The Pirate Fairy

by A. J. Llewellyn

  “They told him she’d been arrested for stealing and that a British military officer had adopted her and taken her to Australia to be with his own family. Denny was determined to travel to Botany Bay to find her, but by the time he was old enough to procure work that would take him away from East London, none of the ships traveled that far. He started life honestly as a rigger on a ferry sailing from Dover to Calais, in France. He soon realized there was no money, but plenty of calluses in that way of life.

  “He took on a bigger ship traveling to Spain, and after being attacked by pirates, he realized he had to become one, too. A yo, ho, ho and a bottle of rum were the ideal life for him. He was arrested in the Spanish islands for drinking, along with senior crewmen. He was sexually assaulted there by the head jailer, a personal sacrifice that his crewmembers never forgot. When he mutinied and took over the ship two years later, not a single crewmember left him.”

  There was a deathly silence, and Denny wondered how his later exploits would be viewed. He blocked all thoughts of Christoph, for fear the judge and jury would read his mind.

  “When you took over the ship and renamed her the La-Di-Da, what kind of activities did you engage in?” Ebba asked him.

  Good one. Be direct. Merciless. “Pirating activities,” Denny replied.

  A small titter in the courtroom.

  “You switched your normal course of the Indian Ocean to the North Atlantic Ocean. Can you explain why?”

  Oh, I get what she’s doing now. Denny adopted his most serious expression and said, “I had observed that shipping traffic between Africa, the Caribbean, and Europe began to soar and that in spite of changes in the law regarding slavery, some ships still trafficked slaves bound for Europe and the Caribbean. My crew and I rescued hundreds of slaves and delivered them back to their island homes. You were one of the people we saved.”

  The room erupted in a stampede of applause and excited chatter.

  “Silence!” the judge shouted. The room fell quiet again.

  “We have a witness for the prosecution,” one of the Unseelie Court fairies said, poking her tongue out at Denny. He stared at her. Charming. Very mature.

  “Who is it?” the judge asked.

  “My brother,” Ebba replied. She looked devastated. “Captain Denny rescued both of us.”

  “He raped me!” Larks shrieked, running down the stairs.

  None of the fairies tried to touch him. They all edged away as he roared down toward the bench. Larks seemed to know exactly where to stand and took his place beside Pegasus.

  “Is this true?” the judge asked Denny.

  “No. I admit we had intimacy, many times in fact.” He glanced down at Larks. “But he loved everything we did together.”

  “It’s not true!” Larks jumped up and down like a demented flea. “I love women. He had to restrain me to have sex with me.”

  “Is he telling the truth?” the judge asked.

  “We used restraints, but he liked it. He asked me to do it.” Denny experienced a fluttering sensation deep within him.

  Merritt is here.

  Denny could feel it. He held his breath and looked around. Where is he?

  “It’s not true. I love women!” Larks was going crazy, punching the air with his balled-up fists and kicking some unseen assailant.

  The entire courtroom fell silent as he screamed, “Don’t touch me. Get your hands off me!”

  “What’s going on?” the judge asked.

  “It’s a spiritual malady, your honor,” Ebba said. “Ever since he went to see a witch doctor in Honduras, my brother has been afflicted by nighttime terrors.” She cast an accusatory glance at Denny. “This was right after my client made him walk the plank. Most people don’t survive. Those that do are often haunted by it. Larks tried to get help.” She paused and thrust her hands dramatically toward her brother who now rolled around the floor, muttering in some strange tongue, his eyes rolling back in his head. “And now look at him!”

  Oh, my God. Why is she doing this to me? She’s supposed to be defending me, not handing my head on a platter to the jury. Denny and everybody else stared at Larks. Some people stood to get a better view. Some seemed traumatized. Others gave Denny fierce looks. Some people grinned and shook their heads.

  The judge conferred with the twin seers, and on the far end of the bench, Denny caught the gaze of a very old black man who watched him through a telescope.

  “Bailiff, take the witness away if he can’t behave in the courtroom,” the judge suddenly said.

  Larks’ shaking and muttering intensified as a black fairy came for him.

