Chapter Twenty-Three: Parley or No Parley
Kei
"Is the plan clear?" the captain asked as he concluded his explanation.
I nodded in affirmation and caught Hayate's eye, who was doing the same. He returned my gaze impassively, but I thought there was a hint of a threat underlying the silent exchange. I almost smirked, as I thought of the irony in his idle threat. It was I who would be doing the threatening after all, given the information I had collected about his weakness.
It had been almost a fortnight ago shortly after the Pretear suffered the assault from the sea monster the captain had affectionately dubbed Fenrir. I was looking for the weaponsmaster; I had been tasked with the unpleasant duty to inflict punishment upon him for his error in judgment in ordering the first volley of cannon fire. He was such a broken man that I did not deem much would be necessary to make him cowed into submission.
As I neared the armory, I paused at the sound of several voices. One was the weaponsmaster's voice, the other the boatswain's—and the last most likely that brat of a cabin boy's. They were discussing the cabin boy's failed attempt at freeing the prisoners—one of my finest moments in enforcing discipline—when the boatswain shared an account of his failed attempt as well.
"…Captured, yet free from the Pretear, I decided this was my chance," the boatswain narrated.
"Chance for what?" the cabin boy piped up, interrupting the boatswain's narration.
I, too, wondered the same. What opportunity did he see in being sold as a prisoner in Tortuga? With his slender frame, it was more likely he would end up in a brothel for customers with those interests rather than in manual labor. I could not understand the advantage in that.
"It was my chance to find out more about what happened to my sister," he stated.
"Your sister?" asked the weaponsmaster.
I leaned in closer to the open doorway for the boatswain had suddenly lowered his voice.
"I came aboard the Pretear for one reason—to find out what happened to my sister. She was aboard a passenger ship, the Amity, destined for London when accounts say pirates attacked the ship. The Amity, her crew and her passengers—including my sister—have been missing ever since…" the boatswain paused, my guess because she became too overcome with emotion to continue. Silly sentiment.
My mind, however, was already spinning its gears. The Amity sounded familiar—I would need to check my logbook for further details. Unless, of course, this was before I joined as a member of the Pretear's crew.
"My father—a merchant—went on a quest to find her, but never returned home. I decided it fell to me, so I used both my father's business connections—and other not so reputable connections—to gather information about what happened to the Amity. All leads pointed to one pirate ship—the Pretear. I tracked the Pretear to the Caribbean…and well, Go, you know the rest," he concluded.
"I'm sorry…" the weaponsmaster said. His apology—as worthless as those words were—sounded so heartfelt I wanted to snort.
"I am hoping against hope that she is still alive out there somewhere, but given the captain's hobby…" the boatswain said in a voice tinged with despair and anger.
"We'll help you find the truth," the cabin boy said, "And we don't know for sure what happened. She could be out there, waiting for you to come rescue her and bring her home."
"Thank you, Mannen," the boatswain replied.
I had heard more than enough. There was a strong chance that the captain had indeed killed the girl had she been a decently pretty thing. In which case that determination to find information would turn into pure revenge. While I had nothing against the captain—he was a capable man who focused on the results—I owed him nothing as well.
I headed back to peruse my logbook. I peered at the first entry I had made as second mate aboard the Pretear:
May the 14th of the year 1574
Capture of the Spanish galleon La Valentía at Thirteen degrees N, Seventy-One degrees W:
Casualties: Five crewmembers wounded, two dead.
Loot:
Fifty-four chests of doubloons
Twenty-one chests of gold bars
Twenty-six chests of silver coins
I stopped reading partway through the entry. That had been a good capture; lots of valuable loot was obtained that had funded many of the expeditions that had occurred subsequently. But no prisoners were taken as part of the capture. I flipped to the next entry—an inconsequential capture of a small merchant ship with tobacco and cotton as its primary loot—and the next—the destruction of a rival privateer ship—and the next.
After reading through my logbook for the latter part of the day, I found it sorely lacking any information regarding the Amity. I pursed my lips in frustration. Then it must have been before I joined the Pretear's crew, which would be consistent if the capture had been done near London. I had been part of the crew only for their forays in Caribbean waters. But I had bothered to read all of my entries because for some nagging reason the ship's name sounded damn familiar.
But if I did not have any catalogued information about it, only one other individual would. The first mate.
My duties had kept me busy until then, precluding my ability to investigate the matter further. But if I could extract some information now from the horse's mouth as it were…and so I followed the first mate after our meeting with the captain. He raised his eyebrow in question at me while continuing to exude a hostile aura.
"Is there anything amiss, second mate?" he asked stiffly.
"Since we are heading towards English waters, I wanted to inquire upon the Pretear's conquests there," I stated.
"That is irrelevant for the upcoming plan," he replied, closing the conversation as he closed the door of his cabin in my face.
