image [https://i.imgur.com/15eGPa6_d.jpg?maxwidth=520&shape=thumb&fidelity=high]

wind-rode – The situation of a vessel, being at anchor, and swinging and riding by the force of the wind, rather than by the force of the tide or current.

“READY TO WEIGH anchor, Captain,” said Galbraith. The second mate’s words were spoken promptly as the captain and the crew climbed up over the railing, yet Benjamin caught the acerbity in his eye.

“Belay that a moment, Mr. Galbraith,” Benjamin said, pulling on his gloves.

“Sir?”

“You heard me, Mr. Galbraith. Belay it.”

“But—she’s heeling too much, Captain. Lively cannot careen here, she doesn’t have the right footing.”

“We are not careening here. We cannot. Gather all the men on the deck. We need discuss matters of import.”

Galbraith’s face was a barely contained paroxysm of emotions and questions, but he kept them bottled as he went about the captain’s business. He’s a good enough man to follow orders, Benjamin thought, but how long before he looks for a way to remove the one giving them? Benjamin was no fool, he knew that loyalty was not easily defined, and no man was a monolith. Men’s loyalties were fickle, and swayed with the wind. If pushed to the point where they felt their own lives were at stake, they could turn on anyone, and commit the blackest and bloodiest of deeds, and would tell themselves afterwards, for the sake of keeping up the illusion of having honour, that they had always known the captain was a vile man. And yet if the captain managed to hold on to power, they would maintain they had always known he was right and just. They would say whatever kept them believing that they themselves were good and decent.

Benjamin Vhingfrith had been here before, standing upon decks shamed with blood, watching as the men committing murder justified their actions post-act. He had risked much in returning to his ship. Part of him already thought, I ought to have gone with John. He remembered the words of his father, telling him that if he ever felt cornered, he should abandon the Lively, and keep his freedom.

Benjamin looked at the eight men who had joined him ashore—eight men he hardly knew at all, but who Dawson assured him were no friend of Jacobson’s. Those eight men had heard what Devil Ben and the Ladyman were planning, and now he had to worry that they would second-guess their loyalties and turn on him, now that they were back on the ship. So he watched them closely.

Jacobson appeared from belowdecks, shirtless, his pants soaked to the knees. It was obvious he had been in the bilge, but he had not neglected to buckle his sword to himself and tuck a pistol in the belt. Pirates may walk about the ship with pistols, but not officers, not until there was fighting to be done. Not far beyond Jacobson was Hoyt Burr, his brother Gordon was climbing down from the mizzen, having just secured a loose sheet flapping in the breeze. Osterholm came up from belowdecks, too, along with twenty other angry-faced men.

Benjamin knew at once they were against him.

“Hats off,” he told them. Every man obeyed sullenly. Benjamin walked halfway up the steps to the quarterdeck, the traditional position for a captain to address the many faces of his crew. The coldness of the wind nearly took his breath away, and he saw that Lively was already straining against it. The wind was pushing at her, even with her sails reefed. Dawson came down from the helm to join the others, but as he passed Benjamin on the stairs, he muttered, “She’s a little wind-rode, sir,” and gave an almost imperceptible nod. I’ve done my end, the nod said. The rest is up to you.

Vhingfrith stood before the nearly seventy men that had followed him through Hell for nigh on a year. Their skill was more than admirable and their gestalt as a crew overall was superb, to say nothing of their courage under the most dangerous and onerous tasks. Many of them were at their lowest point of their lives when they found work with the Devil’s Son, and now he had to tell them that even he was turning on them.

Benjamin waited, and looked west to see the Hazard was letting loose most of her sheets and wearing away from the island. Slowly, the pirate vessel killed that maneuver, and then slowly turned so that her starboardside guns were facing the Lively.

At the moment, all of Lively’s crew was facing their captain, so no one noticed the maneuver.

A minute later, a light was lit at the Hazard’s stern, and the sound of a single pistol shot carried over the water. John’s part was done, he had control of his ship. Some aboard the Lively heard the shot and looked around confused, but then turned back to face their captain.

“I will not waste your time, I will just come to it,” Vhingfrith said. “You all know we are in grave circumstances and it is not proper that I should deceive you any longer. It seems to me now that I was indeed wrong, not only about our ability to careen here, but about all of it. I thought as much when I told you the story about gas pockets and other phenomena. And so now, those of you who were feeling terror to the point of senselessness will likely be returning to your prior despondency, and there will be a vote. But this ship is mine, and I will not be voted out of the captaincy, I should rather die than allow it.”

