Pirates Return IC

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The Spaniard’s eyes narrowed as he heard the newcomer speak. Bored, was he? He could definitely change that. Suppressing the flare of anger from his voice, he directed his words to the man.

“If you are so bored, Mr. Purcell,” he drawled, “I suggest you head to the bilges. Now.”

 

Three Swords stared at the man in front of him. He must have been seven foot tall! Honestly, he wasn't sure he should employ him in case he ate too much.

He thought about it again and realised a person as imposing as this could be helpful aboard ship should they find themselves at battle and the fact that he was a carpenter would mean he could fill another position aboard ship.

"Fine, big man, go sign the Articles. You're ship's carpenter for now so go find the wood stores and patch up the ship as much as you can before we leave."

 

Alexa glared at Ricardo. "I can find my own way, thank you, and I was going to allow him to give me a hand, but now that you have reassigned him, I shall make do."

Without sparing him another glance, she started to head off in the direction she suspected the surgery was in. The nerve of him, thinking that she needed any aid in finding her way around a ship. How dare he assume her bags were too heavy for her to manage!

She reached the surgery without incident, and started to unpack some of her less explosive supplies.

 

Ricardo watched the redhead stride away with a raised eyebrow. She had fire – and not just in her magnificent hair. He could not remember the last time a woman had stood up to him like she did.... and that was just one more reason to pursue her.

He frowned. The fact that Purcell had acted with such impudence was not a good sign – clearly, he would have to make sure the crew knew he was not to be meddled with. He knew that a few well-placed lashings would do the trick quite nicely.

 

Zheng thought about they boy's words. He was right music should be shared but he didn't believe he had the patience to teach the boy. He swallowed hard.

"Fine, boy," he almost snapped before his voice relaxed. "We will start soon. I could hear you through my music. You have the talent but you need disclipine." He paused and looked away again before his eyes lingered back to the boy. "I will let you borrow this for a while," he removed one of the flutes from the bundle.

"This is a middle pitched one. You will practice to the best of your ability, no help from me. Just feel the music flow through you. Let your breath and fingers do the work, play from your heart not your head. If you'll excuse me, young man," he said as he bundled the flutes up and rose from where he was seated. "By the way, these flutes are some of the most importman things to me. If you ever try to touch them again without asking me, or you break one, I will snap your thumbs off. Take care of it, ok?" He walked away leaving the boy with the Dizi.

 

Matty was too awed by the beautiful instrument in his hands to really hear Zheng's threat. How could anything so lovely, and capable of producing such music, not be a treasure? The prospect of learning to play it overwhelmed the implied insult that he would be too stupid to treat the precious thing with proper care.

He wanted to begin practicing right away but he could tell by the sounds and subtle motions of the ship that they were close to setting sail. Reluctantly, reverently, he stashed the dizi with his own few treasures, collected the trumpet that he knew Three Swords would be calling for ere long, and went back to the deck.

 

Alexa finished putting her supplies away, then walked onto the deck, trying to keep her fury under control. It would not be good for ship morale for the surgeon and the quartermaster to be seen at odds, but the way he treated her, there was no way she could tolerate it.

She walked to the side, and looked out over Freetown. Knowing how pirates worked, it was likely this would be the last time she saw what was her home for a long time. She hoped Daniel would be alright, working in the Rotten Kelp under Bart's eye.

 

Three Swords stepped into his office and dropped down in his chair. In front of him sat a mass of papers with the Articles printed upon them. Each one was signed by a new crewmember, but not many had his mark upon them. In order for them to not blow away in the wind, Abbot had placed a loaded volley gun upon them. He rarely used the volley gun, but he had figured it to be useful if he were to have to put down a mutiny.

Three Swords sighed, not looking forward to repetitive writing ahead and leaned forward, taking his quill from the ink well and began to scrawl on each piece of paper and setting aside before he started on the next one.

