Unlike the crews of those ships the Malendroke had taxed or plundered, Captain O’Malley’s men never rushed onto an enemy vessel willy-nilly. Instead, there was always an order, a plan. Captain O’Malley fully believed this order saved lives––both of her men and of those she attacked.
Again, Quinn could not disagree.
There was, however, something different about the manner in which Captain O’Malley spoke this time. There was a sense of urgency––a feeling of animosity she rarely exhibited. “Here she comes, lads!” Grace yelled, her eye to the glass. “Aye, the storm is comin’ upon them too fast. The captain has no choice but ta reverse his tracks.” She laughed again. The cat and mouse game was Grace’s favorite of all.
Quinn looked over the side at the horizon and the tiny ship bobbing on top of the water. Its sails puffed and stretched as they attempted to outrun the gale that was coming. The “she” Captain O’Malley spoke of was a tempest equal to a hurricane, and it was sweeping down so quickly that the English ship had no other option but to try to outrun it and hope for the best.
Quinn doubted their best was good enough.
“My god,” Quinn murmured as the sea rose as if to meet the heavens. Suddenly, the sky was darker and the clouds lower, as if wishing to watch the mayhem of its sister wind. The sea transformed from deep green to black, with only the whitecaps giving it life.
“Hang on, laddies!” Grace yelled above the gale whipping by the very edge of the cliff that protected them. Where they sat, the wind bounced off the wall of the cove and into the middle of the sea, where the English ship, with sails now torn from their masts, bobbed helplessly. The storm had incapacitated the ship completely.
The wind, water, and waves battered the English ship as it carried her torn and lifeless sails and splintering wood closer to the cove and the awaiting crew of the Malendroke.
“Fer shite’s sake,” Connor murmured. “How in Hades did she see that comin’?”
“It’s her gift,” Innis said, withdrawing his sword. Innis and three dozen other Firsts would be the first to board. If the crew resisted, Innis would commence fighting, and Grace would then send in the Seconds and signal for the archers to shoot. She always gave men a chance to surrender first. If they were foolish enough not to, then she allowed hell to break loose.
Quinn hoped they could take the ship with little bloodshed. Killing, while often necessary, damaged the soul when it was not. Her first kill had taken her days to get over. The sensation of a man’s innards upon her sword was an awful feeling. Watching the life ooze from him was a memory she thought she would never recover from.
She’d been wrong.
Watching an enemy die became easier and easier, until she no longer carried any guilt from their deaths.
None.
But that didn’t mean she longed for a bloody battle, for she did not.
As the battered and beaten ship was released from the vise grip of the wind, Grace ordered the oarsmen to “Cut the water, boys!” and the Malendroke lurched from the cove in near-perfect timing to intercept the broken English ship. Quinn could see the name Judith painted across the side in fancy gold letterhead.
“Take ’er, fellas!” Grace yelled, and the Firsts pulled the Malendroke portside right up to the English bow and began to board the ship with loud, raucous yelling and the whooping call of the charge. “Take her hard!”
Captain O’Malley prepared the Seconds without taking her eyes off the enemy ship.
The Judith was a disaster. Masts hung limply, broken and shattered. Parts of the starboard section of the railing were splintered and destroyed. The ship had been pillaged by a wind that knew no kindness and sought no solace.
With her swords drawn, Quinn waited to board.
The Firsts landed on the deck of the ship to find it splintered and beaten. There was a short pause before they started swinging and attacking the battered and bruised crewmen, who were almost too dazed to fight back. By the time the Seconds landed on the now-bloody deck, the English were at a distinct disadvantage; exhausted from fighting the gale, they’d succumbed to the Firsts quickly and almost entirely by the time Quinn arrived.
With her two blades whirling, Quinn struck down the first man she came to before spinning around to take out a man coming far too slowly at Fitz. After several arrow shots and a few musket balls, the English started to retreat to the hold.
The English captain thought otherwise. “Keep at it! My men do not quit!” he yelled indignantly, his own sword flashing as he brought it down on one of Grace’s crewmembers. “For the queen of England!”
Quinn glanced up at the wheel to see a tall, thin man with a neatly trimmed goatee and mustache barking orders to a crew too weary to hear him.
