Portete - Chapter 44
Tensions
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.
ByJam heard the refrains above, but ignored them as he followed the captain into his private quarters. MacRorie didn’t sit, but stood staring out the window, hands on his hips. The quartermaster sighed and helped himself to the bottle on the desk.
“He’s got under your skin, I see,” he said quietly, drinking the rum.
“Aye,” said MacRorie. “That he has, Rec. But it’s not him. It’s that devil bitch. She has him so twisted up inside that he doesn’t know what’s what!”
“Why do you think sailors don’t want ‘em on a ship? Oh sure, there’s all the superstition and whatnot, but the real reason is that no man is safe when they are aboard! You know that.” The rotund pirate settled into an ornate chair and stared into his rum. “When women are around, your mind’s not where it should be. And next thing you know, you're staring a man down with a blade at his belly over some tart what rolled you once in the galley.” He produced a tightly rolled cigar from his shirt. “You have a match here somewhere?”
MacRorie motioned to the desk and poured himself a drink. “You don’t have to tell me, Rec. I know well enough to keep a lass off my ship. But that doesn’t help our current situation. If we don’t get his head right, the whole plan can come crashing down.” He drank deeply and sighed, shaking his head slowly.
“True enough,” replied ByJam. “But what do you propose to do? Kill her?” He puffed deeply on his tobacco.
“I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind,” chuckled MacRorie. “But you don’t just go kill another man’s crew. And that goes doubly for his wife!”
“Aye. So what’s to do, Captain?”
MacRorie sighed, taking the bottle from ByJam and filling his glass again. “I suppose I will have to talk to him again. Once the storm passes, I’ll go over. At the very least, we can agree to disagree.” Out the window, he could see the rocky cliffs looming behind the sheets of rain. “They’re going to need us topside to heave to.” The two pirates sat quietly for a moment, not speaking. “Thanks for knocking some sense into me, Mister ByJam.”
“Don’t mention it, Captain.” He stood and groaned, stretching. “Besides, my fate’s fairly entwined with your own. It’s in me own best interest that you not be doing anything stupid.” He grinned at MacRorie, and the two pirates went back out into the driving rain.
The men were still singing, tying down the sails and securing everything they could. The ship pitched and rolled with the surging waves, but their voices rang out through the downpour.
Sail away where no ball and chain
Can keep us from the roarin’ waves
Together undivided but forever we’ll be free.
Despite the rain and wind, the pirates were in good spirits and working hard. Most were stripped to their sailors’ breeches, revealing a wide assortment of tattoos and body piercings nearly to the man. They scampered barefoot over the wet ropes and spars as easily as if on solid dry land.
So sail away aboard our rig
The moon is full and so are we
We’re seven drunken pirates
We’re the seven deadly sins
We’re seven drunken pirates
We’re the seven deadly sins!
The silhouette of the Irredeemable came into view, and MacRorie could just make out the figures of the crew hurrying back and forth, securing the brigantine. The clank-clank-clank of the Relentless’ anchor chain being lowered echoed off the cliffs, and he felt the familiar lurch of it catching on the sandy bottom below. The sails were all tied tight, and the men were passing a bottle of rum around, still singing.
Suffers who suffer all
Can swim upon the desert
Where avarice have ravaged all
In spite of good intentions
Don’t fill your mouth with gluttony
For pride will surely swell
But nothing’s unforgiven in the four corners of hell!
The rain and wind went on into the night, but by morning, the storm had passed. Seabirds circled the two vessels in the protected cove, and some of the pirates tried to catch fish for breakfast. MacRorie stood for a moment, staring at the ship only a few cable lengths away, and sighed.
“Mr. Patterson! Mr. Payne! You’re with me, gentlemen. Ready the longboat. We’re going to visit our friends over at the Irredeemable.”
Captain Rasmus Vestergaard could not remember the last time he had looked back on a port with regret. He was a forward-thinking man; a man of convictions and purpose, and eradicating pirates from the West Indies was that purpose. And yet, he found himself thinking about a young woman in a whorehouse in Tortuga. A young woman whose touch still shivered his flesh. A beautiful woman whose scent still filled his nose and made him smile to himself. He could hardly believe that scarcely three hours before he had been –
“Capitan!!” His boatswain startled him from his daydreaming. “We are leaving the harbor, sir. Do we have a heading?”
Vestergaard, not used to being caught unawares, growled at his crewman in Dutch, “Of course, you idiot! Do you think I would order departure otherwise?” To himself, he muttered in Danish. “Get a hold of yourself, Rasmus! You have a job to do!”
“Mister van Tillberg!” he called, reverting to Dutch again. “Make our heading due south. We sail for Petit Goave.”
“Aye, Capitan.”
“And put Schumier in the crow’s nest. I don’t want anyone slipping past us, understand? And I don’t want to see you up there, either.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And I want Seelenhorst at the bow as well. Not de Groot. His vision is not what it once was.”
“Of course, sir. Schumier and Seelenhorst instead. Understood.”
“I want to be ready, my dear Mister van Tillberg, for anything that comes our way, do you understand?”
“Of course, sir.”
The Draaken was a formidable ship, in appearance as well as reality. A Dutch East Indiaman, she was armed with over forty guns and crewed by seasoned sailors, all good hands before the mast. Vestergaard ran a tight ship, but fair. His men were fiercely loyal, from the officers down to the powder boys. It was a rare occasion that the mate had to use his cane to drive them any harder. The mere fact that the privateer had been successful certainly drove them just as hard. Unlike a Navy crew – and not unlike pirates – privateers shared in the spoils to the man. While a certain percentage was required to be returned to their benefactors, the captain had been more than generous on this latest campaign. Every man had taken plenty ashore in Tortuga and left much of it behind. Vestergaard himself had spent a small fortune ashore, although he thought of it more as an investment. The information he had acquired was solid. He knew that. There had been no guile in the tearful eyes that had looked up at him in the candlelight. And the promise to take her away from everything once the job was done had sealed the deal. A promise he had every intention of keeping.
“Things are not as stable as they should be, Hugo.” Joseph Mendoza sat in the captain’s quarters of the yacht Shenanigan and allowed his brother to pour him another glass of rum. They were several hours out from Petit Goave, and sailing not far behind the Mystic and the Intrepid, Governor Mara’s and Admiral Throckmorton’s ships, respectively. Dinsmore shrugged and munched on a cassava fruit.
“They never are, Joseph. You know that. And what do you expect? They’re all pirates!” He chased the tart fruit down with a belt directly from the bottle.
“Seriously, Hugo! You’re no better than they are.”
“You wound me, brother,” Dinsmore replied in mock indignation. “But really, I see no need to worry about things. At least not from the captains. They are true to the cause. And we have little control over some rumors about would-be pirate hunters.” He picked up a banana and started peeling it. “By the time anyone is in these waters looking for us, we’ll be on the beaches of Portete sipping rum and deciding which wench to have over for dinner.”
“Don’t be so glib, Hugo. This is serious business. Serious enough to impact our plans, not to mention our potential for profit, I might add.” Mendoza sighed. “Actually, my biggest concern is the captains. I have it on good authority that those two had a bit of a row before we left.”
“Oh? What about?” Dinsmore was listening carefully now.
“It seems there is some disagreement about young Mister Warrington and his inclusion in all this.”
“Really?” Dinsmore raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly is the question? I thought it was very clear.”
“Indeed. However, I think we have a deeper problem.” He drank slowly, peering over the rim of his glass at Dinsmore, who sat down and waited patiently. “I think someone might be having second thoughts about the plan.”
Do you have a cast of characters? Sorted by ship/role. I have lost track of who’s who.