the price of piracy

(cont)

Part Five

Vin, a.k.a. Hunter, stood on the quarterdeck of the ship, his callused hands wrapped around the ship's polished rail, caressing it with his fingers.  He loved nights like this, when the sea tossed him a breeze that ruffled his long hair, sending thrills through his body.  His pants and shirt were bare protection against the elements, and he liked it that way.  The usually constant mask was abandoned for now - but kept close, tucked into the sash at his waist. He closed his eyes and turned his face into the wind, relishing the freedom and the quiet. 

Wanting to feel more alive, Vin loosened the ties binding his shirt, letting them fall free, and allowing the cold air to caress his semi-bared chest.  A fine mist, kicked up by the breeze, coated the newly exposed skin, but he cared less.  It was moments like this that he loved, where it was he and his mistress, the sea.  He felt at his ease with nature.

The ever-changing water appealed to him. It refused taming, yet followed a pattern only it and Nature understood.  The constantly changing sea always amazed him, with water that was never still: either disturbed from below by the abundant life beneath; or changed from above, with the breezes, tides, currents, and ships daring to journey across its broad expanse.  Even the mighty schooner beneath his feet disrupted the water as it lay at anchor, changing the direction so it lapped the hull, and tiny waves drifted back against the current after impact.  It was a subtle siren's song calling to him.

If he didn't know his friend and captain would be furious, he'd strip and take a moonlight swim.  Just the thought of the salty water coating his body rejuvenated him, and he promised himself a long swim soon.  Vin debated whether or not Larabee would really punish him for a swim.  However, he finally decided he didn't want to be naked in the water on the off chance a British patrol or pirate vessel was trying to sneak about in the moonlit darkness. 

Sound carried too well on the water, as did light, so the Captain ordered quiet, and hooded lanterns, the lanterns only lit if absolutely necessary.  Indigo sails replaced the lighter colored ones, helping them blend into the darkness of the night.  It was an old trick that Barrel had shared with them from his time in the Islands, mostly employed by pirates and privateers of old.  No matter what anyone thought of it, it worked, and it gave them a little more safety.  They could sail at night and not be easily seen, if they so chose, or sit like they were in the darkness and not have the light colored sails give their position away. 

Looking around, Vin noticed the men on watch did not laze about; they found duties to perform, moving quietly in their tasks.  A few spoke softly amongst themselves, trying not to disturb those who preferred to sleep on deck.  The ship was packed full of crew, heavy on the marine contingent for hostile boardings and manning ships taken as prizes.  High above, Vin knew the lookouts usually suffered from boredom, but the one on watch now was a man who preferred night work and never dozed.  More than once, this lookout saw something wasn't right long before many of the others that had stood that watch.

"I see I am not the only one unable to sleep."  The words came out in a soft Scottish burr.  "Mayhap you are contemplating another swim."

"You know me well," Vin replied.

"'Tis the perfect night for it.  If I were inclined to face our Captain's wrath, I would join you."

"I swim naked, Morgan.  Don't see you losing all your propriety." 

Ezra laughed heartily, and then covered his mouth to stifle the sound.  "Do you know what a Scot wears under his kilt?"

"Never thought on it."

"Nothing, my friend, nothing."  Ezra smiled.

"Surprised Buck don't wear one, be interesting in a stiff breeze, especially with the ladies," Vin smirked and bobbled his eyebrow.

"Precisely why I won't wear one on board.  You would take great pleasure in putting m'kilt into the wind, and there'd be no one here I care to impress."

"At night I steer by the moon and the stars.  I don't need to see a second moon whiter than the one in the sky," Vin teased. 

"Mayhap I will toss you overboard and leave you to the captain's tender mercies."

It was Vin's turn to laugh quietly.

"If the sharks didn't eat you," Ezra jested. 

"Most sharks I've met have two legs and walk on land."

"True.  Yet another marine life walks on land with two legs.  A piece of eight to you, Hunter, if you correctly guess."

Vin considered for a minute, and then shook his head. 

"Lobsterbacks."  The word came out a contradiction – both despised and pitied. 

Vin recalled hearing a few of the locals use the term in reference to the brightly clad soldiers of the British army, but since he avoided both whenever possible, the term didn't come to him readily.  "Try not to think on those."

"I have noticed you have no love for the British army either.  For shame, sir."  Ezra's tone changed to sarcastic.  "We should all respect the soldiers wearing those attractive red coats over their lashed-until-they're-bleeding red backs.  Discipline must be maintained at the end of a whip."

Vin rubbed his neck.  The kerchief he always wore remained in place, although half his shirt was undone and skin open to the air.  He cleared his throat.  "You sound almost sorry for them."

"Not all of them want to be in service to His Madness King George.  Yet many of them have no escape, or are afraid of getting caught if they desert.  So they suffer."

The Master realized he and the Prize Master never had a discussion like this before; for the most part, politics and religion were topics avoided in casual conversation.  "Ask you a question?"

"I may not answer."

Vin grinned; that was the type of response he was used to from the Scot.  "Do you hate the British?"

"As a whole?  No.  But the ones that abuse power and ruin lives?  Yes."

"It's rumored your poker games ruin people's lives."

"Fools who don't know when to quit.  I've barred men from my tables because they cannot control themselves.  Believe it or not, I run a fair game."

"House never wins?"

Ezra chuckled.  "Fair means there are winners, and there are losers.  The House wins, and the House loses.  I don't force people to play, Hunter, and I refuse to treat my customers like children.  They can walk away at any time. But if I see someone near their limit, I will try and stop them."

"If they don't?"

"I try, but I am not always successful."

"Why try at all if the House wins?"

"I want them to come back.  If they are cleaned out every time, they will not return.  Yet if they win – no matter how deplorable a player they are - I will see them again."

"I knew you had a reason.  You always do."

"Aye."

"So what are the odds on a war comin'?"

"A sure thing, my friend."

Vin eyed the usually reserved gentleman by his side. "Are we prepared?"

Ezra shrugged. "Us or the Colonies?"

Vin shrugged.  He knew he didn't care much for politics, but he didn't care at all for the British.  His reasons for joining the cause were his own.  As for his part, he did his job, but he didn't keep up with everything that was done on board and the reasons why.  He did know that if anyone did, Ezra would; the Prize Master seemed to have his hand in everything, and liked it that way.

"We've taken steps," Ezra said softly. 

"Provisions."

"I'm not really at liberty to say, but if I didn't abhor gambling, I would wager we are more prepared than most, and not just provisions."

"Meaning?"

"Our ship and crew.  We have the best Captain, our two Lieutenants know their business, the gifted Master a head above all the others in the region, along with a Cook who happens to be an extremely talented Surgeon.  Our Boatswain's a prodigy, we have a superb Gunnery crew, a disciplined Officer of the Marines, and the young administrator under yours truly, the incomparable Prize Master."

"You done blowing hot air?" Vin gave his friend a grin.

"Speaking the truth is never considered blowing hot air.  If anyone fits that description, it would be our illustrious First Lieutenant Rakehell."

"Sail ho!" Though the alert was hissed in the quiet, it rang out reminiscent of rumbling thunder.  "It's big, may be a brig or a frigate! Can't see the masts yet." 

"Hell," Vin muttered, releasing an infrequent curse while hustling to his wheel. 

All over the schooner, men moved to their positions, some running below decks to fetch officers and shipmates.  Masks once again covered the sailors' features as they took positions for possible flight or battle. 

The sailors above knew the marines outside the Captain's cabin would enter and stand guard over the women to make sure they didn't signal the other vessel, if the duo was so inclined.  It was a step no one liked, but their safety was paramount to their Captain, and his orders were explicit.  The women were not to, in any way, shape, or form, call out for help to any passing vessel.  Their passengers had received instructions earlier to remain silent until the danger passed for their own safety and they seemed willing to comply, but the marines were insurance.  The anchors remained down, not wanting to risk the noise of bringing them up to alert the passing ship.  However, men moved into position to cut the lines if the need arose. 

Crewmen and officers spilled quietly across the decks, taking their positions, and waiting in readiness.  Some were half-dressed, clad in pants and masks only. 

Captain Vengeance reached the quarterdeck, one hand snatching an outstretched spyglass from a deckhand.

Rake and Caballero checked the readiness for battle and used hand gestures to convey their orders.

Morgan, all traces of Ezra gone, moved beside Hunter, holding out the Master's rifle.  "Trade.  I'll hold, you shoot."