But eventually even he knew it was time to surrender, so after losing more men to the Malendroke’s crew, he finally ordered his remaining men to stop fighting and to surrender.
His men lowered their weapons, and Grace gave the order for her men to cease fighting.
Her crew obeyed but did not lower their weapons.
“Ya are in Irish waters,” Grace said to the captain with a tone of frozen ice, “where ya will not only pay a tax fer trespassin’, but ya shall explain what it is yer doin’ here.”
The young captain stood erect, trying to equal his posture to hers. He was unsuccessful. “I’ll not be answering to a female unless she is queen,” he said in nearly-flawless Irish.
Grace’s men, to a one, muttered under their breaths.
“Oh, truly now? Well, young man, I am Grace O’Malley, queen a’ Connacht, captain a’ the Malendroke, daughter a’ Black Oak, and chieftain a’ the O’Malley clan, and if ya do not answer ta me, I will gut ya like the tiny guppy ya are and toss yer entrails over the side a’ the ship fer yer men ta use as a rope ladder. So... shall we try this again?”
The young captain cast his gaze across the deck of his ship. It was evident to everyone that he needed to concede defeat, but Quinn had seen her fair share of men already who had chosen the wrong course of action. Pride often led men to foolish ends.
“Yer sword, sir. Hand me yer sword or force me ta cut ya down in front a’ yer crew.” Grace’s voice was cold metal.
Reluctantly and with obvious ire, the young captain handed his sword over to Grace, a vein above his eyebrow twitching as he did.
“Now, lad, my men are gonna see what ya have below. If yer carryin’ ennathin’ away from my lands that ya didna buy, it won’t go well fer ya or yer men. If yer goods are from elsewhere, ya need only pay a tax, and I’ll be on me way.”
“Tax? Don’t be––”
“The third option is fer me ta assume ya are flyin’ under the English flag as an enemy ta Ireland, in which case, we will remove ennathin’ a’ value before we scuttle this ship and kill all yer crew. Would ya like ta tell me which scenario is gonna play out here?”
The captain fingered the tiny blonde patch of hair hanging from his chin that he must have believed passed for a beard. “I am neither spy nor thief. My cargo below is not from Ireland.”
Grace waved to Innis, who took a group of men below deck. “Good. Then all ya need do is pay the tax on yer cargo and be on yer way.”
The captain’s jaw quivered. “The queen will not take this kindly––”
“There is but one queen on these Irish waters, lad, and ya are talkin’ ta ’er. Yer queen, the bastard child of a woman killed fer witchcraft and heresy, is not the queen a’ Ireland or her people, no matter how loudly she says it or how many men she sends ta take it.”
“Bastard? You cannot––”
Grace stepped closer. “Oh, but I did. She is not now, nor will she ever be, my queen. If ya are here in her name, then I shall treat ya as a spy, an enemy a’ our lands, and ya and yer crew will be put down quickly and easily. Elizabeth will not gain the foothold grabbed by her greedy father. Yer Protestant plantations will not rest easy on my lands. Not whilst I live and breathe.”
The captain opened
his mouth to reply, then thought better of it.
“I see far too many English ships runnin’ up our coastline. If ya are in Elizabeth’s employ, ya need ta return ta her and tell her that the Irish wish no quarrel with her, but if she keeps sendin’ ships, we’ll be forced ta sink ’em. We will rob her blind if that’s what it takes.”
The captain slowly shook his head. “You cannot hope to stop the inevitable, Grace O’Malley. When my queen sets her sights on something, she has every means at her disposal to retrieve it.”
Grace stepped right up to him and towered over him. “First, ya shall kindly address me as Captain O’Malley. Grace is what my clan calls me, and ya are not that. Secondly, Ireland is not some dog she can call ta heel. It would be a mistake ta believe such”
“I beg to differ with you, Captain,” he spat contemptuously. “Already, many of your clan chieftains are allies of Her Royal Majesty. The civil war among your people is imminent. If you thought King Henry powerful, he was nothing compared to his daughter. Trust me. She will become a force the likes of which this world has never seen. Surrender to her now, and she will show mercy.”
