The Pirate King Read online

  The Pirate King

  J. P. Sheen

  3Hearts Publishing, LLC

  Special thanks to my family

  * * *

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination.

  Copyright © 2019 by J. P. Sheen

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part, in any form whatsoever. For permission requests, write to: 3Hearts Publishing, LLC., Attention: Permissions Department, P.O. Box 21262, Waco, TX, 76702

  Front cover design by ebooklaunch.com.

  ISBN: 978-1-7336871-0-2 (eBook)

  The pirate king / J.P. Sheen

  Summary: When Blake Ransom, pirate and Sea King, is press-ganged aboard a corrupt Eliothan man o’ war, he will have to battle the demons of his past and his present in order to escape alive.

  First edition, February 2019

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Into The Deep

  2. The Crown Heir

  3. The Sea Phantom

  4. Moonlight And Shadows

  5. The Liberty Rally

  6. Lost In Kingston

  7. Lost At Sea

  8. The Pirate King’s Return

  9. The Man O’ War

  10. The Sea Pearl

  11. The Legend Of The Sea Kings

  12. Coconuts And Cannon Drills

  13. Into The Storm

  14. The Boatswain’s Warning

  15. The Offer Of A Lifetime

  16. The Crown Heir’s Secret

  17. The Captain’s Son

  18. The King’s Ransom

  19. A Leap Of Faith

  20. The Call Of The Deep

  21. Under The Stars

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Captain Blake Ransom paraded down the row of ragged prisoners.

  His eyes were shards of black ice as he scrutinized his unfortunate hostages. His greatcoat swooshed in the salty breeze, and his ugly sneer revealed matching gold fangs. With each quiet thud of his boots against the deck, a ripple of terror went down the line. Then, in a voice as sharp and cold as steel, the Demon of the Deep announced, “I ‘ave me but one rule when it comes to takin’ prisoners…”

  He swiveled to face a mother carrying newborn triplets and barked, “I DON’T!”

  The woman screamed and fainted, forcing two naval officers and Blake’s first mate to catch her squalling infants. Satisfied, Blake turned around…and frowned. His eyes narrowed. Huffing loudly, he stormed toward the very last prisoner, and in his outrage could only manage a garbled “Argh!”

  The prisoner—the Grand Admiral himself—jumped and quickly put his book away.

  “What? I’m listening!”

  The Grand Admiral yanked off his spectacles and looked up, rearranging his countenance into one of the utmost attention. Blake stared at the die-hard literary connoisseur. Then he wheeled around, heading back to where he had started. After a long drawn-out sigh, he tramped back down the line, his boots clunking most intimidatingly as he went.

  “I ‘ave me but one rule when it comes to takin’ prisoners…I don’t!”

  “You would slaughter these innocent women and children?” the Admiral demanded in horror, gesturing at the young lady still passed out on the deck. “You are a monster, Blake Ransom!”

  Blake lifted his face to the stormy sky and released the bloodcurdling laugh that sent even the wickedest buccaneers running.

  “I know,” he said when he was finished.

  But the Terror of the King’s Navy did not watch where he swaggered carefully enough. The top deck was, it seemed, coming apart. With a howl, the pirate captain tripped on a loose plank and hit the deck. Instantly, the Grand Admiral was at his side.

  “Are you all right?” he asked with motherly concern, noting the sea demon’s bottom lip, which was atremble.

  “Damn you, Mr. Smith, damn you!” squealed Blake.

  “Don’t curse, Blake,” scolded Jaimes, just as Blake noticed his bright red knees. The five-year-old perked up immediately.

  “Look!” he yelped, “I’m bleeding!”

  He leapt to his feet with renewed vigor for life, kicking aside the sliver of driftwood responsible for his injury. His blow sprayed wet sand everywhere…including Jaimes’s open book.

  “Blake!”

  At Jaimes’s infuriated tone, Blake felt a jolt of fear. His brother did not often play pirates with him, and what if he threatened to leave? Their story was just getting interesting!

