The Untold Stories of Neverland: The Complete Box Set

by K. R. Thompson

  “The Articles of Blackbeard,

  Concerning all those souls aboard the Queen Anne’s Revenge and all other ships under his watch.

  Plunder to be split evenly amongst every man at port. The captain of each ship will receive two extra shares, and the first mate and surgeon, a share and a half. The common treasury will receive two shares, and be held in safe keeping and given in amounts as follows to those men who would lose such parts of the body—

  A right arm or leg, 500 pieces of gold.

  A left arm or leg, 300 pieces of gold.

  An eye or a finger of the right hand, 150 pieces of gold.

  Any man stealing of plunder or rations, will be branded thief and receive the lashing of twenty strokes, then marooned and given a pistol with a single shot, and left for dead…”

  Archie broke off before reading the next sentence. Mutiny to be dealt with by death, by whatever means the captain should choose.

  “Delightful,” he said wryly, ignoring the blatant stare of Smee as he handed the code back to him. “Might I ask where the common treasury is located?”

  “In the captain’s quarters, o’ course,” Smee grumbled. “If ye blasted fairy hasn’t stolen it all by now.”

  “Ah.” Archie had forgotten about Miss Bell. If the pixie had any clue that there were bright, shiny coins about, he would have a terrible time making her bring them back, especially since he didn’t know how much the common treasury held. Thinking of the coins also brought the plunder to mind that still sat on the deck, waiting to be divided amongst the crew. If Miss Bell had pilfered any of the medallions he had last seen rolling about on the deck, he was going to have a problem on his hands, especially that he now knew what the punishment entailed for such a crime. Twenty lashes and marooning would hardly be fitting for a pixie.

  Without saying another word to the irate, blood-covered man in front of him, Archie turned on his heel and left the surgery. He headed toward Moreau’s former quarters in search of the common treasury and a lock for the blasted medallions, which he hoped were still accounted for.

  As he opened the door to the cabin, he realized that he had made a good choice in not changing to the captain’s quarters. In comparison to the cramped room in which he now stood, the map room looked like a spacious castle fit for a king.

  Archie sighed and began shuffling through the clutter on the small desk by the cot. Harper had been on his heels since leaving the surgery. “I never figured Moreau to be so careless,” he said, peering in from the doorway.

  “Most of these papers are written in Dutch, so I believe they belonged to the good Swiss captain who took his tea with Blackbeard. I suppose Moreau hadn’t gotten around to cleaning it up. Where do you suppose he put the common treasury?” Archie asked, bending over to peer under the cot. “Ah! Never mind, I think I see something here.” It took a hard tug to pull the chest out from its hiding place.

  “Come in and shut the door,” he instructed Harper. He didn’t want Miss Bell around to see the contents, should it prove indeed to be what they were searching for.

  As Harper shut the door, Archie clicked the catch and the lid swung free. Hundreds of coins filled the chest. “I believe we’ve found it.” Archie grinned up at Harper, who returned his own toothless smile.

  “Aye, now what do we do with it?”

  Archie spied a set of locks hanging on a nail behind the door, the keys hanging on another nail beside it.

  Call it fate, he thought as he tried each lock, finding both in good working condition. One for the common treasury, and one for the plunder, both so solid that Archie began to relax. There would be no way any man or pixie would find their way into the chests without quite a bit of difficulty.

  He locked the chest at his feet and shoved it under the cot as far as he could. He strung both keys on a cord and put it around his neck, hiding them from sight under the ruffle of his shirt.

  With the other lock in hand and Harper on his heels, Archie made his way back up to the open deck.

  Someone had gathered up the medallions and put them back into the chest. From the look of the full coffer, it didn’t appear anything had been stolen. Archie sighed in relief, catching an odd look from Harper. “No one would dare steal the plunder,” he said as Archie snapped the lock shut.

  “Better safe than sorry,” came the mumbled reply.

  “Speaking of safe, what do you plan to do with Caesar?” Harper asked, eyeing the grate over the hold that sat a short distance away.