They all listened as the cold wind cut them deeply. Jacobson pushed slowly through the crowd until he reached the foot of the steps and stared up at Vhingfrith. The first mate’s hand rested on the pommel of his cutlass.

“I told you I will not belabor the point, and so here it is: I have searched my conscience and found only one solution. Those of you who would join Mr. Jacobson’s side in ousting me—and I know who you are—are to be shackled and led below to the hold.” Gasps and murmurs and a few angry shouts rippled through the assembly. “You shall not be hurt, nor handled roughly. You shall receive your shares as you were promised when we reach Royal. You shall be fed as normal, but you will not be allowed to walk the deck freely until we reach Royal. That is the deal, gentlemen. The reason for this is—”

“Horseshit!” someone shouted. Others screamed in agreement. Jacobson just stared up at him.

“The reason,” Vhingfrith carried on, “is because I sense full mutiny not far away. You would toss me aside, some of you out of fear, and some of you out of your hatred for me. I have suffered no disillusions. I have long known the enmity that many of you hold for me in your hearts. And yes, I do know Mr. Jacobson has a right to hold his vote, and so I will let him carry it out.”

Now they all hushed, confused by this. Dawson and some of Vhingfrith’s other loyalists were slowly maneuvering themselves to the outside of the crowd, near the railing, and some had already drawn their pistols.

“Only know this: the Ladyman has asked help from this ship, should there be any problems reaching Royal. And he’s made it clear he trusts Lively only when she is captained by me, and me alone, and awaits only my signal that I have control of Lively. And if Mr. Jacobson is successful in ousting me, then I will do the right thing had accede control of Lively to him. However, I cannot account for the Hazard’s captain. Guide your eyes now to the Hazard’s positioning.”

With a gesture, Vhingfrith directed their attention two hundred yards off the port side, to where the shadowy silhouette of the pirate sloop-of-war was visible against the starry horizon, longways, her starboard side facing the Lively. The two moons might have vanished, but any man could tell she had all her guns out and ready.

“Upon our landing on the island, Captain Laurier made clear his concern that a mutiny aboard this ship could mean Lively’s new captain will only render Hazard an enemy vessel. He said he was certain that without me as captain, Lively could not be trusted, and he is prepared to fight. Further, he stated—”

“You—bloody—fucking—Negro!” That growling voice was Jacobson’s. His breath came out in churning white clouds, his mad eyes lit by Hell’s inferno, by the lantern held by Galbraith, who stood beside him and was equally apoplectic with rage. “You’ve allied with the Ladyman? You’ve turned us all into pirates!”

“I’ve done no such thing. If you wish to vote me out of the captaincy, I will acquiesce, as I’ve already said.”

“And fail to give the Ladyman your signal in so doing?”

“He did ask for a certain signal to convey that I held onto the captaincy, yes. And as a man of my word, I cannot in good conscience—”

“You left us at anchor so’s Hazard could get into position!” cried Galbraith, the whole thing falling belatedly into place. “You’ve fucked us!”

Men were panicking, looking left and right, wondering if they ought to rush to their stations by the cannons. But it was too late. They were too late.

“I cannot in good conscience send our agreed-upon signal if I am in fact not the captain of the Lively. If he does not receive my signal soon, he will open fire. So, you see our predicament.” Vhingfrith cast about at their enraged faces. And now Jacobson, as well as those men that had been ready to side with him, started looking around the ship’s deck, and recognition began to register in their eyes when they saw Dawson and others standing outside of the crowd, pistols drawn, but not yet pointing at any targets. Jacobson saw this and sneered. Galbraith appeared by turns angry, offended, frightened, and confused. “Mr. Jacobson, do you wish to hold your vote now?”

All of the would-be mutineers looked to Jacobson, and then at each other. Surely many of them were wondering which side their brothers were on, and who had been in on Vhingfrith’s conspiracy from the moment he left for the island. Now, he was not entirely alone. Now, there were two sides clearly delineated. Now, the half-Negro captain had the upper hand.

“Mr. Jacobson?”

The first mate snorted out a miserable laugh. “Well played, Captain.” He nodded appreciatively, and scratched his chin. “Well played.” But the tone told Ben to draw his sword and dive for his first mate’s left hand, to keep him from drawing his pistol fully.

That instinct proved right, because Jacobson suddenly scrambled up the steps at him.

