The Adventures of Pocahontas and John Rolfe: Book I

Chapter 15: Catch Me if You Can

Flit darted out from the foliage and went straight for Spike-Eyes's face, buzzing around him like an annoying pest. The aforementioned pirate shrieked in a high-pitched voice and desperately attempted to swat the hummingbird right out of the air. "Blimey! The flies 'round here are massive like the one what stung the bosun!" he decried, running back to the crew. Flit only chased him for part of the way before turning back. "Cap'n! Cap'n! Tell no one to go over yonder, there's probably a whole bloody hive!"

Flame was not impressed. "Spike-Eyes, ye yellow belly! I oughta…"

"He's right," the bosun chimed, scraping the doe's innards out onto the ground. "We are in dire straights as it is. We cannot afford to have anyone in the crew lose an eye at this point," he spoke. He was no longer wearing his patch, as his ocular injury had completely healed. Still, the prospect of another such painful sting did not appeal to him in the least.

Flame rolled his eyes with a sigh. "Fine, bosun," he conceded. "Men, no one's to go over that-a-way," he commanded, pointing toward John Rolfe just as Flit returned to his side.

John Rolfe uttered a chuckle. "Flit, you never cease to amaze me," he whispered. "You made that cur scream like a little girl. Well done, my friend. You are a true lifesaver."

In response, Flit puffed out his chest and gave John Rolfe a proud look.

The Englishman squinted his eyes to get a better look at the crew. Their numbers had dwindled to under twenty men but they were still armed and dangerous. When he scanned one particular man he had to do a double-take. "It's him, Flit!" John Rolfe exclaimed. "I'd recognize that face anywhere! That fellow attacked me with a demon-possessed knife, remember?! But how could he possibly be alive after Pocahontas…" he whispered, tapering off at the end as he craned his neck for a better view. Upon further examination, Rolfe discovered that the man's arms were tied behind his back. The captive sat cross-legged on the forest floor with a dog by his side, waiting for his portion of the venison. "The pirates must've saved him somehow," Rolfe uttered. "He used to be one of them on the ship but now they've got him tied up like a hostage. I wonder what in the world could have changed between them," he murmured.

Flit shrugged, eyeing the mysterious individual and his tattooed visage. John Rolfe and his hummingbird friend kept watch over the pirates as they made a fire pit and roasted the venison. They were so ravenous from lack of easy access to food that they consumed every scrap of meat and most of the internal organs. "Don't eat the kidneys, ye nut. They taste like piss!" Demon Dave chided his friend. "Toss 'em to the mutts."

"I'm still hungry!" Patch Fiddick protested.

Demon Dave took a leg bone and positioned his knife at the end. He used a rock to hammer it downward, thus splitting the bone in two. "Marrow's where it's at, mate."

"If only we could find a village and raid it for supplies," Patch lamented.

John Rolfe gritted his teeth and turned to Flit. "We've got to steer clear of Siwili's village no matter what," he whispered, receiving a nod of agreement from the hummingbird.

"Would be nice to find some wenches too," Sick Phillip chimed. "Even the dumpy savage kind. Beggars can't be choosers, can we? Curse that Ignacio for stealing our Frenchies!"

John Rolfe raised a brow. "Ignacio?" he uttered, glancing at Flit. "Who the heck is Ignacio? I'm the one who freed the French girls." The hummingbird shrugged.

"To hell with wenches!" Patch protested. "I just want some'n to eat!"

"If we find that Ignacio, I'm gonna gut 'im like a fish!" Demon Dave growled.

Flame rose to his feet and flipped out his sword. "I'll decide what becomes of Ignacio once we get our mitts on 'im!" he ordained, pointing the tip of his sword at the offending commenter. He glanced around at the others. "Anyone got a problem with that?"

"No, cap'n!" came a cacophony of voices all around the campfire.

"Good!" Flame replied, sheathing his sword. "Now, hurry up, men. If we're ever to catch up to Señor Ignacio, we've got to move faster! No time to dawdle!" he proclaimed.

…

Adahy sat with Kelele during the meal. Though he had only been given a meager portion of the venison, he withheld any complaints. His goal was to lure the pirates into a false sense of security in preparation for his escape. Though he had been relieved of his pocket pistol and other supplies upon capture, the crew had not checked his boots for the demon blade. I sense a pure soul is close, the demon whispered in his ear. I must have it!

The men are watching, Adahy returned. I cannot possibly attempt an escape right now.

The blade's anger flared. We must come up with a distraction! it insisted. Adahy glanced at Kelele. The animal had not been bound because Adahy had sworn he would keep the very loyal French hound under control for the crew. Now, you're getting the right idea.

Adahy shook his head. I would rather not endanger my dog. There must be another way.

It's just a stupid animal, fool! the blade protested, sending a jolt of electric pain through Adahy's system. He screamed and collapsed on the forest floor, curling into a fetal pose.

