The Swashbuckling Yarn of Milady Vixen (6 page)

“Aye, I hate the very sound of the name,” Vixen growled. “So you provide us with these documents, and in exchange you get what?”

“Half your plunderings, and all warships of His Majesty’s nation will turn a blind eye to your—efforts.”

“A quarter.”

“Pardon me?”

“A quarter of the booty; I will not surrender half. I have, after all, needs that must be maintained.”

“This is not up for negotiation.”

“It is if you wish my help. If safe passage near Gastonian guns and half of the loot is all you offer, I must decline your generous offer.”

“You would additionally have the gratitude of my monarch.”

“You can keep his gratitude, for I know all too well of the kindness of nobility.”

The Marquis’ shoulder shook lightly, and a smirk twisted up his waxed mustache.

“You are as cunning as the moniker of your vessel.” He smiled, lifting a glass of sparkling wine.

“Then we have an agreement?” Vixen said with a nod.

“We do.”

“Where do I put into port to give you the king’s share?”

“Port de Luna—do you know it?”

“Aye, I do.”

“How will your Navy know us to be friendly?”

“I have a blue pennant that you must fly beneath your own flag.”

“Then let us tug the beard of the King of Effingham.”

“Madam, I cannot express my delight at your words.”

The Marquis de Poste stuck out a perfumed hand, which she took.

* * * *

The ships had long since departed their separate ways. Sailing to the northeast, the
Sea Fox
prowled in search of the red lion flag of Effingham. The day proved uneventful, with the exception of the chance meeting with Marquis de Poste’s baited trap. Evening had fallen. Sitting at her desk, Vixen watched her second in command pace like a caged tiger in front of her.

“You are mad!” Ginger Tom shouted at her.

“Calm yourself, Tom,” she cooed.

Striding around the captain’s quarters, his shoulders shaking with rage, the tall pirate admonished the woman seated in front of him. The bemused smile upon her face made him even more irate with each passing second.

“Don’t ye strike that tone with me, young miss. I’ve had about as much of this farce as possible! The crew thinks you mad for taking on such a fool’s errand. Half of them have a bounty on their heads for just being a member of this vessel and are terrified by the prospect of dancing the hempen jig in some Effingham square! The other portion is convinced you have a death wish!”

“We have, with this document, new ports to which we can sail without fear of attack. This will increase our booty and permit us free reign without looking past our stern for Gastonian men o’ wars.”

“Ye only wish to wreak bloody havoc on Effingham! Damn the consequences and double damn the fate of those serving beneath you.”

Vixen pouted at him. In the past, this expression would quell the fiery temperament in Ginger Tom, but she soon found he was no longer to be swayed by soft looks.

“I am captain and my word is law!” she snarled. “Any Jack Tar who thinks he can do better is welcome to try my steel. Be it you or any other of the crew.”

“I ought to take you over my knee and whip your behind,” he fired back.

“Make any attempt at it and you’ll find yourself swinging from the mizzen mast or sporting a second mouth!”

She rose to her impressive height. Instead of backing down, her first mate took a pair of steps and stood nose-to-nose with her. Lips writhing in anger, his blue eyes flashed with the same emotion coursing through his strong frame. Hands fell to sword hilts, flexing and trembling for the first sign of the other’s attempt to draw steel.

“Ye are as stubborn as ye are beautiful,” he hissed.

“’Tis one of my finest qualities,” she snorted.

“You will have us all gripping Davy Jones’ hand soon enough with this insanity.”

“Trust me, Tom.”

“Trust? I cannot think of one reason for me to follow ye!”

“You owe me your life.”

He drew back as if slapped. The white teeth he bared ground in frustration to the point that Vixen thought he would shatter them. Tom’s back stiffened. He cut off his heated retort and crossed his arms in defeat. He was beaten but not bowed; she knew it as sure as her own feelings. The reminder of his debt seemed to soil the conversation.

“As you wish, Cap’n,” Tom growled.

