Pirates of the Magical World I
Captain of the Rogue Cutlass
By: Tellemicus Sundance
#01—Freed of the Oath

Caribbean Sea

The ship was a Galleon-common type, one of the most popular vessels to sail the seas despite its unshapely hull and painfully sluggish sailing speeds. But it's ability to carry enormous amounts of cargo and goods made it the vessel of choice among sailors, even more so if they were able to sail in convoys between their destinations. Yet giant convoys of Galleons were always irresistible targets of choice for pirates and privateers.

And the ship that the Sir Benedict was closing in on was one of the vessels that had gotten separated from the convoy during the tropical storm a week earlier. There had been some unease about tracking and raiding the ship among the crew. But the captain had said there were only three man-o-wars and two sloops-o-war that were assigned to the convoy's protection in the entire Caribbean Sea. And that the Magical East India Company's ship, the Scottish Pub, was said to be carrying treasure, and that providing they brought the Pub to a halt in open water out of sight of land, they should be able to plunder the ship at their leisure, escape, and be out of it.

"Wouldn't the crew of the Pub be able to identify them?" Harry had asked aloud, though in a quiet voice. "Wouldn't they tell the navy they'd been attacked by the Sir Benedict?"

Dudley just looked at Harry with an unreadable expression, but Harry could guess what he was thinking. That attacking a vessel of the navy while also using another vessel of the navy was just foolhardy and doomed to failure. But, as mere men of the masts, little more than grunts to do the dirty work, neither of them voiced their objections, or the objections of that the rest of the crew were likely thinking as well. Such was their lives aboard the magical ship. If they weren't officers with privileges, they couldn't speak out against a cowardly and stupid plan.

When they had started out on what they'd initially believed would become a grand adventure of sailing the seas and seeing new lands and people, neither of the boys had even the faintest idea that they'd end up where they were now. Trapped aboard a vessel by a magical oath they had each made in youth ignorance to a captain who was even crueler than any man they'd ever met before. And what was worse was that he was dragging them all into something that they knew would end badly for them, and he was doing it out of sheer arrogance and greed.

The only silver linings that the boys had were the simple facts that Harry was a magical as well, and that over the years of their faithful service to the Sir Benedict, they had each accumulated enough gold to purchase their own ships. All that was needed was for them to escape the magical contract that bound them to the Sir Benedict. Once they found a loophole, Harry could teleport them as far away from the floating prison as he was able to.

"Sail ho!" came the cry from above. They'd been used to hearing it, so they didn't get their hopes raised, just watched as the captain and quartermaster conferred. Moments later, they'd confirmed it was the Pub and they set off across the waters towards it. As they approached, the Sir Benedict raised a red ensign, the British flag, and sure enough the Pub remained where she was, thinking they were English privateers on her side. Which they were, in theory.

Men loaded their rifles and pistols ammo clips with bullets and checked the action of their swords. Boarding hooks were taken up and the cannons manned. As they came up alongside and the Pub realized they were primed for battle, the boys were close enough to their faces fall and panic gallop through the Galleon like a startled mare. The new pirates forced the Pub to heave to. The men raced to the gunwales where they stood ready for action, aiming pistols, manning the rail-mounted machine guns, or with cutlasses drawn and teeth bared. Harry had no pistol, only a rusty cutlass he'd found at the bottom of the chest a few short moments ago. Dudley had taken a position up near the machine guns, planning to be among the men who were responsible for protecting the weapon.

The cannons below were trained on the Pub opposite. One word and they'd open fire with a volley of shot, enough to break the vessel in half, and send them all to the bottom of the sea. On the faces of their crew was the same sick, terrified expression that Harry and Dudley both felt but were doing better at suppressing.

"Let your captain identify himself," the Sir Benedict's first mate called across the gap between the vessels. He held up his wrist to watch his watch as he called again, "Send out your captain! You have 60 seconds or we shall open fire!"

It took them until their time was almost up, but he appeared on deck at last, dressed in all his finery and fixing the Benedict's crew with what he obviously hoped was an expression of defiance, but couldn't disguise the trepidation in his eyes.