I smirked. He could think he was protecting his secrets from me, but I would find out one way or another. And I knew just the idiot whom I could use to do so.
But unfortunately for me—but perhaps fortunately for the first mate and captain—it would have to wait for the moment. Preparations were already under way for the next game to conquer. And I was looking forward to it enough that I was content with putting my little project aside.
I was pacing on the poop deck, waiting for the signal. The captain had carefully marked the planned trajectories of several ships leaving English waters, heading to the Caribbean, based on reports he had received in both Port Royal and Tortuga. However, he had also calculated that such planned routes would become thwarted by storms, other ships and creatures like the one we had encountered. So we charted our course for the most likely path to intersect the route of several of these targeted ships to increase the likelihood of even a single encounter.
But it was a gamble, one that could prove futile. But if there was a chance for a plunder, the captain and my thoughts were one and the same. It was worth the gamble, the risk of failure. And so I waited.
"Hoist the Jolly Roger!" cried the boatswain from the crow's nest, the usual warning for an upcoming ship.
The Pretear was one of those notorious pirating ships that did not need to hide her true colors. Even had the skull and crossbones not been visible for all to see, the ship itself would be indication enough of our true identity. I was proud to be part of such an esteemed crew, but of course, it was not enough for me. But for now, I would play my part quietly. I would play the part that the captain had brought me aboard this ship in the first place.
I was nineteen years of age at the time, having been at sea as the hired muscle aboard the merchant ship El Corazón that had originally frequented Tortuga before it had become overrun with pirates. We had been on our way to make berth at Hispaniola when the attack came.
I first saw the skull and crossbones fluttering in the breeze, followed by the ship's namesake—the Pretear. What a foolishly delicate name for a pirate ship, I thought, about to dismiss the Pretear and her crew as trivial in power. And that was when I saw him. Crazed, violet eyes dancing in a hard-set expression of determination. He was a man not much older than I was but he held the conviction of a seasoned buccaneer. And in that single glance, I could see my own ambition reflected in his eyes.
As the battle raged around me, I stayed in the sidelines, watching and waiting to see who would be the ultimate victor. Within moments, it was evident that El Corazón was both out-gunned and out-maneuvered. Grappling hooks made purchase onto El Corazón and the crew of the Pretear made their way over to claim their spoils—and to eliminate the crew.
I had only moments to spare. I found the captain of El Corazón—a good man who had taught me much of my basic seafaring skills—and put my blade to his throat. As I saw the Pretear's captain cross elegantly from his ship to El Corazón in a single almost effortless leap, I made my way over to him to offer him what would be my ticket to join the crew.
"And who might you be?" he asked with an almost impatient and bored air. I caught his English accept and understood how I would play this out. I held my sword firm despite my hostage's whimpering protests.
"My name is Kei, native of Tortuga, at your service," I replied, making every attempt to accent my English with a strong Spanish flavor.
"At my service?" he asked, his lip curling.
"I am proficient with numbers and record-keeping, my Spanish is flawless and," I paused here to permanently silence my hostage, "I have a convenient lack of morals."
I could tell I had caught his interest then for I saw a glint in his eye.
"Very well, Kei. You are welcome aboard my ship, given that you earn your keep," he said, almost dismissively, but it was enough of an opportunity for me.
It was enough of a chance to make a fortune and a reputation for myself in the past decade in the Caribbean. I was looking forward to spreading my fame beyond those waters. And here was another chance to do so.
"Load cannons and aim north-northeast!" the weaponsmaster ordered. The gun crew was in action, loading the shots and gunpowder into each cannon. I kept my distance from the proceedings for my work was yet to come.
"Hold!" the first mate commanded just as the captain made his way onto deck.
The other ship—a sleek sloop that was clearly built for speed, not power—came into view. The gun crew waited, tense as the first mate called out an order for the boatswain's men.
"Unfurl the sails! Get as much wind 'hind her as ye can!" he barked as he took the wheel. He maneuvered the Pretear in a windward direction towards the approaching ship, thereby gaining a tactical advantage from the elements.
The sloop was now tacking against the wind in an attempt to avoid a confrontation. The Pretear was a larger vessel and therefore was more powerful than the sloop we pursued. And with the wind behind our sails propelling us forward, we now had the tactical advantage as well. We bore down on our target, closing the distance in a matter of minutes, but what felt like an eternity for me.
Now within range, the first mate called the command: "Aim—fire!"
The first volley missed our target entirely. Our opponent had turned their ship harshly starboard, now showing us their stern. While the stern was one of the more vulnerable areas of the ship, the drastic turn had also allowed them to face windward. Speed was once more their ally more than ours. We had but a fraction of a second to inflict any damage.
"Load cannons! Fire at will!" the weaponsmaster cried out.
