Port of Errors (29 page)

Within sixty yards of the impending collision, a rush of adrenaline swelled through their veins as every limb tensed up for the impact.

“We’re going to collide!” yelled Mr. Hall.

“Brace for impact!” shouted Captain Stirvin.

Slightly ahead of the Blue Raven and nearing her stern, Captain Stirvin was sure to ram them as he had hoped. The Blue Raven darted out a bit further, as the wind bloated her sails with a constant force.

Unable to maintain her speed, the Brier Sea could not hold enough wind in her sails. Though, she still managed to clip the portside stern of the Blue Raven. Snagging a heavy line on the Blue Raven’s aft mast with her bowsprit, the Brier Sea was too weak at the bow, allowing the Blue Raven to snap her bowsprit at the base. Large slivers of wood flew through the wind and out to sea. As bow and stern met for that one brief moment, they were about to fire, when Black-Hearted spotted Isabel. “Hold your fire! Isabel is on the main deck!” Then turning to Isabel, he exclaimed, “Jump, Izzi, Jump!”

Nathan knew that Isabel was not what she seemed, calling out to Black-Hearted, “You mustn’t put you trust in that woman!”

But Black-Hearted would not hear him.

She looked to Sir Fouste with a tainted grin, standing just behind the gunwale. Turning back to Black-Hearted she extended two small pistols, pulling the trigger on the first. Dumbfounded, Black-Hearted could not think clearly enough to move. As the doghead slammed down to ignite the gunpowder within the chamber, Captain Stirvin lunged forward, pushing him out of harm’s way. Letting off her second and last round, before dropping below the gunwale, Isabel laughed with ill-pleasure and fired.

Father Morgan shrieked out in pain as Mayor Longfellow darted over to his side with Sterling. “Morgan,” he cried. Kenneth and a few others returned fire with urgent vehemence.

Father Morgan smiled. “Now I can die in peace – and God, forgive me.”

After careful examination of the wound, Mayor Longfellow stood in open disappointment. “You were barely grazed in the arm,” he stated, “You’re not dying, you old fool.”

“I’m not?” replied Father Morgan, a bit surprised. “Well, it sure felt real enough. It hurt like the plague.” Relieved, Father Morgan smiled, releasing a little flatulence from the excitement.

As the two ships were about to pass, Sterling gave the order, “Fire.”

All cannons on his starboard side exploded at once, hitting the Blue Raven on the portside with an astonishing blow. The back end of her keel sustained significant but manageable damage, with a minor fraction that shook the whole vessel.

“They must have damaged the keel,” replied Royal Hawkins. “Nothing else could have shaken us in such a way. We cannot afford to take another blow like that. We’ll be crippled.”

Sir Fouste returned fire with several sporadic blasts. A few minor but successful hits damaged the Brier Sea on the upper deck. The firing continued for a small while. But to no avail, the Blue Raven sailed on, leaving the Brier Sea too far behind to catch up.

Sir Fouste taunted the Brier Sea with a mocking salute and a farewell wave.

Captain Stirvin stood with a ready musket and fired. Sir Fouste fell backward with no outward sign of recovery.

Black-Hearted could only watch as the Blue Raven sailed off into the distance with Isabel. Captain Stirvin placed a wary hand on Black-Hearted’s shoulder from behind. All color seemed to fade from Captain Stirvin’s expressionless face as he gasped for air.

Captain Stirvin then whispered in his ear, helping him to understand what needed to be done for both of their sakes. In turn, Black-Hearted called on Father Morgan, who joined in the conversation.

“This man’s wound is fatal,” insisted Father Morgan. “There is nothing more we can do.”

Turning to Captain Stirvin, Black-Hearted became all the more undone. “You can’t die now.”

As he cradled him to the captain’s chamber, placing him on the bed, Black-Hearted continued, “I just found you, you’re not going to leave now.” Black-Hearted was determined to save his long lost friend. But as time was crucial, time was running out.

