Of Magic and Rum (Beyond a Contemporary Mythos)

Chapter 2

Pure, relentless freedom. If you’re cunning enough to keep it. That’s why I, Jack Rackham, chose a life of piracy. As small as my operation was in England, I’d been a successful tradesman on the seas and didn’t care if coins lined my pockets on any given day. But when larger businesses began traipsing through, monopolizing, England gave no two shits about the “little people.” They embraced it because it meant more money and power for the country. And London? Forget about it—far too many people and even fewer jobs.

This led me to captain The Revenge, my sloop of war named after the reason I raid and loot the high seas. And life is good . Grand .

Truffles, my furry Calico cat, bristles underneath my chin, gliding first his spine and following it with a flick of his tail to ensure I give him my undivided attention. The little bastard has the nerve to look at me expectantly when I don’t pet him immediately.

“I see you, you insufferable feline,” I mumble, indulging him by scratching his head and running my palm down the length of his back several times.

The cat’s soft fur always calms my nerves, giving me clarity. This is sorely needed at present, given that I’ve been staring at this godforsaken map since the wee hours of the morning and have made no further progress. A pirate crew relies heavily on their captain to find the treasures to loot, know the trade routes, and plan for interception. When too much time passes without a decent score, the crew can become restless, vindictive, and in the worst case—mutinous. I’ve built up enough of a rapport with this current crew that we consider ourselves family, and I don’t fear the ones closest to me stabbing me in the back, but I also don’t wish to let them down.

Truffles purrs and turns to bump his head against my temple. Sighing, I scoop him into the crook of my arm and stand, moving away from the desk to stare out one of two porthole windows in my cabin. The unrelenting waves crash against the hull, timing with the ship’s sway. Stray items I didn’t bother to anchor roll back and forth on my desk. The sun blazes above without a cloud in sight, drawing sweat to my brow.

Truffles’ tail flicks left to right before curling my arm—his silent way of “claiming” me despite no other cats in sight. I repeatedly stroke his fur from his head to the base of his tail, using my other hand to undo several buttons on my burgundy tunic shirt. We’ve been at sea for three months and are heading back to Nassau to resupply and take a day’s break before heading out again. I’d never leave open water if it weren’t for petty things such as food and liquids. Solid ground under my feet has become foreign to me.

A knock sounds at the door, sending Truffles leaping from my arms to scurry under my desk and curl up on the pillow I keep for him.

“Yes?” I ask without turning around.

“Captain, your attention is needed on deck,” my quartermaster, Ragnar, announces. Danish-born and bred, he makes his Viking ancestors proud.

“What is it?” I snatch the black frock coat hanging from the back of my chair and sling it on.

Ragnar scratches his black beard with streaks of silver and white. “One of the recruits we picked up when last in port—” He leans on the doorway, several strands of his dark hair slipping out of the twine knot, falling over his gaze. “—was caught stealing rations.”

I groan and re-button my shirt as I move for the door. “How many know?”

“ For helvede . The entire fucking crew knows. Word spreads like wildfire on this ship. You know that.” Despite the sour news, Ragnar’s naturally narrowed eyes squint in amusement.

I do know this, but I still keep hoping that by some bizarre, bloody twist of fate, I can handle things discreetly for once. No. He needs to serve as an example—the clueless bastard.

Giving a curt nod, I descend the stairs to the main deck, twisting one of six ornate rings on my fingers. “Where is he?” I make my voice boom, lowering an octave or two.

Bobby holds onto a man struggling to break free of his hold. “Quit your squirming, you blunderbuss.”

“We’ll take it from here, Red.” I interlace my fingers and rest my hands in front of me, glaring at the thief.

Bobby, known to us as “Red,” earned his nickname from joining our crew as a former redcoat serving under the British Royal Navy. He sought to escape their hold and still wears the coat but has since smeared it with a white skull matching the skull and crossed swords in the colors we fly.

The thief yanks away from Red, and he lets him with a devious smile. And then the thief’s gaze falls on me, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulps. “Captain, I was hungry. That’s all. Didn’t mean no harm by it.” He runs a hand over the sweat collecting on his shaved head.

“Ragnar,” I call out. He appears at my side a breath later. “Who’s in charge of the ration portions on this ship?”

“That’d be me, sir,” Ragnar answers, crossing his massive arms.

“That’s correct. So—” I pause and wave a finger at the thief “—what’s your name again?”

“Ham, sir. Short for Abra?—”

Holding a palm up, I sneer at him. “I don’t care. What I do care about is what we’re to do with you .”

Ham’s light eyes widen, and his bare feet step forward, but a dozen raised cutlasses halt him. “Captain. Please. I didn’t even eat it, the—the quartermaster took it all back.”

“Ah, so you were holding it for safekeeping but had no intention of consuming it?” I arch a brow.

Chuckles and profane name-calling echo around the deck.

“I—” Ham goes silent before zipping his spine straight and lifting his chin. “—it was a lapse in judgment at the time, Captain. It won’t happen again.”

I swivel my hips at my crew, holding my arms out at my sides. “As long as he’s sorry , right, crew?”

Objections and more cursing roars from the pirates surrounding us.