  Archie hadn’t decided, though he wasn’t going to say it. Several pairs of eyes were watching him now, waiting for the reply. They knew better than he, that an act of mutiny would mean certain death for the first mate. He’d known that Black Caesar wasn’t popular amongst most of the crew, but the look of hope that he saw in several faces caught him off-guard.

  He didn’t care for the man, either. Throwing him overboard as fish bait would be a simple, easy way to rid himself of the mutinous man, but his thoughts kept rambling to the fearless pirate with the fuse-lit beard. What would Blackbeard do? Archie wondered. Surely, there was a reason he kept Black Caesar on board, though Archie had no idea what that reason was. Perhaps he should wait it out, and see what attributes his first mate possessed before he pitched him over the railing. After all, his mum once told him that patience would work through the unknown if you gave it enough time.

  His eyes landed on the barrel of silver. Someone had nailed a cover over the top, either to keep the dust from floating away, or to save someone else from dying in it. Regardless, Archie was happy not to be staring at the mound of sparkling powder. Then, the epiphany struck him. The crew would expect retribution, and there was one way that would be agreeable for most parties involved. He would follow the code … part of it, anyway.

  “At sunset, Caesar will receive the punishment of twenty lashes. Stealing of the plunder will not be tolerated,” Archie announced in as loud a voice as his sore throat would allow. “He will be marooned on the next island we find.” Unless we come across Blackbeard first, Archie thought. Then he can deal with him.

  Archie left for the map room, without acknowledging any of his crew’s startled faces, including Harper, who stood with his mouth agape. Back in the sanctuary of his own quarters, Archie shut the door and then slumped against it. His nerves were frazzled and his throat felt as if it had hot pokers lining it. He was going to have to drink more of that awful grape juice. He straightened and made his way toward the barrel.

  Archie had forgotten the woman sitting on the cot, so when she stood, it startled him enough that he jumped, so high, in fact, that he smacked the top of his head on the ceiling.

  He muttered a curse as his hands went up to hold his head.

  The woman laughed. It was a pretty sound, Archie noted, through the sharp throbbing of his skull. As if she had known where he had been going, she took his tankard from the table and went to the barrel. The smell of grapes filled the map room again. She brought him the tankard filled to the brim, and pointed to the chair by the desk, which held the maps, indicating that he should sit. He did as he was instructed, and took a small sip of juice, watching as she pulled the stool closer to the table.

  The fire in his throat fizzled out and the pain in his head dulled. Archie took a longer look at the young woman who sat watching him. Her eyes held an amused look, and there was a small quirk that tugged at the corner of her mouth, as if she still found the situation humorous, but was trying to be polite.

  “Go ahead and smile if you must,” he told her. “There hasn’t been enough cheer on this ship of late.”

  As if she had understood him, a wide smile blossomed across her face, showing off pearly white teeth and lighting up her dark eyes. Archie’s breath caught. The young woman was pretty before, but her smile made her beautiful.

  “What is your name?” he asked. The smile vanished and a questioning look took its place. The language barrier was back. For a moment, he had forgotten that she didn’t understand his
words and was relying on his gestures. With that thought in mind, he lifted a hand to his chest and introduced himself, “My name is Archibald Jameson.” Then, deciding to make things simpler, he patted his chest. “Archie.” He watched as she mouthed his name, as if committing it to memory, and then he pointed to her and asked again, “What is your name?”

  She chewed on her lip for a moment, and then the smile returned. “Ta-lu-lah.”

  Well, that’s certainly a strange name, Archie thought. His eyes lit on one of the intricate designs of a flower that had been carved in the wood in the wall behind her shoulder. Then he had an idea, he put his hand to his chest. “Archibald Jameson,” he said, and then waited a pause and enunciated, “Archie.” Then he pointed to her.

  At once her hand flew to her own chest as she said, “Ta-lu-lah.”

  “Lily,” he said slowly as he gave her an encouraging smile.

  Understanding dawned on her face as she repeated her shorter name, “Lee-lee.”

