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

by Cristi Taijeron

  King Boa and his loyal subjects left us alone as we worked, and by mid-afternoon we had the captain and our supplies positioned at the northern end of the same shore.

  Once everything was in place, Barlow rubbed his hands together and said. “That went smoother than I thought it was going to.”

  Peck wiped the sweat from his brow. “Aye. I thought for a moment we were going to have to live up to our promise to fight by your side, Bentley.”

  Dennel balled up his chubby fists. “I was ready for it, I was.”

  The doctor sat down in the shade of the trees. “I was not ready for it. In fact, I thought Boa was going to kill me on the spot.”

  Barlow patted his back. “But he didn’t. You stood up in your own way. We all did and I for one say it felt damn good to do so.”

  Peck and Dennel hooted in agreement.

  I felt good about the outcome as well, I did, but it was too soon to celebrate. Nothing about this was over. In fact, while glancing toward Boa’s camp and spotting him standing with his arms crossed and his deadly gaze locked solid on me, I knew the problems we’d face on this island had only begun.

  X

  July 2nd, 1641

  Sitting here, outside of the project tent we built, I write by firelight to record the day’s events.

  Earlier this morning, I explored the small island, and gathered enough information to record a clearer report on our situation. It was due to poor navigation that Autumn Moon was steered off course, and two nights ago she was caught in a storm in what is in fact the Atlantic Ocean, bordering the northern Caribbean Sea. Amidst our gallant effort to keep her afloat, Autumn Moon was thrown into a reef outside of a small, unmarked island within visible distance from the shore of what I believe to be Hispaniola.

  To increase our chances of survival, the half of us who have remained true to the captain’s command, have chosen to build a raft in order to venture onto the larger island on the horizon. The other half of the group decided to stay here on this island. Due to not only their rebellion against their captain’s orders, but their behavior regarding the matter, the captain has branded them as mutineers, and insists that I record their activities as the days go on. So far, they have been tending to their own survival and have not bothered us.

  As for us, we spent the rest of the afternoon gathering pieces from the shipwreck to begin building our raft. There were parts of busted longboats and plenty of solid pieces of timber in easy to reach places on the ship itself, as well as on the nearby shores. From the land, we found palm fronds and fallen tree branches. Barlow recovered enough of his tools to help us cut and hammer and measure, and Peckadennel were able to salvage enough pitch from their old workstations to molt a pot of tar to seam some of the uneven, makeshift planks. Also, we started digging holes to bury what was salvaged of the cargo. Considering the mutineers plans to stay here on the island, Barlow suggested we set pig pit traps around the cargo, to protect the buried crates from thievery. I agreed and began digging the pits, while he started crafting spikes and spears to place in the bottom of it. As a promise to the shipping company, we will do our best to chart our course and will eventually return to gather the crates and complete the delivery.

  Overall, I suppose I could consider this day a success. As I sit here alone by the fire to keep watch, I am thankful for making it through one more day.

  July 3rd, 1641

  Writing by the colors of sunrise, I hereby report the dreadful fact that the creek has run dry. While Barlow, Peck, and Doctor Humphry work to finish the raft, Dennel and I shall hike inland in hopes to catch some fresh water from the rocks near the pond we found on day one. In the meantime, we have one barrel left and if need be, we will have to make it last until we depart from this miserably unfruitful island.

  July 3rd, 1641

  The sun is now setting on day three. When reaching the muddy and bug infested remains of the pond this morning, we ran into Boa and his men. They were in the midst of filling their barrel from the slow drip seeping from the rocks. After arguing with Boa over the limited water supply—which he considered himself the rightful distributor of—Peck and I spent the latter half of the morning filling the barrel. Not only did it take hours to fill, but we had to stand watch over it the entire time to be sure the mutineers did not interrupt the agonizing process.

  Considering how the hike to this boulder is uphill, and quite a distance from our tent, not to mention the strength it took to lug the heavy thing back to camp, the return on the energy burned did not equate to the effort put forth to attain the life sustaining liquid.

