“Will ye be comin’ in today, perhaps? Or do ye plan on standing guard at me door for the rest o’ the night?” Blackbeard’s voice grumbled at them from inside his quarters.
Not bothering with a polite knock, Archie gave the door a shove with his elbow, carefully balanced his platter, and entered.
Blackbeard took a deep breath and smiled, white teeth gleaming in his beard. “Smee, ye had mercy. Smelled your soup all the way through the floorboards, I did.”
“Aye.” Smee returned the smile genially, as if he regularly bestowed his good graces on the most unfortunate of the crew.
A map depicting the various stars lay unrolled on the table. Ignoring the two pirates, Archie set his platter on the far side, safely away from the paper and inspected the map, tracing various dots with his fingertips.
BLACKBEARD WATCHED THE cook, whose head was bent over the table. His long, black hair hid his face from view, but his fingers moved along as if they knew the paths of the sky by heart. There was rarely anything he missed, especially when it came to his crew. He knew each of his men well, their attributes and their downfalls. And while he was generous to a fault, there was also a reason he was known as the scourge of the seven seas. It was a title earned through sharpness and cunning, the same attributes that kept him out of the clutches of the British Navy thus far.
As he eyed his newest crew member, he was certain the man didn’t have a clue how to cook. He had known it since the first meal he had been served, when half of his men spent the night with their bums on chamber pots, the other half vomiting over the railings. It was no wonder the man in front of him made so many enemies in such a short time, but still the man showed grit in not giving up, continuing to serve the same, awful slop defiantly, day after day.
Blackbeard’s stomach gave a queasy turn at the thought of the man continuing to prepare his meals, so he asked hopefully, “Know something of the stars, do you, lad?”
“YES.” IT WAS truth this time. Simple truth. Archie had been in love with the sky for as long as he could remember. As a child, he would lay under the twinkling stars, memorizing their names, tracing the patterns of their constellations with his fingertips pointed at the sky.
“This one right here.” He pointed at one of the largest dots. “This is Regulus. There are five other stars in its group.” He traced them with his finger, showing that they made a sickle shape, a nearly perfect hook. “They are at their brightest now; but they will disappear during the autumn months and stay hidden until the following spring.”
Blackbeard nodded, more than pleased with this display of knowledge. “Well, Mr. Jameson, what say ye to being my navigator instead the ship’s cook?”
“Well,” Archie was rather taken aback by the offer and tried not to look ecstatic. “I do appreciate the offer, but the crew may have need of my culinary skills if we are to survive, I’m afraid.”
The two small sections beneath Blackbeard’s eyes—the only places not swamped by hair—became as red as two tiny poppies, as if he were attempting not to laugh outright. A slight snort escaped him as he said, “I think ye’ll have naught to worry about, lad. I’m sure we shall survive just fine without your ministrations.”
“There be a slight matter that happened in the galley a bit ago,” Smee interjected.
Ah, yes. Here it comes, Archie thought. He had just gotten a chance to break free from his prison and before he could accept, Smee was going to ruin it all.
“The matter being Jake Awbry, I would suppose?”
The man must know all that happened aboard his ship. The pirate hasn’t even been dead long enough to get cold, Archie thought, surprised.
“Aye. He came at us in a fitful rage, he did.” Smee shook his head in a knowing way. “I had me back turned for the soup and yon lad was peelin’ praties. Jake was nearly on me when the laddie sunk a knife in him. Saved my life, he did.”
If Archie was speechless before, now he was dumbstruck. That was in no way how he remembered the chain of events, though now he was certain that Smee was an Irishman, for no one else ever mentioned potatoes as praties to him before.
“Is that so, then.” Blackbeard’s gaze rested on him.
It seemed more a statement than a question, so Archie didn’t even nod his head. Admitting to being a murderer was different than admitting to be a cook. Maybe it was possible the captain didn’t know every single detail on the boat after all. There were only himself and Smee as witnesses, but he still wasn’t going to say a word unless he was asked a specific question.
