Finishing my last sip of ale, and feeling light as a feather, I plopped down on the padded bench and tore off my sandals. “These things have served me well, but I’ve been missing my shoes ever since I lost them.”
Handing me the shoes, Captain Zeeger said, “Every self-respecting man needs a good pair of shoes. And you strike me as a self-respecting man.” He eyed me over, obviously taking note of my cleanly appearance. “You are tidy and smart, too. I saw you writing over there. You must be a leader, no?”
Glad that I had taken the time to get presentable, I smiled as I slipped the shoes on and said, “I can read and write, but I’m no leader. We’re all equal around here. As for being tidy…these jungle mutt equals of mine tease me for being foppish, but I think it’s important to look nice. See, My grandfather used to tell me, if you have but one coat, it better be clean, and if you have but one coin, it ought to be shiny. That makes sense to me so I stuck with it.”
“Your grandfather sounds like a wise man.” Captain Zeeer nodded.
“He was. Any bit of good sense I have in this big head of mine comes from his teaching.” I stood up. The shoes looked good and fit just right. “Nice fit. My feet have grown so much in size since I’d last bought shoes; I’m surprised to have picked a good fit on the first try.”
“They look nice. But perhaps you should try another, to be sure.” He brought over another pair.
Liking the look of them, but not liking how my mug of ale was empty, I said, “Those are nice, but I reckon I’d be able to make a more sensible decision with more liquor in my mug.”
“I can take care of that.” He took my mug and handed it through the tent flap at the back of his booth. A young man wearing a dark cloak, reached out and grabbed it. In his language, Captain Zeeger barked some sort of order, which the cloaked fellow then jumped to.
Quickly returning with a full mug of ale, the young man handed it to Captain Zeeger. From beneath the hood of his dark cloak, the boy, no older than fourteen, looked at me with a peculiar gleam in his hazel eyes. Before my somewhat drunk mind could figure out just what he was thinking, he slipped back behind the curtain.
“Krijg terug,” Captain Zeeger barked at his boy, then handed me the mug of ale.
Happy to have another drink, I took my time sipping on it as I tried on a few more pairs of shoes. While talking and laughing with Captain Zeeger, I ended up settling on that first pair. With my selection made, the bartering began. Upon finding that I had Spanish cigarros, Captain Zeeger was more than happy to take some as payment for the shoes. He then showed me the other things he had for sale.
I ended up leaving his booth with much more than what I had gone there for, including new brown breeches, an ivory lace shirt, and some colorful feathers for my hat.
The rest of the day went on the same way, drinking and laughing with the merchants while trading cigarros and boucan for my needed and desired supplies. While the cigarros were a rare treat that only some were interested in, the boucan was traded like a common coin. One hundred slabs of the uniquely cooked and flavored meat sold for six pieces of eight, and I had enough slabs to gather a decent amount of coins and more supplies than I could carry around in my trade pouch.
Near sundown, as the band played a jolly tune, I headed back to my barbacoa to put on my newly purchased breeches and stow my goods for the eve. Burton, who was already snuggled up in bed with his pretty new pistol, promised he’d put it to good use if anyone tried to tamper with my things. Feeling good in my clean breeches, and liking how they matched my stylish waistcoat, I thanked him and headed back towards the stage.
By now, the last traces of light had left the sky, and many torches had been lit around the dance floor. In the burning firelight, I watched the men dancing and singing like this was their last night alive. They beat on their chests and howled at the rising moon as the band finished their tune and stepped to the side. Captain LeRouge, the one who was in possession of the ship load of women, took center stage.
Beyond the fact that the music had stopped to accommodate his entrance, the way he was dressed drew in a fair share of attention as well. White lacy cuffs and collar fluff puffed out from the wide edges of his fine blue and gold coat set. His wide brimmed hat was adorned with many colorful feathers and the buckles on his shoes and baldrics just about shined in the firelight. While stroking the beard that grew from his clean face, which was waxed to a devilish point at his chin, he eyed his audience.