Ben leapt off the middle stair and collided with Jacobson the instant the first mate’s hand gripped his pistol. It fired, the boom momentarily deafening, and the gunpowder smoke filled Vhingfrith’s nostrils before he realized the bullet had hit another crewman. Jacobson headbutted Ben and he tasted coppery blood. Jacobson kicked him in his chest, sending him backpedaling until he fell against the stairs. By the time Vhingfrith was on his feet again, his first mate had drawn his cutlass and was charging.

All around him, he heard shots being fired and men screaming.

“Stop!” someone cried.

But the dissent could not be stopped, nor the rage bottled.

Jacobson’s blade slammed into Vhingfrith’s so hard it nearly disarmed him, and the first mate’s fist smacked his jaw and there was a crack and it felt like something went loose. Vhingfrith saw stars, but pushed his enemy back and deflected two killing thrusts before more shots were fired. Then someone slammed into him, and three men tackled Jacobson and hauled him away.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

It was all suddenly over. Benjamin felt dizzy. His ears and brain were ringing. A hand was on his shoulder, steadying him. Gazing around, he saw many of his men dropping to their knees, and raising their hands in the air. Dawson and a dozen others had pistols and swords drawn, encircling Jacobson’s faction. Three men lay on the ground, dead from knife wounds to the belly. Benjamin’s eye caught sight of a dozen other men who stood near the bowsprit, each of them holding on to a stay with one hand, and aiming a pistol with the other. It was John and his pirates.

Anne Bonny was there, swaggering forward, her pistol sweeping left to right as the other pirates flanked her. John had a mad kind of smile on his face as he stepped down from the railing. Jacobson cast a baleful gaze at Vhingfrith as he was brought to join the other captives. The short-lived mutiny was at an end. And Vhingfrith was glad, for no one was a match for Jacobson, even with his wounded arm. He knew John had saved him. Another few seconds alone with Jacobson would have meant his death.

The next few actions happened quickly. With his head still ringing, Vhingfrith watched as both his and John’s men shackled the mutineers and hauled them below. Relief flooded through him, and he could only imagine how hard John’s men must have rowed to get here in time. He imagined John had his people send up the signal, and then, while Hazard was maneuvering to aim her guns at Lively, the Ladyman must’ve taken his most loyal men into a longboat and pushed hard across the angry waters. He was never more glad that the Ladyman had disobeyed him than now.

His love may have its uses, his father once told him. But you cannot be with him the way you want. Vhingfrith spat blood on the deck angrily.

Once the prisoners’ chains were locked and bolted in the bilge, Vhingfrith faced Jacobson, but addressed them all. It was hard to speak, for even his own voice sounded muffled to him. He hoped the hearing loss was not permanent.

“As captain of the Lively, charged with a letter of marque, and authorized by the Governor’s issuance of said letter, I hereby—” He paused to spit out another gob of blood, which made Jacobson chuckle. “I hereby quarantine you in this hull for your insubordination and insurrection, and detain you for the remainder of this voyage—”

“And what about our shares?” grumbled Galbraith. Someone had given the second mate a bloody lip.

“And the bloody fuckin’ sun!” another man shouted.

“I cannot account for the celestial phenomenon. But I told you before, all your shares are safe, you will not be severely punished for this insurrection. Once we reach Royal, I will speak to the Admiralty Court and the tribunals, and ask them to be lenient. You all have dishonoured yourselves by breaking oath. But if all goes well, you will be liberated and not have your names besmirched publicly and we will all go our separate ways.”

“What about the fuckin’ sun?!” someone else cried. “Where is it?! What have you two buggering devils done to make us deserve all o’ this?! Where is it?!”

Vhingfrith gave a small laugh. “Once I find it, I’ll let you know.”

“I’ll find you, Devil’s Son,” said Jacobson, never blinking. His voice was cold. “Wherever you go, I will find you.”

“Jacobson,” Vhingfrith said, turning back to him, “I would almost be disappointed in you if you did not try. But, until then, you can make yourselves useful down here working the pumps. I do not care in what shifts you do it.”

“What if we don’t want to? What if we refuse to work?”

“Then this ship will surely take on enough water to sink. You’ve all seen the waves outside, you can feel the choppiness in here. As we sail, more water is bound to make its way down here. Myself and the rest of the crew will jump on board the Hazard. The Lively will be yours, Jacobson, to drown in. And I wish you joy of it with all my heart.”

Jacobson made no reply. Some of the others began to shout. Three or four fell to their knees and wept for the sun or begged for forgiveness, from both God and Vhingfrith.

