Treasure of the High Seas: Ch. 9 (Patreon)

Trigger warning: This chapter mentions enslavement as part of a character's backstory. The receipt of sale included is based on a real historical document.

This is a fictional swashbuckler romance with krakens and more, but many real pirates were enslaved people seeking freedom, equality, and wealth. It felt disingenuous not to acknowledge them as an important part of pirate history.

Cecily

I descend into the captain’s cabin, then slump into the sagging armchair. Staring at the ceiling, I struggle to catch my breath. My hammering heart has nothing to do with my minor injuries, nor the exertion of the sword lesson.

Captain Lockheed’s scent lingers in my nose, sweet cedar and oiled leather beneath a sharp note of alpha sweat. My tongue darts out, rolling across my lower lip. I want to despise her smell, but my trembling body betrays me.

Until this moment, I have thought of her only as my captor; a cruel, selfish pirate with a soul marked for damnation. But the ghost of her touch has left a hot imprint on my clammy skin. I still feel her hand on my arm, her palm pressing into my hip.

The omegas at the suffragist meetings would be ashamed. There will be no freedom for us until we refuse to be treated like chattel, animals to be bought and bred. I have never wanted a mate to mark me, a master to command me.

Yet I cannot deny the pull of Captain Lockheed’s scent. It has awoken something terrible within me, something I must deny with all my might. Until now, I have never understood how other omegas could become slaves to such base urges. I always sighed and rolled my eyes upon learning another bright, spirited omega bared her throat for a mating mark.

Now, I cannot banish the memory of Captain Lockheed from my mind. Her voice, low and commanding, leaving no room for protest. Her rough hands, curling over my fingers and cupping the curve of my hip. Her lips, lush and full, drawn back to show a flash of sharp white teeth.

What sort of imprint would those teeth leave on my throat?

My pulse speeds up at the base of my neck. The skin above my mating gland warms and begins to itch. I clap my hand to it as though swatting a bothersome gnat, attempting to rub the irritation away.

This is ridiculous. How can I possibly be compelled by such a brute? One who has abducted me, no less, and exposed me to no small amount of danger. I might have lost my life for her greed if that kraken managed to sink her godsforsaken ship. It is only by The Bride’s mercy that I continue to draw breath at all.

I take a slow breath. It does not help. The whole cabin reeks of her.

But animal instincts mean nothing in comparison with good common sense and exceptional moral values. By the grace of the thrice-praised Triumvirate, I have been bestowed with a generous helping of both. I shall simply ignore Captain Lockheed until my ransom is paid. Then, she will be nothing more than an unpleasant memory.

I rise from the armchair to select a book from Captain Lockheed’s collection. An idle mind is where devils whisper their promises. The soft leather cover is embossed with a gold-flaked title: The Elbiosan Pilot.

I flip the cover and scan the table of contents. The volume contains several navigational charts. As I page through them, I make a most pleasant discovery. Many of these charts include illustrations of the night sky at various times of the year. With this book, one might learn to navigate open waters by the stars.

In my eagerness, I fail to notice the hidden envelope until it slips from between the pages, landing upon my lap. I find it torn open, its crumbling wax seal long since broken. That familiar old vice, curiosity, wins me over once again. Gently, I slide the sheet of paper from within. It is soft and yellowed with age, its creases worn.

Mister Elias Locke received of £500 in full payment for an Aruwasi omega male named William, about twelve years of age; which I warrant sound in body and mind and a slave for life. I also guarantee the title free from all encumbrance.

Lord Governor Alfred Pennyford II

My heart sinks, cold and heavy as a stone in the blackest of waters. There is no doubt who William is, nor “Mister Elias Locke”. But Eliza is no slaver. She must have purchased William’s freedom from the vile father of my equally despicable intended.

No wonder she hates nobles so, and the Pennyfords in particular. No wonder she abducted me to spite them. Though I have long found the institution of slavery nothing less than reprehensible, to see it printed in black and white shifts something in the very foundation of my soul.