He did as he was told and ordered a boat to be launched, then clambered aboard and was rowed across to the Benedict. Secretly, Harry could help but feel sympathy for him. He put himself at their mercy in order to protect his crew, which was admirable, and his head was held high when, as he ascended the rope ladder from his boat, he was jeered at by the men manning the mounted guns on the deck below, then grabbed roughly by the shoulders and dragged over the rail of the gunwale to the quarterdeck.

When he was hauled to his feet, he pulled away from the men's clutching hands, threw his shoulders back, and after adjusting his jacket and cuffs demanded to see the captain.

"Aye, I'm here," called Dolzell, who came down from the sterncastle with Trafford, the first mate, at his heels. The captain wore his tricorn with a bandana tied beneath it, and his cutlass was drawn. "What's your name, Captain?"

"My name is Captain Benjamin Pritchard," replied the merchant captain sourly. "and I demand to know the meaning of this!" He drew himself up to full height but was no match for the stature of Dolzell, few men were.

"The meaning of this," repeated Dolzell. The captain wore a thin smile, possibly the first time Harry had ever seen him smile. And it was an expression he wished he'd never see again. Dolzell cast an arch look around his men gathered on the deck, and a cruel titter ran through the crew.

"Yes," said Captain Pritchard primly. He spoke with an upper-class accent. Oddly, Harry was reminded of his aunt, Petunia, whom he'd not seen in years. "I mean exactly that. You are aware, are you not, that my ship is owned and operated by the British Magical East India Company and that we enjoy the full protection of the Ministry's Magical Navy."

"As do we," replied Dolzell. At the same time, he indicated the red ensign that fluttered from the topsail.

"I rather think you forfeited that privilege the moment you commanded us to stop at gunpoint. Unless, of course, you have an excellent reason for doing so?"

"I do."

Harry glanced across to where the crew of the Pub were pinned down by the Benedict's guns, but just as enthralled by the events on deck as the rest of the crew was. He could have heard a pin drop. The only sound was the slapping of the sea on the hulls of the ships and whisper of the breeze in the masts and rigging.

Captain Pritchard was surprised. "You do have a good reason?"

"I do."

"I see. Then perhaps we should hear it."

"Yes, Captain Pritchard. I have forced your vessel to heave to in order that my men might plunder it of all its valuables. You see, pickings on the seas have been awfully slim of late. My men are getting restless. They are wondering how they will be paid on this trip."

"You are a privateer, sir," retorted Captain Pritchard. "If you continue along this course of action, you will be a pirate, a wanted man." He addressed the entire crew. "You all will be wanted men. The Ministry's Navy will hunt you down and arrest you. You'll be hung at the Execution Dock, then your bodies displayed in chains at Wapping or sentenced to life in Azkaban. Is that really what you want?"

"You are wasting your breath, Captain," Dolzell said, a conceited sneer pulling at one side of his face. "These men are mine. They do as I say, without remorse or hesitation, and gladly."

Captain Pritchard swallowed, for there was no real answer to that. And, for the first time ever, Harry saw Captain Dolzell really smile, enough to reveal a mouth full of broken and blackened teeth, like a plundered graveyard. "Now, sir, how about we retire to discuss the whereabouts of whatever treasure you might happen to have onboard?"

Captain Pritchard was about to complain, but Trafford was already moving forward to grab him and he was propelled up the steps and into the Navigation Room. Men, meanwhile, turned their attention to the crew of the Pub as an uneasy, threatening silence reigned.

Then the screams began.

Harry jumped slightly at the first one, his eyes going to the door of the cabin from where they had come. Darting a look at the man next to him, Rothbert, he saw that he too was staring at the door of the Navigation Room, an unreadable look on his face.

"What's going on?" Harry asked.

"Hush," Rothbert snapped. "Keep your voice down. What do you think is going on?"

"They're torturing him?"

He rolled his eyes. "What did you expect, rum and pickles?"

The screams continued. Over on the other ship, the men's expressions had changed. A moment ago, they stared at the Benedict's crew resentfully, balefully, as though biding their time before they might launch a cunning counterattack. Like they thought the sailors of the Sir Benedict were nothing more than scoundrels and knaves, and would soon and easily be whipped like the scurvy dog they were. In their eyes now was sheer terror that they might be next.

