(Disclaimer: Not mine.)
Just the Way it Should Be
Ragetti couldn't take it anymore.
Even with all of his strange and interesting surroundings, two straight days of hiding in the ship's hold had taken its toll on him. He was an antsy boy, and the idea of having to stay anywhere for such a lengthy time, even with this threat of being discovered looming over him, was something he could only bear with for so long. It was a problem that had plagued him his entire life, every time his mother had stood him in a corner or outside a tavern and ordered him to stay put. Ragetti had to keep moving about, and whether this overwhelming desire was the result of constant curiosity or something far more pressing, he would never know. What he did know, at least for the present moment, was that the crewmen were all gone, and he couldn't sit behind these barrels for another second.
Inquisitive blue eyes peered out from their hiding place, and seeing that no man was in sight, the boy dashed out on all fours. The hammocks were still rolled up and stacked on the upper deck from the day, leaving the crew's sleeping quarters strangely empty. Fortunately, this lack of obstruction gave the young stowaway a clear view of the stairway, and without any further delay, he leapt to his feet and scampered towards the moonlit exit.
But it was right then that Wood's thin temper snapped again.
"It ain't fair!" he yelled, slamming his fist down on the rail.
Ragetti stopped so abruptly at the sound that he nearly hit his face on the step in front of him. Startled, he quickly crouched down out of sight on the stairs and tried to stay still. He looked just like a nervous dog as he sat there, panting and silently hoping that his loud footsteps hadn't given him away.
Fortunately, Yager was much too frustrated by his younger companion to hear the dull commotion behind him. With a heavy sigh, he lowered the sword he'd been sharpening and sent Wood the glare of an exasperated father.
"What isn't fair?" he asked bluntly.
Wood pointed to shore. "The captain was mad at all four of us for foolin' around by the boom! How come those other two rats got to go ashore while we were left behind? They're troublemakers too!"
"So you think they should've also stayed behind?"
"Yeah!"
Yager knitted his bushy eyebrows as he stared deeper, trying to figure out the other man. "Why're you so keen on fighting anyways, Wood?"
"I'm good at it, that's why."
Yager arched his brow skeptically. "That good?"
"Oh, let up," Wood snapped, defeated. "You want in on the action just as much."
From where he was hiding, Ragetti couldn't see either of the men's faces, but he recognized Yager's voice and felt a bit relieved from it. Yager was a nice fellow; there was no reason to be afraid of him. Even so, the boy knew that Pintel'd told him to stay out of sight, and the unfriendly sound of Wood's voice was further reason to keep hidden. After another moment's pause, Ragetti carefully exhaled and began inching his way back down the stairs.
Once the youngster was safely below deck again, he immediately crept over to the first hiding place he could find: a row of slowly rusting canons that'd been tied to the end hammock posts. Ragetti's eyes were glued to the stairway as he ducked under the nearest iron barrel and squeezed himself in between two of the giant weapons, reluctantly accepting his imprisonment for now.
Yager smiled at Wood's lifeless accusation. "No I don't," he laughed. "An old sea bird like me could use a break every once in a while. And I think you need one."
"So you're just sharpening your sword for kicks then?" Wood asked, wryly lifting his brow.
The older pirate's smirk never faded. "Either that or I'm trying to make it look pretty."
The conversation died down shortly after that, giving Ragetti another touch of bravery bellow deck. Then the lad's curiosity kicked in, and he crawled out of his hiding spot to take a closer look at the cannon to his left. A lifetime spent on Tortuga obviously made him no stranger to such a weapon, but this was the first time that he'd ever been this close to one. Eagerly, Ragetti made the final dash to the front of the long barrel and peeked into the yawning hole that greeted him there.
It was much too dark to see inside the cannon, and the boy concluded after a few attempts that his arms were both too short to reach in all the way to the back. Was there anything in there? The stench of sulfur was certainly clear enough, but it might've just been an old smell; cannonballs weren't ones to take their odors away with them. The thought made Ragetti giggle dumbly to himself, then he moved back and studied the wooden floor in search of something to aid him in his expedition.
To his surprise, he saw light.
A thin stripe of moonlight, no wider than his little finger, stretching about sixty centimeters from end to end just off to his left. Puzzled, the boy glanced up at the ceiling and all around him as he looked for the light's source. A few seconds later, he did a double-take and finally rested his gaze on the glowing outline of a square on the wall nearby. He only hesitated for a moment before the giddy grin returned to his face.
Eagerly, he dashed towards it.