  Blake waited anxiously while Jaimes wiped off the pages of his precious book. But his brother merely sighed, becoming spellbound by the written word. Softly, he began to recite.

  “For when the black of Night weds the white morning Light, to what blessed child will they bring forth in time?”

  “Robert?” guessed Blake, irritated at this unexpected pause in their play. Jaimes ignored him, gazing out at the turquoise bay.

  “Gray? Nay…”

  The twelve-year-old’s eyes grew wistful, as if he could see in the distance the country that lay beyond those shining waters, the homeland of their forefathers: Elioth.

  “Nay, I tell thee…the Dawn!”

  Blake was not impressed.

  “Stop reciting poetry when I’m about to run you through,” he commanded, forcing Jaimes back aboard that brig of nightmares, His Villainy’s Ship the Blood and Guts.

  At first, the Grand Admiral thought the Demon of the Deep was dancing with glee at the prospect of slaughtering his high-ranking hostage. Then he thought the better of it.

  “Blake, do you need to pee?”

  Blake stopped fidgeting. “No.”

  “Aye, you do. You never jig about unless you have to go.”

  Such a remark was extremely wounding to the sea demon’s pride. He conveyed his hurt by crossing his arms and sticking out his tongue, trying all the while not to squirm.

  “If you won’t go, I won’t keep playing,” said the Admiral pompously, “Anyway, I still have fifteen pages left in The Marriage Feast of Black and White.”

  Blake made a quick decision.

  “Be right back! Don’t go anywhere, Jaimes!” he pleaded, dashing off to the ship’s head to relieve himself. He was back in under a minute, but at the sight of his abductor, the Admiral’s eyes nearly popped out from behind their spectacles.

  “Blake Percimillus Ransom! Where are your breeches?”

  The scourge of the seven seas bent down to examine a bright green frog that was climbing up the mainmast, for he was not interested in the whereabouts of his breeches.

  “Blake, answer me!”

  “They’re gone forever!” Blake responded defiantly, “You’ll never see those things again!”

  “I’ll have you know, sir, that nudity is an offense punished in the civilized world…with death!”

  “Aye…so what?” Blake asked, unmoved.

  “So, I am placing you under arrest!” declared the Admiral, with stunning authority.

  “How?” Blake demanded smugly, “You’re my prisoner.”

  “Not anymore, mister!”

  The pirate captain’s jaw dropped at this shocking turn of events, but there was nothing he could do about it. The Grand Admiral was twice his height and double his weight. While Blake’s heartless crew stood by and watched, he howled and fought like a drunken savage, to no avail. Within moments, the Admiral had him subdued, trapped in a headlock with absolutely no chance at escape.

  In a flash, they were no longer aboard the Blood and Guts. A little dazed by this abrupt change in his fortunes, Blake blinked and found himself standing on a wooden platform next to a gallows, manacled hand and foot (and wearing breeches). A horde of bystanders goggled up a
t him, having come to cheer on the dastardly villain’s demise.

  Blake’s judge—a spectacled, bewigged fellow who looked awfully like the Grand Admiral—told him sternly, “You have been found guilty of many heinous crimes, Blake Ransom, including (but definitely not limited to) the murdering of innocent women and children, the pillaging of countless seaports, and the founding of a nudist colony on the isle of Moanamiri—”

  “Nudist?” the pirate piped up.

  “It means a naked person.”

  “Naked…?” The condemned man broke down into a fit of hysterical giggles, which lasted so long the Judge deeply regretted reading his crimes aloud. Finally, Blake hiccupped.

  “You’re funny,” he said.

  The Judge decided to move things along.

  “Then you are unrepentant…meaning, you aren’t sorry?”

  “Aye!”

  “You are sorry?”

  “No!” Blake amended himself, now thoroughly confused.

  “Not even for hitting me yesterday when my back was turned?”

