Taken by Pirates

My heart raced like a rabbit’s in my chest, as my feet kicked wildly against the side of the crate. But because I was curled up so tight, I couldn’t get any leverage.

“Help!” I screamed and screamed.

I could hear my voice getting weaker, as the air in my lungs became thick and hot, then weak and thin.

The crowd became louder and louder, and must have all stood directly in front of the crate, as the few remaining little spots of light all dimmed at once.

~ Chapter 2 ~ The Captain ~

* Not Your Average Trunkful of Treasure *

No matter how many ports I sailed into or out of, no matter how many new routes we chose, it always felt special when we cast off and left port to sail toward the sea at sunset.

I wouldn’t dare tell the other men. It certainly wouldn’t do for a ship’s Captain to be thought of as a poet and romantic by his crewmen.

After seeing to it that Dwyer and Dobbs had stashed the last of the cargo safely down in the hold, I conferred with Willy about our schedule.

“Aye, Captain,” he said, pointing out our position on one of his crumpled, worn maps. “If the winds keep up, we could be in Parrinport day after tomorrow.”

“Right. And you’ll see to it that we don’t pass by Claytonsfield for at least two months?”

He ran a hand through his short dark curls, then placed his finger beside his nose as he gave me a nod. “Aye. Give them time to forget the slightly questionable paperwork.”

That was our code for thievin’. We were doing less and less of that every year, but now and then, a town left some of its wealth so woefully unguarded that it was impossible to resist.

Today we had simply meant to drop off some spice barrels, and pick up supplies. But the arrangement of unguarded heavy crates sitting right at the end of the dock was irresistible.

Dobbs had peeked inside one and found a stash of carpenter’s tools. Another held great folded sheets of fine linen.

The lads simply loaded up the ship seconds before we set sail. No one would be the wiser, as long as we stayed away long enough that they wouldn’t think of us as the thieves.

Especially since that whole spectacle with their odd singing fishermen had been going on at the time. That almost made it too easy.

“Keep me posted, Willy,” I said, then headed toward the galley to see what Cookie might be making for dinner.

Whenever we were in port, one of the lads would pop to the local bakery for fresh bread. Spending so long at sea, it was little luxuries such as this that broke up the monotonous days.

As I began to walk down the steps, Dwyer came bolting up them, the big man’s tan face looking as pale and gray as our sails.

“Captain,” he blurted, then he froze.

“What is it, lad?”

“There’s something wrong with that new cargo.”

Bloody hell. I hoped this wasn’t another case of something leaking out that caused a stench on the entire ship for weeks. That had happened three years ago, and I swear at one point I nearly swam to shore to be rid of it.

“Well then, best show me,” I said, starting down the stairs.

His hand was white knuckled on the railing. “I can’t go back, Captain.”

“Why the blazes not?”

His head shook quickly, tossing his sandy hair around. “I’ve heard of ghosts, Captain, and I’m not going near one.”

I laughed uproariously, but he didn’t seem to care. “Ghosts are simply an old wives’ tale to get children to eat their supper and go to bed on time,” I insisted.

He stepped aside, letting me walk down the steps alone.