"Well, well, now..." Without opening my eyes, I reached for the glass of juice beside me and took a long sip through the straw. Stretching my limbs, I snuggled into the beach chair. "This is the life, isn't it?"
"Yep!" I heard a boyish voice from my left. Half-lifting my eyelid, I spotted the grinning cabin boy just in time to clink my glass with his. Seems he didn't mind so much being abducted onto our little journey anymore.
"Um..."
Reluctantly, I lifted my other eyelid and gifted the pirate to my right with attention. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, reclining in a wicker armchair, with half a coconut full of fruit juice in his hand.
"Yes?"
"Not that it's any of my business, but..." Full of confusion, the man looked around the beach, rife with tourists, couples, and picnicking families. "Why are we here exactly?"
I tapped my nose wisely. "Ah, I was wondering when you would ask that. Although it is really quite obvious, if you think about it."
"It is?"
"Oh yes." I took another sip of juice. "We are undercover."
"Under...cover?"
"Oh yes. After all, the navy must be frantically searching for us by now. They'll be combing the seas, the towns, the harbours, the jungle....but they will never expect pirates relaxing on a beach, sipping drinks and soaking up the sun." I sampled my delicious fruity drink once more. "Genius, isn't it?"
"Errr..."
"As much as I detest to admit it," came a cool voice from another beach chair, "she is correct."
A shit-eating grin spread across my face. "Oh, I am, am I? So glad you recognize my amazing intellect."
My husband's beach chair creaked and, a moment later, he came into view, his cold eyes boring into me, a straw hat placed jauntily upon his head.
"Mr Linton?"
"Yes, Mr Ambrose?"
"I know you think you are safe right now, because I cannot attract any attention. But the moment we are out of here and I can take this hat off, I shall have my revenge."
"Oh, relax." Waving him off, I reached for a shrimp from a nearby platter and took a bite. Hmm....tasty. "After all, what kind of person doesn't like a little holiday?"
The icy stare I received in reply told me exactly what kind of person: the kind who was right in front of me. Ah, was my dear hubby angry at me?
Maybe.
He at least was doing a very good job at pretending to be.
Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced over at the pirate who had come to escort us. He had left his beach chair by now and was mingling with crew mates at the shore. Most of them had dressed in the civilian clothes we'd found on the navy vessel, and fit in surprisingly well with the local population. So well, in fact, that they were lazing around in the sun, eating snacks from a nearby stall, and enjoying the sea breeze.
In other words, they were distracted.
Leaning closer towards Mr Ambrose, I put my lips right next to his ear. "What do you think? Can we get away?"
Imperceptibly, he shook his head.
"No." His voice was no more than a whisper. "Your plan was good, but there are still too many pirates around. They are too close."
In other words, no matter how distracted they are, they'll still notice if we try to slip away. Dammit!
What, you thought I had volunteered for this mission just so I could watch Mr Ambrose squeeze money out of some poor old sod? That had been only thirty percent of my motivation. Well, fifty at most.
No, the real reason had been one thing, and one thing only: opportunity. The very first opportunity to get away from those bloody pirates and get back to civilization. Just because I was getting along with Jackal, I had no illusions about reality. If he knew who I really was, who my husband was, he would clap us in irons in an instant. I wasn't foolish enough to stay around and wait for that to happen. We were going to get out at the first opportunity.
But, apparently, my grand plan had failed. We were so close. So close. Just a few dozen yards away was a cheerful little coast town, with fishing boats in the harbour, and houses dotted across the hills beyond. With people. With safety.
Beyond our reach.
Drat!
Grumbling, I put my drink aside. "Well, if we can't get away, we'd better get on with our business, right?"
"Indeed, Mr Linton." Tearing the offensive straw hat off his head, Mr Ambrose sent it flying like a discus out over the ocean. "Let's move."
With a clap of the hand, Mr Ambrose attracted the attention of the pirates. When all their eyes were on him, he rose and silently gestured for everyone to follow. Sighing, I took off my own straw hat and mournfully placed it on my beach chair. Bye bye, best friend.
"So," I whispered as I came up behind my husband. We were just leaving the beach and heading towards town—unfortunately, with a long line of thugs behind us. "Where exactly do we find this...person we are looking for?"
