Black Sam - Prince of Pirates

Sixteen - GOOD DAMN TIMING

 Sixteen–GOOD DAMN TIMING

 August 1716

 The Large Island Tavern was unusually quiet as Israel Cole sat with Sam, Paulgrave, and Jeremiah in their favorite corner. The rest of the crew had scattered about the tavern. At Israel's request, Hanna brought two large pitchers of ale and some hot biscuits with stew. At first it was a gloomy scene, but as the men ate and drank, their spirits lifted.

 Israel sat and listened to Sam’s version of what happened. The more Sam talked, the angrier he got and the more expletives he used to describe his new adversary.

 Israel shook his head. “I'm sorry about what happened, but are you sure it was him? I know Captain Southack...”

 Sam stopped Israel with a tilt of his head.

 Israel raised his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, I know Southack.”

 “Thank you.”

 “He’s a pompous prick, but this seems too low, even for him,” Israel finished.

 “It was Cyprian all right. I saw him,” Paulgrave said.

 “They're in love with the same girl,” Jeremiah uttered through a mouthful of stew.

 Israel looked at Sam. “Ah, well that shines a whole new light on things.”

 Jeremiah took a bite of biscuit. “Maria Hallet, no less.”

 Sam looked at Jeremiah. “Shut your mouth before I cobble it shut.”

 The old shoemaker played with his food, mumbling. “That's not even possible.”

 “She's the girl you've been seeing in the middle of the night? I'm surprised her father hasn't had you killed by now.” Israel chuckled and shook his head.

 “That is one reason we meet in the middle of the night.” Sam swallowed a mouthful of stew.

 Israel laughed. “So, now what are you going to do?”

 “Find another ship and go get the gold.” Sam took bite of biscuit.

 Paulgrave and Jeremiah exchanged looks.

 “Well, you certainly are determined.” Israel took a drink. “But are you certain that you and your men are ready to go back out there?”

 Sam swallowed a mouth full. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

 Israel shrugged. “You’ll always have work here, you know.”

 Sam dropped his spoon on the table. “Israel.”

 “I’m just making sure,” Israel said.

 “Well, are you sure?” Sam asked a little irritated.

 Israel smiled and nodded.

 Sam sopped up some stew with a piece of biscuit and shoved it in his mouth. “Why are you smiling?”

 Israel took a drink. “I know where you can get another ship.”

 Sam followed Israel’s eyes. Nigel Lindquist and his men had just entered the tavern. They sat at a nearby table and motioned for Hanna to fill their mugs. Nigel made a snide comment, and his men laughed. “Tell me Hanna, what do you think the punishment should be for murder?” He said it loud enough for Sam to hear. He didn't wait for her to answer. “I, like any good Christian, believe in the way of the Old Testament: an eye for an eye. You take a life, you forfeit yours.” He looked over at Sam with a conceited grin. “What about you, Samuel Bellamy, are you a good Christian?”

 Sam remained silent, just watching and waiting.

 “It seems that the tables have turned, old friend.” Nigel gave his exaggerated smile, showing off his blackened teeth. “It is I who now outnumber you.” He looked up at Hanna. “Darling, this is the murderer of whom I spoke, and tonight he will forfeit his life.” Nigel turned back to Sam. “Do you recall the last time we met? I made you a proposal that would have saved your life. Remember what you said?” Nigel picked up the mug of ale that Hanna had filled and drank the whole thing in one breath.

 He gently wiped his mouth with a handkerchief then stood up and walked closer to Sam, his men right behind him. “You said you would rather die.” Nigel grinned. “You can't imagine the elation I felt. You would rather die, and I would rather kill you. I could not have picked a better scenario, and now here we are together again.”

 Sam just stared at Nigel.

 “You have nothing to say?” Nigel rubbed his chin. “Oh how I’m going to miss our conversations.” He pulled out his pistol and aimed it at Sam. His men all did the same, pulling their flintlocks simultaneously. “I love that sound,” he said, pulling his own back.

 Sam raised one hand in the air. “Before you pull that trigger—”

 “Now you want to talk.” Nigel rolled his eyes.

 “You’d better have a look behind you.” Not once did Sam take his eyes off his enemy.

 Nigel stared at Sam for a moment. “You can’t bluff your way out of this, Sam.”

 Sam grinned. “Suit yourself.”

 “I'm going to shoot that grin off your face,” Nigel growled. The sound of twenty flintlocks pulling back echoed in the now silent tavern. He turned slowly to find his men with empty hands in the air, pistols held to their backs. Nigel turned back around, set his gun on the table, and laughed. “Oh, you’re good,” he said pointing a finger at Sam. “You’ve got good damn timing to say the least.”

 Sam picked up Nigel’s weapon.

 “Will you kill me now, Sam?”

 “Shut up.” Sam used the pistol as more of a pointer then a weapon. “In exchange for your life and the lives of your crew, I ask three things.”

 “Go on,” Nigel said.

 “First you will hand over any supplies, equipment, and booty of any kind, even what you carry on your persons.”

 “Our personal effects?” Nigel asked.

 “Are now mine,” Sam answered.

 “This is outrageous,” Nigel protested.

 “You are not exactly in a bargaining position, ‘friend,’ “Israel said.

 Nigel gave Israel a snarl.

 “The second,” Sam continued, “is particularly relevant to you, Nigel. If I ever lay eyes on you in this tavern again, I’ll kill you.”

 Nigel looked at Israel, then to Paul and back to Sam. He shrugged his shoulders. “If I ever have to look upon your face again, I'll kill myself.”

 “Just as good,” Paulgrave said.

  “And the third?” Nigel asked.

 Sam took Nigel's pistol and slid it into his own belt. “Your ship, is it ready to sail?”