Three Swords' Revenge

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"A few hours ago, I was Leftenant Richard Cornwallis," he answered glumly, "but now that I've led an attack on a superior officer I've no reason to believe that there's anything left of what was a promising career in the Royal Navy." He waved vaguely at the pistol. "Put that thing away, man, you've no need of it. Any chance you know where a man might find some rum?"

***

Matty went back above, the note tucked away and the fiddlecase clasped tightly under her arm. She wasn't about to let herself be separated from it again anytime soon. A crewman beckoned to her.

"Capt'n Abbot's back on the Matilda, Miss, and he's calling fer ye. There's a rowboat waitin'"

Once on the navy ship, Abbot was easy to find. "Sit with Mr. Santiago," he ordered. "He's in no shape to be alone. Mayhap some of your music would help him rest." He left the cabin before she could protest.

Santiago was sleeping, if restlessly, so Matty sank cross-legged to the floor, pulled out the fiddle, and began to play.

 

Andrew looked hard at the man. He wasn't inclined to trust anyone dressed in a navy outfit, especially this grand... Then again, it DID explain a lot of things. The navy ship hadn't attacked the Horse, nor had the navy soldiers tried to board or kill any of the crew.

Slowly, Andrew put the pistol back into his belt.
"The name's Andrew, and if it's rum you're after,You'd best go to Cap'n Abbot. He keeps it in his cabin."

As Cornwallis left, the temptation of a drink, as well as the thought of finding out exactly what had happened at Port Royal proved too much for Andrew, and he followed.

[ December 08, 2005, 16:21: Message edited by: Firey ]

 

Abbot walked slowly back to his cabin. Before he even made it there someone spoke behind him, "Sir... I think you ought to se the brig..." Abbot turned and looked at the man. He was pale and looked ready to lose his dinner across the main deck. Abbot brushed past him as he headed below, wondering what could have been wrong. He walked into the brig, regardless and took a step back beside himself.

"Good God." he whispered as he saw the mess of blood and bodies. He stumbled back, his vision starting to blur. He moved out of the door and slumped against the wall. The last of his crew were dead, slaughtered by the Red Hands. He'd never seen anything so horrific in his long days as a pirate. It took him good few minutes before he managed to force himself back into the brig. He knelt by the bodies, staining his boots in blood. Only a large axe could have done that much damage.

He spat on the floor before he left, his mind reeling as he went back onto the main deck and then to his cabin. He dropped into his chair and stuffed tobacco into a long stemmed pipe, leaning back and touching a flame from a lantern to a piece of wick to light the pipe. He took a long draw and held it in for a long time before he managed to stand again.

He was all too aware now that his ship was filled with navy sailors and most of his crew were dead. He needed time to think. He needed to either get rid of the sailors, or somehow manage to get them on his side.

 

Cornwallis heard Andrew's footsteps behind him, and turned. "Changed your mind about a drink, then? This was nasty business, tonight, I'm sure many will be looking for a bit of rum-soaked solace. Where is your captain's cabin, anyway?"

 

"I never said a word against a drink, nor would I ever after a night like this." Stepping past Cornwallis, he motioned for the man to follow him, and led the way to Abbots cabin. The door still hadn't been replaced, so he stepped in.
"Cap'n Abbot, sir?"

 

"Andrew?" Abbot asked, surprised, "I could have sworn you were dead until now. Good thing you're here - you can start finding out who's dead and who's alive, considering I have no quartermaster to do the job just now." Abbot dropped a set of papers on the desk, a set of signed articles. "Get going sailor." Abbot took a draw from his pipe as a disgruntled Andrew scooped up the papers. "Before you go..." Three Swords threw him a small bottle of rum from his desk, which Andrew caught deftly. "Cornwallis? How can I help you?"

"I could do with a drink."

Abbot nodded, "Aye and myself. God knows you deserve one." Three Swords lifted himself from his seat and walked to the drink cupboard. Swiftly, he unlocked the large padlock and took a bottle of brandy and two glasses inside and walked back to his seat. He gave each glass a good portion and took one for himself.

Cornwallis took a surprisingly large gulp from his, downing half of it's contents before finding himself a seat. His face contorted as the brandy slid down his throat and he choked. "It's hard if you're not used to it." Abbot said, talking more of the battle than the drink. "I assume you've seen the brig."

