Portete - Chapter 45
Division
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.
Aboard the Irredeemable, the crew watched with guarded interest as Johnson received MacRorie aboard. The tension between the two men was palpable. Both had staggering reputations as cunning, brutal men, albeit with very different styles. Patterson and Payne stood behind their captain, looking around warily. Until recently, the other pirates had been comrades and drinking partners with only a friendly rivalry separating them. Now they were potentially adversaries, depending on their respective leaders. Patterson locked eyes with McDonald. They acknowledged one another with a nod, knowing full well that they could be called upon to kill each other soon. Patterson noticed del Vigo was nowhere to be seen.
“Alistair,” said Johnson gruffly, staring down at the other pirate.
“Stephen,” replied MacRorie, meeting his gaze without blinking. “We need to talk. Before we continue on.”
“Talk then. The weather is clear, and my men would like to make Tortuga before nightfall.” There was an appreciative grumble from the crew.
“As would mine. Shall we go below?”
“We can talk here. I have no secrets from my men.”
“Very well. We need to put this Warrington business behind us. The decision is made, and it will nae be changed. We need to focus on the task at hand, Stephen.”
“You think it’s that easy, Alistair? You can simply say how it’s going to be, and everyone will just listen?” The massive captain narrowed his eyes and leaned in. “You do not make the rules, Alistair MacRorie,” he hissed.
The two men glowered in silence at one another while the surrounding pirates shuffled nervously, unsure as to what they were witnessing. Fingertips touched sword hilts and pistol butts. Although the overwhelming numbers of the Irredeemables would make any fight a short one, no one wanted to be among those who would fall trying to take the Relentlesses on their ship.
“You’re right, Stephen. The council does. And they did. And it was settled years ago!” MacRorie tore the hat from his head and slapped it against his thigh in frustration. “You stupid, stubborn, jackdonkey! Can’t you see what’s happening here?”
Suddenly, Johnson’s sword was in his hand and moving towards MacRorie, who just barely parried with his own.
“You leave her out of this, Alistair!”
“Don’t do this, Stephen,” growled MacRorie. The pirates were all armed in an instant, and Patterson and Payne pressed their backs together, facing outward at their would-be attackers. No one moved.
“Get off my ship,” snarled Johnson, “Before I do something we will all regret.” His eyes were wide with a barely controlled fury. He took two steps back and sheathed his blade. He paused to stare at his former friend, then turned on his heel and went below decks.
MacRorie raised his chin and sighed, then muttered to his crewmates. “C’mon boys. We are no longer welcome here, it seems.” They sheathed their blades and descended the rope ladder to the longboat. No one from the Irredeemable moved to stop them – or help them. They rowed back to the Relentless in silence, Patterson and Payne stealing worried glances at their captain. When they reached their ship, MacRorie went straight to his cabin and closed and locked the door without a word to anyone.
“What the hell was dat about,” said Payne to Patterson, opening a new bottle and drinking deeply. “I never saw dem like dat before!”
“I wish I knew, mate,” sighed the other pirate, taking the bottle. “I don’t like it, though. You see the quartermaster anywhere?” He put the bottle to his lips and took a long draught.
“Naw. I think he went below when we got aboard. Prolly waiting on de captain in his quarters. Him know a lot about Johnson, so maybe he know what be happening, no? Gimme back me rum, boy!” The powerful hand was nearly as big as Patterson’s head and snatched the now half-empty liquor away. “Go get ya own!”
“What did he say, love?” Dulcinea del Vigo sprawled across the mahogany bed in the captain’s quarters aboard the Irredeemable, wearing only a thin silk sheet around her lithe body. Johnson barely noticed and said nothing, walking instead to the cabinet and violently slamming it open. He stared for a moment at the collection of bottles, then grabbed an ornate crystal one adorned with a red and gold crown, pulled the cork out with his teeth, and drank deeply, not stopping until the bottle was empty.
“Interesting,” said del Vigo wryly. “I take it, then, that he does not share your opinion about young Daniel?”
