Chapter 21

  “Hoist the Jolly Roger, boys!” Jonathon yelled in his best sea voice. “Today these dogs surrender their goods to us!”

  Thank goodness, Jonathon thought quietly to himself. They had run across the smaller of the two vessels not three days into their journey. Under normal circumstances, he would have waited around and hit both, but he wanted the least amount of distraction possible when it came to finding the piece. And between the infiltration, kidnapping, and ransoming, the larger trade vessel could have added days to their trip if they had come across it first.

  As it stood, they found the smaller vessel, and it was time to let the boys roam free.

  “Captain,” Cass called from the deck. “They’ve altered their course. I believe they aim to outrun us.”

  Choosing to try and run rather than raise the white flag, huh? Jonathon smiled to himself. “Then they’ve made their decision. Ryden, come here.”

  Ryden, who had been prepping the powder monkeys for the upcoming battle, quickly turned and ran up to the quarterdeck. “Yes, Cap,” he said nervously. This would be the boy’s first open sea engagement. Most of his battles had been local villages or raiding vessels in shallower waters at much shorter distances than anything he’d likely have to do here.

  “Breathe, boy,” Jonathon started. “You’ve got a knack for this sort of thing. Trust yer gut, and we’ll be sittin’ pretty with a fat haul of booty by the end of the day.” It wasn’t often that Jonathon swapped to his less-than-civilized vernacular, but something about being on the open waters, especially before a raid, really brought it out in him. “Now remember, we don’t need to be scuttlin’ the ship. Just disable ‘er, aye? Hit ‘er sails, rudder, anything to slow ‘er down long ‘nough for us to catch ‘er and board ‘er. Understood?”

  “Aye, sir,” Ryden said, smiling wide before running back down to the main deck.

  “Cap’n?” Beckett started.

  “Aye?”

  “I fear they’ve the wind’s favor. Given their intended course, I’d recommend maneuvering to starboard and cuttin’ ‘em off about three leagues back. There’s a bad current ‘round there that’ll play in our favor. But we’ll need our boys pokin’ holes in ‘er to slow ‘em down. Otherwise, we may lose ‘er entirely. If that happens, we might as well go ahead and start prepping the kidnapping for the larger vessel,” Beckett advised.

  “Aye,” Jonathon agreed. “Make it so. Ryden’ll make sure she’s slowed down ‘nough for us to reach ‘er.”

  The vessel was beginning to put some distance between the two ships, but they’d still have to pass by Mother’s Myth if they hoped to make their destination. Jonathon trusted Beckett’s knowledge and Ryden’s skill. They’d get their mark.

  Jonathon judged they were likely about six hundred yards out. “Beckett, keep our path as you’ve mentioned, but I’d like to focus more on closing the distance in this first stretch. The sooner we get within range, the more likely we are to end this quickly.”

  Beckett nodded. “Aye, Cap’n. I reckon I can manage that fer ye.”

  Jonathon relayed Beckett’s navigational guidance to Cassandra, who relayed them to the men on the main deck. He watched proudly as his men moved with practiced skill and determination. He could taste the hunger the men had for whatever treasures awaited them aboard the fleeing ship.

  He surveyed his crew. Cass stood distinctly amongst the men on the main deck. He watched her hair blow as she ordered the men to their stations and ensured weapons were distributed appropriately. He saw her dividing the men between rigging, cannons, and forming what would be the boarding party. He also noticed she kept her eyes on the target out at sea, likely keeping track of its distance herself in case he were for some reason otherwise preoccupied. “Five hundred yards,” he saw her mouth to herself.

  He shifted his gaze to Ryden, who advised his men as they separated into their groups of five: a powder monkey to run the powder, a loader to load the ball, a rammer to pack the charge and shot into the cannon, a sponger to clean the barrel with a wet sponge between shots so as to ensure no lingering embers set off the next shot prematurely, and a spare to assist with tasks such as repositioning the cannon after it recoiled. He had watched the men during their drills in Brightstone and felt confident that between their training and Ryden’s raw talent for gunning, the other ship wouldn’t stand a chance. “Chain shots first, lads,” Ryden ordered his men as the sound of the cannons being loaded filled the air. Jonathon watched him glance back up at the fleeing ship before saying, “We’ve got about four hundred yards till we’re on her.”