Within an hour he was finally done and his hand was cramped. By now, the general hustle and bustle of supplying the ship had died down to the last few items and most of the crew were below, sitting at the many tables and were just finishing breaking their fast. Shaking off his discomfort, Three Swords stood and threw his set of Baldrics over his head and fastened his third sword to his belt. Swiftly, he grabbed his pistols and slid them into the front of his belt. Ready now, he threw open the doors to his cabin and climbed the short set of steps to the bridge.

From here he could oversee the whole of the deck, at the top of his voice, he shouted “All hands on deck!” He paused to take another breath “Make ready to set sail!”

As those words left his mouth, there was a sudden rush of feet and a mass of voices at once, repeating the captain’s words. Three Swords stood, waiting upon the bridge as the crew made it’s way to deck and the last of the supplies were hauled aboard.

“Ready for cast off, Captain!” Three Swords heard someone shout.

“Then do so!” Three Swords shouted back “Cast off!!” and added “Matty! Play us a tune!”

Even as the words were uttered, the lines were being loosened and pulled aboard ship to be coiled and safely secured. “Mr Santiago! Take the helm, if you please!” As he waited for the Quarter Master, Three Swords glanced across to where the Red Hands were.

He was not surprised to see that one of them had left, gone to report the Pale Horse’ departure.


They had left the Freetown two hours earlier and the open sea was now upon them and the crew had settled into their duties easily. Three Swords enjoyed these rare moments of peace, when nothing but the ocean surrounded them and only the soft sounds of water splashing upon the hull filled their ears as they flowed through the waves.

Their course had been set for Port Royal, but judging by how quickly their new carpenter worked, there would be no need to dock there. There was however, a little piece of information he’d been given by Bart that interested him. Eighteen miles down the coast of Port Royal, there was a small, undefended fishing village and it was said that the governor of Port Royals cousin was visiting there to collect taxes. It was also rumoured that he had a lover in the village and that he would visit her on every voyage and apparently, the crew were known to leave the ship and run riot around the town whilst their commander was away.

If this was true, Three Swords would have a very nice bounty on his hands. If it were wrong, however, his ship and crew would be blown out of the water by the heavily armed tax vessel. If he was right, and Three Swords trusted Bart enough to know he was, then the crew would be firmly in his grip again.

From the crow’s nest he heard the crewman Zheng Hui shout “Sail!” the one word was loud and lasted more than five heartbeats. Three Swords head snapped upwards to see Zheng pointing to the stern of the ship. Three swords whipped round to face aft and saw the unmistakable shape of a white sail. Grabbing a spy glass, he extended it and lifted it to his eye. There was no doubt about it, this was a ship of the Red Hand and it was coming for him. He cursed under his breath.

The ship was smaller than his own, but with the same amount of sails, and that made it faster. They would catch him within the hour he knew. The Pale Horse carried ten cannon and was made for battle, but he knew the ship following him. The Wave Hunter, as it’s name suggested, was kitted out with only one purpose – to destroy. It’s Hold would be virtually empty, with nothing but a small amount of food supplies to keep the crew alive and the rest of the excess weight would come from extra cannon, powder, shot and cannon balls.

Three Swords cursed and slammed the spyglass back to it’s shortened state. There was no way to outrun this thing and the only option was to fight. “Beat to quarters!” he shouted suddenly. “Quarter master, I want each man supplied with at least one pistol and one cutlass from the arms locker. Go, now.” As Ricardo moved away, Three Swords shouted to him, “And have Alexa make some small explosives.”

 

Cursing under his breath, Ricardo dashed across the deck, making his way towards the arms locker to do as the captain had bid. He passed the surgery on his way, so he slammed the door open without preamble.

”We’re under attack, Señora,” He told the surprised redhead, his expression grim. “The Captain says you are to prepare small explosives.”

With that, he turned on his heel and continued on his way, cursing the memories from a time long past. He would not think of her now; not when he had a duty to perform.

His eyes glinted with the promise of bloodshed as he began to hand out the arms, snapping harshly at those who were less-than-eager in taking them.