Vin nodded, letting the Prize Master taking his place.  The mates assigned to assist stepped back, but not too far.  With the schooner at anchor, there wasn't much to do at the wooden wheel.  Hunter's accuracy with the rifle gave them a good chance at demoralizing the crew by taking out the Captain or another high-ranking officer with one shot.

"Rascal," Captain Vengeance hissed.

The Boatswain known as JD in his other life scurried over.

"Who?"  Larabee handed over the spyglass. 

Studying the lines of the ship just starting to clear the vegetation at the entrance to the inlet hiding Vengeance, the young boatswain checked for identifying marks.  It was harder, working mainly off the silhouette in the dim light of the half moon.

Absolute silence had fallen on the Vengeance, with even the timbers of the vessel seemingly cooperating by not creaking.  The water still lapped the hull, hopefully too softly for the larger ship to hear the subtle disruption in the waves' journey. 

Anchored in the inlet, protected from sitting openly in the ocean, the schooner only had one way out – where the ship passed.  The larger vessel could not enter the inlet, but nothing stopped it from blockading the Vengeance inside.  Until now, this was an acceptable risk, and why quiet was instituted whenever they were at anchor. 

"British Navy frigate," Rascal whispered to the man beside him.

Captain Vengeance nodded, sending a series of hand signals that crewmen relayed across the desk.  It was his plan to fire immediately if detected, cut the anchor lines, and use smoke to cover their charge from the inlet.  Marines now stood ready to fire rifles onto the decks when the two ships passed to add to the confusion.  But now, still undetected, they waited – in silence.

Minutes that felt like eternity passed, and the sound of a single voice yelling carried to them.  "Every one of you miserable sots is worth nothing.  Less than nothing.  Flogging's the only thing you animals understand."  The crack of a whip sounded clear and its impact against flesh just as clear.  "I ought to lash each of you until you obey me.  Do not presume to question my orders!"  The verbal abuse and cracking whip continued well past the entrance to the inlet, until it faded away.  Even then, no one spoke or moved much for half an hour. 

"Which Capitan was that?" Caballero finally asked.  "He treats his crew like dogs."

"Worthington," Rascal supplied softly.

"He's one of the worst," Rake added.  "Most of his crew's impressed because no one wants to sail with him.  And I don't mean impressed like they like him – I mean grabbed off the docks and told you're in His Majesty's service now."

Barrel made a disgusted sound. 

Raven walked over to the captain.  "Can I have my wounded back?"

"What?"  The captain stared at the ship's surgeon.

"When the call came, they left for their stations.  Some of them shouldn't be standing, much less ready to fight again."  He waved a hand at the men lining the rails.

Captain Vengeance called out, "All those under Raven's care return to your bunks.  Caballero, pick a landing party for first light.  I want to make sure that frigate didn't drop anchor too close.  I don't know about the lot of you, but I can do without a fight before I break my fast."

Several crewmen gave a nervous chuckle.

"The rest of you secure.  We all need our rest.  Oh, lest I forget, don't snore too loud."

More chuckles greeted his jest, and slowly the schooner returned to the routine of night watch. 

"Wouldn't mind meetin' that captain," Hunter said to Ezra.

"Worthington?" Standish eyed the young helmsman beside him.  "A chance to offer him a sample of his own punishment?"

It didn't seem as if Tanner had heard the quiet Scot, until he gave a brief nod of his head as he stared out to the entrance of the inlet.  "See what you mean about abusin' power and not wanting to be there.  Didn't realize there were so many men like him."

The Scot eyed the helmsman who seemed to be lost, seeing something he couldn't, maybe something from his past.  "I think I understand your distaste.  Continued lashings breed animals, not men.  The animals learn to lash out at those even weaker than themselves, or those unfortunates to be in their path.  A vicious cycle."

"Hopin' that's the last we'll see of that ship for awhile."

"M'thoughts exactly.  Good night, Hunter."

"'Night, Morgan."

They parted company, each heading for his respective area.  Ezra's tiny cabin was his own – he shared with no one, and it was a place of peace for him away from the others. 

Vin found his hammock, stringing it where he normally did, and stared up at the night sky.  The gentle rocking motion of the ship slowly sent him into the arms of sleep. 

Caballero selected men he knew could navigate the shallow, sandy waters in the mouth of the inlet, to reach the stretch of land shielding the right side of the inlet.  Jutting out into the ocean, the beach of sand and hardy trees formed part of the shoreline.  The Spaniard joined Hunter, Barrel, Rascal, the coxswain and a pair of marines in the skiff, rowing to the beach-like shore.  Having left just before dawn they reached the shore just as the faint light began to brighten the sky.  The four slipped from the small boat, leaving the rest behind.  The group made their way to the tree line and through the natural vegetation to check the open water on the other side. 

"Anything?" Caballero asked Hunter, who studied the right side where they last saw the frigate. 

"Nothin'."

"Rascal?" 

"No."  Rascal was looking straight out at the horizon.

"Barrel?"

Barrel used the spyglass to peer left.  "Nope.  You?"

Caballero shook his head no. "Hunter, Rascal," the Spaniard said, cocking his head toward the trees.  Needing no other instructions the two moved off to either side, each choosing a sturdy tree tall enough to make a good perch.  The two scurried up to their chosen lofts and searched the sea with their spyglasses.  Meanwhile, Caballero, Barrel, and the other marine continued searching the shoreline, making sure no British landing party had been left behind to scour for food or fresh water.

After assuring themselves the frigate had sailed on, they met back at the boat.  "Vamanos." The Second Lieutenant directed them back the Vengeance.

Once back the ship, Caballero reported to his captain while the skiff was secured aboard.  It wasn't long before orders were given and the schooner got underway, leaving their protected inlet behind. 

Part Six

Vengeance continued its southerly course, the lookout sighting a familiar sail by mid afternoon.

Hunter grinned.  "Stumpy Inlet."  His raspy voice carried across the deck to the bow.  Stumpy Inlet was along the coast of North Carolina, halfway between Beaufort and the South Carolina border, near the bottom of the Banks. 

Morgan sighed, walking to the rail.  He yelled, "Two pieces of eight to you, my friend, for a well-placed wager."

"I'll take it in ale, Morgan."  Hunter laughed at the disgruntled face of the Prize Master.

"Yea, that be the Spirit."  Rake rubbed his hands together.  "She'll agree this time."

"Agree to what?" Barrel asked, stepping onto the deck with Raven at his side.

"A meal with yours truly."

"She'll turn you down, Rake.  Captain Spirit has no love for men."  Raven shook his head.

"I'm wearing her down," the rogue declared.  "Besides, just looking at her gives a man pleasure."

"Hear, hear," Peacock echoed.  "There's definitely something about a woman with flowing hair, a mask, and as skilled as a man with a rapier.  As ready to run you through as to look at you.  Just the sort of woman to keep you on your toes."

The others laughed as Rake gave Peacock a playful shove.  "Don't worry your plumage, Peacock, you just need to learn from the master, son, on how to handle a woman."

"Si, Peacock.  The Master Caballero stands ready and willing to instruct you in el arte del amor.  The art of love."  Caballero thumped a fist over his heart. 

"Don't listen to him," Rake warned.  "He's got more wind blowing than a sail in a storm."

"And a woman in every port," Caballero replied.

"Figure you both have your number of women," Captain Vengeance said loudly.  "But, boys, you notice they're not offering the rest of us introductions to their fair ladies?"  He raised his voice to reach the rest of the crew.

The First Lieutenant held a hand to his gut as if wounded.  "You are such a host of friends."

The rest of the crew guffawed and jeered their two lieutenants.  The good natured ribbing the crew often shared did much to relieve the rest of the tension from the battle of days ago, and their near miss with the British frigate.

In accord, the two lieutenants faced their captain.  Both grinned evilly.

"Capitan, had I know you sought a lady with fire, I would have introduced you to one last month.  But out of respect for mi Capitan, I did not, not wishing to see my friend devoured by a woman."

"Devoured by a woman?" the captain repeated with incredulity in his voice.

"Come to think on it, I did send those lovely sisters your way," Rake said, eyes twinkling.  "But you sent them packing."  

Low gasps and murmurs swept through the crew.

"Reckon his eyes landed on a certain blonde and have not roved since!" Hunter called out.  Some were surprised to hear the quiet man speak out to join in teasing the captain, but in the short time they'd been together, many among the crew learned their Master had a mischievous spirit.   

"Silence, Hunter, 'fore I institute keelhauling on board this vessel, with you the first to try," Captain Vengeance warned.  "As for the sisters, I ailed and had a fever."