Just as I noticed the gruesome scar shooting down from his seemingly dead right eye, he cupped his hands and shouted out, “It’s good to see you again, my fine buccaneers.”
The ones who knew him shouted back to greet him, and the others, well, they shouted too because they were drunk.
When their senseless howling simmered, Captain LeRouge said, “You know, I like what you’ve done with the place since I was last here, but there is just one thing missing.”
As they shouted out, asking what, he called for his men. The heavily armed and well-dressed fellows then escorted about twelve cloaked figures to the stage. Their faces were all hidden beneath the dark hoods. The crowd stirred in anticipation. So did I. Perhaps they were the women Barlow spoke of.
Once the hooded figures were in place, Captain LeRouge said, “Women! You savages need some goddamn women in your lives and I took it upon myself to grant you the favor.”
As the escorts pulled back the women’s hoods, showing their powdered faces, all of our jaws dropped liked anchors. There truly were women here.
Standing before the displeased females, with his armed guards lined up in front of him, Captain LeRouge then explained to the buccaneers, “I am sure you’ve been to an auction before. This one is no different. My auctioneer will explain the value of each piece of merchandise and then will announce the prices as you match them. I will accept payment in terms of coin, boucan, and valuables, and am selling in increments of hourly and nightly usage. And well, if you find one you want to keep, come to my tent and we’ll discuss the details.”
The crowd roared in savage cheer.
Just like at any auction, the auctioneer pulled the first piece of merchandise forward. The girl was no older than me, her dark hair was a tangled mess and she looked to be drunk.
After announcing the things she was especially good at, the auctioneer began calling out prices. As the buccaneers loud and rowdy bidding war began, she stood there appearing to be bored. Beyond her dull expression, it looked like she could have been pretty, maybe. Aye, under different circumstances those full lips and big round eyes would definitely be nice to look at. Falling under the spell of her feminine features, I nearly forgot that I was eyeing her at a God forbidden whore auction where buccaneers were barking and howling at her like untamed animals.
Just as I regained my sense amidst the bawdy sounds and sights, the auctioneer pulled her top down. The mood of the crowd and the number of the bids intensified tenfold as her big and plump titties flopped out. But her expression never changed. Not even when the auctioneer started jiggling those delicious morsels in his wrinkly old hands.
In no time at all, the highest bid was met. To my surprise, it was Naked and Renard who helped her from the stage and pulled her to their barbacoa. Yuck. What stiffness I had acquired from seeing her bare chest, shriveled up like a salted slug as I thought of the odd and awful things that poor girl was going to have to endure with those two. Luckily for her sake, they only paid for one hour.
The next woman went by the name of Fat Annie. She was in much better spirits, but was far less appealing to the eye. Round and white, the overly ripe old plum, with a pox dotted face, swayed her hips and jiggled her cleavage as the auctioneer started shouting out numbers. Apparently, age or face truly didn’t matter to these men, for money and valuables were rising high in the crowd as Fat Annie dropped her cloak and danced around in the nude.
When the dimpled old bag started groping her own titties, Ziare raised his beloved spyglass in the air. From this vant
age point, I saw that he and Barlow were arguing over her. Thinking of how stupid it would be for Ziare to relinquish his prized possession for a flea-bitten fuck with a pox-faced whore, I found myself rooting for Barlow.
By offering his entire purse of earnings from the day, Billy Barlow won the damn bid. But there was no thrill in the outcome for me when watching his hideously sunburnt arse trying to carry the shameless naked whore down the rickety stairs of the makeshift stage.
The sounds that then followed from the nearby shrubs they fell into made me think I should just leave. Yet, part of me wanted to see what the next girl would look like. So, I waited. This one was sickly thin with a swollen lip and black eye. It was plain to see that she hated everything about this night, yet she removed her own clothes and spun herself around without being prodded by the auctioneer. Once she was purchased by a group of three older men, ones that were so slathered in boar blood that they looked tarred, I decided that I’d had enough.
I might have been drunk, and I had at a few moments during my stay considered myself desperate for feminine affection, but this was too much. These women were nasty and miserable and seeing my friends lose their sense in such a way was outright shameful.
