It began, as so many of these adventure stories do, within a tavern. There is something about the setting, I think, which sets man's blood afire (we women tend to have more sense) for daring adventure, the combination of alcohol to weaken judgment, the presence of pretty serving-maids to impress, and perhaps most of all the camaraderie of one's friends to buoy the spirit. They dare one another to be more brave, more manly than the next and yet at the same time are there to support one another--if with good-natured laughter--in case of failure.
In the cold light of the morning after, things often look a bit different, but by that time one has already set one's course and there is no turning back. Dragonmaster Dyne once told me that the most important place to keep your wits about you is in the tavern, with your friends around you and a tankard in your fist. Mel could have saved himself a lot of trouble, had he thought of that.
I, of course, was in no shape to offer advice on this or any other subject having to do with drinking establishments. This was, in fact, the first time in my life I had even been inside a common tavern. Actually, Pegleg Pete's was not a tavern at all but a low dive and to call it anything else would be an insult to decent bars everywhere. It was dark, dingy, smoky, filthy, and filled with the stench of liquor, unwashed pirates, and assorted bodily fluids.
As I am sure you understand, I was not in such a place of my own free will. I was not the sort of lady who ran off to visit disreputable sites for some kind of twisted amusement in "slumming." I was there because my captors were unwilling to either forego their drunken revelry or to leave me alone aboard their ship to get up to mischief. Personally, I'd much rather have been clapped in irons than forced to endure the stench and the company, but life as a hostage is not filled with choices.
Pirates? Captors? Hostage? I can see the questions already.
One week before, my father's yacht, the sloop Swiftsure, had set sail for Saith, with me on board for my annual visit to my maternal grandmother on the occasion of her birthday. On our second day out of port, we sighted another vessel. I'd been taking the air on deck, but the pleasures of my stroll were notably diminished when I saw the captain lift his telescope to his eye and promptly blanch dead white.
"What's wrong, Captain Meros?"
"She's turning," he muttered under his breath, then turned to the helm and shouted, "Hard a-port!" A moment later he was screaming for the crew to, as best I could tell through the nautical gibberish (which I shan't attempt to reproduce here, having little knowledge of seafaring cant), lay on as much sail as the Swiftsure's masts could take.
"Captain Meros?" I tried again.
"You'd better go below, Miss Amelie," he said sternly.
"Not until you give me a straight answer as to why you are working yourself into such a pother, Captain."
My plain speaking produced a reaction quite common to people in authority, particularly gentlemen. Meros scowled at me over his drooping gray mustache.
"Miss Amelie, I am the captain of this ship."
"And under the law of the sea you could have me clapped in irons, keelhauled, hung from the yardarm, or whatever for disobeying your orders. On the other hand, my father is the owner of this vessel, and once you touched land you would find yourself discharged and probably unable to find another billet as a captain anywhere if you tried such a course. So, unless you have designs on turning pirate-"
I'd been going to point out sweetly and reasonably how we both would benefit if he simply told me the truth, but I stopped talking when his right cheek twitched sharply and spastically.
"So!" I pounced on the tic as a clue. "That's it! You think that ship you spotted is a pirate!"
"It turned directly towards us," he explained reluctantly. "There's only two reasons for a ship to do that. Either it needs our help, or it wants something from us. She's no naval vessel, and she's in fine condition and flying no distress signal. Now, will you please go to your cabin, Miss Amelie?"
"Cannot we fight off an attack by a band of ruffians?" I inquired.
"Miss Amelie, a pirate ship of that size will carry with it a hundred or so bloodthirsty cutthroats, armed to the teeth. We have nine hands, two mates, and ourselves. Do you want me to calculate the odds, or has your fancy education extended to basic arithmetic?"
Ordinarily I should have had a sharp retort ready for such an insult, but the captain's point had struck home forcefully.
"Cap'n!" cried the voice of the hand in the crow's nest. "She's hoisted her flag, Cap'n!"
"Can you make it out?" he cried back, directing his own telescope in the direction of the other ship, which was now dead astern.
"It's the Jolly Roger all right, Cap'n. A black flag, with a skull, and--Althena's eyes! An axe and cutlass crossed beneath! It's the Black Fortune! That's Hell Mel's ship!"
If the captain had gone white before, he would have been invisible in a snowfield now--and why not? I may not have been privy to the military strategies Father and the other merchant-lords of Meribia used to defend the trade routes, but the notorious Hell Mel was alive in rumor and gossip as well as just dispatches and log books. His exploits were legend; he was the single most infamous buccaneer now at work in the Meribian Sea.