"Likely excuse," Morgan called.

"You turned down sisters, Captain?" Hunter's voice carried across the deck, and he sounded completely unrepentant. 

Captain Vengeance smirked.  "Once our business with the Spirit 's concluded, your Captain plans to have a talk with his crew."

"I think I better get my supplies ready," Raven stated, as the rest of the others laughed at his comment.

"Ahoy, Vengeance!"  A call carried from the First Lieutenant of the sloop across the rapidly closing distance between ships, ending the jocularity.

Single-masted with a main sail and a jib, the sloop Spirit screamed speed and maneuverability. Spirit also used the sea green of the Atlantic Ocean for her hull over the copper bottom plating, and the trim was a dulled brown.  She rode high in the water, meaning an empty hold, and the crew moved about her decks with silent efficiency. 

Pure white sails rigged fore and aft graced her masts, with the only discordant color coming from the painted jib.  Wings extended, talons leading, a falcon in shades of tan, brown, and deep, dark green, prepared to attack all who crossed her.

Those who became the enemy of the captain and crew of the Spirit found themselves in a severely compromised position.  The crew dressed normally enough, in tan pants, boots, and white shirts that laced up the front.  If it were not for the distinctive jib and fearsome reputation, Spirit could be mistaken for any other merchant sloop.   

Watching as the sloop moved closer, the captain of the schooner allowed a small smile.  "Ahoy, Spirit."

The two Masters and their mates expertly pulled the vessels alongside each other, bringing them into accord.  Both crews worked in synchronicity and familiarity to quickly trim sails; ropes were tossed back and forth as they connected together.

"Permission to come aboard, Captain?"  The woman captain stared at the man she recognized as her equal, albeit he commanded a much larger ship with the schooner, compared to her sloop.

"Granted, Spirit." He himself held out his hand to give her assistance on board, a hand he was surprised she accepted.

Known for her independence and hatred of men, Captain Spirit made an ideal candidate to clear the seas of pirates.  Fighting them for some time, she now detested the British almost as much.  Those that had seen her fight could say she would be willing to fight them all on her own.   Though they had been around longer than Vengeance, Captain Spirit and her crew were still unknown.  No one outside the sloop's crew and a chosen few knew their whole story of how they came into being.  Especially the mysterious female captain, whose reasons for her deep-seeded hatred for pirates and anything British were unknown to even the majority of her crew.  But that crew of men was fiercely loyal and extremely protective of their female leader.

Once settled on the deck of the Vengeance, Captain Spirit put her hands on her hips.  "What can the mighty Spirit and her crew help the worthless, needy Vengeance with this fine day?"

Spirit 's crew laughed.  The crews often traded barbs and banter whenever they met.  On friendly terms even if neither crew knew the true identities of the other, they usually enjoyed their brief meetings.  But it was not always that way, and even if they were friendly now, there was still the obvious competition between the two crews, and their captains.  It was a matter of pride.

Rumors always flew along the shores about shipping activity, especially when tales began to surface of two separate ships out for justice.  It was not long before both vessels met in combat, Vengeance coming up on the Spirit relentlessly chasing and pounding lead into a larger pirate vessel.  The sloop Spirit was overmatched, but kept up her dogged pursuit while dodging cannon fire from the bigger vessel's larger – and more numerous – guns.

In fact, when Spirit sighted Vengeance, her greeting to the vessel was a shot across the bow, surprising the hell out of the schooner's crew.  As greetings went, it was rather rude.  It was a warning and a challenge, telling Vengeance to either stay out of the fight, or be sunk, too.

Captain Vengeance, who had spent five days searching for this pirate vessel to sink it himself, responded to the polite invitation by putting a hole high in the pirate Spirit was battering.  Sending their own message and leaving their own mark of claim, the schooner's actions said they were in the hunt, too.  The vessel was the one that had recently captured some of the Travis plantation's trade goods, and they wanted them back. So if they had to sink the sloop too, so be it.

Now faced with two attackers, the pirate vessel struck her colors, signaling her surrender.  The sloop Spirit refrained from firing on the schooner Vengeance, who held fire against the sloop.  Angry words flew back and forth between the vessels while preparing to board, one vessel on either side of the pirate, and tempers ran high.  Both attackers warily boarded, almost ignoring the pirate crew, ready to do battle with each other instead. 

Wisely the pirate crew was quickly dealt with first, and then a summit was held in the captured ship's largest cabin.  The top three officers from both crews, along with the respective Prize Masters, convened.  The dark-clad captain had been ready to negotiate harshly with the other man, but was surprised when the new adversary turned out to be a woman.  On top of it, both sides came to the realization that they were all privateers, with pirates and corrupt British as a common enemy between them.  A reluctant alliance was born.  Though not needed, they decided to set specific terms about who sailed what waters.  Then they set about dividing the current prize, and ruled for dividing future prizes should they cross paths again.

The hesitant start turned into a boon for both ships.  Both gained an ally and did help each other a few times when their paths did cross.  The trust between crews was quickly built upon and proven, with everyone knowing they could call on the other at any time.  Yet they still kept up their friendly rivalry, and in meetings like this one, their good-natured jests.

"You are not in the position to fling insults, Spirit, especially standing on my deck."  Captain Vengeance crossed his arms, his crew cheering their support of him. 

"With your permission then, Captain, we'd like to remind you of your summons to meet us."  She shook her long brown hair, blowing around her head with the breeze, and brushed a loose strand from her covered forehead.  Her features were hidden behind a tan mask, distorting them into the falcon's visage.  Each member of her crew wore masks, denoting their bird of choice, which also fit with their shipboard theme, and their vessel's full name, Spirit of the Falcon. 

"Granted.  You've been well, Spirit?"  Larabee looked her over, and then at the crew lining the deck of the sloop, his eyes assessing the vessel.  There was a new paint job, probably done to done to cover the repairs from recent battle damage.  Spirit's waters were just as troubled as Vengeance's, perhaps more so because it was rumored there was a standing bet among the British Naval Officers on who could first capture the Spirit, and force her Captain into surrender. 

"Aye, Vengeance," The Spirit 's First Lieutenant called. "Heard you took a couple prizes since we last met." 

"That we did, Hawk."  Rake answered his counterpart with a smile.  "See how our hold's lower to the water than yours?"

"We kept our hold empty to relieve you of yours," Hawk replied.  The crew of the sloop Spirit chuckled and openly guffawed.  A few even suggested the piss-poor crew of the Vengeance couldn't take a prize if it was sitting dead in the water in front of them, and relied on the stupidity of the other crews' to gain their victories.

"I know you didn't summon us just to inquire of our health, or boast of your supposed conquests," Spirit turned back to the dark-clad captain.

"'Least you could do is break out the ale," Hawk continued to goad.  "Rousted us from our homes, you did."

Spirit smiled beneath her mask. "Aye, my crew is a bit thirsty.  You can be hospitable and part with some rum or ale for my boys.  Then tell me why we're here."

"We'll share some of our prize with you, only because we're in need of Spirit's services."  Morgan moved forward to stand beside the female captain.  "Greetings, my fair Captain.  A pleasure to see you again."  His thick Scots brogue made the words rich and melodic.

"Morgan Ambrose Roth, you eloquent fop.  Arrogant, too, using three names to mock the British nobility.  And I mean that in the most affectionate way."  She presented her work-gloved hand, letting him kiss the back of it.

"Of course, Captain."  He released her hand, adding a gentlemanly bow to his greeting. 

"I still say your name should be Sea Eyes, for they are the green of the shallow waters we sail, and just as unreadable."  Spirit smiled.

Both crews enjoyed the jest. 

"Mayhap I'll allow you, and only you, to call me that, Captain."  The Prize Master grinned as he noticed the First Lieutenant, standing behind the female captain, making a gagging motion.

"And mayhap I shall call you that anyway, and let your mates rib for it." She grinned, tapping him lightly on the cheek.  Turning back to the captain, she held her arms out from her sides.  "Now, Captain Vengeance, I'm still wanting to know why you dragged us from our homes and sport of harassing pirates and saving the seas?"

Just then, a dark streak shot over from the Spirit, landing on her outstretched arm.  The falcon settled himself, preened his feathers, and then turned his head to eye the other crew gathered around his mistress. 

"Hello, Courage."  Carefully, Spirit stroked the breast feathers of the falcon.  "I see you came to join us."