  She had trouble holding onto Larks. The judge shouted at Denny over the disturbance.

  “Why did you make him walk the plank?”

  Denny glanced at Ebba. “Do I have to tell him?”

  “Of course you do.” She looked worried, though. “You have to tell,” she said, obviously realizing for the first time that Denny might have had a good reason to banish her brother.

  “Answer the question!” the judge boomed.

  “Your honor.” Denny’s voice squeaked, his throat hoarse and dry. “We had just delivered almost all of the slaves we freed to the Canary Islands. Ebba wanted to go home, but since my crew and I were heading to Europe, Larks wanted to stay on board.”

  Larks sat up, spewed green bile and a second black fairy arrived and helped the struggling bailiff with him. The room took on a foul odor. Some began to cough and hack, but Denny pressed on.

  “We had a cat aboard the ship named Theodore, your honor. He was a fantastic cat. I discovered that Larks wasn’t feeding him. In fact, Theodore was starving. I commanded Larks to feed him and he refused. Nobody starves on my ship,” Denny finished, his eyes watering badly. “Nobody.”

  A gasp went up in the courtroom. People started yelling and getting to their feet. Denny had no idea if they were mad at him or Larks, and became frightened when they chanted, “Hang him! Hang him!”

  His blood seemed to freeze in his veins and he had frightening visions of being dragged from the witness box straight to the gallows.

  Larks laughed and vomited more putrid stuff. The bailiffs finally carried him out of the room, as he twitched and jerked in their arms.

  “Court will adjourn for one hour to clear the room,” the judge said. “And somebody get the crying pirate out of that box.”

  “I’m not crying,” Denny sniveled. “Someone’s been cutting onions.” Indeed, the stench that followed Larks’ spectacular purging smelled strongly of onions, and Denny, being so close to him, had copped the brunt of it. Even poor Pegasus kept shaking his head and whinnying.

  A couple of Unseelie Fairies came and got Denny. Fairies everywhere were touching him as the bars fell away and myriad tiny hands lifted him out of the box. One fairy even grabbed his cock and balls and squeezed.

  “What the…” Denny had never met such slutty fairies in his life.

  “Thank you,” one of them whispered in his ear over the din in the courtroom. “Cats are fairies’ friends. They protect us from the monkeys.” She plopped a big kiss on Denny’s cheek. What monkeys? What was she talking about? The fairies lifted him high and soared out of the courtroom with him, back down the corridor, over the moat and into his cell again.

  Alone once more, he fell on the bed and closed his eyes. He felt awful after the onion-like stench of Larks’ vomit. He went over the events of his trial so far and wondered if he was losing or winning, the will to live that is. He knew now he could never return to piracy. He was a marked man. His wings guaranteed he’d never be accepted by humans and he had no other skills, though in his one and only week at school when he was five, he’d showed remarkable aptitude for finger painting. Perhaps he could take up a career of painting. Or he could write his memoirs.

  After all, he had a tale to tell, didn’t he?

  He recalled the British botanist and explorer Allan Cunningham, who he’d met four years ago at the seaport of Southampton, England.
Cunningham had been heading back to Australia, where he’d spent many happy years collecting plant specimens. Cunningham was obsessed with the place and had been busy writing scientific papers, some of which Denny had read. He’d been taught to read by some of his ship’s officers and had almost regretted this ability when he’d clapped eyes on Cunningham’s dreary jottings. But still. If Cunningham could find an audience for his work, surely Denny could attract a few readers with his wild sea tales?

  The idea took flight in his mind and he hoped that he could live long enough to tell his tale. The lock of his cell jangled, and he sprang up on the bed just as Ebba entered, carrying a tray loaded with food and drink. In spite of the fact that he felt she’d thrown him to the wolves, the smell of the chicken stew made his stomach rumble. She placed the tray on the desk.

  “I’m sorry about what I said,” she told him, eyes downcast. “I brought you nectar to make up for it.”

  “That’s okay.” It surprised him how congenial he could sound when several minutes ago he’d wanted to kill her.

