MAROONED: Will YOU Endure Treachery and Survival on the High Seas? (Click Your Poison)

by James Schannep

  For a panicked moment, you think the recorder has betrayed you, but the Captain continues, “What’s more, Argyle tells me our Master-of-Arms is overdue for reassignment to a larger vessel and Mr. Midshipman Magnus must be transferred with him. So now I find myself short of two officers. “The open Midshipman billet is yours, should you still want it.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Only this is a provisional promotion, with a strict initial probationary period. I’ve heard the grumblings and scuttlebutt in regards to your recent performance, yet Argyle has assured me you can handle this. I trust his judgment, but you must prove yourself capable in my eyes. You’ll need to learn to work with the others if you want to keep the title of Midshipman. Do we have an understanding?”

  “Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” you say, still shocked by the day’s turn of events.

  “That will be all, then.”

  You salute and turn to leave, unable to keep a grin off your face. Outside the Commander’s Cabin, Lieutenant Dalton awaits. He approaches with some trepidation, wringing his hands together nervously.

  “Good evening, Ward. I… I would be honored if you would continue on my watch this evening,” he says. You let the moment hang in the air, so he continues, “My uncle—that is, Wycombe, the ship’s surgeon—tells me I may not have gauged your full potential, and for that I am truly sorry. I do hope you’ll give me another chance. I should like us to be friends.”

  Remembering your promise to try to work well with the other officers, you say, “Of course, Lieutenant. I should think we’ll get on much better as friends, only now, it’s Midshipman Ward.”

  Not much choice here:

  Go about your duties with a new lease on life. Well done! Click here to continue.

  Repressed

  For a telltale moment, the lieutenant’s eyes narrow after your response, but then he recovers to a more detached, hard-to-read expression. This leaves you with nothing more to go on than an indication: Dalton will remember that.

  “Indeed, we shall see, Ward. Indeed we shall,” he says at length. “Just make sure you come to me first from now on. That’s how the chain of command works, you understand. If you have a problem, we needn’t trouble the commander with every little trifle.”

  He waves his hand about as if any problem you might encounter would be no more of a nuisance than a housefly. Then a rapid pressure change falls over the quarterdeck and the men go silent before snapping to attention.

  “Cap’n on deck!” the Master-of-Arms shouts.

  Not much choice here:

  Follow suit and snap to attention. Best not to stick out.

  Rescued

  As fate would have it, Cousin James is indeed aboard the warship, which you come to learn is called the HMS Hornblower. He was pressed into service the very same day that you began your journey on the Cooper’s Pride.

  Your cousin vouches for your honor, which helps get an audience with Captain Longwick, Master and Commander of the ship. The story you tell is a fantastic one, but Butch still carries the fateful page from Bullock’s log, thus verifying your account. Of all aboard, you alone will not be tried for piracy.

  Instead, you sail home to London as a guest, during which time you pen your memoirs. This eventually forms the basis for Marooned by Pirates, a bestseller and a seminal work on the subject of both island survival and the story of freebooters, inspiring future generations to spin the seafaring yarn.

  You’ll be knighted; as much for your derring-do and role in helping capture the pirates as for your status as a great novelist. You retire back to the Buckinghamshire countryside and, along with your cousin, live out the rest of your days in comfort as a local celebrity.

  * * *

  That’s it! You’ve survived and thrived on a desert island. But there’s plenty more to explore. MAROONED has three unique storylines (look for anchors, skull and crossbones, and the palm tree symbols) and over fifty possible endings. Maybe things would have worked out differently had you been a member of the pirate crew? Or, what if you had boarded the HMS Hornblower back in London?

  If you’re ready to find more to explore, click to RESET or go to THE END for the full chapter list.

  Or, if you’re finished, please consider leaving a review to help others find this book. It’s an incredibly helpful and easy way to support the author (who thanks you in advance, and in third-person, no less!).

  When you’re done, don’t forget to check out the other exciting titles in the Click Your Poison multiverse! You can also sign up for the new release mailing list, or check out James Schannep’s blog for updates.

  INFECTED—Will YOU Survive the Zombie Apocalypse?

  MURDERED—Can YOU Solve the Mystery?

  SUPERPOWERED—Will YOU be a Hero or a Villain?

  PATHOGENS—Who Will Survive the Zombie Apocalypse?

  The Return

  The following days and weeks on your island pass almost peacefully. Learning the land like a child at play, you soak up every detail. Where foodstuffs grow, what game trails the pigs use, how to avoid the jaguar, and when a storm might arrive. You fortify your shelter to the point where it’s water-tight and warm in the night.

  It feels harmonious, this return to the natural world. You’re accepted as a part of the island, and even the flora and fauna adapt to accommodate a new resident. You even manage to forge a crude sort of ink, so you’re able to journal your thoughts (and suspicions) once the small bottle runs dry.

  Presently idling about the freshwater inland pond, your thoughts drift away, carried as if by the spray from the waterfall up and out of the jungle. What might have befallen your shipmates? Did they make it to Boston? Did Billy learn the nature of Captain Bullock’s murder, as promised? And what of Cousin James? Could he have made it back to Buckinghamshire, with the rest of your family?

