Chronicles of the Dragon Pirate

by David Talon

  Glancing at Captain Harry Hawkins, as I knew he had to be, I said, “That you obey the captain’s orders.”

  He nodded, as if I’d passed some test. “Obviously you’ve done this before.”

  “Yes sir. When my foster-mother healed people in St. Augustine, Smoke would go with her, but I always had to tell her to follow Belle-M’ere’s instructions each time.”

  “We only listen to those we draw strength from,” Jade answered. “Your orders, captain?”

  He asked her, “Have you taken stock of the galleon?”

  “I have. The ‘Black Narwhale’, a captured galleon as you have seen, with close to one hundred crew, all fully awake, several Artifact swivel guns mounted on the deck rails, bronze cannons, but no Artifact weapons except for their large gun mounted on the stern, a number of prisoners and a great deal of treasure.”

  The men around us made a hungry sound as the captain asked, “Having taken stock of us and them, can we storm their ship and prevail?”

  “You cannot,” she answered without hesitation. “They, on the other hand, could take our ship, though at a grievous loss to themselves.”

  His dark look returned. “We need more Artifact weapons,” he said as he glanced at me, which made me uneasy, “but that’s a matter for another day. Today we need to keep them off the Davy without a fight.”

  One of the crew called out, “We could just sail away.”

  Captain Hawkins shook his head as he looked back at the Queen Anne’s Regret. The ship’s bow was higher than ours, so we could see little, but I began to hear men cry out to us, the sailors finally realizing they were in trouble. “The Artifact cannon mounted on their stern fires shells at long range, and if we run they’ll wait until the right moment and fire upon us.”

  “But cannons ain’t accurate from far away,” the bald headed pirate with the gold hoop in his ear called out.

  “They don’t have to be,” the tall African Jeremiah had called Mr. Smith said in a deep rumble. He was totally bald and bare-chested, his skin covered in old scars and tattoos. “When it fires, the shell gets close to the target and breaks apart into clusters which explode over a wide area.”

  Beside me, Jeremiah called out, “You’ve fought these men before?”

  “Not this crew,” Mr. Smith answered, “but men like them, as has the captain and Redbeard too.”

  I was taken aback. “Redbeard...as in ‘the’ Redbeard?” The name was a legend of ferocity among the sailors of St. Augustine, some saying he was a claimant to the throne of Scotland, forced to a life of piracy by those who would see the royal family dead. Others said he’d killed an heir to the throne, and had fled to the New World to escape the king of England’s displeasure. Regardless, all the tales agreed he was not so much a man but a force of nature, and you angered him at your peril.

  “And who else could I be?” The red-haired man answered, the men around him giving way as the large pirate walked up beside the captain. His blue eyes locked on mine a moment before he held out a hand enormous as a bear’s paw and just as hairy. “Me real name be Dava, me clan name be Wallace, and I be owing you a debt of gratitude for saving me wee daughter’s life.”

  I shook his hand, which closed over mine in a gentle grip that could’ve easily crushed my hand bones. “Tomas Rios, once of St. Augustine. So... Pepper’s your daughter?”

  Redbeard got a strange gleam in his eye. “Oh, aye...for you see, Redbeard be known for spreading his seed about from here to Cartagena, so every red-haired lad or lass in the New World be calling me Da.” I glanced at Jeremiah, who was smirking, and I knew I’d been told a tale, though I wasn’t about to call him out on it as Redbeard turned towards the captain. “So Harry, be thinking to bluff our way out of this?”

  “We’re about to find out,” the captain replied. Everyone turned towards the bow of the Queen Anne’s regret as three men approached the deck rail, while the harpy perched herself on the figurehead of the queen with her hands upraised. The creature looked like the harpy out of Greek mythology, but even though the Flyte had drifted away from us, I could still see that, in reality, she was something else entirely. The feathers on her legs were actually flaps of skin, her wings being elongated skin stretched over thin bones, but at the end of each wingtip I saw a very distinct woman’s hand.

