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Branko, Captain of Patricia’s Wish

“Why did we act like a bunch of ninnies? We should have ganged together and hung the old demon by his gingamobs!”

Who’s passing on the other side of the trees?

I unsheathe my dagger by reflex. As long as Magda is tucked in her pyramid, she is camouflaged.

However, I’ve left my pratts where anyone can find them.

At most, there are thirty yards of trees between our camp and the ocean.

I have less than five minutes to formulate a plan before they trample on us.

Picking them off one by one would be ideal but there isn’t the time or distance to do so.

Am I outnumbered? How long do I have until sunset?

If I can hold them off, Magda’s fangs would double my fighting power…

if she would have the nutmegs to fight… Blimey, I have a lot of ifs…

“Not me!” barks a second voice through the trees. “I’ve been his Nimgimmer for weeks and his balls are rotted with pox. I wouldn’t touch him again—even to hang him by ’em.”

I’d know this second voice anywhere. Snips, the ship’s doctor from the QAR , is within these trees.

In our early days, his primary job was stitching us up after battles.

He got his name from the way he yanked the floss to tie a final knot before cutting any excess thread.

We would bellow for him to get the scissors or snips without the final tug.

However, in the last few weeks, his job has been being the crew’s venereal disease doctor.

If he jumped ship because he was sick of looking at pimply cocks all day, I wouldn’t blame him.

The sky has an apricot tint, but too many rays remain to wake Magda.

I will have to face the intruders to protect her.

Who is with Snips, and who do they wish to hang?

Were they sent to find me? I scatter the remnants of last night’s ashes with my boot and creep to the base of the largest tree in our circle.

There are at least four pairs of rustling bushes.

Whoever accompanies Snips doesn’t understand stealth, or this is a large group.

A knot forms in my stomach as I picture myself ambushing me hearties.

“We should have shown that bilge-sucker the black spot while we had the chance—” The way Chub draws out his vowels is unmistakable.

The Irishman claims to be from England, but his brogue gives him away whenever he opens his mouth.

His temper must be pricked for his accent to go unchecked.

To roll his vowels and threaten Blackbeard with mutiny in the same sentence is bad business…

unless you are on the run from said Captain…

“Yeah, serve him a black spot with Willie Mace sharpening his knives over the demon’s shoulder?

I’d rather be keelhauled under the QAR than get on his bad side.

He carves for fun, and I’m not talking about whittling.

” Only Teeth has such a fear of William Mace.

Perhaps it is because he has a pretty face which he would like to keep or because he has more brains than the lot of us cast together.

William has been known to give up his share of the booty in return for a prisoner to have at his disposal.

Anyone who’s mopped his room knows he consumed them, not just killed ’em.

The more I weave around the trees, the more my spirits climb.

Each comment I gather from the group points toward us being of equal mind.

If only the trees had horizontal branches, I could gain the high ground.

From that vantage point, I could shout down to them and gauge their footing without getting shot.

This unforgiving terrain has minimal bushes and no canopy for hiding.

Still, the hope of joining me hearties pushes me onward.

“Someone needs to hunt the scurvy dog after what he’s done to us.

I’d elect Black Sparta, but he vanished after Branko jumped ship.

If anyone can cleave the old captain to brisket, Branko or Black Sparta would be my pick.

” This voice is definitely Boom, the cannon master of the QAR .

And Boom is never without Sharp, the taciturn weapon’s steward.

Where is the vessel if the crew marooned their doctor, cannon master, weapon’s steward, and two senior hands?

“Good riddance to the lotta ‘em. All those flowery words and we fell for them like virginal brides. I’m too old for their gobshite. All I asked was to die on the high seas with a full belly and an empty cock. Bastards denied me all three, and for what? Fear of mutiny. We hid behind Edward Teach— yes, I’m calling him by his name, not some moniker born from madness.

He’s simply a man, not a demon, but was willing to play one.

We believed his lies because they suited us until our presence didn’t suit him.

Where does that leave us? Carolina. Godforsaken Carolina with no letters of marquee, governors’ letters of pardon, or demon to scare off the local law enforcement. ”

The crotchety old voice can only be Bud.