  Then a great thrashing from the water draws your attention back to the present. A crocodile, jaws snapping open and shut, only inches from your legs. But as you lurch back reflexively, you realize the crocodile is moving away from you—being dragged backwards.

  On the opposite bank, the jaguar pulls the crocodile out of the water by its tail. The croc thrashes again, trying to free itself, but in only a few quick seconds the jungle cat pulls the reptile from its riparian home and digs its fangs deep into the crocodile’s neck. The saurian predator goes limp, dead.

  The jaguar makes eye-contact with you, almost as if to say, “You’re welcome,” and slowly drags its kill off into the verdant foliage and beyond. Panting for breath, you rise to your feet and back away in the opposite direction.

  When you turn to go, you see a view of the distant shoreline—and a ship. It’s the Cooper’s Pride! Careened on her side, the merchant vessel is beached, ready to be cleaned and repaired. That means the crew will remain on your island for at least a few days. Looking back towards the pond, you can’t help but think of the scene that’s played out as an omen of sorts.

  What should you do?

  • Creep down to the jungle’s edge and spy on them. Much has likely changed these few weeks.

  • Go announce yourself. Surely they remember you’re here; no point in beating around the bush.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Return Trip

  The haggard man glowers and says, “Got a business partner waiting on ya?”

  “Precisely,” you lie, sensing the way out.

  “Best-o’-luck with it,” Dick says, clearly wishing you the opposite fate. “And do make sure t’pay ole Dick a visit once it’s all concluded.”

  You nod, then continue on, pausing to look over your shoulder every few paces. At first, Dick watches you, but eventually he disappears into the shadows and you continue around the corner onto the cobbled London streets.

  As luck would have it, the first sight you’re greeted with is that of a carriage. In fact, the very same one from your arrival! The driver stuffs his pipe at a tobacconist’s shop while his horse chomps on dinner from a sack of oats.


  “’Ello, ’ello,” he says, grinning upon recognition. “Couldn’t find that cousin of yours?”

  “No, I did. He’s down at the port tavern.”

  “No surprises there,” the driver chuckles.

  “I’d like to pay fare for our return journey.”

  The driver’s cheery nature drops. “Sorry, Guv. I was looking forward to a night in London. ’Fraid I’m off the clock.”

  Your heart jumps into your throat just thinking of your other taxi options back at the port.

  “Please. This place is crawling with unscrupulous characters. Truth of it is, you’re the only one I trust,” you say. The driver thinks it over, not nearly convinced, so you add, “I’ll pay double for your trouble.”

  That extra money was intended for dinner, but after the number the ride up here did on your stomach, you doubt you’ll miss it anyway. At length, the driver nods in agreement, though from the look on his face, you can’t help but think part of his reasoning is due to pity.

  “Thank you. If we can just go collect my cousin from the tavern, we’ll be on our way.”

  The trip back down to the river banks is mercifully short, and you exit the carriage with haste.

  “Hold on there,” the driver says. “If you want me to wait, I’ll need your fare to keep me company. I’m either on the clock or I ain’t, if ya take my meaning.”

  You hesitate. Paid in advance? That’s all the money you have in the world right now. It’s not that you don’t trust him, but being left penniless at the Port of London seems like a risky move. Still, your own words echo inside your head: You’re the only one I trust.

  What’ll it be?

  • Yell, “I won’t be a minute!” then run inside before he can protest.

  • Give the driver the money. He’ll wait for you. Maybe shake his hand, just in case.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Robin

  Interesting choice, Dear Reader. Not sure if you just weren’t paying attention during all those campfire ruminations, or if you’re trying some sort of bluff, but here’s how it plays out:

  “The killer was none other than… Robin,” you say.

  There’s a moment of shocked confusion, then a smile breaks over Rediker’s face.

  “Seeing as how the man’s final words, just before I ran him through, were, ‘Ain’t no rest for a murderer. Ye will rot, Rediker. In this life or the next.’ He didn’t take kindly to our mutiny, even less so when we hanged Billy from the yardarm. He were a company man, through and through. So I think I can safely say there’s about as much veracity in your statement as a pickpocket in port offering t’return your belongings out of the goodness-o’-his heart. Are ye thinkin’ us for fools, Saltboots? We shall see who has the last laugh. Boys, do what ye will with the castaway here. Just make sure there ain’t no breath left when you’re done.”

  We shall see who has the last laugh, indeed.

  THE END

  Rock and a Hard Place

  The helmsman sails along the convex bend of the coast, hoping to lose the English warship along the curve. The Royal Navy stays close, but the geographical advantage helps slightly—until from around the bend comes sight of another ship.

  “Sails!” Marlowe cries the obvious.

  It’s a Spanish warship. The pirate hunter Elige tu Veneno, no doubt. Even though you’re not flying the black, Spain is at war with England—this is not a good turn of events.

  “Make for open seas!” you cry.

  But it’s too late for that. The Spanish open fire just as the English warship catches up from behind. You’re pinned between the two behemoths, with no way out, save for down into the murky depths of Davy Jones’s Locker.

