King of My Nightmare (King of My Nightmare, Book 1): Endless Horizon Pirate Stories

by Cristi Taijeron

  Soon enough, the misty air took on a salty scent, and with it, the breeze became thicker, pushing our ship quickly through the pass. Before long, we were crossing the bar from the fresh water river into the salty sea.

  Once we made it beyond the waves, and Autumn Moon settled down and stabled on her course, I looked back at the shore. All sixteen of my years had been spent on that solid piece of ground. I had never before imagined that I would end up viewing it from the ocean. But I was, and I was also ready to leave it behind. Turning away from the land that held my sweetest memories, along with my darkest nightmares, I stared across the great expanse of water.

  I had dreamed many times of what the ocean would look like, but I never could have imagined the glory my eyes were now beholding. As far as I could see, there was dark and grey water. It was tossing and turning, stirring up foam and froth beneath the cold grey clouds tumbling across the sky. At this point, it was hard to tell where the sea ended and where the sky began, but I was on my way to find out.

  Part III

  Wild Atlantic

  Atlantic Ocean

  Summer of 1641

  Chapter 9

  Worse than a Ghost

  Standing watch from the crow’s nest, I stared across the blue sea looking for approaching sails on the horizon or foul weather in the sky. Finding nothing unpleasant in sight, I ended up spending most of the fine afternoon daydreaming. Watching the water toss—every now and then leaping enough to make white foam—I found myself thinking of the green fields back home. Much like how the grassy meadows were moved by the wind, the ocean lifted and lowered and occasionally swayed back and forth. But unlike the fields, the sea did not need the wind to move her.

  The ocean had a mind of her own, and danced under her own will. She was moody and vast and rather than changing color with the seasons, she reflected the light of day, displaying a wide array of emotions throughout a small span of time. In the morning she showed herself in shades of pink, yellow, and grey, reminding me of the way Pauline used to arise beside me with sleepy eyes and messy hair. By noon the colors of blue were so deep and vibrant, like Vera’s eyes, and her energy kept me company just the same as I sweat through my hard day’s work. But by sunset she was red and gold, enticing me much the same as a temptress, like Bridget, who somehow bound me to her passion, yet left me feeling somewhat lonely at the same time. Then there was the night, which was like nothing and no one I had ever seen or experienced before. With no more than a sliver of a moon looming overhead, she was black and mysterious, like a witch hiding behind a cloak of darkness. This far into the sail, I plenty well understood why the ocean was referred to as she, for she had engulfed my spirit with the same power of a woman’s enchanting spell.

  Two weeks had passed since my silent love affair with the sea began. Other than falling in love with her, I had also become quite efficient in my new trade. Maintaining the condition of the ship wasn’t much different from the carpentry I had done all my life, and laboring alongside my newfound brothers reminded me much of working with my grandfather and neighbors in the fields. But sailing, ah, this was all new. Scaling the shrouds had become routine, and the height of the yards was far less intimidating, but the art of working with the wind captured every bit of my interest. Though there seemed to be a pattern to some of it, and certain things led into the next, I still had a great deal to learn about the winds and tides before understanding the timing behind Boa’s commands. The challenge kept things interesting, and assured me that I would not grow weary of this job any time soon. Boa’s fat mouth on the other hand, I grew weary of that shit long ago.

  While all of us poked at each other—most getting extra digs in on me because I was new—our jesting was friendly. But Boa was just plain mean. He thought he knew everything about all there was to know, and made it clear that no one else could ever be as wise as he about any subject we discussed. It was plain to see that the men onboard were intimidated by his confidence, and according to their whispers, I had gathered that they were indeed frightened by the tales he told about all the men he had killed. His head was so big with pride, that it was hard for me to tell what was true and what was exaggerated to glorify his self-appointed legend. Either way, he annoyed me and I found it best to keep my distance from him.