A low whistle filtered down over those gathered on the deck. Courage immediately took flight, circling the joined ships.  They watched the falcon head for the wheel deck of Vengeance, where he landed lightly on the Master's outstretched arm.  Tender hands greeted the falcon.  "I see yer Courage deserted you, Spirit," Hunter called over. 

"One of these days I'll understand why Courage is so drawn to you, Hunter," she said.

"He's got a way with animals, Spirit," Captain Vengeance told her. 

"Aye, much better than Rakehell's animal magnetism!" Rascal yelled.

"Don't you have some rigging to climb, Rascal?  Perhaps give us mercy and toss yourself into the ocean?" Rake called back to the young boatswain.  Both crews laughed, and again, Spirit's crew offered instruction on the proper way to toss himself from high.  Debates broke out on whether he would hit the ship at all, or be dumb enough to catch an ankle in the rigging. 

At that point, JD volunteered to transfer to Spirit and demonstrate.  He planned to use that crew and forcibly toss them off the rigging to see whether or not someone would hit the side of the ship, and Morgan offered to take bets. 

Both Captains grinned indulgently at each other, letting their respective crews have a little fun.   The avian among them was not as amused.  Having had enough of Hunter's company, Courage flew back to Spirit's arm.  He immediately began to preen.

"Nice of you to rejoin me, Courage," she told the falcon. 

"We have others to join you, Spirit," said the male captain, a soberness entering his tone. 

"Others? Passengers?"  Her gaze looked questionably at the masked captain. 

His body posture stiffened.  "We freed two women from our last prize."

"Freed?  You found captives?"  She swallowed.

Her only answer was a brief nod from the captain, while the others aboard Vengeance managed to look elsewhere.

"From whom?" she asked.  Her voice was diamond-hard. 

"The Dorsey."

Captain Spirit let out a string of epitaphs so foul that even Rascal blushed.  She stated her opinion of the Dorsey and its ill-fated crew rather explicitly.  Since the use of profanity was not a socially acceptable behavior for either sex, her fluent delivery showed the level of her upset.  Her crew spat over the sides of the ship, careful to hit the water, and Courage the falcon flapped his wings, sensing the emotional change.  When she stopped, she stared at the schooner captain.  "How are they?"

He shook his head.  "Not good.  They were on the merchant that ran afoul of the Dorsey." 

"Even worse."

"From what the women have said, they had heard the Clara struck her colors.  Dorsey attacked anyway and took them prisoner."

"Does Dorsey and her crew reside in the depths of the sea now?"

"Aye."

The single word in that harsh tone explained more than anything else did about the sea skirmish.

"And the Clara?"

"We're going to look as soon as we finish here."

Her tone turned commanding and her gaze aimed squarely at the other captain. "Make sure of it."

"Don't order me about, Spirit.  This isn't your vessel."   Captain Vengeance let a touch of rebuke enter his tone.  With the masks, reading facial expressions became impossible, except for smiles that stretched mask lines, and interpreting body posture imperative.

The female captain blew out a breath, releasing some of her anger.  "I beg your pardon, Captain.  Just thinking aloud."

"Think quieter."  He smirked behind his mask, showing white teeth where the mask moved.

"I do that more than you know.  However, I'll not let a man, not even you, Vengeance, tell me to be quiet."

"Are you done giving me orders?"  He crossed his arms.

The others stayed silent during this power play, part and parcel of their competition.  Sometimes, Spirit would test Vengeance to see what she could get away with, and he would quickly remind her who had the larger vessel and more commanding presence.  Considering they were on his ship, she needed to back down first, and both knew it.  Their joking only lessened the tensions, saying all was forgiven, but the message stayed clear to both of them – Vengeance controlled his ship, and he would not take orders from her; while Spirit would not take orders from him on board her own vessel. 

"Depends on if you're planning to tell me to be quiet again." Spirit winked.   

"I know that wouldn't work."

"Which is why you are captain, because you are smart enough to figure things out."  She grinned.

"Aye, and it would behoove you to remember I'm the captain here, Spirit." 

"That I will, Vengeance."  She changed the subject.  "I assume the services you require will be taking the women off your hands."

A brief nod was her answer.

She nodded back. "Fine, we'll take our shares and then fetch the girls.  With your permission, of course.  I would guess you want to get under way as soon as possible."

"That I would."

"Are they in danger?"

"Witnesses."

Carefully, she said, "That complicates things.  More expense involved and more people to pay."

"Aye.  Your shares will be generous." 

"Who's responsible for this travesty?"

"Stewart James."

"I've heard of him.  He's your problem."

"My problem?"  Captain Vengeance stepped a few steps closer to her.  "Care to rephrase that, since we're constantly coming to your rescue?"

The men on board the schooner stared at the woman, some uneasy, many watchful, and a bunch outright laughing. 

She raised her voice to be heard.  "Aye, Vengeance.  We have enough to contend with without adding your burdens onto ours."

"Who troubles you?  Perhaps the mighty Vengeance can assist the weaker Spirit?" offered the schooner captain. 

Captain Spirit stiffened.  "We can handle our burdens, and take on yours, too, if you men aren't up to the task.  Just beware of Sheriff Robert Spikes."

Captain Vengeance scoffed.  "Not our Sheriff."

"That he's not, and fortunate for you.  In our case, however, he collects more than the taxes, and takes a share.  Complaints fall on deaf ears, or if they're heard, the person's accused of being disloyal to the Crown.  He's even hired pirates of his own."

"We might just have to roam a bit further south then, Spirit, and help you and your crew rid the seas of his henchmen."

"You might have to, Vengeance, if I'm to keep doing your menial work taking on passengers.  So control your Stewart James, and leave us to our own housekeeping."

"I'm sure I'll be dealing with Spikes soon enough."

"You probably will.  So, where are they?"

"Barrel's watching them in my cabin."

"Barrel's an excellent choice."  Spirit nodded her approval.

"Rake?"  Captain Vengeance glanced over to his friend.

"Aye."  Under Rake's direction, with good-natured 'advice' from Caballero, the crew set to transferring a portion of their cargo over to the Spirit, including the refreshments to keep thirsts at bay, relations good, and mouths shut.  The bounty was accepted by eager hands, and passed down into their smaller hold.  When he finished giving orders, he rejoined the two captains standing side-by-side, both intent on watching the exchange of goods.  Rake lowered his voice.  "Now, Spirit, would you be interested in sharing a meal with me in our future?" 

Courage stretched his wings out, giving a warning cry.  Spirit calmed the ruffled bird, then lifted her arm and sent the bird flying back to her ship.

"Mayhap, Rakehell."  Spirit turned away from watching her companion fly back to his home perch, giving Rake a smile.  "But not now.  The women are the priority."

"I'll wait for that time, Spirit."  Rake stepped back. 

The woman inclined her head. 

Captain Vengeance allowed himself a smile before leading her to just outside his cabin.  The marine on guard duty nodded to him, removed his hat in deference to her, and stepped aside.  

Chris knocked once.  "Barrel?  Spirit's here."

Slowly, the door opened to reveal the large form of a masked Barrel.  "Aye, 'tis about time, too.  I fear they tire of my company."

"I doubt that, Barrel."  Spirit smiled up at him.  "I'm sure your company has bolstered the spirits of many, my own included." 

Barrel and Spirit shared a long look, leaving the schooner captain feeling left out again.  Everyone who saw them together knew the two shared something, but neither would volunteer the information on the how or when. It was obvious it was something from before Larabee brought Barrel on board the Vengeance, which piqued the captain's interest.  He studied them for clues, not picking up anything of a romantic nature.  Regardless, he felt Barrel was the only person on Vengeance to know Spirit's true identity, and that fact kept his curiosity high.  It also secured his faith in his Officer of the Marines, knowing if he kept her secret, he would keep all secrets that came his way.    

"What's happening?"  A weak female voice called from the interior, interrupting the moment. 

Spirit stepped around Barrel.  "Hello.  My name is Captain Spirit, and I'm here to help you."

The first girl, sitting on the edge of the bed, rose to her feet.  "Allow me to speak plainly.  Although we have not been treated badly here, I don't trust them.  Why should I trust you?"

"Fair enough, ma'am.  Gentlemen, would you kindly leave us for a moment?"  Without breaking gazes with the woman challenging her, Spirit stood still, waiting for the men to vacate the cabin. 

The male captain and Barrel gave no argument and left, and closing the door behind them. 

Looking back and forth between the two women, one standing defiantly before her, the other lying in a sweat-laden fever on the bed, Spirit spoke just as plainly as the woman before her.  "Let me guess what happened.  You two thought it would be a lark to take some Grand Adventure. You decided to sail to the Islands…what?  To see family…respectable enough …but you didn't have chaperones, did you?  The Captain of the Clara took your money well enough, and probably regretted every cent of it when the pirates attacked."

