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

by Cristi Taijeron

  “They will not get away,” Barlow huffed, his fat arse somehow keeping up with my speed. “We will swim after them if we have to.”

  Spotting me and the fast running master carpenter, Smedley and Rupert began to panic. Rushing to push off, their feet slipped in the water and the boat got stuck in the wet sand. They argued as they struggled to break loose, realizing we were closer to them than they were to escape.

  Miraculously, Barlow plowed ahead of me, blasted across the deep, wet sand, and tackled Smedley into the shallow water. Considering the fight Smedley was putting up, I rushed to help Barlow manage him. Bypassing Rupert, who was holding his hands up in surrender, I reached Barlow just as he began dragging Smedley back in from the water.

  Being how Barlow had Smedley somewhat under control, I grabbed Rupert. He came willingly, but cried and stuttered as I walked him across the sand. As for Smedley, he fought with Barlow and cursed our names every step of the way. My blood was rushing so quickly and my heart was beating so loudly, I couldn’t make out the words he was saying, but the constant ringing of his gravelly voice tempted me to silence him for good.

  Reuniting with our crewmen in the torchlight, and seeing that they had the traitors huddled among the surviving Spaniards, we threw the mutineers at Burton’s feet. As their faces plowed into the sand, I said, “They were trying to escape.”

  The traitors booed at them.

  As Smedley rolled himself over and lifted his face from the sand, he looked to me and snarled, “Ah, what a good little poppet, bringing your master his supper.”

  Hating his words, but trying to control the rage they uprooted from my core, I took a deep breath and said to the captain, “What shall we do with them?”

  Burton started speaking, but all I could hear was Smedley cackling, “Maybe he’ll give you an extra treat tonight for being so obedient.”

  Worse off, the other traitors were attempting to contain their chuckles from Smedley’s comments. It was plain to see that they had laughed about these things before. I knew I shouldn’t care, they were just stupid, spineless cowards…But hearing Smedley running his mouth and the others snickering by the rock, I could no longer stand idle. I kicked him across the face. “Shut that mouth.”

  The audience hooted.

  Burton shook his head. “Gag him. I’m tired of hearing his insolent yammering.”

  As I reached for my sash to do so, Smedley hissed, “Gag me all you want, Bentley. But no matter who says it, you know the truth. You are no one on your own. You came from nothing, you’ve amounted to nothing, and nothing you will remain for all your pitiful days.”

  The words sheared right through my soul, tearing apart the painful memories of all I had lost and what little I had gained, and opened up a fearsome chasm of what struggles still lay ahead of me.

  No longer concerned with keeping my temper, I kicked him in the mouth again. This time blood splattered from his scurvy ridden teeth. He kept shouting as he scampered to his feet. I shoved him as he tried to rise. He flew backwards but caught his footing and shouted, “Are you going to kill me like you did Boa? Go On! Show these men that the tales are true. Show them what a monster you truly are.”

  Pointing at his face, I shouted, “I am not the traitor here, Smedley. You are.”

  Hearing the crowd hiss and boo about his dastardly act of treason, and most likely realizing that he had lost the faith of his following, he drew his knife and made a desperate charge in my direction.

  I blocked his wild swing with my arm, and served him a hard punch to the jaw.

  Unable to reach me with his knife, he cocked back his other fist and delivered an equally effective blow to my temple. His punch landed just right, causing stars to dart across my line of sight. I kept my footing, but during my momentary loss of vision, he hit me again, and then again.

  I regained enough sense to dodge the subsequent swing of his knife, and was able to dip down low and charge at his torso. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I forced him off of his feet. He fell onto the ground. Landing hard on top of him, I felt his steel blade dive into my lower side.

  Growling like a bear, I grabbed his arm and tried to yank the knife from his hold. He slipped out of my poorly held grip, and reared back to stab me again. I blocked his thrust with my left arm and used it to brace his knife wielding hand to the ground. With my right hand, I reached to grab his knife. He bit down into the flesh of my arm. His decaying front teeth hardly managed an effective bite, but like a dog gnawing on a bone, he twisted his head and clamped down hard with his molars.