My future father-in-law looked at a twelve year old child and saw not a person, but an object to be bought or traded. If I fall into the clutches of this family, as Lord Pennyford’s mate, I shall be viewed much the same.

I may never know the full horror of young William’s childhood. And I may be granted the luxury of living in a fine house and wearing fine clothes. But the peers of my station dress up their pets much the same. A diamond-studded leash chokes as well as any other.

It dawns upon me that Captain Lockheed may in fact be my savior.

Since my abduction, I have focused only on my immediate survival. Now, I must think further ahead. I must convince Captain Lockheed to let me go. I will find no better opportunity to secure my freedom.

But what do I have to offer? My father’s money and any expensive possessions gifted to me are well out of reach—and Captain Lockheed is no saint. She is a pirate. Pirates parlay in gold and expensive goods. I cannot stake my future on the goodness of her blackened heart.

Carefully, I slide the receipt back into the envelope and tuck it between the pages of the book. I replace the volume amongst its fellows on Captain Lockheed’s desk, feeling an unpleasant itch upon my hands. Simply touching it makes me feel as though I have stained my good soul.

I must find some method of convincing her to release me. This receipt of sale is the key. Perhaps I should speak to William first. He seems to know Captain Lockheed better than anyone. If anyone can help me, William can.

***

My first opportunity arrives with dinner, when William presents me with a plate of jerky, hard tack, and lime juice. Far from a lavish feast, but I make quick work of it anyway.

William lingers a while, offering idle conversation, but whenever I look into his soft brown eyes, I feel the scorching fires of shame deep within me. I cannot bring myself to speak of my discovery. Instead, we discuss my sword lesson—a subject I am reluctant to revisit for entirely different reasons.

“How is your head?” he asks, reaching out to caress the side of my head. “She didn’t crack you too hard, did she?”

I lean forward, allowing him to examine my scalp. His fingers probe gently around the area, but I feel only a dull, intermittent ache.

“Hard enough to teach her intended lesson,” I tell him, “but no worse than bumping my head on a cabinet door.”

William clicks his tongue in concern. “Still, there was no reason to hurt you.”

I duck away from his touch. My cheeks flush, and I clear away the rasp in my throat. “I did ask for a lesson. Was she similarly aggressive while teaching you?”

A wrinkle forms between William’s expressive brows. “How do you know she taught me?”

I offer him a pursed smile. “A lucky guess. However detestable I find Captain Lockheed, there is no doubt in my mind that she cares about her crew.”

He shrugs, then smiles. “I may as well tell you. She is my older sister.”

My eyes widen. I suspected that Captain Lockheed carried some fond responsibility for Will, but I hardly suspected that they were blood related. Her skin is much lighter, and her build is hard and lean rather than wispy.

“I had no idea,” I say.

“There was no reason to tell you,” Will says. “Eliza hates when people pry into her private life.”

I lean forward in my chair, closing the gap between us. “Then why tell me?”

“Because Penny and I have been talking.” He leans in as well, lowering his voice even though we are the only two souls in the cabin. “You climbed our mast, saved Red, helped repair our ship, and survived a sword lesson with our captain. You show more spirit than we ever would have expected from a noble.”

I clasp my palm to my chest. “Oh, Will. Your words touch me deeply. You, Penny, and the others have been far kinder and more understanding than any pirates I could have imagined.”

He flashes a grin that shows his gold eye-teeth. “It’s nice of you to say so, Cecily.” He reaches over, resting his warm, calloused hand upon my shoulder. “That’s why the two of us think returning you to your fiancé would be a terrible sin.”

My breath hitches. Have Will and Penny been thinking along the same lines? Considering Will’s unjust past, he has every reason to despise me and others like me. He has every reason to seek revenge against the Pennyfords. And yet he wants to save me.

Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back, swallowing around the lump in my throat. In this lawless pirate, I have found a truly compassionate soul. Not just that, but a friend.

“Praise your thrice-blessed soul, Will.” I place my hand over his, lacing our fingers. “But how will you convince Captain Lockheed?”

Will squeezes. “Let me and Penny worry about that. But if you can avoid pissing her off, just for a few days, it might help.” His kind smile took the sting out of the words.

I chew my lower lip. “Why are you doing this for me? I know my abduction was no crime of opportunity. You must have planned this to hurt Governor Pennyford.”

“Stealing you away will certainly hurt his pride,” Will says. “And we can still hurt his pocketbook when we collect your ransom.”

“Captain Lockheed would go back on her word for me? She promised my safe return in exchange for the ransom money.”

Will hesitates a moment. “These are…exceptional circumstances.”

The sting of guilt rises once more beneath my skin. “I found the receipt of sale,” I stammer. My eyes flick down to my lap, avoiding his. “I know she saved you from him.”

Will removes his hand. I hear him take a deep breath. “She did. Eliza’s my half-sibling. Same dam, different sires. Hers was a sailor from southern Elbios. She has the sea in her blood…” He trails off and says nothing more.

I keep my silence. The rest is probably too painful to share.

“When Eliza learned about me, she came. She was only seventeen, but she spent everything she had for my freedom. But she resented having to buy her own brother. She swore we’d have revenge.”

I look up at Will. He’s staring past me at Captain Lockheed’s fancy portrait, the one where she cuts a striking figure in red against a stormy background. It makes sense now. That is truly how he sees her.

“You will,” I tell him. “You should.”

“We will,” he says. “And not only that. With the money, we intend to start a network—a chain of people and resources, so that some of the enslaved Aruwasi on Governor Pennyford’s plantation can escape.”

I have heard whispers of such networks before, from the abolitionists at my suffrage meetings. It is an enormous undertaking—and very dangerous. “She would risk her life for strangers?” I whisper, hardly believing my own words.

Will nods. “If they are enslaved? Yes.”

I nod in turn. Captain Lockheed is no bleeding heart, but at least she has principles.

“Let me help,” I say. “Return me for the ransom.”

A grin spreads across Will’s face. “Oh, we intend to…for the few seconds it takes to claim Governor Pennyford’s gold.”

I lean forward in the armchair, feeling my heart beat faster. This plan has all the excitement of a cheap penny dreadful—and it sounds worlds better than becoming Governor Pennyford’s mate. “How do we intend to escape?”

Will rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “We…Penny and I haven’t figured that part out yet. None of us expected to like you. We thought you’d be as rotten as Governor Pennyford.”

“A low post to clear,” I say. “I hope my jumps are much higher than that. But for now, I am grateful for the positive assessment. Whether Captain Lockheed shares that assessment…”

He laughs. “She does. I can tell.”

I arch a brow. “Does she indeed?”

“Call it a brother’s intuition,” Will says. 

Something in his tone pulls at a loose thread in my mind. For the life of me, I cannot place what it is. His proclamation sounds almost playful. What reason does Captain Lockheed have to like me? We have butted heads at every turn, and the only thing we have in common is our mutual loathing for each other.

“Eliza admires anyone with grit, especially omegas,” Will says. “She just hates being disobeyed. You have to understand—even if she wasn’t an alpha, the crew knows that listening to her means we live to see another sunrise. We can make suggestions and offer opinions, but when it comes down to it, we follow orders. You, on the other hand…”

I click my tongue. “Of all the virtues to recommend me by, obedience has never been one of them.”

Will’s wide grin hangs upon his face like a crescent moon. “Obedience is no one’s virtue. Loyalty, however…that is what the best omegas are made of. Alphas, too. And there’s none more loyal than Eliza. If she promises to take you with us after the exchange, you can count on her word.”