Everyone was so busy hooting and pushing each other, and offering up all the goods they had to their names for a senseless fuck to even notice that I was leaving. Heading down the trail toward the river, I heard their hoggish groans and even a few unpleasant outbursts from the poor, helpless women who had been subjected to the selfish greed of the smugglers and the wanton lust of the buccaneers.
Though I was glad to leave the sounds behind me, the visuals would not flee my mind. It all seemed so wrong, but there was nothing I could do about any of it, and perhaps that bothered me most of all. No, what bothered me most of all was the fact that I was bothered. It’d be so much easier to have no conscience at all, but even all these years after my grandfather’s passing, his voice rang clear in my head. Women are the gems of the earth, and it is man’s job to polish and cherish them. Not trade them at auction blocks like furniture or shoes.
No matter how bad I wanted a fuck—and I wanted one bad enough to find myself day dreaming about the jiggling tits and bare arses of that gangly bunch of whores—I couldn’t involve myself in that stampede of the softer sex.
Reaching the river, I realized how hot I was. The night was cool and the breeze was soft, but the tangled mess of thought and desire bound up in my mind like a volcano, causing me to sweat and sputter obscenities like lava wishing to erupt from my core. Drawing nearer the moonlit pond, I kicked a rock and watched it splash into the liquid, rippling the clear water. Figuring I could use a cool down, I stepped out of my new shoes, removed my weapons, and then all of my clothes and waded out into the pool.
As the cool water surrounded my legs, I began to regret the idea of submerging, but I needed it.
Diving under, the chill shocking all sense and chaos from my mind, I stayed beneath until I had to surface for air. Since Barlow taught me how to swim, I’d spent many days here in this pond swimming back and forth until my lungs ran out of breath and my muscles weakened. Not only did it help to build my strength and endurance, but being surrounded by the cool, running water somehow soothed my soul as well.
Flipping over to my back, and kicking to keep myself afloat, I stared at the stars above and remembered how they looked from the middle of the ocean. From here I could see the mountains to my right and the trees of the jungle where I now lived to my left, but when at sea all I could see was the darkened dome. There was something enchanting about the mysterious sight. Though I thought at one point that I’d never want to sail again, I was beginning to think otherwise. The sea was calling my name, beckoning me like a lover apologizing for doing me wrong, and as dangerous as it was, I was willing to forgive her.
I liked it here on Hispaniola, I did. But as I waded toward the shore, I started thinking about how many other shores there were to see. The dangerous, yet enchanting swells of my salty mistress were a pathway to the entire world, and eventually I did want to set out to see more, preferably places where there were women who weren’t whores.
And with that thought, the memory of what I was missing out on up there caused my body to heat back up. Everywhere. Getting out of the water, and shaking dry like a dog, I remembered when Barlow said, quit acting better than your kind. Eh, who knew how long it would be until I had a chance like this again. While putting my new breeches back on, I thought that maybe there’d be one woman worth a damn up there, and I did have enough loot to keep one for myself for the night if I wanted…
I continued to debate my options while lacing up my bracers, but my thoughts were drawn away when I heard footsteps rustling across the leafy path. Unsure of who could be headed this way at this hour, and knowing better than to trust any noise or shadow in the dark, I grabbed my short cutlass and greeted the intruder. Seeing the shadow of a cloaked figure, I grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him up against a tree. Pressing my blade to his neck, I growled, “Who are you?”
A clearly feminine squeak expelled from the intruders lungs. “Inga Zeeger. Please don’t hurt me.”
I removed my blade from her throat and stepped back. “Zeeger? Like the captain?”
Holding her throat, she gagged, “Yes. I am Captain Zeeger’s daughter.”
“Daughter?” Thinking of the hazel eyed boy who looked at me so strangely this afternoon, I wondered how often I’d end up fooled by women dressed in men’s clothing. Shaking my head, I asked, “What the hell are you doing over here on this island? Or here in the dark by yourself, for that matter?” I held tight to my sword, looking over her shoulders and in the bushes all around.
