The Noble Pirates (2 page)

“You have an entire makeup bag in here?” I cried. “No wonder it feels like it weighs ten tons!”

Sky archly yanked a strand of Tanya’s wild hair and asked, “So? Is the pirate a good kisser?”

Tanya’s face stretched into a wide smile and she gurgled as she broke into a run. We chased after her, screaming obscenities at her, teasing her. Up above, the clouds quickly but soundlessly thickened into a gray fog, blotting out the sun.

Somehow, Bryan the Aussie Pirate managed to get every last drunken passenger on board in record time, and we were off. Bryan didn’t bother to unfurl the sails this time – he was trying to beat the storm, and the engine growled unpleasantly, coughing gasoline fumes that made my unsettled stomach all the more unwilling to keep down my lunch.

I looked up at the sky, watching an ominous patch of clouds move over Rose Island. How odd that no one saw this coming. Because it looked like it was going to be pretty bad. I tried to swallow the bile in the back of my throat, wondering if we’d get hit by the storm while at sea. I would definitely end up puking then.

“Hey, Voodoo Lady!” Shaggy Hair was smiling lopsidedly at me, a beer in his hand. “You’re the only sober one left. How pathetic is that?” I looked around me. Yup. Everyone was having a blast, completely oblivious to the danger we could be in. Even Sky was swaying giddily, her eyes not focusing on anything in particular.

“I’d better not be the only sober one,” I called back over the engine, jerking my thumb at Bryan, where he stood steering the boat. Sweat was beading on his forehead and his upper lip, and underneath his tan his face was bloodless. Several empty plastic cups lay crumpled at his side, and I realized with a flash of horror that I was, in fact, the only sober one on board.

“Come on, you prude,” he said, his voice suddenly in my ear. I jerked around to find that Shaggy Hair was standing right next to me, smiling. “One shot, and I’ll leave you alone.”

My eyes widened. “You promise? Because that’s all I really want – for you to leave me alone.” I kept glancing back at Bryan, fear swelling up inside me. I looked at Tanya and Sky, where they were laughing and dancing like nothing was wrong. Our captain was drunk, we were about to get hit by a monumental storm, and I was the only one who was worried. I snatched the shot glass from Shaggy Hair. I tossed it back without hesitation, and then said huskily, “Get me another one, would you?”

Shaggy Hair hooted, his face flushed. “Yes, ma’am!”

After choking down another shot of whatever that was, I started to feel a bit calmer. I made my way to Bryan and asked, “Um, is there something I can do to help?”

Bryan didn’t even look at me as rain droplets started to splash against the control panel. “Could you get everyone to put on a life jacket and get below, mate? This is gonna be a bad one.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” I answered doubtfully. I grabbed a few life jackets and stumbled back out to where the drunks had finally noticed it was starting to rain. The women started laughing, their faces upturned into the now rapidly falling droplets. This was going to be like herding cats. I started with Sky and Tanya. “Guys, the storm is here. Let’s try and get everyone below before someone ends up overboard.”

Tanya glanced at me, and I could tell what she was thinking. Of course I was the only person not having a good time. Of course I was the only person with a stick up her ass. Of course I was the one trying to ruin everybody’s fun. I would have been rigid with fury, but those two shots were working their magic. My joints were made of rubber. I pointed to Bryan, who was mopping his brow with the tail of his shirt. “T, your boy asked that you put this on and get down below. Don’t fight me.”

That convinced her, and before I knew it, I had managed to get everyone below deck, if not in a life jacket. The cabin was small, stuffy, and crowded with, well, drunks. Body odor and the smell of alcohol mingled in the stagnant heat, and I felt my stomach leap into my throat. The storm was getting worse, and the waves tossed the catamaran like a toy in the bathtub. The boat pitched from side to side, and as I stood pressed between Shaggy Hair and Sky, I suddenly knew I was going to throw up.

“Sabrina! Where are you going?” Sky cried, her own face a light shade of green.

“I’ll be back,” I mumbled. “I’m going to be sick.” At that moment, one of the frat boys retched  noisily on the floor, and I knew I had to get the hell out of the cabin. I squeezed past the sweaty bodies and up the ladder, nearly falling as the boat rocked to the left. Above, the rain pelted down mercilessly, and Captain Bryan, drenched and panicked, was trying to radio someone, anyone.