“Well, then. It seems the crew should think themselves lucky that none others took the same path as Jake Awbry.” Blackbeard shrugged. “Ye start in the morning as my navigator, Mr. Jameson.”
Just like that, Archie’s days in the galley ended without a word said on his part, neither accepting nor denying a thing, for which he was extremely grateful. Nevertheless, later on, once they were safely away, Archie turned to Smee for answers.
“Why did you say I killed Jake?”
“Ye needed a roughness to ye, lad.” Smee smiled, though it didn’t reach his watery eyes. “You dealt a single, sure stroke that felled a man to his death. The men will accept ye as one of their own, no doubt. They’ll be thinkin’ twice afore they cross ye again.” He watched as Archie mulled over this latest bit of information, and some dark thought showed in his eyes. “Aye, that’s right, lad. So now ye are a pirate.”
5
The First Rule
DEATH AT SEA was disconcerting. Archie wasn’t sure if he came to that conclusion by the body sewn mummy-style in the sail at his feet with an added two cannon balls to sink the corpse to his watery grave or by the fact that the wind picked up and smacked at the ship as if it were angry with them. The waves grew taller. It felt as if the ghosts of the deep had arrived to ferry the dead man to the underworld—and impatient ghosts they were, to boot.
“N-not to s-speak ill of the d-dead and rush old Jake’s last r-rites, but might we hurry this a-along?” Harper asked, watching the approach of the blackest clouds that Archie had ever seen.
“Aye,” Blackbeard agreed in a doleful tone, looking up at the sky as he stood up on the quarterdeck to officiate the makeshift funeral. Thankfully, there were no lit fuses in his beard this time, but rather he had befitted his long tresses with black silk ribbons. It must have been proper attire for mourning, by the captain’s way of thinking. He cleared his throat, then rumbled, “Jake Awbry was a good pirate. Quick on the rigging and always kept a weather eye from the maintop. May he find good fortune in the hereafter.” He stopped for a moment, as if to make certain that was all that he could say nice about the man, and nodded to Archie and the others who surrounded the corpse.
Well. That was short and sweet, Archie thought as he helped pick up Jake who wasn’t dead long enough to even get stiff. They hauled him to the edge of the ship, pausing just a moment to raise him high enough to clear the railing and toss him over into the waves. The ocean swallowed him as if it had just risen for the occasion. A streak of lightning crossed the sky at the exact second the body hit the water.
“Sell his effects later, aye?” Blackbeard yelled over the thunder. “Here she comes, lads. Prepare to weather the squall!”
The Jolig Roger bobbed along a short distance behind them, following the same plan of action as they reduced their sails, checked the ropes on what cannons they could reach in a short amount of time and held tight, ready to ride out the storm that bore down on them in fury. Buckets of rain smashed down, sending pirates sliding all over the slick wood. Several fell and went rolling, smacking into cannons and masts until they all were able to take cover from the storm.
It lasted moments, moving off as quickly as it had come; then the sun came back out as if nothing at all had happened out of the ordinary. The only proof that anything had occurred were the bruises on the sailors and a quickly drying deck.
The entire experience was unnerving. Archie decided to construct his own set of rules at
this point, beginning with the first. Do not die at sea, pirate or no.
“Mr. Smee, if ye would like to resume the sale of the deceased’s effects before we cast off and leave this forsaken place, ye may,” the captain said, before turning to address Archie, “Mr. Jameson, once ye are finished here, chart our path to Madeira, if ye’d be so kind.”
Archie nearly passed on the auction of Jake Awbry’s meager earthly goods, which seemed to contain naught but a clay pipe and a well-used stack of playing cards. He was starting to leave and make his way to the chartroom when a fencing sword caught his attention.
