The Crusades of Captain Rye and his Renegades - Book One: Tyranny

Chapter 2: Captain Rye and the Isle of Scales

It is an age of piracy, of swashbuckling adventure and rum filled camaraderie. And of all the pirates that sail the seas, none faces misfortune with a more mischievous smile than our fearless Captain Rye. For while Fate can be fickle with the roll of her die, bad luck becomes favour in the Captain's keen eye.

It is this very same keen eye that now falls upon a discarded note beneath the bed in the Captain's Quarters. Scrawled upon it is a tally of the crew that number twenty, and of them seventeen are for, and three are against. And it occurs to our Captain that this is the vote to mutiny and the three who would stand by his side are named. There is the First Mate and Ship's Cook, Mandy Meathook. And there is Grant the Goliath who can lift thrice his weight. And there is Pretty Patti who it is said can hear a whisper at a thousand yards and who sleeps with open eyes.

He pockets the note and steps back into the ocean breeze, the island bobbing slowly in his sight to the gentle rock of the boat. Three companions are a start to rebuilding a crew to help sail his ship, and a start is what all respectable adventures need. And of the many words uttered to describe our Captain Rye, respectable is certainly one of them. The rest of the words, whether by friend or foe, will likely be uttered again as the story unfolds.

He lowers himself and a lifeboat into the water and with the oars secured, rows island bound. He turns to watch the distance grow between he and his ship, and reads the name "Albatross" engraved in a bronze plaque bolted to its side. Albatross, he thinks with a frown, and grinds his teeth.

At length he arrives at the island's shore and the beach extends with bright, hot sand to either side. A dark and forbidding jungle line awaits beyond the scuttling crabs and starfish and shells, and it is filled with mystery and exotic sounds and all manner of things that slither and skitter and buzz. And in this jungle there are worse things still, though our Captain does not yet know. When he finds them, he may wish that he had remained aboard the Albatross.

He plants his feet in the sand and makes his way down the length of the beach, scanning all the while for signs of human presence, preferably the kind that point towards a bottle of rum, or mashed potatoes perhaps, or even a cheese cake. Unfortunately the only sign that comes is in the form of a cry, and one of pain. He peers into the darkness of the trees and vines, and with no trodden path in sight, slowly makes his way into the thick of it.

The air is heavy in the gloom as he carefully stumbles over roots and trips in the undergrowth and sinks in wet mud. And in the murk he sees a growing glow with every step, and there is the smell of fire, and the hooting and laughing of drunken merry-making. And despite the crunching and cracking of the jungle underfoot and the stubbing of toes, our Captain arrives undetected at the edge of a clearing.

In the center is a small bonfire, and about it are five men, clearly of the pirate persuasion, each with generous bottles of rum or whisky. Tied to a thick spit above the fire, and slowly rotating by way of ropes and pulleys, is a large and squirming man. His skin is pink and his chest and tummy hair have been singed as he bears his teeth to the heat. Again a familiarity courses through the Captain's mind. As he struggles to find a memory, a movement in the trees draws his attention.

A shadowed figure waves at him with a hooked hand, hidden behind a thorn-bush. He makes out the form of a woman with long blonde hair, and the names on the paper echo in his mind. He motions for her to approach, and she creeps towards him, tree to tree until she is beside him with a smile of relief. "Hallo my captain, you're a sight for sore eyes." she whispers. "That's our Grant they're roastin', what's the plan, then?"

They consider the rocks and trees and tethering ropes attached to the log being used as a spit for the Goliath, and a distraction is devised. The Captain hands the crowbar to Mandy Meathook, and she quickly scales a nearby boulder. She swings the bar above her head and bangs it against the stone, taunting with obscenities befitting a sailor, peppered with a knowledge of body parts only a cook would know.

The drunken pirates suddenly startled by the onslaught, surround the boulder, joining in with their own chorus of salty mudslinging, jeering and dancing and bottles swinging. The Captain quietly makes his way about the clearing to the far side, studying the riggings that support and control the spit. Finding the proper rope, he tugs, hoisting the the log and sizeable man from the moorings. He releases as the weight swings free, the branches above creaking, and the load crashes to the ground with a grunt and a thump and cloud of dirt and dry leaves. One of the drunken pirates turns in confusion, and approaches on wobbling legs, cutlass drawn and clumsy.