The younger woman that some would still consider a girl tried to remain defiant in her stare at the woman captain, but she paled slightly.

Spirit fired a final round, "I bet your family in Boston, the Clara's home port, didn't know what you were up to, did they?"

This time the girl dropped her eyes to the floor, and they slowly slid over to her friend on the bed.

"Your little adventure ended when the pirates intercepted your ship," Spirit noted the girl shifting slightly from one foot to the other.  "They used you both badly, and I don't believe I need to go into detail.  Have I guessed correctly?"

The standing woman's lip quivered.  "How do you know?"

"I know," Spirit said simply.

Tears tracked down the young woman's face as she sank back down on the edge of the bed next to her friend.

"Most pirates have a Code of Conduct, and they are bound not to touch Prudent women. The pirates your ship met up with are the worse kind…they have no code . . . no souls.  Worse even than those whose legacy they followed from almost a hundred years ago.  I am sorry for what happened, and I would like to help if you would let me."

The woman reached down and moved a stringy lock of hair off her friend's forehead.  She refused to meet the woman captain's eyes. "My friend ails."

"Has Raven, the ship's surgeon, tended her?"

"I would not let him.  He gave us supplies, and I tried, but she has worsened.  My friend did not want his attentions, and I cannot bear the thought of a man touching us." 

"If I stayed, would you allow it?  Raven knows his trade well.  Your friend should not needlessly die when help is available.  Do not let your fear and pride levy too high a price."

After a long moment of silence, a small nod was Spirit's answer. 

Walking to the door, she opened it.  "Fetch Raven.  She'll allow him to tend her and her friend." 

"Aye, Captain Spirit.  With your permission, Captain Vengeance?"  Barrel turned to his captain, making sure that the chain of command was followed, especially in front of the marines.  Discipline was strictly enforced, and no matter how they felt about their ally, their ally would not be giving orders on Vengeance.  It worked both ways; Spirit's crew would not take orders from Captain Vengeance without her approval, unless it was a life and death situation.

Captain Vengeance nodded.

Barrel indicated for the marine to fetch the Ship's Surgeon.

The schooner captain continued to wait outside his own cabin, having received a and agreed to silent signal from Spirit to stay in the passageway.   

A few minutes later, Raven arrived with his bag of supplies.  The examination went quickly, and the healer determined that there was a minor infection with a fever.  He quickly cleaned the wound, handing the now-conscious woman a salve to use to heal it, and herbs for the fever.  The other freed captive, the spokesperson of the two, stood beside the bed watching his every move.  She reluctantly allowed him to give her a brief examination, as well.  Though he noted she was badly bruised, she was declared free of maladies or serious injuries. 

Once they were both properly cared for, Spirit bade the women to sit on the bed, and took a place in the captain's desk chair.  "We need to have a talk."

"What about?"

"I'll need your names."

"Lucy Cartwright, and my friend Barbara Evans."

Barbara managed to sit up in the bunk.  "Ma'am, please forgive my earlier inattention."

Spirit waved away her apology.  "It's understandable.  We need to discuss what's going to happen to you, and much of that will depend on the both of you."

"What do you need us to do?"  Barbara queried. 

"You can't mean you trust her.  We just met her," Lucy said softly.  "No offense intended, Captain, but we don't know you."

"And she has done plenty to help in the short time we've been acquainted.  She knows what to do, and unless you have a brilliant plan, I want to hear what she has to say," Barbara replied. 

"We'll have her take us to my uncle." 

"And tell him what?"  Spirit interrupted.  "Tell him that you two abandoned your safe homes, probably left a note saying where you were going, all without a chaperone?  That you were captured by pirates, and spent days in the company of different crews on four different ships?  Even with the knowledge of nothing happening on three of those vessels will destroy your reputations."  She laughed.  "Throw that in with your current condition, and that will definitely bring you plenty of scorn.  Your respectability's gone; only death or my way will bring it back.  Do you think you can show your faces in Society again with a tale like yours?"

"You mock us," Lucy accused heatedly.

"Not without purpose," Spirit denied.  "You two need to face the truth of your situation, and make some decisions now before you come aboard my vessel.  What you decide will affect the course I take, and what danger you put the rest of us in."

"Danger?  We're no threat to anyone," Barbara sobbed.  "We're the victims."

"Aye, that you are.  But do you want to remain victims becomes the question."

"Whatever it takes, whatever must be done, we'll do it," Lucy declared.  "We only want this nightmare over."

"Then I must speak plainly, and ask some direct questions.  I'll require honest answers."

"You'll have them."  Barbara wiped a tear away from her bruised cheek. 

"When did your last fluxes end?" 

Lucy inhaled sharply.  "I didn't consider that."

"God help us."  The other woman cried in earnest.

"There'll be time for tears later," Spirit said.  "When?"

"Last month," Lucy whispered.  "I'm due any day."

"Five days ago," Barbara answered. 

"Time will tell, then.  Your uncle, can he be trusted?"

Lucy nodded.  "Implicitly."

"Can you tell him what happened?  Think carefully before you answer."

The two women spoke quietly amongst themselves for a moment, finally facing the masked captain.  "Aye," Lucy said softly.  "He'll be upset . . .probably disappointed, but he wouldn't turn us away." 

"All right.  I will take you to Wilmington, where you will meet up with some – persons – of the highest moral caliber.  They will take you in, wait until you heal enough for the rest of the journey, and will accompany you to the Islands.  What will be said is that you reconsidered your rash act and left the Clara when she stopped in Baltimore.  You, Barbara, fell ill with a high fever.  You were nursed back to traveling shape in Baltimore, and then taken over land to Wilmington.  When you hear about the Clara, act shocked and surprised.  You'll be put on a vessel and properly accompanied to Islands to meet your uncle.  Tell him all when you arrive, and hopefully he will give you the assistance you need in order to keep this silent.  You must stay there for at least half a year, if not more."

"Half a year!" Barbara exclaimed.

"Who could be so unquestioned a reputation for taking in two women?" Lucy asked.

"Nuns."

"The Carolinas are Protestant!" Barbara exclaimed. 

"But the Sisters are permitted to travel anywhere, unmolested, no matter the beliefs of others."

"They would lie for us?  Lying's a sin."

"They won't see it that way.  If asked, and only if asked, they will say they took in two companions, one ill, and arranged their chaperoned travels.  They believe God can forgive them their omissions after confession, my dears."

"There's no Catholic church in Wilmington."

"No, Barbara, there's not, but the Sisters have a home they keep there during their travels.  That's where you will stay until the journey.  But I must be clear – they are risking the sanctity of their beliefs, their souls, reputations, and their lives – to protect you two.  No word must come to light that you were ever aboard the Clara when she was attacked, or else everyone you have come in contact with since then will be in jeopardy.  Including you two."

"This is ridiculous," Lucy added.  "You're asking too much."

"You're scaring me," Barbara said.  "Why must we be so secretive?  Why half a year?"

"Captain Vengeance!" Spirit yelled, standing up and pacing in the confines of the cabin.

"No need to shout, Spirit."  He walked in.  "Problem?"

"They don't seem to understand the danger they are in, and why their silence becomes necessary," she explained.

"Once we're with my uncle, using the cover Captain Spirit so generously provides, why couldn't we come home if we choose?  Or move about freely?"

He exchanged a long look holding deep meaning with Captain Spirit before speaking.  "Because the British would like nothing better than to make you two examples of how Colonial shipping's not safe, and how we should bend even further to their rule."

"We're only two women, and victims of piracy!  We're not examples of anything," Barbara exclaimed. 

"You're witnesses to an attack on a Colonial merchant," he replied.

"We won't say anything," Lucy cried.  "No one will know we were even there!"

"The people who authorized the pirate attack will not know that, and the British, when they hear of you two, will wave your humiliation like a banner until you are more ruined than you already are.  They want to prove the point that the Colonies need to be under tighter control, and tighter rein, and keep us shipping only to England.  No one will care for you; you are just obstacles and pawns to be used and sacrificed."

"Meaning that those who care that you're alive will make you public disgraces, and those that want you dead will try their hardest to see that comes to pass," Spirit added.  "Humiliation or death.  Those are your choices." 

"Do you understand what's at stake?" Captain Vengeance asked.  "Are we getting through?"

