Black and maroon flags populate the sky of Tortuga's port like elegant pterodactyl wings. From as far away as we are, I can only see colored dresses and headscarves dotting the shore.
"We've kept you and your comrades alive for a single reason," Cortes announces, with his eyes on the mountainous island. Though he's speaking directly to Lieutenant Captain. "We aren't like the other Black Flags, see? They call me the Faint because once you've realized I'm there, it's too late, brother."
He turns around now, and begins walking towards him. His boots slowly hoofing against the wooden floorboards. His black leather swaying, the indigo frills fluttering in heated Haitian wind. "We knew that by taking your vessel, we would gain nothing."
"You will be charged with murder if you kill us." A voice warns. Andres was lieutenant, though you couldn't tell without his tricorn cap. His embroidered headpiece was like a crown that made him a king, and in the naval, we were under his command. When Cortes came, it blew away into the sea amidst lead smoke and cannon. Without it, I naturally lost reverence for him.
"We are protected as the fleet of King Charles," he says. But Cortes smirks at his words. As if he wants to cut him off, but he let's him go on. "In the name of House Stuart, whom I served under before our King Charles, you are hereby arrested."
"We sell soldiers to Spanish rebels in Jamaica. That's where we're going now," Cortes tells us, pointing with a ringed finger out towards the place with the myriad of trees. "To get silver and pearls for your heads. The king is shit here, in this land-of-no-lands. Go back to London and die of plague and civil war if you want the rule of the king."