  He looked at his bosun. Dryden was noticeably more scattered and worried than his brother, but Jonathon saw him surveying his men and ensuring they were positioned appropriately at each rigging, ready to enact the captain’s orders the instant they were heard. He heard the tightening of ropes as his men prepared for battle and saw his bosun taking a last-minute look at the pile of supplies he had stacked to the side should he need to make any quick mid-battle repairs. Jonathon certainly didn’t envy Dryden’s role. He couldn’t imagine how stressful it would be to have to try and fix a torn sail while being shot at mid-combat, let alone do that while maintaining his other duties. Of course, Dryden had other men he could send to do such repairs, but the possibility was ever-present. Unlike his counterparts, Dryden’s attention was focused on the ship they were on, not the one they were chasing.

  Three hundred yards.

  Try as they might, the ship wasn’t going to be able to slip by them. Maybe if they had had another hundred yards, or if he didn’t have a gunner as good as Ryden. At this range, most would only be able to manage a warning shot, but Ryden had proven accurate enough that this initial volley would be able to at least tear some holes in their sails and slow their wind advantage. Jonathon turned to his Navigator. “Beckett, prepare to broadside ‘em.” Beckett nodded, and Jonathon leaned out over the railing, shouting to the main deck below, “Alright ye mangy curs, listen to yer gunner. When you hear the command, take the wind from ‘er sails. I want at least two rounds fired from each of ya before we reach a hundred yards.”

  Mother’s Myth slowed her approach as her angle slowly became more parallel to the target vessel.

  Two hundred and fifty yards.

  The crew, aside from the men handling the rigging and sails, were remarkably calm as they awaited their orders. Ryden had already prepped the first shot and awaited the two-hundred-yard mark. The boarding party waited with their grappling hooks and sacks of tarred sand. He noticed a familiar face and garb as Naomi stood with the men of the boarding party, spear in hand. He briefly wondered how she would react to such acts and made a mental note to check in with her after this was all over.

  Two hundred and twenty-five yards.

  Jonathon heard it before he saw it. The boom of opposing cannon shots, then red mist. What was undoubtedly supposed to be a warning shot to them resulted in the loss of two of his men and one of his cannons as the cannonball managed to score a lucky hit.

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  “Fire!” Ryden yelled, startled by the sudden attack and loss of his men.

  Too soon. They hadn’t quite cleared the two-hundred-yard mark yet, and the damage from the blast misaligned the cannons, something Ryden didn’t consider before ordering the shot. Not a single shot found their mark. Dammit, Jonathon thought, the boy better hope that slip-up didn’t cost them their prize.

  “Shape up, lads,” Cass called from the main deck. “Don’t be spooked. A lucky hit, nothing more. Reload these cannons and show ‘em we mean business.”

  Another round of shots came from the opposing ship. Miss. Thank the gods, Jonathon thought, it had been a lucky shot! His throat had tightened as he worried the other ship may have had an even more skilled gunner aboard than Ryden, but the miss of their second volley made that less likely.

  Ryden, still shaken from the first volley, barked his orders to his men. He hesitated for a moment, and Jonathon could sense his fear. “Fire!” Ryden yelled, and a salvo was released from Mother’s Myth. These shots all found their mark as the fleeing ship’s sails filled with holes.

  Yes, Jonathon thought to himself, that should slow them down enough. He continued to monitor the opposing ship and crew. It was hard to tell from this distance, but it appeared as though the men of the other ship were equally poised for battle.

  “It doesn’t look like they plan on surrenderin’ without a fight, boys!” he yelled across the deck. “If they wish to meet The Watery Prince, we’ll be happy to oblige them!”

  Another salvo was exchanged between the two ships. A couple of men and some damage to the sails on their end, and what appeared to be the near complete loss of the fleeing ship’s mainsail as Ryden focused his efforts on disabling their target.

  He watched as the men rushed to reload the cannons. They were about a hundred and twenty yards out at this point, and there wasn’t a white flag in sight. “Switch to grapeshot next, lads. Let’s clear the deck and make for an easy boarding,” Jonathon barked out over the main deck.

  One hundred yards.

  The spacing between opposing shots had slowly closed following the enemy’s initial surprise shot, but the well-rehearsed speed of his men proved its worth as they managed to finally fire first in this round. Jonathon watched as the grapeshot made mist of the enemy crew. The railings and cannons were largely unaffected, but the same could not be said for the men operating those cannons. If they were ever going to surrender, now would be the time.

  Seventy-five yards.

  The men held their fire and Ryden looked to Jonathon. They knew his drill by now. Jonathon watched as men continued to scramble on the enemy deck. He saw men running to repair rigging and some of the smaller holes in their sails. He saw wounded being dragged off. He saw men rushing toward the cannons. What he didn’t see was a white flag.