 

As Ricardo handed out weapons to the crew, Three Swords, made his way down the stairs and into his cabin. Swiftly, he crossed the room, swinging open the wooden doors of his wardrobe. Unilike many captains, whose wardrobes were often filled with garish outfits to make them look the same as naval captains, Three Swords only had one extra set of clothes - an identical pair of trousers, and a similar overcoat, red in colour though just as simple.

The rest of the wardrobe carried a myriad of arms he had collected over the years, from sabres and axes to pistols and long arm muskets. At the bottom of the wardrobe, there were two wooden cases.

Three Swords grabbed one and hauled it under his arms, the weight of it making it nigh impossible to hold it one handed. Three Swords dropped it on his desk with an audible clunk and lifted the second case.

With both cases on the table, he threw off their lids to reveal two small cannon, called monkeys. These cannon could be loaded with small bags of pistol balls and be fired into a crowd with a spread shot effect, effectively destroying any infantry. Their problem was though, that they were not held down when they fired, so they would have to be retrieved and carried back to their original position before they could be reloaded and fired again.

He had been saving them for the tax ship - since he had very little ammo for them - but they were in trouble now and the small cannon would help if the enemy were to try and board them.

There would only be a chance to fire once with each gun. By the time they'd reloaded the enemy would already be upon them. The shot would have to be used at only their most effective.

Three Swords shouted out for two crewmen. Two rushed in within seconds of his call "Take these and be ready to set them up when we know which side the enemy ship will attack - and don't drop them in the ocean when you do so!"

Abbot watched them carry the guns on deck and returned to the bridge, taking the spyglass in hand. The ship was getting closer and it would be at arms quicker than he had originally thought.

Once again, Abbot looked into the spyglass. He could make out individual's on board the other ship, but not their faces yet. Three Swords switched his gaze to the Bow to see another man staring back at him through a spyglass and he appeared to be wearing... armour. A steel breastplate.

Three Swords didn't have to see this man's face to know who it was. The only pirate captain who wore armour was Captain Francois leBihan. A frenchman, as his name suggested and notorious for his supernatural skills at sea based skirmishes and his devilishly good sword play. He was also one of the leading Red Hand pirates and smugglers captain's.

There must have been a serious grudge for them to send him after the Pale Horse. What had he done to deserve this, he wondered.

 

Duece grinned at the thought of the combat. It had been a while since he was in anything more than a streetfight. He gave up the cutlass prefering to use his daggers in a fight, he did take a pistol though and tucked it into the back of his pants.

 

Zheng lay the pistol he had been given in front of him and he drew his sword. Placing it beside the pistol. He had never like firearms, clumsy tools he thought. Still it would be one less to worry about. Now his sword, there was a thing of beauty he closed his eyes as he knelt, his eyes closed. He began to hear the chinese flutes of his father's playing in his mind and he wondered how good the boy would come and he suddenly found himself worried about the boy's safety. "Abbot would have him somewhere safe," hew thought and he dismissed the worry from his mind.

His thoughts began to dwindle on nothing and he found himself thinking of his old master. He had so enjoyed plunging that blade through his back and twisting it for extra measure. He was nopt even sure if the git was dead. A smile grew at the thought but it soon disappeared as he heard various noises getting louder and louder. He tucked the pistol in his sash and swept his sword in his right hand. Not even four foot long but as deadly as any other weapon if not more so. The red ribbons hanging six inches from it to create distractions. He swung it a few times before replacing it in his sheath quickly but with infinite care. It would kill again...

 

Bison had just patched up the last of the major damage on the Pale Horse when he heard the captain's calls. Putting his tools away and securing them, Bison quickly made his way to his bunk. Reaching under it, he pulled out his bag and removed from it a small clay jar.

Opening the jar, Bison put the tips of his fingers in, pulling them out covered in a white substance. As he traced lines on his face with the white substance, Bison muttered quietly to himself.

After putting away his bag, bison made his way onto the top deck. Refusing the weapons offered by the quartermaster, Bison removed his spear, which was a tall as some men. Seeing the captain, Bison approached him with his weapon ready.