I’m now standing toe-to-toe with Ham, towering over him with his nose hovering near my collarbone.

“I thought Calico Jack was supposed to be a merciful captain. Only reason I joined your damn crew,” Ham snivels.

Bending into his face, I whisper, “I am merciful by comparison, but we here still abide by the code, you selfish ass.” Standing tall, I raise my voice for the whole ship to hear. “I could make you walk the plank, or maybe—” I yank the knife from my belt and hold the blade to one of Ham’s fingers. “I take a finger as a lasting reminder to keep your filthy paws where they belong.”

The color drains from Ham’s face, his arm tensing beneath my touch, but he doesn’t dare try to pull away. “P—please.”

Rolling my eyes, I shove his hand away. “You disgust me.” I sheath the blade and turn my back on him, beckoning Ragnar with a single finger.

“Thank you, Captain. Thank you,” Ham wails behind me.

Ragnar leans his ear toward my mouth. “Take a finger. Make him scream so the crew can hear, but make it on his non-dominant hand, will you? We still need the cunt able to aim a pistol.”

“Aye, Captain,” Ragnar says, cracking his knuckles, a glaze forming in his eyes as he brushes past me.

There’s no point in looking back. It’s not as if violence and bloodshed phase me in the slightest any longer, but to witness his punishment would give him far more clout than he’s worth. Ham’s cries of agony bounce off the sails, the cheers and whistles from the crew drowning away as I re-enter my cabin and shut the door behind me.

“What’s all this?” Duke, our sailing master and resident father figure within the crew, asks. He’s sitting in my chair with Truffles curled up in his lap. He pets my cat with one hand while dragging a finger along the routes I’ve traced on the nautical map for weeks.

Crossing the room in two strides, I grab the captain’s log, thick and bound in scuffed brown leather, and toss it in the middle of the map. It narrowly misses Duke’s finger.

His brown eyes quirk behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, and he reclines, running a hand over the gray beard that falls past his chest. “That secretive, hm, Jack? What are you doing trying to plot routes in the first place? You wouldn’t know your way out of a damn bathtub.”

“I can navigate fine, old man. But I had to give you a role on the ship, right?” I press a hip on the desk, propping my knee up.

Duke barks a laugh, his long silver hair with streaks of black shifting over his shoulder. “You keep telling yourself that, boy. But you wouldn’t last three days without me if you had to change directions more than once. The sea can be a treacherous bitch, my friend.”

My navigation skills may not have been the best, but I’d have no place calling myself a captain if I couldn’t find our way back home. I’ve let Duke hang this over my head since we first met years ago, and I’m not about to take it away from him now.

“Tell me about it. Why trouble yourself with a woman when the sea is already a handful, hm?” Smirking, I ruffle my traitorous cat’s head.

“What is this really, Jack? Looks like you’ve found several routes leading in the same direction, but they stop in the middle of the ocean. Not a scrap of land in sight.” Duke pushes the book aside and taps his finger to the map.

Staring absently at the spot he poked, I pinch the hair below my lower lip with two fingers. It’s because what I found isn’t on land but underwater . “I’ve found a treasure, Duke. A jewel. Would make us all filthy, filthy rich.”

Truffles stands up, stretching, and decides to knead Duke’s portly rounded belly with his claws.

Duke grunts and bats the cat away, but Truffles ignores him and continues to prep his makeshift bed before settling into a ball atop Duke’s stomach. Duke sighs. “What’s the problem then? Sounds like some profitable gain.”

“It’s—” Frustrated, I shove away from the desk and rake a hand through my hair. “—it’s based on a myth, but?—”

“Jack,” Duke chastises, dragging out the “a” and flashing me a warning paternal glare.

Magic. Myth. The paranormal. All mysteries of the known world that most people couldn’t fathom and didn’t believe. But not me. I know with every fiber of my being, most, if not all, of it exists. Who are we to na?vely assume we’re the only beings or entities in the universe?

“I know this one exists, Duke.” The desk rattles as I slap my hands atop the mahogany. “I. Know. But the crew voted against me every time I brought up going on one of these voyages because as much as they believe in me, they don’t believe in it .”

“I mean, can you blame them? That’s a lot of time and effort wasted for treasure existing in myth, Jack.” Duke strokes his beard.

“Not this time. I’ll have to present it differently. Convince them.” I stare into the distance, lost in thought.

Duke appears in my line of vision. “You mean lie to them?”

“You insult me.” I frown. “Never. I mean more along the lines of—withholding certain information until it needs to be known.”

Duke shakes his head and beats a forefinger atop the desk. “And I suppose you want me to back you on this?”

“I’d owe you.” Leaning on the desk’s edge, I catch his gaze. “This’ll be the big one, Duke. Mark my words.”

“Jack, you owe me enough favors to last me the rest of my life.” Duke scratches Truffles’ back, trying to hold back a smile but failing.

I give a lopsided grin. “Then what’s one more, eh?”

“Fine. But if this winds up to be some wild goose chase, I’m never doing it again. Understand?” Duke points a stern finger at me.

Still grinning, I hold my hand out to him. “You won’t regret this.”

