The finale of last week's Sky Pirates story! Picture to be added soon. ;)
*
While the pirates firing from the deck of the Bold Deceiver attracted everyone's attention, Sanderson found his eyes moving to the guns on the pirate ship. The rifled guns, the great carronades, both kinds could gut his ship. He imagined he could see the crew inside loading them, preparing to sink his ship for daring to fight back.
No, he wasn't imagining it. They were preparing to fire.
His blood ran cold in his veins, and his fear was so great that he did not realize he was abandoning his position of safety to reach Thornby. Shots passed him, and his coat gained new holes as the pirate marksman took potshots at him.
“This is useless!” Sanderson yelled to Thornby. The man looked furious, turning to him in a rage that made Sanderson feel he was going to be the next shot. “They're going to broadside us!”
His last words reached Thornby, and he deflated suddenly. “Drop arms!” he called. “We surrender!”
The pirates could clearly hear him and when the remaining Pinkertons did truly start to drop their guns they held their fire, their rifles kept pointed straight at them.
Thornby dropped his pistol to the deck, his hands trembling with adrenaline. “We surrender.”
At last the pirates were convinced they had truly surrendered. It was not until ropes were thrown to them with instructions to tie the ships together that Sanderson relaxed some. They would not sink a ship they were tied to.
His crew did as ordered, and as soon as the ropes were secure pirates began to climb across to his ship.
There was a feeling of fear as the pirates boarded. Fear of what they might do, what they might take. Some pirates took a ship as a prize, and his might make a unique addition to Reddin's group. Or they could take his crew aboard their ship and burn his.
Reddin was known to do that.
Yet despite the fear, the emotion he felt most of all was shame. He had thought his ship uncatchable in the skies, he had done the same thing he had done to evade pursuit a dozen times before. Reddin had performed exactly as his ship's named declared; he had been deceived, fallen straight into their trap.
Melissa Strong stood next to him. “Have you ever been pirated before, Captain?” she asked him, fear in her voice. He could understand that fear. It also surprised him that she didn't know his past, but he never really had opened up to her.
“Yes,” he told her. “Not on the Jenny . . . this is the first time my ship has ever been taken.”
“What happened the other time your ship was taken?” she asked him.
He swallowed. “They were Redeemer pirates. They took the ship and marooned us in a hostile wilderness near California.” He did not have to add that ten of the crew had died making the trek back to civilization.
Strong tried to say something in response, but merely opened her mouth and then closed it again, her mouth too dry to make a sound.
Soon his deck was swarming with a score of pirates, and the Pinkertons were gathered in a circle under guard. The other pirate ship that had forced them into this route had caught up, and her crew began to come over as well.
Then Captain Reddin came over.
Tall, wide-shouldered, Reddin was a fearsome man to behold. He held himself with dignity and radiated power and authority and confidence. And no wonder! He had taken a thousand ships, some said, never failing to capture what he set his eyes upon.
His blue captain's coat was well-worn yet finely made, his red boots and gaiters equally aged. The most striking feature about him was the blood-red stripe across his face. In every description of Reddin that Sanderson had ever heard, that stripe was mentioned, and even he found his gaze riveted to it.
Sanderson's crew shied away when he stepped upon the Jenny's deck, and even he felt awed.
The ship next to them sent across her own lines and her crew came over. The two pirate crews were clearly intimate friends and they smiled and spoke to each other like friends.
Captain Sarah Gordon crossed over, and all talking amongst anyone ceased.
Reddin met the tall, dark-skinned woman in the middle of the deck and they shook hands.
“Good job,” Reddin told her quietly
“Thank you,” Gordon replied. “It was your plan, though, and it worked.”
She was a Negro, dark as night, and everything about her was noble and frightening. Sanderson had never seen her before, never understood why people spoke of her as so regal and terrifying.
Yet now he knew. She was like a tiger in poise and power. He knew that a single wrong move would lead to his immediate death by her sword.
“Who is Captain here?” Reddin called. He had to know that Sanderson was, and this was a test. If he failed to come forward he was a coward.
“I am,” Sanderson replied, stepping forward one pace. All attention fell to him and he felt proud that he was not shaking in his boots.