Suddenly, every eye in the crew was fixated on the copper-skinned captive. "What is troubling you, savage?" Demon Dave inquired. He rose and marched over to Adahy, nudging him a bit with the tip of his leather boot. "Leftover rattlesnake venom, is it?"

Flame tossed a flask of water to Dave. "Oughta flush it out of the Injun's system, eh?"

As Demon Dave brought the opening of the flask to Adahy's mouth, the Copichican fervently shook his head in refusal. "No, it's not the rattlesnake's venom," he bit out. "It's just from an old injury. It will go away," he lied. You're attracting their attention. Was that not the opposite of our goal? Adahy pointed out to the demon. Please, stop what you are doing. I will think of something within the hour. You have my word!

You'll keep your word or I will take what I need from you, the blade swore, going inactive once more. Adahy allowed himself to relax once the pain had vanished entirely, sighing.

Adahy felt someone yank him upright into a sitting position. He glanced up at Captain Flame standing over him with a curious look on his ugly face. "Better?" Flame inquired.

The Copichican returned a nod. "Aye, sir."

…

"So tell me," Siwili began as he jogged through the woods with Pocahontas. Each had a heavy pack on their back supported by their hips with leather straps. It made the weight much easier to bear. The warrior's bow and quiver were, in turn, strapped to his travel pack. In his arms, Siwili carried a third pack intended for John Rolfe. Meeko and Percy trailed behind the two humans, keeping up an equal pace. "Why is it that John and Nicole look the way they do? Are they from the same tribe?" the brave inquired curiously.

Pocahontas shook her head, panting lightly. "No. John is English and Nicole is French. Their people are allies but they are not of the same nation. Their lands are very far across the salt water and close to each other. You need a giant canoe called a 'ship' to get there. A ship can carry hundreds of people and enough supplies to last for many moons."

Siwili's eyes widened at the mind-boggling concept but then he blinked in confusion. "You say they are allies but John appears to hate Nicole. Why?" he queried, cocking a brow. He had wanted to know the reason for the tension between the two for a while.

Pocahontas chuckled. "John does not hate all the French, only Nicole," she clarified.

"Why?"

Pocahontas sucked in a breath, reluctant to address the subject. "Nicole tried to kill me. She wanted John and I was in the way. I suppose she thinks I'm unworthy of him because I'm not white like her," she explained in an irritated tone. "She thinks herself superior."

Siwili's mouth hung open for a few seconds. "What is wrong with not being white?"

"Nothing. But, according to some white women, you must be pale to be pretty. I was told this a few times in Jamestown, an English settlement in my homeland. Their word 'fair' has two meanings: both light-skinned and beautiful. In other words, to be pretty is to be white. Some of the older women even advised me to spend less time in the sun."

Siwili shook his head at the concept. "You are beautiful, Pocahontas. To base beauty off of color alone is absurd," he said, making momentary but meaningful eye contact.

A little grin made its way onto Pocahontas's face. "Thank you. John thinks so too. He is traveling back to my homeland with me to ask my father for my hand in marriage."

"Ah, ha!" Siwili exclaimed, gazing excitedly at her. "I've been wondering if you two were married. So you do wish to wed once you have your father's permission then?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, John is very lucky to have you," Siwili asserted, "as I am lucky to have Awenasa." They ran for two minutes in silence before Siwili blurted, "Will you bear him children?"

Pocahontas flushed but chuckled lightly. "We haven't discussed it yet but I hope so."

Siwili grinned. "You want many children? How many?"

"Oh, at least six, I'd say," Pocahontas replied with a shrug. "Both girls and boys."

"I hope the Great Spirit blesses you with many fruitful years then, Pocahontas. There is nothing better than a woman who cherishes motherhood. It is wonderful to be surrounded by family. I'll pray you become a mother to many and a grandmother to even more."

"Thank you!"

Siwili looked thoughtful. "It makes me wonder what your children might look like with John's features and yours combined," he speculated, letting his imagination go to work.

Pocahontas smiled again, shrugging. "We'll have to find out. I'm sure they'll be lovely." She went silent for a minute as she pondered what the future held. A thought occurred to her. "Siwili, I need you to do me a favor," she suddenly said, glancing over at him.

"Yes, anything. What is it?"

"When we meet John, I need you to pretend I cannot speak Gunalo. John doesn't know of my gift nor is he aware of the existence of spirits. I plan to tell him when the time is right but I don't believe he is ready to know yet," Pocahontas explained. Siwili came to a stop. Pocahontas did the same and looked back at him worriedly. "Is something wrong?"

"John does not know about spirits?!" Siwili exclaimed, crinkling his face in disbelief.

Pocahontas shook her head. "Not yet."

"Spirits are everywhere. How could he possibly not know? That's like running through a forest and not knowing leaves exist. How could one not feel their presence? I admit I'm not clairvoyant like you but most people have at least one encounter by adulthood."

