The Bloody Black Flag

by Steve Goble

  Barlow was as livid as Spider had ever seen him. “Elijah! Keep your goddamned ass aloft and signal Loon! I want Addison aboard now! He’s got no time to piss nor shit!”

  “Aye,” Elijah said in a tone that suggested such an order should have been given before his descent. He reversed course and climbed back up the ratlines, graceful as a ballerina and ascending at a speed that made Spider gasp.

  The light morning breeze could not dispel the tension. Loon drifted ever closer while Dream’s crew waited in silence. Spider watched Barlow pace back and forth, brandishing his flintlock pistol wildly and cursing to no one in particular, or perhaps to God or the devil.

  Spider heard shouts from beyond the rail and saw a handful of crewmen rushing to help Addison clamber aboard. Peg and Oscar followed him over the rail. He’d brought an oar boat over from Loon and now strutted defiantly across Dream’s deck. Spider noted a brace of pistols in Addison’s belt. “Do you miss my counsel already, Captain Barlow ?”

  “I miss your guns, Addy. Pray me, draw them and shoot the first of these bastards who gives you the least reason.”

  Addison laughed, as though he’d been looking forward to shooting someone for a month. He drew the two pistols from his belt. “I will gladly put a ball through the brain of anyone here who displeases me, Cap’n. You may rely on it.”

  “God help me.”

  The whispered words came from behind Spider, and he turned to see Doctor Boddings clutching his Bible.

  “Mister Dowd! Go below and search every goddamn nook and cranny,” Barlow bellowed. “If there be room enough for a fucking shadow, you fucking feel it out. You know what I seek!”

  “Aye, sir.” The muscular black man headed toward the ladder and quickly disappeared below.

  “While he does that,” Barlow continued, “every mother’s son of you will strip, naked as the day your whore of a mother brought you into this world. Hesitate, and I will put a ball through your fucking brain, I swear it!”

  Spider looked about him. Everyone seemed surprised by this, but everyone was complying, even crazy, one-eyed Odin, although the long-haired man chuckled quietly as he did so. Weatherall snarled while removing his shirt. “Someone stole a damned expensive wine or something,” he said. “Just confess, and save us some effort.”

  “Amen,” Peg whispered.

  Tellam stripped, revealing his numerous tattoos. “This is not going to end well, lads.”

  Spider whipped his own shirt off, then removed the kerchief from his head. “What do you think he’s seeking?” He followed the question with a glance at Weatherall.

  “I will be damned if I know.”

  “I do not recall ordering you bastards to talk!” Barlow seemed unhinged, on the edge of hysteria.

  Spider, already barefoot, tugged off his britches. He silently prayed that whatever came next would provide a clue to Ezra’s murder. Days had passed in boring routine, nights had passed in frightening dreams, and Spider was no closer to solving the mystery of Ezra’s death than he had been that first night.

  “Addy! Walk among them. Stick a goddamn finger up their asses if you have to. You know what we are seeking.”

  Addison spat. “Do you mean to tell me . . . ?”

  “Yes, curse you!” Barlow brought his cane down hard on the rail with a whack that cracked like lightning. “I do fucking tell you, and I order you to search every throat and bunghole on these men until you fucking find it!”

  “Aye,” Addison said, spitting and returning one of his guns to his belt. “Well enough, then. Lads, I will be poking about, as it were. I can do it while you live, or I can do it after I shoot you in the head. The choice is yours, I dare say.”

  “Goddamn this all to hell,” toothless Dobbin muttered. “What in bloody hell do they seek?” It was a garble, of course, but Spider had no trouble understanding most of it.

  “Damn me if I know,” Weatherall whispered. He stood naked, save for a bandage around his left forearm and one on his leg. Spider started to speak, but the captain’s harsh curse of “Damn ye, Doctor!” halted his question before he could ask it.

  Doctor Boddings, attired in britches, boots, and a decent linen shirt, had not yet moved to doff any clothing. Barlow stared at him. “Do ye balk at observing my orders, Doctor?”

  “Captain, I dare say whatever thievery you believe has taken place here, I am well above it. I do not steal from the larders, dip into the kegs, or otherwise behave in the manner of a common criminal. Surely, sir . . .”