"I had only heard of it." Cornwallis replied,

"Well then, you'll know now that I have very few men at my disposal, which means I'm taking yours." Cornwallis' eyes widened. "Wait before you say anything. I'm the most experienced sailor on this ship - you're a fine officer, but you're still a child by my way of thinking - and it is still your duty to hunt down the Red Hands for the sacking of Port Royal. It is, as you said before, the law." Three Swords took a drink of his brandy before he went on,

"It is not just the Red Hands we have to kill - but another. One of the Captain's council in Freetown" Abbot stood, "You see, I learned at the governor's party why the Red Hands are hunting us - well, what's left of my crew. It turns out, some weeks ago, I came across a merchant ship in open waters, decided it was easy prey and attacked. What I did not know is that the family of one of the Captain's Council - a certain Captain Duncan Craile - happened to be on the ship. Needless to say, no-one aboard the ship was left alive. After that, Captain Craile hired the Red Hands to slaughter myself and my crew for what could only be a very, very, hefty purse."

"Now, the way I see it, you have an obligation to take down the Red Hands now - but you also have the obligation of helping me kill Craile, considering he was the man behind it all. What do you say?" Before Cornwallis could answer though, Abbot added, "Remember that this is beneficial for the both of us, I get to live and you get to save your carreer."

 

The sunlight turned her hair the color of fire, the same color as the elaborate dress she wore; Ricardo smiled as he held out his hand to her.

Alexa stepped forward, his smile echoed on her face as he took her hand and pulled her closer; she looked up t him, her grey eyes alight with devotion.

“Llamita… my Little flame….”

”Yes… yours, always…”

Ricardo groaned, twisting on the bunk. Images swam through hishead, images he knew were too good to be true.. But he could feel the sun on his skin, the heat of her body and the softness of her skin…

The clouds appeared out of nowhere, stealing away the warmth and light. Ricardo felt cold dread coalescing in the pit of his stomach as the fire in Alexa’s hair dimmed, the light bleeding out of her eyes…

”No!”

He could not move, he could not do anything as she slowly began to fade, turning insubstantial before his very eyes…

“Llamita... Alexa.…” Ricardo choked out, his hands twisting into he sheets, "I cannot lose you again…”

 

Cornwallis thought swiftly. Abbot was right, fighting the Hand was the only possible chance he had to salvage his career, as much as he loathed the idea of answering to a pirate. He swallowed more of the brandy, wincing less this time.

"You're right, Captain. I shall join your crew, at least for the duration of the conflict against the Red Hand. They are a scourge to be purged from both land and sea." He left the remaining implications unsaid.

"I'd best get back to the Matilda, there were no other officers aboard. How many men do you need? Remember that there is only a skeleton crew."

***

At Santiago's voice Matty stopped playing and scrambled to her feet. There wasn't much she could do, just mop the man's brow with some cool cloths. She winced to see the painful-looking shoulder wound. Thinking suddenly of what Valerie had done for Daniel, she set to ripping the dirty sheet into strips.

 

Andrew took the papers, and with a nod left Abbot and Cornwallis to talk. Walking down the corridor, he started flicking through the articles. Upon reading the second name, his mind flashed back to the cell. Turning on his heel, he ran through the ship. As he got closer to the brig, a horrible smell filled the air. He pulled the cell door open, and was confronted with a scene of unimaginable carnage. There was blood all over the floors and walls, and parts of sailors scattered around.
Andrew stumbled backwards out of the room, and almost collapsed around the corner. Opening the bottle of rum, he took a long swig and shuddered, offering up a quick prayer. He dropped the papers onto the floor, and pulled out all those for the other sailors who had been in the cell with him. With a sigh, he scooped up the rest of them and headed for the deck in the hope that he'd find some of the crew still alive.

 

Abbot stood, "Thank you, leftenant. I should only need a few men to run the Pale Horse moving again - we should be in Freetown by first light, and there will be no shortage of sailors and mercenaries for what we need to do." Three Swords led the Leftenant out, "You have a ship now - for the time being - I suppose that makes you a captain."

 

Daniel looked up and saw his mother coming down the corridor towards him with two navy sailors.

"His back is pretty bad, mom."

He was about to protest his mother's orders, when the sailor took him in a grip and lead him away.

"I'm sure I could help out a little," Daniel mumbled under his breath with the insolence only teenagers are capable of.

Once he got back to his hammock, he found that he was tired, and probably could use another few days of rest. Why did mothers always know best?

[ December 12, 2005, 19:56: Message edited by: Scot ]

 

Matty was hesitant to go below decks again. Even though the green dress was dirty and torn in a few places, it wasn't beyond hope and she wanted to keep it that way. She didn't think that would last long in the crew's-hold. Instead she went forward, where she found the navigator, trying to make sense out of the jumble that his collection of maps had become.

"Can I give you a hand with that, M. Vendelin?"

 

Alexa nodded and headed down to the hold. As she surveyed the carnage in the brig, she felt her bile rise. This was far worse than any crisis she had witnessed in her time as a sawbones.