  Yet, even now, as I stood up here in the crow’s nest, I could hear Boa picking at the men. While I focused on the ocean view and struggled to ignore his bantering, Barlow began scaling the shrouds to swap shifts with me. Reaching the nest, he shook his head. “Maybe if we get lucky, Boa will blow himself overboard with all the hot air he’s blasting out of that fat mouth of his.”

  By now, it was clear to me that Barlow felt comfortable enough with me to say what he thought about whom, yet I still found it better to keep my negative opinions to myself. “Ah, well the captain seems pleased with his work, so I guess that counts for something.”

  “The captain doesn’t see him at his worst, though, you know? Boa’s the type of mouse who plays while the cat is away, and play he will while Burton and Dabney are hard at work over the maps with that damn Aaron Jenson. By the way, I don’t think Jenson is half as good a navigator as he claimed to be—but we can talk about that later. Just take caution down there, Bentley.”

  Beginning my descent, I said, “I always do.”

  The moment my feet hit the wooden planks of the main deck, I saw that Boa was barking at Peckadennel. They were working away on the deck, sealing any lose planks with tar and oakum.

  “Don’t think you’re done over here, bug eyes,” Boa shouted at Peck, who was preparing to pour tar over the newly laid oakum.

  Leaving his job unfinished, Peck rushed over to where Boa was rubbing his bare paw over the section he had recently sanded.

  As Dennel picked up the pitch ladle Peck had dropped, he grumbled something under his breath.

  From where I stood, I could not hear what Dennel said, but Boa heard and did not seem to like it. Stomping toward the pile of hot pitch Dennel was now pouring over the oakum, Boa said, “What’s that you say, Dennel? I want to be sure I heard you right.”

  Nervously, Dennel mumbled, “Nothing. I didn’t say a thing.”

  Crossing his boa constrictor arms over his chest, Boa snarled, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you said something about how I should mind my own business.”

  “I wouldn’t say that, Mister Bosun, sir.” Dennel whimpered.

  Boa knelt down across from the steaming pitch, lifted Dennel’s chin, and looked him in the eyes. Having gained full attention of his victim, Boa let go of Dennel’s chin and patted the red scarf he wore atop his own long black locks. “You see this headscarf, Dennel?”

  Dennel nodded.

  Boa continued, “I took this from a corsair I killed in the straits of Gibraltar. And this scar,” he traced the crescent shaped scar under his right eye, “this is from his curved dagger, which I also keep. Would you like to know why I killed that man?”

  Appearing too terrified to move at all, Dennel faintly shook his head.

  All eyes onboard were watching this ridiculous show, and with the captain and Dabney working in the cabin, there was no one there to stop it.

  “I believe you meant to say yes,” Boa pulled on Dennel’s beard, forcing his head into nodding.

  While I thought about how I would punch Boa if he ever laid a hand on me, he stood up and explained to his audience, “That corsair was grumbling about me behind my back. So, take this as a warning, men.” He put his barefoot on Dennel’s forehead, and slowly pushed until the round old dolt rolled over to his side. While Boa’s men laughed like mean little demons, the rest of the crew stood there like helpless fools as Dennel laid there in shame.

  Feeling sympathetic for Dennel—who had shown himself to be dumb but kind—I went over and offered him a hand.

  Boa’s men booed as I helped Dennel to his feet.

  “Well, isn’t that sweet,” Boa droned.

  Smedley, Boa’s meanest and closest
following arse wart, teased me, “Are you going to take him back to your cabin and comfort him?”

  “Wipe his wee baby tears,” Tennison, the helmsman, sniffled.

  Rupert acted like he was crying, and Walsh and Jones hugged him and patted his back.

  Under different circumstances, their dramatics may have been funny, but not now. Not today. Matters worsened when Boa silenced his posse and stepped in my direction. He didn’t say a word, but judging by his hateful gaze, I assumed he wanted me to back down and cower in his shadow like the others did. I didn’t. I couldn’t. My grandfather taught me it was a man’s job to stand up for his family name, and I couldn’t for a second let them think that Bentley was a name to belittle.