Chapter XVIII

Not far from Port of Errors, the Brier Sea soon arrived, dropping anchor beyond the surrounding reef. Holding Captain Stirvin, Black-Hearted rowed in to shore with Sterling, Father Morgan, Kenneth and Nathan.

Not at all concerned, in the moment, about the number of men standing against them, Justin and Ryan stopped when they realized how many weapons were actually pointed at them.

“Set down your arms or be shot,” demanded Sterling. As they complied he continued, “Now, step away.”

Mayor Longfellow quickly gathered up their pistols, as Black-Hearted placed Captain Stirvin on the ground taking a humble knee beside him. Trying to help Justin and Ryan understand, Kenneth explained, “Captain Stirvin took a blow to the belly. This was not the doing of Black-Hearted or any of us here.”

Captain Stirvin lifted his head, attempting to speak to Justin and Ryan. He then ordered them, “Allow these men do as they need. I am still your commanding officer and you will do as you are told. Now, where’s my wife?”

“She’s in the longboat, Sir,” confirmed Justin. “What will you have us do?”

“I wish to see her. Bring her to me.”

Justin and Ryan hurried to the boat where Katherine lay. Just knowing they would no longer be a threat, put the men more at ease. Father Morgan took a knee by Captain Stirvin and offered him a drink from a small metal vial, for comfort from pain, before slipping out of consciousness.

Arriving with Lady Stirvin’s body, Justin and Ryan laid her gently by his side. Captain Stirvin smiled as he looked to his dear wife, caressing her face one last time. Then, becoming limp, his hand slipped to the ground. Black-Hearted could no longer contain his emotions as he cradled Captain Stirvin in his arms, weeping like that of the child he once was at the orphanage. He pulled the dirty old cloth from his pocket, stained with those very memories long since passed. He wiped the dirt from brother’s face, as he considered him to be.

Stepping onto the porch, Black-Hearted noticed that Mr. Darcy’s fancy door was still hanging by a single hinge. Several bodies still lied on the ground, the odor of which added to the eeriness of the mood. It was easy to ascertain that the home had been looted of its valuables, though one item of importance still weighed on Black-Hearted’s mind. He had left his hat with Mr. Darcy for safe keeping.

“Where’s the corpse of Darcy Wenham?” asked Black-Hearted. “If he was killed here, his body should be among the dead within these walls. Where has the body vanished to?”

A curious noise was heard from the upstairs bedroom as though someone were shuffling around. With hurried steps, Black-Hearted and a few men climbed the stairs.

“Who goes there?” snapped Black-Hearted.

The footsteps came to an immediate end.

“It’s the spirit of Mr. Darcy, is it not?” asked Nathan. “This is where he lived and died and I dare not wake the dead any further.”

Spooked by the thought, everyone stood silent, until a loud scuffle followed by the sound of breaking glass sounded. Black-Hearted quickened his pace up the stairs and to the bedroom. A faint thump and scramble was then heard without the house.

“Looters,” insisted Kenneth, as he and four others rushed down the stairs and through the back door. Black-Hearted and the rest of his men stayed in the house. Black-Hearted was in search of something of great value to him; something Mr. Darcy was told to keep hold of for him. But, in all his searching he could not find it.

Through the trees and surrounding thicket, Kenneth and the other four men pursued whoever it might be. Racing wildly along, they followed the trail to a muddy portion of sand. Kenneth slowed his pace when the sound came to an abrupt end.

“Where did he go?” asked Sterling.

Kenneth shushed him, cautioning, “Pistols, mates. Be on your guard.”

Pulling their pistols out, they quietly cocked back their dogheads and followed Kenneth’s lead. Soon, faint panting was heard beyond the next group of trees. But, it too came to a mysterious end. When they rounded the last tree, Kenneth could see an arm sticking out of the ground. Suddenly it tensed straight and stiff and each finger shook violently, sending thick ripples of earth toward what appeared to be the outer rim of a muddy pool.