“Is this your entire crew?” he asked, gesturing to those on deck.
“No, sir. I have four crew below on the boilers.” Lying would only get them probably killed and himself along with them.
“Call them up. Then you will take me to the hold, and we shall inspect your cargo.”
It was done. The men in the boiler room were glad to come up with promises of their safety, and they appeared with their hands up. Herded with the rest of the crew, Sanderson then led Reddin below. Captain Gordon came with him, and it sent a shiver down Sanderson's spine. Melissa came as well, almost fleeing before Gordon, who ignored her completely.
He saw Thornby try to detach himself from the crowd of Pinkertons and follow, but a pirate shoved him back into the circle with threats of awful retribution.
The hold on the Jenny was not big, but he had always made it work by clever packing. It was like a game, fitting everything in as best as one could.
A lamp lit the room, and in the middle, looking almost lonely, were the dozen crates.
“Is that all fifty?” Reddin asked.
“Yes, sir,” Sanderson said. “You know how many?” The question just came out, and he instantly regretted it. Gordon's eyes flashed to him and she looked almost personally insulted that he had spoken out of turn. He realized her hand was on the grip of her cutlass, and he had not even seen it move from her side.
“Yes,” Reddin said. “I know exactly what it is that you carry. I also know that two other ships were dispatched, ostensibly to pick up the same cargo. Yet only yours carries the true prize. It was a desperate ploy by desperate men.”
What could it be? What could be in these crates that had the famous Captain go to such lengths to learn the truth about?
“Shall we open them to be sure?” Captain Gordon suggested.
Reddin considered a moment. “Very well.” He pointed a finger at Melissa Strong. “You. Open one of the crates.”
Miss Strong stepped forward, taking a crowbar to work the crate open. It was nailed in many places and she worked hard to force it open.
Sanderson leaned forward, curious.
Finally, the last nail was loosed. The panel fell to the floor with a thud, and a rush of straw came falling out. The smell of oil grew stronger - gun oil. That was the smell he had detected.
Right then he knew what the crates contained, and why it had made him so nervous; the smell of guns always bothered him.
Reddin stepped forward and knelt. Melissa stepped back, still holding the crowbar.
When his lamp shone inside, it glinted off the well-oiled rifles contained therein.
The pirate captain removed one of the rifles and held it carefully. It looked very modern and brand new. They were clearly expensive.
“Rifles . . .” Sanderson said, his voice trailing off.
“Not all of them contain rifles,” Reddin said. “But they all carry the finest weapons money can buy.”
As Reddin looked at the rifle, Sanderson's eyes shifted to Melissa, saw in her face what she planned. Her hands tightened on the crowbar, and he found himself crying out before she could make her move.
“No!” he cried to her as she started to lift the crowbar. He had not been alone in noticing the action, though, and even as he yelled out Sarah Gordon had a gun in her hand pointed at her heart.
She stopped, her face shocked, holding the crowbar in the air ready to strike. Gordon did not fire, waiting for her to decide if she would live or die.
The tension was thick like smoke, making it hard to breathe.
Melissa dropped the crowbar to the floor, keeping her hands up.
Captain Reddin watched the scene with curiosity, apparently unconcerned. He had no fear because he knew Gordon had his back. “Let's get above. I want these crates reloaded to the Deceiver in short order.”
“Of course,” Gordon replied, her eyes still glued to Melissa. Finally, she seemed to decide that she would not shoot his first mate, and put her gun away.
Reddin now pitted Sanderson with a stare. “Meanwhile, Captain Sanderson, I would be honored if you would join me for a refreshment.”
*
Reddin finished his coffee while the last of the crates were hoisted, with the help of a finicky crane, onto his ship.
“Hold on, boys, she's letting loose again!” a pirate officer yelled. The crane let out a hiss as steam shot out of a vent. “Okay, give her a few moments until pressure's back . . .”
Sanderson was only paying attention to Reddin. “You're telling me that my employer is the Secessionist Jubal Early?”
“Yes,” Reddin said. “He's one of the great proponents of the idea that the War that so recently tore the States apart was about the rights of states - and not, in truth, about slaves. The guns,” he gestured to the crates, “were bought with money stolen by Redeemer pirates to fund their . . . lost cause.”