  Anger rose in Jonathon at the undoubted selfishness of this ship’s captain. His pride would cost these men their lives. And for what, cargo?

  “Send ‘em to the depths!” he growled, and another round of grapeshot shredded the men moving towards the cannons.

  Fifty yards.

  The boarding team moved out. Half of the men began throwing grappling hooks, initiating the process of bringing the enemy in to be boarded. The other half fired muskets across the engagement zone. Jonathon could see enemy crew members begin retreating below deck as those who valued their lives more than their jobs disobeyed their captain’s idiotic orders of resistance.

  “We’ve got ‘em on the run, lads. She may not raise the white flag, but if they surrender, we’ll show ‘em mercy,” Jonathon reminded his men.

  Thirty yards.

  Some of the men began strategically throwing their tarred sand onto the enemy deck. Some of the defenders lost their footing as they slipped on the slick surface.

  Jonathon met Cass on the main deck as the remaining yards between the ship shrank. “Charge!” he screamed and led the boarding, followed closely by Cass.

  The ensuing battle was rather short, given the damage Ryden had done and the remaining members who had fled below deck, but in the end, his crew stood victorious aboard the enemy ship. They had lost another man in the charge, but such was the cost of such things. Actually, losing only one man during a boarding was better than usual, a reflection of the poor defense the few remaining who chose to fight put up.

  “Ensure the securement and surrender of those below deck before loading the goods,” Jonathon called to Cass as he made his way to the captain’s cabin.

  He had seen neither hide nor hair of the ship’s captain during the boarding. No doubt the captain was hiding in his cabin, cowering and ordering his men to lay down their lives in hopes of saving his own. Jonathon’s anger flared as he thought of the cravenness of it all. He felt his rushing heartbeat and the heat in his ears and neck as he flung open the doors to the captain’s cabin and found…no one.

  He began searching the cabin to see if the craven had hidden in any secret compartments but was rewarded with nothing. He began looting the cabin, taking an assortment of coins and maps. He stopped to glance through the books on the captain’s shelf but found nothing of interest. In the end, Jonathon hoped the cargo below was better than what he found in the captain’s cabin, or this was going to have been a waste of the cannon shots. As he left the room, he noticed a beautiful tricorn with an extravagantly large and particularly fluffy feather sticking out of it. Jonathon couldn’t help but recall the way Scarlett had claimed she and the girls’ imagined pirates in their stories. He laughed to himself and briefly wondered if she was okay. He shrugged. She was fine. Likely moved on to some other patron at this point. The woman had bills to pay, after all.

  He made his way back onto the main deck, where his men were already loading crates of goods from below deck. Cassandra had gathered the remaining crew members into a huddle on the far side of the deck.

  “Which of you is the captain?” Jonathon snapped as he approached the group.

  Silence.

  “I said, which of you is the captain?” he repeated, temper beginning to rise again at the thought of this craven not facing his victors.

  “D-d-d-d-dead, s-s-s-s-sir,” came the frightened voice of one of the men. “T-t-t-t-taken out in the first round of grapeshot.”

  In that moment, realization dawned on Jonathon. That’s why they never surrendered. That’s why the fight after boarding was so lackluster. The men were likely shocked and stunned following the loss of their leadership and froze in the vacuum that followed. Jonathon couldn’t help but pity their luck.

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Jonathon told the man. “Rest assured that your former employer did indeed insure this shipment. We will give care to those who are injured and leave you with the tools you need to repair your vessel and return to Silvercove Harbor. Once there, you may speak with the underwriter and obtain your reimbursement. We will also ensure you have enough food to make the return trip.”

  With that, he and Cass went below deck and began moving their new cargo aboard the Mother’s Myth.

  As the last of the cargo was transferred and the enemy crew set adrift with the means to return to their port, Jonathon returned to the helm of Mother’s Myth. The crew was in high spirits, their chatter filling the air with the buzz of victory and the anticipation of what lay ahead. He joined Beckett at the helm, his face flushed with the thrill of the fight.

  “Back on course for the island?” Beckett asked.

  Jonathon nodded. “Aye. We’ve lingered long enough. Every day we waste is another day someone else might get there first.”

  Beckett smiled at his captain. “No one’s beating us, Cap’n. Not when ye’ve got your heart set on something.”

  The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a golden path across the water. As the men made their final repairs and adjustments, the sails filled with the wind, and Mother’s Myth surged forward. Next stop: the island.