“Get back below!” he yelled at me as I rushed to the metal railing and puked up a combination of hard alcohol, Bahama Mama, and chicken fingers. I wiped my mouth and looked at him, shaking my head. The rain felt good, and I wasn’t just about to go back down there. He yelled a series of incoherent curses at me, saying something about the compass not working.

As the cabin door began to push open – probably by the passengers who didn’t want to sit amongst the heat, sweat, and vomit – Bryan kicked it shut forcefully, leaning against it and padlocking it with one swift movement. “No one else is getting out of there until this storm is over,” he yelled angrily, flashing a look at me.

I lay down on the slippery deck, gripping the railing with one hand. I just wanted it to stop. I would do anything for this feeling to go away. Anything. I tried to roll on my back, but my backpack, which I had so cleverly strapped on over my life jacket, prevented me from doing so. I didn’t have the energy to tear it off, so I just lolled on my side, my hair matted to my face, looking up into the most frightening sky I’d ever seen. The clouds reached down to the sea like ghostly hands, illuminated from behind by an unearthly glow.

Suddenly the boat lurched violently. I felt my skull crack against the fiberglass hull, my body thrown like a ragdoll into the air. I’m not sure if I screamed. I’m pretty sure I didn’t, considering I couldn’t even get up the energy to flail or grab for something. I tasted salt water, felt it burn my eyes. It filled my ears and nose, pulled at my limbs.  I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t tell which way the surface was. The life jacket and backpack pulled in opposite directions, one dragging me down, the other trying to break the waves, both riding up around my neck. I shook my head in distress, and the backpack covered my face. Suddenly, death seemed like a welcome reprieve to the sea sickness, to the battering of the sea. My head hit something hard again, and the next thing I saw was my daughter Sophie’s face when she was four or five months old, smiling her toothless smile, her chubby hands reaching for me...

Take good care of her, Jake. I love you both.

Chapter Three

  My first conscious thought was:
I hate boats.

  My head pounded, just at the crown. Illogically, I wondered if there was a hole in my skull. From the neck down, I was submerged in cool water, and waves tugged at my body rhythmically. Sunlight lit the inside of my eyelids to a bright, veined pink and warmed my face, which was pressed against the smooth nylon of my life jacket.

Was I dead? I tried opening my eyes, but it felt as though they were welded shut. I wanted to rub them, but wasn’t even sure I knew how to move my hands. Hell, for all I knew, I didn’t have hands anymore. I thought idly about sharks as I bobbed about, wondering if anyone would find me, and if not, how long it would take to die. Slowly, I was able to crack open my eyes. From between the strands of hair that wrapped across my face and stuck to my parched lips, I could see a blurry blue sky with scattered clouds above, and nothing but sea stretching before me. Water sloshed around in my ears, and I could barely hear anything over the roar in my head.

Was my death to be prolonged? Would I die slowly at sea, with various sea creatures nibbling at me like an open buffet? I tried to moan, but no sound came out of my mouth. What had happened to Sky and Tanya? To everyone else on the catamaran? Were they okay?

Then I heard it. Gurgling water, and a distinct creaking. I saw the shadow it cast on the waves before I saw the dark hull, painted with a stripe of black. The ship was approaching, and while I wanted to call out for help, I could do nothing but wince at the pain I felt as I tried to move. I heard voices, and knew that I’d been found. Funny, how one’s brain works when water-logged and beaten to a pulp: I remember thinking it was remotely odd that a wooden sailing ship had found me, but not exceptionally odd. My eyes tried to focus on the ship as it came dangerously close, creaking and groaning balefully, the sails shuddering as the ship turned into the wind.

I saw men’s faces peering down at me from the sides, speaking in what I thought was English. I couldn’t be sure, because my ears were partially submerged in water, but I thought I heard someone say “Avast ye!” The ship was within arm’s reach when I managed to focus my eyes enough to see a flag flapping urgently in the wind: black, with a skull and two crossed bones beneath it. I tried to clear my head, blinking.

I was being rescued by pirate re-enactors. How droll.

Two men, clambering down monkey-like along the side of the ship, grabbed me by my vest and pulled. I was jerked from the water, my legs slapping against the wood of the boat. “Steady, clods, or I’ll cut ye in sunder!” a gruff male voice yelled.

