“You’re a dead man,” stated Davy. “You just don’t know it yet.”
“Let go of me,” demanded Richard.
Davy was able to snatch Richards’s double barrel pistol and quickly pulled the trigger at point blank range. Cocking the second doghead, Davy fired once again at the falling officer, completely eradicating him. As Richard fell back, Davy managed to hook the key ring with a finger. Davy’s countenance read nothing more than pleasure as he watched Richard drop to the ground, dead.
Davy unlocked the cell door, took a few steps toward Richard and began to repeatedly kick his lifeless body. The guards, whom Richard had illicitly ordered to wait outside, heard the shots and realized what was going on inside and rushed to intervene. Davy’s attention quickly shifted toward the sound of the befuddled guards as they hastened down the stairwell, with their pistols drawn and ready. Davy forcefully swung an old wooden chair into the chest of the first guard, who flew backward into the second.
Both guards simultaneously fired their weapons to the ceiling. Knowing they would be unable to reload fast enough, they rose to their feet with their swords drawn. Noticing Richard sprawled on the floor, they extended their swords, challenging Davy in his attempt to escape.
“Don’t move!” stated the first.
“No, by all means, do,” stated the second. “Now, on your guard!”
“I have no weapon. Do as you will!” He stood patiently by the cell door over Richard’s battered corpse. Taunting the guards, Davy kicked Richard’s body, audibly snapping a few ribs.
Shocked, the angered guards took a step back. “Stop that at once or I’ll run you through!”
Davy kicked Richard’s body once again, daring the guards to attack. In a whirl of fury they charged Davy with their swords overhead, yelling hysterically. Davy calmly took hold of the cell door and flung it open, thrusting it with all his weight, directly into the first guard, knocking him unconscious. In the process of falling back, the first guard turned, launching his sword through the lungs of the second. They both immediately collapsed. Panting for breath, the second guard died.
Davy quickly fled to a nearby glen where he might take the time he desperately needed to mull-over what had just occurred. He had to figure out what he was going to do next. Thoroughly worn and barely able to breath, Davy found a secluded and inviting piece of ground and immediately dropped into the tall cushiony grass and leaned back against a soft decomposing log. So tired and unable to stay awake, he simply drifted off to sleep.
In the early morning hours, a wicked downpour awakened Davy. He recalled to his mind the events that transpired over the course of the past few days. He groaned silently within as he realized that his father was dead and he knew that he had to return home to his mother to explain the awful reality.
As Davy came closer, he noticed a faint blackness rising up ahead. A sinking feeling wrenched within his gut, knowing deep inside that something horrific was about to come to light. It was still raining when Davy arrived. He was shocked to find his home smoldering in ashes and burnt to the ground. Only the down pour was able to calm the flames that had already consumed the estate.
Frantically, Davy entered the parlor from the main doorway, immediately coming across four bodies lying side by side, buried within the ash and rubble. By the placement and position of their hands and feet he knew they had been bound. Two of them, he thought, were most likely a couple of servants. But, his heart truly sank when the jewelry hanging from the neck of one of the bodies, proved to be from his loving mother and he shuttered at the thought. Already devastated, he then noticed the ring that Lorien had always worn, sitting at the side of the fourth body. This he could not stomach.
Drained both physically and emotionally, Davy fell to his knees and knelt by Lorien’s side. A tear gently ran down his flustered cheeks, as he stared hypnotically.
It was then that he noticed something protruding from Lorien’s lips. Barely able to stomach the deed, Davy reached out to pull the foreign object from her mouth. It was an old silver coin with numbers etched by knife on both sides. It was a mystery to be sure and a reason unknown. He placed the coin into his pocket and continued walking around the smoldering ruin for a significant period of time.
Finding a pistol pressed into the soft ground, as if by the soul of a boot, Davy thought it curious that it was in the perfect position to be seen. With a closer look, he saw what appeared to be a Royal Navy insignia engraved upon the handle. All emotion seemed to wash away and he became unfeeling with the exception of his hatred and rage.
Later that afternoon Daniel, Roselynn and her husband, Charles, were foot bound for Davy’s home. It would take them a good portion of the day to arrive on time for supper and the afternoon sun was now beating down on them. However, they were shocked upon their arrival to find the estate entirely burnt to the ground. Only frail stone pillars and a few walls stood, without a roof to shelter the blackened floor.
Daniel took it upon himself to explore the home and found the four bodies. Assuming this was Davy and his family, Daniel’s heart sank low in his chest. “All these years and this is what I find, my best friend dead.” His parents comforted him as best they could, but Daniel refused to be comforted. Standing close to the bodies, the stench made his eyes water, as he looked on with an empty stare. Because of the morning rain, the flesh was still clinging to the half-burnt muscle and bone, now blistering in the heat.
Daniel soon returned home with his parents. And words cannot express the feelings that swelled deep within his soul.