"He does not know to listen," Pocahontas explained.

John Rolfe's ignorance of such things blew Siwili's mind. "I thought everybody knew. The world is a stranger place than I thought," he said, starting to jog again.

Pocahontas picked up the pace. "It sure is. Believe me, I have seen some of the most incredible things. John's village, for one. It is huge, like bigger than you could ever imagine. There are literally thousands upon thousands of people crammed into it!"

"Sacred spirits," Siwili whispered to himself, his eyes widening. "What is it called?"

"London."

"Our village is called Comosamico," Siwili offered. "And our tribe, Gunalo."

Pocahontas smiled. "My village is Werowocomoco and my tribe, Powhatan."

…

The pirates had packed up their supplies and were about to move again. Demon Dave had wrapped a loose rope around Adahy's neck once the Copichican was back on his feet. It appeared the pirate would be using it as a leash. Dave whistled twice. "Come, boy. Let's get a move on," he teased, chuckling to himself from implying that Adahy was a pet.

The bound man kept calm, rolling his eyes at Dave's bad joke. He whistled for his own dog Kelele and then followed his captor. Flame was at the head of the pack, sword in hand. He pointed it northwest. "Bring the Injun over here so he can pick up the trail again for us, Dave." The aforementioned pirate approached and let Adahy walk ahead of him.

"Let them smell the boot again," Adahy said. Spike-Eyes came over and pulled a boot out of his sack, offering it to the dogs Kelele and Françoise. They both took a long whiff.

John Rolfe recognized it as his own boot. Then he realized he was positioned upwind from the pirates. Françoise immediately growled and pointed her nose straight west. Flit glanced at Rolfe with panic on his face but Rolfe just returned a grin. The opportunity was ripe. "Not to worry. This is precisely what I wanted. Just watch, Flit," he whispered.

Spike-Eyes glanced back at Flame over his shoulder. "Dogs aren't attracted to insects, are they?" he inquired, as the dog had just pointed them in the direction of the alleged 'hive.'

Captain Flame cleared his throat. "Not to worry, men. We'll just go around it."

John Rolfe picked up a medium-sized stone, tossing it lightly up in the air and catching it. He rose to his feet when the crew was distracted and chucked the stone directly at Flame's head, hitting him on the shoulder instead. Whoops! Oh, well, he thought just as Flame let loose an angry bellow. The Englishman held back a mischievous snicker.

"Who done that?! Who be throwin' rocks?" Flame roared, snapping a glare at his crew.

John Rolfe stepped boldly out from behind the autumnal foliage and into right plain sight of the crew. He cupped his hands around his mouth in order to loudly project his voice, shouting, "Don't you recognize me, chap?! It's John Rolfe. Surprise, surprise!"

Flit squeaked in laughter but kept out of sight.

The most impassioned ire overcame Flame's visage. He drew his brows together, flared his nostrils, and clenched his jaws and fists. His face turned dark red as his whole frame trembled in pure unadulterated fury. "You! Where's me ship? Blast you, hand it over!"

The crew was in a sudden uproar.

"It's Ignacio!"

Demon Dave pointed. "The Spaniard! It's him!"

"Stretch the thief until every joint in his body pops!"

"Where're our French maidens?!" Spike-Eyes demanded.

"Give yourself up, ye jackanapes!"

Meanwhile, the bosun reached for his machete. "Ivory Man," he seethed.

"Ignacio?" John Rolfe returned with an inquisitive expression. "Any dunderhead can see I'm as English as they come. I haven't a clue what any of you dimwits are talking about."

All the men turned their heads to glance at Flame questioningly. As soon as the captain saw this, he concealed a look of panic and drew his sword. He pointed it straight at John Rolfe. "Lies! We found a document revealing your true identity, Juan Ignacio!"

John Rolfe laughed aloud. "Well, someone must've forged it cause I'm telling you, I'm no Spaniard. But I suppose the lot of you can believe what you will, makes no difference to me. If you want your ship back, you've got to get me first. Catch me if you can, you ugly bugger!" He turned on a heel and darted back the way he had come, heading west.

"WE'LL SEE WHO'S UGLIER WHEN I'M DONE WITH THE LIKES OF YOU, FOP!" Flame roared. He thrust his sword westward with a furious motion. "After him, men! The one to catch him gets to make him suffer first!" he announced as the whole crew raced after the fleeing man. The captain spurred himself into a run as well and spotted the bosun up ahead. Flame caught up to him. "Bosun! I want ye to do me a special favor, eh? A former jungle dweller like you should make fast way through a forest. Take Françoise and split off southward from the other men. Then circle around and see if you can't ambush the Spaniard unawares," he proposed.

