Portete - Chapter 43
Race
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NOTE: This story contains some harsh language, violence, and mature themes that might be upsetting to some readers. They are pirates, after all. Ye have been warned.
Want to start at the beginning? Welcome to Portete.
Downstairs in the bar, the other sailors were doing what sailors do best: drinking and carrying on. The men of the Draaken were privateers, not Navy men, and as such were not confined to a particular standard of conduct. In many ways, they were no different than the pirates they were hunting; they just had letters of marque, paid to hunt down enemies of their benefactors. And they were paid well. Pieces-of-eight, gold and silver specie, even the occasional British Pound, were spent freely on rum, beer, and all kinds of food and refreshment.
The opportunity for pleasurable company was on every sailor’s mind after months at sea, and the Sultry Mermaid never disappointed. Celeste had made sure every girl was on duty, dressed in her finest, and eager to please. Sabrina, perched atop a particularly large Irishman, took a moment to survey the room. Celeste’s prolonged absence made her uncomfortable. Granted, it also made her in charge, but it was unlike the young woman to be indisposed for so long. She only hoped there was a lot of coin being passed for the extra attention.
“Clarissa,” she called across the room. “More fraternizing, less eating!” The waddling wench looked over her shoulder sheepishly and put down the turkey leg she was gnawing on and wiped her greasy hands on her skirts. She trundled over to a table of sailors and flopped down with them, making coarse suggestions and blathering incoherently. Sabrina shook her head sadly. “And she had such potential…”
“What’s that?” The Irishman looked up quizzically.
“Never you mind, love.” She smiled down at him. “Now, you were about to tell me how beautiful I was, weren’t you?”
“Was I now?”
“Aye, and I was about to tell you…” The buxom wench leaned in and whispered fiercely in the sailor’s ear. His eyes widened, and his face turned red. The two were up the stairs in an instant, giggling and laughing.
The wind was strong as the Relentless cut through the crystal blue waters off the coast of Hispaniola. MacRorie kept them just within sight of land, but avoided the shoals and reefs by staying in deeper water. They had left Petit Goave at daybreak, only a few hours behind the Irredeemable. James Patterson watched his captain with concern. He had known Alistair MacRorie for many years and had turned to the sweet trade because of him, but in all the years together, he had never seen the man quite so agitated. Something had happened to put him in a foul mood, and it did not bode well for them.
“Dammit, Mister Ford,” barked the pirate captain. “I need more speed! I’ll be damned if that leaky chamber pot beats us to Tortuga!”
“Aye, Captain,” called Ford, casting a sideways glance at his half-brother, Roger Maddix. The two men tightened the lines and checked every clew and sail to check for slack, glancing nervously back at their captain. They, too, sensed something was amiss. Patterson frowned. A call came from the crow’s nest.
“Irredeemable, Captain!” Andrew Longfellow was aloft and squinting through the spyglass. “Not more than a few leagues ahead of us. But she’s piling on sail, Captain. She knows we’re here!”
“We’re not trying to engage her, Mister Longfellow,” called MacRorie. “We just want to beat her to the wenches, eh?”
That drew a murmur of approval from the crew, and all hands moved to station to do what they could to coax more speed from their ship.
“Dark clouds, too, Captain,” called Longfellow. “Dead ahead. Might be a squall.”
“She’ll be fine,” said MacRorie, more to himself than anyone else. “Steady as she goes.”
“Captain,” said Patterson, approaching with an unopened bottle of rum. “We should head into the shallows, just in case. That storm might be trouble.”
“James, I am surprised at you,” laughed the captain. “Afraid of a little rain? We’ve been through much worse and lived to tell about it. She’ll hold.”
“Alistair, I just think…”
“I said she’ll hold!” MacRorie’s eyes blazed. “And I’ll be damned if that flea-bitten bastard whoreson of a goatfuck out-sails me and reaches Tortuga before I do.”
