Misty Dawn & the Raven

Dawn's red curls stirred gently in the salt laden breeze as her misty gray-green eyes stared absently off to the horizon. The fading light blue of the sky rested gently on the deep azure of the sea, ruffled here and there by light crests of foam on the waves. "There is beauty here," she thought to herself as she stared absently, longing for the emerald greens of her homeland as she was rocked gently against the gunnels of the ship that was carrying her to a new life in a new world.

Young and beautiful, though without the chance for a proper marriage she had placed herself in the service of an English woman and followed her across the sea for the mystical land of Jamaica. It all felt like a dream; these long days at sea, and to think that she herself was to see the new world of sugar plantations was overwhelming, nearly as thoroughly overwhelming as the oppressive heat. Her mistress was quite disagreeable. Lady Catherine was ill from the sea, and not being the most pleasant woman most times, was brutally harsh of late. Dawn tried savoring this brief moment of solitude while her mistress slept, but something was missing to make it anything but boring.

As she stared the endless fields of blue before her, absently she caught a dark shadow far to the west. Raising a small hand to strain her eyes into the sun, she was hoping that it was land at long last. Before Dawn could determine what it was actually that she was seeing, a shrill shriek, "Dawn! Where are you, you useless Irish wench?!?" snapped her head around as she scurried across the soft rolling deck to her mistress' cabin.

* * * * *

The round blackness of the spyglass tunnel surrounded the rolling sails of the next prize of The Raven, and her master, Captain Charles Northup. Charles lowered his spyglass slowly, about to snap it shut and give the order; but his gleaming blue eye caught something that gave him pause. He refocused the glass upon the small form with billowing fiery hair that was scurrying along the deck. Even with this crude devise and the expanse of sea between them, he could tell she was a jewel to be plucked. A half grin cocked, and curled his lip as he snapped the glass shut with lightening speed. Turning is head slightly over the broad belt slung with the weight of his cutlass upon his left shoulder, "Pipe up the crew!" Charles snapped to Fazul, his huge Moorish first mate. The dark skinned dome of Fazul's bald and tattooed head bowed to his chest as he put the small whistle to his lips.

The windswept deck of the Raven was electrified with the shrill, piercing shriek of Fazul's whistle. Suddenly the deck was filled as armed men scurried about, unfurling sails and readying guns. Charles stood near the wheel, his piercing blue eyes locked upon the meandering ship as they closed. It was silhouetted against the sinking sun. He watched with an evil grin as too late the large vessel tried to gain speed by putting out all sheets. Perhaps his work would be more difficult if merchants ever began staffing their tubs with enough crew, or bothering to feed those who worked their ropes. "Bring us along her, Mr. Starkly," Charles calmly commanded his wheelman who was already half way to the order when it was given. As they drew closer still Charles barked loudly to his men waiting patiently for the order, "Hoist our colors, boys! Give 'er a salute!" As the flag made of sack cloth shot skyward, the wind unfurling its altar boys robe tatters of a skull with a pair of crossed cutlasses behind its ginning visage, Charles jerked his blade from its baldric and the first retort of his gun fired threateningly across the lumbering ship's bow.

* * * * *

Dawn wrung the cool rag out once again and was just laying it across Lady Catherine's pallor forehead when both her and her mistress took in quick breaths from the sound of cannon and the near by splash of the ball. "Pirates!" Lady Catherine shrieked as she shot bolt upright in the bed. Dawn's heart leapt as the sounds of hurried feet thundered about on the decks and the captain's usually stern voice boomed with the tinge of fright. In all her years Dawn had never considered how dangerous this peaceful voyage actually was. The flood of reality chilled her to the bone. Lady Catherine was in a terrible state, half sobbing, and half shrieking hysterically, but all together inconsolable as a child beset with nightmares.

Dawn stood quickly, overturning the basin of water on the small table and soaking her bodice. This she ignored as she raced to the door and slammed home the iron bolt. Turning around to face her mistress who took one look at her and said, rather inappropriately for the circumstances, "Dawn you stupid Irish trollop, look what you've done! Spilled my basin and soaked yourself!" Dawn was in such a rush, she hardly noticed the words as she raced to the bookcase and pulled Lord Dudley's box of dueling pistols from the top shelf. "What in heavens name are you doing, you stupid cow," Lady Catherine shrieked shrilly through her nose as Dawn opened the box and pulled one of the gleaming silver inlaid guns from its blue velvet bed. "Damn the English," Dawn thought to herself as she pulled out the powder flask and set to work as best she could with the pistol, too busy to speak, and fearful to let hold of her fiery tongue under these circumstances. A simple, "Yes, mum," was all Dawn could muster as she set to work putting the shrieking woman's tone out of her mind as the sounds of many guns boomed through the air.

The ship pitched violently and they heard the sounds of shattering timbers and the screams of men. Lady Catherine gripped Dawn's forearm as one would hold on to the precipice overlooking Hades. The older woman's breath was haggard and forced. Dawn was cursing herself for not tightening the damn woman's corset tighter, lest she may have already fainted. Her right arm held by the terrified aristocrat, Dawn rammed the ball home with the rod in her teeth and the pistol in her left hand. Spitting the rod out of her lips, she cocked the hammer and stood, trying to calm her mistress. A task that was made all the worse when the ship lurched on the water once more and the sounds of ringing steel and a hundred shouts of men echoed beyond the cabin door.