Vhingfrith left them to their sorrows. He managed to keep it together as he returned to the main deck and shouted out the orders to weigh anchor and let the sheets fly and begin tacking. Before John and his men got in the longboat to row back to the Hazard, John said, “A pleasure to help, Captain.” He winked and left.

Vhingfrith met Fuller, his navigator, and Dawson at the helm, and together they discussed this new whipping wind and their course. He looked about his deck, and saw only ten men at work.

“We have twenty-three men with us, Captain,” said Dawson. “I counted. The rest are locked up.”

“That’s less than I thought we’d keep,” Benjamin said, touching his brow.

“I should hope this wind keeps this pace, and in the same direction, more or less,” said Fuller. “That’ll bring us into Port Royal in about three days, I’d say, Cap’n. We’ve only just entered the mouth of the Dragon, but if we turn back now, I think we can make good headway.” Solemnly, he added, “I know you wanted to find the Santo Domingo de Guzman and the León Coronado out here, but if you really do wish to get to Port Royal soon, we cannot follow any more leads.”

“My orders were to leave at once and I meant it, gentlemen.” It was disappointing to have their chase interrupted, though, just when he thought he was gaining ground. The Nuestra’s logs were likely to be a goldmine of information, could he adequately study them. He turned to leave, determined to do just that. Then he paused. A dizzy spell came over him briefly, his head suddenly ringing again.

“Are you all right, sir?” asked Fuller.

“I’m fine. And thank you.” He looked at Fuller and Dawson. “Thank you both. For standing with me.”

“Of course, sir,” Dawson said.

Ben clapped both men on the shoulder, then stepped down into the companionway. One of the men loyal to him, thankfully, was Tyndall, the surgeon, and he was in the galley looking at two dead bodies on his tables. “How goes it, Scarecrow?”

Tyndall looked up from the corpses. Their bellies had been pierced grotesquely, and it was never clear which side either of them had been on when the fighting commenced. They were the only two casualties of the mutiny. “I’ve almost got them prepared, sir. Will you want a ceremony before I have them—”

“Drop their bodies over the rail forthwith, Scarecrow. I want this ugly business behind us, no reminders should be left upon this ship. Only tell me when it is done.”

“Aye, sir.” The tall, dark-faced man looked like he might have something else to say, but for the moment he kept it to himself.

But for the creaking of wood, the rest of the companionway was eerily silent, and most of the hammocks swung emptily from their beams. Lively heeled horridly back and forth. Vhingfrith made it to his cabin before he finally lost control of his emotions. He closed the door and barred it and walked across a floor that swayed heavily, and stood in front of his desk, looking down at nautical charts with tidal diamonds that were supposed to relay specific points about tidal direction and speed, all of which was useless now that there were two moons.

The ship swayed again, and again, and again, and his already spinning head became worse, and all at once he flung the charts across the room and hammered his fists repeatedly against his desk until one of them was bloody. At some point he became aware of someone shouting his name.

“Ben!”

He turned at once, and pulled one of the pistols from the holster on his chest and aimed it at John Laurier, who stood in a dark corner of the room. “John?” he breathed. “You fucking imbecile! I could have shot you! I thought you had gone. What are you doing lurking in the corner of—why did you row over here to help me? I had it under control.”

“I rowed hard to get over here in time,” Laurier said, walking over to him, his hands held up in mock surrender until Vhingfrith lowered the weapon. “I had a feeling Jacobson would not see things your way. Only a united front could quell them.”

“I had it under control.”

“You did?” Laurier’s eyes moved down to Vhingfrith’s bloodied hand.

“Yes, I did.”

Laurier folded his arms and sighed. “You had just enough armed men to overtake them. And let’s be honest, many of those who came to your aid decided it at the last minute. Had I not ordered Hazard to point her guns at you, and had I not appeared on your deck with my men to show solidarity with you, many of them—most of them—would have helped Jacobson keel-haul you, throw you over the side.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“The hell you do! Insufferable man, you pretend to know everything.”

“I know what I know best. Just like I know you.” Laurier walked around the desk, and faced Vhingfrith on the other side. “You are gifted with knowledge of the stars and natural sciences, Benjamin,” he said, flipping through the papers and charts on the desk. “Myself, I fall short in those intellectual pursuits. Miserably short. What I know, Benjamin, is men. And I knew those men in your hold were not going to just let you carry on as captain, not after all they’ve seen tonight.”