Running aimlessly, Davy arrived at a small tavern. Close to port, the tavern was dim and muggy. Because of the late hour, the dimness of the sparse candlelight created eerie silhouettes of those moving about. The smell of rum intermixed with a distinct seafaring odor told Davy he was in a vile place. The wooden floorboards creaked aloud as Davy walked across the way.
Arriving a few minutes behind him was a tall thin man, mysteriously hooded. His black cloak hung low to the ground. Finding a seat across from Davy, this mysterious man set two pints of rum on the table, one directly in front of him. The only part of his exposed face was made known through the dim light of a weak flame flickering in the center of the table.
“You look lost boy,” began the stranger. “Where do you come from?”
“I couldn’t be lost,” replied Davy. “I’ve nowhere to be and where I come from is no business of yours.”
There was a long awkward silence, as they stared at one another. “I know who done the deed,” whispered the unknown man.
“What are you talking about? What deed?”
“These catastrophes don’t happen by mere accident. The Royal Navy can be truly wicked. They’re just pirates under the guise of government and what they call law. Your home wasn’t put to ruin for nothing and certainly not by accident.”
Davy pulled out a small pistol, revealing the Royal insignia. “I have an idea who done it, but how is it your business and how do you know so much about my situation?”
“I make it my business to know what I know.”
“Who are you?”
“Never, you, mind who I am. Who I am is of no concern to you. Trust me; I am not the sort you want to be acquainted with.” He took a small sip of rum. “Have you any family?”
“Not really. But should that be any of your concern? You know they’re all dead. Apparently you make it your business to know what you know.”
“Ah, yes, ‘tis true. However, your words were not really? What is that supposed to mean – not really? Either you do or don’t.”
“I was adopted by those whose bodies lay in that home. I have a real father and I aim to find him.”
“You seem resolute enough. Just remember, patience always pays off,” he chuckled slightly. “Aye, patience always pays off.”
“So what are you getting at? What’s in it for you to know any of this?” The man just grinned. Davy continued, “Have you a name?”
“Aye, but like I sai
d, I’m not the sort you want to be acquainted with. One day you’ll find you might want me dead. Or I may have reason to put a bullet through your head. Either way let’s not get too familiar.”
“So,” snapped Davy, placing a small dagger to his throat, “why are you so interested in me?”
“The only reason I’m here right now is that I know how you fell about the English rule. You hate it as much as I do.” Davy pulled his dagger from the stranger’s throat. “Go find your father and do whatever it takes to get even. But take time to plan well your retribution. Find the right sort and they’ll know what to do.”
“What do you mean by the right sort?”
“If you want the right sort of revenge, there are those who would take your side. Seek them out and become acquainted, as it were. Without them, you’re all alone. For starters, you’re in the place. For there be pirates a plenty in these parts. Go on account, as I. Find your father and perhaps we’ll meet again. Aye, I’ll be seeing you around.” The mysterious stranger then stood and walked away, leaving Davy to his thoughts.
Davy’s mind grew clouded with his thoughts of revenge. But, he seemed to find solace in what was said. And now, more than ever, he felt that vengeance would fill the hole in his heart. He would now leave everything behind to go on account with a vessel of fortune; to go on account with a vessel of piracy.
Now searching for a vessel that may perhaps fulfill his particular needs, he came upon a few men dressed in attire that seemed to fit his expectations and they acted the part well.
A large man grabbed Davy from behind. His name was Gunther and he seemed to be a leader of some sort among this particular group. Confronting Davy, Gunther tested, “Who might you be, matie?” Before he could answer, the rest of Gunther’s shipmates surrounded him. “What do you think you’re doin’, followin’ me?” asked Gunther. “Are you mad, boy?”
“Take your hands off of me,” He demanded.
Davy was pretty sizable for a boy his age. Before Gunther had a chance to move his hand, Davy took a small dirk from his belt and jabbed it through his forearm. The rest of the men immediately tackled Davy to the ground and commenced to beat him, but only for a minute. Two of the men then pulled Davy to his feet, at which time Gunther ripped the dagger from his arm, hollering, “I asked you a question, boy! Who are you?”
“If your men don’t let me go right now, it’s you I’m coming for; I don’t care if the lot of them run me through.”
“That works for me!” Gunther interrupted, lunging forward with Davy’s own dagger.
Davy shifted his weight slightly, avoiding a fatal assault. He was, however, struck in the shoulder and quickly dropped to the ground. To ensure Davy wouldn’t follow them, they beat him until he was unable to stand. “That’ll teach you to follow me, boy!”
Eventually Davy was able to stand on his quivering legs. He took a deep breath and leaned forward, bleeding from his lips and nose. His left eye was swollen and bruised and blood was dripping from the wound on his shoulder.
