Page 4 of Scourge of the Shores

So Robert danced and twirled and slurred his words, but when the others were passed out, he stood alone in the only tavern at Rogue’s Isle, The Drunken Sailor .

Robert chuckled at the irony of its name as he took a last swig of his rum before setting it on the counter, dropping an extra Delphi for the party’s mess.

The tavern owner and barkeep swiped it up and nodded to Robert with bloodshot eyes.

“Thank ye, Captain Jaymes,” he said with a slur of his words. “Mighty generous of ye.”

Robert nodded before stepping over the sleeping bodies and walking to where they had laid his father to rest. Fresh dirt was heaped on the six-foot hole.

He removed his hat from his head in honor of his father and kneeled before the grave. His fingers ran through the dirt.

“I’ll do you proud, Captain,” he whispered.

The silence of the night, compared to the precursor of ruckus, played tricks on his ears.

He swore he heard his father’s voice: “See to it, boy.”

He smiled and shook his head at his imagination.

“Aye, Captain,” he whispered. He patted the dirt mound and stood, returning his hat to his head.

“Those licksplitters, sleeping on the floor, or getting pickpocketed by wenches.” He chuckled under his breath, still speaking to his late father. “I’m glad you taught me well. You left me too soon, and I have so much to carry.”

He sighed, wondering how to pursue the legacy. “But I promise you, Father, I will make you proud.”

He began the long walk to Storm Rider to sleep in the luxurious captain’s bed, a melancholic whistle on his lips.

* * *

The Pirate Kings left any sleeping stragglers on Rogue’s Isle, for no one wanted such an irresponsible hand aboard their ship. The sun rose beyond the great horizon weeks later at sea. Dark, thin clouds blurred the outline of the sun.

Robert’s fingers lingered on the wheel before curling around its wooden handle at the ship’s slightest jerk.

He would never tire of the open sea, despite the turbulent waves.

One day, he would die on the open waters and be buried beside his father.

If fate allowed, a son of his would lay him to rest. But that would require finding a woman worthy enough to bear his heir.

His father had spent decades searching for such a match, and even then, the sea had taken her during a skirmish.

The Quartermaster, Frank, approached with heavy footsteps and stood beside the helm with hands on his hips. The giant man scanned the horizon with a squint. “I miss ye father,” Frank said, and spat over his shoulder so a crewman could swab it. “It’s too quiet in the mornin’s.”

Robert chuckled at his second-in-command. It was true. His father had an obnoxious way of calling the crew to show a leg in the mornings. Robert preferred a little more calm upon waking. He liked to ease into the day, if the sea allowed.

“My father never took the time to appreciate the morning sun and its shine on the waves.” He pointed to the faint glimmer of sun that touched the crests before the choppy water dispersed it. “It’s why I live on the sea.”

Frank gave him a side-eye. “Not the gold, not the booty?” Frank smirked. “Or the company of cutthroats?”

“Well,” Robert laughed. “All of those, too, matey, but there is something about waking up to the rock of a ship with the sound of waves outside the porthole.”

“Well, well—ye turnin’ poet on us, Captain?” Frank crossed his arms.

“Only enjoying the luxuries of the sea, Frank.” Robert gripped the wheel with his other hand as the currents pulled harder. “Don’t worry your pretty head about your new Captain.”

A soft clap of thunder drew the attention of those on the ships.

Frank grunted, eyeing the darkening sky. “Looks like the sea don’t favor soft mornin’s, Captain Jaymes.” He cracked his knuckles and strode toward the main deck. “Time to earn our keep.”

He stomped hard with every step to wake the crew.

“Stow cargo!” Frank’s yell blasted over the planks. “Check the riggin’!”

Robert chuckled as the first droplets splashed on his forehead and fingers. The clouds darkened. He pursed his lips before addressing the hidden sun. “You really wanted a’awakening like my father always did?” He sighed at the sky. “Fine, have it your way.”

He lifted his heavy boot and stomped it on the planks beneath his feet repeatedly, yelling as his father did, “Show a leg. A storm off the bow!”

Robert wiped the raindrops from his face as Frank barked orders. “Raise the mainsail! Secure hatches. She’s fast a’comin’!”

The previously calm deck buzzed with the activity of a hive.

Half-dressed crewmen scrambled to ready the ship while the morning sky darkened in a final foreboding.

Shrieks of wind howled through the rigging and whipped the sails taut.

Storm Rider lurched as the first storm gust hit, sprawling two younger deckhands flat on the deck.