“Balderdash!” the Pinkerton Thorby declared, yet was ignored by both Captains.
“I can't see why they still wish to fight,” Sanderson admitted. “The war has been over for four years!”
Reddin stared at him. “To some people, the war will never end.”
“What is your interest in this? You're . . . a pirate, Captain Reddin. You certainly didn't fight for the Union.” Sanderson knew Reddin had been active as a pirate even then.
“Because the war has to end. These men want to go back to the days when Africans were bred to be sold and worked to death. They believe it is the proper place for some to be slaves while others are free.”
Sanderson had to wonder why Reddin felt so strongly about this issue. Certainly, he had never been a Confederate, despite his place of origin. He had stayed neutral in the war.
“And you aim to stop them?”
“Yes. The only way I can do that is to take away their ability to fund their war. These guns are one such example.”
“But what will you do with them?” Sanderson asked.
Reddin became colder. “I am a pirate, Captain Sanderson. The things I have shared with you I have done because I chose to tell you. I know you. Every man in the sky knows who you are. Believe it or not, Sanderson, you are a legend as well as I.”
That moment numbed the Captain. Reddin was, in his way, giving him recognition as an equal. With it came the warning not to pry into matters that were Reddin's.
The pirate continued. “You were picked, I believe, because you are a Southerner who does not seem to be a Southerner. Early probably believed that you would not sympathize with his cause.”
Thornby had not said a word since his outburst. He had only stared at Reddin with intense hate. Reddin looked at him.
“Please, Mr. Thornby, release the invective that is boiling beneath the surface. I know you must wish to,” he said to the Pinkerton.
And clearly, Thornby did want to. “I find it hypocritical that the thief should slander and call a great gentleman a thief,” he said venomously.
Reddin smiled at him coldly. “I make no pretense that I am not a pirate. Yet I take only the possessions of rich men, many of whom are themselves thieves, and do not take lives when I can avoid it. The gentleman you refer to believed that people were savages and ought to be property based on the color of their skin. He robbed them of their freedom and lives. Who is truly the most criminal?”
Thorby did not reply, only staring. Reddin looked back to Sanderson with a considerably lighter look. “I would be cautious, Captain Sanderson, about what you say about this to others. They will not hesitate to murder those who call them for the barbarians they truly are. Sadly, their reach extends quite far, and even in parts of the North some politicians feel more sympathy for power than for weakness.”
“Now that is just about enough!” Thornby raged, standing up and knocking over his cup of tea. “You dare impinge the honor of some of the wealthiest men of this country?”
Reddin looked at him as if he was a small insect to be crushed under his boot. “I most certainly do, for they are vile parasites, thieving more than I ever shall in my entire life.”
Sanderson could not help but smile.
“Captain, we have loaded the crates,” a large bald man with a handlebar mustache told Reddin.
“Excellent. Well, Captain Sanderson, this has been a pleasure.” He stood and offered his hand to Sanderson, who also stood and clasped it firmly.
“It has, Captain Reddin. I admit you are not at all the man I expected you to be, and if any pirate was to take my ship, I am glad it was you.”
“I am the best,” Reddin replied. “But I am not a savage. Good luck to you, Captain.”
Reddin turned and started for the ropes leading to his ship. Sanderson let his eyes sweep the ship, looking upon every member of his crew. They were all unhurt and seemed glad that the experience was ending.
Certainly, they would go back to New York with an empty hold, but at least they were all alive. He had already been paid half and that half he would get to keep. It was not entirely a wasted trip.
The movement of Thornby dragged his eyes to him. Time seemed to slow down and he realized the man was pulling a hold-out pistol from his sleeve.
His mouth dropped open to cry out a warning, but he was far too slow. A gun fired, and he saw Reddin start to fall.
Thornby gasped, his gun firing off harmlessly into the air. A red flower blossomed on his neat white shirt and his knees gave out, forcing him to lean against the railing.
Reddin, Sanderson realized, had spun and dropped to one knee, now holding a smoking revolver.
Somehow, Reddin had known.
He had drawn his gun, aimed, and fired, before the other man could shoot him in the back.
