The Pirate Fairy

by A. J. Llewellyn

  The twin seers held their hands to their mouths, as though they could see the awful images swimming in Denny’s mind.

  “He became unable to walk or breathe. He was given to violent episodes of vomiting and it was heartbreaking to watch. His bones and every muscle in his body caused him agony. His skin turned a very strange color. He was ashen, as though he’d been lit by fire from within.”

  “Exactly,” the seers said once again in unison. They nodded.

  Denny felt a stab of gratitude for their acknowledgment. He had made the right decision.

  “Signore Ricci’s crewmembers had suspected the food was contaminated and had refused to eat it for weeks. They had been starving. Poor Signore Ricci poisoned himself badly and it was clear he was suffering and would not survive the sea journey. Please understand I did not want to kill him. He begged me to do it.”

  Denny dropped his head and recalled the awful moment when he’d complied. “It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do and I am not a sentimental man. He was a good, kind man who could no longer tolerate the pain. He vomited black bile and could barely speak at the end. It took every bit of remaining strength for him to beg me, to convince me to end his agony.” He was silent for a long time, remembering.

  “How did you do it?” Ebba asked, her tone hushed.

  “I shot him. We wrapped him in cloth and gave him to the monks when we reached dry land in Bilbao. His body had the stench of lead poisoning. I’ve never experienced it before. It is a metallic smell. The monks instructed us to wash ourselves thoroughly when we arrived. None of Signore Ricci’s other crewmembers survived, except for the two we had on board. The ones he’d left in Bilbao had also passed. I learned from the two men that had traveled with us on my ship that Signore Ricci had fed his crew well until sickness hit them. He often went hungry to make sure they ate. He had assumed that rancid meat was the cause of their illness, ignoring his crewmen’s suggestions that it was the canned goods. His death was not something I took lightly.”

  “Thank you,” Ebba said. “Was there ever an occasion where you killed a good man in different circumstances?”

  “In an act of self-protection, yes. Twice. Other times, I killed pirates and slave traders. I don’t regret those. They were not good men.”

  “What about Carter Henning?”

  Denny stared at her in surprise. How does she know about him? “He was a pirate.”

  “You didn’t know it at the time, did you?”

  Denny grew restless. Ebba had been on the ship at that time and knew exactly what had happened.

  “He was a bad man,” he said, staring her right in the eyes.

  “You took over his sloop, didn’t you?”

  “I knew him before that.” He could tell that shocked her. “I’d met him a few years ago on another sloop, briefly. I didn’t trust him then. He tried to sell me torn fabric, keeping the damaged portions rolled up, but I checked them and refused to complete the purchase.”

  Ebba was so thrown it seemed that she paused to turn pages in her notebook. Denny couldn’t figure out her strategy. One moment she seemed to be on his side, the next she appeared to be trying to hang him. He glanced up, and the man in the caped hood raised a hand. His thumb pointed up. That was when Denny realized Ebba was trying to lull Denny into a false sense of confidence. She was building up to something big. She thought she had something on him that she couldn’t. Denny was the first to admit he had secrets, but nothing he thought would be of value to a court. He hoped.

  He waited in silence while she consulted her notes. He kept a clear head. He had to be careful of his thoughts. Especially with this sharp jury.

  “I think we’ve heard enough for tonight,” the judge ordered. “We’ll finish for the evening and daybreak isn’t far away. Some of our participants have dawn curfews thanks to their particular curses.” He banged his gavel. “Court will reconvene at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  Chapter Nine

  Merritt watched everything and wished he could join Denny. He wished he could take him and drag him to the nearest ship away from here.

  Soon, he promised himself. The crowd got up en masse and surged toward the doors. Fairy guards escorted Denny to the cells. Merritt remained in his seat. It took him a long time to leave the courtroom. He knew Denny had seen him, and for one moment, Merritt worried that everybody present had been able to see the sparks flying between them. Merritt gripped the low marble wall of the balcony and closed his eyes. All that Denny had been through was worse than Merritt had imagined.