The Captain unties the captive, who stands brushing his bare chest. Grant the Goliath fixes his advancing captor with bloodshot eyes and charges suddenly, a clenched fist the size of a roast ham cocked and ready to fly. Like a hammer to a bell, his arm drives as straight and strong as a piston, knuckles to nose, lifting the pirate from his feet into a flailing back flip, leaving him broken and motionless on the ground.

For a moment, there is only silence, even from the jungle, as all eyes dart between Grant and his prey. Two of the pirates stagger fearfully into the jungle, while a third, larger and monkey-faced, points his curved sword and attacks. The Captain steps slyly behind his over-shadowing companion as their foe bears down wildly. And though hazy with drink and swinging with all the form of a toppling stack of bricks, one slash catches the Goliath, from temple to navel.

Grant staggers backwards and rolls to the ground clutching his face as the Captain's customary grin dissolves. Even the monkey-pirate seems at a loss at his fortune. Captain Rye seizes the opportunity and lunges forward, grappling about the girth of his waist. With a solid grip he tugs, but the pirate's feet remain planted like thick roots. He chuckles and scoops to sweep the Captain up with one arm, but whether by luck or drunkeness or the Captain's nimble skill, he manages only to hook his own leg. As his weight gains the advantage, the Captain angles the brute's descent with a quick tug, and the pirate tumbles into his own fire. He rolls and pats and kicks as the flames find fuel in the drink he's doused in.

Now, this is a story of pirates. And there is swashbuckling and rum and women and swords, and the mixture of these things rarely ends well. So is the lot of the pirate, and the fate they accept in the choice of their profession, that death may find them by blade or by plank or by noose. Or even by burning in one's own bonfire. Such is the fate of Lump, the monkey-faced pirate, whose name we now honour by including it in the Crusades of Captain Rye!

The fifth pirate approaches tentatively, dagger trembling in hand, for he is the smallest of the group. And if truth be told, he was already resigned on receiving a thrashing, comfortable with the fact that at least he hadn't run away. He flinches before the Captain even makes his move, and then stands rigid as he is tossed straight up and over. He falls complacently on the back of his head, confident that such a blow would incapacitate most, and is satisfied to play the part as he closes his eyes and remains motionless.

Captain Rye turns his attention to Grant, tearing his sleeves from his jacket that Mandy might use the cloth to staunch the bleeding. The long wound is fortunately mostly superficial due to the clumsiness of the swing and the bluntness of the blade, and Mandy decides some swelling and bruising and a little scarring will be the only lasting results.

Once Grant is tended, Mandy explains to the Captain that she managed her own escape by cooking up a monstrous batch of butter-nut squash soup which sent her captors into a comfort induced nap. But time would be short, and the third of their group, Pretty Patti, had been put to service tending tables in a tavern to the north. "She makes a fine bar-wench!" Grant rasped with a chuckle, holding his ribs.

Leaving Grant to recuperate, and Mandy to watch over him, the Captain takes to a path that leads from the clearing. He follows it until it comes to a larger open area, in which he can see a couple of structures and the bustle of pirates in the courtyard. And a swinging sign above a door reads "The Pint of Justice", for this had once been a prison isle, and the tavern had been the hangman's house. But that is a story for another chapter.

Fitting in with the locals, the Captain crosses the courtyard and pushes through the swinging doors of the tavern without raising an eyebrow. Tankards raise with voices and cat-calling and the stale scent of sweat and stew. Flitting between tables with a tray and drinks is a woman who again causes a sense of familiarity. Their eyes meet, and she nods knowingly. Captain Rye finds a table in the corner as music tries to climb above the din of the crowd.

As he waits on the waitress, a man slides into a chair at his table, looking him over suspiciously. "Greetings," he says to the Captain with a heavy accent, "you are new to dis place, are you not? Let me introduce myself... I am le Capitaine Mathieu, and welcome to de Isle of Scales..."