Of Magic and Rum (Beyond a Contemporary Mythos)

Chapter 30

Finding hiding places to keep warm from the cold autumn nights in England is a feat. I’ve not slept a wink when the sun’s orange and red rays peek at the horizon. Omar’s words were vague when he said he’d provide a distraction, and this makes me antsy.

When will this distraction start? Will it make the crowds rowdier? Should I expect pistol fire or even explosions?

My eyes have acclimated to the darkness, and the piercing brightness overtaking the sky makes me squint. I rub my arms, working the chill from them and coming to my full senses. Using the brick wall behind me as leverage, I push to my feet and secure the abandoned gray shawl I’d procured from a street bench around my head. As early as it is, the streets are already steadily filling with townsfolk.

“I hear they’re hanging the captain first,” a man in a brown tweed knee-length coat, trousers, and frilly linen shirt says to a young boy bouncing at his side.

The captain. My captain. Jack .

The boy’s blonde curls bobble as he jumps into a puddle. “But why?”

“The man’s made a name for himself. Known as Calico Jack. I figure they mean to make a spectacle of him to discourage others from treating piracy as a popularity contest.” The man shoves a leather-bound portfolio under his arm.

As much as I loathe the idea of them trying to humiliate Jack during his walk to the gallows, I know he won’t give them the satisfaction. I know his charm will win the crowd along the way. And I know the more time they take to finish the deed, the longer it gives me to rescue him and the crew.

Pulling my jacket around me tighter, I keep my chin low and follow the people chitter-chattering and whispering about the soon-to-be hanging pirate. Some gather streetside while others have tied off smaller boats in the river. It’s sickening how many wish to witness a man they’ve never known meet his end. And I’d kill them all for it if I could.

“Here comes the cart,” a woman in a white bonnet and apron shouts across the road. She points, and everyone pushes and shoves to get the best view.

I let them elbow past me, a deep frown forming once Jack’s face appears. His head isn’t lowered, and a cocky grin plays on his lips. Jack’s kneeling in a rickety wooden cart with a coffin resting beside him. The chaplain and executioner flank the cart, walking alongside it, and two soldiers lead, with one trailing behind it. Soon, the rest of The Revenge crew, minus Mary, parade behind Jack in shackles.

Now is not the time. Too many people surround him in close quarters here.

Keeping hidden behind the sea of bodies, all edging their way forward to catch a glimpse of the infamous pirate, I stay in time with the cart, not tearing my eyes from Jack. He’s not going to like it, but this may need to wait until the last possible moment because it’s when there’ll be the fewest people standing in our way.

“Why’d you do it?” A random man standing on a bench asks Jack.

Jack chuckles and lifts his dirtied hands, covered in irons, for the crowd to see. “I was an Englishman like the rest of you. And I told jolly ‘ol England to suck my cock.”

Gasps and hoots of laughter fill the air. A woman in a corset dress and tavern apron walks alongside the cart and pours him a cup of something amber-colored before handing it to him with a grin.

Jack bows his head to her. “Appreciation.” He downs the drink, tossing the mug to the crowd upon finishing it.

They fight over it—shoving, punching, and pulling.

The procession continues for nearly an hour, and what they hoped to make into a humiliating, dehumanizing, torturous parade for Jack is the exact opposite. Because he’s Calico Jack Rackham for a reason. He says everything they wish to hear, flashing the grin that’s had me melting even when I couldn’t stand him, and he never lets his confidence falter. They’re praising him as a hero by the time he reaches the docks and have given him so many alcoholic beverages he begins fake drinking them so as not to be sloshed for our escape.

They line the remaining crew shoulder to shoulder at the dock’s edge, facing the awaiting noose to watch their captain hang. I swivel on my heel, searching for any sign of Omar’s “distraction,” but nothing from the cheering boisterous crowd seems out of the ordinary. Propping against a pole so as not to draw attention to my jitters, I flick my thumb over the dagger’s hilt nestled safely in my belt.

They’re leading Jack off the cart now, and my heart races. He’s only paces away from me, and I can’t act yet. Must. Wait. And I don’t want him to notice me because I don’t trust us to maintain neutral faces. One moment lingering on the other too long or one change in demeanor could make this all for nothing.

Keeping my face hidden from the crowd, I wedge between two people on the dock’s edge with a prime view of the noose hanging over the water. The rope’s length is far shorter than the average noose, which makes a pirate’s death longer. There’d be no chance of their necks snapping, and they’d sway and slowly suffocate. Nausea curdles my stomach, and I press a hand there.

The chaplain recites a prayer to bless Jack’s soul in the afterlife, and Jack squints at the piercing sunlight inching through the clouds. “You’re wasting your time there, mate.”

The chaplain ignores him and continues from a small red bible he holds in his withered hands. Jack rocks on his heels, waiting and still smiling at the adoring crowd. Some people beg the executioner to spare Jack’s life, while others shame the marines standing by him.

Once finished, the chaplain slaps the book shut and turns to Jack. “Any last words?”

I’m honestly shocked they allow this.

Jack scratches his chin and addresses the townspeople instead of the officers. “They call pirates low-life degenerates, but what’s truly criminal is that you can fight like a man and still be reduced to dying like a damn dog.”

“Amen,” a man with a shaved head wails from behind the crowd, laughing and firing a round from his flintlock into the air.