He turned on his heel and stormed out without another word. For some reason, her comment began to sting her own feelings. The slamming of the door made her cut the thought off short, but it returned quickly enough to vex her for the rest of the long day.

Do Ye K’wanta Mutiny?

Two weeks have passed since the marquis’ proposal, and yet Tom has slunk around me like some sulking child refusing to talk except for ship’s business,
Vixen thought darkly, her hand on the wheel. Argh, I have impugned his honor, and yet he makes no move against me. Yet the same cannot be said about K’wanta! He has been preaching sedition below decks and stirring the crew’s feelings against me. I will have to deal with him shortly or face a mutiny.

Looking up in the rigging, she saw the big black man sneering at her while he sewed a patch on the canvas. The unbridled hatred in his eyes was clear even at this distance.

K’wanta had never forgiven the former captain’s sparing of Suga, Violet and Tom. He had been looking forward to a tasty meal of flesh but found his appetite suppressed by a whim. Like most bullies, the cannibal hadn’t choked down this particular brand of mercy well. But back to our story.

“Milady Vixen,” a man croaked out. “A word, if’n ye don’t mind.”

“Avast yer blubbering, Dobbs, what be it?” she answered.

“We need to take on fresh water, and the fruit onboard has gone bad. The men have asked me to tell you this so scurvy will not overtake them.”

The ship’s quartermaster was a tiny, bent creature who squinted out of one eye. The patch upon his other was decorated with a jolly roger halfheartedly sewn on with white thread. He looked as if he was already wracked by the disease he had named.

“Fetch me my charts,” she commanded. “While ye be at it, make sure the first mate comes along with them.”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

I’ll put an end to this pouting spree Tom is on, if I have to keelhaul the stubborn bastard! Vixen stated to herself.

Dobbs left, and she watched as K’wanta scuttled like a spider down the ropes with a narrowed set of eyes. Quickly the tall man was surrounded by mutineers, each one glancing in her general direction. As she saw them nodding heads and fingering their weapons, Vixen knew the time had come.

“Ye sent for me, Cap’n?” Tom said, suddenly appearing beside her.

“Take the tiller; I have work to do,” she mysteriously stated.

Ignoring his protests, she stalked down the stairs from the poop deck and stood with widely braced legs after stopping in front of the cannibal.

“Ye be preaching mutiny, haven’t you, K’wanta?” she spat.

“Argh, that be the truth of it.” He laughed. “Ye be unfit to command this here vessel.”

“Oh, and I suppose you feel better qualified to lead this pack of Jack Tars?”

“It has crossed me mind.”

“Then defend yourself, you ungrateful whelp of a motherless whore!”

Hissing steel slithered out of their sheaths, and the crew formed a rough circle around the two combatants. Slowly circling each other, each sized up his or her foe. K’wanta was a head taller than Vixen and as strong as a bull. Also in his favor was his greater reach, but his cutlass was a foot shorter than her rapier. Vixen easily parried his flashing strike while he grinned with his pointed teeth.

“I will be dining on your tender flesh,” he slurred. “After, of course, the rest of these rogues tenderize your body for me.”

“Ye will find that hard to do with a slit gullet!” she shouted.

Once, twice and thrice their blades struck and danced off one another. Launching into a furious and powerful series of blows, the cannibal tried to hack her to pieces. Vixen thwarted each attack easily. Her blade stung him on the thighs, chest and forearms until his limbs were streaming with glistening red trails. Her booted feet thumped out a cautious but expert rhythm while his bare soles slapped upon the boards.

“Aaaggh!” he shrieked, throwing himself at her.

Vixen dodged and whirled. Her slender sword’s point pierced him through the shoulder and immediately numbed his arm. The big black man’s cutlass rattled to the deck. She ran him through the other muscle on the same side, leaving him without a useful limb to resume their dance of death. He lay there groaning on the boards.

“Ye were always a clumsy oaf, K’wanta,” she sneered. “I think the only f-flesh dining will be done by yonder sharks trailing our stern.”