“He is a fool,” spat Johnson, opening another bottle. “A damn fool. Why the fuck does he care what happens to that boy anyway? I certainly don’t!” He paused to pour a glass of the liquor this time.
“Of course not, love. But it will be okay. We don’t need him. And… accidents… can happen, si?”
“What are you talking about, Dulci? I am not going to kill Alistair.”
“Not him, the boy! Daniel! Surely there will be a moment when something might happen… the sea is a dangerous place, no?”
“True. And if something happens to him…”
“Then there is no argument.”
They sat in silence, Johnson drinking and settling down into a large chair, del Vigo absently playing with her long, black hair and letting the sheet fall from around her. This time, the pirate noticed.
“Stay where you are,” he said, grinning. “I’ll give the order to sail, and then we’ll have the rest of the day to…” Johnson let his thought trail off and grinned salaciously at the Spanish beauty. He hopped up and moved quickly out the door and began barking orders to his crew.
Less than an hour later, the crew of the Relentless watched as the brigantine sailed away. Word had spread through the men about what had occurred on the Irredeemable, but confusion still swirled. No one had seen MacRorie since his return, and ByJam was conspicuously absent as well. James Patterson looked gravely towards the cabins and shook his head.
“Mister Maddix! Mister Ford! Make ready to sail!”
“Aye, bo‘sun,” they called. The rest of the crew began to move as well. Daniel approached the boatswain cautiously.
“Something on your mind, Mister Warrington?”
Daniel looked around. “Maybe you can tell me what’s going on? I thought…” He paused, unsure of what he could say. As far as he knew, Patterson didn’t know about ‘The Plan’, but MacRorie clearly trusted him. He decided to be safe. “I thought the captain and Johnson were friends.”
Patterson nodded. “They were. Something very wrong is going on, Daniel.” The older man shrugged. “But who knows? It’s none of our business unless the captain makes it so. I suggest you get to your station, lad. I reckon we’ll be setting sail shortly as well.”
“Do we have a heading, bo’sun?” called Sarlin from the helm. He was repairing a broken belay pin that kept coming loose.
Patterson pondered. He could wait for the captain and quartermaster to come topside and resume command, or he could get them underway and make up for some lost time. He produced his compass from his coat pocket, took his bearings, and walked to the wheel.
“Aye, Rhett. Time to return to Tortuga.”
“Belay that, Mister Patterson!” MacRorie came up the stairs, two at a time, ByJam huffing and puffing at his heels. “I thank you for your efforts in my absence, old friend. But I’ll take it from here.”
“Aye, Captain,” replied Patterson. “Might I ask where we’re going if not Tortuga?”
MacRorie smiled without humor. “I’d like to put some distance ‘tween the Irredeemable and us for now, James. We’ll make for Grand Pierre Bay. Some of the rigging still ain’t right since the storm. Father Sarlin, any other repairs you believe ought to be tended to before we make for Tortuga?”
Sarlin shook his head. “No, cap’n. Just a few of the pins are loose or splintered, but nothing that should slow us or cause trouble, God willing.” He crossed himself.
“Very well.” MacRorie narrowed his eyes and set his sights on the coastline. “A few hours and we’ll be in Gran Pierre, and a few hours after that we’ll be off again. Patterson, get those men ready to go aloft.” His expression did not allow for any further questions, and the boatswain nodded and began shouting orders at the foredeck.
Rec ByJam moved next to MacRorie and said softly, “You are just postponing the inevitable, Alistair.” Without taking his eyes from the bow of the ship, he handed his flask to the captain. “You are going to have to face Stephen again. And you will most likely have to kill him.”
MacRorie nodded. “It shouldn’t bother me, Rec. I have killed hundreds – maybe thousands – of men. Even women and children. I have killed Christians, Jews, Moors, slaves, free men, English lords, Spanish peasants. Why should I care if I kill a villainous pirate dog like Stephen?”
“Because you do, Alistair. And God save us if you don’t.”