Everyone shrieks and drops to their knees, shielding their heads with their arms. The marines point at the executioner, encouraging them to see their job through before sprinting after the—distraction. What starts as a single man raising turmoil through the on-lookers turns into three, four, and soon a dozen pirates are running through the streets of London, firing pistols that harm no one but still evoke fear.

My eyes snap to the executioner tossing the noose over Jack’s neck, and I fight people who are trying to flee in the opposite direction. Panic consumes me, and I’m slamming my shoulders into them with such force that a shooting pain spikes down my arms. The executioner tightens it around Jack’s neck, and in a moment that splits time and space, the world slowing, Jack’s body drops from the blocks. I kick the man in front of me behind the knee, toppling him to the ground and using him as momentum. Jumping from his back, I grab my dagger and throw it. I hold my breath for the few seconds it takes to slice through the rope, Jack landing in water up to his shins, coughing and gagging.

The executioner leaps down, but Jack already has the knife poised in his grasp, and after a few dodges, he slashes it across the man’s throat. I hurry across the dock and climb to where Jack stares bewilderingly at the small blade. He’s more attuned to it than the man who was about to hang him gurgling and spurting blood behind him.

“Jack,” I breathe out.

His caramel eyes lift to meet mine, and a tiny smile cracks the corner of his lips. Jack shakes the dagger at me and laughs. “ Cutting it a little close there, weren’t we, love?”

“Are you dead?”

Yanking the dagger from his grasp, I secure it in my belt.

Jack feels himself, ending with cupping his crotch, and replies, “No.”

“Then accept my rescuing,” I tease, touching my fingers to his shackles and turning them into water that falls to our feet, blending in with the rest.

Jack glares at me. “Annie?—”

I leap and wrap my arms around him, kissing him and shutting him up. “We need to grab the rest of the crew and haul ass back to The Revenge. This distraction will only last so long before the Navy sends reinforcements.”

“Where did you find a pirate crew willing to crash a pirate execution in enemy territory?” Jack’s nose wrinkles, and he hoists me onto the dock.

“A brothel keeper,” I answer.

Jack pauses with his hands on the dock and blinks at me. “My dear, you are beautifully intelligent, but that makes no sense whatsoever.”

“I’ll tell you all about it in your cabin later.” Crouching, I encourage him onto the dock, trying not to laugh at his confused expression.

We race through the streets where most of the crew have taken advantage of the chaos and used it to escape. Jack lets out a shrill whistle. The crew members snap to attention with jovial smiles upon seeing not only Jack but me, too. And everyone’s here except—Mary.

“Jack, we need to get Mary. She’s still in that cell. I left her there.” I slip a hand over my mouth. “By the Seas.”

“This Mary?” Her voice is an epic hymn sung through the clouds.

Grinning, I turn, and there’s Mary, twirling her shackles around one finger, a set of keys hanging from her other hand.

“How did you—” I stop myself and flick my hand. “—you can tell me when we’re out of this shithole.”

An eerie quiver seizes my spine, and it’s then I spot him pushing through the crowd, shouting and pointing at us—Charles Vane. We lock gazes, and I set my jaw. There are too many people rushing past Vane, and his voice is drowned out by the cacophony of gunfire, screams, and pirate laughter.

Ignoring Jack’s nemesis, despite the seething anger raging in my blood, I turn Mary and Jack away, hoping they’ve yet to spot him. It’s hard enough for me to fight the urge to attack Vane, let alone those who’ve dealt with him for far longer than I.

We undo everyone’s shackles once we’re a safe distance away and at the shoreline, staring blissfully at the island in the distance, The Revenge floating there. But the dinghies are all on the ship now.

I’m already whisking primary pieces of clothing off, and Jack is beside me, repeating the same actions. “Jack, what are you doing?”

“I’m going for a swim. What are you doing?”

“It’s way too far. You’ll never?—”

Jack cups my face, and, just as I had with him moments ago, he quiets me with a kiss. “A giant sea monster is after you. I’m not letting you go alone, and we need two people to row and tow the other boats behind if we’re going to get the crew back on board in time.” He swirls circles on my cheeks with his thumbs. “And you know I’m the strongest swimmer next to you.”

It kills me that he’s right and positively guts me, but I relent and nod. “If you get tired, you tell me, and I’ll pull you along.”

He agrees but never says a word, the stubborn bastard. We make it to the ship without any interference, and he flops on deck, gasping for air and swallowing mouthfuls of it with his palms pressed to his knees.

“Tired, Jack?” I hide a smile while undoing one of the rope ties.

Jack shakes his head but still hasn’t regained enough breath to answer me.

We row the dinghies back to our awaiting crew and safely return to The Revenge while the other pirates have been practically turning the River Thames into a pirate tavern. The reinforcements arrive, but they give them the runaround and buy us enough time to shove off. I’m exhausted, grateful, and didn’t once fear for my life or secret showing my scales. It’s unbridling.

Jack smiles at me from across the deck, where he’s discussing something with Ragnar. I wave at him but frown when the seas beneath us rumble and turn foamy. I search the water, unable to make anything out until I notice it—a glittering gold three-pronged spear—a trident. My heart plummets to my feet because I’m terrified and elated to see this. A giant water horse raises its front hooves from the water, and there’s no mistaking who found us—my father.

Poseidon.