Her words came out haltingly, and agony poured through her left thigh. Flicking her gaze down, Vixen saw the red, gaping wound staining her breeches. Her opponent hadn’t altogether missed with his strike. Summoning up the remainder of her strength, she slowly ran him through the heart, giving no ear to the howls of pain roaring out of his blood-flecked lips.

“Toss that baggage over the side. Anyone else thinkin’ I be ill fit for command?” she snarled.

Silence greeted her and most took a nervous step back, their heads bowed in supplication, indicating the mutiny was at an end. With the head of the snake cut off, the body just curled and flopped in its death throes.

“Well then, hop to yer chores. I’ll be in my cabin,” she said. “Fetch the sawbones to visit me therein.”

The deck swayed before her eyes, and her footing, usually sure and steady, lost most of its famed sturdiness. She managed to get inside and close the door before collapsing in a heap where Tom found her scant seconds later.

Dreams. Those unbidden and often enlightening images that flutter into our sleeping minds can entertain, shock or confuse us. Too often we don’t realize these are insights from Beyond, warnings or suggestions we don’t pay much heed to. However, they are, my dear friend, a way to glimpse our true desires. Vixen was no different while she hung in her hammock, her thigh bound tightly and a fever raging through her slumbering body. Personally, I find many a yarn to be discovered in my dreams. How about you?

The ocean was violently rolling, waves splashing over the decks while the wind howled like tormented souls from Hell. The sky was black as pitch. It was accented only by bright flashes of lightning and the booming, rippling noise of deep thunder that reverberated in Vixen’s chest. Viciously the
Sea Fox
tossed from side to side, making sailors stumble and dance to maintain their balance. She watched while several were flung over the railings to plunge and sink into the churning waves.

Looking behind her, she saw a gray ship, its sails torn and flapping, gaining upon the privateer. Onboard this macabre craft were the souls she had sent to Davy Jones’s locker. Their deep-throated cries for vengeance rose above the shrieking wind. Vixen could feel their hatred of her burning upon her water-soaked skin and searing into her very soul.

“I warned ye of this!” Ginger Tom said from beside her. “Ye wouldn’t listen, and now the dead rise up from the briny deep to kill us all!”

Turning to say something in return, she watched in horror as he was flung off the poop and into the frantically churning water. Hysterical fear chilled her heart until it grew even icier than the frigid water cascading over the poop deck to drench her. Twisting her head about, she roared out commands, but the decks were empty, void of any of her buccaneers. When she heard their gurgling cries, the pirate captain knew they had been swept overboard. She was alone.

The derelict ship slid past the
Sea Fox
, grappling hooks biting into the wood of her vessel. As the ships slammed together, there was a splintering shriek of tortured wood. Grinding and snapping sounds shot upwards from between the two craft. Vixen hung on to the wheel for support, her strong hands and sturdy legs keeping her upright despite the shock of the impact. The vengeful dead scurried or jumped onto the deck, scrambling up the stairs with cries of murderous glee.

Ripping her rapier out of its sheath, she met the first of them, an Effingham Marine she had killed in her first action. His gray, waterlogged face and listless dead eyes sent a shiver through her bones. Knocking his rusty blade aside, she drove the point through his un-beating heart so violently the spiraling hilt of her sword struck the dead man’s chest. He croaked out a laugh. Tugging himself away, he deprived her of her long, slender blade. She drew, aimed and fired faster than it takes time to tell. The black hole left between his eyes by her pistol shot didn’t seem to bother the dead soldier. He came on.

Swarms of her victims clambered over the railings, trudged up the steps or swung on rotting ropes to land upon the poop. She faced ten, twenty and then over fifty of those she had ushered to Hell. Crowding around her with leering faces and deep, gurgling chuckles, they rushed forward. Vixen felt their cold, lifeless hands upon her cringing flesh. Fabric tore in terrible ripping sounds. Icy mouths, dead fingers and the cold press of gray skin made her scream in both defiance and terror while they bore her to the slippery deck.