PROLOGUE
THE MESSAGE
This is a tale of adventure endless in bounds, of revenge so sweet, and of emotion so cruel. A tale that has gone unheard for more than a millennium, but must be read for the lasses who wish to push the bounds of their minds, for the lads who want to see what lies beyond the laws of “the ordinary, civilized culture.” A tale of one ship who sailed with a most infamous and rebellious crew in the black fog of the night, stalked the seas as her territory regardless of who else laid claim to it, and stood up to many a competitor with her weight of gold and riches well defended by a fierce artillery array.
This, my friends, is the lost story of The Shimmering Starling and her crew.
The night was a ghastly gray, not the usual black one would expect. And while it is the darkness that is feared on land, at sea, it is gray fog that floats on the water which gives sailors the tremors. But it ain’t the color or the cold that haunts seafarers on nights like these, nor is it the fog itself. Rather, it is what one cannot see, deep within the clouds, that gives even the boldest sailors the spooks. It is on nights like these that lookouts of the British Empire’s most valued trade ships stare hard with trembling lips into the fog, looking for trouble that cannot be so easily spotted. And ‘twas on such a night that one of the many things sailors fear at sea occurred to an unsuspecting cargo vessel - pirates.
The Mary Hampton, commanded by Captain George Henderson and bound for the Virginia Penal Colonies with a supply of rum for the guards, glided through the fog with just another day’s journey ‘til her arrival in port. But behind her, a shift in the fog exposed the movement of another ship, the oak wood of her hull blackened with the powder of previous battles, her sails ghostly gray like the fog hugging her, but no flag up. The Shimmering Starling, her name being, was not the boastful type who liked to announce herself to her prey like a lion. Rather, her captain and crew preferred the silence of an owl, gliding without a sound as she neared her prey and catching them by surprise so they wouldn’t have a chance to fight back.
The dark ship quietly snuck through the fog, with the Mary Hampton in its sights, yet the latter was unaware of her stalker. The ship then caught an extra gale in her sails and gained on the freighter before steering starboard side and coming up silently on her prey, still managing to remain hidden in the thick fog. By the time the Mary Hampton’s crew noticed the silhouette of the other ship in the fog, the latter’s cannons had rolled forward and, just as the lookout began to warn of the hostile ship, opened fire.
The freighter took three direct hits to the upper deck and two balls that dug into her hull, one of which crushed a cannon just before it could be lit. Another struck the upper rail, sending splinters flying like needle-sized spears. Two more hit the lower hull again, one of which killed another few of the gunners onboard and tossed two more cannons out of action.
With the freighter’s port side defenses disabled, the Shimmering Starling steered in closer. Barbed hooks on thick rope were tossed out and secured the ship to her prey like the talons of a hawk.
“To arms men! To arms!” Captain Henderson shouted, and right thereafter, he saw the pirates swinging from the ropes of their ship onboard.
These pirates, though, were quick: dodging shots from the crew’s rifles and slaying or disabling them with some of the quickest and most brutal swordsmanship and hand-to-hand reflexes Henderson had ever seen. But he couldn’t get a good view of the pirates, as the majority of them kept scarves tied around their faces and kept their hats tilted forward. As he rushed to his quarters to retrieve his musket, though, he thought he could hear higher pitched tones, calls, and grunts coming from the pirates, as though they weren’t men. Henderson had never heard of women becoming pirates, but he didn’t have time to examine: it was his ship that was the priority.
Just as he made his way down the steps to the main deck and wove around to his quarters, he heard one of the pirates land behind him. Wheeling around, he managed to block the hand of a pirate his height who tried to jab a dagger into him from behind. But seeing as he didn’t have a weapon to defend himself with, Henderson resorted to a mere retaliatory punch to the pirate’s jaw. He was stunned to hear a painful cry that was definitely that of a woman as the pirate struggled to the side and slid down against the wall to his left, grabbing her jaw.
Breaking into his quarters, Henderson dashed for his desk. A shot exploded in the back of his thigh, causing him to fall against the desk in pain. He struggled desperately to work his way around the desk, but the pirate responsible for the shot grabbed him by the shoulders, wheeled him around and stabbed the flat heel of her boot into the arch of his buckled shoe. She then used a whole arm to roughly shove the captain against his desk and restrain him.
“Easy, Spearhead,” ordered a moderately young voice warped with authority and muffled by the mask on her face. “Give him some space to breathe. The swine’ll probably come to his senses and learn that it ain’t worth it to fight this evening.”
With that, Henderson’s captor took her arm off but kept her hand clutched tightly on the back of his uniform. She also drew a flintlock from her belt, clicked the hammer back and held it against his side while maintaining a cold look through her mask to further dissuade Henderson.
The apparent captain of the pirates then strolled slowly into Henderson’s quarters, each step from her tall and apparently well-polished black boots torturing the floorboards with hard steps and long, loud creeks. Like her crewmates, she still kept her scarf around her mouth and nose, so Henderson couldn’t get a good look at her. He assumed her to be quite the charmer, though, from her moderately slender build, some light brownish-orange hair, peach-white skin, and almost maple-brown eyes; all barely visible through her disguise. The captain only gave a brief glance at Henderson before turning to observe the rest of the room, soon coming across the latter’s bookcase. The pirate captain’s fingers swept softly over each title, until she came across a green-covered book, which she pulled out slowly and read the title of.