The bosun nodded and replied, "Aye, sir." He caught up to Spike-Eyes and took hold of Françoise's lead. "Captain's orders, mate. I'm to take the hound from here." Spike-Eyes did not have time to protest before the bosun sped off with the dog, veering off the trail.

Ten minutes later John Rolfe darted through the trees far up ahead, making a good head start for himself as he was very fast on his feet—particularly so when running for his life. Flit buzzed alongside him as he purposefully stomped on twigs, roots, vines, and low-lying branches to leave as obvious a trail behind him as possible. "I know I technically should be scared out of my mind, but quite to the contrary I seem to be having a good bit of fun," he chuckled to Flit who appeared to be in the same high spirits. He leapt gracefully over a small stream with all the agility of a young buck, landing squarely on a wide flat boulder, and then dashed off down another picturesque pine trail.

A high-pitched bleat came from up ahead, confusing John Rolfe and Flit at first. When they reached a medium-sized meadow, they found a familiar furry face crying out for its lost mother. Rolfe spied the fawn over the tall grass as it cowered by a protruding boulder, frightened and alone. Flit shot a glance of hurried concern to the Englishman.

"We can't leave her alone, Flit. Without a mum, she hasn't got a chance," John Rolfe asserted. He headed for the baby deer and scooped her up on the fly, cradling the little body safely to his chest. "It's alright, love," he cooed. "We won't let you go hungry."

They reached the end of the meadow as a gunshot rang out. The trunk of a young pine tree ahead of them exploded, so they quickly banked left and into the forest. "Don't shoot him, you nitwit! I want Ignacio alive!" Flame's agitated voice echoed across the distance.

…

Pocahontas and Siwili were panting lightly when they finally reached the north side of the lake where they expected to meet up with John Rolfe. They dropped their supplies to the ground and allowed themselves to take a short rest on the pine needle-laden forest floor. "How long do you think it'll take John to get here? I know he has many miles to travel if he wishes to steer clear of the village. It could take him all day… Oh, I'm just so worried!" Pocahontas expressed, chewing her nails. "I can't lose him."

Siwili retrieved his bow and quiver from the travel pack and rose to his feet. "I will run to meet John. Do not worry, Pocahontas. I will not let the evildoers bring harm to him."

Pocahontas looked even more terrified. "Okay. But be careful, Siwili! Those men have deadly weapons. Don't let them make you a target! If they take aim at you, run for cover! Trees should be able to shield you, medium-sized and up. The gunfire can't penetrate all the way through a thick trunk. A weapon exists that can do that it is highly unlikely that they don't have one with them. It's much too heavy for long distance travel."

"Thanks for letting me know. I will keep that in mind, so don't you worry too much while I'm gone," Siwili returned. He trudged to the water's edge and slopped copious amounts of mud on his face and body. "The trick to avoiding enemy projectiles, no matter what they are made of, is blending in with the forest. What an enemy cannot see, he cannot shoot. I'll go to find John and bring him back with me. This will take several hours at the very least, so I encourage you to be patient. It could very well be past nightfall before we return." He moved over to the low-lying branch of a pine tree and broke off several twigs with green pine needles sticking out of them, shoving each twig into his dark hair. "You stay and guard the supplies." Then he took off in a southwesterly direction.

"Good thinking!" Pocahontas called after him. She glanced at Meeko and Percy. They looked upset but also eager to follow Siwili. "You can go with him but you have to keep up. He won't slow down for either of you. Not that you need any help, Meeko." Percy yipped and Meeko cooed in excitement just before they ran off in pursuit of the brave.

…

It was three hours before John Rolfe felt safe to head north, at last certain that he had surpassed the village's location on the far side of the river. It was another hour before he found an upper branch of the huge river that he had canoed on so often. Flit looked worried. "It's alright, Flit. I've anticipated this," Rolfe expressed, glancing around the forest. He put the little fawn down on the soft ground. She curled into a fetal position as Rolfe ran over to a massive fallen log. He kicked and pried off a big thick piece of bark. It was curved around in the shape of the trunk and was big enough to shelter the fawn.

"This ought to do it," John Rolfe said, carrying the bark over to the fawn. He put the bark down and placed the baby doe inside it. "She won't stay completely dry but she won't be submerged either. Luckily, the water's calm up here and not too cold." He shoved his arms under the bark's curve and lifted it up, fawn and all. Then he headed for the water.

John Rolfe trudged through the mud and waded into the river, placing the bark afloat. He had to push the little raft through some aquatic grasses and cattails but he eventually came clear through to the other side and made his way into the wide blue water. He used one hand to push the raft along and all three remaining limbs to propel them forward.

Flit buzzed overhead, looking back over his shoulder to see if the pirates were close. "They've fallen behind quite a ways," John Rolfe asserted. "Take a rest on the raft if you want, Flit. No need to tire yourself out. I'll do all the work until we reach the other side."

Still concerned, the hummingbird made to land on the fawn's back. The little deer felt some water under her belly and started to bleat again in distress, fearful of drowning.