  “Ah…” Blake hesitated. He eyed the tall Judge, who stared shrewdly back at him.

  “No!” he proudly declared, lifting his chin. The Judge slowly raised an eyebrow. Blake felt a twinge of fear and tried not to show it.

  “Very well,” said the Judge, “You bring your fate upon yourself, fiend. By the power vested in me, I hereby sentence you to be hung by your toes until dead!”

  Here Blake’s executioner swooped down and swept him off his feet in a truly thrilling manner.

  “Wheeeeeee!!!” shrieked the pirate, as the hangman flipped him upside down and hung him on the branch of a nearby guava tree.

  “Do it again, do it again!” Blake pleaded, swinging back and forth. But Jaimes stepped back with a triumphant air, which made Blake suspect that he had just been duped. When Jaimes refused to take him down, Blake’s suspicions were confirmed.

  “First, say you’re sorry,” Jaimes ordered.

  “No!” Blake shouted, folding his arms.

  “Repent!”

  “Never!”

  This could have gone on for a long time, for both boys had inherited their father’s stubbornness and pride. But then Jaimes noticed the deep pink shimmer of the incoming tide. They still had a long trek up the slopes of Moanamiri before them, and not much daylight to spare. Both brothers feared the thrashing in store for them if they got home after dark.

  Pulling a dirty pigtailed wig off his head, Jaimes wiped his sweaty forehead on the back of his sleeve. Then he reached out and set his brother on his feet, gesturing at the rose-colored waves.

  “We need to be heading back now, Blake.”

  Blake sighed, his heart brimming with disappointment. How could it be evening already? Who knew when Jaimes would play pirates with him again?

  “Come on, Blake!” Jaimes called, heading across a field of shoreweed toward a tangle of palms and hala trees. But Blake stood on the seashore a little while longer, staring out at the far-off horizon. The tide lapped at his small brown toes, whispering an invitation ever so softly. And as the sapphire ocean turned gold, a gilded road glimmered into being, heading straight for the setting sun.

  The tide retreated, then rushed ashore again. For a moment, Blake was tempted to set his foot upon it, and see if he could follow that glittering path all the way out to sea.

  “Blake!”

  Blake jumped. Then he turned and sprinted to catch up with his brother.

  1

  Into The Deep

  No man can live in the depths of the sea.

  There, everything is cold, and silent as the tomb. Like corpses in their graves, sunken ships languish in chasms, their blackened hulls eaten by fire and decay, their sails waving on a breathless wind: the forgotten remnants of a recent sea battle.

  And buried alone, in the darkest pit of all, the Polaris slumbers.

  Once the handsomest ship in her fleet, the Navy frigate now rots away in the deep, much like her ill-fated crew. Shining lanterns no longer light her from within. Instead, luminescent plants creep down her drowned decks, and debris floats through her hull like fog on a moonless night.

  Two years ago, the Polaris went down with her sister ships in a storm of cannon smoke and fire. Those of her crew who weren’t burnt alive drowned that night.

  Blake Ransom was one of those men. He escaped the fire, but in the end, he couldn’t escape the sea.

  Now he’d give anything to see the sun again.

  Blake’s one companion was darkness.

  It pressed on him from all sides as he swam through the Polaris’s decomposing deck. His bare feet scraped the muck-encrusted planks, stirring up a cloud of algae that shimmered in the dim sapphire light. All around him, deep-sea flora glowed and undulated in an endless, suffocating breeze.

  Blake pushed his way past the slime-covered capstan and then paused to rest. His muscles felt like jelly after his short venture out of the captain’s cabin, where he usually holed himself up for days at a time. He inhaled deeply, and the sea rushed in through his nostrils.

  Then he noticed the breach in the ship’s hull.

  It was small, no bigger than his face. Broken planks and other debris already sealed up most of the gash, held firmly in place by rusty six-pounders. Something must have shifted, disturbing Blake’s handiwork.

  Look away! Damnit, look away!

