The atmosphere is thick and heavy inside the ‘Dead Man’s End’, a small tavern in the northern port of the island of Tortuga. Run by a shrewd and mysterious woman, known only as ‘Carma’, it isn’t a place frequented by anyone of stature or officialdom; in fact, anyone in military uniform is sure of a rough welcome, involving fists if you are lucky, or a knife if you are less fortunate. Trinkets hang and curses are scribed into the walls, making it an unwelcome place at the best of times; perfect though, for pirates such as the crew of the Mermaid’s Revenge. The crew have made anchor in the port and are now found in the tavern in possession of a suspiciously large amount of coin — which they have every intention of spending with careless abandon.
Captain Blake slumped beside one of his crewmates with a large grubby glass, half full of pungent, frothy beer in one hand, his other arm draped over the man, supporting his frame just enough, preventing him from collapsing to the floor. Gathering himself, he steadied his gaze; he wanted to watch his crew enjoy the moment, for they had survived the brutal plundering of a Spanish Galleon, returning with a large fortune that was sure enough to bring them future troubles. This night though, would wash away the cuts, bruises and bad memories for a long time to come.
Blake noticed his first mate, Waters, huddled closely with another man, Crowe; a man he had recently watch sweep aside Spanish Marinero’s with such brute force, as if they weren’t even there. Another man, Thompson, was accepting drinks from them, carelessly sinking each one in quick succession. Thomson’s survival surprised Blake a little; although he was a capable sailor, he was young, slightly built and not a natural fighter who could overpower trained military men. Suspicious, Blake wanted to know: why were they talking in hushed tones and occasionally glancing over at him? With every intention of finding out Blake grabbed a fresh, full glass of beer and stumbled his way over to talk to the men.
“Gentlemen.” he slurred.
“Cap’n.” Waters replied, distancing himself from Crowe.
“What ‘ave we ere then.” said Blake, wrapping his arm jovially around Thomson’s neck.
Thomson was at this point beginning to stumble and slur his words.
“Jusht enjoyin’ a few drinksh with these fine men Cap’n. Crowe saved me life y’know.”
Blake’s suspicion dissipated in that moment; his intoxication alleviated his fear that the men were taking advantage of the naive Thomson.
“To your health.” He toasted, forcing the beer into Thomson’s hand; which Thomson dutifully consumed.
“To your health Cap’n.” Waters proffered, offering Blake a fresh glass of his own.
Waters wasn’t sure if he saw suspicion in his captain’s eyes or just the vacant stare of a drunkard as Blake stared at him. After a drawn-out moment Blake’s eyes focused upon the beer on offer, taking the glass, again raising it in a silent toast, before sinking the beer in it’s entirety.
Blake slammed the glass down on the table beside him, cracking it at the base, before proclaiming “I need a piss.” He stumbled, bouncing along the wall and other men, before making leave to the street to relieve himself. Seeing the captain exit the door, Waters looked over towards Carma behind the bar. She returned her gaze, shifting her eyes first in the direction of a group of men huddled beside Waters, then to a solitary man stood in in a dark corner of the room. A small candle was lit in the recess of the wall above the man, revealing his cold look of contempt. Feeling unease, Waters finished his drink to gather his courage and with a heavy breath he uttered to Crowe “It’s time.”
Crowe was already prepared and stood beside the hapless Thomson who had no suspicion of what was about to happen. Crowe gave him an inconspicuous shove, directing him into the group of men pointed out by Carma. Thomson’s momentum knocked the drinks from their hands and sent them sprawling. They glanced at each other before picking themselves up. Thomson felt shaken, sobering at the the thought of what was about to happen. He gathered himself and stood up to find himself confronted by two of the men. A brief silence ensued before a fight broke out. Crowe felt a twinge of admiration for Thomson in that moment, he was handling himself well considering his inebriated condition. It didn’t last long though, they dragged the limp Thomson out of the rear entrance into the arms of some waiting military officers. Crowe smirked; It was job done for him, he had made it look ingenuous.
During the commotion, Waters had retreated unnoticed to the corner of the room to speak with the mysterious man.
“He’s our fall guy.” Waters informed him. “He’ll tell you all you need to know if you pressure him enough.”
Without speaking a word the man produced a small bag of coins from his pocket. He handed it to Waters and made his leave.
“I trust this is the end of the matter for the crew?” Waters questioned, halting the man’s stride. “You’ll resolve the issue with the Cap’n alone?”
The man paused and half turned his head, but declined to answer before continuing, the tavern door closing behind him. Waters noticed that Carma was staring at him again. Not sure what to make of this he returned to his beer and the crew’s festivities. Yet, he had a sense of fear for the future weighing on his mind. The next time he looked, Carma had disappeared.
Blake was still relieving himself outside, completely oblivious to the commotion that had taken place, when he felt the sharp digging of fingers into both of his upper arms, hooking him backwards. He reacted instinctively, attempting to reach for his knife, but it was futile, his assailants overpowered him. The last thing he felt was the thud of a blunt object striking his head as he fell to the floor unconscious.
He woke sometime later, still drunk, with a pounding headache. He noticed a man sat in the shadows, in the corner of his cell; a man he was certain he had seen before: in the tavern maybe? The man was staring at him, waiting patiently for him to arouse from his snoring slumber. Blake rushed at the man, his wrists clamped, yet hands outstretched in search of the man’s throat. But, he did not realised his right leg was also clamped, chained on a short leash to the wall, causing him to collapse to the floor. The man did not move the whole time. Only now he spoke.
“You were unwise to return to this island.” he taunted. “Word has spread quickly of the theft from our beloved King.” He paused to allow the impact of this statement to sink in.
He knows it was us — but how? thought Blake.
“Thankfully, I am merciful. I would like to propose an exchange — your life and freedom for the location of the island and all its treasures.”
Blake pondered this for a moment, the possibilities flashed in front of his eyes. But, the chains were evidence of his future: he would die here and now if he did not comply.
“What island?” Blake made a feeble attempt at innocence.
The man spoke again, “Do not play me for a fool Captain Blake. If we meet again, rest assured I will kill you. All that saves you now is what you know, and the information you will give to me.”
Blake reluctantly made his bargain without commotion; he knew he had no choice, but how could he live with himself? For the bargain did not include the lives and freedom of his crew, only himself. The Spaniards wanted the entire crew dead. Blake would have to live his life in secret, in the shadows, constantly looking over his shoulder; but at least he would be alive.
Now outside and rubbing his chafed wrists, he felt the man’s cold eyes burning into him as he made his way back to the tavern. Along the way he repeatedly asked himself: who could he trust? Who sold him out? Would the stranger honour the deal?
Why not complete the series?
- Part one: Ne’er trust a pirate
- Part two: Fraught in a trap
- Part three: The bargain