  “I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, Lily,” Archie said, managing to give her a small elaborate bow from his chair, which earned him another pretty smile.

  A loud knock sounded from the door. Before Archie could answer, Boggs swung his way into the room, carrying a platter of food.

  “Ach, I didn’t know ye had company or I’d brought ye extra,” he said as he rolled up and settled his tray down in front of Archie. A small belch escaped, causing the tattooed woman on his stomach to quiver. “Beg pardon,” he said, as if in afterthought.

  Archie fought the urge to laugh. The young woman sitting across from him was staring at Boggs with a mixture of astonishment and intrigue, as if she had never seen such a sight before. “Boggs, if you would be so kind as to escort this young woman back to her people. Make sure they all have plenty to eat.”

  “Aye, Cap’n,” Boggs said, giving the young woman the lowest bow he could manage without his belly getting in the way, which wasn’t far at all, “This way, m’dear.”

  “Leelee,” she answered, introducing herself with a wide grin, apparently deciding to trust Boggs.

  “Oh. Boggs, you have a new station as the ship’s cook,” Archie announced as the man was nearly out the door.

  “Ach, I figured as much,” came the reply as the door shut behind them, leaving Archie to himself.

  Definitely one of my better decisions, Archie thought moments later, as he finished off the last of the food on the platter. Boggs will remain as cook so long as I am captain.

  The sun came through the window, casting a dull light on the table. The sun would be down soon, and one of his other decisions would have to be carried out, as he had ordered Caesar to be flogged at sundown. Archie wasn’t looking forward to it, but he knew he would have to see it done if he were to keep the respect of his men.

  This would be the occasion to set an example for his crew, he decided, getting up from his place at the map table. He took one of the paper-wrapped parcels from the tailor out from under the cot. Ripping the paper off, he shook out one of his red coats. The brass buttons gleamed in the dull light. To see justice served, he would need to look the part of a fearless pirate captain and this coat would give him that appearance, even though his stomach was beginning to do flip-flops.

  As the sun hovered over the horizon, Archie left the map room and made his way to the quarterdeck. The deck was swamped with both crew and Indians, all come to see Caesar take his punishment. The pirates didn’t look pleased, more than likely they had wished to see the bo’sun thrown overboard and done with. The Indians looked more or less confused, with the exception of Lily, who beamed a big smile at him. He refrained from smiling back, choosing instead to keep a solemn face. After all, this was a serious occasion.

  Archie spotted Beckett by the grate, peering down into the hold. He was a big, tattooed bloke, the only one on board who was a near match for Black Caesar’s height and strength—and he was also one of the few who didn’t seem to fear the man.

  “Bring him up, Beckett,” Archie instructed. The man nodded, as if he had already known the task would be his. He reached down and flipped the grate back, as if it had been made of feathers instead of iron. The grate clanked as it hit the deck. “Easy, man. You don’t want to stick holes in the ship and sink us,” someone snickered by the railing. Whatever Beckett’s muffled reply was, it was met with raucous laughter.

  At least they are a jovial bunch, Archie thought, clasping his hands behind his back as he waited for them to come back up.

  Caesar looked less than enthused as he shuffled to stand before the quarterdeck. But by the smirk on his face, it didn’t seem that he was worried at the oncoming chain of events, though as the boatswain, he was sure to know what his punishment entailed more so than his captain as he was the one who would deal the blows under normal circumstances.

  Smee arrived at Archie’s elbow. He’d taken off his surgeon’s apron for the occasion, but he was still spattered with blood, some old and some fresh, making Archie wonder if Collins was still living or missing another appendage.

  “Here ye go, Beckett,” Smee tossed a curl of rope down to the lower deck, saving Archie the trouble of figuring out who would be the one to mete out Caesar’s punishment. The cat o’ nine tails looked harmless enough, a coiled rope handle with nine separate rope tails with knots tied into the ends. But wielded with force and accuracy, Archie was certain the blows from it would be a rough sentence to endure.