Like any ship, the Glass Urchin was equipped with its cannons for use in naval battles, which were said (and often proven) to occur more often and swiftly the further a vessel went out to sea. The wheeled iron guns were obviously much too large and heavy to be brought up and properly handled on deck, so they were instead fired through square portals on each side of the ship. The Urchin sported eight of such portals.
And on the starboard side, one of the four wooden cover panels was lifted open as Ragetti's dirty blonde head emerged to peer outside. The ominous wall of Pilón welcomed him from shore, prompting a silent laugh of amazement.
This certainly wouldn't be boring.
--------------------------------------------------
"No!"
Pintel had barely gotten the cry out before his opponent lunged forward. The balding pirate toppled backwards on instinct, wincing as he felt the end of the other man's sword graze his jacket, then staggered to his feet and bolted away without another thought. He paused only once to fish out his pistol, which he promptly began firing off randomly behind him.
His fellow crewmen were growing just as desperate. Off to his right, Pintel could see Rub crouched nervously behind a keg barrel as he struggled to reload his own pistol. Off to the left, Nequom was searching the second drunkard's now dead body for a replacement weapon. Ashby, who'd just been dragged into the chaos, had lost his sword and was swinging his prized helmet at his adversaries. They were all surrounded, all outnumbered, all fighting a losing battle…
Another struggling figure caught Pintel's eye just then, and he lifted his head to see Pellinore frantically striking down an unbalanced opponent. Winchcomb was just a short distance away from the captain, doing likewise with considerably more confidence. Their foes both disposed of, the two turned to face each other and bellowed out a further strategy.
"Captain!" Winchcomb shouted first. "What's yer plan now?"
"Where's the house?" Pellinore cried back.
Winchcomb gestured wildly with his sword. "Over that way! Past the taverns! We can make it if we run!"
Pellinore glanced feverishly around at his scattered crew. He'd been wise in his careful selection; all of the men he saw were still holding their own despite their poor odds. Even so, he knew that this good fortune wouldn't last them forever, and that he would have to act quickly if he wanted to profit anything.
"We'll make the run!" he responded. "We've come too far to leave! I'm getting what I came for!"
Winchcomb nodded and tripped slightly as he searched the crowd. A moment later, his pointed eyes suddenly fell on Cormac, and he pointed with his sword again. "You! Get over here, yeh slog! We need backup!" A second later, the crewman was sprinting towards him.
Then Pintel's bumbling form caught Winchcomb's eye as well, and the grizzled first mate glared at his underling from across the filthy, crowded battlegrounds.
"You too!" he snapped. "Get over here!"
Pintel gave no protest to this hasty recruitment and immediately scrambled forward. He could use some backup of his own right now. The other three barely waited for him to catch up before taking off.
Down the streets they tore, shouting and swinging their swords at any foe that tried to stop them. Their attackers all seemed to have realized that there was a captain in the anxious foursome, and every sea mutt that sprang at them did so in hopes of taking down a possibly important figure. Even in the hideous confusion of this senseless fight, some pirates were still able to hone their desires for infamy and its grim profit.
But Pellinore's desperate run wouldn't last for much longer.
"There!" he shouted, and for the first time since Pintel had met him, there was eagerness and life gleaming in the captain's eyes. "I see it straight ahead!"
Pintel glared ahead towards their objective, but in all the commotion surrounding him, he only registered it as a tall and run-down house. That was Captain Pellinore's plan: he wanted to break into somebody's house. It seemed like an odd goal, but once again, the balding pirate had no objections as he hurried along.
A big house with four walls would be nice backup too.
But just as Pintel was thinking this hopeful thought, one more wily opportunist decided to take a swing at their nervous little pack. The man was strangely thin for a buccaneer, but his skill with a blade was just as good as any, and his temperament just as violent. Quick as a demon, he shot out of the night shadows, and only Winchcomb's eye was keen enough to spot him in time.
"Arrr!"
The old sailor instinctively swung out with his sword, blocking the attacker's blow. His opponent only sent him a threatening snarl before advancing again. By now, Pellinore and the others were far ahead of the first mate, slowing slightly as they watched him engage in his latest skirmish. The captain in particular seemed reluctant to continue without his useful partner, and in one moment of conflict, stopped dead in his tracks. Winchcomb's priorities, however, were as straight as any pirate's.
"Keep goin'!" he roared, and swung at the thin attacker a second time.
"Aye aye!" Pintel readily complied. Then he and Cormac eagerly dashed off again, accompanied by a hesitant Pellinore. The strange house was just ahead of them; there was no sense in slowing their chaotic mission any further.
