The Reign of the Pirate Queen

Chapter 3

Updated as of 1/17/2020

Leopold's pulse drummed a rapid rhythm into his skull. The Pirate Queen was not known to be merciful. Some said she was a demon, others a witch. Others still, like his parents, thought she was simply a being of nightmares, not a tangible person to be feared. There was one thing he knew for sure: no one who'd seen her face had lived to tell of it. His hands trembled at his sides, his feet frozen to the shore.

A strong shove from behind sent him hurtling to his knees. Jeering laughter pierced his ears. As he rose, he caught a small smile from the young woman as she looked out from pitying eyes. His cheeks flushed. Another shove sent him stumbling toward the waterline, where two small rowboats were beached.

The man from before, adorned in a white linen shirt and brown breeches, furrowed his brow and growled in a low voice, "Get yer arse in the boat, princeling."

Leo hesitated. His legs seemed as though they were rooted to the shore. But, the sting of a cold cutlass to his back persuaded him to move his feet. As soon as he felt the solid planks of the rowboat underfoot, his physical connection to his homeland, as well as much of his hope, withered and died.

His mind barely registering his movements, he picked up an oar, as instructed. Numbly, he let his mind drift into the sea around him. It swirled above him like the spray of the sea as it crashed against the craggy shore. Would he ever see Knoxport again? His parents? Sister? Younger brother? Or would he become like his older brother and Bas, another feast for the crows? His breath quickened. He didn't want to leave his home, didn't want to venture into the unknown, the unprotected. He didn't want to die.

The Arcfyre loomed before them, not a hundred paces away, its near black planks slick from the blood those aboard had spilled. Deep crimson sails were fastened to its three masts, their color a warning to fools who dared approach.

With a gulp, he realized that he would soon be one of those fools. Far, far sooner than he ever imagined. A rope ladder thudded down the side of the ship, landing with a splash in the water in front of their rowboat, which seemed like a small twig beside the massive frigate.

He looked to the pirate in front of him, a tall man he hadn't noticed before who was thin as a board with a fierce gleam in his eye. The pirate grunted, motioning with his pistol toward the ladder once he was within grasp of it. Leo got the message, rising unsteadily from the center of the small craft. He struggled to keep his balance as it rolled from side to side but somehow managed to stay upright.

He grasped the rope as if it were the thread his life clung to. His arms were growing weary by the time he could feel the smooth varnish of the railing under his fingertips. It felt slick, as though it were polished with the blood of innocents, still screaming for justice and mercy.

He shuddered slightly, but whether it was from the chilled breeze or from the tension that crackled in the air like a thunderstorm, he didn't know.

After a few seconds, he realized that he was staring off into space. The pirate probably thought he was empty-headed. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, hauled himself aboard and looked around. In front of him stood at least fifty pirates. They snarled through what few blackened teeth they had left, hands on the hilts of their various weapons. Wicked scars adorned their bodies. A few were missing limbs and sported wooden appendages as replacements. To his left, on either side of the main deck on which he stood, there were two staircases leading to an upper quarterdeck by the bow. A door lay in between the two staircases, black on black and almost invisible.

There were two more staircases to his right, mirroring those on the left and leading to another upper quarterdeck, this one at the stern. The helmsman stood on that deck, one hand on the wheel and both eyes on the churning sea. In between the staircases lay another door, this one almost ornate, with a handle which seemed to be crafted from pure gold. Golden symbols in a foreign tongue danced around the frame.