  “I knew the court would be thrilled at the reason you made my brother walk the plank but the fact remains, you still made him do it.”

  “Yes, I understand.” He rushed to the table and had the first taste of stew in his mouth before he’d even taken a seat.

  She began to pace as Denny ate. The bread on his tray had been slightly toasted, which gave it a good crunch. His toes curled with pleasure inside his moccasins. This was the stuff of dreams. He picked up the goblet and drank the silky, golden liquid, feeling wonderful. Why did she look so worried?

  “What’s going on?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “We had a good beginning but I’m anxious about the next part of the trial. I am going to try to focus on the shipping and trading part and less on the pillaging and plundering.” She frowned. “They’ll want to know about the ship’s captain, Lester Piggins, and the mutiny and the men you’ve killed.”

  The door to the cell rattled, and the green-winged fairy appeared. “Ebba. You’re wanted in the courtroom.” He gave Denny a swift glance. “Enjoy your supper. It may be your last.”

  “Don’t worry,” Denny said, waving a piece of bread around, “I will.”

  Ebba looked alarmed as she followed the green-winged fairy out of the cell. She had a lot riding on this case. And so did Denny. He kept thinking about the prince and wondered if he really had been in the courtroom. Or did I imagine it? He was certain he hadn’t and, when he closed his eyes and really concentrated, felt sure he’d been up in the rafters with many winged creatures. I’ll look for him when I go back. When Denny got back to the courtroom he’d take his time and watch. He knew he would find his prince.

  After he’d eaten his last bite of food and licked the nectar cup clean, he lay on his bed and daydreamed about Merritt. His thoughts took him back to the day he had captured a ship heading for San Juan, Puerto Rico. For two years he had coveted the fabrics and rum aboard the Clementine. He had seen the ship many times in various ports and would have known her anywhere. He’d been surprised to see her way off course, but when he’d studied the ship through a telescope, he’d realized quickly that the ship had already been overtaken and renamed the Charlotte.

  * * * *

  The high seas

  Seventeen months earlier…

  Denny and Rigby spent time watching a drunken pirate crew carousing on deck.

  “Who is it?” Rigby asked.

  Denny had a suspicion it was Lewis Horton, a British sailor turned pirate. He was famous for taking prisoners and starving them to death. He would force them to do embarrassing things in the form of games for a mere crust of bread.

  “Horton, I think.” Denny was more determined than ever to capture the ship and possibly eliminate the vile Horton from the world of men.

  “Really?” Rigby sucked in a breath and took the spyglass from Denny’s hands. He watched the singing, dancing crew a few moments and said, “Aye, it’s him. That weasel. I’d recognize those ginger curls anywhere, not to mention that stupid chicken dance he’s so fond of.”

  “There’s a woman on board,” Denny muttered, releasing a sigh. He was certain he could see her crying.

  Although he sexually favored men, he loved women and strove to protect them, especially if they were young. He wanted to rescue them all, because it ate at him that he’d been unable to save Polly. One day he would sail to Australia and find her. In the meantime, he would have to wait until one of the seamen he’d bribed into helping him sent him news of her situation. He had various men who’d been well paid to search for her, with promises of more money once they learned something. He’d also offered an extra, huge reward to any man who brought her back to Denny. Alive, of course. Each time he arrived at a new port, he checked with the clerks there for news. He’d never had any.

  “Oh, yeah. I see the woman now. Her feet are bound,” Rigby murmured. “They’re making her kick a ball around the deck but of course she keeps falling.”

  “Fire the cannons!” Denny shouted.

  Things happened quickly after that. Denny and his crew climbed aboard and soon learned that the Charlotte’s pirate crew had been helping themselves to the stores of rum for weeks. It showed in the way they indiscriminately fired their weapons, even shooting at one another as Denny’s crew came up alongside the vessel and climbed on board.

  Horton fired at his female captive but missed. She screamed as the bullet grazed her shoulder then lodged in the deck. The Charlotte was sinking as the battle raged between the two pirate crews. Horton fired at the woman again but Denny shot him in the hand. He collapsed on the deck where Rigby finished him with a shot to the head. The woman kept screaming, and Denny picked her up, attempting to carry her off the ship and onto the La-Di-Da.