“Expeditioner’s Guide - Charting the North Atlantic,” the pirate captain repeated with some intrigue, then read the author’s name with a little less flavor in her voice. “Lawrence Carlton.”
“One of the British Empire’s best charters this side of colonial waters,” Henderson commented, trying to be friendly. His captor twisted the skin on his wrist to shut him up.
“And one of the best deceivers and cheats,” the captain replied, tucking the book under her arm before approaching him personally.
When she was just short of breathing distance from him, the pirate captain removed her scarf to show a clean, beautiful, and enchanting face that left Henderson staring at her for a few seconds. But then he thought he recognized something about her: this face he swore he’d seen somewhere before. Boston, possibly?
“And of all the pompous, rich swine I’ve dealt with in my life,” the woman continued with an enchantingly venomous tone, “he’s the prize. What I wouldn’t do to slit his godforsaken throat. I assume you know him?”
“Well, I...I can’t say that we know each other as friends,” Henderson stuttered back, trying to find words appropriate for the beautiful villain. “But he’s well known. I uh...I would think that a lot of traders know of him.”
“He’s a sputtering rascal,” another pirate insisted with a slightly more mature voice ravaged by her villainous attitude. This newcomer had just entered and removed her scarf to reveal a lightly brown-skinned woman who observed Henderson with the same cold look as the others in the room, “Why not toss ‘im overboard or tie ‘im up with his friends out on the deck?”
“Because he’s not worth the trouble, Vixen,” the captain replied. “In fact, he’s more valuable alive than dead. ‘Cause I’ve got a message for him to take back to port.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not headed for Britain,” Henderson politely protested.
Spearhead—the masked pirate still holding him—hissed, “Shut up,” like an angry cat in his ear.
“My dear Captain Henderson,” the pirate captain replied, “I’m afraid you won’t be arriving at your intended destination tonight. Your cargo, whatever it may be and valued at however high its price, is our cargo now. Instead, you will deliver a message for me. Oh and do be a smart little mouse and try not to deviate from your instructions, ‘cause I don’t think you want to find out what could happen if you double-cross me.”
“O...Okay,” Henderson stuttered back. At the gesture of the captain’s head, Spearhead let him go but still kept the musket cocked and ready to fire.
“Tell the hog Carlton that someone is waiting for him at sea, someone once fooled by his pretentious love is waiting to return the favor. And her name being his dearest...dear little Charlie.”
Charlie? Although Henderson simply nodded to avoid the deadly consequences awaiting an alternative response, he couldn’t help but remember something about that name and this face. He’d been to Boston on a few occasions and remembered something about a family who’d lost a daughter at sea; a family who’d been hit by some kind of economic mishap with the Crown but who used to hold some influence on his routes. His eyes then flicked to another book on his shelf, one with a red velvet spine that read below the title “Frederick C. Van Reyes.”
“Are you?” Henderson then questioned as the captain turned her back and prepared to leave. “You’re Charlotte Van Reyes: the lost daughter of colonial trader Frederick Carter Van Reyes.”
At the mention of the name, Charlotte stiffened, but then relaxed partially before replying without changing her tone. “You’d best do as you’re told, dearest Henderson. And should my father find out before Carlton does, I will do the dirty work of arranging your final night myself. And I’d much rather save that for my bittersweet love; the one who tore my heart out on land. Am I clear?”
“Crystal clear,” Henderson replied promptly with a nod.
“Have Barnacle, Tempest, and Dreadlocks cleared their hold?” Charlotte then asked the pirate Vixen as soon as Henderson was allowed to scuttle back outside to the deck.
“Last barrel heaved up ‘n’ out, Captain,” Vixen replied, tying her scarf back on.
“Then let us leave this crew to do their duties as the obedient men they swore themselves to be. The sooner we’re clear of these wretched swine, the better I’ll feel.”
And just like that, Charlotte stepped back onto the plank between her ship and the Mary Hampton. From the helm of his ship, Henderson watched as the young lady in her black coat, red sashes, and shadowed legs strode back to her home at sea without taking another glance over her shoulder at the stunned survivors watching the flow of her movement. As the Starling retracted its plank and turned starboard for the fog that still polluted the night sky, one of the pirates fired off her musket into the air before something flung back and landed smack on the Mary Hampton’s deck.
It was Henderson’s book that Charlotte had initially stolen from his library, only it had been slashed down the middle of its cover and stabbed in its core by one of the pirate’s knives. A chilling site despite no violent carnage, maybe because Henderson feared what might happen to Mr. Carlton if he should fall for Ms. Van Reyes’ bait. But whether this pirate meant to carry out her secondary threat towards him, Henderson felt it best to head back to port in Britain and at least convey his experience of the encounter to the authorities. Maybe they would pass the message on to Mr. Carlton for him.
Taking one last look behind him, Henderson saw no further image of the Starling, but had good reason to suspect she was stalking them once more to make sure he kept his end of the forced bargain. That he made sure of as the embattled Mary Hampton came about and retreated the way she’d come.