  When at last he left the court, he knew it was time to get rid of the cloak. He slipped out of the building and, making sure nobody followed him, he made his way to the small, ancient church opposite the modern and massive court house. Centuries ago, Merritt and Fortunata’s parents had fled their own island kingdom in England and traveled here, establishing a new and happy kingdom. They’d embraced and welcomed all in the magical world, eventually being betrayed and murdered by people they’d trusted.

  Everything had changed when they’d allowed outsiders—Western sea traders and ships containing sick men aboard that no magic could cure. His thoughts flew to Denny and the Italian explorer he’d been forced to kill.

  Merritt and Fortunata had grown up without their parents, trusting only each other. Fortunata had such a wonderful, glorious side to her, but constant loss and romantic failure had clouded her judgment. She had never been a happy girl, in spite of having everything. Having so much power and weaving chaotic spells didn’t seem to bring her joy, or peace of mind. In fact, she had become dangerously delusional. It had begun on the ship when they’d been abducted. She hadn’t been able to protect herself. Or Merritt. Instead of being grateful that Merritt had found love, she’d tried her hardest to disparage and discredit Denny, even though he’d saved them.

  Inside the church, Merritt lifted off the hood and removed the cloak. The memories and bad feelings his sister and cousin had woven into it would find peace in this beautiful place. He was the only one in his family who came here. A soft whinny told him that Cillian had arrived. Merritt opened the backdoor, and the horse, standing on the small grassy knoll they’d called the ha-ha as children, came down the slope and trotted inside.

  Merritt laughed. The priest would have a fit if he saw the horse in his church, but Merritt let Cillian sniff and paw his way around the apse. Seeming antsy, Cillian moved to the ambulatory on either side of the apse, then he spun around and, tail swishing, made his way past the pews normally reserved for the choir to the transept, almost in the middle of the building. When he stopped and clomped a hoof in a certain section, Merritt knew this was the spot.

  “Back to the palace, Cillian,” he said. “Go, my friend. Find Avery. I will see you very soon.”

  Cillian shook his great head. He didn’t want to leave him.

  Merritt stroked the horse’s mane and flank. “We’ve been together so long, I promise, this isn’t goodbye.”

  Cillian’s bright, warm eyes bore into his.

  “I will be home soon,” Merritt whispered, wrapping his arms around the great stallion’s neck.

  At last, Cillian left, Merritt glad that he would return to Avery, who would rub him down and feed him well. As long as he’d known Cillian, this was the only time Merritt was aware of him ever dying. Thank God he’d returned. Good had triumphed over evil.

  Merritt waited until the sky grew dark. He knew the priest who served here would be with the jurors discussing the case. The judge’s sudden command to cut the proceedings short worried Merritt. He had to move fast. Once he was certain he was alone, he dug into the hardened earth blocks in the ground with a ceremonial dagger from the altar table. Beneath the stone lay his parents’ ashes in sealed caskets. Merritt had never actually seen them before and became emotional when he found them covered in dust, but intact.

  Their parents’ enemies must never know where their ashes were. Even a small amount could give their enemies power. Only a f
ew people knew their precise location. The priest, Cillian, and now Merritt. He folded the cloak and stuffed it into the small space. Beside it, he lay the small gold cross belonging to the priest. Merritt had found it on the altar in Gremma’s house. He had no idea what Fortunata intended to do with it, but she hadn’t begun her magic on it. Now she never would. In the encroaching darkness, he replaced the stone block and filled in the dirt. He cleaned off the ceremonial dagger he’d used, hoping God wouldn’t mind his using it, then, when he was certain all trace of his work was gone, he left the church.

  Merritt visited the four remaining owners of the hexed items and returned their belongings to them. By the time he returned to the palace, he’d had a long and exhausting day and he wanted nothing more than a hot bath, some food then sleep. He stopped by the stables first and found Cillian covered in a blanket and eating hay.