I was then on my back again, looking into the curious faces of my rescuers. And, holy heaven, did they stink. I’m not sure I managed to keep the look of disgust off my face. My stomach began to churn again as I felt the ship rock beneath my body.

“Damn me, if it isn’t a bit o’ girl!” one fellow cried, blowing sour breath into my face.

“Close that yawp, dog!” another one growled. “Back to your post, and be quick about it!”

I turned my head to the side, groaning. I found my voice – along with my healthy dose of sarcasm – and croaked, “Seriously, guys. Enough with the pirate chatter. Get me to a hospital.”

The men exchanged looks, and a man who hadn’t spoken yet examined me, touching the vest, eyeing my terry cloth pants and t-shirt. The others hovered around, muttering oaths to each other. What was with these people? I tried to push myself up on my elbows, and the men instantly stepped back. All but the silent man, who, my addled brain assessed, was in a position of authority. Unlike the others, he maintained a calm look on his face, speaking gently to me. “There, now. Whatever ails you,
cailin
? Have ye need for the surgeon?”

Surgeon? And what did he call me? “Uh… No. I was… I fell off a boat… I don’t know how long ago… during a storm. I was staying on Paradise Island with my friends. They probably think I’m dead.”

I swallowed down the foul taste in my mouth, disoriented by what I saw. These guys weren’t kidding around. They clearly took this re-enactment business seriously, right down to the stench of putrid ass that emanated from every crevice of the ship. The deck was littered with coils of tarred rope and dirty sails. The ship seemed small, a lot smaller than Johnny Depp’s galleon, in any case. It had two masts, an immense amount of sail, and a long bowsprit. I didn’t remember much about sailboats, despite the instruction I’d gotten in Haiti as a kid, but it was clear the ship was built for speed. Speed, and battle, apparently – I spotted several big cannons and swivel guns fixed to the railing. The men, about a hundred of them, were ethnically varied – there were a few black and Indian guys – but they were strikingly similar in their appearances. They were all weathered, scarred, and filthy, and they were all clothed in variations of a loose shirt and baggy trousers. All of them wore something on their heads, either a knitted or felt cap. Most of them had on simple leather shoes, while others went barefoot. Some had dirty neckerchiefs, some sported short jackets. And every single blessed one carried a weapon, mainly knives and pistols that were hung around their necks or tucked in their belts.

I looked at the nice fellow, the one who appeared to be the captain. It wasn’t the way he was dressed that tipped me off – he was dressed like the others, except he wore knee breeches and knitted stockings – it was his presence. He was short but broad in the chest, with copper-colored hair that was tied back into a tail under a small tricorn hat. His face was creased and spotted from the sun, his cheeks ruddy from the wind, and he had a large, aquiline nose. He looked to be in his late thirties. His eyes, though bloodshot, were a bright blue as he surveyed me apprehensively. He had both a cutlass and pistol tied into a makeshift belt at his side, but he showed no sign of wanting to use them, thank God. “I need to use a phone,” I said, my voice sounding slightly choked.

The captain raised an eyebrow. The crew rumbled with… disapproval? Confusion? Fear? Oh, Jesus. Don’t tell me they’ve taken this so far as to not bring a damn cell phone. The throbbing in my head got worse, as did my nausea, and I felt my patience run out. “God, please, guys! I need to get back to Paradise Island. I need to use a phone. Don’t you get it? I fell overboard… My friends, Sky and Tanya. I need to find out if they’re okay. I need to find out what happened to the catamaran. This isn’t fun and games for me!”

One of the other men, a pale, rawboned man with a grand total of four teeth that I could see, leaned to speak in the captain’s ear. “The woman’s mad, Cap’n! What say you that we leave her ashore at Nassau – ”

“Nassau!” I cried, jerking upright and immediately wishing I hadn’t moved. My stomach heaved and every muscle in my body ached. “Yes, take me to Nassau. That’ll work.” Anywhere, really, so long I was away from these wackos. The captain sat still for a moment, seemingly surprised by my ardent desire to go to Nassau. His hesitation, however, lasted less than a second. He nodded, but before he could speak, I gagged and threw up on the deck. I had nothing to throw up except sea water, and the captain ordered that I be brought some ale.