“All right, ye cheap-hearted buggers.” Smee scowled, obviously not impressed with the forthright good nature of his fellow crew. “Ol’ Jake has a widow, ye know. Best ye think of that and dig deep in yer pockets. Who wants to start the bidding?”
Nonplussed at being called names, several pirates crossed their arms over their chests, unwilling to be badgered into offering the slightest bit for the small collection of goods. There wasn’t anything there worth having. The pipe was cracked, the cards were so worn that their ink was faded, and the sword was standard issue for a gentleman, but gentlemen they were not. These men preferred thicker blades, things that would not take such precision and care to hack down their enemy. None of them wanted the thin rapier.
Save Archie.
He searched about his person, coming up with the solitary coin left to his name.
“Here.” He handed it to Smee. “When I receive my share of our cargo, I shall give you more to send to the Widow Awbry.”
“Aye, take it and be merry.” Smee traded the odd lot of stuff for the coin, pleased enough with the arrangement.
Archie made his way to the maps and settled down. The storm hadn’t moved them very far off course from the island Blackbeard instructed him to find. They should be there in a few days if they didn’t run into any other squalls or strong headwinds. He informed the captain of his findings and relayed the message to the crewman who signaled the news and headings to the Jolig Roger, then made his way below decks to his bunk amongst the casks of rum to inspect his new belongings more closely.
There wasn’t a whole lot his father insisted upon, but luckily enough, fencing classes for all four of his sons was something he took seriously. He considered it an essential part of becoming a gentleman in their society, so every week for hours each evening, the four brothers would take their lessons, regardless of whether they wished to or not. All became skilled with a rapier, though the most proficient had been the youngest brother. Archibald took to his lessons with a vigor his siblings lacked. For his brothers, it was something their father required of them to gain their nobility. Nothing more.
But Archie was different.
Archie mastered his swordplay for the love of feeling the thin rapier in his hand. It was a strong, light weapon that would wear any opponent down if used properly. He practiced for hours to obtain that skill.
Now that his weapon of choice lay in his hands, he felt safe for the first time since he had woken up on the Anne. If anyone else should dare attack him, they would take their place beside Jake Awbry in the murky depths of the ocean. Smee may have given him the reputation he needed to survive, but now he had what he needed to back it up.
He grinned, his blue eyes sparkling and dancing with mirth.
Oh, yes. He was a pirate. Let them come for him now.
6
What’s in an Island?
THEY ARRIVED AT Madeira three days later, much to the crew’s delight. The joy was contagious as they made their way to the island. Blackbeard even looked pleased, a jaunty blue ribbon braided into his beard as he stood at the head of the first longboat being rowed ashore. Several boats followed behind him, with the majority of both crews, dressed in their finest and hauling quite a bit of sugar in a tug behind them.
The thirty-odd hands that kept the Jolig Roger afloat and unharmed seemed more than ecstatic as they now could get rid of the Dutch sailors who had been chained below decks. The Dutchmen were the ones who didn’t look happy, though they did seem to be relieved to be breathing fresh air again.
Madeira was a Portuguese island, and though it was a free port, it was a haven for bandits who did not raid or engage any Portuguese ships. Blackbeard knew this well, so Madeira became one of the last safe places where he and his crew could come and go at will without the British Navy at their throats, though they all knew it was a matter of time before it would come to an end. Her Majesty’s Navy had a strong dislike for all pirates, but their greatest hatred seemed reserved for Blackbeard himself, the only brigand who always managed to elude their grasp. One naval officer in particular, Lieutenant Maynard, made it his solitary goal in life to track the notorious man down, swearing to stop at nothing until he saw him hang from the end of a noose.
But for now, the worries of Her Majesty’s British Navy were the farthest things from the crew’s minds. They were free men, ready to release their prisoners, unload their cargo of sugar and take their profits, and of course cause whatever mischief their hearts desired. That in itself was enough to raise their spirits, though the majority of them looked forward to the spirits they would find in bottles—and the wenches who would bring those bottles.