  “He seems somehow different,” Avery remarked, rubbing Cillian’s nose.

  “How so?”

  “A little younger.”

  Merritt didn’t say anything for a moment, then he asked, “Did he have a wound when he came back this morning?”

  “Aye.” Avery looked surprised. “I was able to fix it, but I still have no idea how he managed to hurt himself.”

  “It was my sister,” Merritt whispered. “I want you to leave the palace with him. He’s not safe here.”

  “But—”

  Merritt pressed a bag of gold into Avery’s hands. “I will get you more. But until you hear from me, you are to keep him in the stables by the forge.”

  “Smitty’s forge?”

  Merritt nodded. “If anyone asks, I’ll say Cillian needs new shoes.”

  “He does need new shoes, but I thought Smitty was under the weather.”

  “Smitty’s in fine fettle now.” Merritt grabbed Avery’s arms and looked into his eyes. “Neither of you are to come back here until you hear from me directly. Don’t believe any messages. Don’t listen to anybody. I will come to you myself.”

  “Yes, sir,” Avery said. “Are we to leave right now?”

  Merritt nodded. “Yes. Just wait until I get my sister out of the way.” Merritt raced outside and caught Fortunata creeping toward the stables.

  “Hello, sis,” he said, hands on hips.

  Fortunata gave a soft little shriek. “You scared me.”

  Good. “We need to talk.”

  “About what?” she asked, looking evasive. Even in the near darkness, her sudden fear was palpable.

  “I’ve destroyed the spells you cast. I’ve taken off all the hexes. How could you do this to the people we know and love?”

  “I never—”

  “Don’t lie. I know everything.”

  A myriad emotions crossed her face. “What have you done with Gremma?”

  “Sent her someplace safe.”

  She let out a sigh. “And the cloak?”

  “Gone.” He paused. “Can you explain yourself?”

  Fortunata looked emotional when she said, “I know this will sound weird, but I did it out of love.”

  “Love?” he scoffed. “You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

  “Yes, I do. I love you and I am so afraid you’ll leave me. I thought…I thought if I kept you sedated, sort of here and not here, you wouldn’t miss him.” She shook her head. “But you still love him. And I know he loves you. I have never had anyone who loves me like that. Never.”

  “Perhaps if you didn’t try hexing your lovers you might fare better.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The love spells, Fortunata. You can’t help yourself. Like all of your spells, they backfire.”

  “They don’t backfire. They just don’t always go the way I want them to.” She blew out a sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m especially sorry about the horse. I know how much you love him. Sometimes I think you love him more than me.”

  “I do, as it happens.”

  She gasped.

  “Cillian never grated his fingernails into my coffee in order to keep my loyalty. He never drugged me or kept me a prisoner in my room. I know you think you love me, but you don’t know the meaning, and now, I need a hot bath and a lot of space from you.”

  “But—”

  “Not now, Fortunata.” He held up a hand. “Just give me time.” He stalked away, surprised when two men from Denny’s old pirate ship approached him.

  “It’s Rigby, isn’t it?” Merritt asked.

  “Aye, sir, glad you remember me.” Rigby looked shifty-eyed when he said, “Cap’n Denny managed to escape. He gave me a note to give you. Hopes you can meet him.”

  Rigby handed him the note. Merritt took it just as Fortunata came up behind him.

  “What’s going on here?” she asked.

  Rigby and his friend took off.

  “He brought me a note from Denny.”

  “Impossible,” Fortunata said. “Sweetie, it’s a trap.”

  “And I’m to believe you? The worst liar of all?”

  “I promise you, Denny is in his prison cell. He cannot escape.”

  “How can I trust you? You’ve kept us apart all these months.”

  “I’m sorry. Truly, I am sorry, but I don’t believe Rigby. I cannot believe Denny sent that note.”

  “Well,” Merritt said, mustering up more confidence than he actually felt, “that’s a chance I am going to have to take.”