"It's okay, love," John Rolfe cooed in a soft tone. "We'll be dry again soon enough."

It took nearly twenty minutes to cross the river and John Rolfe had kept up a very fast swimming pace the whole time. Now winded, he picked the fawn up off the bark raft and carried her up onto the dry riverbank. He found a nice sunny spot on some grass and put her there to dry off. Happy to be back on land, she pushed herself into an upright position with her front legs tucked under her and began to chew on some little autumn blossoms.

John Rolfe flipped off his shirt and wrung the water out of it before hanging it from a low oak tree branch. He hid partly behind the medium-sized oak as he spied across the water to see if the pirates had caught up. No one was in sight. Flit buzzed by with a worried look on his face, concerned about Rolfe's stalling. "It's alright, Flit. I don't want them to fall too far behind and end up going in the wrong direction. God forbid they stumble on the village," he explained. "Then my efforts would have been a waste." He took off his boots, poured out the water, and then removed and wrung out his trousers.

Just then he heard a gunshot over the water. John Rolfe hurriedly shoved his legs back into his trousers and secured his belt just before he spotted Spike-Eyes emerging from the forest. The rest of the crew was not far behind. They were looking around the riverbank, trying to figure out where he had gone off to. Flame pointed to some bootprints in the bank's mud. Rolfe grabbed his shirt from the limb and stepped out from behind the tree into plain view. He draped the shirt over his elbow and put the fingers of both hands in his mouth, whistling loud enough to wake the dead. "Hey, Flame! You slowpokes are going to have to hurry up if you don't want me to escape on your ship!" Rolfe called provocatively across the water, waving his shirt in the air to get their attention.

"Get back here, ye miserable whelp!" Flame blared, brandishing a fist from the muddy bank. He snapped a furious glance back at his crew. "Tie your gunpowder to your heads and follow him. And be quick about it!" he ordered, doing so himself with impressive speed. The furious captain waded into the water and began to swim with all his might.

John Rolfe pulled his shirt back on and rushed over to the sunny spot where he had left the fawn. He picked her up and headed straight north with the sun as his only guide. Rolfe continued to jog for the next two hours before stopping to catch some wind. "Phew! I don't know about you, Flit, but I'm exhausted and hungry." He scanned his surroundings. There was a large stream up ahead. Mostly it was nothing but forest for miles and miles with only the occasional stream or tributary to break up the heavily wooded landscape. "I'm not sure if we've gone too far north or not far enough. In fact, I'm not sure where we are at all. Flit, can you buzz on ahead and find the north lake? Go up over the trees and try to figure out where we are. If anyone comes along, I'll hide," Rolfe told the hummingbird, huffing and puffing as he tried to catch his breath.

Flit promptly saluted him and flew off.

John Rolfe walked to a small hillock with the fawn and found a dry hollow log that had to have fallen ages ago. "Here's a nice place for you to hide, little one. You should feel safe here," he suggested, placing her on her hooves and ushering her inside. The fawn crawled in and curled up on the interior, instinctively keeping perfectly quiet. "Good girl."

John Rolfe went to take a nice long drink from the stream, satisfying his immense thirst. He took a seat on top of the hollow log to wait for Flit's return. The sun was leaning toward the western horizon. It would be sundown soon and the diplomat hoped to find the north lake before it got too dark. He could not help but yawn in exhaustion and feel his belly rumbling. The Englishman placed a hand to his stomach and sighed, glancing around. There were no berry bushes or easy victuals to be found in the area at all as far as he could see. The long day's chase was really starting to take its toll on his body. Every muscle ached and he felt like he bore a crushing weight on his shoulders. Despite that his clothes had long since dried out, he was trembling a little bit in the cool air.

Though John Rolfe was sitting upright, he felt so weary that he gradually fell into a light reverie as he sat there on the log. Small animals scuttled through the leaf litter on the ground, birds chirped in the canopy, the water in the stream trickled continuously, and the call of a raptor or two could be heard far above the trees. Yet the forest seemed peaceful to the point that the diplomat started to feel totally relaxed, even knowing that he was being hunted by a band of brutes. A breeze picked up and caressed him with its billowing pressure. Fall leaves scraped against each other on the earth and some even softly pelted the tired Englishman as the wind rushed by. John Rolfe, wake up and run!

He bolted up from the log with his hands fisted. His eyes darted around frantically. "Who said that?! Who goes there?" he demanded before it occurred to him that he had fallen into a dream state. He breathed a sigh of relief, placing a hand over his pounding heart. "Must just be my paranoia," he muttered with a laugh. He settled back onto the log.

Minutes later, he heard the sound of a footstep and a breaking twig not far off. John Rolfe jumped up from his seat and scrambled into the opening at the end of the hollow log. He gently pushed the fawn a little bit to make room for himself and held onto her in fear. "Don't make a sound," he warned as she sniffed the air, detecting some kind of scent.