“What’s going on,” cried Justin in an ignorant fright. “What sort of evil is this?”

The arm went limp again before tensing up with even more strain, convulsing about in a wild frenzy. Soon, several thick bubbles surfaced.

“Quicksand,” stated Kenneth, “Watch your step.” Then directing Ryan, he pointed to a long branch on the ground at his feet. “Grab that there stick and hand it over!”

Realizing the intensity of the situation, Kenneth stretched the branch out toward the hand with greater urgency, until it clenched on with a tight enough grasp. It took all four men to see any sign of progress, while the mud sucked back with equal force. However slowly, the stranger finally did emerge.

Once he was out and on solid ground, he attempted to clear a passage for air with his fingers, choking on the thick sticky mud. Feverishly gagging, he forced the deadly sludge from his throat as chunks of mud pulled away from his mouth. Finally, coughing and vomiting everything to the ground, he drooled profusely with muddy snot dripping from both mouth and nose.

Taking a long hard breath, his lungs filled with air, causing severe pain throughout. Dizzy from loss of oxygen and faint from exhaust, his body simply gave out and fell to the ground limp and unconscious, but breathing.

Black-Hearted and the rest of the men were startled when a loud
thud
, shook the floor. Kenneth, Sterling Wade, Justin and Ryan dropped the three-hundred pound unconscious body to the floor. Unrecognizably covered in mud, the stranger’s face could not be seen.

“Who be this man?” asked Black-Hearted. “Is he dead?”

“This man’s alive,” replied Kenneth, “although, risen from the dead.”

“Darcy?” questioned Black-Hearted, “I knew this fool was still alive!” Kicking him in the gut, he forced the excess mud from his throat. Coming-to, Mr. Darcy coughed profusely once more and began to breathe normally.

Mr. Darcy found his way to a basin of water in the next room. Taking the time to clean and dry his face, he walked back into the room presentable enough to talk. Nathan entered the room about the same time.

“It’s Darcy, come back from the grave!” cried Nathan, screaming at the top of his lungs. “We mean no disrespect. Please, I beg you, leave no curse upon us!”

“I thought you were someone else. Sir Fouste come looking for me the day after I was run-through,” explained Mr. Darcy. “I’m sorry, Hearted, but those turncoats; they saw something that Fouste had been looking for. Understand, I was half-dead when he found me. His surgeon was to tend to my wounds on only one condition and either I give it to him or die, so I give it to him.” He then coughed out a little more grimy snot. He continued, “He seemed to know you well, Hearted – very well.”

“Where’s my hat Darcy?” inquired Black-Hearted, with an angry tone. “That better not be the bargain for your life or you’ll wish you had chosen differently.”

“He was just going to let me die a painful death. I had to give it to him. I had no other choice.”

“You gave him my hat? Do you not remember what was written upon that hat?” asked Black-Hearted, redundantly. “There’s only one thing that’s going to save your life, Darcy. Tomorrow, me and my crew will find out where the Blue Raven intends to be and we’re going to take back what is mine and kill London Fouste. I have one task for you and it is simple enough, but you’re not to leave your estate until the task is done.”

For the remainder of the night they sat and discussed their plan for the coming days. Black-Hearted explained all that had happened and the history behind him and Captain Stirvin until there was a better understanding.

Morning slowly presented itself on the water's edge along the shoreline with a peaceful dawning hue.

While preparing the bodies for burial, Black-Hearted asked Father Morgan, “How’d you know we would be at Raven Bridges yesterday?”

“I’m not truly sure how to understand it. A rather odd young child came to my room the other night and after convincing me to set out to find you, he told me where to go and I could not help but believe him. I don’t know why because he was much too young to know such information. But it felt so much like a dream that I couldn’t tell the difference.”

“Did this child give you a name?”

“Aye,” said Father Morgan, “his name was Charley,
it was. That I know for certain. He told me the next day and then he was gone.”