Both women sobbed quietly.  Finally, Barbara asked a question.  "We only have your word about what could happen.  How do we know this is true?"

Spirit walked to the door of the cabin.  "You deal with them.  I need some space from addled females."  She strode out. 

Chris studied them quietly.  "Have we mistreated you?"

"No," Lucy said.

"Hurt you in any way?"

"No."

"Caused you to doubt anything that we have said?"

"Not once."

"Then why doubt us now?  Our experience is greater than yours, Ladies, and we know of what we speak.  You have to begin to trust at a certain point, and neither of us has given you cause to doubt.  Spirit's a hard woman, but she'll insure you reach your family.  The choice is yours.  Do you wish to live in shame, or do you wish to truly live?  I'll leave you to your thoughts, Ladies.  Call out when you've made your decision."  He went to leave.

"Wait," Lucy said.  "We're scared, Captain.  Is what has been planned the best for us?"

"I'm not privy to Spirit's plans for you, but whatever she plans, I'm sure it's in your best interest."

"Tell her we accept, Captain," Barbara said.  "I just want this over with."

"Aye."  He left the cabin, finding Spirit in the hallway deep in discussion with Barrel.  They fell silent when he approached.  "Am I interrupting?"

"Nay, Captain. Have you convinced them to come with me?" Spirit asked.

"They will be going with you."

"Good.  I'll take care of them."

"Just so you know, we're returning the Clara's cargo to their rightful owners."

"Good."

"But the British merchant from England that they raided before the Clara doesn't seem to have any owner information listed where they picked up their goods."

"For shame."

"Your share's not coming from Colonial coffers."

"I wouldn't accept it if it was."

"That I know."

Barrel chuckled.  "Shall I begin the process of clearing the decks?  Remember, Spirit, patience."

"Aye.  Captain, with your permission?"  Spirit glanced up at her male counterpart on this vessel.

"Granted."

Within a few minutes, Spirit hustled the two women off Vengeance and onto the sloop.  Once her new guests were settled in her smaller cabin and their trunks transferred over, she returned to the deck of the schooner.  "We'll be on our way, Vengeance.  Rest assured, they will be cared for."

"Never doubted it, Spirit," said Captain Vengeance. 

"Where will they go?" Rake asked.

"They'll get to the uncle in the Islands eventually," Spirit replied.  "But I have a request."

"Whatever you want, Spirit, I will do my best to do for you," Rake replied, slowly moving closer to the female Captain.  "Be it bring the moon out to match the stars in your eyes, or smooth the seas for your passage. Your wish becomes my command."

Caballero laughed outright, ruining the effect.

"What I want, Rakehell, nay – I request," she shot a significant look to Barrel's masked form, "would be for you and your men to cover our territory until we return.  We're sailing south to Wilmington, leaving our stretch wide open," she replied.

"Captain?" Rake turned to his friend and captain.

"We'll add it to our patrols."

"Capitan," Caballero called to the woman.

"Aye, Caballero?"

"El perro Worthington ronda estas aquas, el sur visto de titulo al anoche."  His voice sounded rich and full, telling her the dog Worthington prowls these waters, seen heading south as of last night.

"Muchos agrdecen para la informacion, Senor," she replied in his native Spanish.  Spirit gave him many thanks for the information, relaying the message to her crew. 

"Worthless Worthington's frigate's in these parts?" Hawk called from the Spirit.  

"Aye," Captain Vengeance yelled back.

"Have a care, Captain Spirit, until we meet again." Morgan took his leave, giving her a courtly bow once more.

"We will, Morgan Ambrose Roth, we will.  Permission to disembark?"  Spirit looked at the schooner's captain.

"Granted, and fair seas."

"Aye, to you as well." 

"I'll remember, Spirit," Rake called, "that we may have a dinner engagement in the near future."

"So will I, Rakehell."  Spirit laughed.  "Emphasis on the word may."

The crews unhooked the lines, letting the Spirit move away.

As the sloop disappeared into the distance, Vengeance came about under capable hands and headed for her own home.  They had one final mission to complete before they could seek their rest.

Part Seven

It took three days, but the Vengeance crew found the remains of the Clara. The crew grew even angrier to see the badly damaged ship and the remains of her crew lying exposed left without a thought.  A somber work crew moved about the abandoned ship.  The masks and kerchiefs covering their noses and mouths held a more practical purpose now while they cared for the deceased men. Barrel saw that the dead men received their rightful burial at sea, as the Vengeance's crew looked on, wishing the demise of the pirates had not been so quick. 

The crew of Vengeance made sure the cargo belonging to the Clara was intact and accounted for using another manifest found in the captain's cabin.  They could not, in good conscience, take Colonial trade goods for themselves and let the rightful merchant owners take the losses to their livelihood.  A delayed cargo sale still meant profit instead of potential ruin.

They towed the Clara in, had Morgan make contact with their intermediary, and later received a portion of the cargo as a reward for stopping the pirates and recovering the goods; along with the indirect thanks – relayed through the intermediary.  A satisfactory profit was made through the sale of the Dorsey's riches.  They planned to give the letters condemning Stewart to the Magistrate, but they needed to do it in a way that the Vengeance would not be linked to the people turning over the evidence. 

 Vengeance slid into her cove with ease, Hunter careful to bring her in without a hitch.  Deckhands tied the lines, the anchors fell, and the schooner came to a rest in her normal hiding place.  The Captain and Prize Master oversaw dividing the remainder of the goods and monies.  The crew accepted their shares, but it was a somber lot as they thought of the wasted and ruined lives they'd encountered this trip.  The price of piracy was high in too many instances.

A handful of crew lived on Vengeance, happier on water than on the land, and they breathed easier knowing they would have the ship to themselves again.  They spent their time in their home harbor, making any repairs needed to the ship or sails.  Captain Vengeance was a good Captain, allowing them the use of the officer's staterooms when the officers were not on board, and this made for a good trade.  

Some of the crew followed the paths and trails to the nearby villages off the Travis plantation that housed the Vengeance's cove. The three tiny villages held a number of crew and their families, but spread out enough that when all the men disappeared for the sailings, it was not noteworthy.  They shared the villages with the fishermen and their families, which made their absences seem almost normal.

The wives and children held their tongues, and the locals blended in, knowing that the Vengeance brought them business, safety for their seas, and the hope of eventually gaining their freedom from the tyrannical British rule. It was still a dangerous venture, but only select wives knew how to find the schooner, and none of the crew would speak if captured.  The fairness with which Captain Vengeance treated his men earned him a lot of loyalty, on land and at sea, as did Travis. 

Having finished their own work on board, the officers said their goodbyes, heading off in the direction of their own homes.

Rascal, one of the youngest Boatswains on the Atlantic, reached his tiny cottage on the outskirts of Ocracoke, or Pilot Town; the town's name depended on the person asked.  His real name was John Dunne, known as JD to the Bankers.  The settlers who lived on the Outer Banks were known as Bankers, and there were quite a few Johns, only differentiated by their last names.  JD did not want to be called John Dunne all the time, or just Dunne, so the first time someone tried called him by his initials, the nickname stuck. 

He earned his living as a pilot, guiding the ships through the tricky Ocracoke Inlet and out to the sea.  The young man knew these waters inside and out, even better than Hunter.  In exchange for learning the routes through the Inlet, Hunter was teaching him open seas navigation and letting JD train to be a Master. 

When Vengeance sailed, Hunter would bring Vengeance across the sound to the Inlet route for the ocean, and wait.  JD would paddle himself out to the schooner in a single person canoe; the canoe hid in the hold during their sails.  JD, as Rascal, would lead Vengeance through the tricky, shifting waterways between the Outer Banks islands the rest of the way into the ocean.  Sometimes, Hunter took the schooner all the way out, but there was no question; Hunter was the Master, but JD knew the inner waters and coves.

JD dreamed of the wind in his face, the sea beneath his feet, and captaining his own vessel, just like his idol, Captain Vengeance.

Caballero, a.k.a. Raphael Cordova de Martinez, led his men back to his sprawling plantation.  He was an affluent Spanish resident, owning land just outside the state capital of New Berne, North Carolina, and one of the major employers in the area.  His position on board the Vengeance as Second Lieutenant gave him considerable power, and he was wise in the use of that power.

He liked the privileges of being so high in the command, but not continually forced to make hard decisions like Captain Vengeance.  His position, both on the vessel and in his real life, showed a positive example to his men.  He and his men were wanted, needed, and respected by all on the Vengeance, something that often did not happen in this colony's circles of Society.  Being known as "Knight," the true translation of "Caballero," meant he stood up for what was good and honorable by ridding the seas of pirate scum.  These virtues appealed to his personal character.