“Hold on!” Robert shouted. His voice cut through the beginning rumble of the storm. The adrenaline surged in his veins. This was the second personality of the sea he loved—unpredictable, sudden, wild, and dangerous. His fingers tightened on the wheel, steering into the wind.

The waves lengthened and crashed against the bright red hull.

Storm Rider groaned under the fierce strain.

The wooden planks creaked and matched the cadence of the winds’ howl.

Robert glanced at Frank, who bellowed orders to the crew.

Frank’s voice disappeared in the wind as it traveled to Robert. The main sails were not all the way up.

“Furl the sails,” Robert yelled, but thunder swallowed his command.

A massive wave rose before them, a wall of water that seemed to reach the sky. Robert’s eyes widened as he braced himself.

“Hold on!” he yelled again, just as the wave crashed over the bow, drenching the crew and inundating the deck. Water gushed from the scuppers, refilling the sea and allowing Storm Rider to stay afloat.

The ship shuddered from the sea’s rage. Robert stood his ground on balanced knees and a firm grip on the helm.

The sails flapped and struggled against the wind.

A loud crack echoed through the storm as the main mast cracked down to the base.

Men jumped away from it, afraid it would tear loose in the winds.

“Get that riggin’ secured!” Robert shouted, his voice inaudible over the storm’s fury.

Frank pointed at the flapping ropes, and six crewmen jumped into action, pulling them tight.

Another wave knocked them all off their feet.

A crack of lightning seared the sky. The wind and rain battered them from all sides.

Robert scanned the damage. The mast neared its breaking point if they couldn’t secure it. The sea’s unmerciful pillage tipped Storm Rider , and Robert threw his weight into his ironclad grip on the wheel to keep the rudder from succumbing to the sea’s pull.

The storm raged until, just as suddenly as it had arrived, it blew past them, revealing heavy morning air and twinkling sunlight that calmed the waves.

The crew cheered weakly, their exhaustion evident. Robert turned starboard and then portside to assess the status of his fleet and that of his fellow Pirate Kings and their respective fleets. Sails had been ripped from the mast, hulls needed patching, and ropes sagged and frayed.

Robert rolled his sore shoulder and spread his blistered fingers wide before curling them back around the wheel handles. He looked around at his crew, soaked and weary, but all were somehow still alive. They needed to find land soon.

“Secure the main mast,” he said, and ropes were flung around the large base and tied tight to keep the crack from spreading. Robert chewed his lip. If that weren’t fixed, it could damage the whole structure of his ship. It wouldn’t hold the weight of the sails in full wind.

“Looks like we go slow with just the mizzen and the fore,” Robert murmured. He looked around. No land in sight. He left the helm in the calm water and approached the stern to watch the storm rage on behind him. His shoulders sank.

“Of all days, this be the one,” he muttered as he returned to the wheel. A disaster was bound to happen sooner or later. He returned to the helm.

“Adjust the mizzen sails!” His yell blasted through the humidity.

Rogue’s Isle would be too far to make it in one piece. They needed to find land, preferably one with trees.

Robert exhaled, his grip tightening on the wheel. “One setback at a time.” He let the words settle, tasting the salt on his lips. He was alone now. No father, no safety net. Just the sea and the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders.

“One setback at a time,” he whispered again, steadying himself.

* * *

“Land Ho!” Smith called down from the crow’s nest.

Robert gazed out in the direction Smith pointed from behind the helm and made a slight correction on the wheel to approach the dot on the horizon. A rather large island, he presumed.

He glanced behind him to see the other Pirate Kings following suit. With a final effort, he guided Storm Rider into a large bay, the water calmer but still choppy.

A vast settlement lined the shore. Robert ran a hand down his face, biting back the familiar churn of nausea at the thought of dealing with islanders. They were always either hostile or stubborn to the point of death.

“Drop anchor!” Robert yelled as soon as the ships were at a good depth. The clunk-clank, splash, and vibrating rope signaled they were moored.

He descended the stairs to the main deck and pointed to a few crewmen. “Otto, Larc, Thane, and Buford, come with me.” He turned to his quartermaster. “If I give you the signal,”—Robert pointed to his flintlock—“fire the cannons.”

Frank grunted in reply before shouting out, “Load the guns.”

Otto and Larc readied the rowboat while the other Pirate Kings’ ships did the same. Soon, four Pirate Kings stood in rowboats, hand on flintlock, awaiting any signal Captain Jaymes might give as his small crew rowed him to shore.