  Unsure of just how I could handle this, without risking my job, I straightened my shoulders and steeled my eyes at Boa, waiting for him to make the first move.

  He took a step closer. I stood my ground. The tension laying heavy in the cool misty air seemed to be the only thing holding us apart as we stared each other down.

  Before another word was said or move made, Captain Burton came out of his cabin. Taking note of the way Boa and I were facing off—surrounded by a crowd of silent and somewhat tremulous men—he carefully worked his way between us. “What’s going on out here?”

  Looking toward the captain, Boa answered, “Bentley over here thinks he has a right to question my authority. Feels he’s above the orders and I’ll not stand another moment of it.”

  Stunned by his outlandish lie, I winced in confusion.

  Of course, his men chimed in with tales of my so stated rebellion against the bosun’s orders. Not one man who knew I was in the right spoke a word on my behalf.

  “Is that so?” Captain Burton stroked his beard as he eyed me over.

  Not wanting to tattle like a helpless child, I said, “It won’t happen again, sir.”

  “You’re damn right it won’t,” he firmly stated, making me feel terribly small under his powerful scowl.

  Regardless of how foolish I felt, I kept my arms at my sides and held strong in my stance until he finally broke the stare.

  “Disperse, the lot of you!” Captain Burton waved his hands around.

  I wasn’t sure if he had planned to talk to me or not, so I waited for him to release me, personally.

  “You, too, Bentley, Get to work.” He fanned me away like a fly, and started talking with Boa.

  Walking away, I thought over the situation, wondering how I could have handled it better. But in truth, I hadn’t done anything daring or disruptive toward the captain or even to his crew. All I had done was show Boa that I was not afraid of him, which, for the first time led me to think that maybe I should be. As the afternoon went on, I was sure of it. Boa’s posse, which had until now been only irritatingly insulting, were now glaring at me with looks of great disdain. And anytime I caught eyes with Boa, he squinted at me in a way that led me to believe he was plotting my death.

  I kept to myself the rest of the day, but all the while, my mind rapidly replayed the many tales told of Boa’s murderous exploits. By the day’s end, I found myself feeling overly exhausted by my own tormenting thoughts. As the sun fell low on the horizon, painting the clouds and the ocean like the flames of a fire, I stood near the taffrail alone to catch a breath of fresh air and to ease my weary mind.

  Just before the burning orb dipped into the sea, Captain Burton came to join me. Leaning against the rail, he stared at the horizon and said, “I want to talk to you about what happened today.”

  Worried about what he may have to say, my body tensed up. Reserving my worries, I accepted his presence with a nod.

  He crossed his arms. “I’ve been watching you since we left England. Taking note of how hard you work and how well you get along with everyone, I don’t for a second think that you were intentionally causing trouble out there. As for Boa, he likes to know the most and be the best and certainly wouldn’t want a fresh young sailor like you showing him up. But the truth is, he is an officer on this ship and under his command, Autumn Moon is sailing swifter than she ever has. So, regardless of his attitude, I need you to toe the line and do your best to keep the peace out there.”

  Relieved that he had seen things for what they truly were, I felt a huge weight lift from off my shoulders. “I understand, sir.”

  “Good. That’s one more reason I like you. Now, tell me, how do you like sailing so far?”

  Glad to hear him change the subject, I started talking with him about the experiences I was having. Standing there at the stern, we laughed and joked, as well as shared words of wisdom and tales of our youth until the sky fell dark. I truly liked Captain Burton, not just as my officer, but as a man, and I would be honored to continue sailing for him, with or without Boa bothering me along the way.

