Page 2 of Paid to the Pirate

“They’ll be here any minute,” Daniel protested, sounding even more frightened than I felt. “The night was too black and misty to spy the incoming ship until it was too late.”

“Calm down, everyone please, calm down,” Mr. Clayton said, raising his voice above the chatter. Our little settlement was barely a proper enough town to have elected a governor, but Mr. George Clayton served as our de facto leader since long before I’d arrived.

“They’re not here to attack or they would have done so already. They’re simply here to-”

“Extract payment,” Mrs. Penningham harrumphed.

George grimaced both at her interruption and its certainty. “We’ll have to decide what kind of town we aim to be, one who pays tribute to these pirates or-”

“A town who ceases to exist,” Mrs. Penningham interrupted again. This time, Mr. Penningham jabbed her in the ribs. She pursed her lips but didn’t wipe the hard look from her face.

“Which black heart is it? Did you get a look at the colors?” Someone’s panicked shout rose above the rest and everyone turned to Daniel, holding their breath.

He slid one hand along his sandy hair, smoothing it back into the ribbon tied low at the nape of his neck. “Couldn’t tell in the dark. There’s no moon and the skies are cloudy.”

Grumbles and groans came from the crowded inn, but Mr. Clayton held up his hands. “Leave the boy alone, he did his watch as best he could.”

An older lady in the corner piped up, “Just give ’em whatever they want and be done with it!”

That’s the problem,I thought.Once we gave it to them, we’dneverbe done.If the pirates came demanding tribute, they’d extract regular payment henceforth, in exchange for “protection.” Our settlement would bear a mark, a symbol of such safeguarding and a warning for other pirates to leave us alone. In theory.

I didn’t see how we had a choice. Mr. Clayton hesitated because the crown despised such arrangements. It meant monies potentially liningtheircoffers would be redirected into pirate hands, funding and encouraging the practice. But while our overseers in London reclined on their pillowed sofas eating candied delights safely across the sea, we faced monsters with daggers held to our throats.

“They’re here!” a young girl shouted, peering outside the curtained window.

The room sucked in another collective breath and everyone stilled. Mrs. Penningham suddenly appeared by my side.

“Get to the kitchens,” she whispered. “They’ll be wanting ale and lots of it. Serve it ’round and don’t stop lest I give you the signal.”

I nodded, hurrying out to do as I was bid and secretly grateful. I didn’t want to admit it, but the notion of pirates filling our inn made a terrible shiver run down my spine.

#

“Howthoughtfulof you all to gather for our visit,” I heard a man announce to the room. He spoke with a more eloquent tone than I expected from such a band of scoundrels. “May I present to you our captain, Colton Pearce,” he said, with relish.

Colton Pearce.My heart thudded and I gulped.This is bad.

Colt the Cruel, he was called, or just Captain Colt.Why had one of the nastiest pirates plaguing the coast turned to tributing? Wasn’t his method slash-and-dash?

That answered the question as to what Mr. Clayton would decree. No one feared the disappointment of the crown more than Colt’s blade.

We’d pay. Whatever he asked.

I heard shuffling and the scrape of wooden chair legs as the pirates took seats, evacuating jumpy patrons previously occupying those same chairs, I assumed. As the men sauntered into the room, the air changed. Inhaling, it was almost as if the scent of flint and danger accompanied the sweat and sea air clinging to their bodies.

Buried deep beneath my terror, something familiar mingled with the odor.

“What is it you want?” I heard our governor ask, and I admired that he kept fear from infecting his voice.

“We seek a business relationship,a partnership,”the pirate-emissary replied. I couldn’t see beyond the kitchen door, but so far, his was the only voice speaking on behalf of the crew. Elected, I supposed, because he bore such an elegant manner of speech.

“I’m sure we can come to a friendly arrangement. We don’t want to have to turn… unfriendly. At the sun’s rise,” he specified, in warning. “Our ship is anchored not a stone’s throw from your inn. You haven’t the time to call for reinforcements from Charles Town.”

Charles Town, to our north, was the nearest proper village. With its wall of protection and dense numbers deterring any attacks, it wasn’t surprising Colt turned his eye on our sleepy settlement instead.

Quietly, I pushed the kitchen door ajar and peeked into our crowded inn. Immediately, I found the man addressing our townsfolk -- he stood tall in the center of the stuffy room, whilst most everyone else sunk into a chair or slouched along the walls, as if wanting to disappear. I caught Molly, a curious girl of four or five, reaching for the shiny handle of one bald-headed pirate’s gun, strapped to his waist. Flashing a crooked grin, he leaned over to allow her exploration, but Mrs. Bestly noticed her daughter’s attention and quickly yanked the girl back.

Craning my neck, I scanned the room for the infamous pirate, but when I found the imposing figure to whom everyone cast sly glances, he was seated facing the opposite direction. I only caught a head of dark hair, partially obscured by a lanky member of his crew standing behind him.

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