Another moment of tense running and the pounding of hearts passed, and then the three men finally reached that slashed front door and threw it open as one. Their final barrier out of the way at last, Pellinore and his two crewmen frantically sprang inside that mysterious abode and slammed the door shut behind them. For now, the fray outside could be ignored.
It was dark inside, save for a few dimly burning lanterns that hung from various places in the entryway. A faded Spanish pattern lined the blue walls, accented by the rusted remnants of an iron chandelier that hung perilously overhead. The house appeared to be some sort of headquarters—no doubt it'd been built at the same time as the original fort. Its first resident could have even been the commander of Pilón himself.
But these details meant nothing to the three intruders, whose eyes immediately flew to the staircase on their left. The course was clear enough to them, and they all sprang forward and barged up those steps without so much as a word of consultation. The muffled sounds of gunfire and clanging swords from outside only egged them on further, adding to the overflowing anxiety. Cormac took the lead as he raised his sword, and Pintel chimed in by snatching up a lantern and barreling on after him. Pellinore was scanning his surroundings as he brought up the rear, warily lifting his own weapon.
A long hallway met them at the top of the stairs, and once their eyes were fully adjusted to the darkness, the outlines of several open doorways became visible. Now the captain ordered them to split up.
"Mr. Cormac," he said in a firm but low voice, "Take the doors at the end of the hallway. Mr. Pintel, take the middle two. I'll search these two here."
Swords at the ready, they each crept over to their designated areas and continued the anxious hunt. Pellinore held his breath as he stepped inside his first room, his face pale with fear. A few meters away, Pintel thrust his lantern inside the room before him as a decoy for any enemy lurking inside. When the dimly glowing instrument remained fully intact, he slowly edged in after it. Cormac, however, had found a burst of confidence and gritted his teeth as he trudged through the doorway. Eagerly, he raised his sword higher as he entered the shadowy room.
And a muscular hand instantly latched onto his wrist.
The pirate jerked back in surprise, immediately over his fit of courage, and before he even knew what was happening, Pintel and Pellinore were right behind him with equally shocked faces. The mysterious hand moved Cormac's sword arm away firmly, tightening its unfriendly grip for emphasis. And then the rest of the figure leaned eerily into view.
"Yeh best not be usin' that now, mate," he purred.
Pintel was frozen in shock. The man was tall—almost inhumanly so—with the top of his head nearly brushing the low ceiling. His red beard was like fire wreathing his leathery face, and the black eyes that peered down through those flames made him look like nothing short of a demon. This was Scarborough, and Ashby's empty story about him suddenly wasn't so foolish sounding anymore.
"Scarborough," Pellinore said dismally. He'd lost a lot of his nerve now that Winchcomb wasn't standing beside him.
The tall man squinted down at him, puzzled for a moment, then smiled darkly when he finally recognized the captain.
"Francis Pellinore," he mused. "I see yer forthcomin's have done yeh no good."
As he said this, Scarborough stepped backwards ungracefully and slumped down onto the oak chair in front of his desk. His audience of three stared at him oddly at first, not expecting this move from such an imposing figure, but when he leaned back into the moonlight, the dull, distant look in his eyes became visible, they realized what was ailing him. The Scotsman was only half with them; he'd had more than his fill of rum as well.
This seemed to spark a hint of assurance in Pellinore, who stepped forward just then. He hesitated for only a second as he searched for the right response to Scarborough's comment.
"Oh, I bet to differ," he answered carefully. "From where I stand, you're the one sitting unarmed while the sword is in my hand. I should think my forthcomings have done me a world of good."
The other continued to smirk, unimpressed. "Aye, but a sword does a man little good if his hand doesn't know how to be usin' it. You just watch yerself when yeh meet a man who can handle a sword—that'll do yeh a world of good."
The English captain angled his sword downward a little more, closer to his surly acquaintance. "Enough," he said rigidly. "You stole something from me and I've come to reclaim it."
"So yeh have," Scarborough observed with an arch of his brow. He leaned forward a bit in his chair and shifted to his right, but Pintel noticed that the faded slyness never left his devilish fate. "Yer a determined man, to come huntin' me down for it. And I give yeh credit for it if these lads—" he motioned to Pintel and Cormac, "—didn't help yeh find yer headin'. But it seems a shame to hand over the goods now, after yeh've done so much to get here. Suppose yeh used yer huntin' skills one more time?"
Pellinore narrowed his eyes. "Do you mock me still?"
Scarborough didn't even blink. "Yeh've gone ninety percent of the way. Let's see if yeh can cover the last ten."
The captain clenched his jaw and nodded to Pintel and Cormac, reluctantly accepting the challenge. "Search the room."
