Page 10 of Shiver Me Satyr

The meeting bell clangs in an irregular rhythm. Catty and Chub emerge from the kitchen with soot upon their cheeks. Thegroup from the forecastle deck traverses its way to the main deck, with Hybris lagging behind. For once, the no-good fireship has the decency to keep his eyes downcast. As I lock eyes on the sword in Greenhorn’s hands as he emerges from the weaponry room below, I’m struck with the responsibility of a possible boarding. What am I to do with Hybris during the battle? Maybe I’ll send him over the gangplank first in hopes that some trigger-happy merchant with impeccable aim takes him out for me.

“Sail ho!” I yell the announcement to drum up excitement about the boat on the horizon. I must feed off their energy to maintain my composure.

The crew pumps their fists in the air and cheers. I can guess how this vote will go. Not one rational thought in the sea of pudding-heads. They are excited to be the pirates they’ve heard about on the continent. The governors must paint us as villains in their stories to justify the slavers’ ships and their deplorable practices. Instead of telling the colonists that pirates liberate people doomed to a fate worse than death, the reports say we kill innocent merchants andsteal property. The way those landlubbers assume that everyonedifferent from them is property ignites a fire in my breast. My lip curls into a scowl as Hybris picks the wrong moment to lock eyes with me.

“There’s a pretty prize off our port side. She’s our size but riding low in the water—just as we like’em—slow due to her heavy burden. Chub and I agree our first battle won’t be pretty. They may end up boarding us. But numbers-wise, we’re evenly matched. Same boat model means the same number of cannons and, probably, crew.”

“But they’re hired hands, not hearties! We fight with full hearts for our Captain Betts!” Someone yells from the crowd. The crew responds with an affirmative chorus of shouts and grunts.

“Not so fast,” Chub yells, waving his arms to quiet the crew. “You run in there like a youth’s first visit to a whorehouse, and you’ll get us all killed. Are you prepared to listen to orders and control the passion threatening to rip your heart from your chest? Are you prepared to wait for Captain’s signal to turn the sails, to fire, and to drive the boat to victory, even when you burn to slice their gobs from their necks? Most conflicts are psychological—using what’s in our heads instead of using our heads for targets, savvy? We don’t board until they wave the white flag of surrender. Do you trust Captain Betts to lead the charge?”

Chub winces at the roars of affirmation. Yeah, they have no clue. The one prize I witnessed Chub and Teeth take changed me. I killed three navy soldiers because they threatened to deflower me in the most unholy manner—up my windward passage. Survival wrapped the cat-o’-nine tails in my hand around their necks like a tentacle and squeezed the life from them. Last night, the proposal of this prize brought those soldiers to my nightmares. How many former sideshow performers will wake up screaming the night after our victory?

And we will be victorious. There is no other option.

“Bunch of unlicked, empty-headed simpletons,” Chub says with no heat. The crew laughs at his assessment, but I must agree.

“I’ll do everything in my power to keep this a ship’s battle until we see that white flag, but you must harden your heart to the possibility of hand-to-hand combat—”

“Then we’ll gut them like fish,” someone shouts. It’s probably Greenhorn because our master of swords waves a blade over his head.

Not helping. He’s been with the boat since Teeth inherited it from Magda and Branko, so I hoped he’d be a voice of reason. He’s survived countless battles. However, he was a child when they weighed anchor from the mysterious island of rescued slaves. He may be experienced, but his youth is showing—like his ankles in the linen pants he grew out of years ago.

I meet gazes with every excited face in the crowd. Can I lead them to victory? Am I strong enough to temper the hearts of young and inexperienced pirates? If not this battle, when? We’re bound to have a first battle eventually—and a last battle too—so am I delaying our destiny? What if there are slaves in need of rescue on that boat? The crew sees a bounty of gold and spices. Chub sees the practical treasures of fresh water and fruit, but I see people liberated by boats like ours as the real treasures.

I owe it to the unknown faces below their deck to take this prize, even if it’s one woman kept aboard as a doxie to pleasure the sailors. She will be welcomed onto our boat as a full-share, with a vote and voice. She will be given the choice to remain a doxie—although no woman ever does—or to learn another trade. Regardless, I know my lads will teach her to read, write, and fence…like they did with the sideshow performers.

“I, Captain Betts, put a motion to the crew to take that merchant vessel off our port in three days’ time—the estimated travel between the boats. Anyone second?”

I look at Chub, but he folds his arms over his chest. He’s not happy and is doing a piss poor job hiding it. Catty is pregnant, and Chub wants to protect his growing family. In the short time I’ve known him, he’s become a grouchy papa bear. It’s not that he doesn’t think we can take it—he’s told me this is a fair fight in confidence. It’s just that he wanted to leave the boat before we turned our cheek back to the sweet trade. His priorities have shifted from the projected growth of the boat—and me—to what’s best for his baby…as he should. The crew is my responsibility.

“I second!” Eze steps forward and pounds his chest with his fist.

Chub sighs and rings the bell with the drama of an island debutant whose dress was splashed at the beach. “All in favor of taking the merchant vessel in three days' time, give your aye!”

“Aye!” thunders from the rigging to the stairs leading to the orlop deck.

“All who oppose taking this prize because there will be plenty more when we’ve got more supplies and skill. We don’t have to take this one because boats traverse the Caribbean like the arms of a clock dance around its face—”

“What he means is all opposed shout your nye!” I finish for a red-faced Chub.

“Nye!” He yells before shooting a glare at his silent, pregnant wife.

“Shoot your fire elsewhere,” she snaps when the crew turns to her with their jaws on the deck. “I’ve got weeks before I’ll need a midwife. Besides, I know me hearties will protect me—” she pauses to allow the crew to cheer “—because they know they’ll starve if I keel over.”

“Your arse will be deep in the bilge where they’ve no chance at finding you, or I’ll paddle it black and blue—”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, dear husband,” she says with her eyelashes fluttering obnoxiously. The crew breaks out into giggles, jeers, and shouts.

“That woman will be the death of me,” Chub gripes with a wry smirk on his lips. “If one of you crackpots doesn’t shoot myarse on accident, my heart will give out with the danger to my lady love!”

“The ayes have it,” I announce. “We’ve today to tear up this deck and ready the cannon stations. I want the main deck planks reinstalled in the galley—good and proper—so it lasts. We’ll replace the main deck with the planks from that boat!” I point at the bubble on the horizon in three tugs on the last three words.

Chub smears his hands down his bacon face as the crew pulls the planks from under their own feet. Avast ye! Several of them tumble into the cannon galley below. I hope nobody’s injured, but from the screams they emitted as they fell…I bet I have a half-dozen wounds to patch. I jump onto the rim at the rail before the floor is stolen beneath my boots.

“Greenhorn! Greenhorn!” I call over the melee of my squirrelly crew. “Take Hybris to the ship’s stores and make sure he knows the arse from the pointy end of a sword. Use the wooden practice ones!”

While I hope to rid myself of the menace within the battle, I’m not so heartless that I plan to send him into the fray untrained.

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