  “It’s for your own protection. We won’t hurt you, I can promise you that,” he yelled over her constant shrieks.

  “My brother’s below deck. He’s in bad shape. They’ve kept him in shackles for weeks.”

  “I’ll get him,” Denny promised. He delivered her to the deck of the La-Di-Da and hastened back to the Charlotte. With his bosun, Woodruff, at his heels, Denny scoured the ship until he followed the sounds of faint moaning and found a young man, half conscious and chained to the wall in the stowage. Both Woodruff and Denny were horrified by the man’s inhumane conditions. The stench of piss, feces and vomit was strong, and Denny had to hold his breath as he helped lift the near-skeletal creature.

  “Shoot me. Please kill me,” the man begged, his fetid breath almost knocking out Denny. His blue eyes stared at him from beneath ragged, crusted eyelashes, but Denny ignored him and carried the man in his soiled clothing off the ship and onto his own. He couldn’t believe how light the man was, and the protruding bones emerging from his ripped clothing looked damaged and bruised.

  Denny carried him to the ship’s sickbay. “He’s been beaten,” Denny murmured as he and Woodruff stripped him of his disgusting clothing. The young man couldn’t sit or speak but seemed to understand questions. His breath came in putrid gasps.

  “What is his name?” Denny glanced at the young man’s sister.

  She ignored Denny the first few times he asked. She had come aboard with them and kept close, pacing and wringing her hands. The woman hovered over her brother as though Denny might snap every bone in his body.

  “Careful,” she kept saying. “Think of him as precious cargo.”

  No. I was thinking of him as dinner. Denny’s thoughts raged. Wasn’t it obvious he was helping her brother? “Get the surgeon,” Denny instructed Woodruff.

  Woodruff retreated and soon returned with Arthur Fellows, the best ship’s doctor Denny had ever worked with in his seafaring career.

  Woodruff beckoned Denny aside. “I’m scouting for survivors. Only four deaths.” Woodruff was a kindly man for a pirate. Big-hearted and, well, big all over, even his whisper sounded like an exploding cannon.

  “None of our
own have perished?” Denny asked, concerned.

  “None, sir. Couple of injuries. Pride wounded more than anything, but one of the pirates from the Charlotte is missing.”

  The patient stirred. Denny lowered his voice. “Which one?”

  “They say it’s a rough lad named Scruggs.” The oblivious Woodruff kept booming as he went on. “They say he was responsible for this. Got a real mean streak in him.” Woodruff gestured to the patient, who became agitated at the mere mention of Scruggs’ name.

  His sister knelt beside him, soothing him.

  Woodruff pulled Denny outside the room and managed to drop his voice to report, “We found two dead bodies in the same room we found our patient.”

  “Go. Keep me informed.” Denny had never felt so angry or helpless. Suddenly, early retirement in Cornwall seemed very appealing. Denny had never seen the point in killing for its own sake, especially in such a cruel, inexplicable way.

  Woodruff left, and Denny returned to the sickbay, where he and the woman stood by as Fellows examined the patient.

  Denny stole a couple of looks at her. She was thin, but not underfed. Her eyes were pale brown. Hazel, Denny thought they called it. Her long hair was dirty and matted, but must have shone like spun gold when it was clean. He glanced at her brother. As long as he lived, Denny would never forget the frightened-cow eyes of the starving young man as Fellows examined him.

  When Denny asked the woman once again for her brother’s name, her face looked like a volcano on the verge of eruption. Several moments went by before she said, “Merritt,” as though giving up some huge secret. The surgeon looked up at them.

  “Kindly fetch boiling water. And Denny, bring me my medical supplies.”

  Denny went and got the kettle from the galley, clean towels and sponges, and a large bowl. He grabbed a cake of plain white soap and dashed back to the sickbay. Fellows kept examining Merritt as his sister gently bathed him with the sponges and bucket after bucket of hot, soapy water. Merritt looked a bit better but the smell of rotting flesh didn’t leave him.