Living on Writer's Block

On the Osprey, battle had been joined with the dark-cloaked passengers from the life-boats, and Samuel was right in the thick of it. As soon as the ship had been sighted around the point, the whole fleet of boats had turned towards them. Each boat carried six hooded men, and one boat at a time, the crew of the Osprey cut down the numbers of the Matron’s army. The ship’s cannons took out nearly two dozen boats when all was said and done, and that greatly eased the strain placed on the crew as far as combat was concerned. Even little Jiminy helped a few times, dropping from the rigging onto the shoulders of a henchman and slicing the man’s throat with a dagger Samuel had given him. Wilhelm, the monocled gentleman with the broken compass, showed a certain coolness and flair in fighting that few had expected of him. He was normally just the navigator and as such rarely aided them in the fighting on a pirating raid; he now showed his unexpected skill with such ability that nearly three boatfuls of men fell by his hand that day.  Samuel, of course, surpassed the whole crew, leaping from the ship into the little boats as they drew too near and laying waste to the inhabitants thereof, only to leap into another boat to do the same. Occasionally he swung back up into the ship to help there, but the able crew rarely needed him. His own kill count measured up to about 10 boats’ worth, and his scars from that battle would be many and large. The crew later marveled at how he managed to survive that much injury, and when Gorrill said, “The cap’n’s got Neptune’s pro-tek-shun, tha’s wot it is,” nearly everyone was inclined to agree. 

“I dunno as it’s Neptune, my boy,” said a grizzled old man who was sheltering behind some barrels near Gorrill. He peeked over the top of his makeshift barricade and swiftly fired a shot at an oncoming black-cloak. The cloak crumpled to the deck but the old man paid no heed. Dropping back down behind, he said, “I don’t think even Neptune could protect ‘im like this. You mark my words, lads,” he said, peeking over the barrel again as he quickly reloaded his gun, “There’s something more than Neptune as has got ‘is eye on th’ Cap’n.”

When at last there lay no boats between the Osprey and the Matron’s galleon, Samuel swung himself up into his ship and directed Wilhelm to set a course for the pink monstrosity. He stood at the prow of the ship, panting, eyes shining with battle-lust, eager to fight again. His billowing navy shirt was torn and tattered, revealing a body covered both in old scars and in fresh wounds that soaked the edges of each tear with dark blood. His cutlass point rested on the deck beside him, stained red. The Matron’s ship grew closer and closer, and it was swarming with panicked servants and sailors. The little Osprey drew alongside, and Samuel quickly ordered grappling hooks. Almost before they’d been hooked over the ship’s sides, Samuel grabbed the nearest one and hauled himself up onto the giant galleon. As his boots hit the deck, the ship hushed. Everyone grew still, staring at him with wide eyes. He really was a frightening sight, for he was covered in blood that was not totally his own; a faint grin curled his mouth, from the corner of which there came a trickle of blood; and sweat and exertion had pulled his hair loose from his ponytail to fall forward into his face, while his pale blue eyes gleamed with an unnatural light. He looked around at the shell-shocked crew, his stance tall and imposing,  as his own men appeared over the side next to him. As his gaze fell on each individual member of the pink galleon’s crew, the man would flinch and look away fearfully. 

“I’m going to say this once,” Samuel said, in a low, almost growling voice, “and if I don’t get an answer, none of you are going to escape this ship alive.” He drew himself to his full height, his eyes flashing icily under his dark brows. “Where is Ramona Redhawk?”

The mob murmured uneasily, looking around at itself, wondering whether to remain loyal to their Matron out of fear, or to forfeit everything and tell him. Some of them hoped desperately that their neighbor knew the answer to this question. Finally, a young man with a scar across his nose spoke up. 

“Mayhap you could describe her, sir? We don’t rightly know the names of the Matron’s prisoners.”

“She’s not just a prisoner, man; she served the old woman for years. You’d know her. She has a red streak in her hair that changes color sometimes.” As the man paled, Samuel’s lip tightened. Oh, he knew, alright. “Might that ring a bell?” he said softly.

The man’s jaw dropped. “You-you mean the Matron’s s-second-in-command?” he stuttered, then paused and gulped. In a slightly hushed voice, he said, “Bloodhawk?”

“Is she?” Samuel asked calmly, wondering where the name had come from. “I had no idea. But that could easily be her.”