Mr Ambrose cocked his head at the pirate beside him in a silent You heard what he said. Well?
The pirate shuddered. "You really wanna do this? The old bastard can be a nasty piece of work."
Mr Ambrose's eyes narrowed infinitesimally, and I smirked.
He's not the only one. Oh, I'm almost glad we didn't get a chance to escape. This is going to be good.
"I am," my dear husband confirmed. "Very sure."
"Oh well, it's your own funeral." Raising one hand, the pirate jabbed a thumb down a winding alley. "It's that way."
With a curt nod, Mr Ambrose turned in said direction, and we started down the alleyway. It didn't take long before we arrived in front of a dilapidated little cabin at the seashore. It was not what most people would have expected when imagining the residence of a filthy rich fence—but it most certainly was what I would have expected. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr Ambrose scrutinize the small domicile.
"Well? What do you say?"
He shook his head. "Far too extravagant."
I gave a sombre nod. "I know, right? He could have easily done without the roof and it would have been much cheaper."
"Indeed."
Our pirate escort, who had been checking out the surroundings to make sure we were alone, returned at that moment and gave us a nod. "Seems like he's in. Go ahead. But be careful, or that old bastard will talk all the money out of your pockets in five minutes flat."
"Oh..." Flexing his fingers, Mr Rikkard Ambrose stalked towards the hut. "I rather doubt that."
Stopping in front of the door, he knocked, just once. A second later, a croaky voice came from inside. "Enter!"
The door swung open and, for just a moment, I caught a glimpse of a skinny old man sitting in an armchair with a devious grin on his face. He looked at my husband like a farmer would look at his golden goose, and I could practically see the pound signs blinking in his eyes.
"Please, valued customer, step inside." The grin on the old man's face turned into an obsequious smile. "I'm sure we can come to a satisfactory arrangement."
Mr Ambrose inclined his head ever so slightly. "Indeed."
Then he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
"Ha! Ha! Mwahahahaha!"
The pirates looked at me cackling, weird expressions on their faces. "Um...Freddy? Why are you laughing?"
"N-no reason," I wheezed. "No reason at all."
"Um...all right." The man pulled out a pack of cards. "Wanna play for a bit? If I know the old geezer, this is gonna take a while."
"No need." Wiping a tear from the corner of my eye, I shook my head. "I don't really think so."
"Huh? Well, suit yourself." Shrugging, he sat down with his companions and started dealing the cards—when, suddenly, the door to the hut opened once more, and Mr Ambrose stepped out into the open.
"What?" The pirates leapt to their feet. "What is it? Did he refuse to make a deal?"
"Oh no." With a brief shake of the head, Mr Rikkard Ambrose raised a jingling sack in his hand. "He didn't."
From within the cabin issued a ghostly, echoing wail, and a moment later came the sound of an unconscious fence hitting the floor.
You might ask: How do I know the sound of an unconscious fence hitting the floor?
Working for Mr Ambrose provides the most interesting experiences.
"So..." I cocked an eyebrow at my dear husband. "Satisfactory negotiations?"
"Adequate."
"A-adequate?" one of the pirates squeaked.
Another one of them raised a trembling hand to point at Mr Rikkard Ambrose's massive sack full of money. "Adequate? That's what you call that?"
Cocking his head, Mr Ambrose cast a glance at the bag. "You're right. I should have gotten more. Hm."
"More?" The pirate's jaw dropped. "Are you insane? I don't even understand how you got that much silver out of the old bastard! How? How did you do it?"
In answer, Mr Ambrose pulled open the sack and revealed a massive pile of coins. None of them were silver. Instead, all of them were a bright, shiny gold.
The pirate's eyes rolled up into his head, and, keeling over, he hit the ground with a thud.
"Now, let's return," Mr Ambrose ordered, stepping over the unconscious body on the ground. "We shouldn't waste any time."
***
When we returned to the pirate camp, we were welcomed with thunderous cheers and applause, due to how amazingly popular we were among our loving pirate friends. It totally had nothing to do with the humongous pile of money we brought back.
"Gold! Gold! Gold! Mwahahahaha!"