  With our limited supply of water, we have been working slowly as to avoid over exhaustion in the beating sun and swamping heat. We agreed it would be best to put some work in tonight by firelight to make up for time lost, but now it is raining. Sitting here in our shelter—dry as of yet—we just finished off the last of our beans. Our meat is gone as well. Luckily, I caught a few lizards on the way to the pond today. But at the risk of sounding ungrateful, we all agreed that lizard is not the most satisfying meal after a long day of work in the sun—especially when forcing the meat down a dry and parched throat.

  With the lack of substantial food and water, atop the horrendous heat surrounding our overworked bodies day and night—I can feel the morale of the men fading. Yet, it is the sufferings that plague us that give us the strength to carry on. The only hope we have is to keep building and to soon enough, start rowing.

  July 4th, 1641

  Due to horrendous rains and winds, work on the raft has come to a complete halt. Rather than progressing on our escape from this dreadful place, we are further trapped within its clutches. From where I sit in this little tent on this tiny island, I can see the ocean water tossing and turning. It is mighty frightful thinking about how she could rise at any given moment to swallow our souls like she did with the men who had not survived the storm that sent us here. Not to mention the fact that she could, at the very least, destroy the raft we have worked so hard on in but a blink of her wicked eye.

  As for the mutineers, I can hear them howling and hooting along with the ghastly winds. Apparently, they are enjoying themselves here, which leads me to wonder just what they have planned for their survival.

  July 4th, 1641

  We survived the storm. Unfortunately, the winds ripped and tore at our raft and supply pile, setting us back a few steps in the process. In truth, the loss is minimal compared to what I had feared, and I am thankful for that. Also, the rain—only mild in amount compared to the storm that wrecked Autumn Moon—has filled our barrels with a decent amount of drinking water. The stream is flowing steady again…for now. But I know it will not last as long as it did last time, and that heightens the urgency of our mission.

  July 5th, 1641

  Sitting inside the tent on the eve of day five, I am writing to share the good news. The raft is done. The thing is an interesting mix of ship parts and tree branches, tied together with rope and seamed with tar at the planks that seated together close enough to be caulked with oakum. Barlow even made a sailcloth shade cover over the end where our injured and slowly healing captain will lie.

  Captain Burton has not said much, but he has been spending some time sitting up, and in his brief moments of clarity, he has mumbled about what a grand job we are doing. I have to agree. Humphry has been taking good care of the captain and says his wound is mending surprisingly well considering the circumstances. Barlow has done an excellent job leading the work on the raft, and Peckadennel have been exceptional assistants during the build. I have helped a bit on the raft as well, but for the most part, I’ve spent most of my time capturing lizards and rats and cooking the minimal amount of meat. I even took Boa’s advice and seasoned tonight’s catch with lime juice, making our final meal on this dreadful island a somewhat bearable one. Only somewhat, for we hardly have enough water to make it through the night and across the bay, and the creek is dry again. With that said, we are all looking forward to rowing away wit
h the dawn.

  Closing the book, I said goodnight to the men and took my place outside of the tent to stand my final watch over the raft. Since Captain Burton, Peckadennel, and Barlow had already settled down for sleep, and Humphry was out at the gravesites to pay his final respects to Clarence, the evening seemed unusually quiet.

  Sitting here alone, I sharpened my knife and eyed the sight of the setting sun. Under better circumstances, the fiery red and orange colors would have been pretty, and if I liked this island I may have thought about how lovely the calm waters surrounding it were. But I didn’t like it here. In fact, I hated everything about it. I was tired of the continual discomfort of sharp rocks stabbing and grains of sand sticking to my bare feet. I’d had enough of the overbearing heat engulfing my starved and sunburnt body. And I could hardly bear another moment of the thick wind slapping at my face or of the dastardly bugs biting at my skin. All the miserable elements holding me prisoner on this shore, combined with my intense determination to leave it, left me feeling like a madman…but I couldn’t go mad. There was too much at stake.

