the door and returned with a length of rope from one of the guards. He directed Sarina and Jonathan to sit on the floor and quickly tied their wrists and ankles together, slicing through the rope with deadly precision. He manhandled Sarina around—ignoring Jonathan’s warning growl—until they were back to back, then tied their bound wrists together.

  Meanwhile, Kane and Renard went through Jonathan’s trunk, tossing items aside and pocketing anything of value. Renard smashed the table, smiling gleefully at Jonathan as he did it, and upended the chessboard, purposely taking a few of the pieces. Barton pulled out the desk drawers, methodically dumping the contents on the floor.

  “It’s not here,” Mattias said once they’d reached the bottom of the trunk, just as Barton reached the locked drawer.

  “Ah,” Kane said, eyes flashing as he noticed Jonathan’s jaw twitch. He crossed to the desk, pulling a dagger from his belt to pry open the lock. “Let’s just see what we have here, shall we?” With a low click, the drawer opened, and Kane laughed, pulling out the chest and Mellick’s journal.

  “That’s it,” Renard confirmed. “That’s the one he took from my ship.”

  Kane seemed a bit irritated, as though he hardly needed the confirmation, but said nothing and opened the chest. It o
nly took a few minutes with the journal to confirm the locket was the key.

  “Now,” he said, gathering up the coins in the chest. “Which of these is the coin?” He held his open palm out to Jonathan, who only glared at him in response. “No matter,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll take them all. Now that I have everything I need, the treasure will be mine in short order.” He gathered the items, sliding them carefully into the oilskin bag, along with the cutlass, the sheathed blade sticking out a few inches once he pulled the drawstring closed.

  “Time to go ashore,” he said to Barton.

  “What of them?”

  Kane waved a hand dismissively. “Leave them here. Guards at the door.”

  There was no mistaking the disappointment on Barton’s face. “But I thought—“

  Kane stepped closer to Jonathan, looming over him silently until he looked up. “I want them alive when I find the gold,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “You’ll see me win, Jack, and then you’ll die.” With that, he turned to leave the room, Barton and Renard following closely behind him. Rina heard him relay quiet orders to the men outside, then the disappearing footsteps as they headed toward the deck. She shifted, pulling against the ropes.

  “There’s no point,” Jonathan said quietly. “They’re tight. If we can get to the other side of the desk, maybe I can find something . . .”

  “Jonathan—“

  “They took all the weapons out of the trunk . . .”

  “Jonathan—“

  “Perhaps I can break a piece of pottery without raising an alarm . . .”

  “Jonathan!” Sarina hissed, yanking against his bound wrists.

  “What?”

  “Lie down.” With that, she threw her weight to the side. Jonathan, surprised at the movement, fell with her with a slight oof.

  “What are you doing?” he asked as she wiggled around, arching backward slightly.

  “I can’t quite get it. Your fingers are longer. Can you reach my boot?”

  She heard Jonathan laugh under his breath. “Bloody hell, Smith. You have your dirk, don’t you?”

  “Of course. It’s always best to be prepared.”

  Jonathan stretched out his fingers, speaking through gritted teeth. “Almost . . . just a little bit more . . .”

  Rina shifted, her muscles straining as she stretched her ankles toward Jonathan’s questing fingers. She held her breath as she felt him fumble with the top of her boot, only exhaling when she felt the slide of the dirk pulling free of the leather.

  Within minutes, he had them cut loose and they stood, smiling at each other.

  “Now what?” she whispered.

  “We need weapons.”

  They scoured the wreckage of the room in silence for a moment, then came together again near the door. Jonathan held a large chunk of the broken table. Sarina clutched a half-empty rum jug.

  Jonathan grinned. “That seems to be your weapon of choice lately.”

  Rina hefted the jug. “They’re surprisingly durable.”

  Jonathan reached out with his free hand to grasp her around the waist and pull her in for a hard kiss. “Ready, Smith?”

  She nodded, a bit breathless, and they took positions on either side of the door. On Jonathan’s signal, they both began to yell at the top of their lungs. It only took a moment before the door flew open, and Kane’s two guards stormed into the room, coming to an abrupt stop at the sight of the ropes lying discarded on the floor.

  It was the last thing they saw for a while.

  The last thing they heard was the loud crack of wood hitting bone and the smash of a rum jug against a hard skull.

  Progress is quicker than I expected, yet slower than I’d hoped. Soon, I will be able to begin relocating the treasure to the new, more secure location. However, with every day, I dread what I fear I must do to protect it.

  Gold can purchase secrets, and I have been very careful that only a select few men know all of mine. But those few are a risk, and one that I must eventually deal with.

  - The Journal of Simon Alistair Mellick, 12 January, 1666

  Jonathan had an idea.

  He and Sarina quickly tied up the unconscious guards, stuffing a couple of scarves into their mouths to keep them quiet. They relieved them of their weapons, and Jonathan tossed a pistol and sword to Sarina, strapping the other sword around his hips and tucking three more flintlocks into the belt. Sarina headed for the door, but Jonathan stopped to dig through the mess from the trunk.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He held up a large oilskin bag triumphantly. “Looks a bit like his, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, yes . . .”