The captain did not bother trying to get me to go to shelter after that point. He and the rest of the crew were too busy praying for deliverance.
Althena, however, did not appear to be listening. With each passing minute, the Black Fortune grew ever closer. The tension of the chase kept me transfixed; in a very real way I was, in essence, too scared to hide. Before long, I could see the black flag with its unique design flapping atop the pirate's mainmast and see the tiny figures of the crew clustered at the ship's rail.
Suddenly, a streak of light burst from the Black Fortune's bow and detonated in a fiery explosion just off the Swiftsure's starboard side; I could feel the heat of it wash over me. This I did not need explained; ships often sailed with magicians on board, especially those anticipating combat. Wind and water magic were the most useful for a wide variety of purposes, while earth was nearly useless, but at sea no element was more immediately devastating than fire.
"Thank Althena it missed!" I said.
"The Goddess had nothing to do with that," the captain replied grimly. "That was a warning shot. Heave to!" he commanded frantically. "Heave to!"
They're surrendering! I realized in terror. They were going to let the pirates overtake us without further resistance. I could hardly blame them; the last thing I wanted was for the crew to throw their lives away, and yet it bothered me. Where was the legendary courage of the mariner, the bravery to fight on and the heroism to succeed against desperate odds? Where was the duty to protect the ship?
To protect me.
All right, there it was. I admit it; I was scared. Pirates are wonderfully entertaining and exciting to hear about when you are safe on dry land within a secure manor house, but when their ship is bearing down on yours it is another matter altogether. I wanted to be told I was safe and secure, protected, and I wasn't hearing it.
Truth hurts sometimes, and between the truth I was being told and the truth I was realizing about myself, I had a sick feeling in my stomach as the Black Fortune came alongside us. I could clearly see the pirate crew crowding the bigger ship's decks, swarming at the rail like a wave of rapacious insects ready to pluck our carcass, jeering and catcalling at us in their eagerness for plunder. The ship itself was lean and low, though sizable, built for speed without fancy ornamentation.
Grappling hooks sailed out from the pirate ship and quickly snared the Swiftsure; we made no attempt to defend ourselves as the vessels were secured together and the horde of pirates went swarming over the rail to board us.
All in all, the pirates looked much the same as other seamen in their baggy shirts, short jackets, and loose-fitting trousers. Now and again there was one sporting a piece of fancy (likely captured) clothing, gold braid, or a cocked hat, but the real difference between them and the sloop's crew were the weapons. Each was bristling with axes, cutlasses, knives, or even boarding pikes, while many had crossbows slung across their backs.
Leading the first wave was a huge bear of a man, a term fitting not only because of his massive build but the thick, nearly fur-like hair showed by his open-necked, short-sleeved shirt and heavy beard. This and his pointed ears marked him as being of beastman blood; I guessed at least a half if not more.
"This do be our ship now, matey," he bellowed at Captain Meros. "Do ya have any objections ta that?"
Considering the size of the axe the pirate carried--in one hand, nonetheless!--if the captain had any last thoughts about resistance, they went away in a hurry. Not that I would argue. It looked like the pirate could have cut down the mainmast in one stroke! As his men swarmed across the deck, he bellowed out orders to them, keeping the mob of cutthroats in some semblance of order.
"Morgan! Get below and see what cargo there be for the taking! Patch, Edgars, check the supplies and see what they've got that we need. Black Ben, this be a rich man's pleasure boat by the looks of her, so's I'm sure there'll be a fine inventory o' goods in the cabin. See ta it--and be sure none o' it winds up in yer pockets, or I'll keelhaul ya with me own hands! Crocker, Finn, make certain the crew don't takes it into their heads ta become heroes!"
There were a lot of shouted "Aye, Cap'n!"s, and the pirates sprang into action with a surprising amount of organization from an unwashed mob of sea scum. I suppose that if one is to be a successful buccaneer, one learns to take care of the practical business of robbery first of all and save the carousing until later.
It was then I felt the prick of steel at the back of my neck.
"Captain Mel, I think that perhaps I've found the cargo."
Mel swung in my direction, and for the first time his attention focused solely upon me. His face broke into a wide smile.
"Har, Ace, trust ya ta have a keen eye fer the ladies. Fancy dress, no blades, and no magicker's cane, aye, she's a passenger all right. And who be ya, lass?"