  The three men were equally strange. Their skin was pale, the white-yellow color of old bone, without any facial hair I could see, although they had hair on their scalps white as sea-foam. Their eyes were red as heart’s blood. All of them wore dark trousers and shirts of some supple, dark leather, and black, wide brimmed hats made of leather as well. The man in the center wore a long coat and a red sash around his waist. He looked us over and, to my surprise, gave us a broad smile. “Well, well, what have we here? Captain Harry Hawkins of the Blackjack Davy, I presume?”

  The crew went deathly still as the captain walked to the very front of the bow and crossed his arms over his chest. “The same, although you have the advantage of me, sir.”

  The man wearing the dark coat touched two fingers to the brim of his leather hat. “Pray forgive my lack of manners. John Thorne, captain of dear Olde Roger’s ship, the Black Narwhale.” He placed both hands on the deck rail and leaned forward. “So, now that we have dispensed with the formalities, I would know your intentions, sir.” He motioned with one hand back behind him, towards the direction of his ship. “Do you plan to take us as a prize? We are using gold as ballast, you know.”

  “I seek only what is on the merchant ship that is of no use to you,” Captain Hawkins replied. “I have no quarrel with the Black Narwhale.”

  The three pale men chuckled. “Meaning you lack the Artifact weapons to take us on. To be honest, I lack them also, for the Dark Sisters always prefer permanently merging with their Dragons, as Victoria here discovered.” He put a hand on the harpy’s bare shoulder, who rubbed her face affectionately against his arm. “It means I do not have the luxury of making weapons, only stealing them. However, as fortune would have it, my crew only needs steel.” He looked us over, his red eyes meeting mine as he gave a sigh. “I would dearly enjoy putting our crews to the test, especially with a young, strong Dragon as the prize. But the will of my lord, dear Olde Roger, is clear. So, Captain Hawkins, I propose a truce between us, to last until one of your crew violates it...as mortals always do. I also swear we will not purposely follow you or fire upon you without good cause.” He raised his right hand. “I give you my word of honor.”

  Captain Hawkins made the same gesture, saying, “As you have mine.” He turned to the crew. “All hands stand down. Master Le’Vass, have your sharpshooters ground their weapons and remove the solid quickfire from the strikers; I don’t want a misfire breaking the truce before it begins.”

  Much of the crew turned to each other with looks of surprise and mistrust as Master Le’Vass hissed, “Mon Captain, can you trust this man’s word?”

  “The sins of the Shadowmen men are black and cold as the bottom of the sea,” Captain Hawkins replied, looking back towards the bow of the Queen Anne, “but they always keep their word.”

  Captain Thorne touched two fingers to his leather hat’s wide brim. “Well said, captain. Victoria, you may stand down as well.” He turned to one of the men beside him. “Bring her cloak and tell the cook she needs a tankard of hot soup when she is back aboard the ‘Nar.” As the pale man ran to do his captain’s bidding, Captain Thorne called after him, “Tell him to put some of that salt pork in it; Victoria’s getting too thin again.”

  As the pale man vanished from our sight, the harpy hopped onto the deck rail then onto the deck itself. A moment later she began to screech as bones seemed to break and reform, skin folding back onto itself as it rippled, and the screech changed to a woman’s scream as the harpy fell to the deck, the crew watching in horrified fascination. Jeremiah whispered, “Bloody bones...bloody, bloody bones.”

  Then the screaming stopp
ed, and a moment later a naked woman stood up. She was dark haired and although large framed, almost painfully thin as she covered her breasts and nether region with her hands. Captain Thorne had already removed his coat, and now draped it over her shoulders. She drew it tight around herself before facing him. “I failed you, sir.”

  Captain Thorne put a pale hand to her face. “You did, but you were overmatched. So I will personally see that you enjoy your punishment.” The woman shuddered as she rubbed her face against his hand, Captain Thorne drawing her to him as he touched the brim of his hat a final time to us, and led her away.

  When they were gone, everyone let out a collective breath as more men’s cries came from the aft deck of the Flyte. “Master Walters,” Captain Hawkins said as he turned around, “get the Davy ready to pull alongside the merchant as soon as the galleon leaves.”