  Exhausted by the power it took to steer my mind away from the point of insanity which was constantly beckoning to claim my soul, I continued to sharpen my knife until the sun set into the merciless sea. Thinking of how long it would be until it came back around—granting us the light we needed to row away—the rays of light sinking into the black horizon seemed like slow falling sand within an hourglass.

  Once all traces of sunlight left the sky, I reached for my sword and used the blade to poke at the fire. It was burning low, just enough to give me light without overwhelming me with heat. I didn’t want more flames, but I found myself amused by the sight of the burning embers as I pushed them around.

  Poking the glowing logs with the sword Vera and I made together, reminded me of the days when I stoked the fires of her forge…which led me to think of the other things that heated up in her presence. I’d been so busy struggling to survive, that I hadn’t thought much about sex, but in the silence of the strangely peaceful night, I let my mind wander down that road.

  Just as I began enjoying myself within my lustful fantasies, Barlow came crawling out of the tent. Sitting beside me, he yawned, “I couldn’t sleep. Not sure if I am too nervous or too excited, but either way, here I am.”

  At first I wanted to be annoyed by his presence, but when he reached into his pockets and pulled out some limes, I forgave his interruption.

  Sliding my sword back into its scabbard, I thanked him for the limes and started slicing them with my knife. “I never sleep anymore. Not well, anyhow. I’m sure tonight will be no different. In fact, it will probably be worse.”

  “Are you worried about the journey?” He plopped a slice of lime into his mouth.

  “No. Well, maybe…Yes, I think so…” I mumbled as I sucked the juicy pulp from the skin of the lime slice.

  “Tell me what’s on your mind, Bentley.” He prodded.

  Eyeing the way the full moon was shining on the bay and thinking of the sea’s many faces, I said, “Looking at her now, one would never imagine her to thrash and batter men and ships and even shorelines like she does, but I know she can. I know she will, and my memories of her doing so with me in her clutches have me feeling…well…afraid to go back out there.”

  Stroking the short beard that had taken place on his chubby face, Barlow said, “I think we’re all having those same thoughts. It’s natural after what we’ve been through. And the fact that you can admit you feel that way makes you a good leader. You’re one of us, but you give us hope and inspire us to do our best, and in this case, you have to use that fear to steer us from ours. And listen here, shipwreck or not, everyone is afraid of something. But how the fear is handled is what makes the difference between cowards and warriors. And you, Mason Bentley, you have already proven yourself as a warrior. One we are downright thankful to have as our leader.”

  Sucking down another citrus wedge, I let his words resonate in my mind. Thinking back on all the stands I’d made and all the fights I’d fought—from fighting boys in the field to defend my sister, to killing a land gentry to avenge her, even down to standing up to bury the dead bodies of those who meant most to me, and now leading these good men—I figured he was right. I was a starved and dehydrated warrior who would conquer every goddamn obstacle that tried to stand in the way of my survival. Our survival.

  Finally ready to come to terms with the leadership these good men had granted me, I looked to the best friend I’d had in years and grinned. “I appreciate your faith in me, I do, but I find it a bit funny that you experienced old sea dogs want a lubber boy like me to lead you.”

  He flashed a wide smile, showing the gap in his teeth. “Ah, you’ve survived a shipwreck, Bentley. You can no longer call yourself a lubber boy. And soon enough, you’ll have survived a rafting adventure across the sea. By then you’ll be an outright seafaring man.”

  “And I couldn’t have come this far without the help of you and the others. We make a damn good team and I reckon it’s the sea that should be afraid of us at this point.” I laughed as I sliced open another lime.

  Together we sat there by the fire, talking and laughing until the flames burned the last of our logs into smoldering coals. Once Barlow finally decided to go in the tent to get some sleep, I sat there alone wishing I could do the same, but I had to wait until Humphry came to swap shifts with me. Judging by the placement of the moon, I figured he wouldn’t be long, but in the still of the night I began to worry.