  It made sense to choose Beckett, Archie thought, watching as the man set down the rope to strip off his shirt and stretch. The muscles in his back rippled as he tossed the shirt down and picked the rope back up. Seemingly ready enough, he looked up at Archie and waited.

  “Black Caesar, you have been found guilty of thievery,” Archie intoned. “For this crime, you shall receive twenty lashes.”

  “Well, get it over with, then,” Caesar replied as easily as if he had been asked if he wished sugar in his tea. He faced the mast and lifted the shackles himself, hooking the chain on a nail overhead.

  Beckett shook his head and grinned, arching a brow as if asking if this were to be his cue to begin. Archie nodded. It was time to get this over with.

  The first snap sent the nine knots splaying over the blue tattoos on Caesar’s back. A swish echoed in the air as the rope made contact with skin.

  That’s one, Archie thought. Other than an instinctive flinch, no movement or sound came from Caesar. After a few seconds, nine lines of red appeared across his back.

  One hundred and eighty, Archie calculated, his stomach turning at the thought. That’s how many stripes he will have once this is over.

  Beckett snapped the ropes again, leaving another set of marks to crisscross the first.

  Two. Caesar didn’t so much as flinch. Archie’s mouth set in a thin line as Beckett snapped again and again.

  Three. Four. Blood started to appear from the welts. Caesar had yet to make a sound. The strong, cordlike muscles in his forearms stood out as his arms tensed, the only indication he’d felt anything at all.

  Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Beads of sweat popped out on Beckett’s brow as he dealt one blow followed by another, and another. It was easy to see that he wasn’t enjoying his role as boatswain, but he didn’t dare lessen the force of each blow, lest he be accused of taking it easy on the man and be forced to take his place.

  Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Caesar gripped the chain with his hands, but still stood as straight and still as he had before the beating began.

  Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Black Caesar’s back was naught but a bloody pulp. Archie caught himself staring instead at the rivulets of sweat running between Beckett’s shoulder blades.

  Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Near silence, but for Beckett’s heavy breathing, and the wet, slapping sounds of the rope as it met blood and raw flesh.

  Archie lifted his eyes from Beckett to Caesar. The man still stood of his own accord. How, Archie had no idea, for most of his back was bloody, to
rn, or missing chunks of flesh. The swirling blue tattoos were gone from view. One final time the cat o’ nine tails whistled through the air.

  Twenty. It was done.

  Archie wanted to heave a sigh of relief, but he was captain, so he stood straight and stared ahead as Caesar lifted his chain off the hook. He would see this through to the finish. Each movement the man took was deliberate, as if Caesar were choosing how to move in order to feel less pain. He turned around and faced Archie.

  “Half of your punishment has been met,” Archie told him, loud enough for all to hear. “You shall be marooned on the next island we find.”

  Caesar didn’t say a word, only gave the slightest of nods and turned to go back to the hold. Smee grumbled something under his breath about his being under-appreciated and left, presumably to tend to what was left of Caesar’s back.

  “Never did see one make it the full twenty lashes and still walk,” Harper spoke up behind Archie, “They’ve always passed out around ten or so and end up gettin’ dragged away.”

  Archie didn’t answer him. Most of the crew were watching, as if waiting for him to speak. Some of the Indians were looking at him, though most were keeping an eye on Caesar as he retreated.

  “The plunder will be divided when we reach port, as per the code,” Archie said, glaring at his crew. “Any man so foolish as to steal or despoil any of our cargo, gold or slave, will suffer the same fate as Black Caesar. I have no tolerance for idiocy.” This last statement was met with a few errant chuckles and mumbled replies before he ordered, “Back to work.”

  The crew dispersed, some to the rigging, and some below deck. The Indians more or less stood where they were, unsure what they were to do or where they were to go. From the distance they stood from the hold, it was clear they had no intention of sharing space with Caesar, no matter how injured he may be. Under different circumstances, Archie would have put each able man with one of the pirates to learn the ship and work as part of the crew, but over half of the Indians were women and children. They needed a place to stay. Up in the rigging and sliding about on deck would never work for them. They needed their previous space returned.