  The fat man with the moustache like a wooly worm under his nose bobbed his head. “Aye, sir, but...Captain Hawkins, what manner of witchcraft was that?”

  “If you truly wish to know, ask Pepper,” the captain said cryptically. “Now, my ship?”

  Master Walters blew out the moustache he’d been chewing on. “Aye sir,” he said, his voice turning to a bellow as he looked about him. “You heard the captain, everyone to their stations. Move, you pox-ridden whoresons, or do you think the Shadowmen will load the booty aboard for us?”

  All over the ship men began to move, some to the rigging while others moved to the main deck. Captain Hawkins turned towards me. “Have you strength enough for another six air-golems?”

  Smoke answered the captain before I could. “Only if he eats something first, otherwise he’s going to fall over.”

  “Then it is wise I have come on deck, yes?” I turned. The voice was a man’s but with a high pitched accent I’d never heard before, and the man himself was dressed in a grey robe the color of the ship. The garment was unadorned except for the cowl, which was embroidered in strange patterns of blue thread, and covered his face but for his mouth and chin, which had a white tuft of a beard. Beside him walked a blond headed man in his twenties, wearing tattered tradesman’s clothes and carrying a wooden bowl in one hand and a blackjack, a leather tankard dipped in hot wax so it sealed the vessel and made it able to hold liquids, in the other. Glancing down, I noticed he wore a bronze manacle on each ankle.

  The man in grey robes leaned on a walking stick, and as he got closer I heard the voice of a dragon-ghost whispering in his ear, describing to him what lay ahead as Jeremiah whispered in my ear, “He’s the Davy’s other Dragon, Master Khan. He comes from the Far East, some land we’ll never see, and he lost his eyes in a great sea battle twenty years ago, or so.”

  The others, including the captain, gave way as Master Khan walked up to me. “To be precise, the battle took place almost seventeen years ago, on the 16th of December, just off the coast of the land known as Carolina.” I gave a start, for I’d been two weeks old at the time, Belle-M’ere having taken me in on the 12th, ten days after I’d been born, or so I’d been told. I heard the dragon-ghost whisper how I’d reacted, and I saw Master Khan’s mouth smile. “A long time to be blind, yes? Olde Roger is the master of the Shadowmen, and it was by his hand I lost my eyes. But Captain Hawkins took Olde Roger’s ear in a duel as the crew of the Blackjack Davy stormed his flagship and sunk her into the deeps of the ocean, so to me it was an even trade.” His voice became brisk as he glanced towards the captain. “Sky-pearl has described him, but may I see for myself?”

  “Go ahead if you want,” Captain Hawkins said. “The lad’s a lot stronger than he ought to be, but he’s been free with his strength thus far. But are you sure you want to? The last time you merged with Sky-pearl, she almost killed you when you finally let her leave.”

  “If this Tomas is as strong as our Pepper says,” Master Khan replied, “I may not have to ask Sky-pearl to leave, yes? But even if I must, I will take that chance. Sky-pearl, please be welcome inside me so I may see through your eyes for a time.”

  The dragon-ghost whispered something too soft for me to hear, and a moment later Master Khan’s manner changed. He stood up straighter and moved his head about as if he could now see through the cowl of his robe. “Sir,” I asked as respectfully as I could, “can you see through the fabric?”

  His mouth smiled. “Not as well as without it, but I will spare you the ruin of my face.” He looked me over, pulling open what remained of my shirt to reveal my ribs, to which he shook his head. Then he fingered the gold locket around my neck, asking, “What is this?”

  I took it off and placed it in his wrinkled, age spotted hand. “It belonged to Selene’s aunt. It’s a portrait of her long-lost daughter, and before she died she asked me to find word of the girl’s fate...though how I’ll do that, I have no notion.”

  Captain Hawkins took the locket from Master Khan’s hand. “I’ll see Selene gets the portrait, though the gold goes into the common hoard.”

  I hesitated before I asked, “Is she safe then, sir?”

  He gave me a hard smile. “Quite safe,” he replied, motioning for the blond headed man to bring me the bowl and tankard. As I accepted both, the captain remarked, “Once again Master Khan’s thinking two steps ahead of us.”

