Second on the Right (35 page)

James screamed again as he ran his hook
towards Benedict's chest. He was blocked by the dagger in the
captain’s left hand. Pushing away, James regrouped, and then leapt
to attack again. Benedict anticipated his move. With all his might,
Benedict kicked James hard in the center of his chest. James went
flying across the room and through the door, breaking it off its
hinges. Benedict gave him a moment to regain his breath and stand.
James was drunk,
very
drunk.

Benedict, who appeared to have a thought,
grinned.

"I'm going to
tear
that smile off your
face!" James shouted.

Benedict bounded over the bed and across the
room. Engaging in a quick sword fight, he forced James to retreat
down the stairs. James’ hook swung, missing Benedict’s knee by
inches. Benedict kicked again, sending James rolling and tumbling
down the remaining steps until he landed on his back at the bottom.
Hearing his fall, the crew looked on, and their rowdiness quieted
down some.

Benedict steadily and confidently made his
way down the stairs. His chest was heaving from the exertion. James
had the advantage of youth and strength; however, Benedict had
control of his emotions and years of experience and skill.

Scrambling to stand, James spun around,
trying to locate his cutlass. Since it was nowhere to be found, he
grabbed another crew man's sword and continued backing away from
Benedict. Benedict's face was stern. He was going to teach James a
lesson.

James tripped on his way out onto the street,
stumbling through a puddle of muddy water, soaking and soiling his
pants and shirt. He stood, trying to no avail to wipe himself
clean. Giving up on the task, he took a defensive stance, waiting
for Benedict. The captain stood in the doorframe, his silhouette
looking larger than life. He glanced back at the crew who had begun
to follow to watch the fight.

"Drink up, me hearties. This is between me
and the whelp!" Benedict stepped outside, closing the door to the
bar. "Just you and me now, boy," He growled and pointed his blade
at James.

James stood on guard. His white shirt, dirty
and ripped at the top, revealed his chest and the gold circle
pendant that swung from the action. His fitted brown pants hid the
muddy water stains well. His knee-high boots protected only the
lower part of his pants from dirt or water. James' face was dark;
shadows cast from his brow hid his eyes. Only when he turned his
head could Benedict make out from the moonlight the muscles of his
jaw and neck tensing. James was angry. The reason mattered not in
the end. James' approach to the captain was inappropriate and
needed to be squelched.

"Tell me, Robert. How does it feel, knowing
you're a father?" James began as the two slowly circled.

Benedict blinked, taken aback by the
question. "Father?" Refusing to be distracted, he merely grinned
and replied, "No doubt I've fathered many. Ta which be ye referrin'
ta?"

Angered at the callous response, James lunged
forward, their swords clashing. Pushing Benedict back, he swung his
cutlass around, blocked again by the captain. He slashed his hook
on the right, cutting Benedict on the forearm.

"Arrrgghh!" Benedict cried out in pain,
kicking James away. The two circled once more, Benedict's fresh
wound trickling blood on the ground. "Ta tha point boy!" he
grumbled, angry at his own sloppiness.

"Robbie, your son," James said with a hiss. A
new sensation taking over him: the thrill of administering pain,
the thrill of a potential kill.

Benedict scoffed, "Son? Ha! Boy, yer way off
course!"

James jumped towards him, but Benedict moved
aside. James stumbled past him, momentum taking over. With his
dagger, Benedict swiped James lightly across the shoulder blades.
James cried out, staggering away from Benedict. He was bleeding
through his shirt.

Breathless, James replied, "Yes, your son."
He leaned up against a building, pointing his sword at Benedict to
keep him at bay. "Your's, and Eileen's."

“Have you gone mad?”

"You! You took advantage of her," James’
voice rose as regained his strength and breath. "You got her drunk.
I put her to bed, yet she had memories of a most—" He hesitated at
the description, but had to spit it out, "
enjoyable
night."

As Benedict paused to reflect, he
unconsciously lowered his sword. James took advantage of this
distraction to knock the sword out of his hand. Grabbing Benedict,
James spun him around and slammed him against the building on which
he had been leaning. Taking his hook, he held the tip against the
captain's jugular vein, knowing one slice would be the end of him,
but something in Benedict's eyes caused him to take pause.

"What?" James asked.

"That's what this is about? Ye be referrin'
ta Eileen? Not that far from virtuous wench upstairs? I—" Benedict
said with some hesitation. "That never happened."

"I don't believe you."

"Aye, she was three sheets to the wind,
nearly four, but I never…” He looked at James in all seriousness,
"Never."

James gave a rough push harder against the
wall before letting him go. "But Robbie…my son…he looks…his eyes,
they're like yours…were…," he struggled to find the words.

"Any other woman, t'would be no question. But
Eileen—" he stopped.

James finished, "I knew it. You were in love
with her."