It was strange. Harry felt both ashamed and emboldened by what was happening. He'd caused his fair share of pain and left terrible sorrow in his wake, but he'd never been able to abide cruelty for its own sake. Dolzell would have said, "Not for its own sake, boy, to find out where the treasure was hid." But he would have been telling a half-truth. For the fact was, as soon as their men swarmed the Pub, they'd quickly locate whatever booty was aboard. No, the real purpose of torturing the captain was the changing faces of the men who stood opposite. It was to strike terror in Scottish Pub's crew.

Then, after a hard to tell amount of time for Harry, perhaps a quarter of an hour or so, when the screams had reached a peak, when the heartless sniggering of the deckhands had been exhausted and even the most pitiless man had begun to wonder if, perhaps, enough pain had been inflicted for one day, the door to the Navigation Room was thrown open and Dolzell and Trafford appeared.

Wearing a look of grim satisfaction, the captain surveyed the men of his ship, then the apprehensive face of the other crew, before pointing and saying, "You, boy."

He was pointing at Harry.

"A-Aye, sir," Harry stammered.

"Into the cabin, boy, guard the captain, while we find out what his information is worth. You too." He was pointing at somebody else, but Harry didn't see who as he hurried to the front of the quarterdeck, barging against the tide of a surge towards the gunwales as men readied themselves to board the other ship. Harry had the first of two shocks as he entered the Navigation Room and saw Captain Pritchard.

The cabin had a large dining table, which had been set to one side. So, too, was the quartermaster's table, on which were laid his navigation instruments, maps, and charts. In the middle of the cabin, Captain Pritchard sat tied to a chair, his hands bound behind him. Lingering in the cabin was a brackish smell that he couldn't quite place. Captain Pritchard's head hung, chin on his chest. At the sound of the door, he lifted it and focused bleary, pain-wracked eyes on the teenaged boy.

"My hands," he croaked. "What have they done to my hands?" Before Harry could find out, he had his second surprise, when a fellow jailer entered the room and it was none other than Blaney. Harry had just enough time to faintly utter the words 'oh shit!' before the large, muscle-bound, simple-minded brute slammed the door shut behind him. His eyes slid from Harry to the wounded Captain Pritchard and back.

From outside came the cries of the Benedict's crew as they prepared to board the other ship. But it felt to Harry that they had been cut off from it, as though it were happening far away and involved people not known to them. He held Blaney's gaze as he walked around to the back of the captain, where his hands were tied behind his back. He quickly realized just what the smell had been.

It was the smell of burnt flesh.

Dolzell and Trafford had pushed lit fuses between Captain Pritchard's fingers in order to make him talk. There was a scattering of them on the boards as well as a jug of something that, when he put it to his nose, Harry thought was brine they'd used to pour on his wounds, to make them more painful. His hands were blistered, charred black in some places, raw and bleeding in others, like tenderized meat.

Harry looked for a flask of water, still cautious of Blaney, wondering why he hadn't moved. Why he hadn't spoken yet.

"Well, well, well," he rasped. "We find ourselves together."

"Yes," Harry replied dryly. "Aren't we lucky, mate?" He saw a jug of water on the long table and moved towards it.

Blaney ignored Harry's sarcasm. "What would you be up to, exactly?"

"I'm fetching water to put on this man's wounds."

"Captain didn't say nothing about tending to the prisoner's wounds."

"He's in pain, man can't you see?"

"Don't you talk to me like that, you little whelp," Blaney snapped with a ferocity that startled Harry somewhat. Still, startled or not, Harry wasn't going to show it. That was a lesson he and Dudley had learned early on in their time at sea. Be full of bravado, always tough on the outside, so no one knows just how and when you are weak. Less of a chance of getting hurt, not much of chance but still less.

"You sound like you're fixing up for a fight, Blaney." Harry sincerely hoped he came across as more confident than he felt.

"I maybe am at that," Blaney said. He had a brace of pistols in his belt and a cutlass at his waist, but the silver that seemed to appear in his hand, almost from nowhere, was a curved dagger.