"Bison ready."

 

"I can see that. Now get on deck and stop bothering me." Three Swords said to Bison as he snapped the spyglass shut. "Matty, you gutless, bilge rat, play those pipes of yours. You're not much good for much else!" Three Swords cursed, every second, the other ship gained on them and he was not cherishing the thought of his ship being battered to pieces by the guns of The Wave Hunter.

**************************************

Francois leBihan smiled as The Waze Hunter came closer to it's prey. He'd been told to destroy The Pale Horse, but he was tempted to take it for a prize. Another ship to add to the fleet of the Red Hand would go down well with his fellow Red Hand Pirates and a Brigantine was well sought after by many captains.

He had more than enough men - more than the ship would usually hold - extra hammocks being hung in the empty cargo hold for them. Besides that, he preferred the deadly blade to blade battle over the pounding of cannon and it would be such a shame to damage his future ship.

He sighed, a little damage would have to be done though, but he'd try to keep it to the main deck and in particular, the guns. Better having her disabled than destroyed, and better yet if she could not return fire on the Wave Hunter.

 

Jacques straightened up and turned from where he had been crouched low over his trunk, picking out a handfull of heavily weighted throwing knives. The harsh wind of the early morning would make any of his lighter blades unreliable. Tucking his three regular daggers away into his belt and jacket, Jacques looked over his shoulder to check that the maps were safely tucked behind his trunk, and ran out towards the deck.

Collecting a pistol from the grim-looking quartermaster, Jacques hesitated before finally taking the cutlass as well. An extra weapon never hurt, and there was a chance that he had less knives than he would need. The long blade had been well taken care of, anyway - Jacques fixed it to a loop on his belt. Giving Ricardo a nod, he walked over to join the rest of the crew.

Jacques looked out towards the horizon, cleaning his nails with his knife blade, wondering how far this was going to put them off course.

 

Daniel heard the bugle call to quarters and the rush of men readying for battle. He pushed the crate a little and crawled out into the hold. He still had his disguise on. He took the belt with the new pistols and daggers out of his shirt front and strapped them on. He smudged some more soot on his face, went up a deck, and followed the men to the weapons locker. The dark skinned man from the street and the Kelp was there, handing out pistols and cutlasses. He looked down as he took them, and hoped that the man wouldn't recognize him. Apparently he didn't, because he just shoved him along after giving him his weapons.

He followed the other men up to the top deck and hid himself among the crowd, which was easy, because most of them were much taller than he was. He didn't see any sign of his mom, which was also good.

His hands were sweaty as he gripped the cutlass. He'd fought battles with sticks with the Lee boys, and mom and Arvin had taught him the knife well, but he really didn't know what to do with a real cutlass. It was so heavy.

He could see the sails of the enemy ship getting closer and closer. The wind flapped the sails. Something warm ran down his leg. He looked down at his pants.

He didn't need to pee anymore.

 

The Wave Hunter was mere moments off the port side of the Pale Horse.

"Mister Anders!" Three Swords shouted, "Let's show them the colours."

"Aye, sir." Anders replied, running to the mast. From there he grabbed a rope and began to haul furiously. From beneath the main sail, a flag began to rise. Like many Pirate flags, it was on a black background, but whereas many took a skull, this flag portrayed a white horse, surrounded by three swords in a triangular shape.

"And he rode upon a pale horse." Three Swords whispered as the flag reached it's highest point. He drew the swords upon his back in one smooth motion, "Gunner's!" He bellowed as the other cannon came opposite "Fire!" His sword swept down.

The blast of cannon fire roared across the open sea, black smoke billowing out across the decks. Men choked upon that foul smelling smoke, turning their stomachs inside out, causing some to vomit and the rest to cough as they felt their lungs burn with the sulphur.

The return fire came within a few heartbeats, the cannonballs emerging through the mist of powder smoke. Men fell like flies, the ships deck churned to pieces, shrapnel and splintered wood sailed through the air, as deadly as any bullet.

