The Emerald Falcon

The hull of The Emerald Falcon moaned and creaked as sea and rain seeped into the decks below. Lightning flashed onto the sea nearby and created an explosion of mist that assembled into an airborne wave, which dropped onto the weathered surface of the top deck. With swords clashing and guttural screaming, men dressed in red wasted other men dressed in rags. Pistols went off and musket balls flew in every direction. As the men screamed, a tribal-like beat was brought forth on every man's ears by the drummer, standing alone as the only enlisted man on the raised deck above the captain's cabin. Dead pirates lay scattered across the top deck, as British sailors and militiamen began to take control of the deck. The lone drummer accompanied by several officers and armed militiamen holding off pirates on the stairwell. Among these men was a boatswain, yelling words of encouragement and taking pitiful glee in the violence ensuing before him. To the untrained eye, he would seem the obvious person to be the captain during such a skirmish. However, many feet below, British Royal Navy Captain Robert Maynard tore through the empty second gundeck, flanked by two militiamen. Captain Maynard held a long, cocked pistol in his right hand and a lantern in his left and bared his teeth as he limped through the length of the ship.

The captain, dressed hastily in a classical naval captain's uniform, walked with a limp. His left foot turned inwards as he stomped across the dark wooden planks that made up the deck. The men behind him wore equally cunning snarls, both determined to follow their captain 'til the day they died. Captain Maynard jolted to a halt, snorted and jammed the pistol into one of the four holsters that were latched across his multi-layered uniform. Swaying with the heavy roll and pitch of the ship, he licked his lips, tasting sea salt. The men beside him, both wearing first lieutenant patches on their arms, straightened up and looked around eagerly.

The fog of battle above had crept into the darkened gundeck through the open gunports, leaving the three men nearly blind to their surroundings. Captain Maynard, looming larger above the other two and visually irate, held up the lantern in his hand. He swung it through the fog, revealing nothing but a stairwell. Maynard turned to his two officers and spoke to them directly.

"You've got to find her -- there's no way she's comin' up from here. Stay here and make sure no one gets out unless it's me with her head. I want this pirate girl dead."

The two men nodded menacingly and moved to the columns flanking the stairwell, each drawing their own pistol and looking to the captain. The captain hung the lantern from the hook on the ceiling and took out two pistols, one of which was so gigantic that it weighed down his hand. Captain Maynard could hear the sounds of waves crashing the deck above, and all three of them first noticed the water dripping down through the planked, wooden ceiling. Maynard felt a drop land on his beard. He licked it and tasted iron. As he neared the pitch-black bottom step, he turned once more to the officers behind him.

"It's not water. That's blood." The two officers stopped and heard the faint screaming coming from the makeshift hospital somewhere above them, as Captain Maynard advanced into the darkness below. He'd have to fight blind - but to him, that was no problem. Maynard cocked both pistols, grinning to himself in the dark. To him, there was no way she could escape.

"It's me or you, lassy. You're going to die because I cannot. Haven't you heard the tales?" He waited, and to his surprise and his pleasure, a voice echoed from the smokey, black depths of the ship.

"Yes, I have. And do you think we pirates care about your silly little legend?" Her voice was soft, supple, and sweet, yet held a wavering ring to it that Captain Maynard sighed upon. Like a cat preparing to pounce, he crouched down, rendering him almost completely silent. In front of him, he could detect wooden barrels, so he knew he wasn't within direct earshot. The voice came yet again.

"Captain Robert Maynard, slayer of dragons, and famed pirate hunter. We all know who ye are," she said, considerably closer to Maynard than before, "but we do not fear ye. How do you think our captain has eluded your ships for the past two years? We are smarter than you and you can't win."

A scream from above echoed through the empty gundeck, and Maynard could her the figure in the dark turn to the noise. He raised his pistol. She was already moving out of the way when he fired, and the bullet struck wood with a snap. Captain Maynard stood up and moved deftly over the barrels. The sound of a body falling echoed from the other side of the room, near the dimly lit stairwell.

Robert Maynard snarled and raised his other pistol. Even with this specific weapon's monstrous size, he jabbed it in the air like a sword and fired in the pirate's direction. Flesh exploded as he heard her shriek and begin to squeal in anguish. As she moaned, Robert holstered his pistols and began walking toward her. 

"You, my dear," he said as she slowly came into view, her left leg broken, dismantled, and shattered, "have been beaten. It hurts, doesn't it?"

Maynard approached her whimpering form, which was only distinguishable between itself and the ground by the light that emanated from the stairwell above. He bent over, putting his hand on her wound, and picked up the musketball that lay on the ground as she screamed bloody murder. Holding it up to his teeth, he bit down on the similarly-sized hunk of metal. It held strong, and he knew he'd destroyed her leg for good. Looking down at her, he made the shush sign with his hand. She stopped screaming but tears of blood streamed down her face as she began to bleed out.

Maynard crouched down and knelt on the bloodstained wood next to the dying pirate. Dressed in rags, she wore an unbuttoned crew shirt and brown pants that had been ripped to shreds on her dismembered leg. Unholstering his weapon for the final time, he leaned over her soon-to-be corpse and whispered in her ear.

"You pirates are so naive, and that's really what makes my unique line of work fun. You stole from my ship once, two years ago, and now I get to repay it for you. Foolish of you, isn't it, to steal from the man who killed Blackbeard?"

He cocked his pistol, aimed it at her chest, and looked her in the eyes. She quieted down now, though still crying profusely. It was only then that they heard the joyous singing of men from above.

"Yo-ho! To the depths of the sea!

Killing a pirate is the life for me!

We've stolen your hearts, and now off with your heads,

And your fortune we will reap!"

Captain Robert Maynard smiled and fired his blunderbuss. The Emerald Falcon's Captain was dead, and so died the pirate terror that had ruled the seas for two long years.