  Jonathan tossed a few items in the bag—a leather-bound book, a small box, some discarded clothing. He wrapped an empty tankard in a cloth and slipped it inside as well, before drawing it closed and throwing it over his shoulder. He turned to Sarina, who was watching him with a slight smirk.

  “What about the cutlass?” she asked, obviously catching on to his plan.

  Jonathan grinned. “Let’s get the men first, then we’ll deal with the cutlass.”

  They made their way down the dim hallway, weapons poised at the ready, but came across surprisingly few of Kane’s men. Besides the two left behind to guard them, they found four on deck—dispatched easily with a few well-placed punches and a slam to the foremast—and two more wandering the passageway leading to the hold. The men had liberated a couple jugs of rum along the way and swayed on their feet when they came face to face with Jonathan and Sarina.

  Jonathan punched one in the nose while Sarina kneed the other between the legs before Jonathan knocked him out, as well. They had both crumpled to the floor, the jugs rolling away and leaving a crooked trail of rum behind.

  “See?” Sarina said as they stepped over the unconscious men. She picked up a jug to tuck under her arm. “Durable.”

  They made their way silently toward the hold, sliding close to the walls and peeking around corners. The sound of low voices brought them to a halt, and Jonathan carefully set the oilskin bag down before drawing his sword and signaling for Sarina to do the same.

  She lifted the rum jug with raised eyebrows. Jonathan fought down a laugh and nodded instead. He edged around the corner, just enough to catch a glimpse of the two men guarding the hold. They both sat on upturned crates, passing a jug between them. Jonathan frowned. Kane’s men obviously had no discipline whatsoever.

  They were absorbed in a discussion of the merits of blondes versus brunettes and didn’t hear when Jonathan and Sarina tiptoed closer. They sprang to their feet, reaching for their swords, as Jonathan held his sword to the throat of one right as Sarina bashed the other in the head with a rum jug.

  “I think you enjoy that a bit too much,” he said wryly as the second guard collapsed to the floor.

  “It is rather satisfying,” she replied, poking the man with the toe of her boot. “And there’s much less blood.”

  Jonathan swapped his sword for a dagger, pressing it to the guard’s neck as he unlocked the door to the hold. Kicking it open with his foot, Jonathan quietly called out to his men.

  “All right ye lazy swabs, enough lying about. Time t’ retake the ship and find the treasure, if ye’ can be bothered!”

  His men shouted in response, and he turned the guard over to Hutchins.

  “Where are our weapons?” Jonathan asked, towering over him menacingly as Hutchins tightened a beefy arm around his neck. When the guard hesitated, he added, “Think carefully, man. Would ye rather deal with me, or Kane once he learned ye let us escape?”

  His men were armed within ten minutes.

  Once again, the crew of the Black Arrow picked their way through the trees on the peninsula of Virgin Gorda, however this time they were under no illusions that Kane worked alone. Jonathan hoped to accomplish his goal without notice, if possible, but nevertheless the entire crew made the journey in the event the manpower proved necessary.

  Well, not the e
ntire crew, actually. A few had apparently escaped the ambush, including Rafferty and Ceron, and had yet to turn up.

  As they neared the clearing, the men moved in practiced synchronicity, circling the area without making a sound. The parrot, thank the heavens, had been secured back on the ship, ensuring there wouldn’t be a repeat of the last attempt. Jonathan stepped forward, moving quickly from tree to tree as he searched for Kane.

  He spotted him near a large rock, huddling over the journal with Barton. The oilskin bag sat near the base of a tree a few feet away, the sheath of the cutlass glinting in the sunshine.

  Jonathan heard a soft gasp over his left shoulder and turned to see that Sarina had noticed the bag as well. He pressed a finger to his lips, and she smiled encouragingly.

  With a steadying breath, Jonathan slid through the shadows under the trees, gaze darting from the bag back to Kane and Barton. The rest of his men were absent. Evidently, Kane wanted to keep the journal to himself and had sent them back to the ship, or at least to the beach. He signaled to Max to keep his eyes open. He’d been overconfident before and didn’t want to make the same mistake again.

  “A coin to give sight?” Kane said, slapping a hand against the open book as Jonathan froze in his tracks. “What the bloody hell does that mean?” Barton, apparently, had no answer. They returned to the journal, Kane flipping pages rapidly, and Jonathan quickened his pace as well, soon finding himself an arm’s breadth from Kane’s oilskin bag.

  “I don’t understand the man’s damned obsession with the Bible!” Kane shouted, slamming the journal shut and turning on his heel. Jonathan retreated abruptly, back against the tree as he forced himself to take quiet, shallow breaths. Sarina was crouched behind a low bush, her wide amber eyes flickering from him to Kane and back again. Jonathan could hear him mumbling and finally held his breath altogether. Kane was mere feet away. Too hasty a movement, and he was sure to see Jonathan. A shift of the wind and he could probably smell him. Jonathan closed his eye, counting his own heartbeats.