“Mercy? We need not her mercy nor her leadership. Ireland shall not roll over fer her or enna other bastard Protestant monarch.”
Innis returned to the top deck, strode over to Grace, and whispered something into her ear, nodding his head downward toward the cargo hold. Captain O’Malley turned around, her eyes searching for someone and finally landing on Quinn. “Go below,” she ordered. “Now.”
Nodding, Quinn headed below, swords still drawn, with Fitz and Patrick right behind her. Before their eyes could adjust to the darkness, their noses were assaulted by a rancid odor of a combination of smells Quinn could not put her finger on. It was assaultive and grotesque. “My god... ” she choked.
Pulling bandanas out and holding them to the lower half of their faces, they made their way to the cargo hold, the stench growing ever stronger with each step.
“Mother a’ mercy,” Fitz said. “What is that?”
As Quinn’s eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, she saw what “that” was.
Lying head to foot like a line of timber was the ship’s main cargo.
Slaves.
***
“That smell... it’s comin’ from those poor people,” Fitz said, keeping his cloth over his mouth and nose.
Quinn turned to him. “Poor people?”
Fitz shrugged. “I don’t believe the slavery a’ humans is what the goddess wishes. I am no believer in it and find it a foul practice, indeed.”
This surprised her, though she wasn’t certain why.
“Good to know.” Turning her attention to the hundreds of slaves packed into the sour-smelling hold, Quinn started down the first row, her heart sinking at the thought that Shea could have been treated like this. Heavy ankle irons on, the slaves lay on the hard, splintered wood in the most deplorable conditions imaginable. The smell of urine hung heavy and stale upon nearly unbreathable air. The tiny shafts of light forced their way through cracks in the sides. “Ya see if ya can find enna other cargo. I... I am looking fer someone in particular.”
“Er... someone dark?” Fitz handed her a torch.
Quinn nodded. “Aye. A friend of mine.” As she walked down into the tight quarters, she was startled by how incredibly dark-skinned these people were. Some were so dark as to be nearly purple. Some tried to talk to her in a tongue that sounded so foreign to her it may as well have been gibberish, but she didn’t need to know the words to hear their pleading.
It broke her heart.
Row after row, she searched for Shea, until she came to the conclusion that these poor creatures had all come from the Dark Continent.
The question was, where were they going?
Making her way through the cargo hold, Quinn met back up with Fitz. “Ennathing?”
Fitz shook his head. “Only cargo a’ worth is them.” He jutted his square jaw at the slaves. “No sign a’ yer friend?”
Shaking her head, Quinn headed back up top and found Grace and the other captain in a heated exchange.
“Ya tell yer queen and ennabody else who tries ta set foot on our island ta take our people that they shall start a war with clansmen who know not how ta lose.”
The English captain nodded and handed something back to her. “If all of Ireland’s chieftains are as passionate as you, Captain O’Malley, my queen should be concerned.”
Grace turned around to Quinn. “Well?”
Quinn shook her head. “African. Slaves.”
Back to the Englishman. “Luckily fer ya, yer not carryin’ enna Black Irish. If ya were, I’d run ya through right now and feed yer men ta the water. As it were, yer gonna pay the tax straightaway and I’ll let ya continue yer voyage as long as ya take me message back ta Elizabeth.”
“You mean Queen Elizabeth.”
“As I have said, she is no queen a’ mine. Elizabeth will do, unless ya prefer I refer ta her as that bastard usurper a’ the English throne.”
The English captain hesitated and wisely chose to bite his tongue. “Paying you tax will be giving you the queen’s money.”
“Not my problem, boy. Someone stands ta make a pretty pence from yer livin’ cargo. The O’Malleys want ta make sure all cargo taken along our shores is properly taxed.” Grace leaned forward. “Or I can take it all and use yer blood fer payment. The choice is up ta ya, boyo, but ya better decide fast. I don’t have patience fer a captain who canna even grow a proper beard.”
The Englishman swore, spat, and nodded to his second, who handed Grace a pouch filled with coins.
She took it and handed it to Innis, who poured some into his hand.
“Verra well then. Ya just saved many a’ yer Englishmen from dyin’ needlessly this day.”
