Page 1 of The Withering Dawn
“Come about!” I bellowed.
Nikolas was at the helm as the Amanacer cut through the waves toward the ship ahead. It looked like a merchant ship. There were no gunports and it was moving slow, a mistake they would soon regret. Their burgee had a very unimpressive sigil of a sword and bullwhip crossed over each other painted on the fabric and it made my skin crawl. The man the sigil represented was the root of most of my problems and knowing I was about to raid another one of his ships was the only thing that made it worth the trouble. Otherwise, we would not have even been so far east in unfamiliar waters.
Men from the other ship were racing about, clearly unequipped for a confrontation.
“Easy loot, boys!” I shouted as the grapples were thrown to the adjoining vessel.
The moment they latched on, men were leaping from the Amanacer to the brig. It wasn’t easy considering the Amanacer was a galleon and the size difference made boarding a bit of an obstacle. But hurdling over obstacles was part of the fun.
The moment my boots hit the deck, I pulled my sword from my belt, giving it a fancy twirl as we advanced on the ship’s crew. Theyweren’t fighters by the looks of them, but a few shakily pulled a pistol now and then in an attempt to scare us off. Their aim was horrid. For the most part, the men dropped to their knees and surrendered, wanting no quarrel, which made a few of my men groan with disappointment. Our journey had been uneventful as of late and I knew they were itching for excitement, but they would have to wait a while longer.
This? This was child’s play.
I immediately marched to the captain’s quarters before anything else. The door was locked, but with two heavy kicks, I knocked the damn thing off its hinges and found a cluttered cabin full of chests, boxes, and books, but no captain. I grabbed whatever ledgers and notes and maps I could from the desk and rolled a few documents to stick them in my boots and then put whatever else I could grab in my belt until I looked like a parchment salesman. On the floor next to the bed was a small crate of bottles.
I pulled one out, uncorking it and bringing it to my nose. The sickeningly sour scent of wine punched me in the nose and I tossed the bottle to the floor, shattering the glass and spreading dark red liquid everywhere. I kicked the crate over as I turned, cringing at the odor that now filled the room.
I saw a ring of keys hanging on the wall by the desk before I walked away and snatched them off the hook.
All the greatest treasures were behind locked doors.
I wrinkled my nose at the unkept bed as I swung my gaze around. The captain, whoever he was, wasn’t very tidy and an untidy man was a careless one. I left his room, disappointed.
My men were efficient if nothing else and filtered through the ship, grabbing crewmembers from every corner and hauling them topside to go through the inventory and the number of men aboard the vessel. It barely took fifteen minutes to get what we thought was the entire crew accounted for.
“Who’s you’re captain?” I asked, a miniscule spark of hope thathewould happen to be aboard one of his many ships flickering in the back of my mind.
They all sat on the floor, their heads hung like beaten dogs. It was almost aggravating that no one decided to try and defend the ship. Then again, they were just merchants or traders. Why on Earth would they want to die defending trade goods that likely didn’t even belong to them?
No one raised a hand at my request. I narrowed my eyes, scanning the lines of faces for one that might stand out among them. A man with a fancier coat. A man getting subtle side glances from the others. Anything. I got nothing. I pulled out my pistol and twirled it around my finger twice, making sure they all saw it. No one flinched.
“Odd, yeah?” Cathal, my quartermaster, said over my shoulder. “The way they’re all kneelin’ like that. Bunch of weird ones, eh? Not a lick of fightin’ spirit in them.”
“Strange indeed,” I sighed. “I will ask again. Who is your captain? If he is not among you but among them,” I pointed at a small pile of bodies my men were stacking behind me of those few who did take up arms. “Then speak up now.”
One man stood, his eyes low. I cocked my head at him, doubtful the scrawny young deckhand in tattered clothes was the captain. Then another man stood. Then another. I groaned, pushing up the corner of my tricorn hat with the barrel of my flintlock.
“I would rather not do this, caballeros.” I pointed my pistol at the first man who stood up. “But this ship is mine now and I’m not in the mood for games. I am capitán Nazario Basilio of the Amanacer and I would like to know who your captain is.”
The men slowly converged, standing like a wall, shoulder to shoulder. I narrowed my eyes at the lot of them, waiting.
“Do you see that symbol?” I pointed up at the flag. “Are you really willing to die for it?”
Silence. Just frustrating silence.
Finally, someone said, “God be with us,” and that didn’t exactly satisfy.
Then they all said it in unison and a very cold chill ran down my spine at the look of utter acceptance on all of their sun-chapped faces. Acceptance for whatever the hell they were about to do.
“Captain!” someone shouted from below deck.
I turned for only a moment when I heard a pistol fire. I thought it might have been aimed at me, but when I looked at the line of men again, I noticed one of them sinking to the ground, crimson chunks of his brain splattered on the shirt of the man beside him. The others were muttering words I could not hear, their hands locked together in front of them like they were in prayer.
“What the fuck?” Cathal said.
“Captain!” the same voice came from below and once more, I turned to find one of my men, Aleksi, trudging up the stairs. His eyes were searching for me, the front of his blouse covered in blood.
“Powder kegs! Tons of them! They’re—”