His fat belly wobbling in rhythm with his laughter, Gaptooth grabbed whole handfuls of the glittering coins, threw them into the air and let them rain down on him.
"So..." Cocking my head, I glanced down at the empty bag in my hand. "This is just a wild guess, but...you like money, right?"
"Gold! Gold! Hahaha! Mwahahaha!"
Mr Ambrose leaned over towards me. "I think that is an answer in the affirmative, Mr Linton. Clearly, a man of good taste."
I cast another glance at the pirate leader, who by now was trying to swim in the massive pile of gold. It was very nearly large enough. Turning my head, I looked over at Mr Ambrose. "Good taste?"
He sent me a silent look back. The meaning was obvious. Of course. After all, it's gold.
I made a mental note to prevent my dear husband from influencing our child's upbringing at all costs.
"Ha! Hahaha!" Suddenly resurfacing from the gold, Gaptooth stumbled to his feet and slapped Mr Ambrose on the back hard enough to smash a marble pillar. Mr Ambrose didn't even budge an inch. "Hahaha—ow! Haha! Good man! Good man! You did a wonderful job! Everyone, get out our best whiskey! Roast some meat! We're having a feast for our new crew member!"
Another thunderous round of cheers went up from the crowd. Moments later, people rushed to the casks and camp fires, distributing drinks, skewering meat to roast, bragging about the thousand and one things they would buy with their newfound riches.
"Three cheers!" Someone shouted. "Three cheers for our heroes!"
"Huzzah!" The pirates roared. "Huzzah! Huzzah!"
I leaned over to Mr Ambrose. "Is it just me, or did they forget the fact that you broke the neck of one of their men just a few days ago?"
"I brought them gold." He gave a shrug, as if that explained everything. Taking all things into account, for them and him, it probably did.
Narrowing my eyes, I lowered my voice. "Will I have to expect you to want to replace your dear wife just as easily?"
"Of course not."
"Good. Because—"
"Do you have any idea how much the last wedding cost? I won't be paying for another one."
"Come on, you two!" Someone shouted before I could give my dear husband a kick in the bollocks. Suddenly, Jackal appeared behind the both of us, slinging his arms around our shoulders. "Don't just stand around here! Join us! Come drink some rum and roast some meat!"
"You know, I think I will." I smiled at him, then sent an intense look at Mr Rikkard Ambrose's family jewels. "And I think I know what I'll be roasting first."
"Great! Come along!"
The bad news: Mr Rikkard Ambrose's bollocks were still intact by the end of the evening. The good news: it was the best feast I'd ever been at. And, considering the number of dinners, balls and buffets my aunt had dragged me to in an effort to marry me off, that was saying something. Somehow, it was much more satisfying to sit on the beach with a bunch of pirates and eat crispy roasted meat on a stick than to sit at a dinner table with three dozen people I didn't know and discuss the weather while minding my table manners.
"Hey! Give me another slice!"
"Ha!" The man turning the metal skewer gave a bark of laughter. "Aren't you fat enough already?"
My eyebrow twitched.
Oh, I'm fat, am I? I wonder, would that still be your opinion if you knew you are facing a pissed off pregnant lady with a serrated knife in her hand?
But before I could get my just revenge—or my slice of meat for that matter—a sudden shout came from the lookout at the shore.
"Ship! Ship on the horizon!"
In a blink, the festive mood was extinguished. Gaptooth, who had still been playing with his gold a moment ago, leapt to his feet, his paunch jiggling.
"What? What kind of ship? Is it the navy?"
For a long moment, no answer came. Then, after a time that seemed like an eternity...
"The captain! It's the captain! He's coming back!"
"Captain?" Blinking in confusion, I pushed myself to my feet. "What captain?"
"Didn't I tell you?" With a giant grin on his fat sack of a face, Gaptooth strode forward. "I ain't the leader of this merry band of cutthroats! No, that honour belongs to the captain! Just wait till he hears about all we've done!"
Grinning like a Cheshire cat who had indulged in a lot of cream recently, the fatty grabbed two fistfuls of gold and marched down towards the beach. Well, when I say "marched", I mean "waddled". By the time he reached the shore, the ship had already dropped anchor, and people were clambering down the side into a dinghy. One man stood at the little boat's prow, while the others started to row as if the hounds of hell were behind them.
