Contents
Title Page
Front Matter
Out of Time
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Awakening
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Redemption
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Reckoning
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Historical Note
BioAmazonLinks
The Reckoning
MaryLu Tyndall
The Reckoning
Legacy of the King's Pirates 5
© 2015 by MaryLu Tyndall
Published by Ransom Press
San Jose, CA 95123
ISBN: 978-0-9908723-5-1
E-Version ISBN: 978-0-9908723-4-4
All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the author, MaryLu Tyndall.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents, and dialogues are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental
Cover Design by Ravv at ravven.com
Editor Relz Author Support Services
Lora Doncea, editsbylora.com
Out of Time
Chapter 1
San Diego, California, August, 2015
"Did you hear me? I have cancer." Morgan Shaw repeated the dreaded words to her boyfriend Jason, who sat beside her on the sticky metal bench. From the look on his face, she supposed the middle of San Diego's crowded annual Tall Ship Festival was not the best place to convey the horrid news. She'd been trying to tell him for two weeks, but he'd always been too busy with his job tending bar, too distracted with memorizing lines for one of his many auditions ... or just too plain drunk.
No doubt the condition he'd soon be in if he didn't stop gulping down the Mojito he held so fondly in his hands. He took another swig and stared at her again, his baby blues pools of shock and ... dismay? Not sorrow, not horror ... not even concern.
He squeezed the plastic cup holding his precious alcohol. It made a crackling sound even above the chatter and buzz of people passing by, the lap of waves, and the bells ringing from boats in San Diego Bay.
"Are you going to die?" he finally asked, pressing fingers to his perfectly-moussed dark hair while nodding at an attractive woman who smiled at him as she passed by.
A sharp pain stabbed Morgan at his callous tone. Even the doctor had been more tactful. Hepatocellular carcinoma, he had said. Liver cancer, Stage 3C. With chemo and radiation, she had a good chance of surviving. But she'd spotted the pity in his eyes, and when she arrived home, the Internet provided the true survival rate--less than thirty percent.
"Everyone's going to die," she returned, shifting out of the hot sun.
"Are you gonna have to go through chemo and lose your hair?" He studied her as if assessing how ugly she would be.
"Maybe." She dabbed the perspiration on her neck. "Yes, I guess. I go for my first session on Tuesday."
Why, oh why, had she allowed him to talk her into coming to this stupid festival? She hated these old boats anyway. And she didn't much care for the sea either. Last year when she'd gone whale watching, she'd spent the entire four hours puking her guts over the side of the boat. But Jason loved historical sailing boats and had bought tickets to this weekend event two months in advance. So, they'd grabbed Morgan's roommate, Tiffany, and her boyfriend, Brad, and made a day of it.
Speaking of ... where was Tiffany anyway? She and Brad had gone off to the nearest bar for take-out drinks forty minutes ago. Though her roommate's cheerleader-type exuberance normally grated on Morgan, she sure could use her help now with Jason. If only to untie the knot of tension forming between them.
By the way he was chewing his lip and glancing around, Morgan thought he might bolt. She'd expected shock. She'd expected it would take time for the news to sink in. But she'd also expected a speck of care, of concern, and perhaps even a willingness to help. After all, they'd been "dating" for nearly six months now. She still had to pinch herself to believe that the coolest, best-looking guy in San Diego had chosen her--plain, nerdy, control-freak Morgan. He'd said he'd grown tired of the model types and wanted a woman with intellect, someone like her--the lead software engineer at Qualcomm Holographic Industries. Morgan couldn't have been more thrilled. Jason was good-looking, smart, and going places. He had a way about him that made her feel special, cherished--something she'd never felt before. Yes, being his girlfriend definitely hiked her confidence up a notch and made it worth dealing with some not-so-pleasant aspects of their relationship. As in not seeing him the past two weeks due to his job at the FLUXX, and his insistence that flirting with patrons was just part of his job. "How can you expect other women not to notice my good looks?" he had said to her. Those good looks, along with his talent, were going to make him a fortune when Hollywood discovered him. And she'd be right by his side when that happened. Or so he said.
Yet as he gulped down the rest of his Mojito and avoided her eyes, Morgan feared his promises were as fleeting as the hot wind blasting over her.
A man dressed like a pirate walked by and winked at her. Across the popcorn-strewn path, a vendor selling cotton candy handed a sticky pink glob to a small boy, who immediately dove in with his entire face, much to his mother's dismay. Behind Morgan, the creak of an old boat--the Star of India, if she remembered correctly--mimicked the ache in her heart.
She suddenly felt so terribly alone.
Tossing his empty cup into a garbage can, Jason finally faced her, and she thought she saw a glimmer of care in his eyes. "But you look so healthy. Maybe the doc was wrong, got someone else's MRI or whatever mixed up with yours. I mean, you've even lost weight and look great." He flashed his straight white teeth and took her hands in his.
As usual, his touch sent a thrill spiraling through her. His fingers stroked her palm ... gently, lovingly--finally offering her a lifeline. He'd been so proud of the way she looked in her bikini that she hadn't had the heart to tell him that shedding pounds was part of the disease.