  The old man chuckled. “Pepper, who is having the metal ball removed by Samuel as we speak, told me what young Tomas had been doing. I still remember my first sea battle, and how I threw up my breakfast over the side right before it began, although I doubt we even gave you time to eat.” I shook my head no, and he pointed at the tankard. “Drink the blackjack of Sweetwater first.”

  I raised the tankard to my lips, thinking it would be only plain water. Instead, it was sweet, sour, and spicy all at once, and I drained the vessel dry. Jeremiah smiled at my expression. “Drink a jack of Sweetwater every day and you’ll never get scurvy. Sally brews a couple barrels of it every time we drop anchor near an island for a few days.”

  “Sally?”

  The others laughed at the shock in my voice, and even the captain smiled. “Jeremiah, introduce him to Sally after he’s eaten, but only after he’s put six air-golem’s under Mr. Smith’s hands. Are we clear?”

  “Aye, captain,” Jeremiah said.

  Captain Hawkins nodded, his face becoming serious again as he turned towards the old man. “Khan, I need your advice. The captain of the Black Narwhale should’ve never backed down the way he did, which means ‘dear’ Olde Roger is up to something.”

  Master Khan made an open gesture with his hands. “I am always here to serve you, honorable captain, especially now that I can see with better eyes than I had seventeen years ago.”

  They moved away as Master Le’Vass began organizing the boarding party, Redbeard right beside him. I used the carved wooden spoon in the bowl to scoop up a heavily salted fish stew, which I wolfed down while Jeremiah told Mr. Smith about my life in St. Augustine as an apothecary. I listened with half an ear as I ate, handing the empty bowl and tankard to the man with manacles on his ankles when I was finished, and as he silently took them and left, I began to take stock of the ship.

  The Blackjack Davy was long and lean, her bow and stern both rising above the middle, with a foremast rigged with two square sails, a larger one below the smaller one above, and a large sail on the mainmast sweeping back towards the stern, its boom set well above the heads of the crew. The stern steadily rose until it reached a pair of cabins, set side by side, with stairs leading up to the quarter-deck, set above the rest of the ship. There I saw a long tiller used to steer, with a crewman at the ready, and behind him a pair of poles set over the back end of the ship, where two dragon-globes set in rope baskets gently swayed.

  One of the crewmen passed by, and I turned my attention to the pirates themselves. For the most part they were dressed like any other sailors I’d ever seen, wearing stained white trousers and striped shirts, although many wore fancier shirts and better clothes. Almost everyone went bare
foot, with only men like the captain or Master Le’Vass wearing boots. But then I took a closer look. Everyone seemed to wear something colorful: bright bandanas covering their heads or circling their throats, red or green sashes around their waists, and even the ones only wearing white clothes wore gold. Dangling earrings sparkled in the sunlight as gold armbands gleamed, and gold rings adorned every hand.

  Except for one group who stood off by themselves near Master Le’Vass, and I turned my gaze upon them. They wore clothes made of animal hide and leather shoes like boots, extending up to their knees. A tall, fair haired man with a face clean shaven stood talking to Master Le’Vass, but the rest of the dozen or so men were dark haired and shorter than I was, with bushy beards and long, tangled hair. The fair haired man and two others carried Artifact muskets while the rest carried long axes meant to be swung with both hands. Jeremiah paused from speaking with Mr. Smith as he noticed the direction of my gaze. “They aren’t part of the regular crew. They’re Buccan, from the Isle of Hispaniola where Tortuga is, and their leader’s the one speaking to the quartermaster.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Lucky Luc is what the other Buccan call him,” Mr. Smith rumbled. “You’d be well advised to stay away from them if you can, for they’re French Huguenots.” At my puzzled look, he added, “They believe Dragons such as you have sold their souls in exchange for power.”

  My mouth dropped open before I caught myself and quickly shut it. “But I’d never do such a thing!”

  Mr. Smith raised a large hand to cut me off when I would’ve continued. “I know the truth of Dragons, as do many aboard. The rest care not one way or the other, so long as you fight for us. But the Buccan, at least some of them, care passionately...so avoid them if you can.”