Pirate Souls

II - Chapter 8 - Home sweet home

I am awakened by the stench. A stale smell of mould. A pungent bouquet of spoiled food mixed with darkness. It is night-time. Or am I perhaps in a lightless room? The notion that I might be blind crosses my mind. It terrifies me and a spasm travels along my muscles.

I am in pain. Everywhere. There is not a single part of my body that does not hurt. And my head. My skull! I have a terrible feeling, as if my brain is trying to escape from its cavity.

Everything sways around me. Dizziness? No, I am at sea. I need to sit down. Understand where I am. My hands grab hold of the bars. Not a single doubt about my position. The cage. In the Anarkhia's hold.

Prisoner in my own ship. How ironic!

After the anger, a feeling of ecstasy pierces my heart. I've done it. Home. And Sirena is a few feet above me on deck.

Madness, my old friend! I feel like shouting out for joy, but I hold my tongue. They have left me buckets and a flask. The seawater is refreshing. This must be a joke. She is punishing me. Florence is giving me a taste of what I inflicted on her after we kidnapped her.

Why the hell can't I wipe this stupid smile off my face? At least, there are only the rats to bear witness to my foolishness.

All I have to do now is wait. I know that I am going to have to bide my time. She wants to show me what it feels like. To be all alone in the world, in the dark, with only fear for company.

I wait a long time. A very long time. Suddenly, the hatch is opened. Nick's silhouette comes down the ladder. How pleased I am to see him again! Safe and sound. He did not take part in the bloodbath at Marcelin's.

Mobilising all my concentration, I keep my face closed so as not to show any expression. The young ship's boy places a bean and pea soup with a few chunks of salt pork before me. And an apple.

Nick is looking at me strangely. He has something to say to me! But he doesn't dare. He knows that he has acted badly. His betrayal is all the more serious in light of his debt towards me.

New Providence. Winter 1745.

Cook and I were trying to find a ship bound for the continent that would hire our services. We happened on the Anarkhia by chance. That was not the name she bore at the time. The captain did not recognize me. He too had changed his name. Captain Morris. For Gibs and I, there was not a shadow of a doubt. It was he. Fisherman. The devil who had plundered my body in a filthy cabin in the middle of the Atlantic.

Revenge was within reach. So, we did what we knew best. We hatched a grisly plan. We watched him for three days. His habits, his crew, his comings and goings. We followed his every move. We were behind him all the way from the port of Nassau, with its steep cliffs on one side, to the fortress perched on the hill. It helped us to learn more about his smuggling activities.

We recruited a few mercenaries who were willing to perform an act that was both illegal and dangerous. John was the first to join us.

The evening before the brig was set to leave for Port-au-Prince, I went on board. Night was falling. My men were waiting on the dock.

And there he was, Fisherman, talking to a young ship's boy aged about ten near the mast. It almost made me vomit. Kill him on the spot. But no! My story is written in blood, cries and tears.

I asked him if I could speak to him in private about an urgent affair. Too easy. I followed him to his quarters. As soon as he closed the door, I hit him in the throat. He looked surprised. I didn't leave him enough time to express anything else. I used the butt of my pistol to knock him out.