"No, they got it right," she said. "Listen, Jason, I'm going to need you. To help me through this."
"What about your parents?"
She ignored the pang in her heart. "You know my father. He just wants to throw money at it and pretend it doesn't exist. And Mom. She's hysterical, of course. She has every prayer chain in the country praying for me while she ups her meds and remains dazed, unable to deal."
Jason released her hands and began twirling the class ring on his finger. "What can I possibly do to help? Will you still be able to go out and have fun?"
Was he kidding? "I'm going
to be pretty sick." She leaned toward him and grabbed his hand again, desperate for the care in his eyes to return. "I don't want to go through this alone. I'm scared, Jason."
His hand felt limp in her grasp as he stared out over the bay. Sunlight highlighted his strong smooth jaw and wavered over lashes that were the envy of every woman.
"I can't do this." Tugging his hand from hers, he swallowed, a look of panic on his face. "Sorry, Morg. I can't do this."
"You can't do this?" Anger simmered in her gut.
"Cancer, man." He shook his head. "That really sucks. But I'm not your guy. This kind of stuff scares the crap out of me. I wouldn't be much use to you. Can you see me hanging around some hospital? Geez, I'm only twenty-three." His eyes flashed with an emotion foreign to him--shame. "I'm too young for this heavy stuff. I can't handle it. I'll only bring you down. I'm sorry, Morg. It's been fun." He stood and brushed off his designer jeans as if he could as easily brush away any remembrance of her. "Let me know how you're doing." Then turning, he strode away, drawing the gaze of every female in the vicinity.
Two men dressed in British Naval uniforms cut him from her view.
She wanted to cry. But the tears raising havoc behind her eyes refused to flow. Instead, a numbness pervaded her senses. And her mind.
A drop of sweat slid down her back beneath the cute purple T-shirt she'd worn just for Jason--the one that flattered her rather small chest. The sun seemed to halt right on top of her and engulf her in a sauna. A bell clanged down the walkway as a man called, "All aboard!" for a sailing tour of the bay.
"Honey, you look like you need this more than me." Tiffany's voice preceded a set of manicured nails surrounding a lime-colored drink decorated with an umbrella.
Morgan stared at the way the sun sparkled over the ice cubes floating on top. She never drank alcohol. Hated the stuff. She saw what it did to her father and her friends when they acted like fools. Socializing was difficult enough without becoming a slurring imbecile. Besides, the Bible said it was wrong to drink, didn't it? At least that's what her mother had hammered into her. Though the same rule didn't seem to apply to the handfuls of anti-anxiety and anti-depressants her mother downed every day.
Morgan took the drink. Rules or not, she needed it at the moment.
Yanking her Prada handbag higher on her shoulder, Tiffany sat beside her. "What happened? I've never seen you drink. Where's that hunk of a boyfriend of yours?" She swept a narrowed gaze over the crowd.
Brad strolled up in his muscle shirt and khaki surfer shorts, a plastic cup in each hand.
Morgan sipped her drink and cringed at the strong, biting taste. "Jason broke up with me," she managed to choke out as the liquor sped down her throat in a heated blast.
Tiffany splayed her designer nails over her mouth and gasped.
"Dude, that sucks," Brad chimed in with his usual enlightened comment, though his tone held more concern than Jason had expressed over her impending death.
Morgan took another gulp, wondering when the buzz would start numbing the pain. You'd think she'd be used to being dumped by now. This was the fifth time in the six years since her mother had allowed her to date at eighteen. "I'm going home." She stood.
"No way. Not letting you." Tiffany threaded her arm through hers and smiled. "We're here, so we might as well enjoy the festival. On Jason's dime, I might add. A bit of revenge, eh?" She winked, and Morgan could swear she felt a breeze from Tiffany's lash extensions.
"I don't see how touring a bunch of old boats will get back at ..." Morgan couldn't say his name. Didn't want to say his name. Had he really just broken up with her? Those tears began pooling behind her eyes again.
"The slime bucket?" Tiffany interjected, grabbing her drink from Brad.
Brad chuckled and ran a hand through his long sun-bleached hair. "How 'bout puke-worm?"
Tiffany giggled. "You did tell us to clean up our language and use more imaginative words."
Morgan had. But at the moment she wouldn't mind hearing Jason called some really nasty things. She took another swig of her drink. The umbrella jabbed her eye. Great. Plucking out the silly decoration, she tossed it in the garbage and felt the world spin.
Tiffany dragged her along, the heels of her Gucci pumps clapping over the pavement. "I know just what you need, girl. A pirate ship battle."
What did she say?
"Yeah, dude." Brad eased beside Tiffany, downed his drink, and tossed the cup. "Maybe they'll let you fire the cannons. You could pretend you're shooting at Ja--I mean puke-worm."
"I don't want to go on a boat. Pirates stink, and I don't want to run into ... what's his name. This is his festival." Morgan tugged from Tiffany's grip.