  Shouting out from the pain, I tugged my arm out of his mouth and bashed his face with my elbow, over and over. The sharp bones on my bracers clawed open his cheek as my arm swung back and forth across his ugly face. As his head flew from side to side, bloody spit splattering about, he reached back, grabbed a pile of sand, and threw it in my eyes.

  Stunned by the way each grain of sand pelted my eyes, I lost my grip on his collar. He broke loose from my hold. While I was blinded, he shoved me onto my back. Managing to open one eye, I watched him cock back his knife. I grabbed his hand mid-swing, but he forced that blade down toward my throat. My eyes were burning, and my muscles ached to the point of weakness as I fought to hold him off.

  Shaking and panting, he slobbered as he hissed, “Remember when you threatened to add my tooth to your chain?”

  In an instant, my mind replayed the reason I had served him that threat. It was because he flashed that dastardly defiant smirk…the one that mocked the respect I’d gained among my crew, tested the position of authority I’d worked so hard to earn, and belittled the man I had struggled to become.

  That same expression was now plastered on his sweaty and blood splattered face as he tilted his blade toward my mouth and snarled, “I’ll be the one wearing your bones tonight.”

  No, he wouldn’t.

  Infuriated by his attempt to turn the tides, I harnessed all the strength left in my being and used it to force his blade to the side. Once it was clear of my face, I let go and slid out from under him. The release of tension caused him to fall and his blade pierced hard into the sand where I once laid. I jumped to my feet.

  As he tried to spring up, I lunged headlong and dived under his swinging blade. Laying my hands flat on his chest, I shoved him against the nearby boulder. The instant his body hit the rock wall, I wrapped my hand in his sweaty wet hair and hit his head against the solid chunk of stone. Feeling him fall limp as the daze overtook him, I tossed him onto his back, pinned him down with my knees, and annihilated his face with the most powerful punches I had ever delivered.

  At this point, the knife was easy to take from his hand. Finally in possession of the weapon he had hoped to kill me with, I jabbed the blade down between his lower front teeth and into his gums. Feeling the steel pierce through the cushy flesh between his jaw bone and decaying root, I levered the blade to the side. He screamed and thrashed as I pried and twisted, but I braced him stiff with my knees until the first tooth popped out. Now, that his face was slathered in blood and his wails had intensified to a ghoulish groaning, the next was not as easy to yank. So, I hit him with the butt of the knife handle a few more times until it was ripe and ready to pluck. Grabbing the loose and fractured remains of the tooth, I tore it from the mouth of the man who was now choking on his own blood as he struggled to breathe.

  Feeling satisfied with my punishment, I rose to my feet. Chest heaving and splattered in the blood of the man whose teeth I now held in my palm, I removed the chain holding Boa’s tooth. I handed it, along with my newly claimed prize, to Billy Barlow. He nodded at me to accept the chore of fashioning the trophy. I then looked upon the ghost white faces and wide staring eyes of the men who had watched me prove my point. Understanding the importance of this moment, and how it would forever affect their views of me, I maintained my control amidst the savagery and calmly stated, “I am a man of my word.”

  Chapter 23

  King of My Nightmare

/>   The awe-struck silence surrounding me was shattered by the sound of a great gunshot over the sea. Excited hoots followed the blast, reminding me that our canoe crew had set out to take the enemy ship in the bay. While I prepared my weapons to assist my crewmen, Burton shoved Smedley’s beaten body against the boulder with the other traitors. As Smedley’s head bumped against the rock, Burton said to me, “Sounds like a victory shot. Best bring a few men with you to find out who’s celebrating.”

  Barlow, Friar Annie, Peck, and Zean agreed to come along. With my sword in hand, I led them to the beach.

  Leaving the light of the canopy behind, and allowing a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, I was surprised to set sight on Magdalena’s warm glowing lanterns. The blazing flames burned brightly, illuminating the bay that bodies were being tossed into. At that moment, I realized that the celebratory hoots were in English and French, while the curse words coming from the men thrown overboard, were in Spanish. Those victory shots had been fired by our group. Our canoe crew had taken the ship!