  THE END

  Rollin’ on a River

  Your first time with a woman turns out to be an illicit affair at the Port of London. If someone told you what this day would hold when you woke up this morning, surely you would have taken this soothsayer for mad.

  And still, you don’t even know her name. Maybe it’s better this way. You can remember her fondly as an almost mythic character in your life’s story rather than, well, as a whore. She can be your Helen of Troy, the face that launched a thousand tiny ships. While she may not be quite a beauty to write an epic ode to, together you embark into the night.

  Loose lips may sink ships, but they can also send you floating on cloud nine, if you’ll pardon the flow of cliché. Let your imagination set sail, Dear Reader! Your courtesan shows you routes to pleasure that take you to the edge of ecstasy and back again.

  Once your allotted time has expired, you wander back out into the tavern to cheers and hurrahs from the sailors. You blush, but accept the praise like a returning hero. Billy, James’s mutton-chopped chum, buys you a drink to toast your having docked at port for the first time.

  Sipping on the gin, your head swims with the carnal rush still coursing through you. Taking time to appreciate the moment, you look around the tavern.

  Billy goes back to some cushions in the rear, where he shares a hookah pipe with a man so covered in tattoos you almost can’t distinguish him from the patterned wallpaper. Other seamen lounge with more women, and sadly, one sailor already entertains the very same girl now etched onto your heart.

  Another few men play dice, exchanging coin between throws. They make eye-contact and with a nod, offer you a place at the table. Care to give it a go?

  • Luck, be a lady tonight! Why not continue your good fortunes? This will surely be a night to remember.

  • No, just sip at the gin and await Cousin James’s return to the tavern.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Rotten Luck

  Barlow ties the bonds tightly, though you make no effort to resist. He looks like he might say something, maybe apologize for the necessity of all this, but in the end he thinks better of it and remains silent.

  Though you’re unable to free yourself from his expertly tied sailor’s knots, the gag is another story. Sure, it’s pulled tightly against your jaw, wedged back and forcing your mouth into an agape grimace, but it’s not fool-proof. A human face is soft and flexible.

  Rubbing your face against the wall, the gag slowly pulls down over your chin.

  Cannon fire booms from above, signaling the start of hostilities. Boots clatter across the upper decks as the crew rushes from position to position. With any luck, the pirate ship will soon be boarded by the Royal Navy, and they’ll rescue you once they hear your shouts.

  So shout you do, hollering at the top of your lungs. “Down here! Help! Prisoner! HELP!!!!!”

  Eventually, your ragged cries have paid off; the door flings open. Marlowe enters, his face bloodied and with a glare to beat down the devil himself.

  “Brought this bad luck on us, Saltboots. You’re a bad omen, ya are. We had nothing but fair weather and good plunder ’fore we brought ya aboard, Jonas! Always knew befriending a Saltboots were bad luck. Cap’n Rediker should have left ya on that island. S’pose it’s up t’me to set things right. Make ya an offering t’Neptune or the Almighty, whomever might accept.”

  Then he brings his cutlass forward, spilling your blood with one brutal swipe.

  THE END

  The Ruse

  Half the pirates hide down in the hold, as ordered. These are mainly the former African slaves, as their presence as free men aboard a supposed English merchant vessel would raise even more questions. The other half cover their fine pirate garb with blankets, doing their best to look like downtrodden plague victims. It doesn’t take long before you start to sweat under the thick blankets, with the Caribbean sun beating down upon you, giving the appearance of a feverish countenance—which should help the ruse all the more.

  “Hello, there!” calls the cry from the warship. “We are His Majesty’s Ship the Hornblower. I say, is this Captain Bullock’s Cooper’s Pride?”

  They’ve heard of your old captain? Well, that’s some rotten luck.

  “Bullock is dead! Plague! We are under quarantine!” you
shout back.

  There’s a long silence while the British officers discuss this turn of events.

  “They ain’t buyin’ it,” Marlowe grumbles.

  “Stow that talk,” you snap back.

  It’s a tense few moments, so much so that you hardly dare to breathe.

  “Why was the ship re-christened Deleon’s Revenge?” they call back at length.

  “Damn,” Rediker grumbles.

  “Bullock’s dying wish,” you say, trying to keep the doubt from your voice. “Once the plague set in. He—he wanted to die with his ship, in a sense.”

  “Drop anchor, we’re coming on board.” Apparently that wasn’t what they wanted to hear.

  “Do not! We’re very ill! Very contagious,” you say.

  They don’t reply, only continue their preparations for boarding.

  “The jig is up,” Marlowe says. “What now, Cap’n?”

  “Raise the black!” you cry, knowing that this might initially panic the enemy, buying you precious time. “Then…

  • “…retreat into the hold. I’ve got one trick left.”

  • “…call the rest of the men out! Fire cannons! We’ll not go without a fight!”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Saboteur

  Sneaking out of the hold, darting out of sight anytime a group of pirates happens by, you come across the ship’s magazine. There’s a long fuse coiled into a collected mound of explosives; the other end grows like a vine up and out of the grating towards the sun above decks. How curious.