Swashbuckling in the Dark

Chapter Thirty-one

Worthington frowned at the dark cloud cover swallowing the skies. Storms in the tropics were sudden, violent and harsh. This particular one looked to be very dangerous indeed.

There were fleeting tremors passing through the good soldiers patrolling the fort around the captain, congregating into one mass of apprehension, tense to the point of breaking. Worthington set his jaw; his calm would not be rattled by a movement of Mother Nature. Unlike the natives and others easily swayed by superstition, Worthington did not believe in such ill omens.

Soon, his daughter would be returned to him, safe and sound. Storm or not, he would not believe otherwise.

Still, it was unsettling. As he patrolled the ramparts, one eye on the horizon and one surveying the men, he felt a chill hand on his shoulder he could not brush off. Despite the foolishness of it, the naval captain could sense the knot of discomfort twisting in his abdomen.

One of the nearby patrolmen began to whistle. The deep rumblings of the oncoming storm should have drowned it, but the high-pitched whistle reached his ears still.

"Quiet, man!" Worthington ordered, annoyed at the shrill sound.

The officer looked up. "Sir?" he asked, clearly confused.

Worthington's frown deepened the stress lines around his eyes. "That infernal whistling," he said.

"No one here whistling, sir."

"Then what..." Worthington broke off. The noise had steadily been growing louder, high and piercing. The captain realized too late what the sound really was.

Twenty feet away, the ramparts exploded in a shower of heavy stone and dust, enveloping the soldiers stationed there. Thrown to the ground, Worthington scratched the dirt from his eyes, looking over the stone barricade of the fort. Anger sliced through him as he regained his senses. They were under attack.

Amid the screams of panic, Worthington bellowed, "Cannon fire!"

~oOo~

The world shook around him, tossing him around the small cell like a feather in the wind. But Sykes had been through storms before--fierce ones that had nearly torn him from the ship's deck and into the watery blackness. He held fast to the bars, waiting for the rumbling to cease.

When there was a pause in the attack, Sykes went for the window, peeking through the small opening. He couldn't see much, but his ears told him all he needed to know. Cannon fire. The fort was under attack.

The guns sounded like Grimm's, but he couldn't be sure. It had been years since he'd last heard them.

Sykes backed away from the window and into the corner where it was safer. It must be Grimm attacking the fort, he reasoned. Either that or it was an unprecedented attack from a third party.

Sadly for him, there wasn't anything to do but wait for Carlos's delivery or, God willing, a miracle that would get him out of here.

Once he escaped, there was only one thing left to do. He had to slay the phantom pirate.

~oOo~

"Move! Faster, men! Move, damn you!"

The crew skittered over the deck like beetles, running all over each other in an attempt to carry out Dark's commands. The sails were in full bloom, their fabric strained by the rough winds and the ropes ready to snap as the men struggled to tie them off.

The Ebony crashed her way through the choppy waters, jerking to and fro as Dark kept a firm hold of her wheel, trying to outrun the storm. I clung to the mizzen, drenched to the bone from the sea water carried on the wind and the rain that began to pelt us from the angry skies.