The man swallowed nervously. “Well, sir, if the cap’n’s a traitor to her ladyship, then it’s not worth our lives to betray her ladyship’s secrets to you.” 

Samuel gave a slight grin of amusement. “You don’t understand, laddie,” he said rather casually, leaning on the sword with its point buried in the deck, his other hand resting on his hip. “You have more a chance to live if you tell me. I plan on killing the old woman anyway, and then you’re all free.” The crowd all caught their breath and looked around at each other hopefully. “But,” he went on, looking round himself at the sea of faces, “if you don’t tell me, you’ll die with her. And should I fail, due to a lack of information,” he added, turning back to the man, “then your lives aren’t worth anything at all. She’ll kill you all for failure to stop an attack on her ship.” He raised an eyebrow. “Persuaded yet?” he asked in a dangerously low voice.

Then the man spoke up eagerly, and not without a tinge of green around his gills as he did. “Aye, sir, I know where she is! I know right where she is! I’ll take you to ‘er meself!” 

Samuel smiled, relaxing slightly. “Good man, that’s what I want to hear.” He turned to the rest of the Matron’s servants. “Find amongst yourselves those who would be loyal to the Matron, and deal with them as you see fit. The rest of you may feel free to leave.” He gave a slight bow and then looked back at the man. “Your name, lad?”

“I’m Lee. The others call me Sparks, though,” he added, red-faced. He glanced at the ground. “I can’t seem to avoid setting things on fire,” he muttered resentfully.

Samuel clapped him on the shoulder. “Glad to meet you, Lee. Now, if you’ll take me where I need to go.”

Lee nodded and turned quickly, pushing through the throng where already the Matron’s loyal followers were being ‘dealt with’. Samuel followed swiftly, his cutlass ready; Lee disappeared down a hatch and Samuel dropped down behind him. They went quickly through the darkness of the under-deck, between wooden walls regularly broken by doors with sturdy locks and barred windows. Samuel’s ears caught the sound of screaming, and sobbing; his pace quickened. Lee looked at him.

“Aye, sir; the only one the old lady’d be torturin’ now is the captain ‘erself.” He looked forward again. “I’m sorry, too; the cap’n were allus nice to us, when the Matron weren’t watching.” His eyes were harsh as he said, “I’ve never done anything I hated more than when I had to tie the lady up.”

“Where can I find that old hag, when I’ve found Redhawk?” Samuel asked between clenched teeth, his eyes narrowed. 

“She’s got a good third of this under-deck to ’erself, sir, a big, fancy cabin; she’ll be in there, if anywhere.”

Samuel nodded, his mind instantly occupied with all the ways he’d make the cruel woman pay. The screams were growing louder, quickly; suddenly, Lee stopped in front of a door, and Samuel could hear that Ramona was inside. He stared with burning eyes at the door, which was locked, and failed to think past the sobs ringing in his ears. Angrily, he threw thinking to the winds and began hacking wildly around the lock, yelling. 

“You let her go! I’m coming in and if I don’t see her free you’re going to die! Redhawk! Redhawk, I’m coming!”

From inside, there came a difference in the sobbing. Ramona began shouting his name. “Samuel! Samuel is that you!” The screams suddenly began again, intensified, and then stopped, trailing off into weary crying. 

In desperation, Samuel began flinging himself at the door, ignoring the pain the slams inflicted on his already wounded body. Suddenly there was a sharp, splintery crack and the door sprang open, and Samuel stumbled inside, eyes searching wildly for Ramona. He caught sight of her in the corner, a skeletal old man standing beside her, a needle in his hand. He looked at Samuel over his shoulder out of pale, lifeless eyes. Ramona raised her head slowly from where it hung, exhausted, over the ropes that bound her to the post, and her eyes met Samuel’s. 

“Oh, thank God you’ve come,” she gasped weakly. 

Slowly and deliberately, his eyes locked on Samuel, and knowing he faced death, the skeleton beside her began injecting more poisons into the girl. She screamed again, eyes squeezed tightly shut, her mouth stretching impossibly wide in her pain. She writhed against the ropes that held her, fighting uselessly. Suddenly her eyes opened, fearful, and she stiffened, gasping weakly, one final sob escaping her lips; then she slumped forward against the ropes.