  Barlow’s pistol thundered, and the ball grazed the doctor’s shoulder before burying itself in the mizzenmast. “God curse you, for an educated man you are miserably stupid! Get your clothes off, man, damn ye!”

  Boddings, eyes wide and his jaw working up and down in panic, began stripping. Spider, already naked himself, eyed the doctor’s wound and decided he would live.

  Barlow paced, tossed aside his fired gun, and drew another from his belt.

  Addison walked among the men, kicking clothes about, turning boots upside down, and stopping behind each crewman. The first mate leered as he conducted the search of each man. Men winced, some cursed, but Addison found nothing. Spider felt especially bad for Hob, but noticed the boy bore the indignity without wincing.

  “I will be damned, I will,” Addison said, standing before Peter Tellam. “Your bloody pecker is tattooed!”

  That drew a few soft laughs and a loud “Ha!” from Odin, but most of the men remained quiet.

  Spider’s mind raced, and he clenched his fists. They had to be seeking whatever it was that Barlow planned to sell to the Frenchman.

  “Goddamn ye to hell, sir,” Weatherall muttered, rearing up on his toes as Addison moved behind him.

  “It must be done, lad,” Addison said. “So long as I find naught but shit up there, you’ve naught to fear.” Addison felt the bandages on Weatherall’s arm and thigh to assure himself nothing had been tucked beneath them.

  After that, it was Spider’s turn. Spider ground his teeth together as Addison’s boot kicked at his clothes. Addison then eyed the pendant hanging from Spider’s neck and took it in hand. For a moment Spider feared the man was going to crush the fragile piece, but Addison’s beefy hand did not close upon the one possession Spider cared about, and the piece fell back to lie against his chest. Spider unclenched his fists and did not strike.

  The first mate moved behind him.

  Spider braced himself for the invasion and spat as Addison forced his fingers inside. Spider reminded himself he’d been flogged once and had survived that pain and humiliation. This could not be worse than that. “Now, then,” Addison whispered, “I take no more joy in this than you do.”

  Spider stared at Barlow and imagined himself killing the man, and killing Addison, and Tellam, and everyone else. But he remained stoic.

  Addison checked the bandage on Spider’s leg, and then it was done.

  Spider let out a deep breath, with a silent curse upon it. If there truly be any witch blood in me, he thought, let me plague Barlow and Addison with burrowing leeches.

  “Fuck!” one of the new men from Loon yelped and turned and slapped Addison’s face. Addison laughed and put his pistol against the man’s forehead. “Well, then,” Addison whispered before pulling the trigger. Wind blew a stream of crimson mist across the deck as the man fell, and Addison drew his second pistol and held it aloft. “Take note, damn ye! I do not bluff. I do not suffer insolence!”

  The man’s body lay on the deck, spilling blood. It was Larwell, a man Spider did not know well, but he could recall the man smiling while singing a lusty song. That would never happen again.

  No one said a word after the shooting, but the tension was unbearable.

  Spider calculated the odds, and knew that if everyone revolted at once, Barlow and Addison would be overwhelmed. But Barlow and Addison had weapons, while the crew did not, and every man aboard kept his eyes down and chose not to see the dead man’s blood pouring across the deck. Barlow and
Addison had stripped Dream’s crew of far more than clothing.

  Spider spat and tried to calm his mind. What could he learn about Ezra’s death from this? How could this indignity lead him to vengeance?

  The thing they sought had to be something of extraordinary value, something that would make a Royal Navy vessel track them south all these furlongs along the colonial coast. The pursuing vessel had to know their destination, or else Spider could not explain how it showed up again and again. The frigate had to be chasing after Barlow’s mystery item.

  So then, he thought. A small object, of immense value, valuable enough to push Barlow and Addison to risk provoking a revolt. And maybe, just maybe, it was the key to Ezra’s death. If Ezra had somehow stumbled onto the secret, surely Barlow and Addison would not have hesitated to silence him.

  Had Ezra seen someone poking about, in search of the mystery item? Perhaps the thief, whoever he was, had killed Ezra to cover his trail.

  “Done!” Addison waved his right hand aloft and kept his pistol level in his left. “I have poked every bum, Cap’n, and I dare say some of these bastards enjoyed it. But I did not find what we seek.”