I feel a bubbling lightness stir inside my chest; a swell of hope deep within me. Freedom is so close that I can taste it. I gaze at Captain Lockheed’s heroic portrait. I am not so naive as to believe she is some sort of hero outlaw, but she may deliver me from my fate anyway.

Sometimes, the Triumvirate sees fit to answer the prayers of the faithful in the strangest, most unexpected ways.

***

For the next week, Will no longer locks me in the captain’s cabin. I am given free rein of the ship. This is a substantial improvement, since I may take fresh air whenever I wish, and use the head at the ship’s bow rather than relieving myself in a bucket. Wearing some of Penny’s spare clothes allows me a great deal more comfort.

I have no idea whether my freedom was Will’s idea or Eliza’s, but whatever the reason, I am tremendously grateful.

With nothing to do but watch the crew’s routines, I learn that life aboard a pirate ship is far busier than I expected. The Maelstrom has a strict schedule, with every hour counted by the bell.

Before sunrise, the pirates on first watch wake to begin their chores: adjusting the sails, maintaining the rigging, and so on. If it rains, some go below decks to the bilge, pumping out excess water.

In the afternoon, the first watch takes their leisure, gambling and listening to Red’s tawdry ballads while eating lunch. The second watch readjusts the sails, in addition to cleaning and maintaining the cannons. If there is no wind, the first and second watch might take up the oars together.

After sunset, the first watch sleeps, and the second watch enjoys their break while the third watch begins. They spend the long night awake, watching for enemies and foul weather. With such a small crew, there is a great deal of mingling between watches. Often, an individual must attend two watches, but they always have one watch to sleep.

I make an effort to be useful where possible, assisting with menial tasks. Though I do not climb the ratlines again, I help Red prepare food, assist William in treating patients with a variety of small injuries, and learn to clean and caulk the deck. 

And, of course, there is always laundry to be done.

“Laundry” on a pirate ship consists of drying one’s sea-soaked clothes from one watch to the next, or wringing them with lye soap in the rain. Keeping one’s clothes dry at sea is a far more difficult prospect, and a far more important task, than I imagined. 

Captain Lockheed and I do not speak, but in such a small environment, it is impossible to avoid one another entirely. We often find ourselves eating from the same cookpot, listening to the same song, or taking shade beneath the same sliver of sail.

She does not greet me by smile or word, but she does not shoot me hateful glares either. If anything, when her gaze falls upon me, her features appear thoughtful, with creased brow and tight lips. She usually finds some way to keep busy soon after, leaving me with other members of the crew.

I soon come to know all the pirates by name. There are Will and Penny; and Red and Scrumpy, of course. The dour Tom of the missing finger causes no further trouble. Charlotte goes about her tasks quietly and efficiently, and does not return my smiles when I attempt them, consumed by grief.

The youngest member of the crew is a beta named Squirrel. A lean, gangly-limbed boy of perhaps sixteen, he climbs the ratlines faster than anyone else. He is always first in line for supper, and his greatest treasure is a set of bone dice.

One-eyed Jim, a middle-aged alpha with weathered brown skin and an eyepatch that is his namesake, shows me how to tie several varieties of knots. I make a habit of carrying a short piece of rope with which to practice, and even I am pleasantly surprised by my rapid improvement.

The oldest crewmate, General, is a fastidious alpha of perhaps sixty, with a most magnificent salt and pepper mustache. In passing conversation, I learn he was a member of the Elbiosan navy for thirty years. I find that I have far more in common with him than expected. Rather than rum, he drinks his own special blend of tea daily.

Captain Lockheed’s eleventh and final crewmate is something of a mystery to me. The crew calls him Blades, and for good reason. A short, wiry beta, he spends most of his time playing knife games. He even juggles them on occasion, much to the crew’s delight. But he takes the night watch, and hardly a word passes his lips.