As Grace turned to leave, she stopped and pivoted. “Before I take leave, what’s yer name, ennahow, Captain Youngblood?”
The Englishman threw his shoulders back, stared her in the eyes and replied through gritted teeth, “Francis. Francis Drake.”
***
“How could ya be so daft?” Grace yelled so loudly from her quarters that everyone on the ship could hear her. “A man gives ya a bag a’ silver and ya didna check the whole bag?”
“I just––”
“Get out! Get fresh oarsmen. I want that fleabag ship rottin’ at the bottom a’ the sea before sundown tomorra! Go!”
Innis came out of the captain’s quarters, cloaked in shame. When he saw everyone looking at him, he began barking orders. “We’re goin’ after that fuckin’ ship, lads! Fresh oarsmen! Everra man prepare ta run ’er down!”
Quinn was starting to her post when Captain O’Malley called to her. “Callaghan! Get in here!”
She quickly made her way to the captain’s quarters.
“Sir?” Quinn’s eyes swept across a table covered in coin.
Grace reached for a coin and flicked it in the air to Quinn. “Is this the same figurehead ya showed me?”
Quinn snagged the coin out of the air and stared at the Medusa head on it. Her heart raced. “Yes sir! This... That’s what it was!” Was this the key to finding Shea at last?
“Calm yerself, lad. The useless coin might be from yer ship, but that English ship wasn’t it. We need ta catch up ta them and find out where they got it... among other things. That Drake is gonna wish he had never met me.”
Quinn could only stare at the coin in her hand.
“Don’t worry, Callaghan. We’re gettin’ closer and closer. I can feel it in me bones, and ya know how good me bones are.”
“I do.” Quinn turned to leave. “Is that all, sir?”
“Whoa, there. Wait one moment.” Grace placed her palm on the door.
Quinn stopped. Her jaw was set, her chest heaved.
Pushing a chair toward Quinn with her foot, Grace commanded, “Sit.”
“But––”
“Wasn’t a request.”
Quinn sat.
&
nbsp; “Now, I won’t have personal vendettas gettin’ in the way a’ how I run this ship. I understand this is important ta ya and all, I truly do, but ya go off half-cocked, and ya put everra man on this vessel in danger. I won’t have that. Now, we are gonna do everrathin’ in our power ta catch up ta that bastard’s little slave boat, but until we do, I need clear heads. Do ya catch my meanin’?”
Quinn nodded and tried to draw more even breaths. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. I like ya, Callaghan. I really do. I’d hate ta have ta put ya ta ground, but I will if ya can’t stay concentrated on the ship as a whole. I got no patience fer a one-man show.”
Quinn nodded. “I understand. I’ll keep working hard, as I always do.”
“Good. And when we catch that scallawag Drake, I’ll deal with him first and then ya can ask him whatever ya want, but ya go off, and I’ll put ya down as fast as a man can look at ya. Agreed?”
Quinn rose. “Agreed. Thank ya, sir.”
As Quinn turned to leave, Grace said, “Ya know, ya aren’t like the rest a’ my men, Callaghan, and yet they have accepted ya as one a’ ’em... one a’ us. Don’t spoil that. Friend or no friend, promise or no promise, a family such as my clan and my ship are hard ta come by. Think about that while yer workin’.
“Yes, sir. I will.”
When Quinn returned to the deck, her post had already been filled. Such was the way of the tight-knit crew on the Malendroke.
Grace O’Malley was right about this ship as a family. Quinn had bonded with men her father wouldn’t have bothered speaking to, yet these pirates would give their lives for her and she for them. There was something comforting in knowing that. She would, as Grace had ordered, keep her head.
“What did she say?” Patrick asked when Quinn joined him at his rope.
“To keep my head. The Judith had coins on it with the Medusa head on them.”
“What? Are you sure?”
Quinn showed the coin to him. “You know what’s been bothering me? Why on earth would a corsair ship stamp its figurehead on a coin?”
Patrick pulled the rope with all his body weight before answering her. “The better question is, what were the English doing with it?”
The Pirate's Booty (The Plundered Chronicles Book 1) Page 13