  But Blake couldn’t look away.

  A serpentine form slithered into view. It was nearly as large as Blake, with scales like mummy skin and yellow needlelike fangs. Blake trembled as the seasnake turned its bulging white eyes toward the ship. It was hunting for its next meal, and if it found a way inside the Polaris, it would gladly settle for Blake Ransom.

  Blake’s hand shook as it reached for the rusted sword at his waist. But the seasnake was too big to fit inside the hole, and Blake’s stomach cramped painfully as he watched it glide lazily away. It had taken all his courage to leave his cabin, but so far, he’d found nothing to eat, not even a single nasty crustacean. That was the problem with scavenging for food aboard a sunken ship. If nothing got in, he’d have no dinner. But if too much got in, he’d be dinner.

  Blake got to work repairing his barricade, but even after he had erected one, he tore it down and began again.

  And again.

  And again, sobbing and cursing. Aye, it was sturdy…but was it sturdy enough?

  An hour passed. At last, furiously panting, Blake swam away before he could spot another imaginary breach.

  His most cherished possession, his sea breath, was now a curse.

  If there was ever a time for the Lady in Blue’s return, it was now. Even if she refused to save him, she could at least take back her gift and let him die. It was the right of every other man who drowned. Then again, were it not for his sea breath, he would already be in Keel Cutlass’s hands.

  Blake breathed in, and the sea entered him.

  Then he spotted something moving on the bulwarks. A spindly, transparent leg was twitching. Stealthily, Blake drew his knife and then struck, stabbing clean through the spidercrab’s shell. Lifting his knife, he watched eight white legs scuttle, wildly at first, then slower and slower until they went stiff. He had something to eat at last. But he didn’t want it. Blake’s lips twisted into an ugly frown.

  He wanted to go home.

  “But you are home.”

  The whisper was soft and earnest. Blake’s head jerked to and fro. The deck looked abandoned. Taking his supper with him, Blake fled through the hatchway leading to the upper deck. He’d had enough of this little outing.

  On the gun deck, cannons lay everywhere, encrusted with rust and slime. Blake aimed for the stern, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

  “You’re here to stay.”

  Blake stopped swimming. His gaze flickered toward a half-rotten Navy uniform slumped over a cannon. Its epaulette was rippling like an eerie, golden anemone. Then a transparent crustacean no bigger than Blake’s thumb scuttled out of i
ts collar and gently, even reverently, began picking flecks of gray from the water with its claws. Blake shuddered and forced himself to keep swimming.

  “You belong here.”

  The suggestion tore at Blake’s heart, and every feeble push through the water felt like more effort than it was worth. Perhaps the voice was right. Perhaps this was his home: his eternal home.

  As a boy, Blake had listened eagerly to his father’s ghostly fables about Keel Cutlass, the Grim Reaper of the Seas. He had learned the old seaman’s shanty about the Butcher of Souls and his slaughterhouse at the bottom of the ocean…the one that began with a vigorous “Heave-ho! Merry-oh!” The promised hell of all hardened souls that perished at sea, the Sunken Slaughterhouse had a spot for every man who passed through its mother-of-pearl gates…or was dragged inside, kicking and screaming.

  There was no escaping the lair of Keel Cutlass.

  Well, here he was, at the bottom of the ocean. But there was one difference between Blake and all those other drowned men: he wasn’t dead. So Keel Cutlass couldn’t claim his soul.

  Not yet.

  As Blake neared the captain’s cabin, he swam past a large cage; its iron bars were swathed in gray slime. He did not look its way.

  “Heave ho! Merry-oh! To the home of Keel Cutlass we go!”

  Blake growled, grabbing his hair like he intended to tear it out. Shitfire, now that damn song was in his head! Probably those nasty demons would pop up soon too! Well, of course they would, now that he’d thought of them!

  “Diddlyi-die! Diddlyi-dee! He’ll skin your hide and string your teeth!”