Several area men of similar Spanish heritage covertly suggested that he captain his own privateer at their expense, but he turned down all offers.  For him, he enjoyed working with Captain Vengeance, especially because the two men shared a rare code of honor.  Besides, tweaking the noses of the corrupt British was fun, especially when they did not know that almost one fourth of the crew was of Spanish heritage. 

The British and the Spanish often had a less than cordial relationship, and their claims on the adjoining lands in the Colonies combined with current politics strained those dealings.  The recent war ending in the year of Our Lord Seventeen Hundred Sixty-Three required concessions between Britain, Spain, and France, and tempers still ran ready to explode at times. 

Since Spain's span of influence included the site of the current colony of Georgia, a broad mix of ethnicity lived in close proximity, creating pockets of various cultures and beliefs that did not always mesh with those of others.

New Berne, being North Carolina's capital, was one of these pockets.  Raphael was a respected member of society, often invited as the 'foreign guest' to functions.  His double life suited him for now.   

Barrel sailed his vessel to his usual spot and anchored. He was a broad-chested man who enforced a strict sense of discipline on board, yet lived with a very different personal code. Protected from the elements by trees, and with the draft of his vessel small enough that not many big ships could near him, the secluded spot outside Portsmouth Village served him well.  The trees also made it very difficult for someone to see the vessel, Aesthetic, from the shore unless they were on the bluff high above the trees. 

He had named her Aesthetic as part of the face he presented to the world as Josiah Sanchez -- the crazy hermit.  The former monk preached little of the faith that had once sustained him through many years.  Instead, he spoke at length with people about finding beauty around them, and to appreciate the little things as they saw them.  The Aesthetic, when he first bought her, was nowhere near beautiful; in fact, she was quite rundown.  Yet he saw the beauty in her, hidden by years of neglect, and hence, the name. 

With considerable hard work, patience, and prayers, Josiah had made her seaworthy again, giving him a legitimate excuse to sail away for days and not have anyone looking for him.  This suited him, allowing him to stay on Vengeance longer when needed.  He kept up the misconception that he was less-than-lucid on occasion, in order to keep people from prying into his affairs.  His hands created various things – furniture, jewelry, beadwork, whatever – and sold some of it for legitimate funds.  Recently, he finished building a bedroom set for a couple in New Berne, using the Aesthetic to deliver and give him more cover.  

The intolerable situation of being here when he was needed elsewhere weighed heavily on him, but the Aesthetic was not ready for a long-term voyage. That would take more funds and time.  He saved what money he could and sent the bulk where it needed to go in England. Josiah still regretted the one night of drunken behavior that had led to his impressment onto a British Navy vessel, and forced working voyage.  It still upset him to think about it, and his escape from that life.  But that was then, and right now, he was tired. He had not time nor care to think of what was; he was doing what he could.  He collapsed in his bunk.  Josiah didn't even bother to take off his boots, falling asleep the moment his body went horizontal.

Tiny, the ship's Master Gunner, a.k.a. Samuel Butler, found his way back to the blacksmith's cottage where he earned his living when not traveling with the crew of Vengeance.  He sighed, pleased with his life, and glad that they had all survived another trip.  His guns worked extremely well, as they should since he'd made them, and that brought him a measure of pride.

He planned to drill his boys some more on faster reloading, and he wanted to talk to the Captain about more guns, but now was not the time.  Everyone was too tired. It was a rough trip, physically and emotionally this time around.

A big man with a full beard, wide chest, and muscular arms, "Tiny" earned his shipboard name for what he was not.  As Samuel curled up against his new wife, she rolled over in her sleep and cuddled against him.  When she woke, he knew she would greet him properly, but for now he settled for the small comfort and let himself drift to a contented sleep.

Rafe Mosely, Peacock, returned to his lonely home on the outskirts of New Berne.  His father was a staunch Loyalist, and had evicted his son from the Mosely farm because the elder Mosely felt his son held too many radical ideas.  Ideas, the elder Mosely preached, that went against the natural order of things and were in direct conflict with God's work.  He threatened to turn his rebellion-believing son over to the current governor, Josiah Martin, who was a Loyalist through and through. 

Whenever the threats of exposure were raised, Rafe only reminded his father of the fact that Rafe's sister, Claire, had been kidnapped by Indians and not seen since.  Because that cast a Scandal on the family name, Rafe played along with his father's claim that Claire died not too long after her capture, and the bereaved family buried her "recovered" body.  In actuality, they had buried an empty coffin.  Rafe still believed that Vin knew more than he was telling, and it rankled him to no end.  But he figured patience was a virtue – one of the many lessons Reverend Mosely taught – and that he might learn something if he practiced that virtue.   

So the son and father blackmailed each other, and lived in separate residences.  Rafe kept up his image as a style leader in society, while his father preached religion every Sunday, and hosted Bible Study for the men every Tuesday.  The son often excused himself from the services and study groups, presenting invitations to various balls and socials that benefited the father's church.  Some of these required several days' travel and weekend stays.  Amazingly, Rafe, with his captain's help, usually made the events he was supposedly attending, giving him credibility.    

Therefore, no one questioned Rafe's frequent absences, his father least of all.  There was too much at stake for both of them to allow the other to upset the delicate balance.  Being around each other for extended periods caused turmoil, so they limited their contact to as little as Society would allow. 

Nathan followed the trails on his employer's plantation with a number of freed slaves that served as crew on the Vengeance.  They served willingly, because the Vengeance freed any slaves they encountered.  The crew arranged passage for the slaves to the Islands, and from there, back to their homes, or a fresh start with anti-slavery friends. 

Aboard, the freed slaves that served as Vengeance crew accepted Nathan as their leader, for he was who kept them organized.  He looked out for them by making his – and their - concerns Captain Vengeance's concerns.  All knew their capture meant their death or slavery, but it was a risk worth taking to free other slaves, and to take back the fruits of their labors illegally seized by pirates.     

On the Travis Plantation, Nathan served as a fisherman, bringing in the catch whenever he could.  His other function as the healer for the dark-skinned population earned him respect, and he could always be counted on to be a strong fighter and cool head when needed.

Now, he returned to the cabin that he shared with his father Obediah, and hoped to share with his future wife, Rain.  Rain, having come from the Islands with her father, Eban, had joined the community after the Indian tribe they'd been living with was wiped out by disease.  Travis always treated them fairly, and both Eban and Rain earned their keep.  Rain helped cut and sew the sails that the plantation's fishing fleet used, and Eban worked the ropes that comprised the rigging.  Their work also helped keep the Vengeance afloat; the pair shuttled to the ship whenever repairs needed to be made. 

The black man often grinned when he frequently saw Eban and Obediah sitting beside each other near the others, making ropes while directing other workers.  The two men enjoyed debating and good-naturedly harassing each other, pleased to find a steady friend.  That their children planned to marry was a bonus. 

Nathan smiled again, thinking of Rain, and he looked forward to seeing her tomorrow. Of all the things he had come to value, she ranked among the highest with him.  He hoped to make enough during his trips on Vengeance to find and buy the freedom of his rest of his family, and he wanted to do that before taking on a wife.  However, he'd already promised himself to Rain, and worked twice as hard to insure he would be able to do both in the very near future.

If only they didn't have to live in the darkness, hiding behind masks…but it was the way things were, unless they wanted to be attacked, exiled, enslaved again, imprisoned by the Loyalists, or receive the ultimate punishment – hanging.  Troubled with his thoughts, he turned them back to Rain, letting the dream of her beauty nudge him into sleep.   

Ezra Standish, or at least that was the name the villagers knew him as in the colonies, gratefully left the schooner.  He'd carried other monikers in his previous life, and was never abject to changing it if needed.  His shipmates and the less savory business clientele he dealt with as a member of Vengeance knew him as Morgan Ambrose Roth, "Morgan" for short.  Only a handful knew his true identity on board: the senior officers.  Returning to his home, he quickly rediscovered the comfort of his feather bed, and the enticing feel of his down pillow.  The Scottish-born man had often dreamed of living with this type of luxury, and he'd found it here, an ocean away from his homeland. 

With Orin Travis, Ezra found himself in an almost perfect situation.  He ran a successful mercantile in New Berne, selling goods to the citizens, laughing the entire time because some of it came right off a pirate vessel.  He was careful what he stocked in the store, because he did not want anything traced back to him, or his friends.  So he chose the sturdy, everyday fabrics, and a few exotics; but mostly he kept to things that would sell easily - sugar, rice, indigo, butter, and molasses.