Bud earned his name with his ability to detect real gold from a fake by taste.

He bites coins to verify them, but also carries a special monocle to see inside gems. One look and he can spot fake stones and the real thing.

Grouchy bastard wouldn’t teach me or anyone else his trade, either.

Claims he’s stayed alive as long as he has because he can’t be replaced.

Due to his yellow belly and habit of hiding when we board treasure vessels, he’s wise to hoard his skills.

His speech motivates my feet. These men were swindled like me.

We could band together and reclaim the vessel.

We could steal another Sea Rover together and go back to the sweet trade.

In the least, they may know a boat heading to Nassau.

My prospects have gone from zero to infinite.

I trample plants and swat at branches as I fight toward my friends.

Their grumbles grow louder. I’m almost upon them when my brain stutters. What about Magda?

I’m pondering my relationship with Sea Hag when I collide with Sharp.

He growls and pushes me on instinct. I ricochet off Bud and plow over Chub before landing on my arse.

Sharp has his shooter drawn before I can draw a breath.

The barrel is aimed between my eyes. “Avast, ye scoundrel! I will shoot a third eye socket in ye skull!”

“It’s me, you pudding-headed fellow,” I say while dusting the vegetation from my sleeves.

My eyes stick to the task so that I won’t reveal my terror at being held at gunpoint by the fastest shooter on the QAR .

Lady luck must be watching over me for him to ask first and shoot later. His habit is the reverse.

“Branko, as I live and breathe!” Chub says as he rolls to my side. I’m not comforted by having him so close. The guy is chest-height on me, but can lift more cargo than all of us put together. His short stature hides that he’s strong as an ox and as mean as one, as well.

“I’m as surprised to see you,” I tell him from my spot on the ground.

Talking to these men after fleeing the boat is like holding a loaded cannon before the order to fire.

I give up the high ground to show them I’m not interested in taking on the six of them.

“What happened? Why aren’t you sailing?”

“We were marooned by Blackbeard,” Sharp says while tucking in his gun.

A bead of sweat drips down my spine as the pistol slides into its holster.

“Bastard beached the QAR ashore just there”—he pauses to gesture eastward, “punctured all but one dinghy, and took the good one to The Adventure . All planned, it was. The vessel was waiting just off our starboard for him to climb Jacob’s ladder.

Never seen anything so cowardly in my life. ”

I’m shocked. The invincible Blackbeard not only abandoned his ship for a smaller one in his fleet but also removed the means for his crew to follow him.

Why didn’t he fire everyone legitimately?

Has his mysterious illness gone to his brain?

I try to put myself in Blackbeard’s place and see his logic.

He trades a large boat for a smaller one…

one unable to attack a naval vessel… Ooooh, a smaller boat could navigate the narrow passages of the barrier islands along the coast. He must hope to hide in the territory of the Carolina Governor, amongst the sandbars and coastal villages. This radically changes my plans.

“Like rats fleeing a sinking ship,” Chub adds on.

“Was Black Sparta with him?”

“Nope, I will correct myself. He was like a rat fleeing a sinking ship. Haven’t seen Sparta since you vanished. We reckoned you split together,” Chub answers.

“Ye hearties were angry at you for leaving. Then, we were angry at Captain because William Mace let slip you were to be traded for quicksilver in port. I’m afraid you have made a dangerous enemy,” Bud says before offering his hand to Chub to help him stand.

I jump to my feet using my special abilities. Bud offers me a sly smile.

“Mace is on The Adventure , right? He was promoted to being the vessel’s captain last summer over Black Sparta—after Mace served on the QAR under Sparta for a season too.”

“Kicked your man in the pratts when Blackbeard chose Mace over him. We should have seen the change in tides from that choice,” says Snips.

He punctuates his statement with a load of spit sent behind him.

Teeth jumps out of the way at the last second and shoots a glare at the good doctor.

“Sparta’s not with you or he’d have killed us all for our first collision.

Whatcha doing in Cape Fear when we left you in Charles Town?

Obviously not much if you’re wandering the trees without more than your duffle. ”