  Merritt opened the note but in the blanketing darkness couldn’t read much. He picked out the words ‘ship’ and ‘harbor’ and ran toward the ocean. His breath caught in his throat. His lost love! He couldn’t wait to see Denny and ignored Fortunata, who screamed his name.

  “It’s a trap!” she yelled at the same moment Rigby jumped in front of him.

  Rigby threw a punch, which Merritt easily ducked. Rigby threw another punch, which glanced off Merritt’s chin. Dazed, Merritt swung back, aiming for Rigby’s solar plexus. He hit him, surprising Rigby who reeled back, letting out a loud, “Oof.”

  Somebody came up from behind Merritt. He turned to see Fortunata attempting to fight off the man Merritt had seen earlier with Rigby.

  “No!” she yelled, laying her ineffective fists on him.

  Rigby came roaring back and attacked Merritt once more.

  “Do something!” Merritt yelled at Fortunata. Of all the times for her to suddenly stop throwing spells.

  Rigby took Merritt to the ground, another sailor racing over to help him. Merritt fought them both.

  “He has courage!” Rigby yelled with a laugh. “The pirate’s whore can fight!”

  Merritt flew into a rage. “Help me!” he shouted at Fortunata whose face was a blur as Merritt tumbled on the ground with the two pirates.

  “You weren’t supposed to hurt him,” she shrieked at Rigby. “Somebody’s coming! Take him. Now!” She waved her hand at Merritt, who sank into nothingness. The whole world turned black.

  * * * *

  Denny had lost all track of time but was exhausted. He knew he would sleep as soon as he lay on his bed.

  He couldn’t think straight, let alone have a serious conversation with Ebba, who chattered at him nonstop all the way back to his cell. He wished she would go away. She went on and on about her fears that the jury would dislike him because of his rough edges and his hard life.

  “I’ve done my best,” he said. “But it’s not over yet, right?”

  “Maybe not.” She looked flustered. “Usually when the jury calls for a session to end early they’ve already reached a verdict and they leave it in the judge’s hands. They will give you an opportunity to accept their offer.”

  “You mean the trial is possibly over?”

  “Maybe. We can discuss it if and when the offer is made but I am pretty certain they will make an offer before we go to court in the morning.”

  “What do you think they’ll offer?” he asked, using the last remnants of water in his cell’s drinking glass to clean his teeth.

  Ebba seemed to find something
of tremendous interest in his barren wall space.

  “What?” he asked.

  She did an odd thing. She pressed her hand against the beige-colored wall and pushed, as though expecting a secret door to emerge. “I don’t think you will receive the death sentence.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  She swallowed. “I suspect they will offer you life imprisonment, or a lifetime of slavery.”

  “Such exciting choices.”

  She looked at him. “Which are you most inclined to accept?”

  “I have no idea,” he said, wondering if she had already been given an offer to present to him. She would just have to wait. He was more convinced than ever that she had no intention of helping him, but didn’t want to see him hang, either.

  “How is your brother?” he asked.

  “Fair. He’s in the infirmary. They gave him a draught. He enjoys those. They help him sleep.”

  Denny didn’t respond. He hated medicine and couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a draught. He recalled now he’d taken one years ago for a tooth extraction. It hadn’t done much to ease the terrible pain. The memory came back so vividly he could feel the tooth aching all over again.

  He lay on his bed facing away from her. He was tired of all this. Maybe execution would be a release.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow,” she said, giving him a comforting pat on the back. The truth was he’d always seen himself as invincible. Perhaps most men did. He’d never thought that he would end up on trial for his life. For a long time, he lay on his side staring at the wall. Perhaps it was apt. It was blank, like his future. He had to face facts. It was unlikely he’d be a free man again. His life as he’d known it was over.

  Gone.

  Given the choice of imprisonment, or a lifetime of slavery, he’d have to consider which option would best give him the means for crafting an escape. He had his wings, didn’t he? He could fly. How far or for how long, he had no idea. He suspected the slavery option involved having one of his wings clipped, just like the cursed pirate eagle, Howard deGacy.