Harry had to resist his temptation to swallow in concern. "What do you plan on doing, Blaney, with the ship about to mount a raid, and us in charge of guarding the captain here? Now, I don't know what it is you have against me, what measure of grudge it is you're nursing, but it'll have to be settled another time, I'm afraid, unless you've got a better idea."

When Blaney grinned, a gold tooth flashed. "Oh, I've got other ideas, boy. An idea that maybe the captain here tried to escape and ran you through in the process. Or how about another idea altogether? An idea that it was you who helped the captain. That you untied the prisoner's hands and tried to make good your escape, and it was me who stopped you, running you both through in the process. I think I like that idea even better. How's about that?"

He was serious, Harry could tell. Blaney had been biding his time. No doubt he wanted to avoid the flogging he would have received for giving Harry or any member of the crew a beating but suddenly he had the boy he hated most right where he wanted him.

"Sail ho!" a shout from outside had managed to enter the cabin.

It wasn't that the feud was forgotten, just placed to one side for a moment. Blaney pointed his dagger and said, "Wait there" as he left the room to see what was going on. The open door framed a scene of sudden panic outside but as the ship lurched, it slammed shut. Harry looked from the door to Captain Pritchard who was groaning in pain. Harry had never truly wanted to be a pirate. He was just a boy from Surrey, who had stumbled upon a magical artifact that he and his cousin had used to go off in search of adventure. He wasn't a criminal, an outlaw. He'd never wanted to be party to the torture of innocent men.

"Untie me," the captain said, his voice dry and pained. "I can help you. I can guarantee you a pardon."

"A pardon is worthless for me," Harry said, utterly unmoved by the captain's plea. Though he never wanted to be pirate, he'd been in this position more times than he cared to remember. "I'm bound to serve Dolzell until I die."

"Clearly you don't understand how Oath's work," the captain said, an almost piteous tone in his voice. "Should the man who created the Oath be killed, it becomes null and void once his magic has vanished with his life force."

"You're saying I need to kill Dolzell to be free?" Harry asked, not at all surprised. Most types of the magic he'd encountered or learned that based on Oaths or contracts tended to work more or less the same way. And, that being the case, there was almost always a secret trap hidden inside there that made it impossible or, at the very least, lethal to 'alter the contract' in any way such as that. The numerous magical captains were no fools after all, and were very good at looking after their own hides.

"No," Captain Pritchard said. "I'm saying I'll kill Dolzell. I swear on the Bible, boy, that whatever contract or oath he's used to bind you to him, I will free you of it, should you help me escape."

"And my cousin!" Harry said, already fiddling with the knots. Just as the ropes came away and slithered to the cabin floor, the door burst open. Standing in the doorway was Captain Dolzell, his eyes wild and sword drawn. Behind him was a great commotion on the ship. Men who moments before had been ready to board the Scottish Pub as organized a fighting unit as they could be, were suddenly in disarray.

Captain Dolzell said one word, but it was enough. "Navy."

"Sir?" Harry quipped.

Thankfully, Dolzell was too preoccupied with developments to wonder what the boy was doing standing behind Captain Pritchard's chair. "The Navy's coming!" he cried.

In terror, Harry looked from Dolzell to where he'd just untied Captain Pritchard's hands. Pritchard was revived. Though he had the presence of mind to keep his hands behind his back, he couldn't resist taunting Dolzell. "It's probably Brent Weeks, come to our rescue. You'd better run, Captain. Unlike you, Weeks is a loyal Pureblood son of Britain and when I tell him what has taken place here…"

In two long strides, Dolzell darted forward and thrust the long point of his sword into Pritchard's belly. Pritchard tautened in his seat, impaled on the blade. His head shot back and upside-down eyes fixed on Harry's for a second before his body went limp and he slumped in the chair.

"You'll tell your friend nothing," snarled Dolzell as he removed his blade. Pritchard's hands fell to hang limply by his sides and Dolzell's accusing eyes went straight to Harry. "His hands are untied."