“I’m gettin’ me a t-tattoo,” Harper announced as they rowed to shore in the longboat.
“Ah. Well, that is wise, I suppose.” Archie nodded. Most of the crew inked their skin. If it gave the lad the boost of self-confidence he needed to quit stuttering, Archie was all for it. “What do you have in mind? I might wish to accompany you.”
Harper looked at him through narrowed eyes, as if he were unsure whether his friend was jesting or if his words were true.
Archie rolled his eyes. “I am being quite serious.” And he was for the most part, though he had no desire whatsoever to get his own skin marked. By his logic, if he stayed with Harper for most of the time they were on this island, he may not attract as much trouble than if he stayed with any of the other more disreputable persons that shared this longboat. He looked around at the hands rowing. All seemed pleased, to be sure, and were certain to be engaging in some sort of boisterous activity soon enough, but the old man sitting in the corner worried Archie the most. Unlike the other crew who were more than happy to share what adventures they planned, Smee sat silent, looking darkly happy to see the pier come into sight.
Probably looking forward to kidnapping some other, unsuspecting poor soul, Archie thought. He wasn’t going to stick with the old man and be the one who required to haul the new, unconscious sailors aboard, especially since he knew that they needed quite a few more men to join their crew so as to be able to sail both ships.
He turned to the squirrel. “So what tattoo are you considering?”
“I’m thinking about a… a w-woman.” The stutter was worse.
Archie couldn’t hide his amusement. “Any woman in particular? What about Boggs? You know, you could always ask him about the woman on his stomach. She’s quite a grand sight.”
The pirate in question was a very large man who more or less rolled like a ball instead of walked. The woman tattooed on his prominent belly was quite large and round, much like a female version of Boggs himself, scantily clad, with bosoms that quivered whenever the man belched, which occurred frequently.
Harper’s face turned red and he closed his mouth in a tight line, refusing to say anything more on the subject of tattoos and ignored Archie, focusing instead on his rowing as they neared the dock.
Blackbeard set out toward the marketplace to secure a buyer for their cargo. He wasn’t gone for long when he returned with a thin man with birdlike features who followed behind him to inspect the sugar. The man took a pinch, rolled it between his fingers, and tasted. He nodded to Blackbeard, sealing the agreement to buy the load as he handed him a sack of coins. As he left, he yelled something to the dockhands who came running from all directions to help unload the boats.
Once the sugar was packed onto wagons, Blac
kbeard distributed the shares of their profit, then gave them a dark smile as he told them to “go have their fun” with a reminder to meet back in a week’s time, else the Queen Anne’s Revenge should sail without them.
Pirates scattered in every direction, though the majority headed for a long, grey building down the street. The enormous picture of a frothy, foaming tankard on the side of the tavern was visible all the way to the pier. They were going to be drunk before the hour was out.
They’ll still be in the same place until next week, Archie thought. He had no desire to repeat his previous adventure with ale, so he caught up with Harper as he made his way down the dirt-packed street.
“I’ve never been here before,” Harper admitted with an awkward smile. “I’d been to several of the smaller islands hereabouts, but never on Madeira. What shall we spend a bit of our monies on, Jameson?”
“Well, I suppose our first duty would to be to find you a woman.” Archie grinned.
Harper’s face turned red all the way to his shirt collar.
“For your tattoo,” Archie added to alleviate the lad’s discomfort, though he couldn’t help laughing as he added, “I forgot to ask you where you are going to put this woman. Will it be someplace that will cause me embarrassment?”
“No,” Harper said, still smiling, though his face turned a bit sad. He pulled something from his pocket and handed it to Archie.
Archie looked down at the worn drawing in his hands. A beautiful, young girl with cascading, black curls and large almond-shaped eyes smiled out at him. The picture was creased from the numerous times it had been tucked into Harper’s pockets for safe keeping.
The Untold Stories of Neverland: The Complete Box Set Page 8