"A-Amelie," I said. Oh, all right, I admit it. I squeaked. You'd squeak too, with the point of a cutlass at your back and a giant pirate scowling down at you.
"Amelie what?" he growled. "A fancy girl like yerself is going ta have a family name."
It was, I decided, entirely unfair. All the stories said that pirates were depraved, rum-sodden animals, unable to think beyond their immediate gratification. Likewise, the phrase about men Captain Mel's size that I'd heard most often was "big and dumb." Obviously, I'd been listening to all the wrong people.
"I don't!" I squeaked--darn it!--again, fooling no one.
"Please, lass, I prefer jokes when I've got a mug in me hand and a good buzz on."
"Well, all right," I admitted, getting back a little of my confidence, "I do. But I shan't tell you. You'll just do something horrid if I do."
Mel threw back his head and laughed as if this was the best joke he had ever heard, which I guess made him a liar too, so we were even.
"Ahrrr, but I do like a lass with spirit! Nonetheless, ye'll find out I'm not a patient man when it comes ta business." He turned his head and bellowed, "Jack!"
"Aye, Cap'n!"
"I've need o' yer talents, Jack-boy."
The man who answered Mel's summons was the sort of fellow who'd have looked good on the stage in the part of the buffoonish pirate villain, what with his fancy red coat, black boots and breeches, and bicorn hat combined with his long black beard braided up with bits of ribbon. His right hand was gone, and in its place was a gleaming steel hook. Unlike the buffoons, he was lean and saturnine, a cold, cruel whip of a man.
"What do you need, Cap'n Mel?"
"Miss Amelie, here, do be a bit reluctant to share her name. I thought ya might be able ta make the good captain divulge it, so's we know where ta send the ransom note."
"I'd consider it an honor."
He stepped up behind Captain Meros and gently grazed the side of the hook along the captain's cheek, not using the point, just letting him feel the cold metal of it.
"Do you like it? It's usually quite the attention-getter, this hand of mine. Even got me a new name when I acquired it. I used to be Jack Hand, you see, so of course everyone had to call me Jack Hook when I came up a hand short."
Meros went white again, sort of a fishbelly color this time. He seemed to do that rather a lot, which made me wonder how he'd ever managed to win a command in a profession that seemed to value devil-may-care courage.
"Ah, you've heard the name, then, I see. Then perhaps you've also heard how I lost the original model? I was serving in the Meribian navy then, fighting pirates, until a boarding axe took it clean off."
At the last word he sliced out with the hook and one of Meros's epaulets went fluttering to the deck, sliced off by the razor-sharp point of that lethal hook.
"They said I was a cripple, then. Not fit for service at sea. Unable to do my duty. Now, I ask you, do you think I'm unfit to serve?"
He struck down and curled the hook around the hilt of Meros's saber, pulling it from its sheath, then came around to the captain's front side and, saber still held in the hook hand, lashed out and sliced off the other epaulet just as neatly as he'd done the first. With a flick of his wrist, Jack tossed down the saber and rammed the curve of the hook up under Meros's chin, forcing the older man's head back.
"N-no," Meros choked out.
"Well, I found some friends who agreed with you, and wouldn't you know but they were pirates. The very folk I'd risked my life and lost my hand in fighting not only didn't cut off their injured without a pension but accepted them as they were. So now I sail under the black flag, and I've vowed to give every Meribian officer I meet a taste of this hook."
"Think of it," said the dry voice from behind me, "as Jack's little demonstration of the capabilities of the handicapped."
"So ask yourself, sir," Jack continued, "in your position do you want to make me angry, or do you instead want to build up a friendly camaraderie?"
"That'd be yer cue, matey," Mel advised.
"De Alkirk! This is the private vessel of House de Alkirk, and Miss Amelie is the daughter of the family's head."
"Right neighborly of you."
Jack Hook cracked Meros on the side of the skull with his steel hand.
"But--but he answered your questions!" I protested.
Jack turned to me as if noticing my existence for the first time.
"A vow is a vow, Miss Amelie," he said with a shrug.
"Then all your promises--"
"I didn't promise anything. Besides, I never vowed to kill anyone, just to 'give them a taste' of this hook. My choice, you see, as to just what that means."
"That's the funny thing about having a reputation fer monstrous cruelty, lass," Mel added with a broad smile. "It cuts down heartily on the amount o' actual fighting and killing a man's got ta do. Why, the whole crew o' this vessel will get ta sail on home and tell yer fancy parents that if they want ya back they'd best be prepared ta pay fer the privilege."