* * * * *

The two vessels lurched on the waves. The air began to fill with cloud of acrid smoke from cannon, not unlike the aphrodisiac incense from the East Indies. The stronger, more agile vessel closed the small gap of sea, its trained guns raking the sails with shot, bringing down the sheets of its prey like it was stripping the rags off a harlot in the street. The hapless ship tried to flee, with unsure steps, and seemed to stumble on the waves. As the mightier ship drew along side, ropes flew out to snare its victim and pull her tight along side. Men on the deck of the captured ship leapt like many frenzied limbs to beat back a throng of armed invaders pressing entry. There was a clash of steel, like a woman's shriek in the night, as the larger force of men crossed the gunnels. The surge of men from the powerful ship was not unlike the first thrust of a phallus into an closed blossom, at first there was clenched resistance, but pure size and force drove the pirates over to flood the deck, as the inevitable became realized all too soon.

Charles swung on a rope to his victims deck, a blow from his foot sent one man sprawling to the waves, and a slice from his cutlass cleared his landing with another man's blood. His blood was up. His ears were ringing from cannon and the heady rush of blood pounding in his chest. He absently pressed his attack towards the stately cabins, where he had seen his jewel disappear. By the time he reached the crest carved door, all resistance had subsided. Victory was once again, his. With a roguish grin, he pushed a curly lock of sweat soaked blonde hair from his face and planted a black leather boot sole upon the cabin's door.

The door flew inward, its bolt having burst and there before Charles was his fire haired jewel, with her was a green-faced woman gripping one arm and a pistol wavering in her other hand. "The initiative is yours, ma'am," Charles boldly smiled as he took a step toward them, his cutlass lowered and his left hand pulling the open laced flap of his tunic, baring more of his chest to the pistol. The air was split with the sound of pistol shot. The cabin filled briefly with black smoke. Charles' eyes flashed to the hole just to his right in the door jam as he grinned, "Damn the luck." With that, Lady Catherine let out a small gasp and finally fainted dead away. A crowd of Charles' men flew to the doorway behind him. "Milady," Charles began, "you should have shot her first, aye?" He laughed as he brought the point of his cutlass up to Dawn's water soaked bodice. "Seize them and search the ship, ya' dogs!" Charles barked as his wolves flooded the room and four of them carried the spitting and kicking Irish maid from her mistress' chamber.

Dawn struggled valiantly, but vainly, she landed one good kick to a smelly sailor's groin before her legs were both seized by groping hands that hoisted her high into the air. Screaming curses and writhing like a trapped viper, she was carried from the room. Lady Catherine was drug by the shoulders quickly behind her and her four captors. Dawn cursed herself for not spitting into that smug man's face as she was ushered out of the door. The setting sun blinded her eyes as she was tossed like so much baggage across the gunnels of the grotesquely locked ships. Dawn felt the hot rays of the sun fall upon her milky pale claves as her skirts billowed a bit in the wind. The rush of air followed quickly by the grip of many calloused hands upon her legs flushed her cheeks in a flood of hot fear towards her looming fate.

Her head spun violently as her wrists were quickly bound behind her back and she was shoved rather harshly down into the hold of the vile ship. Before she realized what was happening she was tossed into a small room in the hold, landing hard upon the rough timbers. A shrill shriek preceded the heavy landing of her recent mistress upon her back. "Stupid cow!" Lady Catherine whined into Dawn's ear shrilly, as if it were all her fault. Then all light disappeared as a heavy door slammed behind them, the rusting clink of iron assured her that the door was secured. Dawn tried desperately to control herself and force her anger to give her strength as she lied to her sobbing mistress, "Its going to be alright, milady, its going to be alright..."

* * * * *

Charles smiled to himself as he watched the disabled ship drift away from the Raven. "Right at the waterline, steady... FIRE!" he barked. Instantly the flames leapt from the mouths of his guns and the latest victim of the Raven pitched roughly on the waves as its hull was blown into splinters. The tub gallantly floundered for a moment, then began listing heavily, before spiraling itself to its doom. Charles turned to walk away.

"Sultan," Fazul began slowly as Charles took his first couple of steps towards his cabin. Charles stopped, mid stride but did not turn around, responding to Fazul's unique title for his master and friend. The hulking eunuch had more than a few alien oddities. His addressing his captain as Sultan was just one. "Yes, Fazul?" Charles breathed.

"Forgive me," Fazul said stepping in behind his master, "but the young maid, why? There was so little booty; her presence may be a cause of contention. The older whining one of course can be ransomed, but the maid why, even after she tried to kill you, Sultan." Charles laughed as he turned slowly and clapped the large man on the shoulder.

"Fazul, my old friend," Charles grinned, "The maid is my share as Captain, the little booty of that prize can be split amongst the crew. As can any ransom, should any of you think you could stomach her whining." Charles patted the big Moor's shoulder, "I got my jewel, and the rest is yours to divide. Meanwhile, lay us a course for home."

As Charles turned and started again, "Should I fetch the wench?" Fazul called after Charles. Charles' long curling locks of gold shimmered in the twilight shook and one arm rose calmly shaking as he headed for his door, "Not yet, Fazul," Charles called over his shoulder. "Let the tigress stir a bit longer in the hold, let her know she is but stored booty." Charles turned as he opened his cabin's door, and turned back to look Fazul in the eye from across the deck, "I shall call for my share soon enough, my friend, soon enough..." Charles' voice trailed off as he shut the door behind him.

Entering his cabin, Charles lit the lantern and released it to swing with the roll of the waves casting shadows about his cabin as he filled himself a flagon of the his best rum. Its sweet potency warmed his parched lips as he swallowed a hefty pull. Charles lifted his sword belt from his shoulder and hung it loosely on the back of the carved and velvety chair of his desk. He leaned with one arm cocked at the elbow against the window frame of his cabin and stared into the inkiness of sky and sea trailing behind the raven. His mind setting sail back to that bold firebrand that now languished in his hold. A half smile curled his lip, as he tasted his rum once more. Already anxious for the chance to count her treasures for himself, "Today was a good haul," he said softly to the waves, "a very sweet haul."