She let out a cute little giggle. “I came to see you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. And I am alone so you can be calm.”
“Calm?” I huffed. “I almost lopped off a sea smuggler’s daughter’s head in the woods. It takes a bit to calm down from that.” I put my sword in the scabbard.
She snickered again. “You are very dangerous.”
“What’s dangerous is sneaking up on a man in the night. So, tell me what you want?” I crossed my arms over my bare chest.
“I saw you today, talking to my father. When I first saw you, I liked your face, and when I heard you talking, I liked you more. You were funny, polite, and smart, and I thought to myself, I must meet that handsome man. Then I saw you wander away in the night, so I followed you.”
“So you followed?” I let out a sarcastic laugh as I plopped down on a rock. Looking across the moonlit pond, and remembering how I had been swimming and standing around naked, I asked, “How long have you been here?”
“Long enough to see how good you look with no clothes on.” She shrugged her shoulders shyly.
I slapped my forehead. “And what now that you’ve met me?”
She sat beside me and removed her hood. “Though I have seen all of you, I have not truly met you because I do not know your name. What is it?”
With the moonlight now shining on her face, I saw that she was—as I suspected earlier—no more than fourteen. There was nothing stunning about her features, in fact, she was pale and bland and her skin was blemished. But she was a woman and she wasn’t a whore, and I was all alone with her under the light of a full moon. Suddenly feeling lost for words, I mumbled, “My name is Mason. Mason Bentley.”
She poked my arm. “This is a nice name.”
Her simple touch ignited a carnal fire in my being. Trying to contain it, I spoke over my loss of breath, “Thank you. Uh, my mother picked it. See, I had a twin sister and our mother chose our names before we were born. Of course, she didn’t know she was going to have two babies, but she was so big with child that she joked about how she could call us Mace and Lace if we were twins. She died having us and never found out there were indeed two of us in there, but my grandparents honored her wishes and named us Mason and Lace.”
“That is very sad.”
Inga pouted.
Surprised that I had said so much about my long lost family, I chuckled, “It’s life.”
“It is.” She blew her blonde hair out of her face. “My life has sad stories, too. But I try to be happy anyway.”
Liking her answer, I nodded. “Aye, me too.”
“Yes, I saw that you were very happy today. I liked that. Most men on this island are jolly. I hear they are dangerous, and they surely look fierce, but they seem to be enjoying themselves. And that is fun.”
Thinking back on the drudgery of daily life in England, compared to the fun we had on this hot and bug ridden island, I said, “I think it’s in man’s nature to be joyful, and though we have our own struggles here, we’re free and that alone gives us reason to be merry.”
“Very nicely said.” She pinched my arm. “So, why do you come to swim when the festival is by the fire?”
Not wanting to talk about my prudish issues with the festivities, I simply said, “I just wanted some time alone.”
“Oh. Am I bothering you? Should I leave you?”
“No, I don’t mind you. But uh…” thinking back on how generous and respectful her father had been with me, I thought of how he might feel about this encounter. “But your father might mind if he finds you down here with me.” I scratched my head. “Why are you sailing with him, anyhow?”
“I caused trouble at home that led me to danger, so he brought me along to keep me safe. He is not happy about it and he made me dress like a boy and help him work to punish me. But he doesn’t stay mad at me ever. So I take risks sometimes. Like tonight.”
While I wondered just what kind of trouble she may have caused, she leaned in and kissed my cheek.
Thinking of how an affair like this could lead me to danger, and figuring that her father would not forgive me like he would her, I tried to jumble out some stupid excuses to end this now. But she kissed me again. This time on the lips.
It had been so long since I’d felt the velvety soft lips of a woman that I’d forgotten just how overpowering the sensation could be. No longer caring what was right or wrong, or what anyone else would think if I laid her down, I wrapped my arms around her tiny frame and moved her to the ground.
King of My Nightmare (King of My Nightmare, Book 1): Endless Horizon Pirate Stories Page 26