Taylor busied herself, seemingly fetching a sack of gunpowder. Meanwhile, the more dextrous of the two of them was coiling and laying out a large enough fuse that they could get off the ship.
Taylor planted the seed she wanted to, “Did ya done hear it? They say they found Flint on the island.”
“Killed him, too.” The guard replied and shook his head, “Cannae believe the man still alive.”
She buried the smile, “I done ’ear that he weren’t. Ghost ’n all.”
“Nah, ghost? Ghosts done scream. Flint just an old bugger.” The man shook his head.
Laure froze up, hands tensing around the coil, as she shot the man a glare that told exactly what she would like to be doing with those hands of hers. Taylor swallowed guiltily. She was bigging up the legend of the woman’s dead father.
A man who was only dead, because he had the bad luck to meet Taylor.
He had survived sailing the seven seas, the navy deciding it wanted him dead, but he had not managed to survive meeting one young barista from England. He had lived as a legend until the day he had met her.
Taylor was not living as the best wife material.
“Flint weren’t just some ol’ man.” Taylor said with offence, “You e’er hear o’ any other pirate manage to get gold like that ol’ man? ‘e was ol’ like the devil ’imself.”
“Faw. Show me one ounce o’ gold that Flint had.” The man sneered, “We ain’t found nuttin’!”
“Ounce.”
The two turned at Laure’s rather female voice, as she tossed a coin to the man’s feet. Or rather, two coins to be a rather literal ounce of metallic weight.
The man frowned, “Huh. Didnae know we had any frogs on the crew. Best keep ya trap shut, not all the boys as kind as ma.”
That racism given, the man bent down and picked up the two coins. Turning them over as he sat there crouched, looking at them in confusion. “These… These are what the Walrus were carryin’. It do be Flint’s haul. How the devil did ya get your claws on these, boy?”
Taylor stepped in quickly, more used to acting the man than her wife. “Opened that damn cage, down in the cave. Ya know, near the village? It had a handful o’ coins, and a hint where the rest be found.”
“Not a chance. Israel tol’ us that damn thing were empty. Just a trap.” The man rejected her lie.
Laure sniggered, “Is that the word of the English? Such is not truth. Taylor is not far from it. My father was a man of much arrogance. The path to the gold lie within that little box.”
Taylor’s elbow whipped forward into the man’s throat, dropping him to the ground. She rolled her eyes, “Please tell me that thing is set. Now I have to shut this one up.”
“Oui.1” Laure replied, stepping over lightly, before planting a knee into the man’s head with a sickening crack and dropping him to the floor.
Taylor tried not to think too hard about it as they went up onto the deck, and back down into the small rowboat. From there, she frantically rowed them over towards the English vessel - which sported much more professional guardians.
“Whoa! Who goes below?” A thunderous voice boomed out.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
She looked to her wife, “Are you prepared for this?”
“Oui. S’il le faut.2”
Taylor sighed, “You are really going to have to teach me French one day.”
“Apprenez-vous d’abord à pleurer fort.3” Laure laughed.
Taylor looked up at the ship, and then instead of replying to their question, she issued forth a long and guttural sound. She pushed down in her chest, drawing it out until it was shaking all the way through her everything.
As she made a sound that caused her own ears to quiver, her wife disappeared lightly from the rowboat, as if it were the most simple thing in the ’verse.
The guard leaned over the edge of the ship, looking down at her, “What precisely do you think you are doing, pirate? I am not to be intimidated so easily as -”
“Hear my voice sing with the tide! My love will never die. Rule with me for eternity! Drown all dreams so mercilessly! And leave their souls to me.”
Taylor felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise on end, and could swear that voice was coming from beyond, and not from the light and bright woman that she knew.
As the guard spun around, she drew the boat into the lee, where it couldn’t be seen.
“So hear my voice, as the tides rise high, let passion and hate never pass us by. In this watery realm, forever I will rule this sea!”
A rifle crack sounded out, and knocked the air right out of Taylor. She stared upwards, hoping against hope that she hadn’t just sent her wife to her death.
She bit the edge of her lip, straining her ear and leaning in towards the ship.
A wave of pressure blew through the air, and nearly blew Taylor right off her feet. A deep and booming sound rippling through her reality, concussing her chest and knocking her ears about.
The waves in the water followed after, tossing her up and banging her head into the English ship. Her head sung even as a high-pitched ringing painfully rung itself through her ears.
The rest of the world was muffled, she thought she could hear the soldiers shouting, but it was all dull and distant. Her eyes flashing and her body feeling as if it was being tugged back in the direction of the smoking hulk that had once been the Coronet.
“I am the ruler of the ocean deep, where secrets and treasures are mine to keep. With thunder and might, my empire’s vast, a kingdom of darkness that will forever last!”
A tearing sound ripped itself through and into Taylor’s confused mind, just as her wife lightly appeared on the rowboat with a smirk. Laure grabbed an oar and sat down, grinning as she began to move them away.
It was all Taylor could do, to sit down without falling out. Her head was still ringing and singing. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw that the main sail of the ship was torn in two somehow, falling towards the deck.
She reminded herself, yet again, not to get on Laure’s bad side.
She was, after all, the daughter of the most feared pirate in history.
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It didn’t take that long before both crews were mustering. The pirates saw their destroyed ship, and turned their anger in the direction of the English. It didn’t matter that they were hurting as well, or that so many people had seen and heard Flint.
Israel was leading them. Injured, but alive. Crying foul about how the English saw them not as men, but as tools to be used and disposed of.
“Les hommes sont des outils.4” Laure snickered.
Taylor glanced at her, “No idea what you just said. But I assume it was to insult the man? You are aware I spent most of my life pretending to be one, correct? I do like pants.”
“Tu es un magnifique pinceau. Un outil, mais que j’adore.5” Laure said innocently - though still not deigning to say it in a language that Taylor actually spoke.
As Taylor watched, the pirates cried out, and rushed to their boats, and towards the English ship. She winced. It made sense, of course. If the men wanted to leave the island, they had to go as prisoners, or take the ship.
It wasn’t long before the air was full of bullets.
Laure’s hand found her own, intertwining their fingers gently. The woman smiled at her sadly, “It… Must be.”
“I know.” Taylor whispered sadly.
“Au moins, ce salaud mourra.6” Laure shrugged and then pulled her in closer, hugging their soft bodies together.
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1. Yes.↩︎
2. Yes. If we must.↩︎
3. Teach you to cry out, first.↩︎
4. Men are tools.↩︎
5. You are a beautiful paintbrush. A tool, but one I adore.↩︎
6. At least the bastard will die.↩︎