  “Very well,” Barlow growled. “Have Elijah get his ass down here and search him, and send Peg aloft to look out. Every mother’s son stays right where he is, until Dowd is done below. Get yourself another pistol, Addy. Trust no one.”

  “I assure you of that, Cap’n,” Addison said, making a pretentious curtsy. “I trust no one. Not even you.”

  Barlow glared, and gritted his teeth, but made no answer.

  Spider felt himself trembling with anger and fought to control it.

  “What is it you seek?” Cooper, one of the sail hands and a man with three daughters in England, had asked the question. Spider closed his eyes and winced at the crack of thunder. He opened his eyes in time to see the man fall dead to the deck, while Barlow tossed aside his now-empty weapon and drew yet another from his belt. Spider said a silent prayer, in hopes that no one else would be so foolish.

  “Damn ye all,” Barlow said. “Have I not led ye well? Have I not filled our coffers with gold, with silver? Are we not all destined to live out our lives as rich men, if we just hang together a while longer?”

  Spider heard men mutter about him and saw them nodding in approval. He could not make out all the words, but he could make out the word “aye” arising from several throats.

  “Cast this blasphemous bastard overboard,” Barlow said, aiming a pistol at the dead man who had dared question him. “And the other man, too. Gentlemen, know this. I will make ye rich if you just be smart, and I will make ye dead otherwise. You need not know another goddamn thing in this world. Rely on it.”

  “Bugger,” said Odin, chortling.

  A handful of men, chosen by Addison, lifted the corpses from the deck and carried them to the rail. Barlow nodded toward Addison, who said, “Toss them.”

  Spider shuddered when he heard the splashes, echoes of that final splash he’d heard when Ezra’s shroud-wrapped corpse plunged into the sea.

  “Not a damned thing, Cap’n,” Dowd called, peering up from the hatch. “Not a goddamned thing.”

  “Then search again, goddamn ye, search again!” Barlow raised his cane for emphasis and aimed his blunderbuss at Dowd’s head. “It did not fucking disappear! Go search again.”

  Dowd said nothing and ducked below. Spider felt the breeze against his naked skin and wondered how long Barlow would hold the men here.

  Barlow strutted to and fro on the poop deck like a madman and repeatedly pointed his gun at the men below. His eyes were wild, and he spat constantly. Spider convinced himself that Barlow would next cut open bellies and bowels to find what he wanted.

  “We ought to search your spirited lass locked up in the forecastle, Cap’n.” That was Addison, leering. “She could hide it well, I dare say.”

  Barlow seethed. “I said no man aboard would lay a hand on her.”

  “Seems if all the crew is subject to our searching, there be no reason to leave the wench out of it,” Addison said quietly, looking about as men nodded in agreement. “The damn thing was fine and secure until she came on board, wasn’t it?”

  “She could not . . .”

  A soft chorus of ayes rose among the men. Barlow, his face red with anger, assessed the situation. Spider assessed it, too. If Addison stirred up the men enough, Barlow could not possibly maintain control of the ship. Every man aboard had been violated, and they would not accept being treated worse than a mere prisoner.

  “Well, then,” Barlow said, and Spider judged the captain was going to acquiesce in hopes of distracting and placating the crew. “I doubt me the beauty is some talented London thief or a spy in employ of the French crown or some other great world power. It seems a bit far-fetched that she married a fool pirate just to be captured and brought aboard Plymouth Dream so she could slip out of her bonds like a fucking magic fairy and steal our precious cargo. Under the very snotty noses of our fucking guards, even. Probably naked when she did it, no less, or fucking invisible.”

  Captain Barlow stared at Addison the whole time he talked.

  “But she is fair to look upon, aye, and if you think she may be our thief, Addy, well, then.” He paused, then nodded. “Very well. We shall all have us a look.”

  Barlow tucked his gun into his belt, came down from the poop deck, and removed a key from a cord on his neck. He walked through the crowd on the deck, without a single indication he feared a mutiny, and strode confidently to the forecastle. Men followed him in a flock. The only sounds were the creaking of timber, the waves washing the hull, and their feet upon the deck.

  Barlow stopped at the forecastle, pausing dramatically while he stared at Addison. Then he opened a padlock, threw back the hatch, and ducked inside.

