“Do you know that vessel?” she asked, giving him a side eyed glance.
“I could. It is hard to tell with a naked view at such a distance.” Will replied with stone expression. Trina handed him the glass.
“Have a look for yourself, I can see no colors. But she sails with a purpose towards the smoke plume. Could that be the last of your fleet Lieutenant?” Trina posed while giving the officer a stern look.
Will focused on the vessel, giving nothing but a long silence back to his captors. He studied her bow through the foggy distortion of the glass until his eye began to ache with strain. Then he handed the instrument over to Lilith and looked down at the wood grain in the rail to his front.
“I believe it to be the H.M.S Valor, manned by a crew of mutineers. They surely saw the fire in the night and are no doubt investigating.” Will’s eyes lifted back to the sails on the horizon as he spoke.
“And how do you know this?” Lilith pressed, squeezing her hand on the wood of the rail at her hip.
“The damage she, we, sustained in our engagement with you. Her forward larboard rail, it’s barely visible in the sight glass, but the damage matches what I know the Valor to have sustained. Also, I believe she would be making such a maneuver to come about on the Endurance at some point, with the wind at her back.” Will answered. His tone was flat, monotonous while conveying information with no ill feeling toward the pirates or to the crew that had mutinied against their commander.
“How many guns?” Trina pressed in closer to Will.
“She’s rigged for twenty-eight, fourteen guns per side. When you landed your broadsides eight guns were destroyed on the larboard battery, leaving six on that side. My guess is they will have moved guns over from the starboard battery by now to even trim and firepower. That will mean she has ten-gun batteries on both sides, eighteen pounders with two long nines on her bow. She’s a force to be reckoned with, even short crew.” Will rambled, staring out over the seas with a glossed overlook.
“How short is her crew?” Lilith asked.
“You killed near twenty immediately with your broadsides. Wounded another dozen, of those four survived. We were short crew when we put to sea though.” Will began.
“How many?” Lilith raised her voice, gripping her cutlass and causing Will to take a step back.
“Fifty-five able bodies, at the most. I don’t know if any were lost to the mutiny, it could be less,” he stammered out, flustered by the young woman’s sudden anger.
Lilith took a step back, feeling the blood drain from her face. She looked at Trina while a helpless feeling washed over her soul, sucking her into depths of a sudden despair she could not express.
“Trin, we don’t have that many. And what we do have, we can’t sail and man the guns, we can’t outrun her…” Lilith’s voice trailed off as her eyes locked on to Trina’s.
“We will find a way girl. Now is when you need to be brave. Not for you, “She paused, pointing out to the crew on deck, “For them.”
All three of them looked out to the horizon, those little white sails were already growing larger.
“Trina.” Lilith said, again squeezing the grip of her sword.
“Yes girl.” Trina replied, breaking her stare to look at Lilith.
“Fly the colors.” Lilith said, her eyes still locked onto their approaching enemy.
“Aye Captain!”
Drowned Maiden
27 Sept 1808
18 Degrees 20 minutes N, 76 Degrees 12’ W
Will looked aloft, standing next to the beautiful young pirate captain while her banner unfurled into the wind felt surreal, a dream which he did not remember falling asleep for. The rising sunlight danced across the white of that devilish horned skull and trident, the image up close seemed even more imposing than the day he had watched a pair of them sail away from his crippled ship. He could still hear the screams of the wounded sailors in the recesses of his memory, for a moment he felt his throat tighten, his face flushed. At one point, he thought, not long ago I vowed to lay this ship along the bottom, now they are my salvation. His stomach knotted and his temples throbbed, the slight motion of the deck he was so accustomed to suddenly seemed exaggerated, intolerable. He was not sick, so much as he was thoroughly unsettled. The black fabric mocked him, snapping in the breeze as it reached its perch above the stern. Will’s eyes began to gloss, the wind in his face felt hollow, lacking the sense of freedom and adventure he longed over when he was ashore. “Take him below, with the others.” Lilith told Trina when she returned from raising the harbinger of death and chaos over his head.
Will gave no resistance to being led below, he felt as if he were a ship with slack lines and no rudder, dangerously adrift. The warmth below deck closed in around him as they proceeded up the passageway, invading his nostrils with the smell of cramped quarters, wood and tobacco smoke, the brine of the sea meeting the musk of timbers. It was a familiar smell, usually comforting, but today he took no solace in it. As the iron hinges squealed on the first of two heavy doors, Will peered in. A rotund man dressed in rags and smelling like death sat alone in a corner. Will looked at Trina for a fleeting moment, finding no mercy in the eyes of a woman he had saved from death. Letting out a sigh of resignation he entered the cell, hearing the squeaking cry of the hinges and then a clunk as Trina closed the door firmly behind him. The patter of sea against hull and voices in the cell next to him brought his situation into