…

Adahy jogged through the forest before Demon Dave. The cur had driven him and Kelele relentlessly for hours to keep up with the fleeing 'Spaniard.' Adahy himself doubted John Rolfe was truly 'Ignacio' as the pirates claimed. It ultimately did not matter to him either way though. Rolfe was someone whom he had to destroy no matter where he came from.

To carry out his plans, Adahy knew he had to escape somehow. His worst fear was that the crew would get to John Rolfe first and dispose of him, thus sending the demon blade into a fit of rage because it wanted the Englishman's soul and pain for itself. For the past several hours, Adahy had been more nervous than an unwilling bride on the night of her forced wedding. The demon had given him only an hour to get free from his bonds yet he had failed to think of a way out thus far. Several more hours had passed but the demon had all but gone dormant, not carrying out its threat of harm as of yet.

Adahy's worst fear was that the blade was biding its time, waiting for his anxiety to rise as high as possible before springing on him. Perhaps it was feeding off his fear. He had no way to know as the demon had said nothing since John Rolfe's sudden appearance.

Adahy glanced at his dog Kelele as the canine trotted obediently by his side. He looked up ahead. Though they had fallen behind the rest of the pirates, the band was still visible through the trees. They were well within earshot. Adahy had thought if they fell far behind enough that he could sic Kelele on Dave in order to escape. But that would not work just now as the crew was still in sight. His captor could easily call for backup if Adahy tried anything. That was why he had tried to lag and complain of exhaustion, but his pleas had not worked with Demon Dave. If Adahy slowed down too much, he always ended up with the point of a razor-sharp dagger pressing into the skin of his back.

I sense that we will get our chance soon enough, the demon suddenly whispered, startling Adahy out of his fearful reverie. Remain calm but alert and our time will surely come.

Adahy nodded, his acute anxiety evaporating. He knitted his brows in determination and sped up his pace, appeasing Demon Dave. The pirate sheathed the blade that he had been using to spur Adahy onward with. "Atta boy, Injun. Getting your second wind, now are ye?" he annoyingly remarked. Adahy did not bother to respond to the idiot.

…

Loud sniffing is what he heard. The sound reminded John Rolfe of a dog but he supposed it could be just about anything—including a buck or a bear. Likewise, the approaching footsteps could belong to a human or a large animal for all he knew. The Englishman glanced down to the other end of the dark tunnel and noticed a small spotlight coming in from a little peephole. He carefully crawled over the frightened fawn and continued to crawl down the hollow on hands and knees, making his way to the peephole. He glanced out through the hole with his right eye and then his left, peering around carefully.

Through some dense saplings, an imposing swarthy figure came into view which Rolfe recognized immediately. Oh no! he thought. The bosun. He glanced down and spotted the French hound from St. Augustine that the man had brought with him. Oh no, no, no.

The dog sniffed the ground. John Rolfe watched as the bosun used his foot to move aside some of the leaf litter, perhaps looking for footprints. Rolfe gritted his teeth in fear as the two started over toward the hollow log. The hound stopped dead in her tracks and looked directly at Rolfe through the peephole. The eye contact, as disconcerting as it was, lasted only a fraction of a second as the Englishman withdrew into the darker part of the tunnel.

John Rolfe thought he heard a low chuckle. The sound sent a spike of fear through his gut. There were a few moments of silence and then the bosun's deeply accented voice spoke. "Fee fi fo fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman," he crooned menacingly.

John Rolfe's heart sped up, his blood pressure rose, and he started to sweat. He ducked below the peephole and crawled to the far end of the log away from the fawn. Rolfe peered out the opening for an escape route. He came up with a hasty plan to lead the dog and the bosun away from the log and then double back to retrieve the fawn. The last thing he wanted to see right now was the bosun sicking his dog on a helpless baby deer.

John Rolfe knew he could not outrun the dog, so another plan came to mind. He saw a medium-sized willow tree that arched over the nearby stream. Gritting his teeth in staunch determination, he quickly scrambled out from the log and made a break for the tree. Though he heard the dog howl behind him, he did not so much as look back as he bounded up the trunk of the tree. He caught a high branch, making to climb up as quickly as he could. But something stopped him. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw the French hound's jaws hanging from the heel of his boot, trying to stop him.

"Get off!" John Rolfe shouted, shaking his leg. His boot came loose and fell to the ground along with the dog. The Englishman tried to pull himself up again but something much stronger gripped his ankle. "No!" the diplomat cried as he tried to hold onto the branch for dear life. The bosun yanked downward with such great force that the branch Rolfe was holding onto broke off. Rolfe plummeted to the ground but was caught by the neck in mid-air. The bosun turned Rolfe to face him, a villainous smirk on his dark visage as the much slighter man began to cough from the crushing airway blockage. Rolfe held onto the bosun's wrist, willing him to let go. "Release me, scoundrel!" he choked out.