And so, in the company of my rough but entertaining new comrades, I pass the week tying knots, caulking salt-cracked boards, scrubbing the deck, and drying pirates’ laundry. My father would be scandalized at the very thought, which in some small measure delights me.

My newly adopted routine continues until the morning of the eighth day, when a fog thick as firesmoke descends upon us. The bitter salt of it stings my eyes as I emerge from the Captain’s cabin. The first watch goes about their work like ghosts, silent shadows shifting in and out of the mist.

I consider returning to the warmth of the cabin, but then I spy Captain Lockheed approaching at a fast clip. Her leather boots tap briskly upon the wet deckboards as she joins me beneath the three-walled structure that shelters the tiller.

Her only acknowledgment toward me is a cold, subtle jerk of her chin. Then she takes her place at the tiller, gripping the long wooden lever in with sure, steady hands. Her long and dexterous fingers boast a graceful curl, a surprising contrast to the roughed callouses on her palms.

I clear my throat, sidling closer. In the interest of beginning a conversation that does not immediately become an argument, I ask, “How will you find your way in this fog?”

Captain Lockheed stares into the mist without sparing me so much as a glance. “Go back down, Lady Harrington. This is no place for you.”

I fold my arms and fix her with a glare. My opinion of her may have softened somewhat after learning of her past, but I still find her behavior as insufferable as ever. “Why? Do you think the fog will offend my sickly constitution?”

She spends a hissing breath through gritted teeth. At last, she looks over her shoulder at me. Her amber eyes are not as hateful as I expected. Instead, her brows are drawn, her full lips pursed with worry.

“I worry more about a blade through your gut. Another ship has been circling ours for the past several days.”

I peer out across the ocean. There is nothing to see. “Is that why we have not yet made Bride’s Mercy? What manner of ship?”

Her upper lip curls in a sneer that drips condescension. “Must you always ask so many questions?”

I unfold my arms and place my hands on my hips. “Must you always refuse to answer them?”

Captain Lockheed makes a shushing sound. She pulls a spyglass from within her embroidered red coat and puts it to her eye. I have no idea how she can see in this weather, but she must spot something, because she strides away without another word.

Curious, I follow in her footsteps. The entire crew has gathered on deck, a group of silent sentinels. They are all armed with cutlasses and a few flintlock pistols. All wear identical somber expressions.

“Will,” Captain Lockheed says, “take Lady Harrington below and lock yourselves in.”

Before I can protest, she turns toward me, pushing a wave of scent over and through me. It fills my lungs with the scent of cedar and alpha musk, but it is not pleasant this time. It is harsh and demanding, a clear order for me to back away.

I take a step back.

Will takes my arm. “Do as she says,” he whispers.

Much as I hate to admit it, should a fight break out, I will be more of a hindrance than a help. I turn toward the stern, but the sound of sharp breaths and low words gives me pause. A large ship emerges from the fog on The Maelstrom’s port side, its sails billowing like the wings of a great black bird.

“Quickly,” Will says, pulling me toward the hatch leading into the hold. “Come below.”

I hurry after him, descending the ladder into the belly of the ship. All is silent except for the quiet groan of wood and the ominous hiss of the waves. Even the animals are quiet. The stillness of the air, thick and stifling, raises the hairs along my arms and prickles against the back of my neck.

Will leads me toward the rain barrels, urging me to crouch behind them. I do so, while he takes a spare pistol from a nearby rack. He presses the handle into my open palm.

“Only use this if you have no other choice. Without practice, you’re as likely to hurt yourself as your enemy.”

A hard lump of fear sticks in my throat, but I nod in agreement. The thought of learning to wield a weapon had felt exciting and empowering, as though I could take charge of my own destiny. Now, the weight of the pistol feels cold and heavy in my hand.

I curl my fingers tight around the handle. My hand is shaking, so I keep the barrel pointed at the floor. Triumvirate willing, I will not need to fire it—and if I do, may they show mercy upon my wretched soul.