Vhingrith finally looked at him. “How go the assassinations aboard your ship, Captain? How many more lives did you have to cut short before you managed to quell mutiny?”

John scratched his face and turned his head. “If you think to hurt me with your words, you will have to do better, Benjamin.”

“Captain Vhingfrith, sir. If you please.”

“Captain, then. If we are to carry on this charade, and pretend that you’ve never killed before, or committed any—”

“I have only ever killed my enemies, and the enemies of England. Never have I slain a man that was under my command, not before he drew on me first.”

“Nor would you. For you are Benjamin Ulysses Vhingfrith, and you hold on to the dream of civility because you hope one day to be welcomed into civilization.” John snorted. “Your father himself told you that was impossible, did he not? You admired him so, and yet you refrain from listening to his counsel. Tell me, did his advice cease to hold relevancy the moment his heart stopped beating?”

“You forget yourself, sir! You forget on whose ship—”

“I am aboard the ship of a man who would be a slave if all those men outside that door had their way! Including the navigator and the helmsman and every other bloody man you think truly stands with you! They’re all castaways, Ben! Degenerates! At least as far as England is concerned! Just like you and just like me! Just like us!”

“You speak of degeneracy like it was something civilization cast on you,” Vhingfrith said. He rounded the desk and came within two steps of the pirate captain. “As though you despise the title. When in fact you revel in it. Murder, theft, piracy, you commit it all without cause or purpose, with no goal besides fattening your own purse! At least I serve an ideal. You wallow in your degeneracy like a pig is a sty and then repudiate finer gentlemen and ladies for their class, for their stations. Because if you cannot live that loftily, then by God, you shall bend the skies to pretend you never wanted it.”

John arched an eyebrow. “You think me a pretender?”

“I think you a mummer.” Ben scoffed. “See how you dress. Are you a lady or a man?”

“Would you prefer I was a woman?”

“What do you mean?”

“Would it make all of this better?”

“Make what better?”

John closed the distance between them in two smooth steps and reached up and touched Ben’s face. Ben batted the hand away, and John held on to the bloodied hand. Slowly, he removed his scarf, and even more slowly, he wiped the blood away from Ben’s hand. Then he kissed a knuckle.

Ben yanked his hand back. “Upon my word, you take many liberties, sir.”

“Perhaps I shall take more.”

“Only if I don’t stop you.”

“By all means. Try.”

John leaned forward.

Ben’s hand touched the hilt of his cutlass, just as John’s hand clamped down on his wrist. There might have been a scuffle if John had not silenced him with a kiss. As their lips touched, Ben recoiled inwardly, but neither his feet nor his body moved an inch. Their lips remained touching and both of them held their breath until the Ladyman reached up to caress the back of Ben’s neck. Every part of him stirred, and when the Ladyman’s hand crept down his trousers, Ben responded just as he had years ago, almost to his shame and embarrassment. The shame was complete when John’s hand gripped his manhood, brought rigid, and claimed it.

“John—”

“Not now, Ben. For God’s sakes, for once, just shut the fuck up.”

“John—”

“Shut up! And let me show you I am no lady.”

Their lips touched again, and this time they explored one another in a rhythm, until John’s other hand slid down Ben’s spine and reached into his trousers to grab a buttock, and squeezed. And now his other hand was working up and down, gently, and now Ben was firm, unable to resist anything. The ship heeled heavily but he did not notice, he was only glad he had thought to bar the door. And now he thrust his tongue into John’s mouth and hardly noticed when his own trousers fell and puddled around his feet.

And then John was on his knees and took a short, admiring gaze of what he had in his hands.

The ship rocked heavily and he heard men shouting on the deck above, “Sheet home!” as the crew prepared to get underway. Ben both heard and didn’t hear it, because when John started in on him, Ben gasped and grabbed a handful of his blond hair and sat back against his desk.

The shame might have thrilled Ben even more, if he was honest, the lack of control itself intoxicating, for he had never felt simultaneously vulnerable and so in charge. He then took command, and reveled in it, standing straight and placing both hands on the back of John’s head and guiding him.

As climax approached, Ben opened his mouth and let out a moan. When he was spent, he could not help but to keep giving several smaller thrusts.

And then John was on his feet again and kissing Ben, and Ben knew nothing else. His trousers were still down, and in a moment he knew he would want more. John knew this too, and, staring into his eyes, he slowly grabbed Ben’s wrist and turned him around, and gently laid him over the desk.