The other Pinkerton men had risen quickly and lunged for the pirate guards, who now only numbered two, yet their attack they thought would surprise the pirates was met by guns pointed firmly at their chests, completely ready, and they stopped in their tracks.
Melissa Strong rose with them as well, only to be stopped at gunpoint by the pirates just as easily.
There would be no mercy for her this time, he knew that. He cried out and raised his hands helplessly as Sarah Gordon hacked his first mate's head off.
Her cut was so clean that for a moment it wobbled on her neck before it fell to the deck with a thud that was so loud as to be sickening. Sanderson had not seen Sarah Gordon unsheathe her sword.
Thornby tried to speak. His mouth opened, but only blood came out, running down his chin. Leaning heavily upon the rail he fell over it and off the ship, plummeting down to an earthly grave.
Reddin's face was no longer pleasant. He holstered his gun and let his eyes sweep across the other Pinkertons, but none of them dared meet his gaze and they shivered.
“I accepted your surrender and did you no harm,” he said softly, fury in his eyes. “Yet you try to kill me from behind like cowards? What good would it have done you, but to get good men killed for no reason?”
He pointed his pistol at the remaining Pinkertons. “Off the side with them.”
The pirates on decks swarmed over the Pinkertons, who started screaming and fighting. Against the pirate weapons, though, they could do nothing, but were slowly forced against the side and pushed off. Their death would be the long fall to earth, the fear of every sky man.
Sanderson was white in the face as Reddin approached him. Sarah Gordon was nearing from another side, and he realized he was trapped between them.
“This is the second time on your ship I have been threatened,” Reddin spoke to him. His voice was calm with no malice in it, but that only made it all the more frightening. “I have done no harm to your crew after you surrendered.”
He could almost see his life flashing by. “It was not my choice for them to be here, nor was I their accomplice,” he was able to make himself say. His voice sound peculiar even to him. Calm and strong in its own right, even while inside he felt more terrified than ever he had before.
“Your first mate was, however.”
He looked at Melissa's body, his heart aching. Had she meant it to be valiant when she rose with them? Sanderson wondered.
Expecting his own death, Sanderson stood bravely, not knowing what to say.
“You tried to warn me,” Reddin said. “Do you know, Captain, how close you walk to death? Your life hangs by a thread, and twice we have spared your life - the first when I chose to capture your ship instead of sinking her, for I didn't need to capture your cargo. I have plenty of guns, I don't need more. The second was when Sarah decided not to kill you and your first mate for her threatening me below.
“So now your life hangs by a thread, Captain. I only have one question for you before I decide. On whose side did you support during the War of the Rebellion?”
He struggled to reply to the fearsome Captain. He had seen the man go from calm and polite to deadly serious in under a minute.
During the war, of course, he had been neutral. Most of his contracts had been from private firms, since so much shipping was disrupted by the blockade of the South. Yet he had wanted to avoid Confederate privateers attacking ships carrying Federal goods.
Truly, he had been neutral. He could lie to Reddin. He was known for being honest. In fact, the pirate's question seemed almost ridiculous. Any man in his situation would say he supported the Union.
Yet . . . He was a moment from death. Reddin was a violent pirate, and he killed his enemies. Perhaps his answer did not matter. He would probably die no matter what he said.
All his life he had been an honest man. What was he if he could betray himself now, at the end of his life?
Nothing.
“I took no sides, Captain Reddin. I've never owned a slave nor did I fight to free them. I am not a soldier nor a politician. I am a sky man”
And then he did not die.
Reddin's gun returned to its holster.
“You live up to your reputation as an honest man,” Reddin said, his voice almost admiring. “If you had lied or defied me, you would have joined the others in death. Instead you're going to live.”
Reddin turned and strode away. Sanderson felt his knees nearly buckle beneath him. He was still alive? It seemed almost like a dream, a hallucination, brought on by his dying moments.
But no, it was true. He was still alive.
Before he had thought he had understood why Reddin was so widely respected, and yet did not understand why he was so feared.
Now he knew, and would never forget, just how great and terrifying Captain Reddin was - fair and terrible, polite and brutal.
Truly, he was the greatest of the dreaded sky pirates.
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