Tiffany was having none of it. Instead, she halted, and force-fed Morgan the rest of her drink. "There. The perfect cure for a broken heart. I guarantee you'll feel better soon."
As the liquor burned her tongue and heated a puddle in her stomach, Morgan couldn't help but wonder what her religious mother would think. Oddly, the thought brought a smile to her lips. But that was surely the alcohol. Morgan was a good girl. A perfect girl. She didn't drink or do drugs or lie or cheat or steal. She went to church every Sunday and volunteered alongside her mother at the children's shelter. Then why had God sentenced her to death? That singular thought had been floating through the recesses of her mind since she'd learned about her cancer, but she'd been too afraid to latch onto it--too afraid of what it meant about her--or worse, about God.
Wait ... why did she suddenly not care? What a marvelous feeling!
"See, I told you." Tiffany's perfectly made-up face began to sway in Morgan's vision.
She glanced around at the vendor booths selling ocean-themed candles, watercolor seascapes, ship models, pirate clothing ... all fuzzy and distant. The stench of hot dogs, Chinese food, and funnel cakes threatened to turn Morgan's stomach.
Brad appeared out of nowhere, waving three tickets. When had he left? "Guess who's going on a pirate battle. On some old pirate dude's ship." He stared at the tickets and squinted. "The Reckoning. Belonged to the famous pirate, Rowan Dutton from 1694. Whoa. That's totally ancient, dude." He gazed toward the wharf. "That's like over three hundred years. Wonder how it lasted so long?"
Tiffany swatted him. "It's a replica, dummy."
"Oh." He chuckled and flipped hair from his face. "C'mon. They're boarding."
Boarding? Morgan tugged from Tiffany's still-firm grip. "I'll stay here. Me and boats don't get along."
"Nonsense." Tiffany yanked her down the wharf. "It will be an adventure. And believe me, girl, you need an adventure right now."
Would her friend be so anxious to drag Morgan to an adventure if she knew Morgan was dying? Morgan hadn't had the heart to tell her yet. She wasn't ready to hear Tiffany's positive platitudes. But that was Tiffany. Always cheerful, always optimistic, the type who loved to experience new things, who feared nothing, who was always leaping from one adventure to the next.
So unlike Morgan.
"Welcome to the pirate ship Reckoning!" A man dressed like a pirate announced when the tourists were assembled on the main deck. Morgan leaned against a post and held her stomach. Tiffany and Brad had rediscovered each other and were smooching at the edge of the crowd. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, after all.
"Just a bit of history before we set sail," the man continued, marching before the tourists, the fake sword at his side blinking in the sun. "Rowan Dutton was one of the most notorious and vicious pirates to ever sail the Caribbean. But he didn't start off that way. He started as a privateer for the British with permission granted in what they called a letter of marque to capture and plunder French ships." He stopped and hooked his thumbs in a belt strung across his chest.
Half the people listened; the other half chatted or wandered around. A group of teens texted on their phones. Two young boys started climbing a rope ladder until their father dragged them down. A seagull screeched overhead. She should leave. She was never much for history.
Or pirates. But the boat was rocking, and the crowd blocked the way to the dock.
"But something happened to Captain Dutton," the man continued as he winked at an attractive woman in her twenties, then swept his gaze to a young boy standing before his parents. Scrunching his face, the guide gripped the handle of his sword and uttered, "He turned pirate! Argh!" making the boy laugh.
"Not only pirate, he turned mean, attacking any ship that crossed his path, torturing, maiming his victims. His crew was terrified of him. He even sailed with Blackbeard for a time!"
Gasps filtered among the tourists.
A little girl with blond curls approached the man and tugged on his vest. "What happened to him, mister?"
The pirate smiled down at her. "Well, little lady, like the fate of most pirates back then, Captain Dutton died before his time. In 1714." He glanced over the crowd and laid a hand beside his mouth, lowering his voice. "Killed in a duel with a jealous husband."
Figures. Morgan grimaced. Men. She searched for Tiffany and Brad, but the swarm of people wouldn't stay still. There. She caught a glimpse of them by the far railing, their faces glued together. Great. Just what she needed after her heart had been put through a shredder. Pushing from the post, she started forward, weaving through the throng.
The pirate announcer grabbed onto a thick rope leading to the sails above. "Now this magnificent ship is just a replica of the Reckoning. But there are some original pieces on board--behind glass, of course--recovered from the real ship discovered five years ago off the coast of Antigua. She was a real beauty. A three-masted British merchantman, housing twenty guns and ..." But Morgan wasn't listening anymore. Her stomach felt like someone had flipped it upside down and was trampling on it. She needed to get off this stupid boat. Fast.
"As we set sail, feel free to roam about. There are signs explaining the different parts of the ship. In the captain's cabin, you'll find a copy of a painting by the famous pirate artist, LM. Nobody knows the true identity of the artist, but his paintings of various Caribbean pirates are renowned throughout the world. Worth millions. This one is of Captain Dutton. They say 'tis a good rendering of the man."
The Reckoning (Legacy of the King's Pirates) Page 1