I swallowed.
"Is he...?"
Jackal nodded. "Aye. That's the captain."
With a crunching sound, the dinghy hit the sand, and the man they called the pirate captain jumped ashore, stalking forward. An excited whisper went up from the crowd. They were clearly excited to find out what their captain would say about their accomplishments. Gaptooth walked towards him, grinning broadly, displaying his fistfuls of gold. Only I seemed to notice the thunderclouds roiling above the captain's head, and the lighting flashing in his eyes.
"Welcome back, Captain!" Still grinning widely, he held out both hands, filled with gold. "Look what we've got!"
"What," the captain demanded, his eyes gleaming like freshly polished blades, "is that?"
"Um...that?" Gaptooth looked down at the gold coins in his pudgy hands. "That's gold, Captain. We—"
"Not that." Lifting his arm, the captain jabbed a finger at the gold—then swept said arm towards the ocean, and more specifically, the Royal Navy ship anchored there. "I'm talking about that."
"Well..." The fat man glanced between the navy vessel and the captain, an unsure look on his face. "Don't you know? It's a ship. You know, for travelling on water? You just stepped off your own, so..."
"I know it's a bloody ship, Gaptooth! What I want to know is why a ship of the goddamn Royal Navy is anchored at my camp's beach!"
It suddenly seemed to dawn on Gaptooth that his captain was not as elated about recent developments as expected.
The fatty cleared his throat. "Err...because...I put it there?"
Judging from the wrathful glare he received in reply, that was not an adequate answer.
Straightening his spine, Gaptooth met his captain's gaze. "Sorry, Captain, but I don't really know why you're so pissed off. We got a new ship. We got plenty of gold. There were no survivors. What's the problem?"
"The problem, Gaptooth," the captain snarled, stabbing a finger into his deputy's wobbling belly, "is that I left orders to attack only very specific ships, on very specific shipping lines, as per our sponsor's orders!"
My hands clenched into fists. Leaning towards my husband, I whispered, "Does that mean what I think it means?"
"Indeed." Eyes narrowed infinitesimally, Mr Ambrose gave an affirmative jerk of the head. "It seems that our assumptions were correct."
"So what are we going to do n—"
"Shh!" He lifted one long, elegant finger to his lips, not taking his eyes off the pirate captain for an instant. "They're talking."
"—clear, direct orders!" hissed the captain. "And you, my dear friend, decided to not only ignore those orders, but go and attack the bloody biggest navy in the world? Are you as thick as your paunch is?"
Grumbles rose from the crowd that had been celebrating and smiling just moments earlier. Gaptooth's fat face reddened. "We didn't exactly have a frigging choice! We were just sailing along, and they fired their cannons at us before we could—"
"You could have run! You could have turned your ship around and not attacked the frigging Royal Navy! You know perfectly well we were hired to only attack the ships of—"
"We're pirates!" The growl that erupted from Gaptooth's throat was like the rumble of a volcano. A fat, lazy volcano, but a volcano nonetheless. The pirates had long stopped cheering and were watching the scene with intense attention. "Pirates! We attack who we want, and take what we wan—"
The captain bared his teeth. "Did I ask you to talk back to me?"
"No, Captain. But—"
The captain moved in a flash. One moment, Gaptooth was standing there, the next, he was lying on the ground with a bloodied mouth, the imprint of a fist on his face. With a growl, the captain cracked his knuckles.
"Did. I. Ask. You. To. Talk. Back. To. Me?"
There was a moment of silence. Well, if you didn't count the grinding of Gaptooth's rotting teeth. For a moment, he looked ready to jump up and fight—then lowered his head. "No, Sir."
"Good." The pirate captain's steely gaze swept across the crowd. "Anyone else want to challenge my authority?"
Silence. Absolute silence hung over the beach.
That is, until—
"Yes," came a far too familiar voice from beside me. "I."
And Mr Rikkard Ambrose stepped forward.
-------------------------------------------
My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,
Not much time for an author's note this week. The railing of the staircase at home fell off, and things are a bit chaotic, trying to get it fixed again.
Yours Truly
Sir Rob