“Captain…”
“Enough, Mister Patterson. See to the lashings, if you please. We can ill afford to lose anything just because none of these louts thought to tie it down, eh?”
“Aye, Captain.” Patterson sighed and moved to carry out his orders. He glanced at the approaching clouds and shook his head. It was unlike MacRorie to be so reckless. A bright flash of lightning darkened his sense of foreboding.
Captain Stephen Johnson stood at the stern of the Irredeemable and grimaced. He had hoped to put enough distance between himself and MacRorie that the smaller, faster sloop would not be able to catch them. Apparently, someone had seen them slip out of Petit Goave in the night. It was not surprising that someone had informed the other pirate, but it irritated him nonetheless.
“Captain,” called MacDonald. “There be a great ol’ storm a-brewin’ not far ahead. We nae be able to ride it through, I’m certain. I should nae try. Head to shore, Captain. Anchor and ride her out.” The Scotsman followed Johnson’s gaze to the south. “Dannae worry, sair. Ol’ MacRorie’s no fool. He’d nae try it himself, what with his ship being smaller.”
“Never underestimate what Alistair will try, Ewan,” muttered Johnson. “Every man that has done so has died.”
“With all due respect, Captain,” said MacDonald. “MacRorie is a Scot. He might be stubborn, and laird knows he be mad! But stupid, he is not. He’ll put in as well, especially once he sees we have. There’s a sheltered cove just there.” He pointed towards the shore. Johnson could see an area that looked deep enough for the brigantine to drop anchor and be protected from the brunt of the storm. He grudgingly gave the order to make for the cove. “At the first sign of a break, Mister MacDonald…”
“We weigh anchor. Dannae worry, Stephen. We’ll reach Tortuga a-fore yer man MacRorie.”
The rain was already falling when they saw the Irredeemable change course and make for the shelter of the cove.
“Bloody coward!” yelled MacRorie over the rising wind. “It’s just a wee drop o’ rain!”
“Captain,” said Rec ByJam. “We need to make for the cove as well. This storm’s a bad one, Alistair. I can feel it.”
“Shut yer gob, ye fat fuck,” sneered MacRorie. “I’m not about to let a spit of drizzle stop me from making Big Stephen look bad!”
“Then you are as arrogant and stupid as he is, Alistair Mac-fuckin’-Rorie!” ByJam shoved the captain back, staring him down. “Mister Patterson, take the helm!”
James Patterson froze, wide-eyed, his gaze darting back and forth between his captain and his quartermaster. Fury filled MacRorie’s face, and for a moment, he thought the captain might kill ByJam. But he saw the turmoil behind the pirate’s eyes get tempered by the task at hand.
“Aye. Go ahead, James,” he said, gritting his teeth. “I’m going below. Someone tell me when we reach the cove.”
Patterson rushed to the wheel and steadied it, bringing the Relentless about and tacking towards the rocky cliffs. ByJam gave him a look as he followed the captain belowdecks. It confirmed everything he feared. Something was eating at MacRorie. And anything that could upset Alistair MacRorie was a cause for great concern. The rain was falling harder now, and the wind drove it at a sharp angle. Patterson called to Ford and Maddix, “Give us a song, boys!” He stripped off his shirt and kept a firm grip on the wheel. “Ol’ Calypso’s in a foul mood, it seems. Let’s see if we can calm her a bit, eh?”
The half-brothers grinned salaciously at one another, and they started singing loudly.
Friggin’ in the riggin’
Friggin’ in the riggin’
Friggin’ in the riggin’
There’s fuck-all else to do.
Soon, the whole crew joined in. Patterson laughed and rolled his eyes, but sang along with the other pirates.
The mermaid was a harlot
She had long hair of scarlet
She rolled all day, was good to lay
And swallowed by the jar lot.
Friggin’ in the riggin’
Friggin’ in the riggin’
Friggin’ in the riggin’
There’s fuck-all else to do.
upgradiong with the Hogarth.