  After saying good night to the captain, I wandered down to the berthing quarters, ready as ever to call it a night. It was well after eight bells, so the lights were already out and I had to slip through the halls in the darkness. Finally reaching my hammock, I sat down on the floor beneath it and opened my sea bag. My eyes had adjusted just enough to the night that I was able to see the few items that mattered to me. First, I pulled out the Holy Bible. Eyeing the words on the cover, I thought of how I needed to read soon, but it was too dark for that. After putting the book away, I saw the coat I had worked so hard to earn, I touched the feather on the hat Pauline had given me, and was able to see Vera’s forge mark on the weapons we made…but wait…my other knife was missing. Rapidly sifting through the bag, I searched all the pockets in it and my coat, then proceeded to dump everything out. Nowhere. Nothing. What the hell happened to it?

  Hearing footsteps from behind me, I held tight to the one knife I had and turned to face the approaching man.

  Of course, it was Boa.

  “Are you looking for something?” A surly grin crossed his now bearded face.

  “In fact, I am.” Feeling threatened by his devious smirk, I stood up. “One of my knives is missing.”

  “That’s a shame. I hear you made them yourself.” He stood tall and casually and stroked the length of his beard.

  “I did,” I answered. Judging by his tone, as well as his expression, I was certain he had something to do with this, but I wouldn’t dare accuse him. I would, however, keep a better eye on him from here on out.

  Passing me to get to his hammock, he patted my shoulder, which caused me to tense up. Ready to fight, but trying not to make any sudden moves, I stood as stiff as a board as he skillfully balanced across the teetering planks and then smoothly got into his hammock.

  Even after two weeks, I struggled to balance between the teetering deck and the swaying hammock, so with very little grace, I hopped onto the piece of canvas I now called my bed. Hearing the timbers creaking, the men snoring, and the waves gently splashing against the hull, I laid there, wide awake, holding tight to my knife.

  I loved sailing and the sea herself, as well as most of the friends I had made, but there was nothing nice about sleeping two hammocks down from the supposed murderer who I was certain had stolen one of my handmade weapons. Taunted by my mind’s conjured visions of Boa swiftly and silently rising from his hammock and slitting my throat as I slept, I tossed and turned and fell in and out of restless slumber until my eyes accepted the light of a new day.

  X

  “You feel that?” Billy Barlow waved his hand around, slicing the humid air like a piece of pie. “That is the Caribbean heat. I reckon nothing will make you miss home quite like it.”

  “Like you need one more reason to sweat the way you do.” I leaned back in the crow’s nest and chuckled. Hating the heat of the day as he did, Barlow had been keeping ghost watch, and since I hadn’t been sleeping much these days, I often climbed up here to watch the sunrise with him.

  Staring across the grey face of the sea—slowly brightening with a faint golden glow—he wiped his sweat drenched forehead. “You’re telling me. Shit. I’m like a damn tropical rain cl
oud, and the sun hasn’t even risen.”

  Suddenly feeling a bit tired from my lack of sleep, I stretched out my sore and overworked arms and yawned, “With all the stories I’ve heard about the Caribbean, I assumed the weather to be nice, but I don’t like it much at all.”

  “Eh, you’ll get used to it. And there are good things about The New World that make it worthwhile.”

  “Like what?” I asked as a warm breeze blew flyaway hairs out of my braid and across my face.

  “Aqua waters, palm trees, white sandy beaches…” Feeling soothed by the way the ship dipped and rocked over the rolling swells, I rested my tired head against the rail and drifted off into visions of the tropical paradise he was explaining. “But best of all, I like the good quality whores there.”

  Awoken from my daydreams, I sat up and laughed, “Good quality whores?”

  “Aye. A friend of mine owns a nice little brothel by the harbor on Barbados. At The Brass Knob, the liquor is tasty, the music is good, and the whores are clean and pretty. That place alone makes the trip across the wild Atlantic one worth taking over and over.”

  Thinking back on my grandfather’s strongly adverse opinion on the prostitution trade, I shook my head. “I like tasty liquor and good music, but I have no interest in whores.”

  “Ah, don’t try to act better than your kind, Bentley. Whores are the best thing that ever happened to sailors. We can come and go, they take care of themselves when we leave, we can have different ones all the time, and they know how to keep from getting heavy with child. Whores offer all the joys of having a woman without any of the troubles.”