  He dragged May out and set her down to lay upon the deck. She was dripping with sweat and looking tired, but her eyes were wide with defiance. Her hands were tied behind her back, and her ankles were tied together. Spider noted the bonds were tight, and the knots were good. Her wrists and ankles were scarred where she had struggled.

  The captain drew a knife and bent to cut her bonds.

  “Stand up,” Barlow said quietly.

  She complied, with difficulty and with a bit of help from Barlow. She glared at him but said nothing.

  “My first mate thinks you are a thief,” Barlow said. Again, his manner was 180 degrees from that which he used toward his crew. “A magical thief, at that. I am sorry, but it is necessary to prove otherwise.”

  Barlow stepped away and drew his pistol. Addison stepped forward to search the girl.

  “Not you,” Barlow said calmly.

  Addison stopped in his tracks, smiled, and turned away.

  “Dobbin, you may have the honors,” the captain said. “Strip her. Search her. Eyes only. Gentle as you can, or I will shoot you dead.”

  Addison grumbled. “So no thorough search, then? Playing favorites, are you?” Others among the crew voiced complaints, too, but in low voices so as to not stand out in the crowd and draw the captain’s wrath.

  “I will not subject a woman to any more indignity than is fucking necessary, Addison.” Barlow twirled his cane. “We shall have her stripped, and her clothes searched, and search her as thoroughly as can be with eyes alone.”

  He glared at Addison. “That is my final word on the matter.”

  Addison made no reply.

  “Stripping this woman is not a Christian act, Captain,” Doctor Boddings said tersely. Tellam added an amen.

  “It is far too late for me to worry about my un-Christian acts, Doctor,” Barlow said. “If you please, Dobbin.”

  May snarled ferociously and lunged awkwardly at Barlow. She aimed to bury her teeth in his neck, but he knocked her aside with little effort. She stumbled into a crewman, who shoved her back toward Dobbin. She fell in a heap.

  “If you please, Dobbin,” Barlow repeated.

  Dobbin, knees shaking, complied.
The crew, on the cusp of rebellion moments ago, watched lasciviously as Dobbin tore away her clothes. Spider felt sorry for May and wished she’d left a mark on Barlow’s throat.

  May bore the search with as much dignity as possible, but her eyes said Barlow would die one day by her hand.

  “Nothing, Cap’n,” Dobbin said, after gawking at every exposed inch of her.

  “Of course,” Barlow replied. “Are ye satisfied, Addy?”

  “Not so much as I might have been,” Addison said. “But I believe she does not have our prize tucked away.”

  “Go help Dowd search, Addy. Dobbin, give the woman her clothes, replace her bindings, and lock her away again.”

  Dobbin picked up May’s shirt. She snatched it from his hands, whipped it at Barlow’s face, then stormed off toward the forecastle. Dobbin followed with her skirt, and Barlow signaled a man to help him. “She may be more than any one of us can handle,” Barlow said quietly.

  All the searching so far had turned up nothing. Spider had already done a great deal of fruitless searching below for clues to Ezra’s death and tried now to imagine where he might hide such an object as the one Barlow sought. It could be tucked into a roll of sail, buried in a keg of powder, sunk in beer, or even hidden somewhere above in the rigging; a clever man might devise a means of doing that. Unless the thief was an idiot, poking about below in the crew’s chests and sacks was pointless. It was not likely to be found by anything less than an all-hands search.

  They remained there, with no sail mounted and Loon drifting nearby, until near sunset. Spider’s legs grew weary, and his calves knotted in pain. Barlow, Addison, and Dowd had taken turns covering the men and searching the ship. No one had eaten, but at least Barlow had permitted Hob to pass watered-down rum about.

  The three officers, each holding pistols as though some bastard might need to be shot at any moment, conferred on the poop deck. They tried to do so quietly, but Barlow’s curses ripped the air and his arms flailed wildly. Spider worried that the man might fire an accidental shot and kill yet another member of his crew.

  They had a sticky problem, Spider surmised. Somewhere on board, their precious item had been hidden, but it could take the entire crew days to search the vessel thoroughly for a small object. And the officers could not, or at least would not, trust the men to do the searching.