As she approached, she saw her son kneeling over the injured bounty hunter and frowned. "Lad, get back into bed now! You are in no shape to be up and about." She scanned the men who were in the hold, then pointed at one who looked to be one of the Navy men. "You, take this lad to a bunk and make sure that he stays there." She looked at Daniel, eyes flashing. "And no trying to help other injured. You keep moving around, you'll destroy those bandages and make yourself even worse off."

The startled Navy man looked as if he were about to argue, then looked at the expression on Alexa's face, and went to escort Daniel to a bunk.

Alexa watched the two leave, then turned to treat Alistair, muttering about the stubborness of pirates. She worked quickly, binding the injuries as best she could, and praying that those ribs hadn't punctured the poor man's lungs.

[ December 12, 2005, 17:43: Message edited by: Laiwethel ]

 

Something in Jacques' back clicked as he raised his head to face Matty with eyes that were a good deal more sunken than when he had first left Freeport. He swept a salt-crusted fringe of hair out of his face and smiled, glad to have a distraction from the endless string of unfinished replottings that had turned his pristine maps into something more like the dance floor of several drunken spiders that had tripped up into an inkwell.

"Hello there, Matty. Aye, you'd be welcome to help if your eyes can make any more sense out of this scrawl than mine." He looked down at the weathered paper flickering weakly under his hands. "I think there's a map under there somewhere."

Sighing, he lifted a slender finger and hovered it around the centre of the crushed tangle of charcoal lines. "I think Freeport is somewhere there," he said, lowering his finger hesitantly. "Which means that we, since we're currently over, over..." The finger floated uncertainly again. "Damn it all..."

 

Abbot stepped out onto the deck, sweeping his eyes about as supplies and men were moved onto his ship. He glanced across at the Matilda and suddenly thought of Santiago. "Alexa!" Abbot shouted, he waited for a few moments before Alexa came up from below. Her hands were bloody - she must have been fixing up someone below. Abbot strode over to her, "Alexa, as soon as you're done with the rest of the injured I want you to find a way to get Santiago out of this damn fever. We'll need him when we reach Freetown. Now tell me what you can do for him?"

 

Andrew sat down on the deck of the Pale Horse. The papers were now split into two piles, living and dead. He had been around both ships, and still found few of the Horses crew. Abbot wouldn't be happy about this.

Standing up, he scooped up the papers. Abbot was on deck, talking Alexa. As she dashed away, Andrew stepped over.
"Cap'n, i've been around the Horse and the Matilda. The Red Hand took their toll on the crew."
He handed over a stack of papers. "Everyone here is dead or missing."
Andrew then handed over the remaining papers. There seemed to be very few of them... Better than none. "The remaining crew, sir."
With this, he fell silent. He hadn't wanted to be the one to hand the small survivers pile over.

 

Alexa pondered her options. "Santiago's fevered is he? There's only one possibilty that I can think of, but it's dangerous." She brushed her hair out of her face, leaving streaks of blood on her skin.

"We could submerse him in icy water, then wrap him in linen and repeat the process. The problem is, we could kill him. The human body is not designed to take that amount of extreme cold. But it is all I can think of." She glanced around the deck, then back to Abbot. "If we are returning to Freetown, I would like to get some more supplies. My medicines are running dangerously low."

 

Abbot nodded "Do it. I'd prefer him alive, but if he dies, so be it. Make sure you get him back to the Pale Horse before you start, I want to see how this cure works. As to your supplies... I may have to have a talk with the woman we joined with earlier, she says she can get hold of some." Abbot turned and started his search for Valerie.

 

"M. Vendelin, you seem ill. Come sit down, let me get you some water. I'll see what I can make of the maps."

Matty asked for a few pointers at first, but quickly became lost in deciphering the tangled lines of ink on the pages. Some of them were torn and had to be pieced together, but eventually a coherent chart emerged. She turned to the navigator but he had fallen asleep, so she muddled a bit longer until she was sure of where they were and where they needed to go.

But she couldn't leave the maps. There was something irresistable about them, about the secrets that held of where people had gone before and where she, Matty, might still go. Where would she go, she wondered, and what would she be when she got there?

 

Valerie looked up from the tourniquet she was tightening around the sailor's arm. "Alexa! Here's another. Not too bad though - get to those that need immediate attention, if there's any left. I think I've pretty much done all I'm capable of - me trying anything else would probably be dangerous. If you like, I can go keep an eye on Santiago and let you know if anything changes, until you try to effect that cure - I've gotten the impression you don't much like him, so there's little need to inflict his company on you. Plus, you're needed up here. I'm not. Oh, and...if anyone sees LeBihan, I have a claim to killing him...though I'm sure there's lots of people waiting in line."