He then unwisely ventured off in the same direction as his assailants and found them drinking outside a tavern on a large wooden table. They didn’t notice Davy approaching from the shadows. He reached for the closest man, pulling two pistols from his belt and cocked them both as they all turned to face him. One of them reached for a pistol but Davy shot him in the leg without hesitating or blinking an eye.
“You only have one ball left,” stated Gunther. “But there be four of us and only one of you.”
“I don’t care who comes at me first,” replied Davy. “It’s you I’m here for.”
Gunther’s shipmates looked to him as though to await an order.
Davy smiled with a dare-me-to-do-it kind of wink. “Why not?” he whispered to himself. Imprudently, without a second thought, he fired a round into Gunther’s shoulder, shattering his right collarbone. Davy could have taken the opportunity to run since all the other men just stood there in awe watching Gunther fall back, shouting out in pain. Instead, Davy stood there with a blank countenance, uncaring. Dumbfounded, Gunther’s men didn’t really know what to do.
“I request a parley with your captain if you please,” stated Davy, matter-of-factly. Gesturing to Gunther, Davy continued, “I’m quite certain that’s not him. He’s too much a fool.”
Without saying another word they walked him to their vessel, escorting the two wounded men along with them.
“Permission to board,” shouted one of the men.
The Captain walked up to the gunwale and invited them onto the main deck. Once everyone was aboard the vessel, Davy stated, “I wish to join your crew.”
“He shot two of us, Captain,” said Gunther, now dripping blood from his neck. “Let me cut his dirty little throat!”
“Don’t you tell me what to do!” shouted the captain. “He then turned to Davy. You wound my men and ask to join my crew? What? Did you think I was just going to smile and welcome you aboard with open arms?”
Davy thought for a second. “Well, why not?”
“What would give you such a fool idea?”
“I only wounded them. I could have killed them just the same. I never back down from a fight. I’m sure you can use someone who can fight. I’ll be loyal to you and you alone. But, if you want my services – this man,” he said, pointing to Gunther, “this man will need to go.”
The captain laughed and walked over to Gunther. “Sorry, Mate.” He then stuck Gunther in the gut with his knife, without a second thought, and flung him overboard. “He’s been trouble ever since he signed on. My name is Captain Drake and you will call me Captain Drake. What are we to call you?”
“My name is Davy De Paul. Davy suits me just fine.”
“Well, welcome aboard Davy De Paul.”
The months passed into years and Davy moved up in rank and authority. He soon held the position of quartermaster and grew to love the many battles and bloodthirsty adventures he experienced. Davy’s reputation intensified, becoming colder and more rampant. The name of Davy De Paul was no more. People soon referred to him as, Davy the Black-Hearted, which soon shortened to Black-Hearted.
Void of Royal authority, Port of Errors quickly became Saint Drake’s most favorable stopover, pulling into port as occasion would allow. Black-Hearted’s leisure glance over the occupied harbor, demanded respect. On Port of Errors he was on top of the world and felt as though he owned the whole of it. As always, a rotting corpse awaited him on a gibbet at the end of the docks, reminding him of his sure fate, though not on Port of Errors. Piracy was a welcomed trade on Port of Errors, bringing to the island a wealth of goods and gold. Only fools and liars were found dangling at the end of a rope on this island – unless the wrong sort of individual was insulted.
Akin to every other man at sea, Black-Hearted reeked of body odor and traces of excrement. Though sunken deep within his skull, Black Hearted had eyes that revealed nothing but his cold and empty heart. His sun beaten and weathered face was scarred by battle. He carried a machete fixed firmly to his side, giving the impression that he was the vilest man that ever sailed these waters.
Most people knew of Black-Hearted. As he began walking through town, looks of trepidation from many of the men and women standing about gave him all the more confidence in his plight. Other people expressed admiration, mostly teenaged broods and other would-be pirates. Still, others stood imprudently fearless, but quickly backed down as he seemed to come too near.
While in town, Captain Drake took Black-Hearted to visit his typical stopovers, as he often had the past few years, dealing with Mr. Darcy as occasion would allow.
Saint Drake was often out at sea or docked beyond the reef at Port of Errors, which was the safest place for pirates in the Eastern Atlantic, considering no country owned Port of Errors.
Pirates ruled this island and here, Black-Hearted was prince among peasants and thieves – though, looking to be King.
Chapter V
The memories of years past were all
but forgotten, as Black-Hearted slowly stood from his slumber. A sudden stir about the ship had awakened him. Several crewmembers were in a panic, congregating around the captain’s chamber.
“Drake’s dead!” shouted Darby O’Dell, a long time Irish member of Captain Drake’s crew.
Black-Hearted stormed over to the gathering crowd. “What’s this?”
“He’s dead!” repeated Darby.
“He’s bound to die sooner or later.”
“But his teeth were broke up and he drowned in his own vomit. Someone killed him in the night,” countered Darby. “He didn’t just off and die.”
“He was sick,” affirmed Black-Hearted. “We’re better off without him at the helm.”
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