The dog tried to attack him again but the bosun called her off. He laughed loudly and wickedly right in John Rolfe's face, taking immense pleasure in the poor captive's dire predicament. His great amusement abruptly fell to an air of grave threat as the bosun clenched his jaw tightly and jutted his chin out. "Your pearly-white arse is mine now, Ivory Man," he hissed at him. The enormous man casually glanced up at the willow tree that Rolfe had attempted to climb. The dark figure pulled out his machete, severing a few long thin branches. He sheathed his blade and grabbed the cuttings, whistling for the dog as he turned on a heel and headed right back the way he had come.

…

Flit buzzed through the woods for ten minutes before running into Siwili, Meeko, and Percy traveling in the opposite direction. "Flit!" Siwili cried. "Djahn! Heske no Djahn?!"

Flit was immediately pleased to see his friends. He squeaked excitedly and turned back, beckoning them to follow him. As the others were traveling on foot, it took about twenty-five minutes to arrive at the scene where Flit had left John Rolfe. There was no Englishman in sight when they got there and the hummingbird began to chirp frantically. Flit searched the log, finding only the young fawn inside. No Rolfe. That was when Flit darted over to Siwili and squeaked loudly, pointing his beak toward the spot where he had left Rolfe. The concerned warrior seemed to understand exactly what it was that the bird was implying and looked very worried as he went to investigate the ground.

Siwili found oversized bootprints that led to a willow tree bending over the nearby stream. The very first thing that he noticed was the discarded boot lying on the ground, which he immediately identified as belonging to John Rolfe. Percy came over, sniffed it, and started yapping loudly. Siwili hushed the pug as he surveyed the area. He recognized the signs of a struggle from the prints on the ground to the scratches on the tree trunk and the severed limb that lay at the small willow tree's base. Large bootprints and cracked twigs on the ground led away from the scene. Now on high alert, Siwili spurred himself into a run as he followed the attacker's trail. The animals raced after him.

…

The exhausted crew was taking a break when the bosun found them, dragging his quarry with him. John Rolfe kicked and thrashed but the Affrikaan was built like a fortress, only grunting lightly in response to the Englishman's blows. "Hey, Captain Flame! Look what I found," the swarthy man reported, throwing Rolfe down on the ground roughly.

John Rolfe landed on his face and spat out dirt as he peered up at Flame. The captain was surprised Rolfe had actually been caught but he was immensely pleased. "Well, well, well," Flame pronounced as a scheming smirk crept its way up the scarred half of his face. Rolfe returned a fearful simper. "Bosun, remind me never to underestimate you."

Sinister chuckles escaped the crew as Flame flipped out his sword and pointed the tip at the spot between John Rolfe's peepers, making him go cross-eyed. "Now, Ignacio, you will tell me where you've hidden my beloved Draw," he spoke in a commanding voice.

John Rolfe had been in immediate fear of his life but he felt relieved upon hearing the captain's command. He thought perhaps he could trick the pirates into letting him live a little longer in order to lead them back to their ship, thus giving himself time to think up an escape plan. "The Draw… Oh yes, the Blood Draw! Matter of fact, captain, I was just headed that way. Was rather hoping to get there first and sail off but I had an unfortunate run-in with the bosun," he lied, reaching up to wipe his sweaty brow with his shirtsleeve.

"Where's the woman then?!" Flame demanded. "And our Frenchies. Back on the ship?"

John Rolfe bobbed his head. "Aye, sir. I figured the forest was too dangerous for the ladies, so I came alone. I must warn you though, it's quite a long way to the Blood Draw. At least a day's travel. You see, um…" he began, trying to come up with a logical reason for being on land. If the pirates knew he had really lost the ship, they would kill him in an instant. "…th-there was a storm and some things got washed overboard and… and…"

"You lost your pets, eh? We found prints on the beach with washed up cargo. Let me guess, you came to retrieve them?" Flame interrogated further, offering the ideal answer.

John Rolfe's eyes lit up. "Yes! Haven't found 'em yet, though I did find tracks heading north. Was hoping to intercept them and run off with the ship again but here I am. Seems you've won after all, you old dog. I've got to lead you to the ship now then, eh?"

Flame's grin widened and he exchanged mischievous glances with his men. "Oh, laddie. There be plenty of time for that. It's almost sundown. You've had us on a wild goose chase all day and me men are plum exhausted. I think it's time for some rest for the lot of us, not to mention… a little payback," he uttered menacingly. "Bosun! You got your cat?"

John Rolfe swallowed a lump in his throat, peering over his shoulder apprehensively. The bosun leaned casually against a pine tree trunk, using a sharp blade to peel the bark and buds off the willow branches he had brought. "Nay, sir. I left it on the ship," he replied, the ever-present smirk still gracing his features. "But I won't be needing it. Fortunately, I've always been resourceful." He gripped one of the branches in his fist and snapped the flexible rod against the pine, sending a terrifying crack echoing over the canopy.