"Your blade, sir, it sliced the rope," Harry said, which seemed to satisfy the captain who turned and ran from the cabin. At the same time, the Sir Benedict shook as the Navy ship hit it side-on.

Seeing a pistol lying on one of the tables, he took it and thrust it into his belt before turning and rushing outside. What he found was a ship at war. The navy had boarded from the starboard, while on the port side the crew of the Scottish Pub had taken their opportunity to fight back. Sir Benedict crew was hopelessly outnumbered and even as he ran into the fray with his sword swinging, Harry could see that the battle was lost. Sluicing across the deck was what looked like a river of blood. Everywhere he could see lay men he had been serving with either dead or draped over the gunwales, their bodies lined with bleeding slashes. Others were fighting on. There was the roar of rifle and pistol, the day torn apart by the constant ring of steel, the agonized screams of the dying, the warrior yells of the attacking naval sailors.

Even so, Harry found himself strangely on the outside of the battle. Cowardice has never been a problem for him. If anything, he had to often be held back from jumping into a brawl with another sailor who'd pissed him off about something or other. But this time, he was sure he had not exchanged more than two sword strokes with one enemy before it was over. Harry would later do everything in his power to preserve the memory what he saw and how it ended.

In a fit of rage, Dolzell had run straight towards the navy ship's captain, his sword raised to deliver a powerful chop. But he scarcely got within five paces of the man before numerous shots from nearby sailors riddled him with more holes than Swiss cheese. The bloody sword fell from Dolzell's grasp and landed ahead of him, hilt down with the blade up. The angle of the sword in comparison to Dolzell's falling body was at just the right angle for the man's corpse to impale itself on the blade, finishing what the multiple gunshots had already started.

It was in that moment of Dolzell's death that the fighting spirit that had forcefully be empowering his enslaved crew disappeared and most of them dropped their weapons and fell their knees. But Harry was not one of them. He quickly worked his way through the mess that was littering the deck, heading up towards the machine gun where he glimpsed Dudley still was.

Just as Harry had reached the area that Dudley was, he suddenly found himself being blocked off by the large and unwelcome figure of Blaney. The massive man had an ugly sneer on his face as he hefted up his cutlass and swung it in a beheading slash for Harry's neck. Natural agility and reflexes jumped in before Harry could even consciously make the decision to do so, allowing him to duck under the slash, his hand rushing to his waist and pulling the pistol from his belt. As Blaney was drawing the cutlass back and up for an overhead chop, Harry merely pointed his pistol up at the man and squeezed the trigger. Blaney was so close that Harry didn't even have to aim, the bullet punched into his stomach and sent the man stumbling backwards from the sheer force of it. One of Blaney's hands went to his wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but the other managed to hold onto the cutlass in his hand as he glared hatefully at the magic boy in front of him.

"Devil-worshipping freak!" Blaney screamed out hatefully. And then he was literally blown to the side and knocked overboard in a shower of blood and gore, the thunderous explosion of a shotgun blast marking his departure from the living world.

Looking over, Harry saw Dudley lowering the smoking barrel of the shotgun in his hand as he glared at where the man had disappeared to. "No one hurts my family."

Despite himself, a rueful grin spread over Harry's face. In the beginning, he and Dudley didn't get along because of Dudley's selfishness and self-privileged mind set. But after years of sailing and trapped together by the same captain, they had grown to depend on one another, cousins closer than brothers.

Hurrying over to his cousin's side, Harry quickly looked him over but was relieved to see that Dudley was mostly unharmed. Not that surprising because he was already shaping up to be one of the most burly men to sail the seas, with a large and strong frame that promised powerful muscles. A stark difference to Harry's lean and lithe body, which was better for agility and speed.

Just as Harry was grabbing Dudley's arm, a loud shout came from nearby. It was one of the naval sailors, rushing over towards with a wand in his dominant right hand and a pistol in his left. "Hold it, boys! You're under arrest!"

"When we've actually done a crime, then you can arrest us for it!" Harry couldn't help quipping with a cocky smirk. Before the man could rebuke, Harry focused his magic as he'd been taught and, with a slight crack, he and Dudley vanished from the deck of the frigate that had been their prison for the past six years.