  Turning to face the men behind me, who were now jumping and cheering for our success, I tamed their uproar. “This is good, but it isn’t over. We need to gather what we came for and get off this island before any more patrol ships show up.”

  They all agreed and we each took our positions to conclude our mission. Zean and Peck went to get Isabella. Barlow and Friar Annie rowed out to Magdalena to see what there was to claim aboard her. Burton tied the prisoners together in the graveyard, and then led his men to extract the cargo and prepare it to load on Isabella when she arrived. As for me, naturally, I ended up burying the dead.

  As tired as I was, I found relief in the fact that most of the bodies were already in the hole, spiked or shot to death, and that I wouldn’t have to do anymore digging on behalf of the dead traitors and Spaniards. Lighting a ciggaro, I puffed on it as I began dragging the few dead bodies lying above ground toward the hole. The flavorful smoke served as a pleasant treat on this otherwise miserable night. The air was warm and those cursed bugs were once again swarming about, biting my arms and buzzing in my ears. I hadn’t eaten in hours and had certainly worked up a strong hunger, and I was once again beaten so badly that my muscles ached to the bone. But there was a job to be done and I would work until it was finished.

  The prisoners I was delegated to watch over, were so beaten that they sat quietly as I shoveled sand over the faces of their friends who had not lived to witness their failure. But as I lit a second cigarro, Renard huffed from where he sat among the prisoners, “Save some room in that pit for me.”

  Holding my ciggaro in my lips, I said, “Ah, it isn’t over, yet.”

  “Oh, it’s over.” Pale and sweaty, he shivered as he let out a long, sorry breath. “I have been injured enough to know this is it for me. But that’s what I get for betraying you. I am truly sorry, Bentley. Not because you’ll rip my teeth out if I’m not, but because it was a shit arse thing to do to one of my brethren.” He coughed. “I never liked you, I still don’t, really, but we are part of the same alliance and make a strong team when we fight together. What I did just wasn’t right.”

  Pausing for a moment, and inhaling a deep puff of tobacco smoke, I remembered the souvenir I had for him. Reaching in my pocket, I pulled out the lock of silver hair that once belonged to his matelot and handed it to him.

  Tears filled his eyes as he grasped onto the precious piece. Holding it close to his heart, he sighed, “You kept this?”

  “Aye. I cut it off just for you. There was no time to give him a proper burial, and I will forever regret that. But even though I never liked you much either, I respected your love for my friend and wanted you to have something of him after his untimely passing.”

  He started to cry. “Oh, God, I loved him so. Still do. And that is the worst part of it all. See, I was married once, a long time ago, and after my young wife died in my arms, I promised myself I’d never love again. Yet, here I am, suffering from a pain much greater than this damn gunshot wound.” Regaining his composure a bit, he clutched onto the lock of silver hair and sniffled, “At least I won’t have to suffer as long this time around. And in a way, this time, I can be buried alongside my partner. Thank you for that, Mason Bentley.”

  “You’re welcome.” I nodded. I could have said more, but instead, I returned to my work and left him alone with his final memories as I poured shovel after shovel of sand over the dead.

  By the time each of their many faces were covered and the ground was level above them, Renard had died.

  As I looked upon his lifeless body, Round Pete reached for him and cried out, “No! Not Renard!” He couldn’t quite touch Renard from where he was tied, and while trying to, he fell over in the sand. Lying on his side, and still linked to his fellow traitors, who were also crying over their deceased captain and friend, Round Pete screeched, “I don’t want to die here, too. Please don’t leave me here, Bentley.”

  When I didn’t respond, he pushed himself up from the ground and continued, “We used to be friends, remember? Don’t forget about all the good times we spent boar hunting and cooking and fishing in the pond.”

  Thinking back on those memories, I shook my head in disappointment and said, “It is far more dangerous to betray a friend than to deceive an enemy. But you took that risk and this is the outcome. Just be thankful you are still alive to cry about it.”