"Aye, but she wasn’t in love with me." He
nursed his wound, "I found her alone, outside." He sighed, "Such a
beaut." Benedict revealed to James exactly what had happened that
night.

Benedict was outside, taking time away from
Eileen. She was drunk, he had seen to that. But James had thwarted
his plans to take advantage of her by returning home early.
Frustrated, he had needed air and stood in the shadows on the porch
to brood. An hour later, Eileen ventured onto the same porch,
unaware of his presence. Benedict noted with pleasure she was still
intoxicated and alone.

The moonlight was shining in her hair,
running across the porcelain white skin of her face, down her
shoulders. Her night-shirt flowing in the gentle breeze, the edges
rose and fell at mid-thigh, her bare legs stretching down to the
floor. He walked towards her. Her scent was intoxicating, a mixture
of coconut and plumeria. He gently kissed her on the neck. She had
a look of longing he couldn’t resist. When he grabbed the back of
her head and pulled her closer, she fell into a passionate kiss.
Her body gave way in his arms, no fighting. As he continued, he
heard her say softly, "James".

Benedict's head leaned back against the
building. "I wanted her more than anythin'. But not like that."
Pushing the hook away, he picked up his sword, sheathed it, and
went back to nursing his wound that was still bleeding. "When she
said yer name, me heart sank. She wasn’t in love with me. She'd
never be."

James couldn’t believe it. He looked at
Benedict, surprised by this revelation.
He is a pirate, and
Eileen was drunk. She would have been—
he swallowed the
thought.

"Nothin' happened. Though, by the powers I
wanted it, more than anythin'. If she were any other wench, I'd
have had me way with her. Alas, no. I placed her in bed and took a
long walk," Benedict finished, sighing heavily. "Robert is your
son." He pushed roughly passed James and headed into the bar.

James was so relieved.
Nothing had
happened!
He grew weak in the knees. The load of emotional ups
and downs suddenly washed over him. He dropped his sword in the
process. Leaning against the wall of the building, he sank
down.

"Have ye recovered?" Benedict asked,
chuckling

With eyes closed, James replied, "What—" but
as he tried to say the words, he started to heave.

Benedict rolled his eyes. "Not again. Ye two!
Take him up ta tha side. I’ll not have him spillin’ his guts on me
ship!" He barked at two crewmen staring blankly, "Smartly!" They
jumped to life, grabbed James by his arms and dragged him up to the
railing. Benedict followed closely behind.

James overheard the bo'sun speaking with
Benedict, "Cap'n, ship off the port stern."

Off in the distance, a speck of a silhouetted
ship could be seen. Benedict held up a spyglass. The
Mistral
Thief
was a galleon ship with three masts. This ship appeared
to be a brig with two masts. The rakish-looking vessel had a deep
rich red hull trimmed with black and was armed with at least
fifteen cannons. Though only having two masts, the amount of sails
she had would make her an extremely maneuverable ship. He recalled
another ship of the same type. It was so fast that it could turn
almost on the spot. In the hands of a skilled captain, this ship
could be maneuvered with ease. He noted the number and type of
crew. Though it could easily be classified as a warship, it
appeared to be in use as a trade ship. Deckhands were sailors, but
not many gave the appearance of experienced sailors. They were
definitely not pirates.

A wicked grin spread across Benedict's face.
She’s the one
. As the ship turned away from its location,
Benedict ran the spyglass off the stern.
Jolly Roger
.

Benedict was so confident in his skills as a
pirate he called James up to the helm to look through the spyglass.
"Take a gander at yer ship. The
Jolly Roger
!" He beamed
proudly.

“The
Jolly Roger
?” James burst out
laughing. Crewmen looked at him in confusion.

Benedict sneered. “Problem?”

James shook his head and waved them all off.
“No, not at all. Wait. Did you say my ship?” He straightened.

“Aye. Caught sight o’ her anchored off El
Tiburón. Once supplies were loaded, tha crew set sail this morn.
She’s a brig and a mighty fine ship. She’ll turn on tha spot, she’s
that quick.”

James looked over the water. The captain's
quarters were located at the stern of the ship, below the helm,
just as on the
Mistral Thief
. The only difference was the
stern of the ship's red was adorned with woven brass outlining the
glass panes of the captain's quarters. "They won't let it go
without a fight. How do you propose to take the ship without much
damage?"

"Jas, I be a pirate. The sea runs through me
veins. Do ye doubt me skills?" Benedict smiled, slapping him on the
back "Ye be needin’ a ship. She'll do.”

James smirked. "All right. When?"

"T'night, in cover o’ darkness," Benedict
grinned.

As evening drew closer, James felt a twinge,
a phantom pain where his right hand would have been. He tried to
rub the spot, but the hook and harness were both in the way. He
gritted his teeth, barely able to stand the sensation. He tugged,
shifted, and pulled, all the while pacing. Benedict, hearing the
noise, looked over at James.