His home, situated behind his mercantile, was small for his taste, but elegant.  Still, for it size, it was one of the larger homes in the colony.  He often held gatherings – proper, stuffy affairs -- in his parlor and dining room that followed every rule of convention for Society.  Not only did he feel he was participating in affairs that were a part of his station in life, the events could be a wealth of valuable information at times.  Society knew better than to snub him, or treat him as a lesser man for being a merchant: they all needed his goods or his connections to sell their own products.  It was one of the benefits of the Colonies – merchants were not considered lower class here, as many were in England.   

Ezra's other gatherings – those of a more disreputable nature – were held in the basement of his mercantile, accessible by the rear, or through a secret passage known only to a handful. 

His sideline work on Vengeance was part of his involuntary Gentleman's Agreement with the Magistrate Orin Travis, but he found he enjoyed it. Not specifically the manual labor of running the ship, but the respect of being Prize Master, the responsibility that came with that position, and, finally, the utter joy in opening a hold and discovering the treasures.  Not to mention the delight of putting one over on the British imbeciles that thought they were their betters.

With thoughts of a rich pirate prize filling his head, Ezra drifted off. He dreamt of forgetting his days of secrecy, and perhaps reclaiming his former life.

Chris and Vin led the tired, happy sailors from Vengeance back to Larabee's horse farm.  Many of the crew joined from the farm, enticed by the riches and thirsting for retribution like their Captain.  Vin and the others split off before the main house, leaving Chris to continue on alone, to his empty house.  

Sarah Larabee and the adorable boy, Adam, had not deserved their fate.  The whole family had been loved and respected by the community and those that worked for them.  Many who called the prosperous farm home felt the same need for justice that the owner did, and wanted to do everything in their power to make sure that the wife and heir's tragic deaths were not in vain.  That some good could come of it, if only to make their boss happy again. 

Chris knew they cared, and it touched him that they would risk their lives, but the fires for personal vengeance burned deep within his soul.  The British deserved their fate, and the pirates could be sent to hell right along with them.  It was not fair, he thought, and then stopped himself.

Working himself into an emotional state was not good for him, and he knew it.  Captain Vengeance had to present a cool façade to the world, and Chris Larabee's temperamental attitude needed to wait until they started work the following day on the horse farm. 

Stepping into the foyer of his home, Chris allowed the tight reins on his emotions to fall off, staring at the beautiful portrait of his family - wife, Sarah; son, Adam; and a smiling Chris - painted right before the better part of him had died.  His heart wrenched every time he saw that portrait, because he knew a cold, empty bed awaited him. 

There was no help for it; Chris carried his weary, lonely self upstairs to that empty bed and undressed. He curled himself around a cold pillow between chilly sheets, slowly crying himself to sleep.

In the decent-sized cottage allotted to him, Vin Tanner climbed to the loft and opened the trap door that let him stare at the stars.  Chris made him keep this cottage as part of his position as lead horse trainer, but it did not mean that he liked the closed in feeling of sleeping indoors all the time. 

He built the trap door in the roof to give him the access to the stars he had once lived under for a time. Vin played by, and understood, many of Society's rules for proper behavior; he just did not always chose to follow them.  They might know he wasn't a proper gentleman, of the station of Larabee or Travis, but he was refined enough to be allowed on the fringe.  Especially when he proved his worth as an exceptional trainer for horses.

After spreading out his pallet, blanket, and pillow, Vin stripped and stretched out, preparing to sleep naked, the way he was the most comfortable.  Staring at the stars, he wondered about the rightness of what they did, and figured those two women were better off, at least since the crew of Vengeance interfered.  Anything from now on would be better than the price they paid captured by pirates.  At least they were free and alive.  With the sinking of the Dorsey, many innocent ships now could pass the Outer Banks without being molested, leaving only the British attempting to enforce their tariffs and Tax Acts. 

He rubbed his neck while he thought of the British and remembered how he found himself a part of this clandestine crew.  It was a good crew…diverse, but good.

Vin punched his pillow once, trying to find a comfortable position, finding none tonight.  As he drifted toward sleep, he wondered how soon the talk of war would turn to reality, and if they were truly ready for what was to come.

Morning dawned brightly over Portsmouth Village and the residents stirred, waking for the day.  Many were already up before the dawn, but even more grabbed that last little bit of needed sleep. 

Buckingham Wilmington, Buck to his friends, opened his tavern for breakfast, barely able to keep his own eyes open.  Having spent days aboard ship, and sailing up one end, and halfway down the other of the North Carolina coast, he was exhausted.  However, none of his patrons could know about his activities, because Rakehell and Buck Wilmington were two separate people.

He greeted the residents with false good cheer, telling a few of them tall tales about his latest "expedition," his personal euphemism for privateering. It provided a legitimate reason for leaving the village.  Since he always came back with new goods, the residents of Portsmouth Village assumed precisely what he wanted them to: that his "expeditions" were buying trips.

His able partner in the tavern aided him in his subterfuge.  Inez Recillos ran the tavern in his absence, their partnership platonic and profitable for now.  It might be rare to be partnered with a woman who was not a wife, but Buck was not one to appear conventional by any means, and Inez was of a fiery independent nature to hold her own with the rogue.  If not, he was sure he would hear about it from her cousin, Raphael Cordova de Martinez.  The fact that the two were related kept the dealings between Buck and Raphael more interesting.

Buck said nothing to anyone about his trips being more than what they were believed to be and longed for a respite of a few days before having to disappear again. Since his place was a source of current information, he forced his ears open and talked when required, listening more than speaking.  Knowing the luck of the crew, something would come up soon enough requiring their attention.

Anger filled him as he read the letters and papers captured from the Dorsey.  It was more proof that Stewart James was a greedy son-of-a-bitch, and he did not respect the hard work of anyone else. 

Magistrate Travis took the letter of rebuke to two different places. The first was a clandestine meeting of high-powered persons looking to improve the lives of the Colonists.  As expected, it had outraged the group, and the tide of emotion slowly turned further in favor of the Colonies, versus letting the British regulars handle Stewart. 

The second place Travis took the letter was to the Governor's mansion, and he spoke at length with Josiah Martin and his closest aide, Matthew Davis.  Neither wanted the letter's contents to become public during these volatile times, and Davis took possession of the letter.

Travis knew the letter would be destroyed before he left the grounds, but in his position as a supposed Loyalist, he brought it forward to keep his own subversive activities secret.  When pressed for further information about the origin of the letter, Travis explained it was recovered as part of a shipwreck.  The Dorsey apparently broke up on the Outer Banks, and the people who salvaged her brought him the Captain's papers.  The ones that read them, Travis assured the pair, were Loyalists through and through, yet he did not give their names. 

The Governor excused himself at that point, and Matthew Davis issued orders for the Magistrate, Loyalist that he was, to forget completely about the Dorsey.  No mention of the Dorsey would be entered into the official records.  Free to speak, Davis brought up the topic of the Vengeance possibly being responsible for the Dorsey's unfortunate demise, since the aide blamed everything that went wrong at any time or against Loyalist interests on the Vengeance.  Matthew Davis issued new orders: if any member of Vengeance's crew was discovered, he was to be taken prisoner immediately, and turned over to the British regulars.  The prisoner would then be shipped to England, and King George would make an example of the poor soul. 

Orin Travis left that meeting unsettled, and more determined to make sure that this travesty would become known.  His first piece of proof was going to be ashes in order to protect his cover, but there would be more.  He knew now that he needed to get the evidence out of North Carolina, and into the hands of people that could do good with it. 

With the impending arrival of a new commander for the British troops, one directly from England without any major ties to the colonies, things looked a little uncertain for how long things could continue the way they were.  They looked even shakier about whether or not certain disappearances would eventually be noticed and commented on.  That was something the Magistrate had to prevent.  None of the Vengeance's crew could ever be captured – he would do everything in his power to prevent it. 

He started making plans to evacuate the Vengeance's crew if necessary, and drew Ezra into the planning.  Between the two of them, they laid the groundwork for evacuation, armament, and safety, if push came to shove. 

The way current events were going, push was probably coming soon.

THE END

Author's Note: Josiah Martin was the real Governor of North Carolina, and he was a Loyalist.  The character of Matthew Davis was created by the authors, and does not bear any semblance to attached to Josiah Martin's staff or office.  Matthew Davis was created to assist in plot development without compromising actual historical figures. 

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