  Round Pete wiped the snot from his nose as he sniffled, “Aw, I didn’t mean to betray you. I knew Skinner was wrong and I told him we shouldn’t do this. But he was determined and I couldn’t stop him. So, I planned to tell you about it afterwards. I was going to tell you, I was.”

  The others chimed in with all their horse shit stories about how they we’re going to turn to my side in the end.

  Thinking back on the risk Tennison took to warn me, ahead of time, I snapped at the cowardly traitors, “Belay that nonsense. If you think this spineless whimpering will score you points with me, you’re sorely mistaken. My grandfather taught me that a man who does nothing to stop a wrong doing, is just as bad as the man doing wrong. So, in my book, you are all equally guilty. But you, Round Pete,” I pointed at him directly, “the fact that you pissed on my friend’s graves—”

  “You saw that?” he yelped and backed up against the boulder as if to dodge the blow I wanted to serve him.

  Just then, Barlow entered the canopy and took it upon himself to answer that question. “Mason didn’t see it, but his ghosts told him all about the way you behaved.”

  “His ghosts? The rumors are true?” Round Pete chewed on his fingernails. The other’s started asking questions about me and my ghosts.

  Barlow answered, “Aye, the ghosts of the men Bentley buried here keep watch over the cargo and take care of anyone who might tamper with it while he’s away. Then, they come to him in the night and tell him what they saw. How else do you think he found you out? Those ghastly little bastards floated across the sea and warned him of your treason. You blokes betrayed the wrong man, and now you’ll suffer for the mistake.”

  I never would have thought to play off of these outlandish ghost stories, but the look of sheer dread on the traitors faces as they mumbled and whined about how terrifying I was, led me to believe it would be smart to let them think it was true. With a stone cold expression, I pointed toward Smedley who was so beaten he was hardly conscious, and stated, “You chose to follow Smedley. This is where he led you and this is where you’ll stay.”

  Barlow patted his shoulder. “But if you’re man enough to escape this island like we were, then you can tell the world how foolish it was to cross Mason Bentley. Now, come on, Bentley, let’s help the crew with the last load of cargo.”

  Standing up, and nodding at the traitors who were once again sitting as silent as the night, I grabbed my shovel. “I’ve got one more thing to do before I leave this place.”

  Barlow cocked a brow. “Are you going to bury them alive?”

  The prisoners shrieked
in fear.

  Resisting the urge to chuckle, I said, “Not this time. I have more important things to do with my fading energy, starting with burying Renard.”

  Barlow picked up the other shovel. “I’ll help you with that, mate.”

  After we laid Renard’s body in the hole, I placed Naked’s lock of hair under his limp hand and on top of his no longer beating heart and began covering him with dirt. In respect for Renard’s final words, and in honor of friendship with Naked, I marked their grave with one stone and made two crosses alongside it. I then took some time to dust off my other friend’s gravestones and Barlow helped me rake the area clean.

  Once everything was tidy and the graveyard looked like nothing bad had ever happened there, Barlow suggested that I say a prayer for the friends we had lost. As I did so, the traitors bowed their heads to show their respects for the dead.

  As soon as the prayer ended and everyone said amen, the sun began to rise. Rays of morning light shone through the canopy of trees as Barlow and I blew out the torches, and birds chirped happily as we finished our last bits of business on this cursed Atlantic island.

  X

  Reaching Magdalena, the closest and finest of the three Spanish ships that were now in our possession, I eyed her every curve as I scaled the gangway.

  Climbing up behind me, Barlow hooted, “Blow me down! This is one gorgeous ship!”

  It sure was. While Escudo Dorado and Isabella were both battered from the fight, Magdalena was sleek and clean and looked like it was recently built.

  Strutting across the main deck, and observing the neatly sanded planks, I could tell that the buccaneers onboard were already drunk. Listening to their conversations, I realized they had discovered the liquors stores in Magdalena’s hold and decided to drink to our success.

  While I laughed at the songs they were singing and the things they were saying, I noticed that Captain Burton was walking across the boarding plank from Isabella. Spotting me, he waved. “There you are! I was starting to think that those traitors busted lose and made a stew of you.”