The two crewmen set to it without a word, pulling open dresser drawers and rummaging through closets. At one point, Cormac retrieved a flat wooden box from under the bed and help it up for Pellinore to see, but the Englishman dismissed it.
"It's in a heavier case," he explained to them. "A chest almost. It's old ebony." All the while, he kept his sword pointed unflinchingly at Scarborough; he wasn't about to chance letting the shifty pirate captain move from his seat.
Cormac burrowed his brow at these unrewarding results and resumed searching.
Not far away, Pintel continued digging through the closet, though his focus was obviously more on Scarborough. Even sitting down, the man was a giant; his head must have still been a few centimeters higher than the balding pirate's. How had Pellinore come to know such an eerie seas man? And what game was Scarborough playing now by making them search the room like this? Pintel could feel his hands shaking now.
Was the Scotsman trying to buy himself time? Was he trying to delay them so some of his crewmen could show up? It sent a chill down Pintel's spine, the thought of a group of Scarborough's followers waiting for them just outside the house door, ready to cut off their escape.
Or to cut their throats.
Pintel's fingers suddenly gave way, and his sword clattered loudly on the floor. No sooner had he dropped his weapon than he dove down to pick it up. He was a nervous mess, and like always, he knew that his fear would only become harder and harder to hide. At last, he lowered his eyes from Scarborough's back, hoping to avoid Pellinore's questioning glare. Fortunately, as he did so, something on the floor caught his eye.
It was hard to tell in this darkness, but two of the floorboards beneath him appeared to be loose, like they'd been pried open a while ago and simply laid back in place. Cautiously, he placed his hand firmly over the nearest board and shook it. Sure enough, he heard the rattling of wood, and he grasped the board with both hands. When it lifted without the slightest resistance, Pintel felt a wave of hope rise inside him. His captain watched guardedly as his crewman pulled out the second floorboard and reached down into the gaping hole he'd created.
Pintel's face lit up. There was something inside. A second later, his fear now gone, he pulled out the unexpected prize—a heavy, tattered bag—and reached into that with just as much fervor.
Pellinore needed only to see a corner of the case to know that Pintel'd found it. "That's it!" he said with undisguised relief. "Bring it here." Pintel and Cormac hurried over to their captain and dutifully handed it to him. Pellinore shook the black case once, and smiled triumphantly when he heard shuffling and clinking inside. Clutching his objective tightly to his chest, he turned his attention back to the ominous Scarborough.
"A man needn't hunt, Captain Scarborough," he concluded, "when he brings the right convoy to do so for him."
"A pity," the Scotsman replied coolly.
Pellinore looked over at his shorter follower. "Mr. Pintel," he ordered smoothly. "As a reward, you may shoot our host through the head."
Pintel graciously retrieved his pistol. "Aye, cap'n." Then basking in his newfound confidence, he aimed his favorite weapon at their adversary and pulled the trigger…
Click!
There was a pause. Pintel stared down at his gun in confusion, then quickly fired it a second time. Again, no shot came out. Still, he continued squeezing his trigger, trying to keep the panic at bay.
Click! Click! Click!
Now Pellinore and Cormac were beginning to feel uneasy as well. What was wrong with the pistol? To Pintel, however, the mystery soon solved itself with the memory of him scrambling madly through the streets of Pilón…frantically firing his gun behind him.
He was out of shots; the pistol was completely empty. And worse yet, Pintel could see the sadistic amusement appearing on Scarborough's face as the demonic captain realized his dilemma. Suddenly robbed of his upper hand, and feeling very much like a cat that'd been caught with his paw inside the birdcage, Pintel could do nothing more than stare at the red-bearded pirate and force out a timid little laugh.
Scarborough returned the laugh with an unpleasant grin, and swiftly pulled open the top drawer of his desk—which he promptly retrieved his own pistol from.
His three guests were out of the room an instant before the first shot fired. Dust and splinters erupted from the opposite wall, then Scarborough leapt to his feet and gave chase. Out in the hallway, Pellinore and his crewmen were in a mad dash for the staircase.
"What the blazes happened to yer pistol?" Cormac shouted at Pintel.
"I used it up!" the shorter man cried back. "There's a lot of fings t'shoot outside!"
"Well get one that 'olds more shots next time!"
"Next time?" Pintel shrieked. "How d'yeh know there'll be a next time?"
"JUST RUN!" Pellinore bellowed over them.
Hope was no longer a luxury.
--
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(Yes! I finally updated! I got a HUGE case of writer's block in the middle of this chapter, so I'm really sorry for the long wait. The next chapter will be up sooner.)
Please read & review!