A few of the gun crew loaded and fired their cannons in time to hit the stern of the sloop, but many of them fired far too late and hit empty air instead. The sloop was getting away. And then the captain fired his pistol into the air, as if challenging the other ship.
Several moments passed until our target ship turned abruptly to face us once more, hoisting a matching flag of skull and crossbones. The challenge was accepted. The game was now on.
Using the dexterity and easy maneuverability the design of a sloop provided, our enemy headed towards our port side, where many of the cannons were neither loaded nor aimed—as our captain had predicted it would play out.
"Gun crew to portside!" the weaponsmaster ordered. All hands on deck scrambled to portside, but the sloop had beaten us to the chase. Cannon fire erupted from their small vessel—low power but more accurate than most. Of the three cannons that had struck home, one had grazed the mizzenmast, the other punched a hole through the port side railing and the third had found purchase below the sea line.
"Boatswain! Take some of your men to repair the leak in the hold," the first mate ordered sharply. He nodded and hurried below decks to repair the leak, unknowing that a leak of that nature was precisely what the captain had desired. In fact, it was he who had steered the ship at the exact moment of cannon fire to receive that damage. It was a minor amount of damage, yes, but one that feigned weakness.
We reciprocated with a volley of cannon fire of our own, but each time a volley was exchanged, we either seemed to miss or take further damage. I turned to view the captain at his finest at the wheel, a wicked smile across his face as he gently rocked the boat with each volley. It took precision and a deep understanding of both his ship and the nature of the seas at that particular moment to pull a stunt like this.
And I wondered not for the first time—was he mad? We risked losing everything—our ship, our crew, our artillery, and our loot—all in this wild gamble that was now appearing wholly unnecessarily. The rewards from the capture would be handsome—by the expertise of our enemy, I could tell they had at least as much experience at this business as we did—but the game we were playing was a risk that did not need to be undertaken. We had the ability to take this ship by conventional means, which had not even been an option when the plan was proposed. Was this a ploy of the captain's, one that even I could not see through?
And the first mate began to lower the black flag of death, hoisting in its place a pure white flag.
"Hold fire!" the weaponsmaster cried out in confusion at the sight of the white flag of surrender. In all his years—and mine—aboard the Pretear, this ship had never surrendered. We had fled, yes, but never surrendered. The captain's pride would never have suffered it. Until now.
Cannon fire from both ships ceased and an unholy calm fell. It was time for me to step into action.
Grappling hooks were released as the crew from the sloop made their way over to our ship. They were outnumbered, so they remained cautious, sending only an envoy of five aboard the Pretear, while keeping the rest aboard their ship.
"Parley!" I called out, my hands raised in the air in defeat. The gruff man I had addressed—a man whose moustache rivaled my flowing locks—glanced in my direction and asked in rapid fire Spanish, "And who are you to demand parley?"
"My name is Kei, native of Tortuga. I am but a slave aboard this accursed English ship. If you would have me, I would gladly join your crew, to be able to serve the Spanish crown once again," I replied smoothly in Spanish.
He grunted, surprised to hear such fluent Spanish from me.
"From whence did you come? And why should my captain trust you?" he demanded.
I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could continue, one of the five placed a hand on the moustache man's shoulder as if to silence him.
"I will not trust you, but you will be the perfect hostage for me. I accept your parley and will allow you to negotiate with me—for yourself or on behalf of your captain," he concluded, ending with a chuckle.
I bowed to the captain in gratitude and followed him aboard his ship.
My hands were bound and the tip of a sword at my back was urging me forward, but otherwise, I was given free reign as I went aboard. I was brought to the captain's cabin and tied to the chair across from the captain. To my delight, we were left alone in that room.
"Speak. I am not a patient man, nor a foolish one. I know the Pretear's reputation; there was no way we so easily conquered her," the captain stated.
"You speak truth, sir. My captain—in his growing madness—thought it would be fun to feign defeat," I answered.
"And you were sent to negotiate peaceful terms while he went behind my back?" the captain hissed.
"Yes. And he predicted you would see through this ruse, and so sent me as an expendable crewmember as his plan went into action," I replied calmly.
"You do not appear to be one who fears for his life," the captain replied.
"No. I have never trusted my captain, nor he I," I remarked, leaving the implication hanging in the air.
The captain remained silent for a moment, stroking his robust beard as he thought.
"Very well. Bring me the head of your captain, and I will consider your position as part of my crew," he stated.
I bowed in acquiescence for the deal. The captain called one of his men—the man with the elaborate moustache I now assumed was the first mate—who cut free my bonds. I supposed he had been listening in to the entire conversation, standing by in case of any sign of treachery.
"You have one day, Kei of Tortuga. Bring me his head by then, or I will sink you along with the rest of the Pretear," he warned.