"Load cannon!" Three Swords ordered, and then, over the sound of mens cries, he heard another order from the Wave Hunter.

"Grappling hooks!" Three Swords eye widened. They were trying to board him. The grappling hooks sailed through the smoke, digging into place.

"Prepare to repel boarders!" He shouted. "Bring the Monkey's into place! Form up for a volley!"

The two monkeys were brought forward and placed on the edge of the ship. In a fair fight, Three Swords would have had the grappling hooks cut, but in a hand to hand fight, they would have a chance, however small, of surviving.

They felt a sudden jerk as the grappling hooks were hauled on the Wave Hunter. Through the smoke, Three Swords could see the other ship mere metres away, their crew - more than a full compliment - gathered, awaiting the time to board. But they were not expecting the Monkeys.

"Fire!" Three Swords bellowed and the Monkeys let loose their huge spread shot, flying back across the deck as the Wave Serpent crew's first line was decimated.

"Return fire!" Three Swords heard and a volley flew between ships, the Monkey firers killed and a number of the front line preparing to fight off the boarders. The ships came together, and the enemy charged.

"Repel boarders!" Three Swords shouted.

 

Bison stood on deck, waiting for the enemy to come. Gripping his spear, he watched as the enemy ship drew closer with every passing second.

 

The heads of the two men infront and behind Daniel disappeared, and he was covered in a shower of blood. Thank God he was short!

Several Red Hands jumped over into the men Daniel was standing with, and cutlasses started flashing. Daniel thrust his cutlass into a man's ribs, but it stuck when he tried to pull it out, so he let it drop with the man. He pulled out his two pistols and cocked them.

A black giant came running into their midst and skewered two Red Hands with a huge spear. The spear went through the men and stuck in a bulwark. As the giant was wrenching the spear out of the wood, a Red Hand went for his back with a cutlass. Daniel ducked, stuck one pistol between the giant's legs and the other by his waist, and shot the Red Hand with both pistols in the stomach.

The giant pulled his spear free, looked around at the Red Hand on the deck, and said to Daniel, "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Daniel replied.

He put his pistols back in their holsters and drew his dagger and one remaining pistol. A man with a large scimitar came at him. He shot with his pistol, but it went wide. He held up his dagger in en guard. The man just smirked evilly. He joyfully cut a line across Daniel's right cheek.

Daniel backed up a few steps, and the man slowly moved towards him.

 

Ricardo swore as the smoke billowed around him, gripping his rapier in his right hand and a dagger in his left. He briefly wondered what foul luck had called this attack upon them, but the thought was soon driven from his mind when the first attacker fell to his blades.

Bloodlust soon took him over, the cries and smoke fading to the background as he struck and dodged. He could feel his shoulder screaming with pain but he did not care – not when the price of giving in to the old agony was death.

A shot whizzed past his head and hit wood, sending long splinters flying in the air. One grazed his cheek and he wore, as blood dripped down his face. His swore, spinning around to see where the shot had come.

Ricardo’s eyes widened when he saw a pair of very familiar hazel eyes stare from a grime-covered face.

Daniel.

The boy was bleeding, his eyes wide with fear as he backed away from a huge man wielding a saber. It was clear that the boy’s small knife would not defend against such a heavy weapon, let alone a man twice his size.

Without thinking, Ricardo’s left hand came forward, the dagger flashing through the air to bury itself in the man’s back.

The attacker fell, and Ricardo dashed forward to grab the boy by the shoulder. “Foolish boy!” he growled.

A burning pain hit his right shoulder – not the old agony, but clean, fresh pain that made him hiss. He spun around, tossing his rapier into his left hand. The man who’d stabbed him grinned at Ricardo, a foul, toothless grin that turned into a death-gurgle when the rapier’s blade found his heart through his ribs.

His shoulder throbbed, and Ricardo grimaced with pain. He sucked in a deep breath, letting the pain fill his senses before the next attacker rushed at him – at them – and fell to his blade.