Tremors overtook John Rolfe's body as Flame lifted the Englishman's chin with the end of his sword, thus forcing eye contact. "Now, now, my boy. Are we beginning to realize what a dire situation we've gotten ourselves into?" Flame derided, savoring the moment.

A thought came to John Rolfe's mind and he cleared his throat. Perhaps he could talk his way out of the situation. "Sir," he began with a nervous chuckle, "I understand that you're a bit cross with me on account of my past actions. You know, stealing the ship and all. But consider the potential consequences of this proposition. If I'm in a very wretched state, then how am I to lead you to your ship on the morrow? Perhaps this can wait until after we get back to the Blood Draw, nay? Would that not be ideal, captain?"

"If you think you can talk your way outta this one, whelp, you are saaadly mistaken," Flame informed him, stretching out the word 'sadly' in a menacing manner. As John Rolfe's face fell, the captain sheathed his sword and knelt down to the captive's level. He gripped the collar of Rolfe's shirt and yanked him forward until their noses were less than an inch apart. "Besides, all's we need is you to point us in the right direction. If you can't walk, I'm sure the bosun would be glad to carry you o'er his shoulder." As Flame rose to his feet, he pulled Rolfe up with him and threw him at the crew. "Ain't that right, men?"

The pirates began to shove John Rolfe back and forth between them like a rag doll, laughing all the while. "Hey, stop it! Leave me be!" the diplomat protested to no avail.

"He's all yours, bosun," Flame said. When John Rolfe was shoved toward Spike-Eyes, the first mate socked him in the eye and sent him plunging to the ground. Rolfe landed on his face with a pained grunt, placing a hand over his throbbing eye. "Nay, Spike-Eyes! The bosun's got dibs on the likes of that! Wait your turn!" the captain warned.

"Aye. Sorry, sir," Spike-Eyes replied in a disappointed tone.

The imposing bosun stepped before John Rolfe, towering over him like a monolith. When the Englishman glanced up, he noticed that the bosun had tied several willow branches together at the ends with twine and was braiding them to make a much thicker and more threatening implement. Rolfe could not stop his eyes from turning glassy as a deep sense of dread arose in the pit of his stomach. The bosun, not looking away from his work, darted a thumb toward the pine tree behind him. "Tie him up so that his belly is against the trunk and his feet aren't touching the ground," he instructed the crew.

"No! Leave me alone!" John Rolfe cried as Spike-Eyes, Bloodlet Bernard, and Silent Simon seized him up from the forest floor. He resisted with all his might. Despite his best efforts, he was pinned up against the trunk of the tree as his hands were bound with rope. Rolfe shot a glare at Flame. "If you hurt me, I will never tell you where your ship is!"

Flame briefly chuckled. "You will if you value your life and limbs, lad. Carry on, men."

"If you kill me, you'll never find it! Its location is well-hidden!" John Rolfe snapped back, suspended in the air with his arms stretched part way around the trunk. The bark scraped his belly raw as he kicked his legs zealously, his face reddening from the effort.

Flame growled. "Bosun, I do hope you rid Ignacio of this defiance forthwith."

The bosun nodded his agreement as he finished his work. He held the willow switch up and admired it. "I think this here ought to do the trick. Wouldn't you say, captain?"

"Aye," Flame replied, "but test it on the tree. If it breaks, you might need sturdier rods."

God, grant me the strength to endure, John Rolfe thought, allowing his body to fall limp as he shut his eyes in prayer. I need you now more than ever, dear Lord. The willow whip exploded against the trunk right next to him as the bosun tested the implement on the tree, sending shards of bark flying in all directions. Rolfe shrieked in alarm and thrashed against his bindings. "You lunatics are going to break my back with that damn thing!"

"It does fall a bit heavy," Flame conceded. "Try taking one of the branches out." The bosun cut out one of the braided willow branches and tested it again, leaving Rolfe no less scared yet appeasing the captain. "That oughta do it. Now, go for max pain, mate, but without making the fop pass out too fast. I doubt he's ever taken a beating in his life."

The bosun called Spike-Eyes over and gave him the willow whip momentarily. He turned and ripped the Englishman's shirt right off his back, leaving him trembling in the evening chill. "Bastard!" John Rolfe spat. "That was the only shirt I've got! Don't you dare touch me, you monsters!" The bosun took back the whip as the men cackled wickedly. "We'll see who gets the last laugh when you're the ones burning in hell for eternity!"

"Quiet, Ivory Man!" the bosun snapped. "Your God is a lie—a fact you will soon be aware of when nobody comes to your aid!" He positioned himself behind the captive, stretching the arm holding the switch back as far as it would go. "Let's hear you beg."