We shake hands, and I make my way to the helm to steer us into the port of Nassau.

Our boots hit the docks no sooner than most of the crew make their way to the island’s local brothel.

I follow in their wake, meeting Omar, the brothel keeper, at the front. After plopping several coins into his palm, I lean against one of the tables. “Whatever they want, yes? That should cover it.”

Omar tosses the coins in his hand, jingling them and holding them to his ear. “ Oui monsieur . But Jack, you don’t wish to partake?” Omar’s voice is rich with a French accent, and his deep purple jacket is trimmed with gold filigree, which shifts as he swivels, referencing the establishment. “We have a new girl. Scarlet hair like you wouldn’t believe. I know how you prefer the red-haired ones, oui ?”

“You’re not wrong, but Omar—” I bow and steeple my fingers. “—I don’t have to pay for it.”

One of the whores eyes me from across the room, biting her lip and pulling the dress further down to accentuate her tits.

“Trust me,” I emphasize.

Omar sticks out his bottom lip, adjusts the powdered wig atop his head, and sighs. “I can’t deny that. I swear there’s a shift in the winds every time Calico Jack steps onto the docks here in Nassau. You’re like a curated fine wine on an island full of years old Sercial.”

Blinking, I clap Omar on the shoulder. “I have no bloody idea what that comparison means, but thanks all the same, I believe?”

“A compliment of the highest order, Captain Rackham. I assure you.” Omar’s obsidian eyes scan me up and down, his fingers playing at the frilly lace peeking from his jacket sleeves.

Giving him a two-finger salute, I turn for the door. “Need fresh air. I’ll be waiting outside. Be a doll and send them out when they’re finished?”

“Of course.” Omar bows before zipping his spine straight, pointing across the room. “Giselle, it’s not been but five minutes. What are you doing out here already?”

Giselle rolls her eyes and throws her hands to her hips. “He fell asleep.”

Grinning, I exit into the warming sun, heavy scents of rum and brine in the air. I prop a foot against the building and slip the map from my inside jacket pocket, resting a rolled cigar between my lips. The taste of tobacco relaxes my mind, but I never find it necessary to puff on it.

Rejuvenation should’ve been a forethought, but my mind is far too occupied to relax. This jewel will put the crew of The Revenge in the history books should we find it. Riches and glory are at our grasp, but I still need to convince them it isn’t another one of my “outlandish desires for adventure.” I do not doubt that every mythical item I’ve researched exists. They’re more challenging to find than sunken Spanish gold but far more valuable.

“Hi, Jack,” a woman’s voice croons across the way. She wears a floral print gown, her light blonde hair pulled into sectioning ringlets. She’s waving at me with a laced, glove-covered hand and twirling the ivory parasol with the other.

The calluses on my palms scrape the worn leather map, and I offer a tightened smile, irritated by her interruption. A wave is all I can muster. “Good afternoon. Fine day we’re having, hm?”

A subtle frown pulls at her lips, but she nods and continues her merry way.

Fuck. I know I’m consumed by something when the company of a beautiful, interested woman becomes secondary to the task at hand.

Ragnar exits first, adjusting his shirt within his trousers and stretching his arms to the heavens. Red soon follows, combing both hands through his greasy blonde locks before securing the dirty powdered wig askew atop his head. Jac Gog, or Glog as we’ve all come to call him, joins us a breath later, his pale cheeks turned rosy and a sheepish grin lighting his face. Glog became our ship’s cook when we were last docked in Port Royal. We didn’t often recruit in Jamaica, considering the risks, but Glog came to us saying he wanted to be free after leaving Wales, but all he could offer was a strong back and decent meals. How could we have said no to that?

Sighing, I search the group of men as they arrive, missing one particular crewmate. “Where’s Mary?”

I’ll never hear it down from other crews about my recruitment of Mary Read. God forbid a woman on board. Most sailors are an overly superstitious lot, but they don’t believe in magic. Go figure. Mary is more ruthless and loyal than half the men on my crew, and so long as she swore the oath and did her duty, I didn’t mind a woman in our ranks. Besides that, I love women.

“Hasn’t come out yet. No surprise there,” Ragnar said, chuckling.

Ducking back into the brothel, I survey the varying doors leading to rooms on the ground floor and upstairs, with a balcony and additional rooms. “Mary,” I shout, waiting for a door to creak open.

Her head pops from one upstairs directly above me, her chocolate brown hair ruffled, and the sinister grin on her face apparent. “I’m almost finished here, Cap. Promise.” Mary’s voice is rich with an English accent that is not unlike my own.

“Don’t rush on my account.” I wave at her, raising both brows as I see two women, one with raven hair and the other blonde, pawing at Mary to return inside. “We’re going to the tavern. Meet us at the docks in thirty minutes. And I do mean thirty minutes, Read. Or I’ll leave you here.”

“Aye, Captain. Thirty—” The raven-haired woman kisses her, cutting her off, and the door slams shut.

Shaking my head, I head back outside. My crew and I head to the local tavern to share a few drinks on solid land before embarking again. Perhaps the Mystic Mermaid offered precisely what I needed to sway them into voting in favor of going after the jewel: alcohol and distractions.