Page 7 of Scourge of the Shores
He stomped hard with every step to wake the crew.
“Stow cargo!” Frank’s yell blasted over the planks. “Check the riggin’!”
Robert chuckled as the first droplets splashed on his forehead and fingers. The clouds darkened. He pursed his lips before addressing the hidden sun. “You really wanted a’awakening like my father always did?” He sighed at the sky. “Fine, have it your way.”
He lifted his heavy boot and stomped it on the planks beneath his feet repeatedly, yelling as his father did, “Show a leg. A storm off the bow!”
Robert wiped the raindrops from his face as Frank barked orders. “Raise the mainsail! Secure hatches. She’s fast a’comin’!”
The previously calm deck buzzed with the activity of a hive. Half-dressed crewmen scrambled to ready the ship while the morning sky darkened in a final foreboding. Shrieks of wind howled through the rigging and whipped the sails taut. Storm Rider lurched as the first storm gust hit, sprawling two younger deckhands flat on the deck.
“Hold on!” Robert shouted. His voice cut through the beginning rumble of the storm. The adrenaline surged in his veins. This was the second personality of the sea he loved—unpredictable, sudden, wild, and dangerous. His fingers tightened on the wheel, steering into the wind.
The waves lengthened and crashed against the bright red hull. Storm Rider groaned under the fierce strain. The wooden planks creaked and matched the cadence of the winds’ howl. Robert glanced at Frank, who bellowed orders to the crew. Frank’s voice disappeared in the wind as it traveled to Robert. The main sails were not all the way up.
“Furl the sails,” Robert yelled, but thunder swallowed his command.
A massive wave rose before them, a wall of water that seemed to reach the sky. Robert’s eyes widened as he braced himself.
“Hold on!” he yelled again, just as the wave crashed over the bow, drenching the crew and inundating the deck. Water gushed from the scuppers, refilling the sea and allowing Storm Rider to stay afloat.
The ship shuddered from the sea’s rage. Robert stood his ground on balanced knees and a firm grip on the helm. The sails flapped and struggled against the wind. A loud crack echoed through the storm as the main mast cracked down to the base. Men jumped away from it, afraid it would tear loose in the winds.
“Get that riggin’ secured!” Robert shouted, his voice inaudible over the storm’s fury. Frank pointed at the flapping ropes, and six crewmen jumped into action, pulling them tight. Another wave knocked them all off their feet. A crack of lightning seared the sky. The wind and rain battered them from all sides.
Robert scanned the damage. The mast neared its breaking point if they couldn’t secure it. The sea’s unmerciful pillage tipped Storm Rider, and Robert threw his weight into his ironclad grip on the wheel to keep the rudder from succumbing to the sea’s pull.
The storm raged until, just as suddenly as it had arrived, it blew past them, revealing heavy morning air and twinkling sunlight that calmed the waves.
The crew cheered weakly, their exhaustion evident. Robert turned starboard and then portside to assess the status of his fleet and that of his fellow Pirate Kings and their respective fleets. Sails had been ripped from the mast, hulls needed patching, and ropes sagged and frayed.
Robert rolled his sore shoulder and spread his blistered fingers wide before curling them back around the wheel handles. He looked around at his crew, soaked and weary, but all were somehow still alive. They needed to find land soon.
“Secure the main mast,” he said, and ropes were flung around the large base and tied tight to keep the crack from spreading. Robert chewed his lip. If that weren’t fixed, it could damage the whole structure of his ship. It wouldn’t hold the weight of the sails in full wind.
“Looks like we go slow with just the mizzen and the fore,” Robert murmured. He looked around. No land in sight. He left the helm in the calm water and approached the stern to watch the storm rage on behind him. His shoulders sank.
“Of all days, this be the one,” he muttered as he returned to the wheel. A disaster was bound to happen sooner or later. He returned to the helm.
“Adjust the mizzen sails!” His yell blasted through the humidity.
Rogue’s Isle would be too far to make it in one piece. They needed to find land, preferably one with trees.
Robert exhaled, his grip tightening on the wheel. “One setback at a time.” He let the words settle, tasting the salt on his lips. He was alone now. No father, no safety net. Just the sea and the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders.
“One setback at a time,” he whispered again, steadying himself.
“Land Ho!” Smith called down from the crow’s nest.
Robert gazed out in the direction Smith pointed from behind the helm and made a slight correction on the wheel to approach the dot on the horizon. A rather large island, he presumed.
He glanced behind him to see the other Pirate Kings following suit. With a final effort, he guided Storm Rider into a large bay, the water calmer but still choppy.
A vast settlement lined the shore. Robert ran a hand down his face, biting back the familiar churn of nausea at the thought of dealing with islanders. They were always either hostile or stubborn to the point of death.
“Drop anchor!” Robert yelled as soon as the ships were at a good depth. The clunk-clank, splash, and vibrating rope signaled they were moored.
He descended the stairs to the main deck and pointed to a few crewmen. “Otto, Larc, Thane, and Buford, come with me.” He turned to his quartermaster. “If I give you the signal,”—Robert pointed to his flintlock—“fire the cannons.”