  Across the shore I could see a few of Boa’s men standing around their fire, but I couldn’t account for all of them. Knowing how those fools were terrified of the gravesites I had lined with stones and marked with crosses, I chose to bury the cargo next to the graves in hopes to keep the superstitious away, and I figured Humphry would be just as safe as the buried and protected crates during his visits to Clarence’s cross. But sitting here alone in the darkness, my mind started racing with dreadful visions of them sneaking through the shrubs and attacking Humphry on his way back.

  Just as I started thinking I should get up and go check on him, I saw him strutting across the moonlit sand.

  Relieved by his reappearance, I let out a sigh and wiped the beads of sweat that had begun to perspire from my forehead.

  Sitting down beside me, he dried the tears from his eyes. “Thank you for picking such a nice spot for Clarence and for making him that beautiful cross.”

  “You’re welcome. With any luck, we’ll eventually come back to get the goods we buried, and you can sit with him again.”

  He let out an exhausted breath. “I know you and Burton have good intentions with that plan of returning the goods, but I’m afraid the shipping company won’t settle for what you have here. No matter what it says in that logbook or what stories we tell about this dreadful occurrence, they will want their money. And without it—all of it—they can hold a trial against Burton and maybe even put him in jail.”

  My mind flashed over the shitten things the lords and gentries of Exeter did and said to poor peasants like me and my kind, assuring me that he had made a valid point. “I believe it, but no matter what England might have to say about any of this, I respect Captain Burton, and will help him follow through with his plans. See, my grandfather taught me to always do what’s right. Even if the outcome is wrong, you can rest better in your skin and answer soundly to the Lord if you always do your best.”

  “I like your view on life, Bentley.” Hubert nodded. “I know I gave you a hard time at first and haven’t said much to you beyond discussing the captain’s health, but I want to tell you that I think you’re a good man. I’m not sure if the rest of us would have survived without your guidance and I want to thank you for giving us a better plan than whatever Boa is up to over there.” He pointed toward the fire where there were now even less shadows standing around.

  “I do wonder what he’s decided to do.” I eyed their encampment suspiciously.

 
“Me too. Have you noticed the moods of his men? I think they know they are doomed here but they must be afraid to say otherwise. Honestly, I don’t care for the lot of them, but I’ve been wishing Tennison would come to his senses and join us. He is a decent fellow.”

  “I like him the best of the bunch, too. But he, as well as the others, knows we made the raft big enough to fit them and they have had plenty of time to change their minds.” Standing up, I said, “All this thinking has made me tired. I’m going to go to sleep and dream of meat and ale and women before we set out on the tide at dawn.”

  He let out a laugh. “You do that. I’ll keep a good watch. Thanks again for being a good man in a world full of knaves.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself, Doctor. Have a good night.”

  Entering the tent among the snoring men, I took off the coat Vera had given me and balled it up like a pillow. Lying there on the sailcloth I’d laid over what grasses and soft shrub leaves I’d scrounged up from around the island, surrounded by the horrendous stenches and hoggish snorts of sleeping men, I thought back on how nice it was when I was sleeping in Madam Pauline’s feather bed. Her room was so luxurious. Hell, at this point, having bird meat to eat and a haystack to sleep on would be luxurious.

  While thinking about the comforts I found at the Stonehouse Inn, my mind ended up wandering the trail of tragic events that led me there. Memories of the life I experienced in England—good and bad—appeared so distant in my mind that they seemed to be from another lifetime, or even a dream. But the more I focused on the visions of my grandfather and my sister, the more alive their memories became. The love we shared was so strong; no length of time apart could ever diminish it. And my friends, the love they showed me and the significance of the gifts they gave me would stay with me no matter how far they were.

  Remembering those friends and the times I had with them, I ended up thinking more about the women and resumed the thoughts that Barlow had interrupted. For a while, I thought of Vera and all the sex we had in her workshop and on her bed. I even thought a bit of Bridget and the shallow and senseless encounters I had with her in the fields. But I settled in with my memory of Madam Pauline. Dreaming of her saucy body and the magic spell she cast upon my soul on top of her silk sheets, I finally fell asleep.